Embrace of the Enemy (Winds of Betrayal) Page 2

  “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! Her heart raced. Had she not 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 to see; a warning to her of the dangerous waters she now tread; the possible consequences of her actions. She should have returned to her grandfather’s, 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. The death was supposed to serve as a deterrent. Instead, it was a reminder of the cause she fought for…the unquestioned belief in this new country. Her father had believed as had her brother. Their deaths couldn't be forgotten— ever. She sickened at the thought of the unquestioned fear they all must have faced when the noose placed around their neck tightened.

  Then 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. This was war of 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. The Americans were on the run. Marcus only hesitated because General Howe seemed reluctant to go after the Continental army. Marcus expressed his opinion, which differed from Howe's, but his opinion mattered little against the General’s, having only the rank of Colonel.

  He stepped out of the Beekman mansion, which now 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 lieutenant’s companion 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.”

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

  “Do you know of him, Colonel? 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.”

  “I'll look into it,” Marcus dismissed the two. The lieutenant hesitated. “Is there a problem, Lieutenant....”

  “Fletcher, sir. No, sir, but I would be happy—”

  “You're dismissed, Lieutenant Fletcher,” Marcus interrupted the young officer, who sighed and walked reluctantly away.

  Marcus strolled over to the crowd doubtful he would find her. The notion it would be Hannah seemed distant, but as he rounded the bend, a lone figure came into view. He walked up behind her. “Hannah?”

  She turned. Her face drained of all color. For a moment, she seemed confused to who he was, but she had never seen him in his finely cut uniform and white powdered wig. A moment necessitated before he saw recognition flood through her.

  She shook her head. Tears she had held back flooded her face. She tried to turn from him, but he reached for her and held tight to her arm. He could feel the whole of her body tremble. He drew her into his arms. For a moment, she resisted. Then she fell into his shoulder and wept.

  He led her from the display, back into the gardens. She broke from his embrace and wiped her cheeks. “I'm sorry.”

  “You should have never seen the sight,” he said, holding back the words he wanted to ask, such as why she was here. Instead, he tried to soothe away the remembered horror. “It is understandable.”

  He brushed back her hair that had fallen onto her face. A sadness lived within her once bright eyes; she had lost weight. He was puzzled, though. He hadn't thought she would have still been within New York.

  “Marcus,” she said softly. “The poor soul that hung. I heard...” She choked on the words. “He didn’t know what he was doing?”

  “I don't believe so,” Marcus stated. His eyes studied her intently. “It didn't seem he was prepared for what he intended.”

  “But he was brave…the officers said. They said they were impressed by his gallantry.”

  Marcus nodded acknowledgement of the fact. She faced him. “Was my father? What of William? Tell me. Did they leave letters? Were they scared?” The questions rolled off her lips, but her tone waned with each question into almost a whisper.

  Tears swelled back within her eyes with an almost infantile quality. His hand instinctively pulled her back into his shoulder and stroked her hair. “Hannah, I wasn't there. I'm telling you in truth I wanted neither to have endured that punishment, but I heard they both meet their fate honorably. I don't believe anyone could've questioned their bravery or honor.”

  Marcus didn't move, but held her in his arms. A light breeze picked up along the river's edge. He had much work still to be done, and this young woman wasn't supposed to be his concern. But he was content at the moment and admitted to himself that he was glad to have found her thus.

  Chapter Three

  Catherine's mood seemed gay at dinner, Joseph Gannon thought turning the corner of Cottage Street. He hoped she would maintain the mood. Pausing outside an old house, he climbed the rickety outer stairs and let himself into the musky parlor. Little William thrived, a happy, chubby infant who smiled and cooed at all around him. His mother, though, drew Gannon's concern. She had walked around in a cloud of despair since his birth, but the news which came in the afternoon helped soared her spirits. A simple note from Jonathan stated his intention upon a brief visit soon.

  Gannon threw his cloak over the back of the couch before he lit a lamp. He wondered where Melinda was. She knew he didn't like to be kept waiting. Ordinarily she had always been accommodating to his needs. He poured himself a glass of claret. Worries weighed heavy upon his shoulders the longer the days wore on. With the British firmly planted within New York, his position
in Philadelphia became more ambiguous.

  Rubbing his hand over his face, he wondered if or when he should take his Tory stance. The events of the day would force his hand soon. The year 1776 had turned bitter for Washington and his rag torn army. After the initial successes in Boston, Charles Town, and Moor's Creek Bridge, the American cause had been dealt a severe blow by General Howe's relatively easy victories that captured New York City and its vital harbor. The American army of twenty thousand men in July had transformed into a straggling, ragged and tattered band of less than eight thousand men. Congress had already fled Philadelphia for Baltimore.

  Thomas Galloway, Gannon's close ally, had recently declared his loyalty toward the crown having pressed General Howe to move forward to Philadelphia. But Howe, in keeping with the customary conduct, decided to go into winter quarter, waiting out the winter in the comfort of New York.

  Gannon learned Howe's leisurely chase of the rebels had driven his officers to distraction. Gannon would have to question the decision to hold back instead of destroying what remained of Washington's army, but of course, not to Howe's face.

  Gannon's eldest son, Rodney, with his wife, had departed unbeknownst to most in Philadelphia to England. He had decided to send Florence, his wife, with Rodney. He wished to high heaven Catherine had agreed to accompany her mother, but Jonathan had stated in no uncertain terms to Catherine his wishes. Catherine refused to leave Jonathan.

  Musing, Gannon chuckled to himself sipping his drink. He had to admit he liked his son-in-law, but he had no illusions of what Jonathan would do, though, if Jonathan ever linked him to his father's death. A regrettable loss, but a necessary one. Gannon reasoned the war would come to a quick end with the warmth of spring. His hope lay with staying quietly in the background until then with no one the wiser.

  He grew aware of a noise, sounds of footsteps. A moment later, Melinda entered.

  “Hallo, love,” Melinda grinned. Her cloak hung half off of her. She tried to finish taking it off. Her blouse hung loosely around her. She staggered into the room and fell down, sprawled face first on the floor. The odor of liquor emitted forth from her. Her tawny brown hair fell long. She let go a coarse laugh. “Oh, I'm late.”

  “You've been drinking,” Gannon uttered, not concealing his annoyance.

  She slid forward and pulled herself up along the side of the wall. “Sssh,” she muttered.

  He hesitated only for a moment. He grabbed the girl. “Who said to be quiet?”

  She placed her finger to her mouth. “Ssh! They might hear you. Told me to go away. Gave me a nice little bottle and a coin,” she laughed again. She started taking off her chemise. She fell forward with a giggle. “You're mad 'cause I'm late. Don't ya' worry any Mr. Gannon. I always satisfy ya'.”

  He took hold of her arm. His desire to be satisfied tonight had been quenched. His confusion gave way to reason. He questioned again. “Who gave you the coin?”

  “The two men, arguing they were. Someone not here or such. Laughed at 'em, I did. Not for 'em to hear. Told 'em you pay too well. 'em left for a minute and I snuck up,” she slurred. Half naked, she pulled at his pants. “I know what ya want.”

  Gannon had heard enough. He shoved her back. Her head hit the floor. He pulled back curtain slightly to the window. A shadow of a man leaning against a brick wall. He glanced back at the figure passed out upon the floor. Quickly he decided upon his only option.

  Minutes later, a figure dressed in the manner of the wench stumbled down the stairs. Weaving as it walked hastily and took the corner. The moment he was out of sight, he ripped the clothes off and ran.

  * * * *

  A third man showed up on the corner and then the group proceeded up the stairs. The largest man crashed into the door the wench had just departed. The lamp still lit along the wall revealed the room deserted. Then a moan could be heard. The tall bulky man kicked the back of the couch. Still unconscious of her surroundings the half-naked wench stirred. One of the men slammed the table sending the lamp crashing down upon the floor, leaving the room in darkness. Damn it all, Gannon was gone!

  * * * *

  At first light Gannon stood on the porch of a one room cabin along the Delaware River. He had been holed up here for over a week, since the night he barely escaped. He waited. With each minute his anger built. He had been fortunate that Galloway and he had had the foresight to establish an escape route. He had never thought he would have had to use it.

  Gannon stretched. He was stiff from sleeping on a straw pallet, all the small cabin had to offer. At least he had rid himself of the wench's clothes. He shuddered to think of running down the Philadelphia's street in women's clothes. The Patriots had found the leak. If not for the drunken wench, Melinda, he would be swinging from a gallows. He drew his breath. His only intent at the moment lay with finding out who ratted him out, the irony of the situation lost upon him.

  Suddenly, a horse emerged from within the mist. The rider had ridden his horse hard. Gannon could see the lather from where he stood.

  “Father,” the rider cried.

  “Stephen, thank goodness. I was beginning to believe I had been forgotten. Hurry. Come in,” Gannon responded with relief. He stepped down and helped his son bring in a sack of supplies. “Tell me. What is the news?”

  Steve's face soured. Gannon realized he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear.

  “I'm sorry, Father. There wasn't anything we could do. Everything had been kept quiet. No one I've talked with had prior knowledge.”

  “But you would have to know their intentions now. What do they have on me? Why am I on the run? I have been held up in this hell hole with no bath, unable to shave. The whole of my appearance is appalling. No one should be forced to live in this manner!”

  “Father, I don't believe you will be returning to Philadelphia anytime soon. Word from Galloway. He suggested a quick trip to New York and on to England. The Patriot faction has set out your arrest warrant, dead or alive, but I don't think their intentions are for you to be alive long.”

  Gannon winced. Stephen hesitated to continue. Gannon stared at his son. “Well, what did we expect if found out?”

  “They seem to know most everything and have proof. They arrested eight, including Trumbell. I heard he told all he knew before they even started questioning him. They have confiscated most of our property. All the property that they know, that is.”

  Gannon's face erupted to a dark shade of red. He exploded. “They've done what?”

  “They have knowledge of your embezzling—Jonathan's sister's inheritance. They know also of you handing over the girl’s guardianship to her grandfather. They knew more about the details than I did. They must have investigated you for a while, Father, although they never connected me to your business. I assured them of my allegiance to the Patriot cause and they found no cause to think otherwise,” Stephen said.

  Gannon paced. He bit his lower lip as in thought. “How would they know that? It would have had to come from New York,” he said as if to himself.

  “There were so many that evacuated New York, Father, it could have been anybody. A slip of the tongue. I doubt we'll ever know,” Stephen said. “But the good news is that they have handed over all to Jonathan, which means Catherine will have hold.”

  “Catherine. Oh, my God! I had forgotten how this must be affecting her. She wasn't well to begin with.”

  Stephen eyed his father thoughtfully.

  “Do not hold back on me, Stephen.”

  “Catherine is a concern,” Stephen acknowledged. “I'm not so sure of her health. She is ranting that there is a conspiracy against you. She has gone so far as accusing them of plotting to murder her and Little William.”

  “I suppose they have ones to stand watch the house? Not a chance at the moment to remove her and William.” Gannon watched Stephen nod. “You're going to have to watch over her now, Stephen. Are you certain they aren't after you?”

  “I don't believe they trust me, but have
nothing on me. I have told them I haven't done anything except be your son. What harm would it do now, Father, to go to England until this rebellion is over? I suspect you have money hidden from the indications I've heard. I'll do what I can. Don't worry, Father. I will find out what happened. Be sure they will pay for all they have done to you.”

  “Stephen,” Gannon began. “I don't want—”

  “Oh, Father, don't try to go down that road. I have learned much in the last few days. I don't take kindly to them looking down upon us. I have no intention of letting our property be handed over to Jonathan at least not for long. I have learned patience, but am not stupid.”

  “No, my son. I have no doubts on our end. But I believe I'll hole up in New York for a while. I'm not leaving you and Catherine. Dammit! I had everything planned. Everything. You're right, though, I do have money where no one can find it. We need to come up with another path to take. Between the two of us, we will turn the tables on these rebels. If they thought they have seen the last of me they're sadly mistaken.”

  * * * *

  Jonathan read and reread Catherine's letters. The last one worried him. She hadn't once mentioned the baby. Overwrought, she begged him to return home, needed him and didn't know how she would go on without him. He had returned a letter stating he hoped to make a visit soon in the hopes of giving her hope. The tone of her letters was a source of anxiety to him. At the moment he could do nothing more than give her hope to hold on to until his return.

  Even with Major Tallmadge's intention of sending him home after they laid capture to his father-in-law, he had no knowledge when or if the move had been made. His apprehension grew with each day they delayed. Reason dictated the delay came with caution, scrutinizing all of Gannon's activities, probing his associates. But reason couldn't calm his nerves.