The Patriot Bride Read online

  The young woman shook her head. “I will listen in and ask my questions at the end, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Of course. I just want to make sure you are comfortable.”

  “Quite. Thank you.”

  Faith looked back to the rest. Mary was married to a man whom George knew well, so Faith had complete confidence that the woman could be trusted. But since she hadn’t been part of the group for as long as the rest of them, it might be a bit daunting to take it all in. “Well, ladies. Back in ‘69, we produced with our other sisters in arms over forty-thousand skeins of yarn and wove 20,522 yards of cloth. But now we need to do more than just weave and make yarn. We may be asked to do a great many things to help the men.”

  “We are willing,” Lavonia piped up.

  Nods were all around. Shoulders straightened. Chins lifted.

  Sylvia arrived with the tea at that moment, and Faith smiled. God was good to anoint them with such spirit. “Let us bless the tea and then we will discuss the details.”

  After giving thanks, Faith took a seat as Sylvia served the tea.

  Mary came and sat next to her. “Might I ask you a few questions now, Mrs. Jackson?”

  “Of course, and please…call me Faith.” She nibbled on a piece of shortbread—her favorite since childhood—and let the buttery goodness melt on her tongue. Maybe she could get to know more about this young wife of George’s friend.

  “You are a widow?”

  “Yes.” The word no longer pained her since she’d been a widow for twelve years.

  “May I ask about your husband and what happened to him?” Mary took a sip of her tea.

  Faith smiled. “Well, you know George. I was a child when my parents died, and he became my guardian. Over the years, he wrote hundreds of letters and visited as often as he could. And most of the time, he brought someone along with him. Normally one of his soldiers. Joseph—my husband—was one of those visitors. He told George one day that he loved my spunky personality and George, of course, told me all about it. It wasn’t long before Joseph and I were married. Sadly, he was killed in battle only a week after our wedding.”

  Mary laid a hand over one of Faith’s. “I am deeply sorry. You never remarried?”

  Faith shook her head and took a long sip of tea. The mint leaf Sylvia had placed in her cup with the tea refreshed her senses. Something she needed a lot of lately. “No. While I did not know Joseph extremely well, I did love him. I entered our union with my inheritance from my family, and he was quite wealthy. So there was that…I wouldn’t be destitute if I didn’t marry again.

  “But it was devastating to lose him so soon after we married. My young heart and mind had already faced so much loss. I felt numb. After mourning for a year, I thought I would be ready to consider suitors, but it wasn’t to be. My heart was not ready. Even if society dictated that it should. Then, when I finally decided I was ready…Well, I found that men were interested in my fortune but not necessarily in me.” She chuckled. “It didn’t help that the suitors seemed to lose interest as soon as they found out I had my own opinions and wasn’t willing to give up my independence. So now I find ‘tis best to just keep to myself and work with the women for our cause.”

  A smile lifted Mary’s lips. “I imagine that George is quite a formidable man to cross as well. What does he have to say in all this?”

  “Oh, he’d love for me to remarry so he can be ‘Uncle George’ to my children, but I’m afraid it is probably too late for me.”

  Twinkling eyes met hers as Mary laid a hand on top of Faith’s. “It is never too late, and you are a beautiful woman.”

  Even though she longed for children of her own, Faith wasn’t sure about remarrying. God would have to bring the right man directly to her if she were to consider it. And she’d have to know—without a doubt—that she could trust him with her life. Her father and George had set high standards for her to compare any man to. “I appreciate the compliment, Mary, but we will have to leave it in the Lord’s hands. For now, we have much work to keep our hands busy.”

  Mary nodded. “You are correct. I promise not to play matchmaker.”

  “Good. Because George does enough of that already.”

  They laughed together and then Mary’s face sobered. “Back to the reason for this meeting. My husband has sent me with a private message for you. Instructions for our group.”

  Faith took the paper offered and opened the message. She couldn’t help but gasp at some of the instructions. Her eyes widened as she glanced at Mary.

  Her friend covered her hand again and nodded. “Now…what can I do to help?”

  The candle on Anthony Jameson’s desk cast an irritating, shadowy glow on the paper he read. Not at all the news he wanted to hear.

  Not at all.

  Apparently, the King was denying his request. Again.

  After all the promises he had made to Anthony, this was unacceptable.

  Blasted King George was the only reason he was in the Colonies. And after all Anthony had done for the monarch, this was how he was to be repaid? Why, he’d practically given the man every piece of information that was needed for his…conquest. He’d curried favor and fawned and eavesdropped his way into the royal’s graces for ten long years. All he’d asked for in return was a measly title. Nothing fancy. Just something adequate enough for him and his future bride.

  Something deserving of his name.

  Anthony took a moment to look at himself in the mirror beside his desk and slicked back a rogue hair on the side.

  The land and position offered to him decades ago in the Colonies was not holding the worth and prestige that Anthony had hoped. He’d come to the Americas to gain the status that he couldn’t gain in Britain—that of a noble. Even after all he’d done for the King, it wasn’t enough to gain the good graces and earn what he’d worked so hard for all this time. What a waste. It was like a slap in the face.

  He lifted his chin. This wouldn’t do. Not for one moment longer.

  The revolution had been an inconvenience up to this point, but maybe it was time to use it for his benefit. Not that he cared one whit which side won. As long as it benefited him. He’d called himself a Patriot to those who had the means to profit him as such. At one time, he would have stayed loyal to the Crown, but if this was how he was to be treated, then good ol’ King George could forget about enlisting Anthony’s help.

  The rumors of all-out war had been whispered for many years. As tensions rose, maybe he could count on just that—war. And quite possibly it could help him achieve a status in the new country that would equal a British royal. The thought made him puff out his chest. Yes, that would work.

  Once America’s colonies were out of Britain’s clutches, the opportunities would be endless. He just needed a little investment to do what needed to be done. And he knew just the handsome young widow who had it. She would surely be pleased with his attentions.

  He tilted the paper toward the candle and burned the missive in his hand. A slight chuckle lifted his lips.

  If the King wouldn’t give him what he wanted, then he would just get it another way.

  Saturday, December 17, 1774

  Faith breathed in the crisp air. Snow sifted down in a soft curtain of white. It made everything feel fresh and clean even though the world around her was in turmoil. The walk back to her home had given her far too much time to contemplate the fact that the mutterings of war could become real at any time, and it drained her of energy. Why didn’t she just take the carriage? Sometimes her independent nature clouded her judgment.

  Clayton opened the door for her almost as if he had anticipated the very moment she set foot outside the threshold. That man’s senses were uncanny. Shaking her head, Faith suppressed a smile. Her butler might be odd, but he was the best of the best.

  Inside her home, the fireplace roared with a great fire, but it couldn’t cut the chill that had seeped in through her layers. A shiver raced up her spine as she stood in front of
the fireplace. Even with three petticoats, she longed to wrap herself up in a blanket.

  Surveying the room as she turned to warm her other side, she pondered her lavish surroundings. The parlor was furnished in lush reds and golds. The deep mahogany wood her husband loved was featured throughout the house, and she found that it comforted her. Some of the women thought the dark wood was too masculine, but the gold silk on the couches seemed to brighten up the room. Even though it was all beautiful, it seemed a waste when it was just her. Lavonia had tried to convince her to redecorate last year, but why spend the money now when they were in the midst of such turmoil?

  With a glance to the clock, she realized the ladies would be here in a just a few minutes for their next meeting. They had worked on many intense projects for the Patriots, but the most difficult had been their latest. Learning to write coded messages. They’d been given the training and then had to practice. Lots and lots of practice. The codes were hidden in messages from the women so that if anyone tried to trace it back it just appeared to be a lady friend sending a secret note rather than anything political. Faith wasn’t sure the plan would work, but all the women had worked very hard on the project. While it made a few of the women blush to even think about writing a letter that could be called scandalous, they all knew it was for the cause of freedom. And for that, they’d do whatever they could.

  When her hands finally felt a bit warmer, she looked down at her dress. Maybe she should change before the ladies arrived. “Clayton?”

  “Yes, ma’am?” The man was always close when she needed him.

  “I’ve decided I need a few moments before the meeting. Would you please welcome my friends and offer them some hot beverages in case I’m not back before they arrive? I believe hot apple cider and tea sound very appealing right now.”

  “Yes, of course.” He bowed and headed toward the door.

  Faith slipped up the stairs to her massive bedchamber. The scent of leather and beeswax drifted over her like a welcoming blanket. The deep mahogany furniture graced this room as well—it had been her husband’s choice, but she’d loved it for many years and the staff rubbed the beeswax into the wood every week. Now the familiar smells and gleaming wood greeted her in a way that begged her to stay—she longed to just slip under the covers of her bed and sleep away the cold. The busyness of the past weeks was beginning to catch up with her. And she doubted it would slow down any time soon.

  As her maid entered the room, the thought of going to all the trouble of changing her gown seemed wasteful. Faith shook her head. “I’ve decided I’ll just return to the meeting, but thank you.”

  Marie nodded. “Yes, ma’am. The ladies have begun to arrive.”

  “Thank you.” As she watched her maid leave, Faith let out a long sigh. Back to work she must go. A good night’s sleep would help to aid her weary mind. But that would have to wait.

  She took the stairs at a slow pace and the chatter below made her smile. Some time with the ladies should refresh her.

  As she entered the parlor, the women turned toward her. “Please, everyone, have a seat.” Faith made her way to her chair. “It seems we have much to discuss again this evening. But first, we should continue with our scripture reading. Who memorized the verse Lavonia gave us?”

  Everyone’s hand raised. What a wonderful group of women.

  “We are in Psalm 120 today.” She paused and gave them all a moment to turn to the passage before she began reading:

  “In my distress I cried unto the Lord, and he heard me. Deliver my soul, O Lord, from lying lips, and from a deceitful tongue. What shall be given unto thee? or what shall be done unto thee, thou false tongue? Sharp arrows of the mighty, with coals of juniper.

  “Woe is me, that I sojourn in Mesech, that I dwell in the tents of Kedar! My soul hath long dwelt with him that hateth peace. I am for peace: but when I speak, they are for war.”

  A hush fell over the ladies. War was a word used far too often of late.

  The bell outside rang. Faith looked about. Everyone was already present; they weren’t expecting anyone else. Curious.

  A moment later, Clayton entered. “A Mr. Lewis is here to speak to your group, ma’am.” With a bow, her butler exited.

  Mr. Lewis took a moment to look around the room and then bowed. “Good evening, ladies.”

  Silence permeated the parlor like a heavy, wet blanket. Several women narrowed their eyes at their guest. Faith would have found it humorous had she not been curious and hesitant about the man as well. “Good evening, Mr. Lewis. How may I help you?”

  He strode forward and offered her a missive sealed with a red wax. “Mr. Washington has sent me.” He held the note out to her with another bow and nodded.

  Faith took it and broke the seal. Opening it, she recognized George’s script immediately:

  Lewis is a good friend and trustworthy. At great risk, we’ve sent him with an important request. Please aid him on his return journey as I know you will. But do not under any circumstances alert anyone else to his presence.

  She closed the note and looked around the room. “Ladies, it is of utmost importance that we keep our guest’s visit a secret. Are we all in accord?”

  Quick affirmations filled the air. Faith nodded back to Mr. Lewis. “Please tell us how we can help.”

  The man licked his lips and took a deep breath. “I will attempt to be brief. The request is for one of you ladies to become a messenger. It would be an ongoing mission of sorts because it’s vital that the messenger’s familiarity in the area become regular in case she is seen in the vicinity. The meetings need to be out of sight as much as possible, but people need to see the messenger as a regular patron in the area. To maintain the facade of normal, everyday outings.”

  No one spoke.

  Faith tilted her head. “A messenger to whom?”

  “One of our men.” Lewis straightened his shoulders.

  What was he not saying? Faith glanced at Lavonia and could see the same questions burning behind her gaze. “Is this dangerous?”

  “Quite so.” The man lifted his chin and then looked down to his shoes before continuing. “But we need your help, and none of our men can attempt it without getting caught. The Patriots believe that one of the ladies—one of you—can aid us in this case.”

  “Who will the messages be delivered to exactly? You have only told us ‘tis one of your men.”

  “He’s a spy. Well placed within the Loyalists.”

  Gasps were heard throughout the room. The women began to whisper to one another.

  “Just to ensure that we are understanding what you are requesting …” Faith took a deep breath. “You need one of us to get messages—on a frequent basis—to a man posing as a Loyalist?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will that put our reputation at risk?”

  Lewis shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “There is that possibility if you are seen together. And there is a good probability of that. Thus the need for the rest of the plan.”

  Several of the women looked to her with brows raised and eyes wide. A few of the others whispered to each other.

  “This would not be requested unless it was of greatest importance. The leaders are convinced this is the only way and will provide us with the highest advantage. Both in time and in confusion. They will not be looking for women to be spies.”

  The room erupted as the women voiced their shock.

  Faith held up a hand like she usually did when she needed their attention. “Friends…please.” She closed her eyes for a brief moment and shot a quick prayer heavenward. “There is no need to go into hysterics.”

  Lavonia nodded. “Indeed. There is nothing wrong with Mr. Lewis giving us the details in an honest manner.”

  Normally timid Lydia spoke up. “But I do not think my husband would allow for his wife to be a…a…spy.”

  Several of the other women nodded and voiced their concerns.

  Faith listened and watched Mr. Lewis’s sho
ulders droop an inch. How could they allow fear to keep them from helping out the Patriot cause? It couldn’t be borne.

  “Ladies!” She stood and stomped her foot. “What of freedom? What of independence? What of honoring what the good Lord above has given us by using our minds and our hands to accomplish what is right?” Faith took a deep breath. “I, for one, will not let this chance go by—knowing that we could help. Let it never be said that the Patriots failed because they did not have the aid that we can provide.”

  Every lady—except Lydia—stood and nodded. Lydia glanced around and closed her eyes. When she came to her feet, all the women applauded.

  “Now…the question is, who will be the brave one to take on this task?” Lavonia put her hands on her hips.

  The room quieted again. Everyone looked around.

  Five hands raised. Some with a bit of hesitance, but they were still raised.

  As Faith’s gaze roamed from woman to woman, a startling thought plunged into her chest. She was the only one without a husband or children to tend to. How could she even think to allow any one of them to take on a possibly dangerous mission? Shaking her head, she raised her hand high. “As proud as I am of all of you, I cannot allow any of you to do this task. You all have husbands and children that will be put at risk if you do this, and I do not—”

  “Will that not make it even more dangerous for you? Being alone? A widow?” Lydia shook her head vehemently. “We cannot abide it if anything were to happen to you.”

  Murmurs filled the room.

  Lavonia moved forward and took Faith’s hands in hers. Her eyes pierced to Faith’s very soul. “Are you sure about this?” she whispered low.

  “Quite.”

  Her friend nodded. “Then so be it.” She kept hold of Faith’s right hand and turned to face the others. “It seems we have a volunteer, Mr. Lewis. And you will not find a braver woman in all of Boston, or even New England I dare say.”

  Mr. Lewis came forward and bowed before he took Faith’s hand. “I will get the message to the leaders right away and will be in touch forthwith.” With a nod, he retreated out of the parlor.