6

Every time Hannah ventured a glance at Joseph she found his gaze steadfast on her, eyes brooding. An attractive expression on him, but she could only imagine the storm brewing inside. Especially since she was the cause of his child’s cut finger. Only one more offence added to a growing heap. The broken window. His wife’s gown. Returning to the valley after her family had been compelled to leave. Keeping her identity from him.

After they’d washed and bandaged little James’s cut, Hannah stood back and let the men explain the events that had brought her here. The young boy hardly seemed affected by his injury now and followed Joseph, pacing the floor with him. When he tired, he hugged Joseph’s leg and called “Papa,” until he was picked up. Obviously Joseph and Fannie’s child—though Hannah still didn’t understand Fannie’s absence. She might be visiting her family, but reason spoke otherwise. Especially since the baby Rachel now cradled under a blanket to nurse looked much more Reid than Garnet or Wyndham, and what mother would willingly leave her baby for any length of time?

Hannah slipped into the chair closest Rachel, her one ally. The very gentlemanly Andrew Wyndham seemed kind-hearted as well−or at least penitent for having wounded her.

Joseph, on the other hand…a cloud had fallen over him since hearing her name. His face had lost most of its color, and the blue in his eyes appeared almost gray.

“Perhaps she will now tell us her true intent for coming here.” The rasp in Joseph’s voice yanked Hannah back to the ongoing discussion. “I can’t believe it was to visit the burnt-out remains of a place she once lived.”

“Joseph!” Rachel gaped at her brother.

Leave it to Joseph Garnet to remove any sentiment from something once held dear.

“No, Rachel, he’s right. Ashes hold nothing for me now.” The moment had come, and both fear and anticipation skittered through Hannah. “Though I had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that I might…” She held Joseph’s cool gaze, inwardly compelling him to know something about her brothers. “I’d hoped I might find some clue as to what became of Samuel and Myles. I have heard nothing of them since they were taken. And now there is only me. I have to know what happened to them.” The words spilled from her and she couldn’t dam them. “I must know if they still live. Have you heard anything?”

“I haven’t.” Joseph’s answer was too quick.

Hannah hugged herself, hardly mindful of her arm. She swallowed down a swell of emotion. “But surely someone in the settlement must know where they were taken. Or where they would be now.” If they’ve survived this long. She compelled her voice to stay steady. “I won’t give up. I won’t stop looking until I find them.”

Rachel’s hand squeezed hers. “Your mother and the youngest are…?”

“Gone. Dead.” Hannah swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “The past two winters have been miserable. Hundreds have died. Illness. Hunger.” She would never be able to adequately express how it felt to watch those she loved best become victims of this never-ending war. Though pain radiated across the bridge of her nose and behind her eyes, she held the tears back as she centered her gaze on Joseph. “Samuel and Myles are all I have left. Please help me find them. I only ask for a direction—where to start my search.”

Joseph turned and wiped his hand down his face.

His little boy studied him, and then patted his cheek.

“No, James, not right now.” He set the youngster on the floor and recommenced his pacing.

The child went from his father to the cool fireplace where his fair-haired cousin, probably a year younger, joined him. With frequent glances at his father, James sat on the edge of the hearth. He seemed content enough.

Hannah looked at Joseph. Was he indeed raising his children without their mother? She leaned toward Rachel. “Fannie’s dead?” she asked with a whisper.

Rachel frowned and gave a slight nod.

Poor Fannie. Hannah had never had any real care for the Reids, but to leave behind one’s babies and a beloved husband−what tragedy could be greater?

“James, no!”

The boy stood with fistfuls of ash−thankfully cold. Instead of dropping his load back into the fireplace, he threw it into the little girl’s face, and grabbed for more. The younger child screamed.

Andrew plucked up his daughter, while Rachel brought the baby out from under the blanket.

Hannah caught James’s hands, which again clenched ash.

“I can take him.” Joseph plucked James off the floor. “He can come outside with me.” He said it as though he’d planned to leave all along.

Perhaps that was his only answer for her.

Joseph stalked from the cabin, boy in arms, gray and black powder sprinkled across the floor. Andrew wrestled to calm the infant while he washed the soot from her eyes and face.

The baby joined in the chorus of wails.

Hannah stood helplessly by. She’d been mistaken to ask Joseph for any help. Obviously his life held no more room for complications.

~*~

His son’s dirty hands the least of his worries, Joseph lifted the boy over his head and set him on his shoulders. “We have fields to plant, James. You want to help Papa?”

The exuberant nod banged against the top of Joseph’s head. “Help Papa.”

“Good.” Joseph lengthened his stride. He needed to get away from Hannah Cunningham.

Rachel seemed only welcoming of the girl, but would she remember their long ago conversation when trying to decide the fate of a certain British officer?

“Surely you remember the way it was at the beginning of the war. The Cunninghams and others who professed their continuing loyalties to King George and Britain—they were considered a threat.”

Everything short of murder was done until the Tories were driven out. They had fought at Oriskany four years earlier. The ones they had called neighbors. “I even recognized some of them. Bayonets, the butts of our rifles, and even bare hands. That’s how we killed each other.”

Joseph’s lungs trembled for breath.

Hannah Cunningham.

Her parents were dead. Only her brothers remained. Brothers forced from their family and into a war. One had only been a boy, and the other not quite a man. Had they survived the bloodshed that had drenched this land? Would it be possible to find them? Or would the search only bring Hannah more heartache?

Ducking into the barn so James didn’t bump his head, Joseph strode to the satchel that held seed. He would return to the fields so he could provide for his family. He was almost finished with the wheat, but the corn still needed to be planted. And most of the garden. Much of his time would also be spent helping Andrew with their planting. There was too much work to do to sit around thinking about the past.

He set James on the ground and loaded himself down with seed. Now that he knew who she was, it was impossible to not recognize Hannah. Though many of her features were inherent from her Mohawk mother, her bright brown eyes, straight nose and fairer complexion were her father’s.

Henry Cunningham.

Swallowing back a wave of nausea, Joseph thrust his hand into the grain and gripped a handful. “Come on, James, follow Papa.”

Little James’s sandy head bobbed, and he scampered after him. “Papa.”

Joseph paused. “I’m waiting for you.”

Though James had lost much of his baby appearance, his fat cheeks still jiggled when he ran. The rutted terrain did not make it easy for the youngster, and more than once James stumbled over the uneven earth. When they reached where Joseph had left off, he filled his son’s small hands.

“You help Papa plant, all right? Drop them in the furrow. Like this.”

His boy spread his fingers wide, shook the seed free and turned to Joseph. “More.”

“Let me finish mine first.”

A soft whoosh, like the wind through the nearby woods, slowed Joseph’s movements, and he glanced at the solid wall of trees. Nothing. Not even a breeze. Or bird song. Probably a deer, but the hair prickled on the back of his neck as he filled his son’s hands once again. His ears stayed attuned to the woods and the silence…and then the snapping of a twig. “Come here, James.” Joseph took a slow step toward his son, who had moved farther along the furrow to scatter his seed.

Thwack.

An arrow dug into the soil only inches from where James crouched.

Joseph snatched his son from the ground and pivoted to shield the child. Not that he would provide much protection once he was dead. “Oh, Lord, save my boy.” My children.

He sprinted to the barn, his pulse choking him as he waited for the razor tip of another arrow to spear his back. But they reached cover before an arrow struck the door they had just passed through. In the nearby pasture the milk cow’s sharp bellow announced death. Keeping James tight against him, Joseph stole a look at the crumpled beast. An arrow protruded from low in its neck. A killing shot.

A message. It had to be. They had spared human lives, but for what purpose?

Only one came to mind.

Hannah Cunningham. They were here for her.

Joseph hugged James and pressed a kiss to the fine hair on the top of his young head. If the raiding party had not missed on purpose, his son would be dead, as would he. And then the fire would come. Though Andrew had a good eye and a straight aim, he wouldn’t be able to hold them off on his own. Rachel and the babies would be left to the same fate as the woman they had saved from her burning home. Or worse.

What would save them once the raiding party got what they’d come for?

~*~

The cow’s bawl carried a pain Hannah was too familiar with. Death. She rushed to the window, only to be jerked aside.

“Stay back,” Andrew ordered, his voice hoarse. He grabbed the musket from over the door and loaded it with a speed she’d not expected from the gentleman.

“What’s happening?” Rachel was on her feet, the baby asleep in her arms. “What about Joseph and little James?”

“I cannot tell. Not from here.” In a step, Andrew leaned against the wall beside the door and eased it open a crack. He scanned the area. “If anything happens to me, bar the door. If there are raiders, break the windows and fight them off. Do not let them near the cabin.” He widened the door as though he planned to slip out.

“Where are you going?” Rachel questioned.

He didn’t look back. “To get Joseph.” Andrew’s knuckles showed white where he gripped the musket.

“Don’t.” Hannah threw her back against the door, slamming it closed.

“What are you doing?”

What was she doing? What did she need to do? Hannah snatched the pins from her hair. She should have anticipated this, planned for it. Otetiani would have returned for her after the Patriots left. He’d have found her tracks that led to Hunter, his large hooves and heavy frame making the trail easy to follow. Her skirmish with Joseph would have said she had not come of her own will. She’d brought him and his warriors here. If Joseph, or his son, or anyone else was killed, it would be her doing. Her sin. “I need to stop this.”

“Is that within your power?”

Hannah, glanced from Andrew’s questioning to Rachel’s wide eyes. Her look encompassed the children. “Let us hope it is.”