#DailyLines #WRITTENInMYOwnHEARTSBlood #Book8 #OutMarch25th #LoyalistsfleeingPhiladelphia #noAAAalas

“Oh. What exactly is the trouble with—never mind. Let me have a look.” It would do Goth no harm to settle for a few minutes. William swung down and tied the horse to one of the saplings, then followed Miss Endicott to the handcart.

It was overflowing with the same higgledy-piggledy assortment of goods he’d seen on the docks—a huge longcase clock stuck out of heaped clothing, and a homely earthenware chamber-pot was stuffed with handkerchiefs, stockings, and what was probably Mrs. Endicott’s jewel case. The sight of this particular mess gave him a sudden pang, though.

These were remnants of a real home, one he’d been a guest in—the rubbish and treasures of people he knew…and liked. He’d heard that clock strike midnight, just before he’d stolen a kiss from Anne Endicott in the shadows of the hallway, and felt the mellow _bong_ now, deep in his vitals.

“Where will you go?” he asked quietly, a hand on her arm. She turned to him, flushed and harried, her dark hair coming out of her cap--but still with dignity.

“I don’t know,” she said, just as quietly. “My aunt Platt lives in a small village near New York, but I don’t know that we can travel so far, as we are…” She nodded at the unwieldy cart, surrounded by bags and half-wrapped bundles. “Perhaps we can find a safe place closer, and wait there while my father goes to make…arrangements.” Her lips pressed suddenly tight, and he realized that she was holding onto her composure by dint of great effort. And that it was unshed tears that made her eyes so bright. He took her hand and kissed it, gently.

“I’ll help,” he said.

Reply · Report Post