THE CRY FOR FREEDOM (Winds of Betrayal) Page 14

  She reached up for his hand. “Take me with you, Gabriel. Don’t go,” she whispered, but he was gone. She collapsed onto the floor. Tepper came up behind her.

  “I’m sorry, my dear. He had no choice, I’m afraid. In honesty, my dear, I was the one who insisted he leave you at the moment, feeling you safer here. Times aren’t good for our boys. I felt it too dangerous. Let the danger of the invasion pass and we’ll get you out and back to your fiancé.” He pulled her up and placed his arm around her. “It’s hard for all now.”

  At the moment, though, Hannah didn’t care. Gabriel had left her.

  Tides of Change

  Jonathan watched Catherine lying in their bed. She was awake. In the crook of her arm she cradled her small tightly wrapped infant. Jonathan smiled down at them both. He gently sat down on the comfortable high post bed with the morning light shining through the window.

  Catherine gazed lovingly at her husband. “Isn’t he the most beautiful baby?”

  “Almost as beautiful as his mother,” he replied. He bent over and kissed his wife. His heart sang on his return to find his wife having given birth to a healthy boy, a fine child.

  Her eyes filled with water. Her other hand went out to Jonathan. “We must name him. Have you thought of one?” she asked.

  “I had thought of William, if that is right with you,” he said simply.

  She stared into Jonathan's eyes, anything for her Jonathan. “I can't think of another that would suit him better.”

  Jonathan held tight to his wife's hand. Awestruck, Jonathan stared at his son, the miracle of life. How over the last few months he had doubted there were any miracles. The disastrous campaign in Quebec, Jonathan had stayed stationed in Montreal under the command of General Richard Montgomery. Their plan had been doomed from the start. Unbeknownst to the Rebels, the British had known their every move, fully aware of the colonial plan.

  From what Jonathan gathered about the battle, the Continentals had no choice but to attack during a severe snowstorm, giving the fact that they attacked on New Year's Eve, because January 1st the enlistment of most of the men period would run out. The battle began on an ominous tone with General Montgomery among the first to fall, mortally wounded by a cannon ball full of grapeshot. Colonel Benedict Arnold also wounded in his left leg, leaving a Captain Daniel Morgan to take command.

  Captain Morgan, a hot-tempered Virginian himself, was a natural born leader. His men greatly respected him and at this time he appeared to the appropriate authority that neither rank nor seniority entitled him to assume, but no one question his ability to do so.

  Captain Morgan continued the assault, but it failed. Morgan and half of Arnold's column were captured; a siege ensued with Jonathan spending most of his time fighting the smallpox epidemic, with a new method which immunized the soldiers from the horrid disease.

  Upon the fall back to Montreal, Jonathan had been relieved to have found Gabriel, with a slight case of frostbite but none the worse the wear. In early April, the congressional delegation of Benjamin Franklin, Samuel Chase and Charles Carroll arrived to strengthen ties with Canada. With the spring came news the British had called for reinforcements, forcing a retreat.

  Jonathan along with Gabriel returned to Philadelphia in late May. It was then Jonathan had been dealt the blow on the raid and Hannah's living with his grandfather in New York. Jonathan had exploded for not having been told, which he soon regretted.

  Catherine heavy with child began to tremble and became inconsolable. “I did it only for you. I didn't want you to be under more stress because you couldn't come home,” Catherine sobbed. She wept so she took to her bed even after Jonathan assured her he wasn't angry with her.

  Jonathan could do no more than shake his head. He learned quickly that he had to walk a fine line with Catherine since he wanted above all else to have his family. He wanted no more tragedy.

  He had come directly from New York. On July the 9, General Washington had delivered the Declaration of Independence to the troops; Congress had passed the measure on July 4th. They needed the uplifting news for they would have a difficult path to hold soon enough, Jonathan was more than aware of.

  Jonathan’s concern at the present was of a personal matter. Relief flooded him to hear Hannah had survived the raid, but angered at her presence in New York. He read the letters from Lydia and read in between the lines and he also knew well his sister and only one reason for her visit. He hadn't been able to see her, for Lanson had kept him from her. Jonathan was stupefied that Gabriel found her decision to stay acceptable. All the time they were away, Hannah had been the center of his talk.

  He bent once more and kissed Catherine and their son. “I'll return soon. I have a small matter to attend to, my love,” he said. He gave pause for she protested.

  “Don't leave me again, Jonathan. You can't,” she pleaded.

  “Catherine, I'm not returning to the front for another two weeks at the least. I'll return within the hour,” he said, alarmed by her reaction. He glanced back over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

  Jonathan chose to walk to meet Lanson at the same tavern he met him before Jonathan had departed for his first campaign. Unbeknownst why, he once again the same sinking feeling overwhelmed him as he entered the establishment. He saw Lanson immediately, sitting in the same area in the darkened back room. He stared at the man.

  He pulled out the chair across from Lanson who looked up from his mug. Lanson took a large sip and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. “I see no Hannah, Lanson. I thought you promised to bring her back,” Jonathan said blandly as he took his seat.

  “I hear you have a fine son, Jonathan. Congratulations,” Lanson said, ignoring Jonathan's first statement. “You should take pleasure in being able to feel the thrill of his birth before you're bombarded with my information.”

  His heart skipped a beat. “Hannah?”

  “No,” Lanson shook his head. “She's fine, at least physically. I had hoped that your friend, her fiancé, would have pulled her out himself. I heard he had an opportunity to see her. It's more than I've been able to do, Jonathan. I have found limitations in my ability. Her contact has been pleased with her information. So much so, he's determined to keep her within his network.”

  Jonathan watched as Lanson took another swig from his mug. “Gabriel saw her and didn't take her back with him? Why?”

  “I have my suspicions,” he said looking up into Jonathan's eyes. “Upon giving you this information, my friend, you will have to do the hardest thing you have ever had to do. If you don't, the situation will implode. It's of the utmost importance for the cause that no matter how you feel, you don't respond to it and leave it for us. Give me your word.”

  “What could be worse than what I have already endured, Lanson? Tell me now,” Jonathan said still, eyes glaring.

  Lanson shrugged. “The last couple of weeks, we have done our own digging, for Hannah came back with a name, the leak. The one, a trusted one, we all trusted him. But in telling you, all will become clear why they want to keep Hannah within the network. Why I feel they bribed your friend to talk her into staying until it will be too late to get her out if New York falls, why I know you must let us handle the situation.”

  “You talk in riddles. Tell me. Tell me now, Lanson,” Jonathan demanded.

  * * * *

  Hannah stared into the mirror. She looked the same as she did the day before, but today she felt different. Much had occurred within the seven months she had come to New York. She had long since lost the innocence that once surrounded her world. She wandered over to the window, a flood of redcoat uniforms. Gabriel’s words haunted her. Don’t do anymore, Hannah. You need to stop. They’re not going to let you go easily, Hannah, if you don’t stop. Moreover, Gabriel hadn't come and now New York was in the hands of the British.

  THE END

  The saga continues…

  EMBRACE OF THE ENEMY, Book Two of the Winds of Betrayal Series

&nb
sp; In the midst of the struggle of America's bid for independence, Hannah Corbett makes a fateful decision, descending into a world of deceit. Spurred by revenge, she heads to New York, setting in motion a dangerous game for which there is no return. Searching desperately for the man who betrayed her family, she faces the cold and brutal reality of the life of a spy. Caught in a web of lies, living with betrayal, she is trapped. She has nowhere to turn except to a man it would be treasonous to love, setting duty and desire at war. Her heart is ripped apart when she must choose between the man who risks his career and life to protect her and the only thing that has remained constant in her life...her belief in her cause.

  Excerpt

  Hannah arose to the morning of the 22nd of September with the smell of smoke lingering within the air. The terror of the day before the conflagration of the city had dissipated into a different kind of fear. The fire had been quenched. Although for a time it had seemed impossible to check the flames.

  Fleeing Patriots had supposedly set the fire. Bells from the churches had been taken out by order of the Provencal Congress. Confusion reigned.

  Sleep hadn't come for her. She closed her eyes tightly, but all she could see was darkness descending down upon her. Don't panic, she told herself. Gabriel could have never left her like this, not caught within the city. She had waited and prayed for a miracle. Her ears keen upon any sound, any movement, but none came.

  She dressed herself in a simple gown for she didn't know what else to do. She walked into her grandmother's room, who was sleeping soundly, having no idea of the goings on around her. She descended the stairs. Mrs. Hayes seemed all the flutter with excitement.

  “Mr. Clay is beside himself. He wants the house cleaned immediately. We're expecting visitors. Of course you wouldn't know, Miss Hannah, but your grandfather is prominent with the Tory circle. We can expect lots more visitors, I can tell you,” Mrs. Hayes sighed. “I just can't be expected to get the house into order with all this smell of smoke and dust.”

  “Is Grandfather within his study?” Hannah asked. She watched Mrs. Hayes nod, but then the woman escaped into the kitchen. Hannah stood alone within the foyer.

  Hannah paced the foyer, jumping back when the study door opened. Her grandfather emerged from the room with a small group of British redcoats. Hannah swallowed, hoping against all hope that he didn’t notice her apprehension of their presence. His expression soured as he caught sight of her waiting. She ignored the gesture. “Are we to go now?”

  “You aren't going anywhere, Hannah. I’m not saying this more than once. I don't want you out in this for any reason. Is that understood?” he admonished her.

  She disregarded the others present. She pleaded, “But Grandfather....” She paused. He shot her a look that she comprehended well. She sidestepped and let all pass.

  A young handsome lieutenant glanced back over his shoulder, giving her a small nod. She ignored him,. Reason didn't play well with her instincts to run. She had an instinctive need to leave this house, an overwhelming sensation of impending doom.

  She didn't know how long she stood staring at the door, but she could stand it no longer, grabbed her cloak and without one word to anyone, walked out the front door.

  The stiff air greeted Hannah as she ventured forth. Logic played no part in her decision, only her urge to leave.

  She walked.

  She walked by her church, which still stood untouched, but the further she walked, the more destruction she discovered. Businesses had been rioted. Men ran into buildings and returned with arms full of merchandise. On the next street a small band of British soldiers chased the rioters. She walked by the Beekman mansion, which lay near the East River on Manhattan.

  Havoc reigned.

  People and soldiers ran rampant. Hannah sat in the gardens not far from the Beekman mansion, which seemed to be overrun with Redcoats. She sat without a word and stared.

  Voices startled her from behind, but the words weren't directed at her.

  “I don't know where else we are to put them. I don't believe the Sugar House can hold more. Has to be more than two hundred held upon the supposition that they were incendiaries to the fire,” one voice commented.

  “General Howe is in no mood to be lenient.”

  “The poor soul this morning, but I s’ppose there had to be made a statement, Arthur. Don’t you think?”

  “Think? I think that if this is any indication of the intelligence of the Americans, then they are indeed not long to deal with. The spy signaled our ship. No question about his intent. Drawings and papers damned him without a debate. General Howe ordered the execution without even a trial.”

  “But I will give that his spirit was strong. Although from his appearance, too gentle a disposition for the role he was supposed to have played. I found him to have a consciousness of rectitude, even dealing with Cunningham. He destroyed the letters I let the poor fellow write his family. Told me that the damn rebels shouldn't know that they had a man in their army who could die with so much firmness in his beliefs.”

  “I know you, Captain Montresor, haven't seen eye to eye over much with Cunningham, but we are at war. He may be too brutal by half, but maybe that's what the Americans need at the moment. Hit them hard and they won't come back with this ridiculous notion of independence.”

  “So, Arthur, you weren't impressed with the spy's last words. My only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country. You think that we are going to suppress our colonies quickly with that heart felt passion for their cause.”

  Hannah stood up, the voices trailing away. A spy hung! She had seen a crowd around artillery park by where Henry Rutgers took up residency. She needed no reminder of what they did to a captured spy; a disgraceful death hung out for a warning to all; a warning to her of the dangerous waters she tread; the possible consequences of her actions. But a draw pulled her toward the crowd.

  The gallows established in front of the park. Among the crowd of people, she made out a hooded form, which hung from a stout apple tree. Beside the corpse a signboard propped up of an old soldier with Washington written upon it. She stood frozen, not able to move.

  She stared at the lifeless body. A reminder instead of what she was fighting for, unquestioned belief in this new country. Her father had believed, her brother. Their deaths couldn't be forgotten, ever. She thought of the unquestioned fear they all must have faced when the noose placed around their neck, tightened.

  Tepper's word echoed. “You will be needed, my dear. Make no mistake about it. Congress has tarried too long on this issue. Don't wane in your beliefs for they will be tested in the days to come. You have a job to do. Don't lose sight of the cause. Your mission is more important than any of our petty concerns. I have faith in your ability. Put your emotions aside. I know all too well that those can eat at one's soul. What better revenge than to beat them at their own game? You ask what I expected out of you- information, my dear, information that will bring the British down.”

  The wind picked up, blowing her hood back, but she stood thus, staring at the body hanging out for all to see.

  * * * *

  The last few days had gone well. Colonel Marcus Durham set foot again in New York, now back under control of the British. A beginning at least on settling this rebellion. Pressure had mounted on him from Britain. King George wanted a quick settlement, not willing to compromise in the least.

  Marcus could foresee issues that would arise. He had lived among these people and understood their steadfastness. Over the last few years he had spent more time in the colonies than in his homeland away from family and friends. He had no doubt the British would eventually Be successful, but this matter would take time and lives. But this was also war. The worst kind. A war against their own.

  Chaos ensued after the initial invasion, which now had begun to dissipate. Sleep hadn't come for the last thirty-eight hours and he didn't expect any in the foreseeable future. The latest briefing had gone well, though. The Americans were on t
he run. Marcus only hesitated because General Howe seemed reluctant to go after the Continental army. He expressed his opinion, which differed from Howe's and he had only the rank of Colonel.

  He stepped out of the Beekman mansion, which served as British headquarters. A gray haze greeted him. One young officer bumped into him as he crossed the yard for his horse.

  “Sorry, sir. I wasn't looking where I was going. My attention turned,” the young officer apologized.

  “Quite all right, Lieutenant,” Marcus nodded as he continued on his path. He gave pause when he heard the two's conversation.

  The other laughed. “Simon, you should have been honest and said your attention was upon a young woman.”

  “I'm telling you, she's Clay's granddaughter. I met her this morning. He told her quite plainly to stay within the house. She must not have listened,” he said. “I need to escort her back. I don't believe the old man will be happy with her.”

  “Not because she's a beauty. Not here twenty-four hours and you have already made eyes at a woman.”

  Marcus turned to the two officers. “Hold there. Of which do you speak? Alexander Clay? His granddaughter is down here?”

  “Do you know of him, sir? I was over to secure his home this morning. The General gave orders to take care of our Tory families. The girl,” he pointed toward the crowd. “Wanted to go out. He refused. But I can swear I just saw her at the hanging spy.”