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So benevolent to the last.
Philo took the chair Mrs. Smith had no doubt occupied in dutiful watch and put the candle on the table. He sat with a hard breath and opened the book. Brushing his finger down the page, he read the first passage he came to. “Hear me when I call, O God of my righteousness: thou hast enlarged me when I was in distress; have mercy upon me, and hear my prayer.”
Psalms. Philo held his tongue between his teeth to keep from balking aloud. Of course God would have him open to such a verse. Where was God’s love for him, hmm? Hadn’t he suffered as well? He deserved a child who honored him, a brother who respected him—a God that would deliver him and grant him what he was owed.
Again he rubbed his head, wishing for the sleep that was forever out of reach. Wiping his hand down his face, Philo looked again to the book, another verse striking him as he read in silence. Offer the sacrifices of righteousness, and put your trust in the Lord. The truth beat his chest like a club. Hardly a verse could match his brother better.
Philo glanced up, looking at Ensign—what remained of him—when another verse brushed over him, coating his entire frame with its piercing whisper. Greater love hath no man, than a man lay down his life for his friends.
Such a fine prick, but it went deep, striking like a needle of ice to the very center of his heart. He stared forward, looking but not seeing when again that thought filled his soul. Could it be? Had he been thus blinded? But as it struck, the sensation melted, the heat of the past dissolving it to steam. Ensign was not so saintly.
Again he looked to the Bible, the last verse a hard slap to his pride. He read the words aloud as if God were forcing the sound from his throat. “I will both lay me down in peace and sleep: for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.”
After a beat of silence, Ensign wheezed. “Thank you.” He moved his hand across the bed. “You must tell Hannah I loved her, that I hope she will soon have the joy she seeks.”
Philo’s chest clenched. Such pretty words from a dying man. The sentiments sat uncomfortable in his belly, but he couldn’t locate the source.
He shook his head. There were greater needs to focus upon, and he took the chance. Perhaps his brother would, in his last moments, in his weakness, give him what he desired if perhaps he showed even a shadow of penitence.
“Leave Eaton Hill to me, brother.” He scooted closer to the bed. “I give you my word that I will work to mend what has been broken with Hannah. I shall try to be a better father. Let me, I beg of you, have care of the land, the foundry. She and I can care for it together.”
Ensign swallowed, grimacing in pain. “She yearns for your love. But…there is much you do not know of her.”
Patience, man. Philo took a breath to ease the rising tension with a painful humility. “True. It has been many years but—”
“She has lost a great deal.”
Philo nodded, while inwardly he huffed. Lost? Her fine reputation, aye. Any favorable future she might have had, aye. But what else?
“Patience and love, Philo. Those virtues are the healers.” Ensign’s mouth hardly moved now. “You deserve peace as well, and I believe you may at last regain all that you have lost.”
Pins dotted over Philo’s skin. Where those words an indication that perhaps…he would finally say it? Would Ensign bequeath Eaton Hill to him after all this time? ’Twas so close Philo could feel it.
“Hannah needs you.” Ensign wheezed. “We loved her as our own, Philo. ’Tis your turn now, to love her as well.”
How dare he.
Philo shot to his feet, the rage he’d almost shunned in place of penitence securing his loathing. “You think yourself so far above me because she loves you in a way she doesn’t love me.”
Ensign coughed, grimacing in pain. “Your prison is a wretched one. Such pride and anger…”
Philo lifted the Bible in his hands. “He who casts the first stone, brother.” He stepped back, rage fuming through his sleep-weary frame. “You must know, whether you live or die, my errand will not change. I will fight until my last breath for what should be mine.”
Spinning on his heel, he turned to the door but stopped when Ensign’s waning voice stalled him like threads of iron.
“Then pray I live. For if I die, I will be sure to haunt you.”
Philo glanced over his shoulder, unsure whether to be amused. His brother’s humor again? He hoped. Not that he believed in such things, but the mention of it made his skin writhe. He rubbed his head. Tomorrow eve was the ball, and that would make two nights without sleep. Though ’twas worth it. For the more he could be with Stockton, the more he could convince the man of his worthiness and that Eaton Hill must be his. He peered at his brother one last time.
If Ensign did die, and if he did choose to haunt him, at least he would haunt in a place worthy of it. Ensign would witness him living in happiness with the daughter who was truly his own. A thing the dead could never boast.
At that he grinned, welcoming the ball. It seemed, of a sudden, it couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Morning had come far too soon
. Hannah pinned her hair back, shunning her obligatory cap. She leaned toward the mirror and smiled. Was it her imagination, or did her skin look brighter, younger? A trick of the sunrise, most like.
