THE CRY FOR FREEDOM (Winds of Betrayal) (11 page)

“The boy?” one asked.

“Said leave him,” the other said.

Hannah slid against the wall next to the doorway. She watched two men make their way to the front door. The tall, skinny one had hold of a package nestled underneath his arm.

“Have it all wrapped up. Better get the hell out of here. I value my neck too much to stay too long.” His hand rested upon the door handle.

Hannah took a deep breath. She had only the element of surprise. She sat one pistol down on the table beside her; the other she welded tightly with both hands. Swallowing hard, she found her voice, “Pray, put it down.”

Turning to her command, the one with the package bellowed a hearty laugh. He smiled at her with a mouthful of crooked teeth. He spat through a clenched jaw upon Mother Agnes’s shining floors. “Now they even have little girls thinking they can shoot. Not today, Missy.”

Without another word uttered, a shot rang out. Quickly dropping one pistol, she raised the other. She felt so strange, surreal, as if she watched another in her body. The man screamed in pain grabbing hold of his leg. Blood gushed out above his left knee. She turned the other pistol on the other intruder, an older man with huge hands. She noticed a light pitting of pox scars covering his face. His eyes grew large staring at the barrel of the gun.

“I assure you, I knew exactly where I aimed. The next is straight at your heart,” she uttered. Her finger
laid upon the trigger.

Suddenly, a sharp blow struck her from the side.  The musket fell, firing as it hit the floor, hitting the grandfather’s clock. The force dropped her forward to the floor. She sprang back up only to be grabbed from behind. She tried to wrench herself free, but found the grips only tighten.

“Good God,” she breathed out. She turned to face her attacker, Marcus Durham. Dressed as a Minuteman, his hunting shirt, too, wet from the rain. Hadn’t her reason warned her about him?

“I do beg your pardon, Miss Corbett. But we do have need of that,” he said. He nodded toward his companion who picked up the object that he had dropped.

“She shot me!” the man cried in pain. He drew in a harsh breath, swearing through gritted teeth. His hand clenched to the bleeding leg. He began to shiver violently.

Marcus turned to the one behind him, a man of medium height and stocky built. He frowned slightly. “Get him out, quickly. Even through the storm someone might have heard.”

Hannah kept trying to wiggle free. She didn’t know what else to do. He changed his hold with one arm across her chest holding her hands. She cried, “You’re hurting me.”

“To be honest, Hannah,” he whispered in her ear. “I find that I’m quite enjoying myself. Not a bad shot, are you?”

His companion returned, water pouring off his hat. “We need to hurry. I sent the rest on. Harry’s bleeding pretty badly.”

Marcus agreed. Hannah started struggling again. “We have another unexpected guest. Can you find me something to tie her up with?”

“Let me go,” she uttered under her breath.

“I couldn’t do that, Hannah. I would fear for my life if I did,” he mocked as he tried to lead her to a chair. Fighting, he in turn  lifted her and placed her roughly down upon the chair.

“I’m merely a girl,” she said, fire raging from her eyes.

“Oh, I think not. Hannah, I do believe you’re capable of doing more damage than any man I know,” he said accepting the rope from his counterpart. Quickly securing the ropes around her hands and feet, he headed toward the open door.

“Ah! My lady, another time, another place,” he bowed to her. “To what could have been.” And he was gone.

The morning should have brought the calm after the storm, but it seemed another storm loomed in the distance. Hannah had never seen her father such. Her frustration had grown over the time it took for her father to have found them. The ropes had cut into her wrist and ankles from her attempts to break them. Her voice hoarse from her screaming to no avail, but nothing prepared her for the horror which lay upon her father’s face upon discovering her tied up within their home. His hands trembled with such force he could barely untie her.

He kept uttering what could have happened to her. And to make matters worse they discovered Malcolm and Jinnie had disappeared, betraying her family, leaving only Mary.

“I knew noth’, Mast’ Corbett! I woulda tole ya’. I wood haf!” she cried. She couldn’t be comforted when Hannah’s father had unblocked the pantry door in which Mary had been thrown.

For the first time in her life, she saw her father
was heavy of heart. He had brought her in his study upon releasing her, both James and her. He hadn’t given her time to catch her breath. He questioned her over and over. She wanted only to be able to change her story and have it end that she had saved the package. But in that she had failed.

He wiped his hand across his face in exasperation as if he was contemplating his next move.

“Father,” she said, rubbing her wrist. “No matter how well you treated Malcolm, he was still a slave. I can imagine the promise of freedom was too big a pull for him and Jinnie.”

“God damn it! I didn’t ask for a lecture from you, Hannah! I just want to know word
for word what exactly happened,” he snapped.

Tears welled in her eyes. She uttered, “I have told you, Father. They weren’t expecting us. They were mad because the house was supposed to be empty. It must have had to do with Uncle Richard. I’m sure of it, Father.”

“Hannah, I’m not asking for your opinion. You shot one?” he asked again. She nodded, irritated with having to repeat herself once more, and knowing nothing she said would make her father feel better.

“Did they say anything else?” he drilled her.

“Father, I have told you all,” she responded. She worried, though, since she had never seen him like he was.

He dismissed her. “Go to bed. Get some rest.” He gave her
pause before she exited the door. He hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head.

“If anything had happened to you—”

“It didn’t, Father,” she said in a low tone. She gripped him tightly. “I’m sorry, Father. I’m sorry they got away.” She buried her head into his shoulder.

“All will be right,” he said simply touching her cheek. “Take care, Hannah. You are reckless at times. It worries me. You don’t know what you mean to me and your mother.”

She kissed his cheek. “I promise not be so anymore, Father.”

* * * *

A full moon shone down over the brisk night’s air. It boded well for Colonel Marcus Durham. He lay in wait alongside his men scattered among the trees. He had a clear view of the road ahead of him. If his intelligence was correct, he would soon have the last piece of information he needed to complete his mission. Then he could return back to New York.

Waiting was the hardest part. Six hours since his informer sent word that John Corbett was set to depart for Philadelphia. It meant only one thing. Corbett had the schematic for the device. Having relieved Corbett of the device, Marcus needed only the paperwork to decipher the gadget.

With each minute passed, Marcus’ frustration grew. If he had missed the opportunity, there would be hell to pay. Then it came. A whistle. The signal for approaching riders.

Marcus watched with anticipation. A moment later, two riders rounded the bend and immediately pulled their horses back in front of the fallen tree his men had strategically placed. The riders hadn’t a chance. His men waylaid the men, grabbed hold of their mounts and roughly pulled them to the ground. The captives didn’t even have the opportunity to reach for their weapons.

Marcus trotted over to his detainees. He studied the men while his men searched their belongings. A moment later, one of his men held up the much sought after papers.

“Got ‘em, Colonel!”

Durham accepted the papers and glanced over them quickly. “Good work, Lieutenant. Our mission is complete.”

Tucking the papers securely away, Marcus dismounted. No longer did he wear the dressings of a
simple civilian of the colonies. He wore his British uniform of his rank in King George’s Army.

John Corbett didn’t say a word. Neither did he utter any pleas on his behalf. He held his head proudly. Marcus studied the man before him. He sensed the anger brewing inside of him. Without question, Marcus respected Corbett, but it mattered little. He had his orders.

“The question lies with what to do with you,” Marcus said and walked over to the elder Corbett. “These papers I hold are for one purpose and one purpose only. In that you are being arrested in the name of King George. You realize the price for treason.”

John
swallowed hard. He replied without a trace of emotion. “William had nothing to do with my actions. He was escorting me, but he hadn’t an idea what my purpose was.”

“I’m not
leaving you, Father,” William cried indignantly.

Marcus pressed his lips together. Corbett’s fate was sealed; his son’s lay
in the interpretation of his presence. “Lieutenant, does he have anything on his person?”

The lieutenant
searched William and his bag once more. Lieutenant answered, “No, nothing, Colonel.”

Marcus rarely dispensed mercy. A sign of weakness on most occasions. He caught Corbett’s eye. Then turned to the lieutenant. “Release the younger man. I see no reason to detain him.”

Before his orders could fade into the wind, Lord Dunmore’s personal battalion rode up. Marcus was neither surprised nor happy to see Richard Wick among the group. Wick pulled his reins back, almost falling off his horse.

“My,
my, my. Is it not my dear brother-in-law?” he laughed. “Good job, Colonel Durham. Mr. Clay will indeed be happy.”

“Let me
remind you, sir, this wasn’t for your father-in-law,” Colonel Durham said barely trying to conceal his contempt for the man in front of him. “I’m a British soldier. My orders are such.”

Wick waved his arm to the sight before him. “What…what is
going on here then? You’re not thinking of letting William go? No, he needs to go with his father.”

Marcus shot him a look that would have killed if it had been a weapon. He said solemnly, “There’s no need. I’ve determined he
wasn’t involved.”

“And I
say he was,” Richard emphasized. He turned to the group behind him. “These are Lord Dunmore’s personal battalion. He wants all traitors punished.”

The
commander of the small battalion nodded. “Yes, sir. Major Murhearth. Colonel Durham, I have to implore you to let us have the prisoners. Lord Dunmore will carry out their punishment. I assume you have what you came for. Let us deal with our own.”

“Then I suggest you take it up with my commander, General Clinton.”

“Colonel, I do have my orders from Lord Dunmore,” Major Murhearth said. To Marcus’ dismay, Major Murheath reached inside his jacket and pulled a folded paper out. He handed it to Marcus. “You will find all in order.”

Marcus looked over the the document thoroughly. To his disgust all was in order. Moreover, Lord Dunmore had the authority to take his prisoners.

Colonel Durham walked soundly over to Richard Wick. He wanted nothing more than to wipe off that malevolent smile plastered on his face. He grabbed Wick’s arm firmly and pulled Wick up to his face. “For God’s sake man, he’s your nephew.”

“Take your hands off of me, sir. You have your orders,” Richard jerked back his arm, not able to contain his nervousness. “Major, take the prisoners!”

Colonel Durham raged. “You do so only under protest.”

“I will note your protest to Lord Dunmore,” Major Murhearth acknowledged. He nodded to his men who took hold of the two. Neither said a word.

Colonel Durham withdrew; his eyes burned through Wick. He glanced back over at the prisoners. A surge of guilt swept through him. Both men would die.

He didn’t like the way the wind was blowing over the colonies. Over the years he had performed his duties, but now if the turbulence couldn’t be contained they would be fighting their own..killing their own.

Angry, he walked over to his horse and remounted. He had what he needed. He would file a grievance upon his return, but he knew without doubt it would be too late for the prisoners. He saw within Richard Wick’s eyes the desire for swift action, legal or not. Marcus motioned for his men to head out.

Jonathan walked the bricked streets wearily. The lonely street reflected a glow from the chimney street lamps. He neared his destination. A long day had ensued, although as of yet he had not been officially assigned to a unit. Gabriel had long since departed, joining up with Washington’s command. Paperwork had kept Jonathan within Philadelphia. Problems had arisen at home that had brought the delay.

Jonathan’s attention turned toward his own issues. He reminded himself of his beliefs; belief in the cause that they were willing to lay their lives on the line for; the fight to secure the liberty so desired, so strongly felt.

Lately, t
he memory of the last time he saw his father kept playing over in his head. Relentlessly. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his father, smiling broadly at him before he ready himself to depart for Philadelphia.