The Minister's Wife

Chapter 9

It was late evening when Ian reached the city. He hadn’t expected the chaos, wagons and carriages racing down streets, riders galloping past them. Colonial soldiers guided those leaving, ensuring routes taken weren’t captured by the enemy. He made his way to Chestnut St., where his home and shop were located, put his horse in the barn, and hurried through the cabinet shop and up to the second-floor residence.

“The city is in turmoil,” he said to his father as he entered the parlor.

“Washington ordered Congress to evacuate,” said Patrick Blaine. He was lean, like his son, but not as tall. Blue eyes showed an honest man who knew a good day’s work, his gray hair short and close to the scalp. Born in Dublin, he never lost his Irish accent, even though he had lived most of his life in Philadelphia.

“The British are camped out past White Horse Tavern. But I can’t say for how long.”

“They’re soon to be leaving, I suspect,” Patrick said. He sat in a chair by the window, watching the commotion in the streets below. “Were you able to scout their army?”

“I was,” Ian said. “It’s large, at least ten thousand. But the redcoats chased me away before I learned more.”

Patrick eyed his son, concern etched on his face. “Don’t underestimate them, lad,” he warned. “They’re trying to win a war. Same as we are.”

“I won’t,” Ian said, feeling uneasy. But he already had. That’s how he almost got caught. He glanced back at the street. “Will only Loyalists remain?”

Patrick shrugged. “I doubt it,” he said. “Many who oppose the Crown will stay but mind their business. I suspect they’ll get along just fine.”

“But most who support the rebellion are known,” Ian said as he moved from the window. “And we’re among them. Should we leave, too?”

“Where would I go? Philadelphia has everything I need. Although a Catholic church is missing, mind you. But maybe someday.”

Ian hesitated. “But our loyalties are known, the same as some now leaving.”

“Our loyalties are known to those we trust,” Patrick said. “There’s a difference.”

Ian was confused. “How do you know who we can trust?”

“We’re businessmen, smart enough to keep our mouths shut when we have to.”

“But as soon as the British arrive, we’ll see who has two faces.”

“Friends are friends in peace or war,” Patrick said.

Ian hoped his father was right. They spoke honestly to those they trusted and said little to those they didn’t. But life was about to change, in minutes, if not hours. “I want to fight back.”

“You already did. You scouted the British army. A lesser man would have failed.”

“But we could do more,” Ian said. “Especially after the British arrive. We’ve eyes and ears. We only have to use them.”

Patrick’s eyes widened. “Are you suggesting we spy?”

“I am,” Ian said firmly. “A task not easily done, I know. But we only need a contact, someone to get our information to the colonial army.”

Patrick hesitated, as if making a decision he couldn’t undo. “I’ll take care of that.”

Ian was confused. “You’ve already started?”

Patrick turned away. “A network exists, ready for the day that it’s needed.”

“Who runs it?”

“A man we can trust,” Patrick said. “Only a few know his true allegiance.”

Ian paused, thinking of friends and acquaintances. “I know of no one capable of such a delicate operation.”

“I’ll share a name if it’s never uttered.”

“I can be trusted,” Ian assured him, knowing some would soon risk their lives. “As you well know. I’ll carry the name to my grave.”

Patrick eyed his son cautiously. “Barnabas Stone, owner of City Tavern.”

Ian’s eyes widened. “Big mistake. He’s loyal to the Crown. Everyone knows it.”

Patrick chuckled. “Do they now?” he asked in his lilting Irish accent. “Then I’m supposing it must be true.”

Ian considered a man he had known his entire life. “If anyone can do it,” he said, “it’s Barnabas. No one would ever suspect him.”

“I’ll tell him you’ve joined us. But it’s a secret you’re never to share.”

“Understood,” Ian said. “I realize lives depend on it. Who else will assist?”

“I don’t want to know,” Patrick said. “Neither should you.”

Ian realized how dangerous the city was about to become. “To limit damage if anyone gets caught.”

“Exactly,” Patrick said. “We make cabinets, socialize with those we did before, but include the British and any Loyalists who stand by their side.”

“They show themselves already,” Ian said bitterly. “I saw a traitor at Trudruffrin, meeting with the British. A man you would never suspect.”

“Who?” Patrick asked, eyes wide.

“Oliver Hart.”