Chapter 17
Charlotte studied her brother, her chest tight. She’d always been able to manage him, but this Simon, unkempt and hard, wasn’t the boy who’d left Edenbrook months ago.
He stood before her now, arms crossed. “Would you mind explaining just what you’re doing here?”
“Deacon Cole wants Edenbrook.”
“That’s nothing new.” Simon moved to the fire and stirred the pot of stew simmering over the flame.
“Even if he has to accuse you of treason to get it.”
“What?” The spoon in his hand clattered to the floor.
She had his full attention now. “He claims to have proof you’ve joined the rebels.”
“I fail to see how that would affect Edenbrook.”
Her stomach twisted. Simon didn’t refute the accusation.
She paused, searching for words that would make him understand how serious the situation had become.
“You know how Papa is. He’d do anything to keep Cole from blackening our family name.
” She waited a moment for him to grasp the danger. “Even sell Edenbrook.”
Simon was silent for a long moment. “Would that be such a bad thing?”
Charlotte swallowed back a rising wave of panic. This wasn’t going at all how she’d planned. “Edenbrook is all we have.”
Simon searched her face as though he were judging how she would receive his words.
“My home is here now.” He rose and paced to the hearth, gripping the mantel.
“I can’t go back. I don’t want to enter the military, and what else is the son of the famous Charles Carruthers to do?
I never fit in there, and now I see why.
” He turned to her, his face lighting up with the eager excitement she remembered from their childhood adventures outdoors.
She hadn’t seen him glow like this in years.
“I’m free here. Happy. I’ve got so many plans.
Livestock. An orchard.” An earnest intensity came over his face.
“Foster is grafting plants for me. You’ve got to plant the orchard as soon as possible, you know. It takes years to produce fruit.”
She blocked out the endearing enthusiasm that had often led them astray as children.
“You need to come home, Simon.” He made a sound as if to object, and she rushed ahead to stem his words.
“Even if it’s only for a time. Join the militia and prove your loyalty.
Then you can come back.” She doubted he would.
Once he saw the orchards and fields of Edenbrook, he’d realize he had everything he needed there.
His brows drew together. “I can’t.” His arm swirled about in a wide gesture that seemed to encompass the cabin and its surroundings. “I didn’t do all this work for nothing. I did it because I realized I could be happy here.”
“All alone?” Panic swelled. Why wouldn’t he listen to reason?
“I’m not alone. The Fosters are the best sort of people.”
“They’re not family.”
His eyes blazed. “They’re good people.” He seemed to expect an acknowledgment from her, but she sat mute in the face of words that made no sense.
How could he prefer this isolated outpost to Edenbrook?
And how could he call the Fosters family and ignore what she meant to him?
Unless . . . she’d never meant much to him at all.
“But what will become of me?” Her question might sound selfish after all he’d shared, yet she couldn’t stem the rush of fear. Simon seemed set on a future that would put her own at risk. There had to be a way to make him see reason.
Simon rubbed a hand over his face. “I need to think.” He went to the door and grabbed his coat.
“Where are you—?”
He held up a staying hand. “We’ll figure something out, L. J.” He fetched a bowl from the shelf and passed it to her. “Help yourself to the stew.” He gestured to the bed against the far wall. “And get some rest.”
L. J. Little John. His use of her childhood nickname didn’t soften her as perhaps he hoped. She was tired of playing Little John to his Robin Hood, following wherever his impulses led them.
Joshua lingered in the barn, brushing Bess until her coat gleamed. He sent an uneasy glance in the direction of the cabin, wondering how Charlotte fared.
Grabbing his sack from the wagon bed, he felt around for a fresh block of walnut and his whittling knife. He’d started carving to fill the long winter nights when he had only himself for company. It calmed him, and right now, it seemed the only antidote to the swirling worry for Charlotte.
Sitting on an overturned bucket in the dim light from the lantern, he made the first few cuts, letting his fingers learn the natural shape of the wood as he studied the grain, his brow creasing in concentration. Another wolf? No. This piece called for something different, but what?
Restless, he jammed the carving back into his pocket and paced back to Bess’s stall.
What Charlotte and her brother decided between them was no business of his.
Yet here he was, caught up in a web of worry and deceit.
Even with the money Charlotte paid him, he’d still need Cole’s five pounds to have enough to free Henry.
But how could he tell Cole what he’d discovered, if it might put Charlotte or her brother in danger?
He sighed. Mrs. Norris always said he never could stand by when a body was in trouble.
Bess snorted and shook her head. The hay feeder was empty.
“That hungry, were you?” Happy for the distraction, Joshua scratched behind her ears and climbed into the loft to pitch down a fresh pile of hay. It was dark, and Joshua felt around for the hayfork he’d left earlier.
Suddenly, his foot came into contact with something hard. He crouched down and dug through the hay pile to reveal a long wooden handle. Ah, the pitchfork.
But it wasn’t a pitchfork. Instead of three slender prongs, a solid metal pike was attached to this handle. He scrabbled in the hay and uncovered three more in a similar design. What on earth?
He threw down several armloads of hay, his mind busy trying to understand the tools he’d uncovered. A farmer might have a pike at hand to kill a stray weasel in the henhouse, but he’d never have four of them, stashed away in the hayloft out of reach.
Absently, he turned over a bucket to use as a chair and pulled out his whittling. As weapons, pikes were cheaper to make and easier to use than muskets. Yet Charlotte had been certain her brother wasn’t involved in any plans to organize against the government.
The creak of the barn door made him tense. A cold gust of wind swept down the hall as Simon headed toward him, his stride loose and unhurried. Joshua let out a slow breath. Charlotte’s brother didn’t look like a man bent on avenging his sister’s honor.
Simon approached the stall. Reaching out, he scratched Bess behind the ears. “You’ve a homestead near here?” The casual tone of Simon’s voice didn’t fool Joshua. The man had a message to impart. But what?
Joshua stood and pocketed his carving. “Aye. Just purchased the acreage last year.” Though he wasn’t nearly as far along as Simon was.
“How were your yields?”
“Not bad, considering the weather. But I didn’t get much at market.”
Simon’s face twisted in sympathy. “Nobody got much at market this year.”
Joshua leaned forward. “I can’t figure it. Britain is clamoring for wheat.”
“It’s the middlemen.” Simon said the word like it left a bad taste on his tongue. “They work together to keep the prices low, then sell to shipping companies. Everyone makes a profit. Except the ones who do the work.”
Higgins flashed through Joshua’s mind. “Aye, I’ve met a few of those in my time.”
“The government doesn’t seem to want us to succeed.
” A fiery light entered his eyes. “Look how hard it is to reach this homestead. Yet will they move to improve the roads and open up settlement? Build churches and schools? Not a chance. Their well-placed friends want to hoard all the land they can to drive up the price.”
Joshua swallowed. He’d saved for years to buy his tract, and it would be many more before he had enough land cleared to turn a profit. Had he paid more than the land was worth? “The rich will always take more than their share, I reckon.” Simon was right about one thing: It wasn’t fair.
“Not if I can help it.” Simon’s hands clenched on the stall door.
“The rich need to change their ways if this colony is going to prosper.” He paused, then continued, his voice deliberate.
“I should know. My father is Charles Carruthers.” Joshua started at the name, and Simon gave a thin smile. “Heard of him, have you?”
“The hero of Waterloo?” Of course he’d heard of him.
The entire colony knew his name. He just hadn’t imagined the Simon Carruthers he’d been hired to find was from that illustrious family.
His stomach dropped. He’d figured Charlotte came from comfortable circumstances, but he hadn’t guessed she had such a famous name behind her.
“That’s the one.” Simon grimaced. “Only there’s nothing heroic about hiding in your home while the colony cracks and crumbles around you. If those in power won’t adapt to the times, maybe they need to be convinced.”
Joshua nodded along, though he had his doubts it would be that easy. Simon hadn’t grown up with the foot of the wealthy at his neck. “I wish you luck with that.” He let the silence stretch, waiting for Simon’s next revelation. Would he admit to being a rebel? Would he ask Joshua to join him?
After a long moment, Simon gave a sheepish smile. “Don’t mind me. I’m always fired up about something, Charlotte’s probably told you as much.” Simon’s gaze held Joshua’s as though trying to read his thoughts. “She hired you to bring her here, did she?”
Joshua nodded. “I need capital if I’m going to get the farm off the ground.” He related his ill-fated trip to market and subsequent meeting with Charlotte as matter-of-factly as possible. His profits were nil, he needed money, and she offered him employment. It was as simple as that.
He ignored the voice in his head that told him nothing about Charlotte was simple. Then again, nothing about his mission was simple, either. Joshua pushed aside the unwelcome thought of the man waiting at Cooper’s Inn. What he’d tell Deacon Cole was a decision for another day.
“One thing I can’t quite figure out.” Simon’s narrow gaze traveled over Joshua. “How did she pay you?”
The question confirmed Joshua’s suspicion that Charlotte’s finances weren’t as secure as he’d first thought. “She sold her horse.”
Simon’s brows rose in skepticism. “She sold Scarlett,” he repeated, as though he had to utter the words aloud to believe them.
“Yes.” It hadn’t seemed strange to Joshua. Wealthy people bought and sold horses all the time.
“I don’t believe you. Charlotte raised that horse from birth. There’s no way she’d sell her.”
Hints slipped into place. He’d noticed an uncanny connection between horse and rider more than once. “She did love that horse.” He crossed his arms and returned Simon’s glare with equal force. “I guess she just loved her brother more.”
Simon flinched. Joshua was glad to see his words had found their mark. Maybe now the man would stop worrying about Joshua and turn his attention to his sister. “You’ll go back with her, won’t you?”
Simon’s eyes widened at the sharp words. Truth be told, Joshua surprised himself. He’d intended to walk away from these siblings tomorrow morning and try to never think of them—of her—again.
“I can’t go back. Not now.” Simon’s voice was flat. More alarming to Joshua than an outburst, for it indicated no room for negotiation. “But you could.” He looked at Joshua, and his direct gaze left Joshua feeling uncomfortable, as though he saw a truth Joshua himself didn’t understand.
“What are you suggesting?”
“You could take Charlotte back to the city. Make sure she gets home safely.”
Safe. Yes, that was the key word.
“And will she be safe once she gets there?”
Simon scrubbed his hand over his face. “I’ll do what I can to secure her future. The thing is . . .” He paused, closing his eyes for a long moment as though he couldn’t decide what to say. “Things are coming to a head, and . . . I have commitments here.”
Joshua digested this information with a sinking stomach. What had Charlotte said? There’s no proof he’s a rebel. Well, no proof he wasn’t a rebel, either. “You’re involved?”
Simon picked up a shovel leaning against the wall and hung it on a peg, all the while avoiding Joshua’s gaze. Joshua didn’t blame him. Why would he unload his secrets to a stranger? He took a breath as though making a decision and looked Joshua in the eye. “Is your horse trained to the saddle?”
It took Joshua a moment to follow the man’s thinking. “Yes. Though it’s been years.”
“Good. I’ll borrow a saddle from Foster.
You can leave the wagon here, pick it up on your way back.
Charlotte can ride my mount.” He gestured to the large stall at the end where a beautiful gelding watched, his intelligent eyes observing the men as though he could follow their conversation.
“If you keep off the main roads, you should avoid any . . . unpleasantness.”
Joshua’s stomach lurched. What unpleasantness were they likely to encounter? Rebels? Militia? “You won’t need your horse?”
“I’ll be on foot, just like my neighbors.” Simon stepped closer, his eyes intent. “She can’t know anything about it. It’s the only way to keep her safe.”
Joshua had to agree. He couldn’t imagine Charlotte trotting meekly back to the city and leaving her brother here to join the rebellion. “What about you?”
Simon looked away. “I’ve committed myself. There’s no backing down now.”
Joshua saw the tension around his eyes, his knuckles white on the edge of the stall. Simon was in deep, then. Where did that leave his sister?
“You have to get Charlotte out of here,” Simon continued, a hint of desperation entering his voice. “I’m asking you to take her back to the city.”
Part of him—the part that had spent years working hard and keeping his head down—wanted to refuse. What if they ended up in the middle of a rebellion?
Simon took a step toward him, his voice fierce. “Please. See her safely home. Will you do that for her?”
Joshua nodded, his heart sinking. Of course he would. He’d do anything to keep her safe.