Free Guns of Liberty by Kerry Newcomb Page B

the grim reason for his presence in the farm country of Pennsylvania.
    Sister Hope was unaware of his inner conflict and chattered on about the founding of the farm community, and how six women of various walks of life had been called by the Holy Spirit to live communal lives of simplicity, prayer, and celibacy.
    The farm itself held no greater surprise for Daniel than when he pulled open the wide, heavy barn door. Daylight streamed into the dusty interior to reveal a most unusual stockpile of supplies, especially for a place devoted to peace.
    In place of hay bales and pitchforks, barrels of black gunpowder were stacked tall as a man, lethal Pennsylvania rifles, the pride of the colony’s gunsmiths, were arranged in neatly ordered racks. There were crates too of lead shot and a basket of crudely honed knives and tomahawks, their blades somewhat irregular in length and hardly razor sharp. They were wicked-looking all the same. Indeed, the barn was a veritable armory. Daniel could see the wisdom here. What British officer would suspect the Daughters of Phoebe of engaging in seditious acts?
    “There—” Sister Hope pointed to the trim sacks of beeswax candles hanging from a post at the end of a row of stacked rifles. “Help yourself.” She was amused at his expression of surprise.
    Daniel slowly, almost reverently, made his way among the rifles, powder, and shot. Hoisting the sacks from the peg, he then draped them both over his shoulder. By the time he had returned to the front doors he noticed a small flock of sheep drifting back toward the farmhouse from across the meadow.
    The animals were flanked on either side by women in gray, one large-boned, an Amazon without headdress, the other as slight as a will-o’-the-wisp. Each of the two women held a stout, seven-foot-long crook.
    Daniel stood in the barn entrance and watched as the larger of the two shepherds left the flock and hurried on toward the barn.
    “That’s Sister Mercy with the flock. She’s a child compared to the rest of us and quiet as a church mouse. And here is Eve.” Sister Hope gestured toward the other daughter, who covered the ground with long strides, lifting her coarse gray skirt above her ankles for greater speed. Sister Eve’s auburn braids slapped her shoulders like thick ropes and her cheeks reddened as she all but ran the few remaining yards, digging her shepherd’s staff into the soft earth with every other step. Suspicion glittered in her narrowed eyes as she confronted the man. Sister Hope quickly made the introductions, hoping to defuse Sister Eve’s obvious displeasure.
    But Sister Eve hardly heard the woman’s words. She gripped the crook like a quarterstaff and appeared ready to attack him.
    “Good afternoon, Sister Eve. I’m hoping you’ll not crack my skull for an armful of beeswax candles,” Daniel said. “I came here as a friend.” He nervously eyed the tight grip she kept on the cudgel. He flashed his most winning smile, one he’d used without success on a she-bear north of Hudson Bay.
    “Peace be with you,” Sister Eve replied, keeping a firm hold on the shepherd’s crook. It was carved of hickory wood, thick enough to crack a man’s skull and long enough to give her ample reach. “Sister Hope, you know better than to bring a stranger to the barn.”
    “He is no stranger,” Hope protested.
    “And do you speak for him?”
    “Kate does,” Sister Hope replied.
    “I speak for myself,” Daniel interjected.
    Neither woman paid him any mind. Sister Eve was a formidable presence. Her voice carried the ring of authority that immediately clued Daniel as to whose word was law among the Daughters of Phoebe. After another few moments’ debate, Sister Eve returned her attention to the man in front of her.
    “You have discovered our secret,” Sister Eve began. “I will not ask where your loyalties lie; truth or deceit would sound the same.” Sister Eve sighed and shook her head.
    “Freedom has a high price,”