The Minister's Wife by John Anthony Miller

Author:John Anthony Miller [Miller, John Anthony]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Next Chapter

44

Ian arrived at the church shortly before 9 a.m., carrying a leather pouch with a ruler and some basic tools. He only planned to measure and lay out what the minister wanted, not actually start construction. He went inside, but didn’t see Abigail or the minister, only soldiers in the rooms adjacent to the altar. He looked over the church, the location where the minister wanted the additional pew not obvious and went outside to wait.

He worried about Abigail and wanted to make sure she was safe. She had left the ribbon on her window sash, but never came to the Northeast Square. He assumed something had gone wrong, but he didn’t know how serious it was.

He sat on a bench by the entrance, watching pedestrians pass down the alley that led to Second St., enjoying a brisk October morning. Two British soldiers came by on horseback, not paying any attention to him—if they saw him at all. In the distance, probably from the Northeast Square, he could see a pole with the British flag unfurled, announcing to all that King George controlled the city, on the slim chance that anyone still doubted that he did.

A few minutes later, Abigail came from the rectory, crossing the cobblestone street and glancing over her shoulder. When no one followed, Duncan or the minister, she sat on the bench beside him, but left space between them.

“I was wondering if you would come,” Ian said.

“I have to talk to you,” she said softly, furtively glancing around. “I have important information.”

“Hush,” Ian whispered.

A British soldier appeared from the side of the church, one of the orderlies using a room beside the altar. “Good morning,” he said. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Abigail replied, smiling sweetly.

The soldier paused at the pavement, just past the bench, and gazed up and down the lane that ran in front of the church. He was young, late teens or early twenties, and seemed as if he waited for someone. But they couldn’t speak freely. He was too close.

Abigail leaned towards Ian, eyeing the redcoat. “I couldn’t come to the square. Duncan followed me.”

“Duncan?” he asked, alarmed.

“Yes,” she whispered. “He suspects you, and I think he suspects me, too.”

Ian glanced at the soldier and then looked at her strangely. “Why would he suspect you?”

The soldier took a step closer and casually paced the pavement.

“We must talk,” she murmured. “I have so much to tell you.”

Ian kept his gaze on the redcoat. “Trust no one.”

She leaned closer. “I saw signs posted. They intend to hang spies. Men or women.”

“I have no interest in hanging.”

“Nor do I,” she said. “But you have to be careful. You’re in danger. So am I. Don’t underestimate Duncan.”

He sat up straighter, not expecting a warning. He studied the soldier, who still looked up and down the street. “How do you know?”

“Both Hart and Duncan are watching you,” she said. “They plan to trap you and somehow prove guilt.”

“It’s Hart,” Ian hissed. “He’s trying to convince Duncan.

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