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Higley turned his head aside and stroked Anvil’s nose, and ’twas then Joseph noticed the scar that scooped deep across Higley’s ear, the top part completely missing. A battle wound perhaps?
“I have only a little experience.” Higley spoke again and looked up. “But perhaps enough to make your work less burdensome.”
He would do that? “Could Stockton spare you?”
The angled muscle in Higley’s jaw flexed back and forth before he answered. “He has Greene to help him. And Reece.”
Such an offer. Joseph glanced to the shop behind him, mind reeling. Having an officer in the foundry every day, watching his every action, would make the work more onerous, not less.
Joseph rubbed his gloved knuckles against his jaw. ’Twas not his place to deny Higley, no matter how he wished to and no matter how innocuous the man appeared to be. “If you should like to, I cannot decline your offer.”
Higley bobbed his head, lowering his hand from Anvil’s nose. “I shall speak with Stockton.”
A nod of thanks and Joseph prepared to turn, but Higley’s voice rendered him motionless.
“And Mr. Wythe…they are looking for someone. I would be cautious, if I were you.” He patted Anvil on the neck and moved back up the road.
Joseph froze, his heart igniting a cannonade of explosions with every pump. What had he called him?
That single word rammed into Joseph’s mind, yet the blinding shock seemed to refuse it entrance until finally the truth crashed with harrowing force, exposing every tightly shielded secret.
He’d spoken Joseph’s true name—as if he’d known it all along.
* * *
The cold was not thick. ’Twas thin. So transparent it passed through her like a spirit, freezing, it seemed, the very flow in her veins. Hannah walked faster, wringing her aching fingers, irritated that in her haste she’d neglected the thick scarf her neck and ears now cried for.
In the center of town, she stopped, scanning the road for any sign of Joseph or his giant black stallion. It had not been twenty minutes after her fervent pleading with Providence that grace smiled upon her, Stockton revealing he and Reece must go to camp until evening. God’s goodness was so immediate, so loving that no matter how she worked to show Him her gratitude, yet she would be an unprofitable servant. But that would not stop her from trying.
The buzzing in her frozen toes pressed her to walk faster. If only she’d had a horse, she could make it to town swifter. But she feared saddling and preparing a mount would take more time than hurrying to town on foot. And if she were to meet Joseph on his return, they could easily ride back together to wherever it was he’d left the message. Nathaniel and Joseph had both insisted she not know the place where the messages were to be deposited, so if questioned, she could answer truthfully. At the time such judgment seemed wise, but now with her own message hurriedly penned and stuffed deep between her breasts, she wished she would have insisted. For if she did not meet up with him now, she could have delivered it herself.
Turning in a full circle, she frowned, reserving a none-too-ladylike huff. He was nowhere in sight. She’d missed him. Again wringing her fingers, she studied her former reasoning. Leaving it for another time would have been fine, would it not? Glancing back the way she’d come, she licked her lips. Then again, with Stockton at the house, Joseph couldn’t leave every evening without raising suspicions. Nay. ’Twas good she’d made the attempt but folly she hadn’t reached him in time. Now what was she to do?
“Miss Young?”
Hannah spun. “Captain Higley.”
He neared, stopping a polite distance. Bowing, he smiled. “At your service.” He straightened and glanced around, as if looking for someone. “What are you doing in town? Have you come alone?”
&
nbsp; She swallowed, uncertain how to reply. “Uh…aye.” The truth was rarely a poor choice, but she revealed only part of it, ignoring the first of his questions.
His lichen-colored eyes studied her before he too glanced around the mostly vacant street. “’Tis a cold day to be out.”
“’Tis.”
He continued his study of her, and her cold hands moistened. She opened her mouth to speak, but when nothing came out, she simply breathed a light sigh and smiled, castigating herself for her stayed tongue. Why could she not speak?
Thankfully, he did. “Miss Young, I should like at last to offer my sincerest apologies regarding the loss of your uncle.”
Hannah stilled at the raw honesty of his words. “Thank you, Captain.”
Gaze unwavering, his handsome face eased into a knowing kindness. “I know this must be of great distress to you, but I must ask you…I would beg you to not give up hope.”
“Hope?”
His eyes flitted away for a moment, as if he searched after the words he wished to speak. Returning his humble strength to her gaze, he sighed briefly. “Hope gives wing to many a prayer, does it not? ’Tis the very basis for what we desire.”
