Rebellious Heart (29 page)

If he thought just because she was a woman that he could coerce her into something, then he hadn’t learned yet how strong she could be.

“Think about all the people who are involved in the smuggling,” she said. “Think about all the lives you’ll put in jeopardy if you turn yourself in. Lieutenant Wolfe won’t stop with you. He’ll find a way to make you reveal all the names of everyone else involved in the treasonous activities. And when he’s done torturing you and sends you to England for trial, what will stop him from going after Dotty anyway? Or me?”

Ben didn’t say anything.

A cough rose in her chest and for a long moment it wracked her body, leaving her unable to breathe except in wheezing bursts.

Phoebe came into the room. She’d likely been hovering in the hallway all along. “Time for you to go, Mr. Ross. Your visit is wearing out Miss Susie.”

“You can find a different way to help save Dotty and Tom,” Susanna said. “You can still put Dotty on the stand and have her testify like you planned. We can try to prove the lieutenant is guilty of the murders.”

“I can’t prove anything. I’ll only be able to arouse suspicion, and that’s not going to be enough.” His face lacked as much conviction as his voice. “Besides, it’s always risky accusing an officer.”

Phoebe pushed Susanna back down on the bed and tugged her covers back up. “Go on, Mr. Ross. We can’t be making Miss Susie any sicker now, can we?”

At that, Ben jumped to his feet.

Before he could move away, Susanna grabbed his hand. “Please. Promise me you won’t give in to Lieutenant Wolfe’s demands.”

Ben tried to back up, but she clung to him.

“Please.”

He hesitated, and she had the feeling there was something in the letter he wasn’t revealing to her.

Phoebe poured a spoonful of boneset tonic and shoved the bitter medicine at Susanna’s lips. “Be a good girl and swallow this.”

Susanna turned her head away from Phoebe. “I won’t do anything until Ben promises he won’t turn himself in to Lieutenant Wolfe.”

Ben’s jaw flexed. He stood there motionless in silent contemplation. Then he finally nodded. “I promise I won’t do anything until the trial. As long as you promise to stay in bed and let Phoebe take good care of you.”

“Very well,” she whispered. “I promise to stay in bed.”
At least until the trial
. But she wasn’t planning on telling him that.

He nodded at their truce.

Even so, there was something about his expression that warned her he hadn’t given in, that he was just as determined to do the right thing as she was—no matter the personal cost.

Somehow she had to find a way to turn herself in to the lieutenant before he did.

Ben followed Sergeant Frazel up the plank steps of Wayside Tavern, the inn where the lieutenant had demanded quartering during his stay in Weymouth. After the ride from the parsonage, Ben’s fingers and limbs were as numb as his heart.

He had promised Susanna that he wouldn’t do anything until the trial. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t talk with the lieutenant.

Sergeant Frazel put a hand to the door, then turned to Ben, his kind eyes clouded. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ross.”

“It’s not your fault.” He’d already assured the young man a dozen times. “You did the best you could.”

“Maybe there was more I could have done.”

The laughter from within the tavern sifted out in the cold December night. Overhead, the sky was clear and every star shone with perfect brilliance in stark contrast to the tempest brewing within him.

“I’m going to give the lieutenant exactly what he wants,” Ben said. “But first I need the guarantee he won’t hurt Dotty or Susanna anymore.”

“I’ll make sure he leaves Dotty alone,” the sergeant reassured him. “I’ve been guarding her myself.”

Ben nodded his gratitude before the soldier pushed open the door of the tavern, letting the boisterous voices and the heavy scent of tobacco fall over them. Sergeant Frazel wound through the crowded room, with Ben lagging behind.

The tavern was frequented mostly by miscreants who preferred to stir up trouble rather than work hard. Immersed in their cards and rum, they hardly gave Ben a second glance.

“This den of thieves is a fitting place for you to stay, Lieutenant,” Ben said as he stopped beside the corner table where Lieutenant Wolfe sat alone smoking his pipe.

The lieutenant dismissed Sergeant Frazel with a wave of
his hand before glancing up at Ben. “I thought I might see you here tonight, Mr. Ross.”

“Indeed, Lieutenant.” He could feel the noose around his neck growing ever tighter. “It would appear that you have gambled and won.”

“I’m very glad to hear of your willingness to cooperate finally. I was hoping once you read my letter you’d be more agreeable to assisting me in my investigation.”

The letter burned against Ben’s waistcoat into his chest. Of course he hadn’t allowed any of the Smiths to read the message. He didn’t want them to see the true nature of Lieutenant Wolfe’s demand—that he hand himself over in place of arresting and hanging Susanna.

He hadn’t wanted to scare the Smiths any further. Mrs. Smith had explained how her threats to the lieutenant earlier in the day had deterred him from arresting Susanna and that he’d taken Tom instead. Ben didn’t have the heart to tell her that none of her pompous threats would keep the lieutenant from getting what he wanted.

If the officer decided to arrest Susanna, there would be nothing he or any other man could do to prevent it. The lieutenant was within his legal bounds to implicate Susanna after her involvement in breaking the law to help a runaway indentured servant.

And the lieutenant wasn’t about to be satisfied with letting a mere slave take the blame in Susanna’s stead. No, the lieutenant had laid out in the letter the only possible terms he would accept in place of arresting Susanna. He wanted Ben and Ben alone.

“I will stand up at the trial and take the entire burden of blame upon my shoulders for the indentured servant.”

The lieutenant narrowed his eyes. “And . . .”

“And I’ll become your scapegoat for the smuggling operations.”

“Excellent—”

“Under two conditions.”

The lieutenant took a puff of his pipe and spoke with it clenched in his teeth. “You have no leverage for bargaining, Mr. Ross.”

“I know you murdered at least two young women found along the Braintree coast, Lieutenant. And although I may not have the means to prove it, I can certainly cast suspicion upon you that will reach the ears of your superiors.”

The dim lighting of the tavern shadowed the lieutenant’s face, hiding his reaction to Ben’s words. He was silent, taking several more puffs on his pipe before extracting it from his mouth. “What are your conditions, Mr. Ross?”

“Leave Susanna Smith alone. Drop all charges. And never come near her again.”

“As long as you carry forth your end of the bargain, I’ll have no need for Miss Smith, shall I?”

Ben didn’t trust the lieutenant. As Susanna had said earlier, what was to stop him from turning upon Susanna again once he had Ben in his custody?

“You must give me your word as a gentleman and an officer,” Ben demanded. “And you must also release Dotty and the Smith slave. Absolve them of their guilt and let them both go free.”

“You can’t possibly expect me to let Dotty go free. She has a contract to fulfill.”

“Convince the judge to release her into the care of the Smiths with the option that they may buy the rest of her indenture from Merchant Lovelace.”

The lieutenant was silent. The raucous laughter behind
them pounded against Ben. How dare anyone laugh when lives were at stake.

“Bring Dotty to the trial,” Ben persisted. “Hand her over to the Smiths along with the slave. Then you may take me in chains to Boston.”

The lieutenant sat forward, his expression deadly. “I agree to your stipulations, Mr. Ross. But if you fail me in any way—any way at all—I won’t hesitate to go after Susanna Smith. And if I go after her, you won’t like what I’ll do to her.”

Ben swallowed the revulsion that threatened to rise in his throat. “Rest assured, Lieutenant. I won’t fail you.”

Ben perched on the edge of the front box pew of Weymouth’s North Parish Church. The building was unheated except for the warming boxes that members of the community brought with them. Everyone who’d assembled for the trial wore layers of clothing for extra warmth just as they did for worship services.

With less than a week until Christmas, a winter chill permeated the plain boxlike meetinghouse.

Nevertheless, Ben loosened his cravat, his body already overheated. It wouldn’t be long now until he lost all sense of comfort. Once he was dragged off in chains to Boston, the lieutenant would dump him in a frigid, dank prison. He’d likely never feel warmth again.

But he wouldn’t hand himself over yet, not until Tom and Dotty were brought to the trial. He wouldn’t do anything until he made sure Lieutenant Wolfe kept his word.

From what Ben had heard, the lieutenant had locked the prisoners into a makeshift jail in two rooms at the Wayside Tavern. Over the past two days, Ben had made himself nearly
sick with worry as he’d plotted the various options available to them. He’d even considered how he might break Dotty and Tom free of their prisons.

After all the deliberating, Ben had come to the conclusion that the best plan for everyone was that he do what the lieutenant had requested and take the blame for both Dotty and the smuggling. In fact, as far as he could tell, there was no other way to keep Susanna safe.

Ben glanced sideways to the opposite front pew where Lieutenant Wolfe made a dashing figure in his military uniform, complete with sashes and ribbons and silver buttons. The lieutenant’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. Somehow he’d guessed the intensity of Ben’s ardor for Susanna and realized he’d do absolutely anything for her.

If the lieutenant needed to return to Boston with a criminal, it might as well be him. Ben was strong enough to resist betraying the others. He didn’t have a wife and children that he’d leave behind. He was the perfect candidate to take the blame for the smuggling.

He would give up all hope of improving his reputation. He would become reviled, detested, and possibly condemned to die. But at least he would end his days with integrity and honor before God.

A gust of wind rattled the large windowpanes as if it protested the gathering. From the heavy snowflakes beginning to fall, he had the feeling a winter squall was blowing in from the bay.

He looked out over the crowded meetinghouse, to the gallery where the women waited. Mrs. Smith sat stiff and unmoving on the bench next to her mother, Mrs. Quincy, who’d come from Mount Wollaston that morning.

Susanna was nowhere in sight, and for that he was grateful.
He’d been afraid that in spite of Susanna’s promise to stay in bed, she would come and offer herself to the lieutenant in place of Tom.

And if she publicly confessed her role in aiding the runaway, the lieutenant would have little choice but to press charges against her, even though he really wanted Ben.

Judge Niles, with his elaborate robe and long white periwig, stood near the elevated pulpit conversing with Reverend Smith. The half-circle window that graced the wall behind the pulpit provided little light in contrast to the large rectangular windows that served the rest of the meetinghouse. Thus, even at midday, the oil lamps near the pulpit had been lit, and they cast flickering shadows across the pew where Ben sat. The murky flutters taunted him, reminding him just how dark his life was about to become.

He tugged at his cravat again, and agony clenched his gut. Could he really willingly place himself into the custody of the lieutenant? He’d be signing his death warrant if he did.

Had he given up too readily on the possibility of trying to prosecute Lieutenant Wolfe? Could he at least try to make the man take responsibility for the murders? Maybe he still should have Dotty testify about the cruelty she’d suffered. But would anyone care, once they saw her swelling abdomen and branded her a harlot?

Ben shook his pounding head. No. He needed to go through with the plan and give Lieutenant Wolfe what he wanted—a criminal to blame for the smuggling.

They needed to start the trial. Now, before he changed his mind.

Ben glanced over his shoulder toward the entrance of the meetinghouse. What was taking the beadle so long to collect the prisoners?

The box pews behind him were crowded with the men of Weymouth, some from Braintree, and others from the Caucus Club. Most of them disliked Lieutenant Wolfe. Their glares, wrinkled brows, and somber expressions all testified to the toll the lieutenant’s presence in their community had taken.

They would be grateful to Ben if he could find a way to get rid of the red monkey. And he’d do it, just not in the way they expected.

The meetinghouse door rattled, and suddenly it swung open. The wind caught hold of the door and slammed it against the wall with a bang that brought everyone to silence.

Ben jumped, but relief swelled through him. Finally the beadle was back with the prisoners. Now he could get the dirty deed done. He could hand himself over to Lieutenant Wolfe.

Several loud gasps from the balcony drew Ben’s attention upward. Mrs. Smith had risen to her feet. Her eyes widened and dismay carved lines into her face.

Even before a word slipped from Mrs. Smith’s lips, Ben knew the prisoners hadn’t just walked into the meetinghouse. He twisted in his pew.

There, framed in the open doorway and the swirling snow, stood Susanna. The wind had captured her cloak and swept the hood from her head, revealing her loose hair. It blew in dark tangles about her pale face. Her apparel was askew. She’d likely come straight from bed and only stopped to throw on a gown as an afterthought.

Still, her beauty was utterly breathtaking, with the contrast of her ebony hair against the whiteness of the blowing snow.

The wind whipped at her, and she swayed against the pressure.

In an instant, Ben was on his feet and fumbling at the latch of his pew.

He only had to peer at the determination flashing from her eyes to know why she was there. She caught her balance and started down the center aisle. Each step was halting, but her eyes found the lieutenant and didn’t budge from him.

His heart racing, Ben scrambled to exit the pew. He couldn’t let her hand herself over to Lieutenant Wolfe. He had to stop her before she confessed everything.

He flung open the pew door and started down the aisle.

She swayed again and then stumbled, obviously still too weak to be out of bed. She grasped the nearest pew to keep from falling.

Ben sprinted the last several steps and caught her by the arm. “Susanna,” he whispered, “you’re ill, and you should
not
be here.”

“Let me go,” she whispered back.

“You need to be home in bed.”

“I’m not leaving here unless it’s with Lieutenant Wolfe.”

Her whisper echoed in the silent meetinghouse, and he was sure everyone had heard her announcement, even the women in the galleries.

With a groan he dragged her into his arms.

Her body wilted and she collapsed against him.

How had she managed to leave the house without Phoebe noticing her? And how had she been able to drag herself to the meetinghouse alone?

Frustration pummeled him. He didn’t have time to sweep her up into his arms and carry her down the street to the parsonage as he wanted to. He had to stay at the meetinghouse and turn himself in to the lieutenant as soon as Dotty and Tom arrived.

“Susanna . . .” He glanced around the building and, seeing that everyone was staring at them, bent lower so that his mouth brushed her ear. “I won’t let you say anything to the lieutenant.”

“You can’t prevent me, Ben,” she said.

“I’ll tie you up, gag you, and find a place to lock you up.”

She tilted her head back, and anger blazed in her eyes, bringing them to life, making her more beautiful than ever. There was so much passion inside her, so much depth. That’s why he loved her.

And his love for her could never allow him to let her discard her reputation, her future, and her chances at happiness.

But before he could decide what must be done with her, she wrenched away from him and lurched backward. “Brothers and sisters,” she called out.

He stepped toward her. “Susanna, please!”

She held out a hand to halt him. “My brothers and sisters,” she repeated, louder this time. “I must make a confession.”

He knew he ought to snatch her, cover her mouth, and drag her from the meetinghouse—even if she kicked and screamed. But she looked him square in the eyes, and something new flamed in the dark recesses that took his breath away.

Was it love? Was it possible Susanna Smith loved him?

Or was her love similar to what she had for Tom? After all, she loved Tom and was willing to sacrifice herself for the slave, just as she was willing to do for him.

He reached for her, needing to pull her into his arms, to hear the declaration of love from her lips. But she took another quick step away, her body trembling with her effort to stand. She lifted her chin and pressed her lips together. Determination hardened the usual softness of her face.

“I have to do this, Ben,” she said. “I won’t be able to live
with myself if I allow anyone else to take responsibility for what I’ve done.”

He knew the desperation she was feeling. It mirrored his own. Even so, he couldn’t let her hand herself over.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the movement of Reverend Smith coming down the aisle toward them, as well as Mrs. Smith descending the stairway from the gallery.

If he could capture Susanna before she blurted out her confession, then he could enlist their help in locking Susanna away until after the trial. They were as determined as he was to keep Susanna free from suffering at the hands of the lieutenant.

But Susanna shook her head—almost sadly. Then she glanced away from him to the front of the building, to the judge.

Even before she opened her mouth to speak again, Ben knew what she would say.

He lunged for her.

“Honorable Judge Niles,” she started loudly.

But that’s as far as she got. He captured her before she could escape, jerked her against him, and cut off her next words by covering her mouth with his.

She held herself stiff for only a moment before softening and sagging against him, giving in to his tender kiss.

It didn’t matter that the whole parish of Weymouth was witnessing his affection for her. He blocked out the eruption of their gasps and murmurings.

He needed to stop her from her foolishness. It didn’t matter that she might not be ready for his declaration of love. It didn’t matter anymore if he gave away how much he loved her.

As if from a distance, Mrs. Smith’s tense whispers urged him to stop, and Reverend Smith stood next to them clearing his throat.

He didn’t care what they thought anymore. In fact, he didn’t care what anyone thought. He was done living his life at the mercy of status and prestige.

Besides, it was his good-bye kiss to her. For after today, he doubted he would ever see her again.

With one last consuming press of his mouth to hers, he dragged his lips from hers and pushed them against her ear. “I love you, Susanna,” he whispered. “I love you with every fiber of my being. And I always will, until the day I die.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. Her body trembled against his. And when she leaned her head back so that she could look into his eyes, wonder spread over her face.

Could she return his love?

Mrs. Smith gripped Susanna’s arm and tugged at her. The woman’s eyes were hard and attempted to shame him with her haughtiness.

He pretended not to notice. He no longer cared if Mrs. Smith liked him. He didn’t need her approval or anyone else’s.

She wrenched Susanna away and slipped her arm around her daughter to keep her from falling. “I’m taking you home this instant.” She propelled Susanna toward the door. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Susanna allowed her mother to push her along.

With each step she took, agony tore at his heart. This was it. This was good-bye. Only when they neared the door did Susanna struggle against her mother. She glanced over her shoulder.

Something in her eyes spanned the distance and caressed him. It soothed the radiating pain into a dull ache. Her eyes spoke what her lips couldn’t. She cared about him. Truly and deeply. Perhaps not with the love he desired, but surely with the affection of the truest friend.

What more could he ask for in life than to have had a friend like her?

Lieutenant Wolfe had risen in his pew box. A smirk curled his lips. He’d obviously watched their display, knowing exactly what Ben would do and why.

Ben’s fists clenched at the need to swing them at the lieutenant and knock the grin from his face.

The lieutenant had won. And there was nothing Ben could do about it, except to feast his eyes upon Susanna one last time. He drank in her features, her eyes and slender cheeks, the curve of her lips, the raven waves of her hair.

“Come, Susanna.” Mrs. Smith began towing her.

But Susanna resisted and craned her head, as though unwilling to break the connection with him. She seemed to read the truth inside him and realize he was saying good-bye for the last time.

Panic darted across her face. “No!” she cried, trying to twist free from her mother’s grip.

“Reverend Smith,” Ben said to her father standing next to him, “I believe your wife is in need of your help in escorting Susanna home.”

The reverend nodded. His usual benevolent expression had turned grave.

“No!” Susanna cried again.

Ben spun away, her anguished call ripping his heart again. His shoulders slumped, and he shuffled away from her toward the lieutenant.

Her cries mingled with her father’s low murmurs of comfort interspersed with Mrs. Smith’s rebukes. Every muscle in his body demanded that he turn around, run to her, and crush her in his arms once more.

Before Ben could return to his pew, the door of the
meetinghouse swung open, and the bitter winter air rushed down the aisle to nip him.