Chapter 21 Trials of the Heart #2
With furious tears in his eyes, he returned his attention to Clara, whose shoulder he kept pinned beneath his boot. She swung with one arm while the other went to his ankle, and once he knelt with the glimmering knife, she tipped back her head and screamed.
Amos had been heading toward the Hoskin residence when he heard the cry. Alarmed, he spun around and around before settling on the direction, then took off into a sprint.
The screaming continued at a frantic decibel, and removing his dirk from its scabbard, he dodged errant tree roots and unstable terrain before staggering into the fray.
“Fritz!” he called, beckoning to the ringleader.
The farmer halted, lifting his head while Clara sobbed and struggled. Curling his upper lip, he spat, “This don’t concern you, McQuinn! Get along!”
Hefting the weight of his blade, Amos replied, “See, that’s the trouble: You’re hurtin’ a mighty nice lass, and our good ol’ friend, the reverend. That wholly makes it me concern.”
The two men restraining Josiah exchanged glances but didn’t make a move to attack.
“I don’t wanna hurt’cha,” Amos continued, “but if y’don’t let ’er go, I’mma cut your knob off.”
Randolph laughed in disbelief. The distraction was enough for Clara to slam her knee against his groin. He doubled over with a howl, and she crawled free of his hold.
“You doggess!” he snarled.
Amos raced forward with his dirk. Randolph clumsily rose and lifted his knife, but wasn’t fast enough. Amos’s boot connected square against his chest, and the man jerked with a stunned oof!, barely able to fend off the following uppercut across his chin.
“Clara,” Amos called to her, “run!”
Frantic, she staggered to her feet but didn’t obey his order.
She couldn’t with Josiah still entrapped.
Dismayed by the swelling bruise on his cheek and faintly bleeding cut beneath his left eye, she realized it must have occurred during her scuffle with Randolph.
Josiah had sworn to never harm another soul, so rather than fight, he had shouted to the high heavens, struggling against Fritz’s men and begging for her life to be spared.
Tears nipped at her eyes and she drew a breath. Her life was far from exemplary, and in that moment, Clara wished she was worthy of the woman he perceived her to be.
“Clara!” Amos called again, side-stepping Randolph’s punch. “Get out of here!”
“I…I-I can’t!” she cried. Drawing a hand to her throat, Clara realized with increasing dizziness that she was finding it difficult to breathe. Her garments felt as though they were squeezing her ribs, and as she attempted to take deeper, calmer breaths, she only succeeded in hyperventilating.
They’re going to die, she fearfully thought. They are going to die, and it’s all my fault!
Swallowing a scream, her vision dipped and spun, and staggering as though drunk, Clara collapsed before her world bled into shadow.
Benjamin slept away most of the morning.
His buttered eggs lay untouched on his nightstand, and groggy, he fumblingly reached for his bath chair, which sat waiting for him flush against his bed.
In some ways, the laudanum worked a little too well.
His mind was hazy, yet he felt calm, peaceful, and his limbs were loose as he struggled to heft himself into the seat.
Using his arms to support himself, Benjamin dragged the dead weight of his legs out of bed and nearly lost his balance once he collapsed into the chair.
Huffing and puffing from exertion, he clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. That was when he heard the commotion out front.
Alarmed, Benjamin grabbed the large wheels at the back and attempted to push himself forward, but it was no use. The chair could not be self-propelled. While he struggled, the frantic shouts out front continued. “Father?” he called. “Father?”
He heard a sob, and with a spike of panic in his breast, Benjamin sobered enough to grab the bell at his bedside and ring it with fierce impatience.
That was when Amos appeared in the doorway.
“What’s going on?” Benjamin demanded, tasting bile. “What happened?”
Expression grave, Amos crossed the room and grabbed the handles on his chair, pushing him toward the door.
“Tories,” he explained. “They got the drop on Clara an’ your father, but I got to ’em before they…
b-before she…” He grimaced, shaking his head.
“The important thing is, Miss Boyd’s unharmed. Her sensibilities, on the other hand…”
Horrified by this flood of news, Benjamin jerked as though struck in the chest. Despite his gratitude toward Amos, a wave of hopelessness crashed over him, harsh and all-consuming.
He couldn’t have saved Clara even if he wanted to.
He was immobile, helpless, and left to the mercy of every man, woman, and even child in town.
Overcome, he tightened his hold on the armrests and swallowed, his heart jangling between his ribs. Amos rolled him toward the front of the house, where they found Josiah cradling Clara protectively beneath his chin.
An instant spike of fury charged through Benjamin’s frame. “Where are the assailants?” he demanded. “The constable should know of this!”
Amos’s mouth bitterly quirked. “Y’know there’s no law now,” he said, guiding him to a stop.
“None that people are willin’ to listen to, anyway.
It’s brother versus brother, an’ neighbor versus neighbor.
I jus’ took me fist to three men I normally get along with jus’ fine.
Thankfully, a group o’ hunters came along an’ scared ’em off. ”
Rageful fear coiled within his stomach like a viper, and looking beseechingly at Josiah, Benjamin asked, “Are you all right? Your face…it’s—”
“I’m fine,” the reverend cut in, soothingly brushing his hand over Clara’s mussed hair. “I wasn’t their intended target.”
Appraising Clara more fully, Benjamin took note of her grass-stained clothes, and the wrath within his gut ignited from a spark to a blaze. “I want names,” he commanded. “Give me their names, and I’ll—”
“Do nothing,” Clara cut in, her voice wobbly.
Wiping a hand over her eyes, she withdrew from Josiah’s embrace and turned to Benjamin.
Despite her trembling chin, there was a fiery resolve to her gaze.
“It’s finally time to act. Not you, not Corporal McQuinn, but me.
I never want to feel that helpless again. ”
Benjamin blinked at her, astonished. “B-but—”
“Whatever you’re doing, I want to help,” she continued.
“You may have your flaws, but you have never once stooped to what my own side has just done. At heart, I will remain supportive of the Crown, but at the end of the day, all I want is to protect my sisters. And I truly believe that men of your caliber will be the ones to save this land from ruin.” Shoulders curling, she drew a breath and looked to Josiah.
“In short, I have not been truthful with you,” she confessed.
“I am not a patriot. My father is one of the most influential, staunch loyalists in all the colonies.”
The tragic fondness in Josiah’s eyes remained. “I didn’t imagine so,” he softly said. “Whenever we first cooked together, you could scarcely figure out my utensils. No caretaker, or at least, no good one, can’t at the very least figure out how to grate nutmeg.”
A tearful laugh bubbled in Clara’s throat. “Then…you are not angry?”
“Of course not.” He gently pressed her arm.
“Some of my dearest friends are staunch Tories. I’d never turn you away over the convictions in your heart.
As long as you are praying for guidance, that’s all we can do.
It isn’t my place to say whether or not you’re right or wrong.
And besides…” He looked to Benjamin. “You are being harbored under the protection of my son. I trust his judgment implicitly.”
Benjamin locked eyes with his father, and a painful lump swelled in his throat. He knew then that he could potentially fix his wrongs and use Clara, just as she requested.
“If you’re serious about assisting me, I have an idea, Miss Boyd,” he spoke.
“I was wrong to think you would be safest here. Clearly, there isn’t a place anyone can be wholly protected, not in this unholy war.
But at home with your family, where you belong, is inevitably the best path moving forward.
” He nodded to her. “By morning’s light, Amos will escort you home. ”
Clara jerked. “But…b-but I am not welcome there. My father—”
“Will take you back,” Benjamin assured her, “because I am going to give you false information.”
Here, a frayed smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and Clara realized this was the first time that light, true light, had entered his eyes since his paralysis. “How do you mean?”
Nodding toward Amos, Benjamin said, “I’ll falsify a letter, one that includes regimental statistics, a ledger on weaponry, and general information regarding Washington’s next move.
If you take it to your father and claim you were held captive by rebels, spied on them before your escape, and stole a Continental missive, I can guarantee he’ll not only take you back, but pass that information along to British officers. ”
A stab of unease swelled through Clara’s breast. “But…what happens to me when that information proves false?”
“Nothing,” he assured her. “In war, plans change. They are forced to change, in fact, so no one will think ill of your source. Not when my name is on the dotted line.”
“Your name?” she echoed, aghast. “Captain, if my father sees your name on our correspondence, he’ll ensure you’re hunted down and strung up for treason.”