He sat back, his expression still pinched. “I hope you’re right. Hey, you were amazing. Jeremiah cast the right woman for Esther.”
“Jesse, you think you need Chris but I’ve been reading with him, and you...you areHamilton.” She accepted a cold water from the server. “Still, I wonder. What’s the story between the lines, Jesse Gates? You’re trying to tell the world, tellsomeone, something. What is it?”
“You’re like a dog with a bone.”
“Will she know? Whatever it is you want her to know?” Yes, she was persistent, a dog with a bone.
“Depends,” Jesse said. “But in all reality, no. She will never know.”
16
ESTHER
Christmas 1780
The library was cheerful with men in redcoats wassailing one another, raising their crystal cups in cheer.
Father puffed on his pipe, wishing the men a happy Christmas.
“And in the new year, a victory for the Crown.”
Esther moved among their Loyalist guests, seeing to their comforts as hostess of Slathersby Hill, yet going out of her way to avoid Twimball and his band of men.
Since the battle at King’s Mountain and the death of Major Ferguson, soldiers visited Father’s table night after night, talking of nothing but victory and revenge. Of defeating the rebels.
Presently, four officers billeted in their home, taking up the spare rooms and, by Esther’s estimation, the spare air.
“Esther, my good daughter, can you regale us with a song on the pianoforte?” Father said, “She’s a keen pianist, gentlemen.”
“Can you play ‘Joy to the World’?” This from Captain Lark, a new soldier to the upcountry. “I heard it last Christmas in London, and it seemed most fitting.”
“Yes, ‘Joy to the World.’” Father joined Esther at the piano. He was quite proud of her skill, having sent for a man from Charles Town to give her lessons when she was a child.
Esther sat at the piano, shuffling through her collection.
In the last month she’d seen a change in Father. He spent lesstime at his desk bent over ledgers and letters, and the blue brilliance had returned to his eyes. He talked of a British victory. Of life returning to normal.
Whatever ailed him concerning Lord Whatham over the summer and fall had healed.
As she began to play, the Englishmen gathered around the piano, raising their voices in song, joyous over the coming of the Lord.
If ever there was a time for Jesus to come, not as a babe but as a king, now would be a fitting hour. War raged across open fields, through the small South Carolina towns. The rage pitted nation against nation and brother against brother.
“Let earth receive her king...”
When the song ended they begged for another, slapping one another on the back, goodwill spilling from their weary souls.
“Do you know that new song ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’?” a young, rosy-cheeked lieutenant asked.
“Certainly.” Esther found the sheet and began the jaunty melody.
The men looped their arms about one another and swayed from side to side. The women gathered on the other side of the piano, lifting their soft voices in harmony.“God rest ye merry gentlemen...”
They held their voices loud and long on the final word and final note. Then Isaac appeared at the door, resplendent in his livery. “The buffet is laid, Sir Michael.”
“Ah, ladies and gentlemen, shall we adjourn to the dining room? Esther, my love, you have such a gift. Come and lead us.”
As the party crossed from the parlor to the dining hall, footsteps thudded on the veranda and the door crashed open.
