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Hannah peered at the toes of her shoes that peeked from beneath her skirt, trying to calm the slight ache at such impersonal words. They should be welcome, for indeed the more intimacies of speech they shared ’twould only lure to light emotions she wished to keep well in the dark.
Yet it seemed her mouth refused to take any counsel, no matter how well advised. She began speaking, almost as if her mouth were a separate entity and she powerless to stop it. “You were always so strong, Joseph. No one could best you in a fight.”
’Twas a few beats of silence before he answered. “I haven’t swung my fist in years.”
She was ready for the sideways glance he tossed to her, but not for its affect. Hannah’s middle fluttered as his heady timbre curled around her.
“I would do it a thousand times over if I knew it would keep you from suffering.”
The tenderness of his words touched her like his very fingers, brushing down Hannah’s skin with a trail of heat. Again she pinned her attention to her shoes. She knew full well Joseph’s sad boyhood. How his older brother Cyprian had baited him, teased him, and bullied to the point of savagery—forcing Joseph to fight boys bigger and older than he, simply for Cyprian’s pleasure. It had forced Joseph to grow stronger, wiser, and quicker. The constant subjection to violence molded his body and muscles more than even his brother had anticipated. Finally, Joseph was not only larger in stature but larger in spirit and character, Cyprian shrinking in the shadow of the one he’d tried so hard to demean.
Unbidden, the sudden question popped free. “How is your brother?”
Joseph’s thick chest rounded as he drew in and let out a long, slow breath. “He is dead.”
“Oh, good heavens.” How had she not known? “Joseph, I’m…I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”
“He and his wife died on the same day, leaving Jacob alone.”
Hannah’s mind scrambled backward, trampling through the lanky silhouettes of memory. It took no longer than a second to recall the round-faced boy, his bright eyes and happy laugh. She’d met him once. The very night before they had…
A door slammed against the striding thought, and she hurried to continue where they were.
She peered at him. “What is he to do?”
Again, Joseph stared at the liquid in his glass before circling around to place his back to the fire. “He is in my care now.” At that he offered her a fleeting glance. “I shall do everything in my power to give him the life he deserves. Which is why I now do what I do.” He held her gaze. “’Twould seem we both have a motive behind what we risk. Both honorable, both mournful if we should fail.”
Hannah straightened, figuring the sums in her mind. Her heart hitched, her knees suddenly weak. The boy would now be only slightly older than theirs if he had lived… She gasped for breath and stepped to the nearest chair, resting her hands at the back for balance, should her legs give way. What would Joseph say if he knew?
To rescue herself from the sudden fall, she clutched to the chair. “Have you left him in Sandwich then? Who shall care for him while you are away?”
Joseph adjusted his stance, his voice taking on a sorrowful quality that forced her eyes to his. “Nathaniel Smith’s wife is caring for him. He…he lost a leg, from the knee down. Mrs. Smith is skilled with medicine, should he need particular care until I return.” His tone went wistful. “I have promised to take him fishing upon my return from war. He loves the pond.”
Time slowed. Everything around her blurred until she could see only him. What man was this? The strong, generous one she’d known, aye. But he was more than that now. He had grown, changed somehow. She had changed as well. Did he see that she was more perceptive, more cautious? More real. Or did he only see how her griefs had aged her—no longer the youthful beauty of eighteen but a woman familiar with the heavy cares of the world?
“He was apprenticing under me.”
Joseph’s voice brought her surroundings back in full. “He would make a fine blacksmith. An excellent trade for one with such an impediment.”
Joseph chuckled, his eyes sparkling in the light of the fire. “Aye, had not Nathaniel’s heroics after his accident made the study of medicine more appealing.”
“Is that so?” His levity made her laugh lightly as well. “Well, I suppose I can understand that. But do you have another apprentice in mind? I assume you still have your shop?”
The moment the words slipped past her tongue, she rued the taste of them. Familiarity was dangerous. How was she to know he still had a shop? So many years had passed, and after what he’d just revealed, ’twas clear there was much they didn’t know of each other.
“I, uh…have someone working the shop now, aye. But no apprentice.”
Her insides went hard as the need to know more—the need to know everything—surged upward, frothing and rolling like an unstoppable sea. How had he fared these years past? Had he stayed only in Sandwich? Was he happy? Did he ever think of her? Did he remember the time she’d left turnovers at his window or that note atop his anvil? Did he recall, as she did, the time he’d first held her hand as they’d walked home from Nathaniel’s that hot summer eve? Or the time by the pond he’d stolen that kiss…
Saved by the chime of the clock, Hannah nearly chirped in relief. “Good heavens, ’tis getting late. I should retire.” She started for the stairs. “Tomorrow I begin my work with Stockton. There is much to learn, and I fear I must have rest if I am to keep my wits at their sharpest.”
“Hannah.”
Roped by his velvety sound, she halted but dared not turn back, replying only with her silence.
“Are you sure you wish to do this?”
Craning her neck, she glanced behind. “I am.” A sideways smile warmed her face. “We must discover where they plan to engage. And who better to know than an innocent Tory?”
