My letter... I wrote you a letter. It simply said, “I love you.”
Closer, closer the cart jostled, careening into and out of a rut. One, then another and another. Then Tilly stumbled, and the cart listed to starboard.
“Steady up, girl.”
The cart straightened as another bolt of lightning cracked. Tilly balked, and her right front hoof landed in a hole, sinking nearly up to her knee. The mare cried out and tossed her head, trying to scramble free.
“Easy, girl, whoaaaa.”
But she was frightened, jerking to the right, then left, her foot still trapped. With a brilliant flash, white lightning struck the ground and Tilly freed her foot, rearing with a shriek, pawing the air, tipping Hamilton’s little two-wheeled cart up, up, up.
“Tilly!” Hamilton leaned forward, holding on to the reins. “Yaw!”
The mare landed on the run, fleeing her fears, hitting every rut, every lump of grass with breakneck speed. Lightning whipped the devilish clouds into a melee of thunder.
“Easy, girl... easy.”
But she had a mind of her own, racing against the noise. Hamilton gave her the lead. She’d tire in a moment, and then he’d settle her down.
But the cracking and booming of heaven urged her on.
The road dipped and Hamilton nearly bounced from his seat, bracing his quivering right leg against the front of the cart. “Tilly!”
The road disappeared as it curved down a hill, and Tilly took the bend at full speed, sailing over a section of washed-out earth, catapulting Hamilton and the cart.
Unable to hold on, Hamilton hit the ground with a thump, his breath forced from his lungs. He gasped as he rolled down the hill, reaching for anything to stop his trajectory. A blade of grass, a lowlimb. His wounded leg smashed against a jagged tree stump and he cried out.
At the bottom of the hill, he landed in a watery ditch. Every inch of his body pulsed and ached.
“Tilly!” The skittish mare was his only hope.
With another smack of the clouds, the rain, cold and thick, descended. Hamilton surrendered to his fate. “Esther, I tried. I tried.”
In that moment, a warm glow fell across his face. Hamilton squinted to see a man leaning over him. A familiar stranger.
He stretched out his hand to Hamilton. “Come, follow me.”
27
ESTHER
Manhattan, New York June 1790
The pristine library bore the fragrant odor of new lumber and paint. The windows invited in the morning without a single hindering smudge. And as of last evening, her new furniture had arrived.
With a sigh, Esther moved to the open window by the quiet fireplace, a sweet breeze tangling with the draperies. She glanced over the lawn.
“Alice,” she called to the children’s nanny. “It’s a beautiful day. Take the children outside, let them run and play. Summer is no time to be cooped up inside.”
Within a few minutes, the young woman with narrow features, her reddish hair tucked under a cap, entered with the children.
“Mama!” Michael, four, the future Viscount of Berksham, and Lady Catherine, three, named for Wallace’s mother, ran across the room and threw themselves against her legs.
“My darlings.” Esther bent to kiss them, snuggling her nose against their sweet scent and soft skin. “I could eat you, you’re so sweet.”
They giggled and Catherine teased, “Go on, Mama. I taste like sugar.”
“I could eatyou, Mama.” Michael pretended to bite her nose,and she squeezed him to herself. What joy! She never imagined two little angels would enter her life and make her new.
