“That will be my constant prayer. Now, go on, hitch up the cart.”
Hamilton drove the cart around, and by the light of fireflies, he and Aunt Mary situated Esther on the seat and tied Gulliver to the tailgate. Sitting next to her, he gathered the reins and chirruped to Tilly.
“I’m afraid,” Esther whispered, leaning against him, “this war will somehow take you from me.”
“Nothing will take me from you.” He kissed the top of her head.I love you.
At Slathersby Hill, once again Hamilton carried Esther up the large, stone steps and kicked against the front door.
“Sir Michael.”
“Mr. Hamilton.” Sassy ran up behind him, clutching her shawl. “I saw you from my cabin, coming up the road. Sir Michael sent Kitch on an errand and I sat up, watching—Esther. Mercy.” Sassy inserted a key and unlocked the front door. “What was she doing?”
“She rode to Quill Farm.” He carried Esther up the stairs without waiting for permission and settled her in her bed. “Her wound reopened, but Aunt Mary repaired her best she could. She said you should do your own doctoring. She fears infection.”
“Am I home?” Esther said, her voice a thin trail through the room.
“Yes, and Sassy’s going to look after you.” The negro woman pushed Hamilton through the bedroom door into the hallway. “What was she doing out? And do not lie to me.”
“She wanted to tell me something.”
“Tell you something? At this hour?” Sassy waited, her breath steaming.
“That, that...” He could not confess their deepest intimacies. He’d yet to confess out loud his own love for her. He didn’t want Sassy privy to their affection. “That she knew I did not shoot her.”
“What’s this?” The broad, dark shadow of Sir Michael filled the narrow doorway of the room across the hall, candlelight glinting off the end of his musket. “First you aim your pistol at my daughter, now you lure her from her bed in the night? Do you care not for her reputation? Her place in our society? What have you done—”
“She came to Quill. I found her in the yard having fallen off her horse. Would you rather I leave her there?”
“For what purpose did she ride to you?” Sir Michael butted Hamilton’s chest with his musket.
“To say she knew I was not the one who shot her.” Hamilton nodded to the older gentleman and started down the stairs. “She was worried I believed the rumors.”
“I warn you...” Sir Michael settled the musket against his arm, his countenance dark and hard. “Leave her be, Lightfoot.”
Hamilton would not debate with the man. “I’ve joined the Upper Ninety Six. I’ll be gone in the morning.”
“Then you, sir, are an enemy in my house.” Sir Michael shifted the musket as if he intended to take aim. “I’ll give you to the count of ten to leave my premises. One, two...”
Hamilton slammed the front door closed before the old man reached the count of four.
12
JESSE
He woke to a boisterous knock on his door. Squinting through the August light falling through the windows as it rose over the beach, he fumbled for his phone.
Seven a.m. Sunday morning. The knock sounded again.
“Go away, I’m sleeping.” With a moan, he rolled over and buried his head under the pillow.
But the hammering, knocking, and muffled yelling persisted.
“All right, all right.” Tumbling out of bed, Jesse headed downstairs, the elixir of sleep trailing him.
When he opened the door, Smitty burst inside. “I brought coffee.” He raised a convenience-store cup and offered it to Jesse, then, after tossing a paper bag on the counter, charged straight for the living room, pacing as if restless and caged.
“A little early, don’t you think, Smitty?” Jesse popped the lid from the coffee, letting the steam and scent escape.
