Eleven
Slowly, Branch opened his eyes and stared at an unfamiliar ceiling in a dark, slightly dank room. Had he been taken prisoner?
Not that he recalled.
Then memories from the previous day flooded his sleepy mind. He had been shot rescuing Thomas.
It must have been a day for Redcoat spies, because he had gotten word Thomas was in danger about the time his friend had gone to retrieve whatever message Lucy had ready to send.
On his way to intercept him, Branch had passed Doctor Gray’s place and noticed a known Redcoat spy lingering across the road, keeping watch.
He knew Thomas would take the boat they kept beneath the broken wharf and row over to New Jersey, make his way to Whitley on a path hidden in the trees, then disappear for a few days.
Only Thomas had been followed by the two brutes who kept watching Lucy.
Ward was as aware of their presence as Branch had been, but there wasn’t much they could do to get rid of the men without raising a ruckus.
Ward had mentioned he had sent Lucy and Theo to the farm in hopes the men would lose interest in her, but they had resumed their ogling as soon as she had returned.
When Branch had come upon the two of them shooting at Thomas, he had lost all patience with the men.
He had brained the one and grabbed an oar and smacked it against the hard head of the other to topple him like a felled tree.
Ward had gotten word out before Lucy and Theo returned, and the two men were captured and hauled off to where they wouldn’t bother anyone for a good long while.
Grateful he had worn a filthy cape as part of his disguise, Branch had whipped it off when he had realized Thomas was wounded and wrapped it around him, intending to take him to Rowan’s place while they summoned the doctor, but more Redcoat spies were lounging in the shadows nearby, keeping watch.
Branch had veered into the alley and made his way to the Carlsons’ shop and home. He knew Ward had helped injured Rebels in the past and hoped he could do his best for Thomas.
Without hesitation, Branch would have gladly traded places with his friend. Thomas had saved his life more than once, and Branch felt he had a debt to repay a hundred times over.
It wasn’t until he had felt something wet against his leg that Branch had realized he’d been bleeding.
He had refused to let Cleta or Ward help him until they had dug the musket balls out of Thomas and stitched his wounds closed.
When Branch had finally allowed Ward to help him remove his shirt, it was to discover a musket ball had dug a furrow across his side.
Despite how awful the wound looked, nothing vital had been damaged beyond a few layers of skin.
However, Branch thought his eyes might have crossed when Ward had poured rum over the wound and sutured the edges together.
After Cleta had helped wrap a bandage around Branch’s middle, she fetched one of Ward’s shirts for him to wear and then washed his bloodstained breeches while he slept in the cot not occupied by Thomas.
He sat up slowly, recalling the dangerous mission they had sent Lucy on, accompanied by Theo.
They must have all lost their minds to do that, but Theo had returned triumphantly, full of excitement as he relayed every step of the adventure, from Lucy taking off her shoes to carry him through the mud, to her charming the Redcoats, to feeding Whitley the food Cleta had sent while Theo sat on a pony.
Branch made a mental note to find the lad a pony of his own. Every boy on a farm needed a pony and a dog. John Danvers had dogs, but a puppy of his own was what Theo needed.
Quickly taking stock of his injury, Branch realized it hurt, but his side didn’t feel aflame, so he was sure an infection hadn’t set in. A few days of rest, and he would likely be as right as rain on a spring cornfield.
With a look around the room, he was pleased to see Thomas slept peacefully, and the color had returned to his face. Ward seemed to know what he was doing when it came to providing care to a wound from a shot. Then again, the man had experience in the field from the French and Indian War.
Branch rose from the cot where he had slept next to the bed in which Thomas rested, careful not to wake his friend or Ward, who slumbered in a chair with his head resting on his crossed arms on the table.
On silent feet, Branch slowly made his way upstairs and out to the necessary.
After splashing his face with cold well water to rid himself of the cobwebs of sleep that clung to his mind, he rested on the bench in the Carlsons’ garden before he tried to make his way back down to Ward’s secret room.
He was debating if he had the strength to make it down the steps when he heard the jingle of a harness on the street outside.
At Branch’s behest, Ward had sent a note to Rowan, requesting he arrive early to transport Branch out to his farm. It didn’t surprise him to see Rowan stride around the corner of the building looking as fit as a newly tuned fiddle.
Branch forced himself to stand and lifted a hand to his friend.
“You look terrible. Ready to go?” Rowan asked, smirking at him.
Branch gave him a disparaging glance and motioned toward the house. “I hate to ask, but would you collect my things? It’s going to take all the strength I have to make it to your wagon.”
“I don’t mind. If you wait a moment, I’ll help you. I brought a carriage instead of the wagon because I thought it might be more comfortable for you. Just don’t get any ideas about this being a frequent occurrence.”
“Never,” Branch said, forcing what he hoped looked like a smile instead of a grimace of pain.
He assumed the amount of blood he had lost yesterday contributed to his overwhelming weariness and weakness today.
Although he wanted to see Lucy, to tell her how proud he was of her, how brave he thought she had been, it was probably best to leave now.
He didn’t want her to see him until he had regained enough strength to at least carry on a teasing conversation with her.
“Is anyone up, other than you?” Rowan asked as Branch regained his seat on the bench.
“No one was up when I came out, but I think Mrs. Carlson will soon be in the kitchen if she isn’t already there.”
Rowan nodded and walked over to the back door. He tapped once, and the door opened almost immediately.
Cleta looked out and saw Branch on the bench, then welcomed Rowan and left the door open. The cool air would be welcomed inside their dwelling, and this early in the morning, the flies weren’t yet incessantly buzzing about.
Branch watched as Cleta came outside carrying a cup. She handed him the cider, along with a plate that held two pieces of bread slathered with butter and strawberry preserves, and a thick wedge of cheese.
“Thank you, Mrs. Carlson,” Branch said, taking the food and drink from her, and then saying a brief word of thanks not only for the meal, but for his spared life and the ability to watch a new day begin.
“Will you stay until Lucy and Theo come down?” Cleta asked.
When he shook his head, she didn’t seem surprised.
Cleta placed a hand on his shoulder and offered him a motherly smile. “She will miss you.”
“As I will miss her. I just need a few days to set myself to rights, then I’ll return. Please let her and Theo both know how much their fine work is appreciated.”
“I’ll do that,” Cleta said, then returned inside, leaving him to his breakfast.
He heard voices and could see Ward and Rowan speaking. Cleta handed Rowan bread and cheese. The man nodded his thanks, then stepped outside with Ward.
Rowan ate the food in four wolfish bites, wiped his hands on the legs of his breeches, then headed over to Branch with Ward beside him.
“Leaving so soon?” Ward asked, knowing it had been Branch’s plan all along.
He would have gone to the farm last night if he could have managed to get himself there. Except he couldn’t leave until he saw with his own eyes that Lucy was unharmed and Theo had suffered no ill from their expedition into New Jersey.
If the Redcoats who had spoken with them the previous evening had known Lucy was a dedicated spy for the Patriots carrying an important message for General Washington right under their noses, he wondered if they would have believed it.
Likely not.
“I’ll rest better in my own bed, but thank you for everything, Mr. Carlson.”
“It’s Ward, and you’re welcome. Let’s get you on the way there before any of these detestable Redcoat rabble are awake to know what’s going on.” Ward carried Branch’s belongings, which didn’t consist of much.
“I’ll have Sarah wash and press your shirt,” Branch said, feeling slightly dizzy.
“Don’t give it another thought,” Ward said. He and Rowan flanked Branch as he made his way with slow, careful steps to the end of the building. Thankfully, Rowan had left the carriage on the side street.
Rowan climbed onto the leather-covered seat and reached out a hand to Branch. With Ward steadying him from behind, Branch was able to make it into the one-seat carriage. It didn’t have a top on it, but the morning breeze would be refreshing.
“Don’t be surprised if Lucy pays you a visit. She will be upset to know you’ve left without telling her goodbye,” Ward cautioned.
Branch nodded and slumped against the seat. “I know, sir, but it’s best if she waits until I come to her. Keep safe and well. When Thomas has healed enough to bear the journey, I’ll bring him out to the farm to recover.”
“I’ll tell him, and we’ll take good care of him until then.” Ward moved back with a nod.
Rowan snapped the lines, and the horse stepped forward.
The streets of the city had not yet burst to life, so it didn’t take long until they were on the road out to the farm. Rowan had been there many times and knew the way. Branch closed his eyes and tried not to be ill at every jostle and jolt that caused waves of pain to roll over him.