THE CRY FOR FREEDOM (Winds of Betrayal) (3 page)

“Yas’um. An’ Mist’ Corbett spent the rest of the night looking for ya and found ya’ in the barn with a litter of kittens?  Or how ‘bout when ya’ hid up in the balconey with yo’ young cousins an’ Mr. Gabriel sat with ya’—”

“That's enough, Mary,” Hannah said defensively. “Nobody wanted to listen to me butcher an otherwise beautiful song.”

“Well, if ya hadn't played hooky during ya’ lessons, maybe ya could have played it. That's what Mist’ Corbett said. Ain’ so bad like ya gettin' caught on the stairs in Mast’ Gabriel's arms—”

“It was William who found me, and if he hadn't yelled, no one would have taken notice. Besides, it was only Mother Agnes,” Hannah said blushing wildly at the memory.
If only Gabriel had been there last night, I wouldn’t have had such an infuriating evening.  And would never have endured that insufferable man’s kiss…

“Well, Miss Hannah, ya asked, and I tole ya’ what I heard ‘em, and I hear
lots
.” Mary grinned broadly and picked the fork up again with her mouth wide open.

“Mary,” Hannah reprimanded, “please swallow before you speak.”

Mary took the glass of milk intended for Hannah and gulped it down. “Guess then ya don’t want to know that I heard Mast’ Corbett is sending ya’ out to Mount Fairview.…”

“Really?” Hannah exclaimed. This was the best news she’d had in weeks. She loved Mount Fairview, and the fact that Summit Hill, Gabriel's home, sat only a few miles up the river added to her pleasure. Her vigor renewed, she almost danced away from the window.

“Then let’s pack this instant. I don’t want to wait one minute. Gabriel’s supposed to return within the fortnight— or at least that’s what he wrote in his last letter. Then Jonathan will return, too. This is going to be—”

“Stop yer ramblin’, Miss Hannah,” Mary cried. “Don’t go gettin' me in trouble cause I tole ya’. And yer fader tole me when yer dressed he wants to see ya’ in his study. Figure ya must be in
some
kinda trouble.”

“Not that I know of, and I usually know what I’ve done.…” Hannah said emphatically, but then she paused for a moment.

He couldn't have seen her outside the study's window. No, he would have reprimanded her last night, not waited ‘til this morning.

She pushed back her curtains allowing the sunlight to break in. This was going to be a glorious day!

****

Forgetting all that had plagued her during the night, Hannah dashed down the stairs, heedless of Mary’s words trailing her while she ran out her bedroom door. “Don’t think yer father wants ya’ down there jus’ yet…”

Oh, pooh!
Hannah thought.
Why wouldn’t he?
But before her foot reached the last stair, she heard voices carrying along the foyer from the dining room, and she paused. A
visitor for breakfast?

She made her way again, more slowly. She turned the corner of the foyer and saw her father sitting at the head of the table, deep in conversation. At his side sat William with Lydia. All seemed normal until another voice spoke out.

“I can’t see how one can live like this. Consider the straggling street you live on—ankle deep in dust. I thought I’d choke to death walking on it. I can only imagine what it’s like after a rain, not to mention the animals…”

“No one forced you to come, Richard,” said Father sharply. “I assume you are comfortable at Tazewell Hall. The Randolph’s—”

“Oh, you’re quite right, John. Quite right, but you know me, a man of business, purely. I wanted only to ask before we leave for Charles Town about Hannah. We’re coming back through in a couple of months. That should be sufficient enough time to make arrangements.”

Hannah froze in her step. Hadn’t Mother Agnes said nothing good comes from eavesdropping? But her father would never send her North like this.

“I told you before, Richard,” her father said firmly, “it’s a closed issue.” 

“I know your view of it, but Mrs. Clay isn’t in the best of health, and she wants only to see Hannah. What harm could come from a short visit? With my two girls roughly the same age, they’d make fine companions for her. Who’s she going to meet here? Granted, she is a beauty. She has the look of her mother. How can you deny your only daughter the privileges her grandparents can provide?”

Even from her vantage point Hannah saw her father’s face reddened, rage simmered within him. He drew in a deep breath, trying Hannah realized with the greatest of effort to contain himself. “I’ve denied Hannah nothing that she needs, Richard. And if it was your mission to take her back with you, you’ve failed. She’ll never return to New York.”

William laughed, but he didn’t let the moment’s stress relax. He said, “If you only knew our Hannah, Uncle, I’m sure you’d agree that she belongs here. I can’t envision her living anywhere but Williamsburg.”

“But isn’t that the very heart of the issue?” Richard’s voice crackled in Hannah’s ears. “I mean, not to listen to gossip, but has she not been given, how can I say this—too
much
freedom here. I’m certain…”

“Richard, enough!” Father’s fist struck the table. “I don’t go to your home and tell you how to raise your daughters. I’m quite certain you maintain your household adequately, but this discussion is at an end.”

Any response her uncle then gave, Hannah couldn’t hear. She heard Lydia break in with polite-toned questions about her aunt’s health. How Hannah wished she were more like Lydia—calm, thoughtful, content with all around her, and now more than ever, since the announcement that a new Corbett would soon be appearing.

So perfectly matched were Lydia and William! William lacked the bold, enterprising spirit that Jonathan, her middle brother, had been born with, but William was a dutiful son with an apt understanding and hand for machinery. At one time, he’d wanted to go into the printing business, but in the end, with Jonathan becoming a
physician, William had chosen to stay with his father and attend to family business.

Though if political currents boiling now escalated, William would feel it his duty to join the militia. Before Gabriel departed for Philadelphia he’d told her Patrick Henry had been named commander of the First Virginia Continental Regiment, and more men would need to be dispatched.

“Richard,” her father’s voice rose loudly, “I have made my position perfectly clear!”

Boisterously, Richard replied, “And I don’t believe you understand the situation at all, brother! You’re disgracing Emily’s memory, and Mr. Clay will sit still for it no longer! Mrs. Clay has never been the same since the day her daughter ran off with you. And look at Hannah—people are laughing at her and her antics. Scandalous and outrageous!”

Hannah held her breath, for any second she expected her father’s wrath to rain down full force on her uncle. How dare he!

Mother Agnes pushed back her chair, which scratched harshly across her lauded, shining wooden floor leaving long, dark scrap marks. The small woman, tiny, petite in manner and nature, brought herself up to full height, eyes blazing—this woman who had never lifted her voice to anyone, who so doughty undertook the enormous task of raising an unruly daughter—who, Hannah had to admit, had never made that job easy.
             

“Leave!” Mother Agnes pointed toward the front door. Her
 voice resounded throughout the house. “This minute! You are no longer welcome in these walls.”

Hannah stared at her horrid uncle. Not a handsome man, his pants sat too tight around his waist, from which his frame overflowed. Balding, his pudgy face strained, so much so that a vein throbbed in his forehead. Frazzled, he said, “It may well be that you don’t appreciate the truth in my words—”

Waving her finger at the stunned man, Mother Agnes cried, “Understand mine, you wretched man! Out of my house! Now! You will not utter words in such a manner about my daughter. You have been our guest and I politely sat back, but you are a guest here no more. You know nothing about Hannah!

“You yourself have spread gossip. I know it
since I’ve heard your ramblings! And understand this clearly-there is no mother alive so proud of her daughter as I am of Hannah! She is kind and feels intensely; she’s fiercely loyal and passionate. She doesn’t need New York to be refined. She is perfect!”

William stood up and walked around behind his uncle’s seat. He waved his arm toward the door. “It might be well if you left now, Uncle,” he said quietly.

Utter silence ensued. The hateful man stomped out of the room. Slowly, Hannah made her way in. “Father?” she questioned.

“Hannah,” her father uttered, turning to face his daughter. The tense lines in his face eased slightly with her appearance. “Go to my study and wait.”

“But, Father—” she protested.

Hannah didn’t notice Mother Agnes approach her until she felt her stepmother’s hands touch her arms.

Mother Agnes said softly, “Come, my dear. There’s no need for you to stay here.”

Instinctively, Hannah reached for her mother’s hand. Mother Agnes clasped it, looking tenderly upon her. Hannah returned her look, never had she felt closer to the only mother she had ever known.

* * * *

Her father walked into his study and closed the door firmly behind him. Looking at his only daughter, his face softened.

Hannah smiled, though she sat trying desperately to keep her knees from trembling. Only a moment ago Mother Agnes had left her, whispering in Hannah’s ear, “I believe this day will make you happy. Your father has given it much thought. Listen carefully to him, Hannah, and I believe you’ll like the words he’s about to speak.”

Hannah’s face lit instantly.
Gabriel— it must be!
Hannah hugged her mother tightly.

“Don’t begin celebrating yet,” Mother Agnes chided Hannah gently, but in her eyes Hannah saw hope and promise.

Hannah stood up quickly and ran to her father, grasping hold of his hand. She leaned upward and kissed his cheek. His hand went to her face.

“You look more like your mother every day,” he sighed wistfully. “She, also, would have been so proud of the woman you have become. Where has the time gone?”

“Into the wind,” Hannah responded. “That’s what Jinnie’s said for years.”

Her father stared into Hannah’s eyes. “I sense you have an inkling of what I want to speak with you about.”

Shrugging slightly and biting her bottom lip, she answered, “I have hopes.”

“Child, child, please sit,” he said. He leaned back against his desk and added, “I’m certain Gabriel has mentioned that he’s talked with me. I confess I’ve hesitated over his request, for in truth, my dear, I’m not certain he has a firm enough hand for you.”

Hannah pressed her lips together anxiously. “But, Father—”

He raised a hand for her silence. “Listen to me first, Hannah. You don’t know what I’m about to say.”

She nodded and took in a deep breath. She pressed her hands upon her skirt. Her heart fluttered wildly while her father spoke. Gabriel
had
asked, and her father, despite his hesitation, was giving his consent!

Father said, “I asked him only to wait a year—not too long, I think. You’re both young yet—you’re barely seventeen, Hannah.”

She thought immediately to object—a year! A year was such a long time, but she stanched her words. Had Father not consented? She smiled to herself, certain she could convince her father later to lessen that year’s wait.

She nodded to her father after he at last fell silent. She leaped up and swung her arms around him. “You’re the
best
father! I love you so!”

“I am when you get your way,” he countered, leaning over and kissing the top of her head, “which is often, my spoilt, beloved daughter.”

She tightened her grip around him. Impatient now for Gabriel’s return, her foolish thoughts of the night before forgotten. Only one fleeting memory swept through-that her uncle’s presence, his overbearing insistence of her visiting New York had insured her happiness. For of one thing Hannah was certain-her father wanted her to stay in Williamsburg, far away from her family in New York. 

Jonathan Corbett neared his destination. Footsteps echoed on the brick street. The time was late. The lonely street reflected a glow from the chimney street lamps.
A long day had passed, and he was looking forward to his bed.

He had learned a lesson this day, a hard one.
My God! How helpless he had felt watching Priscilla Morse breathe her last breath.
Of what good did it do to have become a physician if you could not save the sick? A beautiful wife and mother, only thirty-four, had lain bedridden for the last three weeks constantly wracked with chills and a cough. At the end, the coughing had brought up blood. He had known then. Looking into her eyes, she had also.

She spent her last moments trying to comfort her love ones. The Morse’s were dear friends of his family, especially his father. Rodger Morse, a large burly man, had worked side by side with his father in their youths. Now he stood a widower with six young children. His oldest, fifteen years old, Rebekah surrounded her mother’s bed with her father, holding fast to her hand until she drew her last breath.

They could not stop of what nature and God had decided. A foolish thought, he supposed, that he had some semblance of control even being a doctor. All eyes fell on him, desperately looking for help to save a loved one. He had failed.