Her feet sprouted roots and brought her to a quick halt, forcing the others to stop with her or pass her by. “That is all you have to say?”
His face naught but a blank canvas now, he held his hands out. “What else would you like me to say? That I am surprised? I cannot. I watched him kill the man everyone thought was my father when I was but four, when Mercer had the misfortune to at last return from a prolonged expedition during one of Gates’s visits.”
She nearly reached out to touch his hand to give him comfort. She might have, had it been anyone but him. “I am so sorry.”
“Why?” He met her quiet statement with a shrug. “’Tisn’t as if I had ever even met my mother’s husband.”
“Even so. To see such violence at such a tender age—”
“I am my father’s son. There was never any doubt about that. It had no great effect.”
How she wanted to doubt that. Yet she didn’t know if she could, given the calm acceptance in his eyes. Were some people born without compassion? Without that basic respect for life? If so, perhaps they could pass it down to their children. “None at all?”
“Well.” Now he smiled again, actually smiled. “It did certainly convince me that I ought not cross my father.”
She drew in a long, contemplative breath. “Is that why you take part in his schemes? For fear of him? Is that why you trade human beings as if they are cattle?”
He sent an amused glance to Winter. “Is she always so quick to make excuses for people? I cannot decide if such na?veté is charming or pitiable.” The infuriating man chuckled as he looked back to Gwyneth. “I do it for the money, cousin. Gauche as that may sound to a London gentlewoman, sterling really does make the world go round.”
“And what of your country?” Winter shifted, her tone regal. “Do you care nothing for it? Will you not help defend your home?”
His spine snapped even straighter, his hands clasped behind his back. “Of course I do, madam. But America’s future rests in a strong economy built on agriculture and trade, which can only be achieved through cheap labor. I am supplying a need that will grow this nation, and must, in fact, lead another slave train south, out of harm’s way, in the morning.”
Gwyneth raised her chin. “Your father believes and plans for this trade of yours to do the opposite. To widen the chasm between North and South so that even if America wins this war, they will fracture and crumble internally.”
“Hmm.” He made no other reply to that, but she recognized the glint in his eyes, having seen it often enough in Uncle Gates’s. Calculation. Then he nodded and took a step back the way they had come. “I will not hold you up any longer, ladies. But, cousin?”
Why had she suggested he call her that? “What?”
His smile now shone with genuine warmth—the last thing she had expected to see from him. “Know that I wish you well. I wish you all happiness with your husband.”
“You do?”
“Of course.” He bowed and backed away another step. “You are, after all, a full third of my family. That carries a great deal of weight with me.”
Gwyneth shifted the basket of bandages again and shook her head. What an unsettling thought.
Thirty-Two
Thad tensed, held his breath, and listened. All of Baltimore must have held its breath with him, for the next signal came and seemed to echo through the streets, through the church without hindrance. His fingers tightened around Gwyneth’s where he held them on the pew between them.
The British were coming. They had been waiting for days for the word to spread from gun to gun, from cannon to cannon, from town to town. And there it was, echoing over them on a Sunday, of all times, when they were all at worship.
From the pulpit Reverend Gruber eased shut his Bible and waited for the final signal shot. After its report faded, silence held for a moment. Then the minister lifted a hand. “Let us pray.”
A shuffling as Bibles closed, as heads bowed. Gruber cleared his throat. “Father God, we ask every week that You will go with us as we leave these hallowed walls and head back into the world. We ask it especially today, when so many of our men must now leave this place and go to one of imminent danger.” He cleared his throat again. “The Lord bless King George, convert him…and take him to heaven, as we want no more of him!”
For the only time in Thad’s memory, laughter joined the chorus of “Amens,” and the congregation all but surged to their feet.
Thad rose more slowly, his gaze on Gwyneth’s precious face. She wore her features in a brave arrangement, lips turned in a fearless smile, eyes shining with pride. But he had felt the way her arms clung a little tighter to him each morning when he left to drill. The very same way his did to her. Because they both knew that each new day could be the one in which those signal shots rang out. They both knew each night might be their last.