“We all do. But you know we cannot.”
She looked at Nathaniel, the sound of her pinched voice little more than a breath. “My heart will break if I should lose him…”
Do not speak it, Kitty. Anna raised her chin and fought the emotions that clawed at her chest. “That fear plagues us all.”
“There are times despair threatens to overcome me. The future is so dark, so unknown, and the enemy so vast I feel I cannot move right or left. I try to be brave, but…”
“You are not alone in your feelings.” Anna reached beside her, gripping Kitty’s hand. “As they shall be courageous, so shall we.”
“Aye, we shall.” Kitty peered once again to the men, their conversation beginning to find its benediction, signaling the time of their departure. “Fear comes to us all, but we must not submit to its cries.” She looked back to Anna. “I’ve known that, of course, but Nathaniel reminded me of it last night. He said submitting to our fears is the same as submitting to our foe.” A healthy pink returned to Kitty’s cheeks as if speaking her husband’s words infused her blood with tangible courage. “I may shed a tear, but I will never submit. I know well the cause for which we sacrifice so much. It is worth every effort.”
“You are a remarkable woman, Kitty.” Simple words, yet not strong enough to carry the weight of their veracity.
“Nay, not at all, but I thank you.” Kitty looked up and smiled to Eliza who turned just then to motion them from the table. “That praise is reserved for my sister. ’Twas she who planted the seed of liberty in my heart and for that I will be forever grateful.” With a quick exhale and smile that failed to cover the emotion in her face, Kitty squeezed Anna’s hand before making her way to the others.
I am not ready.
Anna reopened Henry’s bag. Had she included enough cakes? She recounted and scowled. That would hardly be enough for such a journey. She looked out the window and removed the scarf she’d stuffed near the bottom. ’Twas far too cold. He would need it now, not later.
A pop in the fire burst to light the memory that gripped since its birth not ten hours past. Henry’s wisdom embraced her, just as he had in the dark of their room. We are few in number, those of us who strive for liberty—and you are one of them my darling, though you do not fight with ball and powder. But though we are few, we are strong in purpose, and our cause emboldens us against our enemy. Anna closed her eyes, reliving the feel of his strong arms at her back, his breath on her cheek.
“Anna.”
Henry’s hand brushed her elbow, the pleasant remembrance dispersing like smoke in the wind. Nay, I am not ready. But she would never be.
Swallowing, Anna turned, gripping to her threadbare courage, praying it would no
t rip until he had gone. He could not see her cry. Not now.
She looked up. Except for she and Henry, the parlor was empty. “Where are the others?”
He glanced to the door then back to her. “They are saying their good-byes. We must leave now if we wish to travel in daylight.” His eyes, like the sky on a spring day, lured the bud of hope to bloom.
“You will return to me.”
“Dear, Anna.” Reaching for her cheek, his warm, masculine smile widened his face, while his eyes reserved a strand of pain, refusing to give voice to the worries that pricked his soul as well as hers. He pressed out an audible breath. “You and Warren will get along well.”
She studied his face, straining against the ache that clawed her spirit. “We will.”
“I am pleased he will stay and look after you.” Henry’s jaw shifted before he spoke again. “He is a good man, and I trust him with your care.”
Anna glanced down. Warren had told her everything, and though she was pleased—nay, overjoyed—to learn the truth of her birth, she would have Henry at her side over any man.
“Anna…” The depth of Henry’s timbre brought her gaze back to his. “Should I…should anything happen to me, I want you to—”
“Oh, I nearly forgot.” She snatched the scarf from the table and reached to fasten it around his neck. She could not allow him to speak such words, or her tears would stream from her eyes. “I would not have you worry. Of course Father and I shall keep watch over the garden and be sure our home is well cared for until you return.” The last word wobbled and she coughed to cover the sound of it.
Henry traced her with his gaze, as if memorizing her every feature, capturing every memory that lived between them. “I will send word to you when I can.”
“I shall treasure every letter.” Anna smiled, the pain of sadness so sharp in her chest, she could only breathe in quick, short bursts. “You mustn’t forget your bag.” She thrust the small pack at him. Her throat strained and she smiled broader. “I do hope what I prepared is sufficient. There is a letter I penned for you near the bottom, and I—”
“Anna.” He swept her against him and lowered his mouth to hers. All warmth, and depth and yearning. All grief and hope and faith together. His muscles tightened against her and she lifted to her toes, pressing against him and willing every ounce of her love to seep from her soul into his.
Groaning, he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers, allowing their breath to slow. He trailed his hands down her arms, finally knitting his fingers with hers as he raised his head. “Come.”
He lead her away from the table and stopped just inside the door as the other couples stood in twos, speaking and embracing in the cold of the gray December morning. Three mounts stood ready, prepared with blankets and gear to carry them through the travails that awaited.
The ticking of Henry’s jaw refused to abate. “You will be sure to have Kitty and Eliza assist you when your time approaches.” He faced her, his gaze dropping to her belly then rising again to her eyes. His throat bobbed. “I will pray for you. That your pain will be minimal and that you will—”