Chapter 25 #2
Clara’s gaze sharpened. “You are not going to die, Benjamin Hoskin, and you don’t deserve to hurt, suffer, or hang because a grown man enlisted of his own accord.
Sacrifices are made in war; I am learning that every passing day, and I imagine Donnelly’s brother knew this, as well.
” She lifted a hand, and his heart stuttered as she stroked his bruised cheek.
“In the end, all we can do is pray we’ll make the right choices and be the very best version of ourselves we can.
And Ben, you have taught me to be better…
to be kinder, and more accepting. I may not know what lay in that man’s heart, but I know what lies in mine.
” Here, she flashed a tearful smile. “You’ve opened my eyes to a world I never thought possible: to admiring, supporting, and even caring for people I once viewed as the enemy.
I have nothing but the deepest respect and affection for you. ”
Benjamin’s gaze softened. “Clara…”
She framed his face and rose on tiptoe, joining her mouth fervently with his.
Benjamin angled into her kiss as though starved, melting into her touch while fumbling in boyish, clumsy desperation at whatever part of her his bound hands could reach.
Her lips edged more strongly into his, and he kissed her back with equal need, both helpless and eager to forget, to postpone, to ignore his pending fate.
Discreetly, Clara lowered a folded pocketknife beneath the waistband of Benjamin’s breeches. He broke the kiss, baffled, before she edged her cheek into his and whispered, “Only use that if necessary. We don’t know when we’ll be able to help you, so it is imperative that you keep that hidden.”
He nodded against her cheek.
“All right, time’s up!” Stevens gruffly cut in. “The deal was ten minutes, but I’d say I’ve given you more than enough time. I’m about ready to cast up my accounts with all this lovers’ claptrap!”
With her hands on Benjamin’s, Clara mournfully drew back. “Take care,” she whispered. A lone tear trailed into her mouth, and when he entwined their fingers, she whimpered. “Please, Ben. I have to go…”
Wordless, Benjamin drew his lips to the softness of her palms, nuzzling her as his heart dropped.
This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t! Now that he’d found someone to love, he would never experience the joys of being Clara’s husband, of holding their firstborn in the crook of his elbow, beaming with fatherly pride at the perfection they’d created.
If there was any remaining kindness in this world, his father and Clara would live on.
Benjamin would miss their birthdays, their achievements, and their losses; he would fail to be there when they needed him most, just as he’d failed them here in the land of the living.
“I’m sorry,” he choked.
Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Clara winced when Stevens impatiently flanked her side.
“Come along,” he grumbled. “I’ll be in trouble if you stay much longer!”
Clara lifted her chin. “Yes, very well,” she agreed. “You may escort me outside, sir.” As Stevens led the way back to the cellar steps, she glanced at Benjamin over her shoulder.
Benjamin flashed an encouraging smile. He wished to ingrain her in his memory, his heart, and as they locked eyes that final moment, he felt oddly reassured by the fond smile on her lips.
It took four days for Benjamin’s execution, four whole days of sitting about in limbo, unallowed to visit, nor send notes to the prison.
A part of Clara wondered if she and Jedediah were on better terms, if he might’ve been able to break the pending noose.
Loyalists and redcoats looked up to him, revered her father, and she supposed this was why she, herself, hadn’t been troubled, not beyond being questioned for her infatuation with a “loathsome rebel.” But she wasn’t just infatuated.
By some cruel, unlucky twist of fate, Clara had fallen in love with Benjamin Hoskin.
She was uncertain of when and how…whether it was during their private, increasingly fervent letters, or being there at his most vulnerable, or seeing him overwhelm, overcome, and conquer all odds, but she did love him.
Tragically, she did, and as she stood amidst the crowd gathering at the gallows, it felt as if her very heart were tattooing the beat of the executioner’s drum.
Behind them, Benjamin was being led toward the quickly erected gibbet; and despite the bruising on his face and heavy, twisting gait to his step, there was a certain pride, a spiteful fire in his eyes as he limped toward his fate.
All eyes were on him. Even with the King’s Men flanking his sides in their bright, magnificent regalia, no one turned their heads from Benjamin as the redcoats helped him along.
Nervously, Clara searched the crowd. Amos was nowhere to be found, and yet he’d promised he had everything under control.
How was this adhering to his promise? The proposed backup plan was for Josiah to use a flintlock, to potentially sacrifice himself, and the thought of losing not just Benjamin, but the both of them burned agonizingly within her stomach.
At her side, Josiah lightly touched her hand. He’d grown intuitive to her moods over the past month, and grateful, she interlaced their fingers.
“It will be all right,” Josiah whispered to her. “God will provide.”
Clara’s eyes stung and her chin wobbled.
Would He? God gave her Timothy, but He’d also taken him away…
What if that same agonizing fate befell her with Benjamin?
Amos had sworn that during the night, he’d tampered with the rope so that it was likely to weaken and snap, but what if that wasn’t enough?
The echo of snare drums throbbed painfully within her breast, and each step Benjamin took left Clara increasingly lightheaded. “Josiah,” she pleaded.
He held her hand tighter. All around them, everyone remained deathly still, watching Benjamin get corralled to his doom.
When he was helped onto a wooden crate, the executioner rose with him and slid a noose around his neck.
And as their eyes locked from across the crowd, when she saw Benjamin’s shame, his sorrow, his affection, she suddenly forgot how to breathe.
She squeezed Josiah’s hand so tightly that her bones ached.
A gruff, no-nonsense provost marshal stepped forward, and he opened a scroll once the drumming stopped.
Clearing his throat, he shouted above the silence, “The accused, Captain Benjamin Hoskin of the Continental Army, having been found guilty of espionage and treasonous conspiracy against the Crown, and therefore God, shall hereby be executed as a blackguard on this day in the year of our Lord, 1780. If the condemned has any last words, let him speak now, lest he carry that burden to the grave!”
Fumbling at her fichu, Clara quivered as Benjamin continued facing her.
Though rather than cry or spit or curse, he remained composed as a faint smile touched his mouth.
And then he raised his voice and proudly proclaimed, “‘How beautiful is death, when earned by virtue? Though you ensnare my life, my country will be free!’”
A flurry of startled voices arose, and Clara’s mouth dropped once she realized just who Benjamin’s brother was.
The death of Daniel Hoskin had made him a folk hero of sorts, scorned by loyalists and martyred by patriots, alike, and here Benjamin was, honoring his brother by reciting his infamous last words.
Tears blurred Clara’s vision, and when the executioner shoved Benjamin fiercely from the crate, she screamed once the rope caught his fall in a harsh, taut swing.