“Miss Esther!”
She jerked away from Hamilton at the sound of Kitch’s boisterous call. She felt tossed about and torn, robbed of something beautiful.
“Miss Esther? You round here? Sir Michael’s been looking for you.” Kitch’s dark face appeared around the broad trunk of the willow, leading the horse Gulliver. “I seen you sneak out here every night. How do, Mr. Hamilton?”
“Evening, Kitch.” Hamilton stood, dusting leaves from histrousers. “Esther, you must go to your father. Let us not fuel his anger.” He offered Esther his hand.
“You didn’t tell on me, did you, Kitch?” She rose up, dusting twigs and debris from her skirt, but kept her hand in Hamilton’s a moment longer.
The fourteen-year-old twisted an invisible key over his lips. “Nary a word. Nary one word.”
“Why is he looking for me? His nose was in his ledgers when I left.”
“Something happened in town. Big ruckus. A rider came blazing up to the house.”
There’d been talk of trouble. Captain Huck’s dragoons continued their reign of destruction in the colony. Actions that Father applauded. The Presbyterians, he said, must be silenced.
Hamilton stepped around Esther. “What trouble, Kitch?”
“Don’t rightly know. A skirmish in town.”
Hamilton swore low. “Could be Huck and his men. The local militia feared he’d head this way, the cretin.” He gathered Tilly’s reins. “Kitch, see Miss Esther home. Do not stop anywhere nor for anyone. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hamilton, wait.” She gripped his sleeve. “Take me with you. If there’s trouble in town, Father might have gone to check Whatham’s trading post or his furrier concern.”
“Go home, Esther.” He released himself, gently shoving her toward Kitch. “If there’s news, I’ll ride to Slathersby. Now make haste.”
Just as he mounted Tilly, another rider thundered down the road, a lamp swinging from his hand.
“Hamilton! Come quickly. We’ve been searching for you.” It was Ben Quincy.
“What is it?” Beneath him, Tilly shifted and pranced, tossing her head, whinnying to the night. “What’s happened?”
“Huck and his men... they... burned the church. Hamilton, your uncle was inside.”
“Ya!” Hamilton kicked Tilly into a run and disappeared down the road without a backward glance.
Ben peered down at Esther, raising his lamp high. “Get home, Esther. It ain’t safe.”
“Did they truly, Ben? Burn the church while Reverend Lightfoot was inside?”
“We’re hoping he made it out the side door, but as I rode out, there weren’t no sign of him. You best hope your pa wasn’t in on aiding the dragoons, or Slathersby Hill won’t last the night.” Ben’s words strained through his clenched jaw. “Tonight it’s better to be a Whig than a Tory.”
“Father wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.” But what truth had she? None. Only the confidence that her father, while loyal, was no murderer.
“It’s war, Miss Esther. Trust no one.” With that, Ben was gone.
“Miss Esther?” Kitch’s hand gently rested on her shoulder. “We best get home.” He reached for Gulliver’s reins.
“Surely they won’t burn Slathersby Hill. Father is a pillar in town.” Foot in stirrup, she pulled herself up and landed on Gulliver’s back. Kitch hopped on behind her. “We will be safe, won’t we?”
Kitch giddy-upped to the gelding and urged him up the road, opposite town. Opposite Hamilton and the treachery of war.
6
JESSE
