THE CRY FOR FREEDOM (Winds of Betrayal) Read online

  A pounding on the door disturbed their meeting. Hannah’s heart skipped a beat until she heard her aunt welcome someone in. She called to her Uncle. He immediately rose to his feet and dashed out. The cousins sat without a word nor did they move. Hannah jumped, almost leaping out of her chair, when the door whipped back open.

  “James, Zach, get your boots on!” their father snapped. “The battalion in Williamsburg needs horses. Hampton is under attack from one of the raiding parties. Can’t trust anyone but ourselves at the moment. The messenger has just taken off to tell the Witherspoon’s. Take as many as you can.”

  Hannah swung round. James immediately jumped into action. Her eyes, though, fell upon Zachary, whom trembled. His face had turned white from fear. His hands came up to his face, he started rocking.

  “Oh, my God! What have I raised? Blast you, boy. Get a move on,” Joseph screamed raising his hand. He delivered an intense blow to his head.

  “Uncle,” Hannah stood. “I can go.”

  “No, no,” he said. His wrath growing, his face distorted with rage. “I will.”

  “You are needed here. If it’s just bringing horses in?” she explained calmly. “James and I can stay at the house.”

  His eyes still seething at his son, she took it she had her answer. She ran from the room. “I’ll change into some breeches.”

  * * * *

  The rain pelted down. During the daylight and good weather, the six mile ride was one to be enjoyed, but not dragging horses' leads in the pouring rain. Hannah pulled her hat down more over her ears. Fighting back the elements, James and Hannah made slow progress. The night was dark, with only lightening to show the road. Hannah's arms ached. She was cold, soaked to the bone, but determined.

  “Much rather ride in this than deal with Father,” James shouted over the rain. The only words uttered during the ride.

  Hannah readily agreed. A surge of sympathy for Zachary overcame her. He would never be the person his father wanted him to be.

  Relief flooded Hannah when they entered the Square. Despite the rain, the Square was crowded with men, militia readying to mount up. James was first to hand over his band of horses. A man reached for hers. The rain descended down so hard she couldn't even tell who he was, but at that point she didn't care. She happily relinquished the hold upon the rope. She was exhausted. James had to ask a few men before they found William, who stood ready to mount upon the command.

  Through the wind and rain, Hannah could see her brother shake his head, but a smile framed his face as she made her way up to him. “How come I’m not surprised to see you?” William said raising his voice to be heard.

  The rain still descending, Hannah tried to tell him what happen, but she thought he only heard half for he had his other ear listening for orders.

  Turning back to his sister, he said, “Father’s at Raleigh’s Tavern. Jinnie and Malcolm should be at the house, but they won’t be expecting you.” Then the order came down; William quickly leaned down talking in her ear as water poured off them both.

  “You should go over with Lydia. She could always use the company.”

  Hannah smiled back and nodded through the rain. She leaned up and kissed her brother’s cheek. “God be with you.”

  He mounted and the battalion rode off through the incessant rain. Hannah turned to James and pointed to her home. She wanted only to change and go to bed. She would visit Lydia in the morning. Soaked to the bone, they made their way to the closest house.

  Oddly quiet, Hannah touched the front door lightly and it opened without resistance. Stomping their feet to beat off the excess water, Hannah called for Jinnie. No response came. The lamp on the foyer table was lit, meaning her father wasn’t home, but she hadn’t expected him to be.

  “Go get changed, Hannah. I’ll light a fire to dry off,” James offered as he shook the water off his coat on the porch before entering and shutting the door.

  Hannah breathed out and nodded. She shook her hands trying to get feeling back within them. “I’ll bring you down something to change into.”

  She ran to her room. Shedding her wet clothes, she hurriedly dressed. Immediately she felt better with dry night clothing. She retrieved some of Jonathan’s clothes, which although big, would serve the purpose. She started back down the stairs.

  Hannah heard a scraping sound and turned. In the dim lit foyer she saw an abrupt movement. She paused. To her horror, a strange voice echoed throughout the house that sent a shiver up her spine.

  “I thought you said no one would be home.”

  “Ah’m sor’, sir. Ah sorry. Not suppose’ to be,” Malcolm’s voice rang clear.

  “Tie the boy up,” the voice commanded. “You do know where some rope is at, don’t you?”

  “Yes’m, sir. Yes’m, sir,” Malcolm replied nervously.

  The recovery took only seconds, but to Hannah it spanned an eternity. She eased back up to her father’s room careful not to make a noise. She knew well where her father kept his pistols. Her wet hair still dripped down her neck. She loaded up the two pistols and quietly made her way back down the stairs. Her heart raced. She bolted toward the parlor. James seemed to be breathing, but was tied to the chair. She nudged him, but to no avail. He was unconscious. Voices carried down the hall. Startled, she turned toward the sound.

  “The boy?” one asked.

  “Said leave him,” the other said.

  Hannah slid against the wall next to the doorway. She watched two men make their way to the front door. The tall, skinny one had hold of a package nestled underneath his arm.

  “Have it all wrapped up. Better get the hell out of here. I value my neck too much to stay too long.” His hand rested upon the door handle.

  Hannah took a deep breath. She had only the element of surprise. She sat one pistol down on the table beside her; the other she welded tightly with both hands. Swallowing hard, she found her voice, “Pray, put it down.”

  Turning to her command, the one with the package bellowed a hearty laugh. He smiled at her with a mouthful of crooked teeth. He spat through a clenched jaw upon Mother Agnes’s shining floors. “Now they even have little girls thinking they can shoot. Not today, Missy.”

  Without another word uttered, a shot rang out. Quickly dropping one pistol, she raised the other. She felt so strange, surreal, as if she watched another in her body. The man screamed in pain grabbing hold of his leg. Blood gushed out above his left knee. She turned the other pistol on the other intruder, an older man with huge hands. She noticed a light pitting of pox scars covering his face. His eyes grew large staring at the barrel of the gun.

  “I assure you, I knew exactly where I aimed. The next is straight at your heart,” she uttered. Her finger laid upon the trigger.

  Suddenly, a sharp blow struck her from the side. The musket fell, firing as it hit the floor, hitting the grandfather’s clock. The force dropped her forward to the floor. She sprang back up only to be grabbed from behind. She tried to wrench herself free, but found the grips only tighten.

  “Good God,” she breathed out. She turned to face her attacker, Marcus Durham. Dressed as a Minuteman, his hunting shirt, too, wet from the rain. Hadn’t her reason warned her about him?

  “I do beg your pardon, Miss Corbett. But we do have need of that,” he said. He nodded toward his companion who picked up the object that he had dropped.

  “She shot me!” the man cried in pain. He drew in a harsh breath, swearing through gritted teeth. His hand clenched to the bleeding leg. He began to shiver violently.

  Marcus turned to the one behind him, a man of medium height and stocky built. He frowned slightly. “Get him out, quickly. Even through the storm someone might have heard.”

  Hannah kept trying to wiggle free. She didn’t know what else to do. He changed his hold with one arm across her chest holding her hands. She cried, “You’re hurting me.”

  “To be honest, Hannah,” he whispered in her ear. “I find that I’m quite enjoying myself. Not a bad shot
, are you?”

  His companion returned, water pouring off his hat. “We need to hurry. I sent the rest on. Harry’s bleeding pretty badly.”

  Marcus agreed. Hannah started struggling again. “We have another unexpected guest. Can you find me something to tie her up with?”

  “Let me go,” she uttered under her breath.

  “I couldn’t do that, Hannah. I would fear for my life if I did,” he mocked as he tried to lead her to a chair. Fighting, he in turn lifted her and placed her roughly down upon the chair.

  “I’m merely a girl,” she said, fire raging from her eyes.

  “Oh, I think not. Hannah, I do believe you’re capable of doing more damage than any man I know,” he said accepting the rope from his counterpart. Quickly securing the ropes around her hands and feet, he headed toward the open door.

  “Ah! My lady, another time, another place,” he bowed to her. “To what could have been.” And he was gone.

  The morning should have brought the calm after the storm, but it seemed another storm loomed in the distance. Hannah had never seen her father such. Her frustration had grown over the time it took for her father to have found them. The ropes had cut into her wrist and ankles from her attempts to break them. Her voice hoarse from her screaming to no avail, but nothing prepared her for the horror which lay upon her father’s face upon discovering her tied up within their home. His hands trembled with such force he could barely untie her.

  He kept uttering what could have happened to her. And to make matters worse they discovered Malcolm and Jinnie had disappeared, betraying her family, leaving only Mary.

  “I knew noth’, Mast’ Corbett! I woulda tole ya’. I wood haf!” she cried. She couldn’t be comforted when Hannah’s father had unblocked the pantry door in which Mary had been thrown.

  For the first time in her life, she saw her father was heavy of heart. He had brought her in his study upon releasing her, both James and her. He hadn’t given her time to catch her breath. He questioned her over and over. She wanted only to be able to change her story and have it end that she had saved the package. But in that she had failed.

  He wiped his hand across his face in exasperation as if he was contemplating his next move.

  “Father,” she said, rubbing her wrist. “No matter how well you treated Malcolm, he was still a slave. I can imagine the promise of freedom was too big a pull for him and Jinnie.”

  “God damn it! I didn’t ask for a lecture from you, Hannah! I just want to know word for word what exactly happened,” he snapped.

  Tears welled in her eyes. She uttered, “I have told you, Father. They weren’t expecting us. They were mad because the house was supposed to be empty. It must have had to do with Uncle Richard. I’m sure of it, Father.”

  “Hannah, I’m not asking for your opinion. You shot one?” he asked again. She nodded, irritated with having to repeat herself once more, and knowing nothing she said would make her father feel better.

  “Did they say anything else?” he drilled her.

  “Father, I have told you all,” she responded. She worried, though, since she had never seen him like he was.

  He dismissed her. “Go to bed. Get some rest.” He gave her pause before she exited the door. He hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head.

  “If anything had happened to you—”

  “It didn’t, Father,” she said in a low tone. She gripped him tightly. “I’m sorry, Father. I’m sorry they got away.” She buried her head into his shoulder.

  “All will be right,” he said simply touching her cheek. “Take care, Hannah. You are reckless at times. It worries me. You don’t know what you mean to me and your mother.”

  She kissed his cheek. “I promise not be so anymore, Father.”

  * * * *

  A full moon shone down over the brisk night’s air. It boded well for Colonel Marcus Durham. He lay in wait alongside his men scattered among the trees. He had a clear view of the road ahead of him. If his intelligence was correct, he would soon have the last piece of information he needed to complete his mission. Then he could return back to New York.

  Waiting was the hardest part. Six hours since his informer sent word that John Corbett was set to depart for Philadelphia. It meant only one thing. Corbett had the schematic for the device. Having relieved Corbett of the device, Marcus needed only the paperwork to decipher the gadget.

  With each minute passed, Marcus’ frustration grew. If he had missed the opportunity, there would be hell to pay. Then it came. A whistle. The signal for approaching riders.

  Marcus watched with anticipation. A moment later, two riders rounded the bend and immediately pulled their horses back in front of the fallen tree his men had strategically placed. The riders hadn’t a chance. His men waylaid the men, grabbed hold of their mounts and roughly pulled them to the ground. The captives didn’t even have the opportunity to reach for their weapons.

  Marcus trotted over to his detainees. He studied the men while his men searched their belongings. A moment later, one of his men held up the much sought after papers.

  “Got ‘em, Colonel!”

  Durham accepted the papers and glanced over them quickly. “Good work, Lieutenant. Our mission is complete.”

  Tucking the papers securely away, Marcus dismounted. No longer did he wear the dressings of a simple civilian of the colonies. He wore his British uniform of his rank in King George’s Army.

  John Corbett didn’t say a word. Neither did he utter any pleas on his behalf. He held his head proudly. Marcus studied the man before him. He sensed the anger brewing inside of him. Without question, Marcus respected Corbett, but it mattered little. He had his orders.

  “The question lies with what to do with you,” Marcus said and walked over to the elder Corbett. “These papers I hold are for one purpose and one purpose only. In that you are being arrested in the name of King George. You realize the price for treason.”

  John swallowed hard. He replied without a trace of emotion. “William had nothing to do with my actions. He was escorting me, but he hadn’t an idea what my purpose was.”

  “I’m not leaving you, Father,” William cried indignantly.

  Marcus pressed his lips together. Corbett’s fate was sealed; his son’s lay in the interpretation of his presence. “Lieutenant, does he have anything on his person?”

  The lieutenant searched William and his bag once more. Lieutenant answered, “No, nothing, Colonel.”

  Marcus rarely dispensed mercy. A sign of weakness on most occasions. He caught Corbett’s eye. Then turned to the lieutenant. “Release the younger man. I see no reason to detain him.”

  Before his orders could fade into the wind, Lord Dunmore’s personal battalion rode up. Marcus was neither surprised nor happy to see Richard Wick among the group. Wick pulled his reins back, almost falling off his horse.

  “My, my, my. Is it not my dear brother-in-law?” he laughed. “Good job, Colonel Durham. Mr. Clay will indeed be happy.”

  “Let me remind you, sir, this wasn’t for your father-in-law,” Colonel Durham said barely trying to conceal his contempt for the man in front of him. “I’m a British soldier. My orders are such.”

  Wick waved his arm to the sight before him. “What…what is going on here then? You’re not thinking of letting William go? No, he needs to go with his father.”

  Marcus shot him a look that would have killed if it had been a weapon. He said solemnly, “There’s no need. I’ve determined he wasn’t involved.”

  “And I say he was,” Richard emphasized. He turned to the group behind him. “These are Lord Dunmore’s personal battalion. He wants all traitors punished.”

  The commander of the small battalion nodded. “Yes, sir. Major Murhearth. Colonel Durham, I have to implore you to let us have the prisoners. Lord Dunmore will carry out their punishment. I assume you have what you came for. Let us deal with our own.”

  “Then I suggest you take it up with my commander, General Clinton.”<
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  “Colonel, I do have my orders from Lord Dunmore,” Major Murhearth said. To Marcus’ dismay, Major Murheath reached inside his jacket and pulled a folded paper out. He handed it to Marcus. “You will find all in order.”

  Marcus looked over the the document thoroughly. To his disgust all was in order. Moreover, Lord Dunmore had the authority to take his prisoners.

  Colonel Durham walked soundly over to Richard Wick. He wanted nothing more than to wipe off that malevolent smile plastered on his face. He grabbed Wick’s arm firmly and pulled Wick up to his face. “For God’s sake man, he’s your nephew.”

  “Take your hands off of me, sir. You have your orders,” Richard jerked back his arm, not able to contain his nervousness. “Major, take the prisoners!”

  Colonel Durham raged. “You do so only under protest.”

  “I will note your protest to Lord Dunmore,” Major Murhearth acknowledged. He nodded to his men who took hold of the two. Neither said a word.

  Colonel Durham withdrew; his eyes burned through Wick. He glanced back over at the prisoners. A surge of guilt swept through him. Both men would die.

  He didn’t like the way the wind was blowing over the colonies. Over the years he had performed his duties, but now if the turbulence couldn’t be contained they would be fighting their own..killing their own.

  Angry, he walked over to his horse and remounted. He had what he needed. He would file a grievance upon his return, but he knew without doubt it would be too late for the prisoners. He saw within Richard Wick’s eyes the desire for swift action, legal or not. Marcus motioned for his men to head out.

  Chapter Eight

  Jonathan walked the bricked streets wearily. The lonely street reflected a glow from the chimney street lamps. He neared his destination. A long day had ensued, although as of yet he had not been officially assigned to a unit. Gabriel had long since departed, joining up with Washington’s command. Paperwork had kept Jonathan within Philadelphia. Problems had arisen at home that had brought the delay.