Ian was working in the shop, building a bookcase with fluted trim for a solicitor that lived on Tenth St., when his father came in with an anxious expression.
“The minister is here to see you,” Patrick hissed.
Ian looked at him curiously. “What minister?”
“The minister of the Anglican Church.”
Ian put down the awl he held and looked at his father with arched eyebrows. “Abigail’s husband?”
“Yes,” Patrick said, leaning toward him. “You had better hope he’s here for furniture.”
Ian glanced in the showroom, disaster looming. Had the minister overheard a conversation with Abigail? Or had he learned they were lovers, almost married, barely two years before? Was he wary—suspecting Abigail revealed military secrets? What if he demanded Ian never see her again?
“Don’t keep him waiting,” Patr
