2 March 1777

Hat in hand, Sam stood somberly on the grand porch of the O'Connor – now Hawkins – home. The heavy door opened almost immediately after he knocked.

Anne stood in the doorway, a few inches from him. They both blushed and took a step back.

"Forgive me," Sam said, "I thought…I thought Esther would open the door…I didn't expect you…"

She blushed. "I live here, Sam."

"That's not what I meant…"

Anne laughed. Sam thought how beautiful her eyes were when she smiled, how radiant her face was. She ushered him inside, "Come in out of that chill March air. You'll get ill standing out there for too long. How are you doing? I didn't expect to see you."

"I'm well enough. You look better than when I last saw you," he said. It was only half the truth. She looked better, healthier, but he could see the lines of care about her eyes. Her initial cheeriness and joy, though genuine, was quickly fading. "Yet you look tired. Is something wrong, Anne?"

She hesitated for a moment. "Yes, something is wrong," she said quietly.

A knot clenched in the pit of his stomach. "Are you still ill?"

Anne shook her head. "No, it's James. He - he isn't doing well."

Chills ran down Sam's spine. "May I see him?"

"I was hoping you would, actually. But," Anne paused, glanced around and then drew close to him so that he could better hear her lowered voice. Her large green eyes searched his and pleaded with him to understand. "James is very different from what you may remember him before - before - he was taken. I just want you to be prepared. You might help him, though. Oh I am so glad you've come."

Sam smiled grimly at his best friend's sister and took her hand. "Thank you for the warning, Anne. But he is my dearest friend, closer to me than any brother. I will do what I can."

Anne smiled and turned to lead Sam up to her brother's room. She knocked on the door and spoke without waiting for an answer, "James, Sam is here." She opened the door and stepped aside to let Sam enter. The door clicked shut behind him.

He felt an odd fear, a cold fist in the pit of his being, tightening against the threat of the unknown.

"Sam?" came his friend's voice from the other side of the room. James came to stand in front of his friend, as if to prove to himself that he wasn't dreaming again.

"Hello," Sam replied quietly.

For a moment, neither boy said a word as they stood and appraised each other. James was so thin. His gaunt face was pale and he had dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes. Had he been drinking or merely unable to sleep? The eyes alone were enough to chill Sam to the marrow. They were empty, like on the night he had found his friend half dead. And yet, now they possessed a certain wild, haunted air, as if he was on the edge of a terrifying dream that he hadn't completely come out of. Those eyes refused to meet his. They swept Sam for a brief moment and then wandered around the room. Once, their eyes did meet, but James quickly looked away, shame twisting his face.

"I didn't expect to see you here," James finally said, breaking the tense moment of appraisal.

"That's what your sister said."

"I'm glad to see you, of course. I was only wondering how you got away from the army. I thought they were reluctant to give out furloughs?"

"They are. However, I didn't ask for long and I haven't had one in near six months."

James managed a crooked smile for his friend. The attempt was admirable but miserable. "Sam, it's been too long since I last saw you."

"I know. Come sit down," Sam said as he drew his friend to the bed. A heavy silence passed between them. James's eyes were riveted on his hands. His scarred hands. What was he to say?

"How are your wounds?" Sam asked, and instantly regretted it. That was clumsy, he thought.

James shrugged, his eyes darting to the window and then back at his hands. "Oh, they're all right. It's taking an excruciatingly long time to heal, but at least I'm alive."

"I'm sorry it's taking so long."

"I can't be a carpenter anymore," James whispered, the disappointment and shame made his voice thick.

"What? Why not?"

"My shoulder. It's scarred too much on the inside and outside and the doctor said that I won't ever be able to use it as I once did - at least, not to the extent I need to be a carpenter."

"You shoulder?"

James winced and stood up. "It - was burned..."

Sam remembered with a flash all that Rachel had told him of the injuries. He chided himself for having asked. "I'm sorry, James. I truly am. Perhaps you should get into politics."

James gave a humorless laugh and began to pace back and forth. "No, no. I'll find something, Sam. Maybe I'll join the army again."

Sam wouldn't allow that, but he let the statement go for the moment. "But after the war, James. You must think of that."

James didn't answer. He now stood by the window, his back was turned to Sam. His thin frame was stiff. Sam made his way to the window and stood beside James, forcing himself to look out the window instead of at his friend. How was he to phrase what he wanted to ask the most? Taking a deep breath, he began cautiously, "And how are you doing...otherwise?"

"What do you mean by 'otherwise'?" James asked. He was clearly being contrary.

"Well...you know. Not physical..."

James clenched his jaw and blinked back tears. He did know what Sam was asking him, but how was he supposed to answer? He couldn't tell the truth - the truth was too painful for him. And yet he also wanted Sam to know. He wanted to tell someone. Someone he trusted. He wanted to fling himself in his mother's arms and weep and weep and weep until he died. He was afraid that he would lose himself now, in front of Sam and he couldn't do that.

It would scare Sam. James realized that his friend was waiting for an answer. "I'm doing all right, Sam."

The younger boy shook his head. He knew it was a lie. But he couldn't force James to tell him anything. He only sighed.

James didn't say a word. He couldn't trust himself to talk. The tears formed a painful lump in his throat. He hated it. Like he hated everything at the moment. He hated that he had survived; that he was so damaged by his time in prison; that he couldn't tell Sam what was really wrong with him; that he wanted to tell Sam….

He suppressed a groan. It was so complex! Why was it so confusing? Shouldn't it be a simple matter of getting help?

No. It wasn't that simple. It never was and it never could be. He just couldn't spill his heart out to anyone, not even his most trusted friend. What he had to focus on now was mastering his tears.

Tears of his own clenched Sam's throat. There was so much that his friend was hiding from him. Unable to bear it any longer, he looked James squarely in the eye and whispered around the lump in his throat, "What did they do to you, James Turner? The question has kept me awake for so long. I have had countless nightmares about what they did to you. I need to know for a peace of mind. I have to know instead of leaving it to my imagination," Sam paused. A memory of his latest nightmare ripped through his mind. James wasn't responding. Perhaps this wasn't the approach he should take. He laid a hand on James's tense shoulder, "Perhaps I can help you if you tell me what happened or what's happening with you now. If no one knows, no one can help you..." Sam trailed off.

His friend's eyes were brimming with tears as he stared out the window. Heart breaking, Sam drew James into a brotherly embrace and whispered, "It's not weak to cry, James. You can cry, if you need to. I understand. I bawled like a baby when I thought you were dead."

James wouldn't hear of it. He shook his head and murmured, "Thanks." He gently pulled away. "I'm sorry, Sam, but I can't."

He sighed in resignation. "All right. I won't push you. But please know that I'm here for you."

James smiled wanly at his friend. "I know that. Thank you."

OoOoOoO

8 March 1777

Anne squinted up at the sun, struggling to stretch it's rays to their full potential and thaw the earth. They weren't quite strong enough to warm her, but they were certainly bright enough to cause her to squint.

"Anne, you look at da sun like that, you eyes are gonna fall out of your head."

The girl smiled at Esther, standing in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. "I'll be careful," she replied as she continued her way to the barn.

The serene building smelled bittersweet to Anne. The smells and welcoming whinnies of the horses calmed her, but every time she tugged open the tall wooden doors, she was reminded of how her brother had opened with such ease and grace. She thought of how he came to the barn every day just to sit and smell the horses.

That thought sank its teeth into her heart like a fighting dog and didn't let go. She rubbed Star's nose and gently led her out of the musky stall. "Come, girl, James wants to ride you again."

As she pulled the girth tight, she thought of how her brother refused to enter the barn, even to saddle his beloved horse.

Upon the news that Star was still alive and was home, James had been so overcome with joy that he had raced out to the barn. Anne had followed him only to find her brother standing rigid, wide eyed, a few feet inside the barn door.

He had been unresponsive for ten minutes, even after Anne led him out of the barn and back to the house. When he came to himself, he had acted as if nothing had happened. But ever since that day, James refused to go near the barn. He even avoided looking at it.

"Anne!" her brother called.

"I'm coming, James!" she called back, gently grabbing Star's bridle and leading her out. James was leaning against the house. His head was bowed in concentration over an envelope in his hands. "What is that?" she asked.

James only shook his head and looked up at her. "I'm not sure. There is no return address and I don't recognize the hand or the seal," he said, confusion lacing his voice. "It's for you."

"Me?"

"'To Miss Anne Turner,'" he read. Then he handed her the envelope. It was made of fine parchment and bore an elegant seal in deep red wax. The haphazard handwriting on the front of the envelope was out of place.

"Are you going to open it?" James asked.

She looked up at him and smiled. "Are you jealous?"

James blushed and said, "No. I only…"

"I know," Anne laughed. "I was teasing you. If you wait one moment, I'll put this on the mantel then I'll go riding with you."

James nodded agreeably and began inspecting the straps.

In no time, the two were riding among the fields of tall grass. But Anne's mind was on the mysterious letter on the mantel at home.

As usual, the ride didn't last long. When she had finished tending the horses, Anne raced into the parlor and snatched up the letter. Gently, she broke the fine seal and was surprised to see neat, flowing script instead of the sloppy handwriting on the front. She read silently,

"Dear Anne Turner,

I am not entirely sure how to start this letter. I am aware of who you are, but I doubt that you know who I am. I suppose I should begin by explaining how I know your brother.

My name is Rachel Phillips. Your brother was assigned to escort me and my brother Thomas and my sister Abigail from Boston to our uncle's plantation in Virginia Colony. James and I seemed to get along very well together and we had much in common. Somewhere along the way, I discovered that I had great affection for him. Mind, we did nothing inappropriate (though I am sure you know this, considering the honorable gentleman that your brother is). By November, was I sure that my feelings were deeper than affection – I am in love with your brother.

Forgive me if this is all very forward and awkward. As I don't know, I don' t know how you will take this news. You two seem very close. At least, that is the impression I got from James. He speaks very highly of you and holds you in the highest regard. Indeed, he spoke of you so tenderly, I first thought that you were a sweetheart of his. But that is not so. I hope you can trust me to honor your brother in my love and not be forward.

But there – I am wandering from the purpose of this letter. On the night that he was captured, the Hessian soldiers that attacked our camp were trying to take advantage of me. Because of your brother, I was saved before the actual act happened. He saved the lives of my siblings and me. Anne, your brother is in the condition he is now because of me. I am forever indebted to James and to your entire family. He is the most brave, courageous, self sacrificing gentlemen I know.

When he was rescued from prison, Sam initially thought that he was dead. I later discovered that he was indeed alive, though you surely know this. I tended him day and night until he regained consciousness and then the stubbornness to continue escorting us to our uncle's. He stayed there for a while to recover his strength. It is from there that he left to return home. I did not think that he was well enough to travel at the time, so I hope that he has made it home safely. I tell you this not because I want to boast about how I cared for him(I take no credit for healing him. It was God Almighty Healer who saved his life; I was but an instrument in the Physician's Hands), but to tell you that James may be far different from what you remember.

Even I, who has only known him since October of this year, have noted a great and disturbing change in his person and character. I am writing to you – and your aunt as well – to tell you that there is something wrong with James and to hopefully explain why that is.

He is a broken man now. Something is missing. Part of him has gone. I believe that it was destroyed in prison. He underwent indescribable horrors, most of which I know nothing except the evidence on his flesh. The wounds he bore were enough to cause most to think that he was dead. I don't know what he went through in his month of captivity, but, judging by the condition he was in when he was found, I am surprised that he is alive today. The wounds do not end on his body, however.

He was wounded inside. I wish I could tell you that the part of him that is missing will come back – oh! How my heart longs that this would be so – but alas, I cannot. I do not want to lie to you or give you a false hope. I simply want to encourage you. Please keep trying and don't give up on him. I believe that he can get better. If watching him suffer silently was hard for me, I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for you, who have known and loved him all his life.

He is not mad. Please understand this. Though I cannot explain his strange and frightening behavior, I know that it is not madness. He does not have the eyes or the heart of a madman. His behavior can surely be explained by the torture he was subjected to in prison.

Please do not share this letter with him or tell him that I even wrote to you. He would be very embarrassed and ashamed. I ask only that you would love him for me, quietly. I do not know if he still thinks of me or even remembers who I am. I only know that my love is too deep to be stopped by distance and time.

If this is too forward, do forgive me. I hope you can understand. Hopefully I will be able to meet you in person one day.

Faithfully Yours,

Rachel Phillips

Post Script

I didn't include my address so that James wouldn't know who was sending the letter. I am staying at Heather Creek Plantation in Virginia Colony."

Anne reread the letter. Her mouth was open in astonishment. She had heard James mention Rachel and had suspected that he loved her, but she certainly hadn't expected a letter from her – especially such an open letter.

And such an encouraging letter. Someone out there, someone who loved and cared about James, understood what she was going through. She knew what it felt like to watch a loved one suffer. Tears stinging her eyes, Anne raced up the stairs to her room. She shut the door behind her and began to compose a reply.

"Dear Rachel,

Indeed, I have never met you. But after reading your letter, I feel that we already know each other and that we could become very good friends.

Words cannot express the depth of my gratitude I have for your letter. You can't understand – or perhaps you can – the enormous pressure watching James has been. I watch him suffer, see the immense pain in his eyes every day, see his breaking heart… I don't know what to do about it. People in our town are calling him mad and a coward. I know it isn't true but after a while, the talk was beginning to get to me. Was I blinded by love for him? I didn't know.

Your letter has helped me more than you know. Of course he isn't mad! He's merely broken. Thank you so very much for explaining that to me.

I will not tell James that you wrote to me and told me about this. He would be embarrassed indeed.

I don't think that you being in love with my brother is terrible at all. I think that it is wonderful. Your letter shows that you are a good woman and probably worthy of my brother. Your words, wrought in love, show me that you will love him and care for him forever. I am sure that he loves you as well. I have heard him often whisper your name and smile. He doesn't speak of his captivity, but he talks of you. When he does, his face his full of light and his eyes have a glow that I don't see any other time. In your own way, you are helping him. I thank your for that.

Until we meet,

Your sister in the Lord,

Anne Turner

Post Script

I am horribly sorry about the way those Hessians treated you. I think that is absolutely despicable. I couldn't begin to imagine what it must have been like. You are a very brave young woman and I admire you for that."

Anne carefully dusted the words with sand and then gently blew it off. She prayed as she folded the letter and pressed the seal into the wax. She thanked God for the encouragement this young woman had sent her. Anne also prayed that Rachel and James's love, if it was His will, would come to fruition. She set her letter on the desk and placed Rachel's gingerly under her pillow.