Free The Hour of Dreams by Shelena Shorts Page B

the day before.
    In addition, his bandage was still seeping blood. At the sight, I scuffled over to him.
    “You’re still bleeding.”
    “I’ll be fine,” he said, not so convincingly.
    “What did the doctor say?” I asked, needing to know how bad it was.
    “He said I’ll heal.”
    “Did he stitch you well enough? Did he clean it?”
    He gave a soft smile and a shake of his head. “No, Phoebe, he did not stitch me.”
    “But I saw the wound. It certainly needed stitching. Let me go tell them and—”
    “Phoebe.” He looked at me with a peaceful gaze. “They will not be stitching me. I’ll be fine. They gave me a place to rest for the night and some cloth to wrap myself with.”
    The dark circles under his eyes told me he hadn't slept very well, and knowing his wound was still open, I imagined he was still in a good bit of pain. I turned to go get Mrs. Corey to see what the delay was, but William grabbed my arm.
    “No, please. I don’t want to draw any more attention than I have already acquired.”
    “What does that mean?” I asked naively.
    “Didn’t you see the crowd downstairs?” I nodded. “It turns out your town is not so fond of us.”
    He looked away, and I knew. How could I have been so blind? Rumors of rebellion had been circulating for weeks. All Father talked about was our freedom and fighting for what was right. I’d heard the conversations several times, but believed, or maybe just hoped, that both sides would come to an agreement. Maybe in a meeting house? But not after one of their men attacked one of us and then just marched out of town under the protection of the throne. This wasn’t going to pass. Right now, the only evidence of what happened was sitting in this room, alone.
    “What are you going to do?” I whispered.
    He gave me another soft smile. “I’m going to leave and hope I catch up to my comrades. If not, I don’t know.”
    The idea sounded absurd. “You can’t travel like that. You won’t make it to the road.”
    He shook his head. “I overheard them talking last night. Rebels are coming, and I can’t be here when they arrive. I’d rather take my chances in the hills.”
    Without thinking, I blurted out that he could come back to my home. He gave me that pitiful smile again.
    “I can’t. Trust me, the town wants me out. And I don’t blame them.” His shoulders sank, but I didn’t want to leave him to fend for himself. An idea occurred to me. “Just wait here. I’m going to get my father. He carries a lot of weight in this town. I know he will help you. You can stay with us. I know it.”
    He looked at me for what felt like the longest moment, and then nodded softly.
    Not wasting another moment, I slipped out of the room, down the stairs, and past the gossipers, and made my way home at a hurried pace that left a sharp pain in my side. I quickly found Father outside, chopping wood with a vengeance.
    “Father, please?!” I pleaded, coming to a stop in front of him. I was out of breath from running, and panting heavily.
    Concern crossed his face. “What is it?” he asked, leaning forward.
    “I need your help,” I panted.
    “What is it, Phoebe?”
    “I went to see Charity this morning—”
    “Is she all right?”
    “Yes, well, she’s getting better, but I...I saw William.”
    Father’s shoulders dropped several inches, and he shifted his weight. I felt guilty for a brief second, but forged on.
    “Father, listen, please. I just wanted to thank him for saving you, and…and I saw that they haven’t even stitched his wound. He’s just sitting there alone, and he says he’s not safe. Without anywhere to go, he’ll die.”
    My father shook his head and shrugged.
    “Father?”
    “Phoebe. There are things you do not understand.”
    “No, I understand very well, Father. I get it that there’s a war brewing, and that there are rebels…and you…you’re a rebel too.” His eyes widened. “I know. I’ve always known. But William doesn’t