He fought the urge to scold his son for not sleeping. Instead he followed the boy’s gaze. “Did you see your mother today?”
Wiping his hand over his mouth, Jacob sighed. “Aye.”
“Was she awake enough to speak with you?”
Jacob swallowed. “Nay.”
The pain that swelled in Cyprian’s soul squeezed until his lungs struggled to rise. The boy was eaten by sorrow, Cyprian could see it as plain as the freckles across Jacob’s nose. He had to find a way to keep the boy’s mind off Camilla or it would destroy him.
Cyprian clamped his eyes shut. He had to keep the boy busy so there wouldn’t be enough time to grieve over something that would surely haunt him for the rest of his days.
Jacob stared, moisture filling his eyes. “May I see her?”
Cyprian’s throat pulled so tight it ached. “Nay. You need sleep, son.” He nudged Jacob backward, but the boy wouldn’t move his gaze.
The pain was too much. Cyprian pushed harder against his shoulder and closed the door behind him when both he and Jacob were in the hall. “Get to bed. There’s work to be done and I can’t do it alone.”
Jacob nodded and looked behind him at Camilla’s door before crossing the hall to his bedchamber. He turned and opened and closed his mouth a few times before speaking. “Uncle Joseph says I may come help at the smithy tomorrow. He’s teaching me to—”
“Don’t you dare mention that patriot’s name again.” His nostrils flared and he kept his tone quiet, but hard. “I’ve warned you of people like him.”
Mouth pinched, Jacob shifted his feet and lifted his chin as if coaxing his courage upward. “I like Uncle Joseph, Father. He says that—”
“I have warned you once and I’ll warn you again. While you are under my roof you are not at liberty to speak the name of that man in my presence.”
Jacob lowered his head and slunk back into his bedchamber, shutting the door with a quiet click.
Cyprian shoved his hands through his hair.
Were patriots to overrun his life? Nay! He would not allow his only son to succumb to such treachery.
A smile twitched on his lips. The powder supplies continued to slip from the rebels’ grasp. Wicked delight warmed his spirit like ale on a winter’s eve until a chuckle bubbled from his chest. Doctor Smith was frantic to know what was happening to the town’s precious munitions.
He laughed again. Wouldn’t the good doctor be surprised to know that little Tory friend of his played such a large role? Staring down the stairs, Cyprian reveled in the way such knowledge lifted his drooping spirits. Fulfilling the king’s command was only part of the pleasure he took in relieving the patriots of their prized powder. Not only did he acquire what he needed for Camilla, he also created havoc for his enemies in more ways than he could have ever imagined. This liberty they clamored for was nothing but a drug, something they believed they needed for survival but would only cause them to destroy themselves and everyone else. They needed King George, and the sooner they discovered that, the better for all of them.
Chapter Thirteen
Trudging along the lonely dirt road beside Shawme Pond, Kitty drew in a long breath, savoring the warm scent of early summer and watching the leafy-green branches sway at the command of the breeze.
Closing her eyes, she groaned. Why must it be Saturday? Another two weeks had come and gone—dragging painfully slow like a boat along the sand. She breathed through tight lips to keep her chin from quivering as she squinted up at the sun. ‘Twas noon. She had but two hours until the loathed task would once more be laden in her arms and in her heart. At least walking from one side of town to the other would help pass the remaining time. Too, ‘twould keep her away from home where possible questions might pry from her the truth.
Her stomach churned with hunger, but the mere scent of food made her want to retch. A terrible torture indeed when making delicious vittles for herself and family had lost nearly all of its pleasure. How could she much longer endure listening to her family belabor over the travails of their dwindling munitions and not speak of it?
Kitty swallowed the ache in her throat and glanced at Shawme Pond as it glistened in the sun. Several boys played on the banks at the other side, throwing rocks and digging sticks in the mud. The merry breeze brushed passed her cheeks and caressed the wildflowers. The world had always been so beautiful. Now, no matter what went on around her, it was dull and devoid of joy.
Kitty stopped and stared forward as her spirit dimmed. Where was God? If He knew her every thought then He must know how much she regretted this chore. How much she wanted to tell her family what she knew. Why hadn’t He provided a way for her rescue?
She glanced at the dust on her shoes. This had to be the last time—the last delivery. She couldn’t take the oppression much longer or she might burst.
Lord, where art thou? Canst thou not hear me?
“Good afternoon, milady.”
Kitty spun around. Devoid of the energy needed to plaster a relaxed smile on her face, her eyes rounded and her insides buzzed. This could not be a more terrible time to cross paths with Nathaniel.
Regaining her shattered composure, she forced her lips to bow upward. “Nathaniel, what a pleasant surprise.” Though of course it was not.
He approached, a smile in his eyes that reached out to soothe the tremors in her spirit. “’Tis that indeed.”