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He grabbed for a pitcher of water and prepared a stash of tea leaves. Even now she betrayed him, living with the very man who had taken from him all that should be his. The unease of his stomach began to abate even without the tea. Nay, he’d been right to speak to her thus, and she had been in the wrong. She had always been wrong.
The dim glimmer of the candle gifted only a slight halo, but somehow it seemed a light glowed in the parlor, illuminating the small wooden box atop the mantel. He knew what lay entombed inside, though it had been years since he had read it. Perhaps if he did now, ’twould ease his disquiet all the more.
He finished his descent to the darkened parlor and rested his companion of light on the space beside the box he loathed to touch, but must. The box was lighter than he’d remembered when he lifted it from its home. Top pulled free, he raised the letter from its coffin and returned the box to the mantel.
Candlelight gleaming over him, he swallowed and unfolded the paper that crackled and snapped with pleasure at being released from its prison. This one thing he had kept, and rightly so, never letting Hannah know of its existence. If any other of Joseph’s letters had been secreted to her, he knew not, but Ensign’s compunction for dishonesty made Philo believe his brother would have told him.
Almost as if the letters waved with pleasure at being read, Philo allowed his eyes to roam over the flowing script.
July 27, 1765
Dearest Hannah,
You must think me the vilest of men, as well you should. I cannot begin to wish for your forgiveness, though I would seek it endlessly. You are right to despise me, and if you truly desire never to see me again, I shall with full respect honor your wishes. However, I must in deep humility beg one last request from the depth of my heart that still bleeds from the loss of you. Do not doubt, my darling, how sincerely and most painfully I have loved you and how I will continue in such sweet agony until the day my spirit leaves this earth. Never shall I forget you, and never shall I forgive myself for the selfish and foolish actions of a lovesick boy. For if I had acted a man, I should have tread with tenderness, not lust. If I could take back that night, I would, only to offer you my love when we are first made one in the Lord.
If you can find the grace in your heart to forgive me ~ as I have petitioned Providence in His mercy to do ~ and to consent to be my wife, a thing which I have longed for since the day I first beheld your heavenly face, I would be your most humble servant the rest of my days and live every moment to bring a smile to your heart, a heart that I know and love even more than my own.
My darling, I shall always be yours.
Forever,
Joseph
Philo lowered his hand, staring off into the coal-black shadows of the parlor’s sleeping corner. A strange disquiet rustled in his chest, but he slammed the emotion deep into the cellar of his heart. Nay, those were not the words of a man of repentance, no matter how sincere they seemed. Joseph had only written these flowery petitions in an attempt to soften Hannah’s heart toward him. He wished again to take advantage of her and further soil her body and her name. A snarl ticked upward. And it seemed Joseph had done just that, despite Philo’s efforts.
Snatching the candle, he lowered the corner of the letter into the flame and watched the hungry ribbons char the memory he should never have retained.
As he watched the paper curl and blacken, a light knock tapped at the door. Startled, he threw the piece inside the fireplace and looked up. He raised the candle to the clock on the mantel and squinted. ’Twas nearly two in the morning. Who called upon a preacher at such an ungodly hour?
The knock came again, and he neared his face to the door. “Who is it?”
“Reverend Young, ’tis I, Mrs. Smith. I’ve come for you urgently.”
Mrs. Smith? The doctor’s wife?
He yanked opened the door and took in her weary eyes, the bulge around her belly. Was she ill? “Dear woman, what brings you to call in the middle of the night?”
The grief in her face made him almost reach out to steady her as she clutched the shawl around her shoulders. “I have been sent to fetch you. You must come straight away.”
She begged so emphatically he nearly raced out the door in his nightclothes. Stranded between thoughts, he gestured for her to enter. “Wait while I dress.”
“No, sir. I must go.” She stepped away. “Come to my home at the back. I shall let you in.”
He nodded, and she hurried up the dark street. Worry snaked about his heels and up through his limbs. Philo raced to his room and dressed, snatching his Bible before he left, his stomach aching at the thought of who it was that she called him for.
Ready with coat, hat, and scarf, he left the house with lantern in hand, his legs aching to run but his bones too weary to comply.
Arriving only a few moments later, he knocked on the back door as instructed, his nerves a jumble. Though he didn’t care for Joseph or his young ward, ’twas terrible to see a youngster go before his time. For surely who else would he be called to administer to?
The woman answered instantly, ushering him in. Candle in hand, she motioned to the stairs. “Follow me.” She started, then stopped and turned, pinning him where he waited. “You are a man of God.”
“Aye.” He didn’t know how to answer, for it seemed more an affirming statement than a question.
Licking her lips as if to allow her mind time to finish her thought, she breathed out slow but hard. “You must not speak of this to anyone. For his safety, as wel
l as your own.”
Dear God, did this woman hide a fugitive? She seemed ready to see him back out if he would not agree, so he obliged her with a curt nod. “I give you my word.”
