“We will be fine, and Emmy and Philly will likely come tomorrow.”
“Good.” They joined hands and moved together back down the stairs. They stopped in front of the open doors, where Jack had brought his usual chaos of squeals and laughter.
What was left but goodbye? But he couldn’t say that. Simply couldn’t. So when she came into his arms again, he tipped up her chin and borrowed the little one’s tactic of lightness. “Do try and get some sleep while I am gone, will you?”
Her smile would surely carry him through the battle and home again. “I will—so that I might dream of you.”
Minutes later the other farewells had been said, final kisses bestowed, and he and Arnaud walked together toward their rendezvous point. Steadily but not exactly quickly.
“Not running ahead of me today?” Despite the light words, Arnaud’s tone was flat and heavy.
“No. I intend to stay by your side until we are making this return trip together in a day or two.” Thad tried for a smile, tried to cling to that cloud of peace that had existed with Gwyneth. But it went dark and stormy again.
He looked to his dearest friend, hoping to find light in his gaze. But Arnaud wore a glower even more pronounced than usual. “You feel it too?”
Blast. “Something is going wrong.”
“The battle?”
Was it? He could not tell. And no matter how much prayer he gave it, the only impressions to come from the Lord were that he was to continue on the set course. “I do not know.”
“Well.” Arnaud dragged in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “I suppose we do not need to know. We need only to act as we ought. And pray without ceasing.”
The drums beat out their amen.
Gwyneth flinched again at the sound of an exploding shell and the rumble beneath her feet, fumbled, again, the bread dough she was shaping into rolls, and then huffed in exasperation with herself. Shoving an annoying curl from her face with the back of her hand, she looked over to Rosie. Small consolation as it was, the woman jumped just as high as she did with each blast. “It has been six hours.”
“With a shot every five minutes.” Rosie shook her head and stirred the pot of stew simmering on the stove. “As long as I live I will never forget the thirteenth of September in eighteen fourteen. And the memories will not be fond.”
From the table filled with drying noodles, Winter sighed her agreement. “I keep telling myself that as long as they continue shelling the fort, that means it has not fallen. And yet still I wish it would stop.” She squeezed her eyes shut and balled her fists against the table. “Why could they not be stationed somewhere else? Anywhere else?”
Gwyneth shuddered. She had wondered the same from the moment Bennet had returned from his scouting trip into town with the news that it was Fort McHenry being bombarded by the British fleet. But she had felt such surety that her Thad would come home, he and Arnaud both. She must cling to that. She must trust. Must choose, as she had said to Thad about her beautiful dream of a pink-cheeked baby, to believe.
And must pray the Lord didn’t take her shaking hands as doubt.
She managed to form the final roll and tuck it into its pan, drape a damp cloth over it and set it aside to rise a second time. No sooner had she turned back toward the table than the door burst open, Emmy leaping through the opening with wild eyes.
The kitchen went silent long enough for a score of terrible possibilities to run through Gwyneth’s mind. Then Emmy turned to Winter. “It’s Philly.”
Winter straightened her spine, yet her shoulders sagged. “The baby?”
Emmy nodded as she palmed away the tears clinging to her cheeks. “She’s frightened something awful. Wants her daddy and you to come, Miss Winter.”
“Of course.” Winter spun toward the hall but then stopped, her gaze tracking upward to where Jack was, inexplicably, napping in his bed.
Gwyneth shooed her onward. “Rosie and I will stay here with Jack. You two go with Emmy.”
Wasting no time on arguments, Winter nodded and ran down the hall, calling for her husband as she went. Gwyneth moved to Emmy and grasped her hand. “Assure her we will be praying. Is it—is she sure?”
Emmy shrugged and sniffled. “’Tisn’t quite like the other times, I don’t think. But I daresay that has made it even worse for her, not knowing what is going on. You know how those Lanes like to know.”
The laugh that spilled forth felt at once misplaced and an immense relief. “They do at that.”
A moment later Winter and Bennet charged in together, and then the trio hurried out the door with a flurry of farewells and bids for prayer.
Rosie’s hands landed on her shoulders and propelled her toward the hallway. “Nothing more to do in here, child. But if you’ve a mind, you could read to us.”