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How dare he!
Philo hurried a few steps after him, stomping through the snow before the weight of his anger made his legs too heavy to move. “Tell me!” The yell scraped up from the ground, hurling through him to shake the very clouds above.
Ensign continued on, the words seeming to die amongst the newly falling snow before they reached his ears. He untethered his horse, mounted, and rode away with only a cursory glance before he kicked his horse to a steady run, leaving Philo to stumble about in the darkness of unknowing.
Streams of hate trickled down his neck to his chest. The land was his. If Ensign wished to relinquish it to anyone, it must be him, not some unknowing, unfeeling stranger who cared nothing for it, as he did.
Nay. His lungs heaved as a hard, heated rage flowed through his veins. The atrocities Ensign had heaped upon him before were mere specs of dust compared to this mountain of dirt. Never would he forgive him. Ever would he make him regret it.
Chapter Three
Hannah leaned back in the soft chair that faced the fireplace, pulling the shawl tighter around her shoulders, the evening’s chill as deep as the night was dark. The warmth of the radiating flames reached out to her, comforting away the coal-black sorrows. Sparks popped. The clock ticked. Otherwise, only silence.
A week had passed. Seven days that dragged on and on, the grief draining her tears and parching her heart. Closing her eyes, she rehearsed the Bible verse that quenched her dry spirit like a cool mountain spring. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.
Opening her eyes, she stared into the parlor’s dark corner where the light of the oil lamp refused to reach. So much darkness in the world, so much pain. She prayed the Lord would impart His grace. They needed it now more than ever.
“You left your supper untouched.”
Hannah sat straight as Ensign entered the parlor. Shrugging, she tried to grin away the truth. “Did I?”
Taking the seat beside her, he scowled through his remark. “You are not feeling unwell, I trust?”
“Nay, I am well, Uncle.” Sighing, she pressed mirth into her words. The scent of stewed beef curled on the air, and though she tried to find pleasure in it, she could not. “I shall have a few bites before bed—worry not.”
He gave an approving nod, then slowly turned his head and stared at the orange flames. “I find I am somehow more fatigued than I have been. Forgive me.”
The grief weighed him down, as it did her.
“You take too much upon yourself.” Hannah reached out to touch his arm. “It has only been a week. It will take time. I do not wish for you to work harder than you have strength.”
“You are too good to me.” He leaned back in his chair and stared forward, deep creases lining his brow. It seemed he wished to speak more, but the hard line of his mouth refused him.
After a few more pops of the fire, she forced herself to speak. “How was your work today?”
Looking sideways, his eyes found her, but his mind was still wherever he had left it, the blankness in his pale expression crimping worry between her eyebrows.
He blinked and shook his head. “Oh, ’twas fine.” He sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Micha Ross’s last day. He’s leaving for Washington’s camp in the morning.”
Hannah nodded, the unspoken message of his words ringing loud in her ears. Now they had all gone, every worker to join the Glorious Cause. Panic wound its wiry fingers around her throat. Her uncle would not go too? He’d spoken of his wish to join the brave men-at-arms many a time—how he wished he could lend his hand in the grand fight for freedom. She too championed the cause and wished herself to take part somehow in the valiant efforts for liberty, but how could either of them—
“Hannah?”
Startled, she blinked. “Aye?” The way he swallowed and looked at the ground made her clutch the fabric of her shawl. Do not say it. “What is it?”
He licked his lips and cleared his throat, his words spilling out in a choppy mix of fast and slow. “I have…I have been meaning…meaning to tell you something particular for some time now.”
“Oh?” Please do not say it…
“I…” Still leaning forward on his knees, he rubbed one thumb against the other, the answer dripping with resigned remorse. “I have sold Eaton Hill.”
She exhaled, the relief at his answer overwhelming the surprise at his words. “Sold it? Why?”
He stood and moved to the fire, a slight release of air bobbing his shoulders. “’Twas time.” He faced her, love reaching out from his smile. “I have many good years left in me, but ’twas time to place the foundry into the hands of someone younger. With no apprentice to leave it to, I could make no other choice.”
Hannah shook her head, trying to put her scattered thoughts into place. She stood and rounded the chair, giving her unease a resting place as she gripped the soft fabric of her seat. “Who is the purchaser?
Are you sure they will care for it as you have? Have they the same skill? No one can match your work—” She released her hold, the next words so thick with disbelief she could barely form their sound. “Tell me you did not sell to him.”
