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Stepping beside him, Higley looked at the door just as Joseph had done. “Stockton is not a man to easily forgive or forget.” At that, he turned his solemn stare to Joseph. “Though he now has one whom he can unleash his rage upon, that does not mean you are free. You must take her where his reach will not find you.”
Unbidden, his lips spoke the very thing his mind struggled to subdue. “I must speak with him.”
“Who?”
“I cannot allow him to die when…” He looked to the house. His own need to know consumed, but ’twas Hannah’s pains he must find a way to ease. “I must speak with him.”
“You cannot.” Higley’s answer was firm but gentle. “You must focus upon getting to safety first, and then—”
“The woman I love is about to lose her father without any chance to say good-bye to him.” Joseph gripped Higley’s arm. “Help me find a way to speak with him. I only need a moment.”
“Nay.” Seething, Higley answered through his teeth. “If you are found there, you too might hang, and what then?”
“So you will not help me?” Confusion and frustration made their way to anger, and he released his hold with a push. “Then I shall go alone.”
“Wait.” Higley stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I shall get you into the barn, but not for long.”
Tension quieting, Joseph studied the man beside him. “Why do you help us?” Once the cached questions began to spill from his lips, they would not be stayed. “Why be so intent upon helping us find refuge? Why is a man in the king’s army so willing to help the enemy when you know well the consequences?”
Higley’s jaw flexed, and he looked away, dropping his grip. With a breath he turned back, a slight grin at his mouth. “We best get going.”
’Twas clear he would offer nothing more, and Joseph struggled to place the spilled questions back in the box that seemed too small to hold them.
Higley went to his mount and swung his leg up. “I can grant you five minutes.”
Feeling began to return to Joseph’s anxiety-numbed limbs, and he hurried to the horse beside Higley. “Let’s ride.”
* * *
’Twas four in the morning, the sky still as black and morose as it had been when he’d first arrived at Willis’s yard an hour before. But activity buzzed as if the noon sun were in the sky. Having left their mounts some yards behind, Joseph followed Higley wide around the back of the home, where no soldiers patrolled, and up to the back door of the spacious barn.
Hand on Joseph’s shoulder, Higley’s usually stern expression hardened to a deep glower. “You must speak quickly.” He looked over Joseph’s shoulder as if he’d heard something. “I will do my best to keep the guards in front occupied, but should you hear anything, you must leave immediately.”
He nodded. A handful of minutes was not much time…but ’twas ample when his barren understanding stretched like a never-ending wilderness.
“Here.” Higley reached in his side pocket and produced a small book. “Stockton will not provide any traitor with the peace of a reverend’s word before his execution. As he is one himself, he might not need this, but I have a feeling that your sharing God’s word with him would be welcome.”
Joseph took the Bible from Higley’s grasp, his chest tight and heavy. “Will they draw and quarter him?”
With a sigh, Higley released his hold and straightened. “I’ve seen Stockton hang a good many, but never does he insist upon the rest. I feel he doesn’t care for the mess of it.”
The mess of it. A shiver chased down Joseph’s spine. Thank the Lord for that. The knowledge eased some of the churnings in Joseph’s gut, but ’twas little solitude when one’s life would end in a matter of hours.
Higley raised a finger to his lips and opened the door, entering halfway and craning his neck from one side to the other to be sure no one waited within. He pulled back and nodded that ’twas safe to enter.
Hurrying through the door, Joseph was struck with the cold, stale scent of hay and dust in the room that welcomed as much as a slatted coffin. He stood motionless to allow his eyes to fix upon the minuscule stripes of light yellow that squeezed through the boards of the main door, behind which the soldiers built the gallows by light of torch and lantern.
At long la
st, his eyes adjusted. There, at the other side of the barn, Philo sat with his elbows on his knees and fingers knit in prayer. He didn’t look up, though surely he must have heard Joseph enter.
“Philo?” Joseph whispered as he stepped quietly forward, lifting his own prayers heavenward that God would prepare Philo’s heart. If the man suspected Joseph were there for some ill design, they would both be forced to endure a more terrible end.
“Philo.”
Finally he looked up, the beams of faint light gleaming in his eyes. He looked to the door beside him, then rose in silence and hurried to Joseph, arms sweeping wildly. Stopping only inches from Joseph, he placed a hand on Joseph’s shoulder, the other pointing to the door Joseph had just entered.
“What are you doing here? Are you mad? You must leave now.”
