And he must hurry home. Gwyneth was no doubt hurting anew too.
“Here.” He reached into a saddlebag, drew out a piece of paper, and handed it to Mr. Wesley.
The man didn’t so much as unfold it. “What is this?” Suspicion saturated his tone.
“A pass to get you into British-held territory in the north. You shouldn’t encounter any problems until you near the Canadian border.”
The suspicion traveled from voice to eyes. “Why do you have one of these?”
“Apparently for such a time as this.” He urged his horse forward until he was just past the wagon’s bench. “She is not the one to blame for this, my friends. Her father was already dead. There was nothing she could have done. Nothing but obey the last words he spoke to her.”
The woman stared straight ahead. “Let us away, Mr. Wesley, before we lose any more daylight.”
Mr. Wesley tucked the pass into his pocket and picked up the reins again. Snapped them. But he at least met Thad’s eyes again and nodded.
Not enough, not nearly enough to compensate for what they were doing by leaving.
Electra snorted as he clicked her up again. “I agree, girl.” He patted her neck and let her head toward home. “It was a mite crowded anyway.”
Once he reached his house, he entrusted Electra to a grim-faced Henry, grabbed his saddlebags, and ran toward the kitchen door.
Rosie met him, a spoon in her hand and her mouth in a thin line. “You see them leaving?”
“I did.” He patted her arm and eased past her so he could put his things away before she scolded. “I gave them my pass.”
She tossed the spoon into the sink. “You should have let them get stopped. Serves them right, taking their grief out on that poor girl like they done.”
With a sigh he put a hand on Rosie’s shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “I did it not for them, Rosie Posy, but for Gwyneth. She needs nothing more to cause her worry.”
“True enough.” She stood still long enough to pat his hand and then retrieved her spoon. “You think her uncle is gonna come like she fears?”
“Hard to say without knowing why he did it.” But his gut said yes. “She isn’t alone, is she? She must be upset.”
Rosie waved the spoon in the direction of the doorway. “Your mama spent the morning with her, the two of them crying and reminiscing about General Fairchild. Your father’s with her now, reading to her, I think.”
“Oh, saints above. She may not survive it.” He ducked under the lintel and managed two strides.
“Thaddeus.” Rosie poked her head out after him. “The day had some good in it too. She slept the night through. She woke when you left, but not until. No nightmares.”
“Praise God.” It nearly soothed the fray and frustration. Nearly. He nodded his thanks and headed down the hall.
His first thought was to deposit his bags in his study before searching them out, but that whisper inside stayed him. Show her.
Thad sucked in a quick breath. Really, Lord? Now?
Nothing. If the Lord had eyebrows, he imagined He was arching them, giving Thad the look his parents had both perfected. The one that said, “If I did not mean now, would I have told you to do it?”
He lifted his hands, saddlebags and all, in silent surrender and then turned toward the sound of Father’s reading voice in the library.
“ ‘…I shall waive giving any process for it here; especially as every book which treats of the chemical pharmacy contains one.’ ”
Thad stepped into the makeshift laboratory, his gaze moving from his father, who sat in his usual chair with a book before his nose, to Gwyneth, perched at the table with pencil and unmarked paper. He let his saddlebags fall by means of announcing himself. “What are you doing, Father, trying to put her to sleep? From what Rosie tells me, this is the one day she ought not need such assistance.”
Father flashed him a grin over the tome. “’Tis The Handmaid to the Arts, Thad. Our dear Gwyneth was regretting not bringing her copy, so I found one. We are now reminding ourselves of the use of mercury in creating a fine enamel paint.”
“Riveting.”
Gwyneth put her pencil down and pushed herself up. Her lips bowed, and for once the circles under her eyes were faint. But those eyes were bloodshot, and fine posture could not overcome the stoop to her shoulders. She stepped around the table in his direction, but then drifted to a halt as if unsure she had taken the wise course. Still, her smile brightened for a second. “How was your day, Thad?”
“Frustrating, but probably better than yours. I brought you something.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a long, thin leather pouch.
A question punctuated her expression as she came a few steps nearer. “You thought to get me a present during your frustration?”