Now and Forever (74 page)

"Hang Morristown and hang the lot of you! You will leave my property now."

The original alpha male. Defending turf, protecting women and children, acting like a horse's ass.

"His Excellency's orders are clear." The second soldier met Devane's eyes. "You have no choice in this, sir."

"I'll torch the damned place before I'll have the vermin-infested lot of you beneath my roof again."

Pretty clear on which side of the war his loyalties rested. Wasn't it just her luck to whiz through the centuries only to land in the lap of a Tory sympathizer?

The first soldier reached inside his cloak, then removed an envelope. He handed it to Devane who regarded the seal with something close to disgust.

Dakota craned her neck to get a better look at it. The wax was thick, a deep shade of cranberry that approached maroon. It made a satisfying crack when Devane lifted the flap. He unfolded the letter, read swiftly, then crumpled it in his hand.

"Stop!" she cried out. "That's a letter from George Washington!"
Father of our country. Slayer of cherry trees. The guy on the dollar bill!

"And a most unusual event," Devane said, his deep voice rich with sarcasm. "If the man spent as much time with the sword as he does with the pen, his cause against the British would be greatly advanced."

He tossed the crumpled letter to the ground the way another man would toss a cigarette butt. She considered leaping from the horse and making a grab for it, but the way her ankle was throbbing she'd probably end up in an ungraceful heap on the ground.

The soldiers looked at each other then back at Devane. Dakota held her breath. The male ego was a force to behold.

"His Excellency's most esteemed colleague General McDowell requires two front rooms and the second floor bedrooms for his use. You and your family may enjoy the remainder."

"Hang General McDowell!"

"Papa's angry," Abigail whispered.

"I know," Dakota whispered back.

It was an awesome sight.

His jaw was set in stone. His thick dark brows met in a square knot over his nose. His blue eyes burned with a fury she was glad was not directed at her.

"May you and General Washington rot in hell."

Grabbing the reins of the horse, he headed up the hill the rest of the way to the house.

#

A small farm south of Franklin Ridge

Emilie Crosse Rutledge watched as her husband buttoned the heavy black wool cape at his throat.

"Look at you," she said, reaching up to tuck his shirt collar inside the cape. "Can't even manage to get dressed on your own."

"Everything's going to be fine, Em," he said, drawing her into his arms. "Josiah and I will be back by morning."

She tried to smile but failed. "I don't know what's wrong with me," she said, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. "All day long I've had the strangest feeling that something terrible is going to happen."

He inclined his head toward the staircase. "Something terrible's going to happen, all right. I about ten minutes Andrew and Sara are going to wake up from their naps and all hell will break loose."

Not even the thought of her beloved children could wipe the fear from Emilie's mind. "Be careful," she said, cupping his face between her hands. "Nothing is worth losing you."

"It's a simple drop," Zane said. "We ride to the White Horse Tavern near Jockey Hollow and leave the blankets with the owner. What can go wrong?"

"I don't know," Emilie said, "but I'm afraid something will."

"You didn't embroider the wrong codes in the binding, did you?"

She shook her head. "Of course I didn't. I'm the one who originated the idea, remember?"

"Then there's no problem."

"That inn is dangerous," she said, trying desperately to shake off the feeling of dread building inside her heart. "What if the Tories figure out you're really a counterspy? They hanged three men last week, Zane. How do you know Patrick isn't part of it?" She'd heard the gossip about Patrick Devane, how his loyalties had shifted to the British when his late wife ran off with a Continental army officer. They said he had a heart of stone and that not even his little daughter could make him smile.

"Remember Philadelphia," she warned. The Tories had stolen their farm away from them, but not before they'd seen Devane in the company of Benedict Arnold and his young wife, Peggy Shippen, on more than a few occasions. You didn't have to be a rocket scientist to know what that meant.

"They won't figure out a damn thing," Zane said, his jaw set in lines of granite. "Patrick's a good man. He wouldn't put us in any danger."

This time it was Emilie's jaw that turned to cement. "I don't like him."

Her husband laughed. "You don't really know him."

"I don't care," she said, waving a hand in dismissal. "I didn't like him when we lived in Philly and I don't like him now. He's a cold-hearted rat and I'll bet you my last packet of pins that he's working for the British."

"He's a patriot."

"I wish I could be as sure of that as you are."

"Trust me, Em. The guy's on our side."

Josiah Blakelee, a huge bear of a man, appeared in the doorway to the parlor., "The horses are saddled and ready," he said.

Zane nodded while Emilie struggled to compose herself. She looked up at Josiah. "Where is Rebekah?"

"She will not come down to bid me farewell."

"I know exactly how she feels," said Emilie. When they first joined the spy ring three years ago, it had seemed exciting, but now that she was the mother of twins she knew only terror.

The war was everywhere. It sat at your kitchen table while you drank hot cider instead of tea; it climbed your stairs as you searched for an extra blanket to give to a freezing solder asleep on your porch' it crawled into your bed at night and colored your dreams.

The war was fought in front yards and village greens. Mothers brought buckets of water to sons as those sons battled to hold on to the hill where they had played as children. Even knowing that the war would soon end and that their side would be victorious Emilie experienced moments of fear so powerful, so deeply visceral, that it made her wonder if her heart would stop beating.

All day long she'd been filled with profound dread, and now that it was time to say goodbye to her husband, she wanted to throw her arms around him and beg him to stay home where he was safe.

"Godspeed," she whispered, touching Zane's cheek with her hand.

"I love you, Em," he said quietly. "I'll be home before dawn."

She stood by the window and watched as the two men trudged through the snow to the stables where their horses waited.

Be careful what you wish for,
she thought with a bittersweet laugh. She had wanted a husband who understood the meaning of commitment to something greater than himself, and in this second marriage to Zane she had been granted everything she'd ever wanted.

The man she'd loved then divorced all those years ago no longer existed. He had been replaced by a man of vision and commitment, a man whose loyalty to country was second only to his loyalty to the woman he loved and the children they shared.

They both belonged to this time and place. Their children were the children of two centuries, conceived in the twentieth and delivered in the eighteenth, and she marveled at the miracle fate had wrought from nothing more than a man and woman in love.

She'd fallen in love with a rogue only to have him turn into a rebel hero, and there were times late at night when her fears ran free, that she would trade the hero for the rogue in an instant if it meant she could keep him safe.

She waved farewell as Zane and Josiah rode off down the lane. Snow had begun falling an hour ago, gentle flakes that softened the edges of everything they touched, even the ugly reality of war. She turned to leave the window when something caught her eye in the sky above the stables.

"Oh God," she whispered. Her pulse beat hard at the base of her throat. A jagged tower of black clouds rose up in the distance toward Franklin Ridge, obscured by the snow. Three years ago she'd seen a cloud formation just like that and it had changed their lives forever.

"No," she said, stepping back as if she could put distance between herself and her fears. It couldn't be. Not again.

Not now.
Not when victory would soon be within reach.

She knew all about that cloud formation, knew exactly what it meant. The first time it had appeared, it had carried her and Zane back through time in a crimson hot-air balloon to this place where they'd found happiness. The second time it had appeared, Andrew McVie had flown off in the same bright red balloon to meet his destiny.

She peered into the gathering darkness, straining for a glimpse of crimson silk against the snowy sky, praying she wouldn't see it. The clouds were nothing without the balloon, nothing but a lot of bad weather.

As long as there was no balloon, she had nothing to worry about.

Nothing at all.

Chapter Five

The two-story house rose up through the snow like a mirage of beautiful Georgian architecture, untouched by time. The Colonial era's love of symmetry was apparent in the way the house grew outward from the center, with an equal number of windows to either side of the front door. The building boasted a fresh coat of whitewash. The shutters that framed each of the twelve windows were painted a dark forest green. Snow blanketed the shingled roof while four tall chimneys puffed pale grey smoke into the evening sky.

I know this place,
Dakota thought. The question was, how? The area was too hilly to be Princeton, too wooded to be the Shore, but she knew it was New Jersey because it felt like home.

In many ways the place reminded her of the Ford Mansion in Morristown. She'd worked there as a docent during summer vacations, handing out brochures and keeping her eyes on squabbling kids determined to bounce on the bed where George and Martha slept during the infamous winter of 1779-1780.

Most people thought the Valley Forge winter was the worst of the war but 1779 had it beat. The snows started early and came often, twenty-eight blizzards by the coming of spring.

"Abigail," she said, "has it been snowing a lot lately?"

The little girl, who apparently had decided Dakota wasn't a monster after all, twisted around to look at her. "Don't you know?"

Dakota shook her head. "I am new to the area."

"It snowed for my birthday," Abigail said. "Cook says she cannot ever remember such an early snowfall."

"Your birthday," Dakota persisted. "When would that be?"

The little girl's forehead puckered in a frown much like her father's. "In September," she said, then held up ten fingers twice.

The twentieth of September. That was an early snowfall for Nome.

A young boy rounded the side of the house and raced toward them.

"William!" Abigail cried out. "We saw soldiers in the woods!"

William skidded to a halt next to Devane. "They said they had the right to take over the house but Ma turned them out on their ears." His jaw dropped open when he spied Dakota. Splotches of bright red spread across his cheeks.

"This is my fairy godmother," said Abigail. "I thought she was a monster but she isn't."

If possible, William looked even more astonished. Devane's patience snapped.

"Look sharp, boy!" He handed the reins to William then wheeled about and started up the stairs to the house. "Do not move until you're told to."

"Hey!" Dakota called out. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

He didn't break stride. "I'll send Joseph to help you."

She wished she could aim a snowball at his fat head.

"Who's Joseph?" she asked the boy.

"M-my pa."

"Where is he?"

"Dunno," said William.

"It's freezing out here."