Free Acadia Song 04 - The Distant Beacon by Janette Oke, T Davis Bunn

concerned.”
    “You’re saying, then, that Colonel Grudge wished you away for some reason.”
    “Aye, that is my thinking.”
    “Where is the gold now?”
    “On its way to London. The shipowners’ bank has a Boston office. They were only too delighted to accept a sack of good English sovereigns. They confirmed my suspicions. It’s rare for His Majesty’s procurers to be handing out gold to inbound traders.”
    “Perhaps the colonel needed your supplies so desperately he was in no position to bargain.”
    “Perhaps. But until we know better I shall sleep with one eye open, and we will post a double bevy of guards.”

    But their way remained clear, their progress steady. Even the weather turned in their favor. They slept the first night in the lee of a farmer’s barn and awoke to find the bitter wind and scuttling gray clouds to have dispersed with the dawn. A gentle breath rose from the south. The sky was a light blue, and all the world seemed impatient to embrace a newborn spring. From the farmer’s wife they bought a morning’s feast of freshly churned butter, baked bread, and still-warm eggs. Not even Gordon looked to be adhering to his own warning to keep a sharp eye out for trouble.
    The only sign that the region might not be facing another normal planting season was how sparse the traffic had become. By midday they had the road to themselves, and traffic didn’t begin picking up again until they had reached the outskirts of Bedford. They made their way Janette Oke / T. Davis Bunn around the town, and just a half hour later were again traveling alone. Twice they spotted farmers off in the distance, plowing behind teams of oxen. But other than this, the world seemed trapped in seclusion.
    There was no clear transition point, either. The farther they ventured from Boston the clearer the fact became that this land was firmly in the American colonials’ hands. The smallest hamlet flew a rebel flag, either that of the Constitutional Congress or the newer one of white stars over a blue field, partly framed by red and white stripes. Nicole thought this flag to be very jaunty, far nicer than those with guns or snakes or symbols of war.
    At lunchtime Gordon buried the British safe-pass deep inside one of the chests. In its place he pocketed the official document given to Charles by the Constitutional Congress, confirming Nicole’s ownership of the lands in western Massachusetts. Still they saw no soldiers and very little sign of conflict, just the empty road ahead and behind.
    Toward evening of the third day, as they were closing in on Leominster, the wind shifted back to the north and the skies grew steadily darker. Gordon announced that the town appeared safe enough for them to risk lodging in an inn, and Nicole did not complain.
    By the time they arrived at the village square, the temperature had dropped by half and a misting rain was pelting them hard. Even the horses seemed dejected, with their ears lying flat and their flanks shivering. The innkeeper’s wife led Nicole upstairs to a comfortable front room, while the men saw to the horses and guards to the carts. Nicole hadn’t realized how weary she was until a little while later when she rejoined the men for dinner and almost fell asleep over the hearty beef stew. But hunger kept her eyes open and her hand in motion, though she saw little else besides the bowl in front of her.
    From his station on her right, Gordon leaned in close and said, “Are you attempting to ignore me?”
    Nicole started from her half sleeping. “Forgive me. I am exhausted.”
    “I have spoken to you three times.”
    “I did not hear a word. I apologize. The road—”
    “Will there never be a moment when we might speak together more intimately?” Gordon had pitched his voice low enough so that the words reached only her ears.
    It was strange how, in the space of two heartbeats, she could go from a state of near slumber to as awake as she had been in weeks. “Most