Three
Anna smoothed her apron, checked her cap, and went upstairs with the unsettled feeling of a girl walking toward judgment.
Could Mrs. Pembroke have noticed her distractions of late? Perhaps she’d seen Anna pause outside the parlor door too often. What if she knew about the wash line?
Anna’s stomach tightened. No. She shouldn’t think that way. Fear made a body careless, and around here, one careless slip could get a person hanged.
Mrs. Pembroke’s sitting room occupied the small chamber at the back of the house, where the afternoon light filtered through the windows softer than it did in the formal parlor.
A basket of embroidery sat near Mrs. Pembroke’s favorite chair by the window.
Several folded linens occupied the table, and the infamous vase of flowers, minus its petunias, stood on the mantel.
She wasn’t going to make Anna replace the petunias, was she?
Mrs. Pembroke herself sat stiffly in a chair. Not her favorite chair, which was troubling all by itself. Her spectacles were perched low on her nose, and a length of blue silk lay across her lap. She looked up as soon as Anna entered.
“There you are,” she said, making it sound like a scold and probably meaning it. “Close the door, Anna.”
Anna obeyed. That was even less encouraging. “You sent for me, ma’am?”
“I did.” Mrs. Pembroke set the silk aside. “Come here and tell me what you make of this.”
Anna had a sneaking suspicion this had nothing to do with petunias. She crossed the room as Mrs. Pembroke lifted a long, narrow case from the table and held it out.
Anna took it before she thought better of it. The case itself was lovely, fashioned of black leather bound over wood, with a delicate gold edging along the seam in a narrow leaf pattern. A small brass clasp held it shut.
“What is it?” Anna asked.
“Open it and see.”
Anna pressed the little brass button. The lid lifted with a soft creak from the hinge, revealing cream velvet inside. A silver locket rested in the lining, the chain tucked neatly into a slit made for it.
For a moment, Anna only stared.
The locket had presence. It lay there like something important, though she couldn’t say why.
Mrs. Pembroke leaned back. “Well, don’t just stand there. Open it.”
Anna lifted the locket from the case, pressed the clasp, and opened it. Inside, the silver caught the light. On the left side, centered and engraved were the words: In God We Trust.
Anna stared at them.
On the right side was a tiny portrait of a child, a pretty little girl with round cheeks, dark eyes, and a solemn expression.
“It’s very nice,” Anna hedged.
“So it is,” Mrs. Pembroke drawled.
Anna glanced between the locket and her employer. “Does the clasp need mending?”
“Not that clasp.” Mrs. Pembroke took the locket from her, turned it in her fingers, and opened a hidden back panel with a small, practiced motion.
Anna’s eyes widened. So, there was more. The back left interior bore another inscription, also centered.
Martha Washington.
Anna’s pulse took off. With one heartbeat, the room seemed to tilt around that name.
“Martha Washington?” she whispered.
“Oh yes, dear,” Mrs. Pembroke said, as if Anna had remarked upon the weather. “It did belong to her once.”
Anna looked from the locket to the case and back again. “How did you come by such a thing?”
For once, Mrs. Pembroke didn’t answer at once. She closed the hidden compartment, set the locket back in the velvet, and brushed her thumb over the edge of the case. Something almost tender softened her face.
“It came into my hands at great cost,” she said at last. “Not to me, mind you. To those who carried it before. A young woman who knew what it was to be held in bondage, and a man who understood that freedom is not a gift to be granted only when convenient. It is God-given, and therefore worth every sacrifice required to claim it.”
Anna’s throat tightened.
Mrs. Pembroke touched the velvet lining beneath the place where the chain had rested. “Love overcame, dear. That is the important part. Love, courage, and a stubborn refusal to let wicked men have the final word.”
She slipped her fingers beneath the narrow slit in the lining and drew out a folded piece of thin parchment.
Anna held her breath as Mrs. Pembroke unfolded it.
“This was added by the couple who had the locket before us,” Mrs. Pembroke said.
Anna leaned close enough to read the words.
From my dear husband, Skenandoah, I have learned that all men and women, being created by God and in His image, were created to be free. Abagail Densbury and Oneida scout, Skenandoah, The Deer Fort Stanwix, August 27, 1777
Anna’s eyes stung. “They were married?”
“They were,” Mrs. Pembroke said. “And now their names travel with the locket, tucked away with Mrs. Washington’s letter.”
“There is a letter?”
“Naturally there is a letter. Do you suppose Martha Washington would send a locket into the world without proper instructions?”
Anna almost laughed, but Mrs. Pembroke had already drawn out another folded parchment from beneath the velvet. “Read it,” Mrs. Pembroke said, handing it to her.
Anna took the letter and began to read:
My Dearest Girl,
This locket would not exist but for my beloved. He entreated a trusted friend to fashion it for me, yet it is far more than a common ornament. It was born of love, wrought in silver, and shaped by steadfast devotion.
As you have now discovered, to awaken its wonder one need only place the locket upon her heart, and love shall surely find its way to you, thus fulfilling the locket’s true and intended purpose.
Love, like liberty, thrives when freely bestowed. When the time comes that you no longer have need of its guidance, pass the locket from one hopeful heart to another, that its promise may endure.
May your days be filled with the joy that springs from choosing love above all else.
And never forget that love, freely given, is the truest liberty we may ever know.
Ever yours,
Martha Washington
Anna scarcely dared breathe. She looked at Mrs. Pembroke, dumbfounded. Before she knew it, her employer took the letter from her, folded it neatly, and tucked it back beneath the cream velvet with Abagail and Skenandoah’s note.
Anna blinked a few times as Mrs. Pembroke lifted the locket from the case, closed it, and folded Anna’s hand around it. “You will keep this until tomorrow.”
Anna fought a gasp and stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I was quite clear, dear. Keep it until tomorrow.”
“But surely, ma’am, I shouldn’t—”
Anna stopped before she said something foolish, like, I shouldn’t be trusted with anything connected to Martha Washington while British officers are drinking tea below stairs.
Mrs. Pembroke’s eyebrows rose. “You shouldn’t what?”
Anna swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t keep something so valuable.”
“Nonsense. The valuable things in this house are often safest with those no one bothers to notice. That would be you, dear.”
Anna’s hand tightened around the locket.
Mrs. Pembroke returned to her embroidery as if she’d said nothing unusual. “You will stitch a small pocket in the lining of my brown cloak. The one with the worn hem. Is that understood?”
Anna gave her a quick nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Use sturdy thread and make it neat, but not so neat that it draws attention. I want no cleverness. Cleverness is often the ruin of good sewing.”
Anna blinked a few times, trying to gather her thoughts. “A pocket, ma’am?”
“Yes, a plain one. Big enough for the locket and nothing more.”
“For your cloak?”
Mrs. Pembroke rolled her eyes. “Yes, for my cloak, child. That is what I said.”
Anna looked at the closed locket in her hand. “Will you be wearing the cloak tomorrow?”
Mrs. Pembroke pulled her needle through the silk. “I may. Then again, I may lend it or decide brown makes me look bilious and burn the thing in the yard.”
Anna’s head snapped up.
Mrs. Pembroke didn’t so much as wink in her direction.
“Um, I see,” Anna said, though she didn’t see at all. What was Mrs. Pembroke up to?
“You don’t see,” Mrs. Pembroke replied, “but you’re sensible enough not to ask questions. That is one of your better qualities, Anna dear.”
Anna’s face warmed. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Don’t thank me. It encourages sentiment, and sentiment leads to weeping.
I haven’t the patience for tears today.” She stopped sewing and looked Anna in the eyes.
“Captain Whitby has stolen much of my good humor.” She glanced toward the window.
“Along with my peace, my parlor, and half my garden.” Her narrowed gaze shifted to the vase on the mantel. “And especially my petunias.”
Anna pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.
Mrs. Pembroke’s eyes flashed. “A woman’s household is not a battlefield simply because men in uniforms decide to make it one.”
Anna said nothing, her gaze glued to the empty vase.
Mrs. Pembroke’s expression softened a little. “Thank goodness some things, Anna, are safer when they look sentimental.”
Anna’s heart began to pound. The locket suddenly felt warmer in her palm. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, her voice small.
Mrs. Pembroke gave her a curt nod. “Now take the cloak from the cedar press and work in the small sewing room, not the kitchen. Mercy talks when she’s nervous, and Mrs. Fenwick hears everything when she pretends not to. Elias is to know nothing of this unless I tell him myself.”
Anna’s jaw went slack. She snapped her mouth shut.
Mrs. Pembroke eyed her, needle poised midair. “Is there a difficulty?”
She gave her a quick shake of her head. “No, ma’am.”
“Good. Then go.”
Anna crossed to the door but stopped with her hand on the knob.
Mrs. Pembroke didn’t look up from her work. “If anyone asks what I gave you, it was a household task.”
Anna looked over her shoulder. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Because that’s exactly what it is,” Mrs. Pembroke called.
Anna left the room with the locket hidden in her closed hand and Mrs. Pembroke’s words following her down the hall.
A household task. Well, perhaps it was. But Anna had the unsettling feeling she was now carrying something far heavier than silver.