A World Apart (The Hands of Time: Book 3) (16 page)

A canopy of branches nearly blocked out the sky as golden shafts of morning light pierced the foliage like arrows.  The leaves rustled overheard, and the birds fluttered from tree to tree, most likely singing all the while, but Finn couldn’t hear any of it.  It’s as if all his senses had been shut off.  He couldn’t hear, couldn’t see through his swollen eyes, or smell anything, since his nose was full of congealed blood.  He could taste though.  The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, making him feel sick to his stomach. 

Finn
knew he needed to get up, but he simply couldn’t.  He tried moving his legs experimentally.  They jerked, but they weren’t broken.  That was a start.  Hands next.  Finn forced himself to open his fist and feel the leaves and pine needles beneath his fingers.  His hands felt bruised, but he was able to move his fingers.  Finn took a mental inventory of his other organs.  His head was pounding as if someone was striking it with a hammer, making his temples throb and his eyes water from the pain.  His shoulder was sore, and it hurt to take a deep breath, but everything below the waist seemed fine.

Jonah’s
worried face suddenly appeared above Finn, his mouth opening as he called out, but Finn couldn’t hear him.  Jonah’s face appeared blurred and distorted, so Finn closed his eyes to keep the dizziness at bay.  At least Jonah wouldn’t let him die here.

“Finn!  Finn!  Wake up, please.”  Jonah’s voice came from somewhere very far away, faint and pleading.  “I’ll go fetch
Pa.  He’ll help you.  Just wait here.”  As if he could leave. 

“No,” Finn croaked.  “Just help me get up.”  He tried to sit up with Jonah’s assistance.  His stomach hurt like hell, but he managed it, eventually getting to his feet. 
Finn leaned against a tree for a moment, closing his eyes.  His head was spinning like a top, and he could barely catch his breath.  It was a long way back to the house, and he’d need to lean on Jonah for support. He groped at his belt, searching for his hatchet.  It wasn’t there.  He seemed to recall Granville pulling it out of his belt as his friends held him against the tree.  Had he taken it? 

“
Jonah, can you see my hatchet anywhere?” Finn murmured as he tried to breathe deeply to steady his racing heart.

“I’ll look.”  Jonah walked around slowly, searching. 

“Look over by the tree,” suggested Finn.  His vision was beginning to clear somewhat. 

“Which tree?  We are in a forest, remember?”  Finn heard Jonah’s intake of breath. 

“What is it?” Finn asked.

“Ah, nothing.  I found it.  It’s a nice tomahawk.  Where’d you get it anyway?”  Finn could hear the nervousness in Jonah’s voice.  What had he seen?  Finn opened his eyes and peered in the
direction of Jonah’s voice.  The tree trunk was covered in blood just where his head would have been.  Finn lifted his arm and gingerly touched the back of his head.  The pain was excruciating, and his hand was smeared with blood as he held it up to his face. 

“Come Finn.  I need to get you home,” said Jonah as he tucked the hatchet into Finn’s belt.  “Lean on me and walk slowly.”  Finn didn’t argue. 

**

“Good God, what happened to you?!”  Mrs. Mallory’s face froze in shock as Jonah pushed Finn through the door, helping him to a chair.  “John, come quick,” she
called through the open door, summoning her husband.

“Well, well.”  Mr. Mallory shook his head in dismay as he eye
d Finn.  “Do you need a doctor, son?”

“I’ll be all right,” Finn whispered, desperate to lie down.  He thought he might faint. 
His head was spinning, and there was a hollow feeling in his belly that had nothing to do with hunger. 

“Your head wound needs to be cleaned and bandaged.  Just hold tight for a little while longer.  Hannah, get me some warm water and a rag.  I’ll need a strip of linen to bandage his head.”  Mr. Mallory carefully examined Finn’s ribs while waiting for the water.  He’d obviously done this before. 

“Does it hurt when I press here?” he asked, putting pressure on Finn’s ribs.

“Yes,” Finn grunted.

“You don’t seem to have any broken bones, but your head has been battered severely.  I think you might be concussed.  Can you see all right?”  Finn tried to nod, but more stars appeared out of nowhere, cascading from the ceiling. 

“Who did this, Finn?” Mr. Mallory asked him quietly.

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”  Finn closed his eyes.  He just needed to sleep a little.  He was nearly there when Mr. Mallory’s voice summoned him back to consciousness.

“You need to lie down as soon as possible,” Mr. Mallory said as he began to clean the back of Finn’s head.  The rag came away all bloody, turning the water a murky red within minutes.  Finn closed his eyes, letting Mr. Mallory take care of him.  He could barely manage to stay awake.  His eyes were closing of their own accord, and his thoughts were all muddled and fragmented.

“There.  That should do it.  Now, let me help you to bed.  Mrs. Mallory will bring you something to eat.  You must be hungry.”

Finn was just about to answer when Abbie walked into the house, a basket of eggs under her arm.  Her mouth opened in shock as she saw Finn sitting at the table, his head wrapped in a linen bandage, his face barely recognizable.  She let out a pitiful moan as she shoved the basket into Sarah’s hands and went to Finn.

“Who did this to you, Finn?  Who?” 
Abbie was on her knees in front of him, looking up into his face, her eyes full of tears. 

“Abbie, Finn needs to be in bed.  You can talk to him later.  Now, go and turn down his bed, while I help him up the stairs,” her father said.

Mr. Mallory helped him up and gently laid him on the bed.  Finn was out before his head hit the pillow, his battered body no longer able to take the pain.

The room was lost in darkness by the time Finn finally woke up.  Snippets of conversation and sounds of utensils on crockery reached his ears, but otherwise all was quiet.  Finn’s tongue felt like flannel in his dry mouth
, and his head throbbed painfully.  He was just about to try getting up when Abbie appeared carrying a single candle.  The flickering light illuminated her worried face as she sat on the edge of the bed, holding a cup to Finn’s dry lips.   

“How do you feel?”

“Couldn’t be better,” Finn answered, grateful for the water she gave him. 

“The doctor was here. 
Pa sent Jonah to fetch him after you passed out.  You slept right through his visit.  He reckons you’ll be all right.  You’re concussed as Pa suspected, and your nose is broken.  You must have a devil of a headache.  Dr. Hillard just happened to mention that Matthew Granville has a broken jaw.  Any idea how he came by that?”  Abbie was watching him suspiciously, her eyes pools of chocolaty brown.

“None whatsoever.”
  Finn closed his eyes in an effort to discourage Abbie from asking any more questions.  He didn’t want to admit that it had been Matthew who beat him to a pulp, partly because of his injured pride and partly to spare Abbie the guilt.  She would feel awful if she knew she’d been responsible for the attack, although it really wasn’t her fault at all. 

“Finn, it was Matthew, wasn’t it?  And it was all because of me.”  Abbie took his hand, caressing it
gently.  “I’m so sorry, Finn.  I never meant for this to happen.”  She looked like she was about to cry, her eyes full of anguish.

“
Abbie, it wasn’t your fault.  I humiliated him, and he paid me back in full.  Think nothing of it.  Anyhow, I would take a hundred beatings just to walk you home.”  He tried to smile, but it hurt.

“That’s an awfully high price to pay just for th
e pleasure of my company.  Was it worth it?”  Funny, Granville had asked him the same thing.  Yes, it had been worth it.  She was worth it.

“It’s not too high of a price if
you throw a few kisses into the bargain.  I could use one right now.”  Finn closed his eyes as Abbie’s lips brushed his, her breath sweet and warm. 

“You’re a surprising person, Finlay Whitfield,” she whispered into his ear, kissing his temple.

Oh, you have no idea
, he thought, enjoying the feel of her skin against his cheek.

Valerie ignored Alec’s pouting as she got ready to go to the printer’s shop.  Alec was still in a lot of pain; his ribs terribly bruised and aching every time he took a deep breath.  There wasn’t much she could do, short of putting cold compresses on the area, not that they helped much.  Alec had barely slept during the night, unable to get comfortable since he preferred sleeping on his stomach.

“I’ll be back soon.  I promise.  Are you sure you’re not hungry?” she asked again, glancing at the beer and bread she’d brought him for breakfast. 

“No, I don’t want to eat.  I’ll be all right,” he said, looking anything but.  “Please be careful.”

“I will.  Try to get some sleep.”

Valerie gave him a kiss and left the room.  She was eager to pick up the broadsheets and start putting them up.  She’d wait for Alec to do most of them, but the least she could do was put a few up within walking distance of the inn.  Who knew?  Maybe someone had seen Finn.  If the printer had really seen Finn, then it was quite possible that other people had seen him as well.  Maybe he’d gone into other shops.  It was important to ask people while their memory was still fresh.

The printer had her order ready and waiting by the time
Valerie walked through the door.  “So you haven’t found him yet?” he asked conversationally.  “He hasn’t been back since, that I can tell you for certain.  Good luck with your search.” 

Valerie took her packet of broadsheets and stepped out into the afternoon sun.  She’d gotten some glue to put up the sheets, but had
left it in the room.  She’d have to go back.  Valerie looked up and down the street.  She had to admit that she was a little nervous to be out by herself after what happened yesterday.  She hoped someone had helped the man they left bleeding in the alley. She sighed with relief as she reached the inn.  It was very quiet as she walked in, being about ten o’clock.  The midday crowd would start trickling in closer to noon, ready for a drink and a meal.  The publican was washing out tankards and setting them on the draining board in readiness as he hummed a merry tune.   

“Good day to you, Mrs. Whitfield.  All by yourself this morning? You best wait for that husband of yours to escort you.  Heard there was a stabbing yesterday only a few streets over.  Terrible business.”  He sighed dramatically as he continued to clean the tankards. 

“Do they know who did it?”  Valerie asked carefully. 

“They reckon Percival got into a drunken brawl with someone.  The man has a reputation for brawling, especially with anyone he suspects of being a
Royalist.  Finally got his comeuppance, I’d say.  His crony Bobby Mann is keeping mum.  I suspect they’re more interested in robbing their victims than upholding the cause of liberty.”

“Is he badly injured?”
Valerie asked casually.

“He was stabbed in the thigh and lost some blood, but he will recover.  The only thing truly injured is his pride.
I hear he’s never lost a fight.  I don’t envy the poor sod who stabbed him.” 

Valerie
felt her stomach clench, terrified that Bobby Mann and his friend would seek retribution against Alec. She decided it was wise to change the subject before the innkeeper deduced that the person who stabbed Percival was none other than her husband.  She’d washed out Alec’s coat last night and threw the bloody water out the window, but someone might have noticed something when they came in through the taproom.  If their attackers found out where they were staying, they would no doubt come after Alec.

“Mr. Clements, I wonder if I might put up a broadsheet here in the taproom.  So many people come here; I thought it would be a good place.”

“Well, now.  That depends on the type of broadsheet you want to put up.  Anti-British sentiment runs deep in my inn, so as long as you’re not going against that, feel free,” he said, trying to get a better look at Valerie’s packet.  She pulled one out, handing it to the publican. 

“It’s nothing political.  It’s a likeness of my son.  He’s been missing for
nearly two weeks.  I was hoping someone might have seen him,” she said quietly, hating to repeat once again that Finn was missing.  Every time she said it, she felt as if she lost him all over again.

“He’s a fine-looking boy, your son.  Doesn’t favor you much, does he?” said the
innkeeper, studying the sheet.  “I hope you find him.  You are welcome to put it up with the others,” he said, gesturing to the wall by the door, already plastered with a dozen broadsheets.  Most of them were yellowed with age, the ink faded from the sun falling on that side of the wall, but some were still relatively fresh, calling for people of Williamsburg to join the Continental Army and fight for their liberty.  Valerie was just about to go upstairs for her pot of glue when Mr. Clements called out to her.  “Let me see that sheet again, Mrs. Whitfield.”

He
set a tankard on the counter and dried his hands on his apron before taking the sheet from Valerie.  Mr. Clements studied the drawing closely, holding it up to the light from the window.  “I wouldn’t want to mislead you, Mrs. Whitfield, but I’m almost certain he was in here yesterday.”

Valerie grabbed on to the counter, feelings slightly faint.  “Where did he go?  Who was he with?” she asked, praying that the
man would have some answers, but the innkeeper shook his head, a look of pity on his homely face.  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Whitfield, but I don’t know.  I have a clear view of the door, so I saw him walking in, but then he got lost in the crowd.  It gets busy here at noontime.  I couldn’t see where he went, but let me ask my Bessie.  She was serving yesterday on account of my wife being unwell.” 

Mr. Clements
disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with his oldest daughter.  The girl was about fifteen, with wide dark eyes and an impish smile.  Valerie thought that the customers probably liked Bessie very much.  She took the broadsheet from the counter, looking at it intently.

“I seen
him.  He was at the table in the back with two other gentlemen.  One was dressed like a farmer, but the other was one was wearing a good suit, although he had a face on him like sour milk,” Bessie announced, handing the sheet back to Valerie. 

“Do you know their names?” Valerie asked hopefully.  At least she was getting somewhere. 

“No, sorry.  They’re not regulars.  I’ve seen the sour-looking one before, but don’t know his name.  Sorry I couldn’t be more help.  He is a handsome boy, your son.  I noticed his green eyes.  So lovely they were, just like emeralds.”  She sighed at the memory, oblivious to Valerie’s disappointment. 

“Thank you, Bessie.  If you see him again, will you tell him that his parents are looking for him and that we are staying right upstairs?"

"Oh, I surely will, ma’am.  I’ll look out for him.  You can be sure of that,” she dimpled at Valerie, clearly expecting a coin. 

“I don’t have anything to give you now, but there’ll be a reward if he is found,” improvised Valerie in order to encourage the girl. 

“Is there now?” Bessie asked, well pleased.  “I hope to be the one to claim it.  Well, I have to go help Ma in the kitchen.” 

“That’s something, isn’t it?” Mr. Clements asked, gazing at Valerie.  “
He’ll turn up, your boy.  Don’t get discouraged.  So many young lads are running off to join the Army or the Militia these days.  It’s bound to be hard on the parents, but it’s all in a good cause, I say.”

“Thank you
, Mr. Clements.  You’ve been most helpful.  I’ll just go up and tell my husband that you and Bessie recognized him.  He’ll be glad to hear the news.” 

Valerie wasn’t sure how she felt.  On the one hand, she was thrilled that three people in two days had recognized Finn.  On the other hand, they must have missed him by minutes both at the
print shop and at the inn.  What were the chances they would come this close again?  What if he left town?  If she could only find out where he was staying.  Valerie sighed as she went upstairs to share her news with Alec.  If only they had something more concrete.  Who were these men that Bessie had seen Finn with?  How did he come to be with them, and what was their connection to the Committee of Secret Correspondence?