Breakfast was a hasty affair between the chores and preparation to go to the meetinghouse. After eating, Jack washed up in the kitchen and Simon disappeared to the barn, both to don their Sunday clothes. Lucy came from the bedchamber just as Jack finished dressing, and he surveyed her with pleasure. It was the first moment they’d had alone since their parting last evening, and she came toward him smiling. “You look fine this morning, Goodman Hunter. No one would know you’d been injured.”
He pushed back a tendril of golden hair that peeked from beneath her bonnet. “I’m still amazed at how blessed I am. I’m walking to meeting with an angel.”
“Hush,” she said, turning her face away, but he noted both a blush and a smile on her face.
He wondered if he could steal a kiss this morning. It was a bit shocking to have such a thought, but after all, they were alone in their own house. He seized her hand and tugged her gently toward him. As she came willingly into his arms, a loud knock reverberated through the room.
Lucy stepped away from him, looking toward the door in confusion. “Who can that be?”
As though in answer to her question, a deep voice shouted, “Hunter? Be you in there? Open, I say!”
Jack’s pulse hammered at the unfamiliar voice. Was some official coming to arrest him again and drag him off to prison? He sent up a quick prayer: God, give me grace!
He strode to the door and flung it open. The stranger on his doorstep stared at him, and Jack stared back without flinching. The man was between thirty-five and forty years old, Jack guessed, and the sun glinted on his reddish hair.
“I’m Jack Hunter.”
“Where’s my boy?”
Jack looked him up and down with mingled relief and chagrin. There was no doubt this was Simon’s father—the stocky build, the green eyes, and the auburn hair were the same.
“And who be you?”
“I’m Edward Brady. The boy’s father.”
Jack nearly looked past him, toward the barn, but forced himself to continue looking Brady in the eye. “What is your boy’s name?”
“Stop toying with me, you knave!” Brady’s face grew red. He raised a fist and shook it in Jack’s face. “I heered my boy is living in a murderer’s household, and I won’t have it. You give me back my son!”
It was all Jack could do to refrain from punching him, but he felt Lucy stepping up behind him. Her small, warm hand touched his shoulder.
“Mr. Brady,” Jack said, “my wife and I were about to leave for church. Would you care to walk along with us?”
“I’ll go nowhere with you! Don’t try to deny that my son is here. Your village parson said the boy was at the meetinghouse last Sunday, and he told me how to find your farm. Now, where is Simon?”
Jack hesitated. He didn’t want to betray the boy, yet he had to be honest with the man. He wished he had pressed Simon more on reconciling with his family, but he had delayed, hoping the lad would write to his father soon and reveal his whereabouts.
“I’ll take you to him,” Jack said.
Brady stepped back, and Jack went outside just as the barn door swung open.
Simon walked forward with a slow, wooden pace, but he came on his own. Jack felt a wave of pride and anguish. He didn’t want to lose the boy, but if he must, he’d rather it be this way than by having to force Simon to show himself.
“I’m here, Father.”
Brady looked his son over. Jack was glad Lucy had washed and mended the boy’s breeches. He wished she’d had time to weave the cloth for a new suit. Jack’s shirt was too large for the boy, but at least he was clean, and his hair was neatly trimmed.
The father marched toward Simon and stopped a couple of feet from him. “I should thrash you this instant.”
Simon cringed but stood his ground. “I’m sorry, Father.”
“Oh, are you? You ran away, breaking your mother’s heart, and stayed away months on end. Oh, I’ve heard the tale. You wanted to join the militia but were turned away, so you found a berth in a murderer’s house. What do you do here?”
Simon swallowed hard. “I work, Father.”
Brady glanced at the structure behind Simon. “They make you sleep in the barn?”
“I’m comfortable there, and Goodman Hunter said when the nights get cold I can sleep in the loft of their house.”
Jack threw an apologetic smile at Lucy. He hadn’t had a chance to discuss that plan with her.
Brady glared at his son. “Well, you are coming home with me today. Do you have any things to gather?”
Simon shook his head. “Only my old shirt. Goody Hunter gave me this one.”
“Get your old one and give this one back to her.”
Lucy came down the doorstep. “There’s no need, sir. Simon’s been a good boy, and he’s worked hard for my husband.”
“For what wage?” Brady glowered at Jack.
Before Jack could speak, Simon said, “Goodman Hunter says he’ll start giving me a penny a week soon.”
Brady advanced toward Jack. “Here you are, a criminal who’s somehow escaped the hangman’s noose, making a slave of my boy!” He drew back his hand as if to strike Jack.
“I wouldn’t do that, sir.” Jack put steel into his voice and prepared to counter the blow if it fell.
Brady backed off a step. “Aye, from what I hear about you, it’s probably best not to anger you.”
“My husband is not a murderer!”
Jack started as Lucy leaped forward, placing herself between him and Brady. He reached out and took her arm gently. “Easy, wife. Let Mr. Brady take his leave in peace.” Tears streamed down Lucy’s face. “Does Simon have to go?”
Jack wasn’t sure if she was pleading with him or the boy’s father, but he said, “Yes, I’m afraid he does.”
“Don’t you whip him,” she cried.
Brady stared at Jack in mock horror. “You’d best study how to keep your wife in check.”
“He is a good boy,” Lucy said. “If you treat him well, he’ll give you the same devotion and hard work he gave us.”
Brady grabbed Simon’s arm and pulled the boy with him down the path. Jack and Lucy stood watching in silence.
“He forgot his shirt,” Lucy said as they disappeared out of sight. She burst into tears.
Jack gathered her into his arms. “There, now, wife. We knew he couldn’t stay.”
“Did we?”
Jack stroked her back. “I thought to have him write and apologize to his parents, but …”
Lucy sobbed a bit more, then straightened and wiped her cheek with her sleeve. “I’ve mussed your clean shirt.”
“It will dry.”
“I wish …” She looked up at him.
“What?”
“I wish we had a right to keep him. I was getting rather fond of Simon.”
“Aye. But we can’t refuse to let his father take him.”
Lucy grimaced. “I don’t suppose we want any trouble with the law just now.”
Jack pushed back a lock of her hair. “Perhaps one day we’ll have a plucky boy like that.” He looked deep into her eyes, and her face turned crimson.
“If we do,” she said, looking down the path, “I hope his father will teach him not to run away or steal from folks.”
He smiled. “I’m sure his mother will make him love his home so much he’ll never want to leave it.”
“Shall we go now?” Her voice quivered.
Jack considered their options. “We’re already a few minutes late. Perhaps we should sit down and calm ourselves. I don’t want you going into the meeting all distressed.”
Lucy took a gulp of air. “I’ll be all right.”
He squeezed her and rubbed the top of her head with his chin. “The parson will call for a psalm in an hour. We’ll go in then.” He kept his arm around her waist and guided her into the kitchen.
“Do you want tea?” she asked.
“Nay, don’t trouble yourself.”
They sat at the table, and Jack eyed her uncertainly. “I … I’ve been wondering … if you’ve a mind to pray together.”
“Yes, please!”
His heart leaped, and he reached across the table to take her hands in his. As he bowed his head, he sent up a silent word of gratitude for his wife.
“Dear Father in heaven,” he said, “give us peace this day. I pray also for Simon, that You would calm his spirit and give him contentment so he may live with his family in harmony. And, Lord, give Your wisdom to Lucy and me. If there is anything further we can do to help that boy, please show us.” He paused, trying to think if he’d left anything of importance unsaid, then whispered, “In the name of our Lord Jesus, amen.”
“Amen,” Lucy said with a sob.
Jack opened his eyes. Her sad smile moved him to leave his stool and kneel beside her. “Dearest Lucy. God has given you a mother’s heart for that boy, and I am thankful that it is so. He has heard our petition for Simon.”
“Yes,” she whispered, leaning against his shoulder. “Oh, Jack, do you think he’ll be all right?”
An authoritative knock rattled the little house. Brady’s strident voice called, “Open up, Hunter!”
Lucy drew back and stared at Jack. The blood drained from her face. “What can he want? Surely he’s not brought the constables to arrest you?”
Fear coursed through Jack’s veins, but he pushed it aside and squeezed her hands. “God is in this, dear wife. Pray now.”
He rose and went to the door. When he opened it, Brady’s fist was drawn back to knock upon the boards again. He stopped with his hand in midair and stared into Jack’s eyes.
“What is it?” Jack asked, noting with relief that Simon and his father were alone.
“The boy insisted we come back and tell you that he’s seen something.” Simon pushed up next to his father. His green eyes glittered with excitement, and his face was full of anticipation and wonder.
“I seen him, Goodman Hunter! Just now. I seen the man what took your ax!”