“Really? Tell her to write to my parents. Perhaps they could sail together.”
Esther rose up from her newspapers. Speaking of Mother put herin mind of Father. He never returned to London, having breathed his last at Slathersby Hill six months after Esther’s departure. Another heart episode. But instead of being among his friends and family, he was alone, asleep in bed.
She knew, by intuition or the Spirit, she’d not see him again after she departed Charles Town on theGlorious. After his death, Esther saw a different side of her mother. The one with regrets and remorse. Who wept for the loss of her husband and confessed she never should have left him alone so long. But she believed she had time. Plenty of time.
In that moment, seeing her frailty, Esther forgave her everything. Mother became her rock and champion, comforting as Esther’s affection toward Wallace grew and she mourned her dream of ever marrying Hamilton Lightfoot.
“Live in the moment, Esther,”she’d said as Wallace began his pursuit.“Choose what is in front of you. Choose to love.”
“We’ve selected a cow and pig to butcher in the fall,” Wallace said. “What do you think of mutton? Shall we bring a lamb to slaughter as well?”
Esther turned to him. “What? A lamb?” Her eyes landed on the flyer once more. She turned it over to read the details.
WAR HERO HAMILTON LIGHTFOOT PRESENTING
“COME, FOLLOW ME.”
August 7th, 7:00 p.m.
First Presbyterian Church
10 Wall Street
COME ONE, COME ALL
She fired to her feet, her newspapers toppling to the floor, her blood cold, her limbs aquiver. “Pardon me, darling.”
Out of the library, she ran up the stairs to the bedroom suite she shared with Wallace.
Shutting the door, she leaned against it, her thoughts racing. In days past, she had dreamed of spying him across a crowded room, her heart pounding at the sight of him, their reunion like something from a Henry Fielding novel.
But she was mature now. A grown woman of thirty-one. A mother. A wife.
“I love my husband,” she whispered, stooping to pull back the carpet, knocking a floorboard loose with her knuckle. Reaching into the hidden space, she felt around for Hamilton’s letter, questioning once again why she had carried the thing from London.
She was in love with Wallace.
When her fingers closed about the letter, she returned the board to its place and sat in her chair by the window, where the light flooded the room.
Hamilton. Was she to see him again? As the wife of another man? Memories eased across her mind. The first time they met as children. The summer afternoons of fishing and running wild in the upcountry. Playing a game by the winter fire. The depth of his gaze when he leaned in for his first kiss. Her longing to hear him say, “I love you.”
With a glance at the door, she opened the letter.
Hannah’s Cowpens
January 16, 1781
My dearest Esther,
My recent actions have not Demonstrated my sincerest affections. I seek to Remedy any confusion now, on this Eve of Battle. Remember me as Before. When my Deeds, if not my Words, proved my Heart.
I love you. ’Tis no other Truth.
Affectionately Yours,
Hamilton Lightfoot
Raising her watery gaze, she saw Wallace at the door.
