The Courier of Caswell Hall (31 page)

“What is happening?” Grayson begged of her, and she heard the fear in his voice as well.

“The boat will be here soon,” she said, trying to assure him.

In the moonlight she saw admiration in his eyes, and for a moment, she reveled in it. “It is all right if it does not come. You have been so brave, Sarah.”

“I am scared to death.”

“But it has not stopped you, my dear. That is true courage.”

She didn’t feel courageous, not with the trembling inside her, but it didn’t matter. Grayson thought her courageous, and he’d called her his dear.

Then she heard the soft paddling of oars in the water. And she saw the form of the whaleboat glide up beside the ship. Relief showered over her fear.

Grayson squeezed her hand. “Well done.”

Her heart soared.

As Elisha helped lower the first three men into the large rowboat, Sarah’s legs started to sway. At first she thought it was the boat’s listing, but it wasn’t the boat. Her body was too warm. The world too blurry.

She waited for Grayson, but he refused to climb down until she did. He helped her onto the rope, and with Elisha’s assistance, she dropped into the rowboat. Grayson was last. As he lowered himself, Elisha offered Grayson his hand. “Come along, Master Caswell,” he whispered.

Grayson pulled his hand back. “Elisha?”

“Yes, sir.”

“They call me Porter now. And I am no longer your master.”

Elisha paused. “Aye. I thank ye, sir.”

Grayson hesitated, and then he reached out his hand again. Elisha helped him into the boat.

She saw the tears in Grayson’s eyes. “No,” he said. “I thank you.”

Sarah leaned against Grayson and prayed the soldiers wouldn’t check on their prisoners tonight. She also prayed that the young soldier who’d helped her was able to run far before dawn.

The men took turns helping Elisha row the boat away. One of them whispered near her, but she didn’t understand his words. Blackness seemed to engulf her and she drifted away into a blissful sleep. Grayson was free, and she could rest now.

Lemuel blasted his bugle again, and Nathan lit another fuse with his torch, the cherry bottle exploding from the gunpowder siphoned into it. Fire sparked the pile of leaves under it. Holding his torch high, Nathan ran farther back into the woods to light the final bottle.

Darkness was over them now, and he could hear the British muskets firing into the trees. When Lemuel first blasted the bugle, he and Zadock had run separate ways, setting off the grandest display of noise and fire they could muster to draw the British troops away from their camp and Porter’s ship.

General Washington might question why they used so many of their supplies to rescue the prisoners, but Nathan knew they needed Grayson and his men to continue securing food and ammunition for this war. And he had promised Lydia that if she gave them information, he would do whatever he could to keep her family safe.

Another round of musket shots jolted him. The soldiers were much closer, hopefully fearing a serious threat in the forest. The three men were far outnumbered, but the British didn’t know it. They only needed to hold their attention long enough for Sarah to find a way onto the boat and for Elisha to paddle the boat around the schooners.

Darkness and—he hoped—confusion would keep the soldiers at bay for the remainder of the night.

He, Porter, and Sarah had all known what could happen if they were caught, but they had chosen to gamble for the sake of freedom. He wasn’t responsible for Porter’s capture, and yet it still troubled him. Lydia’s brother, he prayed, was free tonight.

Three horses waited by the creek. The people of York weren’t thrilled about having the British camping in their backyard, and they had been kind to Nathan and the others by giving them horses to use.

He hopped onto one of the horses, hoping that Zadock and Lemuel were close behind him, and glanced back over his shoulder one last time. Muskets continued to pop in the darkness, but he still couldn’t see anyone.

He would ride west while the others went north. Or at least, he hoped they would.

It might be weeks before he found out whether their operation had been a success.

Grayson hovered over Sarah as she rested in the army tent, studying with wonder the beautiful woman who had saved his life. No other women he knew would have marched onto a British prison ship and rescued five prisoners.

The camp physician hadn’t wanted to hinder his or her recovery by discussing the details of their rescue, but somehow she had done the impossible and succeeded.

Sarah Hammond had stolen his heart that day in the smokehouse, but she had intrigued him for even longer, back when she was just Seth’s little sister, the girl who liked to pretend she was Madam Knight as she read about faraway places. Unlike the members of Grayson’s family, she understood his desire to explore.

As a younger man, he’d tried to control his growing love for her, but it poured out now. He had thought he was protecting her, that his work would contradict her loyalty to the Crown—a loyalty he didn’t agree with but would never condemn.

Yet as he gazed at her in the coming daylight, at her fair hair tangled around her face, he didn’t want to live another moment of his life without her. He was still weak, but the remedies the camp physician prescribed had breathed life back into him.

The morning light seeped through the flap in the tent, and Grayson heard soldiers bustling outside. They had met with a regiment from Maine on their way to join Washington’s army. The soldiers had stalled here these past five days, but now they were preparing to march south.

After Sarah rescued Grayson, Benjamin, and the crew, Elisha guided them west to the protection of this army, and Zadock met them here. One of the men from his crew succumbed to the grave, but the others survived and were nearly healthy enough to return to work.

Elisha’s forgiveness was balm to Grayson’s soul, as Sarah’s gentle care was a balm to his body. Even as she recovered from her own long journey, she had rubbed a salve that smelled of lemon and honey onto his wounds and cooled his face with a cloth as he drifted in and out of sleep. Now as she slept, he wished he could care for her as well, as a husband would a wife.

He dared to lean forward and kiss her forehead, and her eyes fluttered open. “Hello, Porter.”

He reached for her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. “You may call me Grayson.”

She scanned the narrow tent. “You are not supposed to be in here.”

He grinned. “I had to make sure you did not run away.”

“Oh, Grayson, I am not the one who runs.”

He gently squeezed her hand. “I never ran away from you.”

Her smile warmed his core.

“May I have some water?” she asked.

He slowly stood beside the cot, his body still weak. “Of course.”

He dipped a tin cup into a pail and brought it back to her. She sat up, pulling the sheet over her shift as she drank.

He reached for her hand again. “How did you get into the British camp?”

“The doctor said we mustn’t discuss it.”

“I am well enough to know.”

She pondered his words as she studied him, as though searching for any sign of lingering illness. “I told them I was looking for the man who was to be my husband.” Her words seemed to dangle in the air, a light flush coloring her face.

He leaned closer to her, whispering, “It was the truth, then.”

The color rushed across her cheeks. “Perhaps.”

He sat back, the reality of this blasted conflict rushing back to him. “If only we were not on opposing sides—”

This time she laced her fingers through his. “We are not opponents, Grayson. My brother convinced me long ago that we must choose for ourselves whether we desired independence or British rule.”

His mind slowly processed her words. “You chose independence?”

“Indeed.”

He kissed her hand. For so long, he had thought the barrier of their beliefs would keep them apart until after the war, but it seemed there was no longer any barrier. If she supported freedom, they could marry. Perhaps she could even assist him.

He held her hand tightly between both of his. “Would you be willing to work with me for the cause of the Patriots?”

Her laughter sounded musical. “Oh, Grayson, I have been working for the cause of the Patriots for years.”

His eyes grew wide. “You have?”

She laughed again, and then he listened in awe as she told him about delivering the letters in secret for General Washington. Sarah was no longer dreaming about adventure. She was living what she had dreamed.

“I have desperately missed the work since I left Virginia.”

“Perhaps we could remedy that,” he said. “Do you think there is a minister nearby?”

She returned his smile. “I believe we could locate one.”

“Then I would be honored, Sarah Hammond, if you would become my wife.”

Nathan studied the overgrown gardens on the Caswell plantation and then the outline of the grand brick house. The slate rooftop glowed a dusty yellow, and a pale hue of red settled over the fields in the distance. No red uniforms clashed against the warm colors of the setting sun, but he would wait a bit longer to make sure the British officers had taken their leave.

This was the same place he’d watched Lydia rush away from Elisha’s room back in February, when he’d felt every bit like a wounded soldier. As he traveled through the colony, the seasons had blended together, the cool of winter melting into spring, spring giving way to summer’s blistering heat.

Autumn would be upon them soon, and as he glanced past the house, toward the fields, he wondered if Lord Caswell had been able to harvest his tobacco. He knew the crop well after helping his uncle plant it years ago. Tobacco was a demanding crop on a planter’s land, and an unforgiving one as well. If one didn’t harvest the leaves immediately after they matured, the loss of income could be catastrophic.

Even as Nathan had little sympathy for those in the Loyalist party, he didn’t want harm to come to Lydia. Her brother was a hero, and so was she. In spite of the war, in spite of the loss of their labor, he hoped the Caswell family would succeed.

Perhaps when the war ended, Porter would come home to help his father.

Five days had passed since Nathan fled from York, but he had received no word that Porter and the others had made it. He couldn’t yet tell Lydia anything about her brother or Sarah or Elisha, but when the time came, he prayed the news he delivered would be good.

The supplies were almost in place for the approaching Continental Army. If all went well, their men would be assembled by mid-September, but they needed Lydia and other spies like her to help.

After the sky darkened, he checked the loose brick in the orangery. He reached his hand far back, pressing on each side in hopes of some word from her. Inside was a letter, and he secured it in his cloak. Slowly he wove through the trellises and hanging vines in the formal garden until he could see the lines of the gazebo in front of him.

Lydia sat on the bench.

He crept closer, the silver moonlight reflecting the white in her dress. He stopped under the grape arbor and admired her beauty for a moment. If only he could rush forward and take her into his arms . . . There was so much he wished he could tell her.

He ducked behind the bushes. He didn’t want to startle her, and yet there was no better way.

“Lydia,” he whispered.

Through the leaves, he watched her jump and then scan the garden before her. “You have returned.”

He smiled at the welcome in her voice. “I have.”

“I thought you had left for good.”

“Unfortunately, I was detained.”

“Until this war is over, it seems we are all detained from going where we please,” she said. “The letter I left for you is quite old.”

“Have the officers moved on?”

“Aye,” she replied. “But they will probably return. They seem to think that Caswell Hall is their home.”

“One day they will be gone for good.”

“I pray so.”

He remained still for a moment. He was inches from her, close enough to reach out and take her hand. He wished he could tell her where he’d been and offer news of her brother. He didn’t have trouble keeping secrets, but he hated keeping them from those he loved.