Seven
Lucy forced herself to draw in a calming breath and slowly release it when another customer strolled into the shop.
Earlier, she had sent Theo with a note to the blacksmith, Rowan James, to let him know she had another message to send. It was her third, and each time she wrote the coded message on a slip of paper, she half expected someone to burst into the shop and arrest her for treason.
Thankfully, Philadelphia remained a safe place for Patriots. At least for now.
If the rumors were true, General Washington and the Continental Army were preparing for a battle in New York. All Lucy could do, beyond adding her prayers to those sent heavenward by many others, was listen for any snippet of information that might prove helpful.
She had no idea if the past two notes she had sent—one in the locket, and one in a snuff box she had altered with a removable false bottom in the small case—were of use, but both Rowan and Doctor Gray had encouraged her to send anything she thought might be helpful to the cause.
Just that morning, a pompous man she knew to be a Loyalist had entered the shop with a fellow she didn’t recognize.
The two men blithely discussed a letter one of them had received from his nephew, a captain in the British Army, detailing plans for General Howe’s movements on Staten Island.
Their casual conversation made the topic seem as though it were of no more importance than deciding if they wanted beef or pork served for dinner.
Immediately after their departure, Lucy had sent Theo to let Rowan know she would have the locket, which had once again mysteriously made its way back to her shelf beneath the workbench, ready to send with a courier.
Rowan had told Theo to let her know a courier would pick it up before the day was over.
At the first opportunity, Lucy had dashed up to her room, written the note in the code that was becoming easier for her to create, and stashed the tiny slip of rolled paper in the hidden compartment of the locket.
Fearful of wasting time, she tucked the locket into her pocket and returned downstairs, hoping her father hadn’t noticed her absence.
Lucy had settled onto her stool and worked on carving the intricate filigree pattern of the silver bracelet she had been making for the last few weeks.
It would soon be finished, then she could move on to a set of pendeloque earrings.
The person who’d ordered them wanted the finest gold and diamonds her father could acquire, and the man had paid the outlandish sum Ward had quoted to him.
Her father often turned the design work over to Lucy for the more elaborate and delicate pieces, like the earrings. She didn’t mind in the least, invigorated by each new project.
However, right at this moment, all she wanted was to pass the locket to the courier so she could cease worrying about its presence in her pocket.
“I need to make a delivery, Luce. Would you require a moment of rest before I go?” her father asked, when the customer he had been helping departed after leaving a bowl to be gilded.
“I’m quite well, Papa. Take all the time you need. Are you delivering Mr. Martin’s order?”
Her father nodded. “I am. It shouldn’t take too long.
” He tucked a small leather box into his pocket, removed his hat from a peg on the wall behind the workbench, and settled it on his head.
As he moved past Lucy, he patted her on the shoulder.
“You’re a good girl, Daughter, and your mother and I are grateful for you. ”
Tears burned her eyes at the unexpected comment. If her father knew she had been spying for the Continental Army, she had no doubt he would never utter such words again. In fact, would he be angered enough to toss her out on the street with nothing but the clothes on her back?
While she couldn’t imagine her father being that hard-hearted, she could easily picture his outrage and hurt if he ever discovered her duplicity.
Impulsively, she hopped up and gave him a hug. “I love you, Papa.”
He gave her a light squeeze before he stepped back. “I love you, Daughter. Always.” He kissed her cheek and then hurried out the door.
Lucy returned to the stool and her work, feeling convicted by her secrecy. Then she thought of something she had read in Common Sense.
“We have the power to begin our world anew,” she whispered, knowing that wasn’t exactly what was written, but the thought was the same.
The idea of a new world where the American colonies were united and no longer under the rule of an unjust king determined to squash them like the bugs Theo had recently become so interested in studying, was what drove so many of the Patriots seeking freedom.
Lucy glanced up and noticed two men standing across the street, watching.
She knew they could see her working through the window, and she felt disconcerted by their sharp stares.
If she weren’t mistaken, they were the same men who had chased Mrs. Washington the day the woman had taken refuge inside the shop.
Doing her best to ignore them, Lucy returned to her work and let it consume her thoughts until she heard footsteps outside the door.
Branch wandered in, looking as carefree as a bird as he walked over to her workbench, swept off his cocked hat, and leaned on his elbow in a pose that outlined the muscles of his shoulder and arm, and put him close enough to kiss if she took a sudden leave from all her good sense.
“Well, Miss Carlson, it appears you have admirers,” he observed, his back turned to the window and his voice quiet. “Do you know them?”
“No. I’ve seen them before, but I don’t know who they are. They appear rather … distasteful.”
“Hmm.” Branch shifted slightly and picked up a silver comb with an ornate handle, acting as though he hadn’t noticed the men. “Have they threatened you in any way? Are you frightened?”
She glared at him a moment, feeling her temper beginning to bubble. “Who wouldn’t be frightened when two ugly brutes keep staring at you. It’s … distressing. And no, they haven’t threatened me, unless their presence could be taken as such.”
“Don’t be distressed or frightened,” Branch said, placing the comb back on the table.
“Is there a reason you have failed to disclose as to why they are perched across the street, watching and waiting? Have you done something that has drawn their interest and attention, other than being so fair of face that any mere mortal man would want to stop and goggle?”
Lucy felt heat burn her cheeks and sizzle down her neck at Branch’s words. She didn’t know whether to thank him for the flattery or wallop him with one of the hammers on the shelf beneath the workbench for what was surely his teasing.
He grinned and walked over to a display in the corner away from the window, where he could watch the men without being seen.
“Why are you here? And how is it you just happened along when those awful men took up a post outside?” Lucy asked, moving from behind the workbench—and pretending Branch was a customer in need of her assistance as she picked up a velvet-lined wooden box that held an assortment of rings and moved beside him.
“I was walking back from the wharf and thought I would stop by to see if Theo found that beetle for which he had been so ardently searching,” Branch said.
He had taken an interest in Theo’s bug fascination and had spent an hour one morning in the garden, helping Theo weed while they searched for bugs.
Branch was becoming a familiar face at the shop, even if Lucy remained uncertain of the reasons for his frequent visits.
She had discovered his work was as a merchant trader, which explained his frequent wandering around town.
He didn’t have an office or shop, but conducted his business wherever he found himself making a deal.
She hated to admit it, but she missed him when he didn’t stop in. Her heart, traitorous thing that it was, practically galloped each time she heard Branch’s voice. When he smiled at her, she often felt as though her knees would simply give way beneath her.
Which was why she continued to act rather prickly toward him, even though she had to admit he had become a friend. Perhaps not one she yet fully trusted, but a friend all the same.
Lucy yanked herself out of her thoughts and back to the conversation. “Yes, Theo found the beetle. Mama let him draw it before she insisted he kill it. We’ve enough things crawling and flying around in the house without Theo adding to the stock.”
Branch grinned and picked up an emerald ring. The jewel was of rare clarity and rich color. When it caught the sunlight shining through the shop window, Lucy couldn’t help but think the emerald bore a striking resemblance to Branch’s eyes when he was amused.
Lucy held her breath when Branch slid the ring on her finger. Everywhere his skin touched hers, she felt as though tiny flames began flickering. His eyes darkened, and he leaned toward her.
“You, Miss Carlson, deserve a king’s ransom in jewels, but I think there is a stone that better suits you,” he said, toying with the ring on her finger before carefully removing it and setting it back in the box.
He selected a sapphire ring and held it up to the light, then close to her cheek. “That’s closer to the intriguing hue of your incredible eyes,” he whispered before he slid the ring on her finger.
Lucy had the strangest feeling of having lived that experience with him before and of enjoying it again someday in the future. Rather than being concerned by the feeling, it instead gave her comfort. Hope.
“You, Mr. Barton, are full to the brim of flattery and fawning today. Did you partake of something fermented earlier?” Lucy teased, offering Branch a coquettish look before she removed the ring and returned it to the box.
Branch slapped a hand to his chest and feigned affront. “I would never, dear Miss Carlson.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Never?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow.