“Not likely, but he recommended asking the fetching young miss at the goldsmith’s shop about sassafras tea.”
“I see,” Lucy said with a blush, and quickly took the toothpick case from her pocket, placing it in the man’s hand. “The locket is … not here. A toothpick is required to open the case,” she whispered in a rush because she could hear her father’s footsteps in the storage room that separated the shop from the kitchen.
“Clever,” the man said, sliding the toothpick case into his waistcoat pocket. He moved back a few paces and turned to Ward when he stepped into view with a chair.
Relieved her message had been successfully transferred with her father none the wiser, Lucy returned to working on the bracelet with a feeling of relief. Once the man left the shop, Lucy relaxed and lost herself in her skill of the craft.
The afternoon was hot, and the only choices were to endure the flies that swarmed inside if they left the door open, or close it and suffer in the stifling heat. Ward opted for flies. Lucy fanned the door back and forth to create the hint of a breeze.
“Would you fetch me a cup of cider, Daughter? This heat is unbearable.”
“It is awful,” Lucy agreed. She had just moved away from the door when she heard her mother yelp, followed by the sound of a crash. She raced into the kitchen with her father on her heels to find her mother standing over the shards of a broken plate that had held peach slices, and two men looming in the open doorway, their gazes downcast as they held each other up. One wore a cloak that looked like it had been rolled in the muddy banks of the river. The other was nearly as dirty. Both appeared to have over-indulged in something far stronger than cider.
“Be away with you both. You have no business here,” Ward said, taking a step toward them.
Theo thumped down the stairs and hopped off the last three to stand next to Lucy, evidently drawn from upstairs by the noise. His small hand latched on to hers in reassurance that they weren’t all about to be robbed or murdered.
“I know we have no business here, but we require and request the help just the same,” the man who wasn’t wrapped in the cloak spoke in a voice as familiar to Lucy as her own.
She released Theo’s hand and snatched the hat off the head of the man who had spoken. A gasp escaped her when Branch looked at her with pain evident in his green eyes.
“What has happened?” Ward asked, moving to the other side of the man Branch appeared to be holding upright.
When the fellow in the cloak lifted his head, Lucy realized he was the man who had purchased the buckles—the one to whom she had given the toothpick case.
“Two Redcoat spies shot at him before he could get out of town. Doctor Gray’s office is being watched, or I would have taken Thomas directly there,” Branch said, moving farther into the kitchen. He looked at Theo. “Be a good lad and go fetch a bucket of water, Theo. Please.”
Theo raced outside without question.
“What can we do?” Cleta asked, taking a step closer to Branch.
“He needs medical care. I’ve heard you can provide assistance. Thomas has at least one, if not two musket balls stuck in him,” Branch said as Thomas’ face went from pale to white. “Please. I wouldn’t have dared to come here if I had anywhere else to go.”
Lucy couldn’t help her mouth falling open in utter shock when her father shut the door between the storage room and the shop, then shoved aside a sturdy worktable, where he sometimes hammered silver on an anvil. He stuck his finger in a groove in the floor and lifted a trap door she hadn’t even known existed.
“Papa!” she gasped.
“Do not look so shocked, Daughter,” Ward said as Cleta handed him a lit candle and he hurried down a narrow set of steps into the darkness below.
Light quickly glowed upward, lighting the way. Branch half-carried Thomas down the steps.
Lucy took the pile of rags her mother thrust at her and followed them.
The room she stepped into was square, big enough for two cots to occupy the far wall end to end and still have room to spare. A table covered with a stack of papers, an inkwell, and what appeared to be an assortment of notes was shoved into one corner, with an old chair placed beside it. The wall on that side of the room was covered in maps.
“Papa! You’re a …”
“A Patriot. That’s right. To the very core, but no one can know. Understood? It’s crucial this shop remains a place Loyalists and Redcoats feel welcome entering.” As her father spoke, he pulled one of the cots to the middle of the floor, then spread a clean muslin cloth over the striped cloth of the mattress ticking. “Clear off the table, Luce.”
While she quickly gathered the papers on the table and set them in the corner out of the way, her father extracted a wooden chest from beneath the other cot. He hooked his foot around the table and dragged it closer to the cot, then set the chest on it. When he opened it, Lucy observed a variety of medical supplies and equipment.
It was clear to Lucy from the contents of the room that her father had been working as a spy for the Revolution, and also providing help when it was needed. His hands seemed steady and sure as he prepared supplies.
“Place him on the cot, Branch. Is he new?” Ward asked.
Branch nodded as he yanked off the filthy cloak, then eased Thomas onto the narrow bed. “Not to our work, but to the area. Thomas is my best friend and the only reason I am alive. He’s saved my worthless hide too many times to count. When he heard a courier was needed here after Jamieson was forced to move on, he volunteered in hopes we would get to see each other. Thus far, our inaugural visit is not off to a grand beginning.”
Thomas offered what was supposed to be a smile, but looked more like a pained grimace. “You always were getting me into trouble,” he said in a weak voice.
