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Sara followed James down the stairs, stopping only to tie her wrapper over her nightgown and tuck her feet into slippers. Darting into the kitchen, she gasped at the familiar form at the back door. Henry danced from foot to foot, his eyes glued on James.

“Henry?” She surged forward. “What are you doing here so late?”

The boy straightened, his chest puffing out in pride. “Got hired to bring a message. From a Mr. Ballantine.”

Her stomach swirled at the name.

“What did he say?” James asked, his body tense.

“He says you’re to go to Montgomery’s Tavern straight away. Fetch Ridley and bring him back.”

“Blast,” James said under his breath. “Did he say what’s happened?”

Henry shrugged. “That were all he said.” He leaned forward. “But I heard the grooms talking. Militia’s been called from Hamilton.”

James kept his eyes on Henry, his words low and urgent. “Fetch my horse from the livery.”

“Aye, guv.” Henry darted out the door.

James bent to pull on his boots, his face grim.

“What’s happening?” Sara wondered if he might refuse to answer. But she was his wife now. She had a right to ask.

He grabbed his hat from the side table. “I don’t know.” James didn’t spare her a glance as he shrugged on his jacket and straightened his cravat.

The tension thrumming through him told her this was more than just a meeting at the inn. “What do you suspect, then?” He hesitated and she squared her shoulders. “I need to know, James. I’m your wife.”

James sighed. “The less you know about it, the better. In case the magistrate comes sniffing around.”

“Magistrate?” Sara’s heart pounded. “James, what’s going on?”

James came to stand in front of her, so close she could see the lines of worry around his eyes. “Andrew’s involved in something serious.”

Sara took a steadying breath. “Surely it could wait until the morning.” She studied his face for signs of the truth.

“It’s the rebels, isn’t it?” James inclined his head a fraction.

“It could be dangerous. What if there’s a mob?

Violence?” Sara worked to tamp down the fear and keep her voice calm and reasonable. “We need you.”

James’s hands came up to frame her face. “I’m not in any danger.”

Sara bit her lip, distracted by the warmth of his hands. What would happen if she were brave enough to wrap her arms around him and refuse to let him go?

“I’ll be fine.” His thumbs moved in a slow sweep across her cheekbones, a gentle caress that made her shiver.

“You don’t know what it means to me that you’re here.

For Evie.” He released a rough breath, his eyes scanning her face as though he were memorizing every detail. “And for me to come home to.”

She gave him a weak smile, her throat too constricted for speech. Why won’t you open up? You trust me with your daughter, but not with yourself. Then again, she still hadn’t told him the truth about herself.

“Look at us.” James gave a rueful smile. “Creating high drama out of nothing. I’ll probably be back before you’re awake.”

Henry trotted up to the gate leading James’s horse. Sara grabbed a muffler and a pair of gloves. “Here. It’s cold out.”

James spared her a brief smile and wrapped the muffler around his neck. He jammed his hat on his head, opened the door and disappeared into the night.

“Mama?” Sara turned to see Evie at the top of the stairs, her eyes wide. “Where did Papa go?”

“He had to go to a meeting,” Sara said, her voice casual. She didn’t want Evie up all night. She’d do the worrying for them both.

“What kind of meeting could he have so late at night? The courts are closed.”

Sara grimaced. There were times when Evie’s quick mind was a definite liability. “I’m not sure. He said we weren’t to worry. He’d be back soon.” She saw Evie bite her lip. “Would you like me to lie down with you? Until you fall back asleep?”

Evie brightened. “Would you?”

“Of course.” Sara started up the stairs, her eyes never leaving Evie. “That’s what mamas do.” They snuggled under Evie’s blankets, and the girl’s slender arms clasped her close in a fierce hug.

“I’m so glad you married Papa.” Evie whispered close to her ear. “When you were young, did you get a new mama, too?”

Sara was silent for a moment, feeling the sting of old wounds that never fully healed. “No, I never did.”

“Then I’m lucky, aren’t I?” Evie asked, her voice heavy with sleep. “God gave me two.”

A wave of gratitude washed over Sara for this precious little girl who called her Mama. She closed her eyes, praying for James. For Evie. For all of them.

The distant clang of the alarm bells woke her sometime later. She rose from Evie’s bed and pushed aside the curtains. A shout sounded down the street, then a group of men passed, muskets slung over their shoulders. Heading to defend the city?

Sara paced to the kitchen and built up the fire to make a cup of tea, her movements slow and silent. Poor Mrs. Hobbes needed her sleep.

Opening her lesson book, she tried to plan the next week but the tension that tightened her stomach refused to let her rest. The city was under threat, James was in danger... and she still hadn’t told him the truth. Restless, she wandered to the parlor and pulled the Bible from the shelf.

Back in the kitchen, she sat by the fire with the heavy weight of the Scriptures on her lap.

One of Granny’s favorite verses came to her before she even opened the pages.

But the God of all grace, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you.

How often had she heard those words as Granny rocked in her chair, listening to Sara’s worries?

She went out on the back porch, her quilt tucked around her shoulders, and looked up at the clear night sky.

Please, let me have one more chance. It was the same prayer she’d sent up that night in the alley at the wharf.

Since then, she’d had hope she hadn’t felt since childhood.

The tough shell she’d built around her heart had softened.

She could pray again. She could ask for guidance. For forgiveness.

Now, she prayed for James.

Keep him safe. And bring him back to me.

James was tempted to ignore Ballantine’s summons.

Andrew had made it clear he didn’t want James’s help.

Yet, why would Ballantine send word, so late at night, if there wasn’t still a way to keep Andrew out of it?

Perhaps the rebellion wasn’t as far along as he feared.

He might be able to talk some sense into Andrew and get him home before things got out of hand.

“You’d best head along to bed now,” James said to Henry as he mounted his horse.

“Not likely.” Henry crossed his arms, glowering at him from beneath lowered brows.

“It’s not safe for you out on these streets.” James sent a glance down Duke Street. The houses were dark, the road deserted, but he heard the distant rumble of wagons. Or was that gunfire? Something was afoot.

Henry snorted. “I know how to take care of myself. Or did you forget that night at the docks already?”

James looked down at him. “Listen, I’ve got to go, and I need to know you’re home safe.”

Henry shrugged, undeterred. “I’ll follow you, no matter where you go, so you might as well give me a ride.” He sent James a sidelong glance. “No telling what might happen to me on my own.”

“Fine.” James raised his hands in defeat. “But only so you can bring word back to Mrs. Kinney if I should be... delayed.” He reached down and pulled Henry up behind him. “You’ll leave straightaway when I tell you. It might get dangerous.”

“I’m hoping it will,” Henry said, wrapping his arms around James’s waist as the horse sprang forward. James shook his head at the suppressed excitement in the boy’s voice.

They struck out north, avoiding the main thoroughfare. After ten minutes, they left the clapboard homes and stores of the city behind them. Fields and woodlots bordered the road, broken by the occasional farm lane and the outline of a log barn in the distance.

They approached a turn in the road. He couldn’t see what was ahead, but all his senses urged caution.

He slowed the horse and Henry’s arms tightened around him.

He turned and pressed a finger to his lips and Henry nodded his understanding.

They stood silent until James made out the faint sounds of footsteps and low conversation ahead.

A picket to stop travellers along the road, but who had set it up and to what purpose, he couldn’t be sure.

He turned his horse off the road and into the thick bush.

It would be slow going, but at least they’d be safe. He hoped.

Half an hour later, they emerged from the forest into the chaotic yard of Montgomery’s Tavern.

Men on foot held torches and pikes aloft, while a handful on horseback shouted orders and attempted to organize the confusion.

A chill went through James that had nothing to do with the cold December night.

More than a hundred armed men milled about the yard.

Through the windows, he saw countless more inside. The rebellion was real.

They dismounted at the edge of the clearing. James turned to Henry and pressed the reins into his hands. “Stay here out of sight. I’ll be back.” Henry nodded, his eyes huge in his face.

James approached the milling men, scanning the crowd but finding no sign of Andrew or the big bay gelding he rode.

Most faces were unknown to him, their clothing giving them away as farmers from outside of the city.

Then he recognized Wilkie from their attempts to bring the land speculators to justice and made his way to the man’s side.

“Kinney,” Wilkie said, his eyes widening in surprise. “I... I hadn’t thought you—”

“Good evening,” James said with a nod, cutting off the man’s question before he could ask it. “I’m looking for Andrew Ridley. Have you seen him?”