A World Apart (The Hands of Time: Book 3) (19 page)

“Abbie, look at me,” Finn commanded.  “Look at me.  It’s all right.  It will be all right.  Come, let me help you up.”  Abbie clung to him as he helped her off the ground, her eyes not meeting his
, but turned away from him as soon as she was on her feet, looking  off into the forest.  She was probably horrified by what he’d done.  Finn tried not to look at the fresh corpses on the ground.  He had no idea what to do with them.  They were British soldiers, and someone would come looking for them sooner or later.  Questions would be asked.  But more than the dead soldiers, Finn was worried about Abbie.  She had seen him at his worst, and now she would never look at him again without seeing him wielding that scythe as he killed two men.  She wouldn’t even look at him now.

“Abbie,” he called to her wistfully.  “Please look at me.” 

Abbie turned to him then, her eyes still full of tears, and walked into his arms, burying her face in his neck.  She wrapped her arms around him, holding him with her all her might.  “You saved me Finn.  You risked your life to help me.  How can I ever thank you for what you’ve done for me?”  She looked up at him, her brown eyes darkened by intensity.

“Abbie, you don’t have to thank me. 
I would do anything for you.  Just tell me that you are not horrified by what I’ve done.  I couldn’t stand it if you despised me.”  Finn stroked her hair and face, kissing her forehead. 

“Despise you?” she looked up confused.  “You were so brave, going up against two armed soldiers. 
Wait till I tell Pa.”  She was cupping his cheek, still looking into his eyes as if he were a hero.

“Abbie, we can’t tell your father, or anyone else.  We must keep this a secret.  When they find them, they’ll likely think it an Indian attack.  If they think they were killed by the rebels, there might be a reprisal against civilians.  We couldn’t risk that.  We must go to the Fletchers as planned and act as if nothing’s happened.  I’ll walk you.  I just need to clean my scythe
, and you need to wash out your dress.  There’s a stream a little further into the woods.  Just wash out the blood and the dress will dry by the time we get to the farm.  Bridget always said that nothing gets out bloodstains quicker than cold water.”

“Who’s Bridget?” asked Abbie, examining her bloodstained skirt.
  It wasn’t too bad.  Most of the blood got on her legs and would be easy enough to wash off.  Abbie absentmindedly picked up her tucker, brushing off the leaves and dirt.  It wasn’t damaged otherwise.

“She was my nurse,” answered Finn, picking up the sc
ythe.  “Come, we should hurry.”  Finn couldn’t wait to wash his hands.  They were covered in blood, making him feel soiled.  He’d have to wash out his shirt as well.  Most of it was clean since he got both men from behind, but the cuffs were stained with blood, which was turning a rusty brown as it dried.  Finn washed his hands thoroughly before taking off his shirt and washing out the cuffs.  The blood came out easily, coloring the water for a few seconds before dissolving in the stream and fading from view.

Abbie took off her shoes and walked into the creek, gasping as the cold water swirled around her ankles.  She kirtled the skirt above her knees and washed the blood off her legs before untying the skirt and washing out the stains.  Finn was surprised that she hadn’t been wearing hose, but he supposed she only wore them to church and when it was cold, and the past few days hadn’t been so bad.  He tried not to stare at her bare legs. 
They were slim and shapely, but her flesh was covered in goose bumps from the cold water.  He tried not to allow his imagination to go further and dwell on what he’d seen earlier.  Abbie would be mortified to know that he’d witnessed her nakedness.  Let her think she’d been blocked from view by the man’s broad back.  She deserved to retain some dignity after what happened.

Finn took off his coat, wrapping it around
Abbie’s shoulders to prevent her from catching a chill.  The homespun fabric would dry quickly in the breeze, looking as good as new by the time they got to the Fletcher farm.  He adjusted her cap, twirling a curl around his finger until she smiled.  Finn took Abbie by the hand and let her back to the path, avoiding the clearing.  He had to admit that he didn’t feel much remorse.  Those animals got what they deserved.  He shuddered to think of what would have happened had he decided not to follow Abbie.  They would have raped her, probably hurting her very badly.  The poor girl would never again feel safe with a man, not even her husband.  He was secretly proud to have saved her from such a fate, suddenly wondering what it would feel like to be a husband and have a woman of his own to protect.

**

Mrs. Fletcher greeted them happily, instantly inviting them in and offering them a cup of beer and some apple fritters.  Finn had never tasted anything so delicious.  The fritters were wonderful, bursting with warm chunks of apples and drizzled with honey.  Mrs. Fletcher instantly added a few more to the still-hot skillet, knowing they’d want seconds.  Abbie told Finn on the way that the Fletchers had an apple orchard on their land, so nearly everything they ate in the fall had some form of apples in it.  They also took bushels of apples to Williamsburg and other surrounding villages to sell or barter, obtaining some supplies for the coming winter.  Abbie wanted to have a few apple trees when she was married and had a house of her own.  She liked the fruit, but what she liked most were the beautiful, white blossoms that covered the trees like huge snowflakes.

Abbie was still
in shock, but she drank the beer and ate the fritters, her hands shaking slightly.  Mrs. Fletcher prattled on about the lace for Martha and her sons, who were also in the Army with Sam.  Her two younger children were playing outside, chasing each other with the maximum amount of laughing and shrieking.  Finn tried to answer Mrs. Fletcher politely to distract her from the fact that Abbie was uncommonly quiet.  He didn’t want her to get suspicious, so he nudged Abbie under the table with his foot, his eyes sliding to Mrs. Fletcher and back.  Abbie instantly got the hint and joined the conversation, asking after Mrs. Fletcher’s boys and complimenting the lovely lace, which would make exquisite trim for a tucker or a cap.

“I promised Ma I’d be back before it got dark, Mrs. Fletcher.  Thank you
again for the fritters.  They were divine,” she added, glad to see the look of pleasure on the woman’s face. 

“You’re welcome, my dear. 
Let me give you some apples to take home for the little ones.  And it was a pleasure to meet you, Finlay.  Do come again.”  With that, Finn and Abbie set off for home, their story well-rehearsed, two souls bound by a terrible secret.
 

A gentle, steady rain fell from the pewter heavens, leaving the world looking dreary and wet.  Everything was dripping moisture, drops of rain sliding off the leaves like tears.  Louisa Whitfield gazed out of the window, tears siding down her face like raindrops.  She’d never been so miserable and confused.  All her life she’d been cherished and protected, always surrounded by people who loved her.  Suddenly, everyone was gone.  No one could give her a clear answer as to where her parents and brother went, and now Aunt Louisa and Uncle Kit were gone with the baby and Bridget.  It had been two weeks since they’d left, and officials from the town had come to the plantation to question Charles about their whereabouts.  Louisa wasn’t quite sure of what happened, but she heard that her aunt disgraced herself in public, forcing Uncle Kit to help her escape prison, knocking out a guard in the process.  They would never be able to come back now without facing severe punishment. 

Charles and Annabel had taken over Louisa and Kit’s room, settling in for the long winter to come.  Louisa
knew of the rift between her father and Charles, but she wasn’t sure what caused it.  It had something to do with Cora’s death two years ago, but no one spoke of it in front of her, treating her like a little girl as usual.  Ever since Cora was killed in the spring house and Amelia hanged herself in the attic, Charles was less than a frequent visitor to Rosewood Manor.  Now, he was suddenly in charge, telling everyone what to do and lording it over the field workers.  He’d reduced rations for everyone in preparation for the winter, cutting back on food for the workers by half.  Mrs. Dolly now had to dole out the portions herself rather than just let the workers serve themselves.  Louisa hadn’t been to the barracks, but according to Minnie, the men were underfed and growing angrier by the minute.  She said her father had noticeably lost weight, and she was saving some of her own food to share with him during her visits. 

Louisa worried about the lack of supplies in the
colony, but her more immediate concern was her upcoming wedding.  Charles agreed to wait for her parents to return, but after Aunt Louisa’s offense, he couldn’t allow for any more scandal in the family, so the banns had been read a few days ago announcing the marriage of Louisa Whitfield and Thomas Gaines.  

Louisa hadn’t been allowed any contact with Tom since Charles brought her home and her anxiety increased daily, worrying about Tom’s reaction to this forced union. 
She tried writing to him, but he didn’t respond.  What if he hated her?  She couldn’t bear it.  She simply couldn’t.  Louisa tried talking to Annabel, but her future sister-in-law wasn’t receptive.  She was still angry with Louisa for trying to play her for a fool while sneaking off to seduce her brother.  Louisa sighed.  She would have given anything at this moment to have Annabel on her side.  She missed her parents and aunt and uncle terribly, but she also sorely felt the absence of Bridget.  Bridget had been her nurse since the day she was born, always there to soothe, comfort, and give unconditional love.  Louisa wished that she could just sneak up to her room at night and climb into bed with her like she did when she was upset about something, having Bridget sing to her in her lovely Irish lilt until the world just fell away, leaving only a haunting Celtic tune and the night outside.

The room was lost in shadow, the pitter-patter of rain beating a steady tattoo on the window as Alec woke up from his nap.  Valerie had been right.  He did feel better.  Breathing was easier, and the area where he’d been clubbed wasn’t as tender to the touch.  Alec looked around.  Where was Valerie?  She must have come back while he was sleeping and gone downstairs to get them something to eat.  He was starving.  He hadn’t eaten at all, and his stomach was growling in protest.  Alec reached over for the bread Valerie left for him in the morning.  It was a bit stale, but it would tide him over until he got a proper meal.  He would get dressed and go downstairs. 

Shirt and breeches were easy enough, but pulling on his boots was a challenge that left him breathless, with stars exploding in front of his eyes when he bent down, putting pressure on his ribs.  Alec exhaled deeply; giving hi
s boots a good yank before sitting still to catch his breath.  It would take at least another week until he healed properly, possibly even more.  He locked the door and headed to the taproom. 

The hum of conversation greeted him as he entered the bar.  Most of the
benches were already filled with patrons, the air smoky and reeking of spilled beer.  The proprietor’s daughter was skillfully maneuvering between the tables, bringing fresh tankards of beer and removing the empty ones, while avoiding the admiring looks of the men and the straying hands of some of the bolder patrons.  Mr. Clements was behind the bar, filling tankards and setting them on the counter in readiness.

“Ah, Mr. Whitfield.  I trust you’re feeling better.  Your wife said you’d bee
n ailing.”  The publican pushed a tankard toward Alec, giving him a friendly smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Clement
s.  Is my wife in the dining room?”  Alec took a long sip of beer waiting for the barkeep’s reply. 

“Not that I know of.  I haven’t seen her since this
afternoon.  She had some of those leaflets with her and a pot of glue.”  Alec set the tankard down, his insides suddenly twisting with worry. 

“I’ll just check the dining room
.  Maybe you haven’t noticed her coming back,” he said.

The
innkeeper shrugged his shoulders as he turned to serve someone else, laughing loudly at a crude joke the patron had told him. 

Alec stepped into the other room.  This room was much quieter with several tables set up for
guests wishing to dine in peace.  A few tables were occupied, diners enjoying something that smelled good, but Alec wasn’t interested in the food.  He looked around.  There was no sign of Valerie.

“Mrs. Clements, have you seen my wife?  She might have come in to get some supper,” Alec asked the woman as she erupted from the kitchen, carrying several bowls of stew.  She looked at him in surprise, thinking for a second before shaking her head.

“I’m sorry Mr. Whitfield.  I haven’t seen her since this morning when she came down for some breakfast.  She said she was going out to put up broadsheets.  I’d think she’d be back by now, it being dark and raining and all.”  She shrugged her ample shoulders as she set the steaming bowls in front of waiting customers, who tucked into them with relish. 

Alec felt
a terrible apprehension as he left the room and stepped outside.  Where was she at this hour?  It was already dark, a miserable drizzle falling steadily, turning the dirt road into mud.  Alec looked to the left, then to the right.  Which way would she have gone?  He settled on right and began walking, peering into the darkness for any sign of his wife. 

Nearly a
n hour later Alec had to admit that Valerie hadn’t come that way.  She wouldn’t have gone this far.  He was now at least two miles from the inn and he hadn’t seen a single broadsheet with Finn’s likeness.  Alec turned around and headed in the other direction.  It would take him an hour just to get back to the inn.  Maybe she returned by now, wondering where he’d gone.  Alec began walking faster.  He was wet and cold, his stomach growling from lack of food. 

At last
, he was back at the inn.  He trotted upstairs to their room, but there was no sign of Valerie.  According to Mr. Clements, she hadn’t come back, and he saw everyone who came and went from his vantage point behind the bar.  Alec went back out into the dreary evening, heading in the opposite direction. 

The night was getting darker, the moon obscured by thick clouds.  Falling leaves fluttered past his face, landing on the wet street in front of his feet.  The street was virtually deserted. An occasional light from a window lit a small square of
sidewalk, but for the most part, it was silent and black.  By this time most people would be at home in front of a warm fire, spending time with their family after a long day of work. 

Alec continued to push forward. 
The buildings grew sparse as he walked in the direction of the college.  He was about to turn back when he saw a glimmer of something white further up and went to investigate.  The image on the broadsheets was nearly disintegrated from the rain, but he could still make out the smudged features of his son.  The broadsheets were scattered in the road, some torn to shreds by wheels of passing vehicles, some clinging to the wall of a nearby building where the wind must have blown them before they got wet.  Valerie’s pot of glue lay shattered nearby, the contents still clinging to the shards. 

Alec looked around bewildered.  There was nothing there save a
few houses, their shutters closed firmly against the dreary night.  Alec’s heart pounded in his chest as the realization that something terrible must have happened to Valerie flooded his soul.  He had no idea what to do.