Law, Susan Kay (21 page)

The beads were silky and warm against her skin, gliding easily if
she moved her neck. "Why, they're warm."

"Well, uh, I wore them," he confessed.

"What?"

"Wouldn't lose them." He gestured to his own neck.
"I wore them here."

"Oh."

She couldn't seem to move. Slowly, he reached to her, lifting the
bottom of the necklace and slipping it underneath her neckline. His eyes were
very blue, and she felt the beads slide down, pouring over the upper curves of
her breasts and settling in the cleft between them.

"Like this," he whispered.

She swayed. She felt it, but she couldn't help herself. She was
caught by the image of the same lustrous, milky spheres that rested against her
skin glowing against the smooth bronze of his. He'd touched them, now they
touched her.

Oh, God, he was in trouble. He'd done his duty. There was nothing
else to learn here today. And yet he was still here, alone with her in this
stable with the wind howling outside and her family only steps away. Instead of
leaving, he was dreaming of beads resting under the soft green cloth of her bodice,
gliding against her skin. Thinking of tracing them, sliding his fingers along
the path they marked.

"They are a thank-you," he said with difficulty.

"For what? I'm the one who owes you."

"For the music."

The wind that screamed outside the stable became the lonesome wail
of a violin. A violin that, he was sure, would sound painfully more alone after
he was gone.

And he would be gone—he knew it, he felt it. He regretted it, but
it was enough to give him the strength to go without touching her. If only he
could stay, stay longer than his orders, stay longer than his job. Longer than
the month or two or three that it would take for everything to fall apart.

Longer than his life allowed.

"I have to go." He knew she thought he meant for the
evening, and even that made the light in her shining brown eyes dim. He
wondered how she'd look when he said good-bye for good, and he prayed he'd at
least have the chance to when the time came.

"I suppose you must."

"Can I come back for the music?"

She smiled, the soft, enticing curve of her lips contrasting
intriguingly with the sharp planes of her features. "Yes. For the
music."

Two weeks after
Christmas, the British marched into New
Wexford.

Adam Jr., scouting for rabbits out by Skinny Creek, was the first
to see them coming. He ran all the way back to town and shouted the news as he
burst into his father's smithy.

Adam shoved the red-hot rod of iron he'd been shaping into a door
latch into a tub of cool water. By the time the water stopped hissing, he was
at the Dancing Eel, rousting out every man in the place who was old enough to
shoot and young enough to walk.

The church bells pealed throughout town; loud, clanging,
discordant bongs that didn't celebrate the worship of the Father but instead
warned the townspeople, calling them to arms.

It worked. Before the British reached the common it was filled
with colonists. They didn't have clean, matching uniforms. Their formations
were raggedy and undisciplined, and some took up odd positions behind fences
and trees and inside houses, poking their muskets through windows.

The day was white, one of those pure days of winter when sun
glanced so brightly off clean snow it hurts the eyes. Captain Livingston called
his men to an abrupt halt in the center of the square, facing the line of
colonists that stretched from the schoolhouse to the church.

The captain, thin, tall, and very much in command, strolled slowly
over to face Cadwallader Jones. His relaxed gait was in complete contrast to
the alert readiness of his troops. Livingston's elaborate wig was powdered
nearly as white as the snow, making his pale complexion look almost bleached.
His red coat stood out vividly, a brutal slash of scarlet like a fresh puddle
of blood on new snow.

He braced his feet apart and fisted his hands behind his back,
rocking comfortably on his heels. "So, Captain Jones, we meet again."

Cad frowned. "I am captain no longer."

"Oh?" Livingston raised one eyebrow. "Lost the
post, did you? What a shame."

"I retired. Voluntarily."

"Of course." The captain clucked understandingly.
"Such a pity. However, I'm sure your wisdom will be invaluable.
Thankfully, I have many years before I have outlived my usefulness."

Cad ground his molars together. "My son is captain now."

"My, so I'll be dealing with another one of you Joneses,
then? How fortunate. Amazing how these children of yours keep popping up, isn't
it?"

Cad studied the officer carefully. What had he meant by that? Cad
had assumed that if his children were going to be arrested for the attack on
the British camp, it would have happened by now. This captain was turning out
to be entirely unpredictable.

"We are a large family," Cad said cautiously.

"Yes, indeed. Well, which one's, ah, in command now?"

"I am." Adam stepped forward, his huge shoulders squared.

"Of course. I should have known. You're the A one, right?
Adam, I believe it is."

"You may address me as Captain Jones."

Livingston nodded in acknowledgment. "As you wish,
Captain."

"What are you doing here?" Adam demanded.

"What are we doing here?" Livingston looked offended.
"Why, this is my district. Have to keep an eye out, you know."

"With your full company?"

"There is that. Don't suppose you'd believe that I simply
felt we needed a drill today, eh?"

"No." Adam crossed his massive arms over his chest.

"Well, then." Livingston gave a deep sigh. "I
suppose you've heard we had a... bit of an inconvenience a few weeks ago."

Behind Adam, Henry and Isaac exchanged quick grins.

"I may have heard something about that," Adam allowed.

"I have no intention of letting it go unanswered."

"You're here to arrest someone? Because if you are, I will
not permit it without absolute proof." Adam gave him a look that usually
caused men to clear out of his way like mice before a predatory screech owl.

But Livingston merely waved his hand carelessly. "No, no. Not
at all. I'll not waste my time digging around to find someone who's essentially
unimportant."

"What, then?"

"I will not allow illegal munitions to be stockpiled in my
district."

"Illegal munitions?" Adam shook his head. "I have
no knowledge of such a thing."

"Well, that's certainly a surprise, isn't it. Nevertheless,
we will be searching the town."

"We will not permit you to search private property."

"Such a shame. I have instructed my men to be careful, of
course. But we
will
search."

"You will not."

Tapping his fingers against his thigh, Livingston stared at Adam
for a moment. "So that's the way it is to be, then?"

"Yes."

The captain gave a slight smile. "Very well." He stepped
back and nodded to his sergeant.

"Up!" Sergeant Hitchcock called.

In one motion, every British soldier lifted his musket to his
shoulder. The guns gleamed black and malevolent in the bright sunshine, their
gaping maws seeming to aim directly at the chests of the colonists.

"Ready!"

"Wait!" Adam shouted as the men behind him scrambled to
ready their own weapons. "You cannot mean to fight over searching our
homes. It's foolishness."

"It is duty," Livingston said calmly.

"We could all die."

"We all
will
die, Jones. I'd just as soon it not be today,
but that's up to you."

"These are our homes, man!" Adam said desperately.
"We have a right to defend our homes!"

"Defense is unnecessary. We simply wish to look around. We
are not attacking—yet."

Adam could feel the sweat begin to trickle down his back—and felt
the fear and tension of his fellow colonists. He had to decide. He knew his men
would fight, well and hard, if called upon. But there had been so little time
to prepare, so little time to decide what was right. He wanted time! Time to
think, time to talk to the other men, time to know what was right.

There was none.

"All right then. You can try to search, we'll stop you, and
God help us all," he said quietly.

He felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. His father. "Where
do you want to search?" Cad asked.

"Does this matter?" Livingston asked.

"Perhaps if you left our homes alone, we could allow you to
search... someplace. One place," Cad said slowly.

The colonists began to breathe again. There might be a chance
after all.

"This is possible." Livingston nodded thoughtfully.
"If I may choose freely, I might be satisfied."

Cad exchanged a quick glance with his son. "Choose," he
ordered.

"All right." Very deliberately, Livingston turned in a
circle, appearing to study the buildings that perched around the perimeter of
the common.

Although the muskets aimed at their chests rendered it impossible
to relax completely, the militia allowed themselves small smiles. There was no
possibility Livingston would pick the correct place.

"The church."

The colonists' smiles vanished abruptly. How could he know? They
had spend two full days just after Christmas transferring the stockpile from
the school, where it had been for months, to the church, because Cad had
claimed that the British might know about the cache. And here the redcoats were
homing in on the supposedly safe, sacred hiding place.

"You can't!" Henry burst out, rushing to stand beside
Adam. "You cannot defile the church!"

"Easy, Henry," Adam said soothingly.

"But they can't!"

"Well?" Captain Livingston cocked his head. "Shall
we go? Or do you prefer to fight it out, after all?"

"They can't," Henry protested again.

Cadwallader stepped forward.

"Let them search."

***

The entire company of British soldiers, along with an equal number
of colonists permitted to "keep an eye on them," barely fit into the
First Congregational Church of New Wexford. The troops swarmed through the
place, their red coats bright and almost cheerful against the mellow wood and
whitewashed walls.

It was a simple church, small, snug, and properly respectful. The
single stained glass window was the town's pride and joy. Sunlight streamed
through the colored panes, casting brilliant blue, green, and red streaks
across the burnished floor.

It was a good place to worship. A good place to follow God.

And now it was blasphemed by the presence of men and guns and
hatred.

Cad whispered a silent prayer of thanks that his father-in-law was
no longer alive to see what had invaded his church.

They were efficient, he'd give them that. The soldiers swarmed
throughout the old church like ants on a drop of honey, poking under benches
and behind the lectern, climbing up to check the bell tower. They were quiet,
perhaps subdued by the setting, and not at ail destructive, as Cad had expected
searching soldiers to be. Instead, they were businesslike, restrained, and
frighteningly determined.

It didn't take long. There weren't that many places to check.

"Cap'n?" A young soldier knelt on the floor, running his
fingers along the edges of the floorboards.

"Yes?" Livingston and the sergeant strode over quickly.

"I've found something."

Livingston's triumphant gaze found Cad. "Let's get it up,
then."

Sergeant Hitchcock rounded up tools and set three men to work.
Within seconds they had pried up one of the boards.

"Cap'n, it's hollow under here. A large space, too, far as I
can tell. Can't see the bottom."

"What's in there? Let's go men, get it up." Captain
Livingston peered into the dark hole that was rapidly being torn in the smooth
polished floor of the church. A beam of sunlight spilled through a high window,
shining directly into the black cavern like a ray from heaven lighting a
follower's grave.

Hitchcock sat back on his heels. "It's empty, Cap'n."

"What?" Dropping to his knees, Livingston stuck his head
down into the hole, nearly losing his wig in the process. "It can't be
empty."

"It is."

The captain clapped a hand on his head to hold his wig in place
and squatted back on his heels. "Empty," he repeated in disbelief.

Adam whistled as he strolled over to the stunned men. He poked at
the pile of boards with his toe. "Finished here, gentleman? I'd like to
get this place back in shape before the Sunday meeting."