Clara tightened the cloak around the young girl before taking her hand. “God speed, Thomas.”
“God speed.” Thomas’s throat grew tight with words he wanted to say, but couldn’t.
A storm roared within him and he shuffled forward as if prodded on by invisible angels. They needed to get on their way.
“It will be too risky to send word to one another, at least for a while,” Daniel said. “When it’s safe, I promise to let you know we are well.”
Daniel’s voice was thick with emotion as he faced the girls. “Your father was a remarkable man. I count it an honor to have known him. No doubt he watches over you, just as God will always do.”
“Thank you, sir.” Eliza’s voice cracked and her eyes swam with tears. Kitty looked away and wrapped her arms around her middle.
Daniel opened the door and Thomas nudged the girls forward as they began their weary trek into the starry blackness.
Chapter Six
Samuel reached the Williams’ cabin and kicked in the door as he had done at the press. A deserted home greeted him and the glowing embers in the fireplace mocked. He was too late.
Blast!
He yelled, slamming the side of his fist into the door-jam. “Fool!”
They’d been here, no doubt. The small room bore witness of a hasty departure. A bloodied rag lay suspiciously on the table. The trunk in the corner sat open and exposed. In the smaller room a set of men’s clothes were flayed about. They belonged to Watson. The jacket, ripped at the shoulder, had spatters of blood on the collar. So did the shirt. He remembered Donaldson’s mangled face and shook his head.
Stomping to the largest bedchamber, he absorbed the scene and stopped in his tracks. There, on the edge of the bed were two nightgowns, folded, one on top of the other. The fronts of each were wet and covered in mud. He bent over and picked them up, caressing the lace.
Eliza, what has he done to you?
Samuel sat on the edge of the bed and buried his face in the neck of Eliza’s nightgown. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. Her rose perfume graced his nose under the earthy tones of the mud and laughed at him. If he’d only gotten there sooner.
As much as he despised Watson, he had to give him credit. The man had brains. He’d planned this. And planned it well.
Where were they?
Shaking his head, he talked to the fabric. “Eliza, please forgive me.”
He got up, taking the gowns with him, and left the empty cabin.
“I’ll make this up to you, Eliza. I promise,” he said aloud. “I’ll find you. And then I’ll make Watson pay.”
Sandwich was sixty miles south of Boston.
Sixty miles. Eliza had never walked that far in her life. And certainly not with angry Redcoats on her heels. Pushing away the pit in her middle, she reminded herself again that Samuel would help them—he would call off the hunt, just as soon as she could get word to him.
The stars began to fade, and in a few short hours the morning light would sprinkle down through the canopy of leaves. For now, it was still dark. A light misty fog enveloped them, the cold seeping through her clothes and biting her skin. She inh
aled the crisp, clean scent of freshly fallen leaves, trying to chase away the exhaustion in her weary muscles. By now they’d been awake and walking for hours. The sound of the crunching ground under their feet droned on and on. Eliza wanted to roll into a ball and sleep for days. Her legs already screamed in pain and hellish blisters germinated on the backs of her feet. But they continued on without resting, without speaking.
They stayed off the main roads and trails, just as Thomas had said they would do, and so far they hadn’t seen a soul. He insisted that if they moved quickly, the journey would take no longer than three days.
The thick forest, with its tall trees and billowing foliage, allowed for little moonlight, and Eliza prayed God would break with tradition—just for today—and send the morning sun several hours early. The darkness of the trail forced her to take cautious steps as they climbed over fallen logs and stepped around large boulders that jumped out at them from the shadows. They continued for several more hours—or what seemed like it, making Eliza wonder if they were actually going forward or only traveling in circles since the view around them never appeared to change.
Eliza glanced at Kitty, then Thomas. She suspected her sister’s mind raced, as her own did, at what they’d both heard Thomas confess hours before.
Careful to remain inconspicuous, Eliza peeked at him while they walked, just as the heaven-sent sprinkle of morning light began to illuminate their path and the chorus of chirping birds accompanied their steps. She pulled her lip between her teeth. It wasn’t his fault they were now running for their lives. That responsibility rested on Father. If he had not joined the Sons of Liberty, then Thomas would not have been forced to use his name when the soldiers demanded it. Blackmail was a vicious thing.
Kitty hadn’t spoken a word. She walked with her head bowed, arms clutching her stomach. Eliza wanted to speak with her, to comfort her, but she needed time. That was Kitty’s way.
Eliza ignored the pain in her heels and kept her mind busy. If she didn’t, her feet would murder her. Thankfully, no one spoke. It allowed her to think. What kind of cruel person would resort to blackmail? She’d noted the humiliation in Thomas’s voice, the shame. But he had done everything for the welfare of those he loved—there was no shame in that.