Whispers from the Shadows (33 page)

Rosie fetched the treat from the tray on her vanity and brought it over. “While she was reading, something jumped out at me that never did before. Now, the disciples, they were right scared of that storm.”

A roll of thunder punctuated her words. But it sounded more distant now, muted. Gwyneth spooned up a bite. “They woke Jesus up, frantic. They asked Him if He cared that they were perishing.”

“That's right. And do you remember what Jesus did?”

She let the sweet taste of the pudding dissolve on her tongue and then swallowed. “He chided them for their lack of faith and spoke to the storm, commanding it to be still. And it obeyed.”

“Close.” Rosie grinned and patted her knee. “He rose up and rebuked the storm first.
Then
He spoke to the men who ought to have had faith enough to know that the Son of God wasn't going to be killed by no random weather. He calmed the storm, child. He calmed the storm
first
, because His friends were scared and asked Him to. He calmed it so that they would be at peace. And
then
He could speak to them of faith.”

Calm my storm, Father God. Please Lord, calm my storm. Still my fears. Be my rest.
Though she spoke not aloud, she heard her prayer as a cry within her and felt it shudder the very foundations of her being. That shaky, fractured foundation so desperate to be shored up.

You are shattered. Broken.

Yes. She smiled into the hiss as she let her eyes slide closed. She was shattered. Broken. And she was His. She had only to put those pieces into the Potter's hand and let Him make her into a new vessel.

The weight was lifted from her hands as Rosie took the dessert dish, and Gwyneth snuggled between her soft sheets. More, the weight was lifted from her soul, and she climbed up into the lap of the Father who had never been any farther away than a whisper.

Twenty-Five

T
he sweet sound of sails snapping in the crisp wind brought a smile to Thad's lips. He raised his spyglass and scanned the horizon. As with every other time he had done so since weighing anchor at the break of dawn, he breathed a prayer that those waters would remain clear. That no British ships would follow him out of Bermuda, that no new ones would appear. That he would make the Chesapeake free and clear, and that the Lord would provide a quick way back into the bay.

Home. Home to Gwyneth, who had yet to fade more than a shade from his thoughts since the Lord brought him to his knees last night. To his family—Philly had been heavy on his mind this morning too. And to Tallmadge, who would be eager indeed for the news he carried with him.

“If the wind stays with us, we should make it home in less than a week.” Michaels stepped up beside him, his eyes alight. “Though part of me would as soon stay out on open water. There are plenty of British ships begging to be harassed.”

Thad chuckled as he slid his spyglass closed. “True as that is, and much as part of me would love to play the menace, we need to get back. This information will be helpful to our military.”

Michaels snorted. “Assuming they listen, you mean. A grand assumption, if you ask me.”

“They will listen. This time they will.” They must. If they didn't…well, then the entire region would pay for it, as they would for their months—nay,
years
—of refusal to prepare for the coming attacks.

Because this would be more than another raid. If Cochrane and Ross gave Cockburn his way, which they had sounded inclined to do while Thad treaded water by the hull of the
Tonnant
last night, then Washington City would be the next target. As soon as this newly arrived fleet made its way from Bermuda, they would plan the attack.

Assuming it took them another week where they were, then a week to organize in America, that meant two weeks after Thad reached home with the news to get everyone ready. Two weeks to strengthen their early warning method of keeping abreast of British activities. Two weeks to fortify and position troops. To call
up
troops.

A chill swept through him despite the balmy early August breeze.
God of my end, my nation rests in Your hands. Deliver us.

As if in response, a gust of wind blasted by and sped them over another wave.

“I'm going to check my charts.” Thad gave Michaels a pat on the shoulder and strode toward his cabin. Henry was already inside, his gaze not on the navigation charts but on the map of the Eastern Seaboard. “Plotting where to bury your treasure?”

His friend offered him a wide grin. “Oh, I buried that long ago.” He turned back to the map and tapped the area along the Patuxent. “The system Smith set up under Barney ought to work well enough if we fortify it.”

“I have been thinking the same thing.” They had a reliable enough way of conveying information on the British movements. Cannons and guns were fired by one town as soon as the enemy came near, and tracking that from village to village gave the next one advance warning of their coming. And for more specific information, they had mounted couriers to take messages from one observation station to the next.

Thad had assisted in the construction of it months ago. He would put all the members on alert as soon as he got home, especially in the areas between the British's current location and the capital city. As soon as the enemy moved that way, messages would begin to fly.

But as Michaels had wondered, would the politicians listen?

Thad shook his head. “I am not surprised they are considering Cockburn's plan, yet I cannot quite believe they would do it. Tactically, it makes no sense. Winning Washington will accomplish them nothing in terms of position.”

Henry tilted his head to the side. “Ain't you the one who said this
war isn't about gaining strategic positions?”

“Too true. 'Tis about destroying American morale—nothing more and nothing less. Dividing us. And they think destroying our capital will defeat our spirits.”

Henry's lips twitched into another grin. “More the fools, them.”

Thad smiled back. “They have obviously not heard that their similar attack on the city of Hampton has become a rallying cry.”

“Still.” Henry nodded toward the map again. “Best to try to head them off and keep them away from the cities and townsfolk.”

No doubt the generals would have the same thought and would seek to meet them well outside the city. “Let us hope we have the strength to do so. Unfortunately, the newspaper articles that have convinced Cockburn we are weak enough to make this a viable plan are not mistaken.”

“There's still time to strengthen.”

But enough? “Let us hope so.” Just as he would have to hope that there would be time enough to strengthen the foundations of his own house. To resolve the issues with Arnaud. With Gwyneth. To convince them both that they hadn't the leisure to indulge in bitterness. Not when Washington was a target and Baltimore could easily be the next.

Thad could feel it, the coming wave of war. Feel it mounting on the horizon like a hurricane. They would all have to batten down the hatches of their defenses and of their lives because there would be no avoiding the thick of things. Not if they intended to hold on to their liberties. Even if that meant a certain risk to their lives.

Gwyneth's face filled his vision again, and he shut his eyes to better see it. Was she well? Sleepless again? Would he return to that shadowed shell, one filled with anger with him instead of the horror of her loss? That need that hit him last night, that had kept him praying for two solid hours…

“She's all right.” Henry gripped his arm and gave him a tiny shake. “You felt the peace last night like I did after we prayed. You wait and see. My Emmy's there, and you know well she can set the world to rights with one bat of her pretty eyes.”

Laughter brought Thad's eyes open again. “I don't doubt it. Still, I worry for her. Does that ever stop?”

Henry gave him a look that labeled him an idiot. “What do you think?”

Thad sighed and pulled out his navigation charts. He thought he had a whole host of worries that would be waiting for him when he got home, none of which were ever likely to fade. So he had best see about getting them home safely and quickly. And keep his heart inclined toward prayer.

“He said
what
?”

Gwyneth pressed her lips together, but still she couldn't hold back the smile. And why should she? Dabbing her brush in the sepia, she added depth onto Emmy's countenance and then glanced up at her model again. “That you had three noses.”

From behind her, Philly laughed in that full, lively way of hers. “Oh, Emmy, you should see the look on your face. Paint her like
that
, Gwyn.”

Emmy repositioned her hand on her rounded abdomen and made an unsuccessful attempt to school her features. Though the outrage had faded, now it was a grin that marred the peaceful expression Gwyneth had put to canvas. “He has never forgiven me for besting him in that footrace when we were children, that is all.”

“No, more for your refusal of a rematch after he grew a foot in eleven months.” Laughter colored Philly's voice, though a moment later she set her cup down with a clatter, and her “Oh, dear” sounded anything but amused.

Emmy abandoned her carefully set pose and rushed to her friend. Gwyneth put her brush down and spun too, to find that Philly had put her head in her hands and was drawing in a series of deep but shaky breaths. “Are you ill, Philly?”

The woman waved off Gwyneth's question, nearly smacking Emmy in the face as she did so. “It will pass. Give me a moment.”

Emmy eased down beside her with drawn brows. “What is it? You are never ill but for when…are you…?”

Gwyneth looked from one of them to the other, feeling out of the circle. And then dreadfully naive when Emmy's meaning struck and heat flooded her cheeks. Not that she had any reason to feel embarrassed by a married woman being with child. Especially when the couple obviously wanted a babe so much and had been so long denied one.

Philly whimpered, though it sounded more an emotional response than a physical one. “I am not certain. I think perhaps, but…perhaps
not. I almost hope not, much as I hope so. I am…I am so very afraid.”

That
was something Gwyneth could well understand. Setting her paints down, she moved to Philly's other side and slid an arm around her. She was hardly an expert on this, with no wisdom to offer or intelligent questions to ask, but she could sit beside her, and she could pray peace upon her. She could be a friend.

Emmy smoothed a hand over Philly's hair with all the warm familiarity of a sister. “I know how hard this has been on you, Phil. I do. And for sure and certain, the Lord never promises His children will have no pain. But He
does
promise He will see us through it. Each and every time.”

“I know.” But Philly kept her hands over her face. “He has, and I know He will. But I still…I was beginning to think I would never again—I am afraid to hope. Because if I hope and am disappointed, it will hurt so much more than if I do not let myself expect anything.”

“Would it?” When both women looked over at her, Gwyneth shrugged, surprised at herself for speaking. “It seems to me that if one does not hope, one does not really have faith. Fear…fear is natural. But Jesus offers to take us beyond that if we keep our eyes trained on Him. Does He not?”

Emmy winked at her and patted Philly's shoulder. “You listen to the girl. Mama and I have filled her full to bursting with Scripture and prayers this last week and a half, haven't we, Gwyn?”

“You have.” And in the past six days, since that night when she had heard the whispers of the Lord, clarity had begun to return. Those verses and prayers had filled her mind as she went about her daily tasks. The monsters still lurked; she could sense them. But they daren't come close, not so long as she remembered those promises of peace and held them tight to her heart.

Philly rubbed at her eyes. “I need to speak to Reggie about my suspicions. I haven't yet, being not quite certain, but he should know. Whatever comes, we can weather it together.”

“That's a good idea, and you should speak with your mama too. She always knows what to say when I'm anxious. Besides.” Emmy smiled that stunning smile of hers, directing it to Gwyneth over Philly's bent head. “We probably oughtn't talk too much about such things in the presence of a young thing like Gwyn.”

Philly managed a partial smile of her own and eased back up. “She is not so young. I was married by her age, as was Amelia. And I
daresay she will be in the near future too, given the way my brother has been looking at her.”

“Humph.” With a superior sniff, Emmy lifted her chin and folded her arms over her bulge. “After hearing how he insulted me, I'm not sure Thaddeus deserves a pretty little thing like our Gwyn. Three noses…”