It’s release day for the first book in the new Petticoats & Patriots series.
I hope you will love reading For Liberty and Love!
She never intended to become a spy … or fall for one.
Philadelphia, 1776
As whispers of revolution swell into a roar for freedom, Lucy Carlson is no longer content to simply watch from behind the counter of her father’s jewelry shop. When a mysterious woman—none other than Martha Washington—leaves behind a locket, Lucy discovers the piece is more than a pretty keepsake. The necklace is a secret vessel for the revolution that carries the promise of love.
Drawn into a dangerous spy ring, Lucy begins crafting coded messages concealed within the locket’s clever design, living a secret double life and risking everything she holds dear in a time of sacrifice and war.
Continental soldier Branch Barton is a man defined by duty. Tasked with rooting out traitors, he moves through the shadowed world of deception and divided loyalties. He’s trained to trust no one, yet he finds himself drawn into a slow-burning connection with the jeweler’s spirited daughter.
But when Lucy begins to suspect Branch may be a Redcoat in disguise, their fragile bond is tested by mistaken identity, growing mistrust, and the threat of betrayal.
Just for fun, I thought you might enjoy a preview of the first chapter!
~*~
Intently focused on setting the last garnet stone in the corsage brooch she had spent a month laboring over, Lucy Carlson brushed the beads of moisture from her brow on the shoulder of her linen gown, unwilling to let anything distract her from her task.
Breath held, she fit the last shining jewel into the center of the ornate brooch, then carefully pressed the intricate prongs of silver over the garnet to hold it in place. Each prong tip had been carved to look like the bud of a rose. It had taken hours bent over the workbench to create, but she was quite pleased with her efforts.
Satisfied with the finished piece, Lucy inhaled deeply, then wished she hadn’t as she wrinkled her nose against the putrid smells wafting into her father’s shop through the open door. The past few weeks had been the hottest she could recall ever experiencing in her eighteen years of living, all spent at the goldsmith shop on High Street in the heart of Philadelphia, where her father was a master of his trade.
The heat had been a much-belabored topic among the residents of America’s largest city. Bits of conversation had drifted inside the shop as Lucy worked, and it seemed everyone was thoroughly tired of the heat and the horrific stench—a mixture of refuse, manure, and bodies in need of a bath—it amplified.
This morning, a delightful breeze blew in from the Delaware River, carrying welcome refreshment, although it also held the smell of fish and tar.
“One may not have everything perfect,” Lucy muttered, then polished the brooch until it glittered in the sunlight that struck the gilded letters painted on her father’s shop window and spilled over the high bench where she worked. “But this piece is close.”
“Mama says pride will be your downfall,” a voice said at her elbow, making Lucy jump. She nearly toppled off the stool where she had perched, and hastened to catch the brooch she had dropped before it clattered to the wooden boards of the floor.
“Theodore Ward Carlson! I have told you ten dozen times, if I have told you once, not to sneak up on me. You need to mind your mischief, young man.” Lucy resettled herself on the stool and glared at her lone sibling. The lad was adorable with a thatch of wild red hair that most often stood up on his head, freckles scattered across his nose, and eyes a vibrant hue of blue. They had celebrated his eighth birthday at the end of May with a trip to their grandparents’ farm a few miles outside of town. Theo loved being there, where he could run and play among the acres of orchard trees and rows of vegetables.
It had become a challenge to keep the boy’s active mind engaged since The Academy of Philadelphia had closed due to the war. When there were classes to attend, Theo had something to occupy him beyond the chores at both the shop and their home in the two stories above it.
Lucy knew she was fortunate to live in one of the red brick buildings along High Street, where it felt like the heartbeat of the city kept a steady rhythm.
Today, much as it had for the past week, a thrum of excitement crackled in the air.
On the eighth of July, bells had pealed, and everyone who was able had hurried to the Pennsylvania State House. At noon, the Pennsylvania Committee of Safety, the officers of the city government, and members of the Second Continental Congress had marched in a procession from the hall to the yard where the multitude had gathered. Colonel John Nixon had mounted the steps and read aloud the Declaration of Independence. It had been the first public reading of the document that had made America’s intentions to sever ties with Britain undoubtedly clear and outlined fundamental principles for moving forward as a self-governing country.
Despite the heat of the day, Lucy had felt a shiver glide along her spine as she listened to the words Colonel Nixon had read. Words that stoked the fires of independence already burning brightly in so many of those who longed to become a sovereign nation, no longer under the tyrannical rule of the king on a throne an ocean away.
When the colonel had finished reading the final paragraph, the crowd had erupted in cheers of excitement and anticipation. Lucy had stood with her mother and Theo, both women holding tightly to the child’s hands, as bells began ringing and continued to chime in celebration throughout the remainder of the day.
Ward Carlson, Lucy’s father, had remained at the shop. Upon their return, he had appeared completely unmoved by the declaration that had been made and the delight around them that flowed down the street with every “Huzzah!” and call to freedom.
Although Lucy and her mother longed for liberty and equality, Lucy was certain her father’s loyalty leaned toward the Crown and Britain. Lucy, her mother, and Theo were careful not to converse in her father’s presence about the Continental troops, the Patriots who lived among them, or the war.
Nevertheless, Theo had toy soldiers he often played with in his room up on the third floor, and it was always the brave General Washington who won the child’s mock battles. Occasionally, Theo even coerced Lucy into joining him, where she would be forced into the role of a Redcoat who died a tragic yet justified death.
Even now, Lucy could see Theo clutched one of his toy tin soldiers in his hand as he leaned against her knee, eager to see her finished piece.
Rather than comment on the state of her pride, which likely would be her downfall, she held the brooch out on the polishing rag so Theo could examine it. The garnet stones reflected the sunlight and twinkled in a marvelous display of ruby color.
A grubby little hand reached toward the piece, but Lucy shook her head. “Careful, Theo, lest you smudge it.”
“Sorry. It’s so pretty, Lu, like fairies added magic to the stones,” Theo said, his young voice holding admiration. “Did you mark the back?”
“I did.” Lucy turned the brooch over and pointed to the WC on the back, the maker’s mark of her father’s shop, and the tiny letters beneath it that spelled Phil, to denote it was crafted in Philadelphia. “What do you think?”
“It looks just like the marks Papa makes,” Theo said, offering his approval. “I still think you should get to make your own mark. It’s dumb they won’t let girls be in their silly old guild.”
Lucy thought the same thing, but she certainly couldn’t press her opinions on her father or the other men of the guild to which he belonged, certifying him as a goldsmith. The guild members didn’t want to hear about, let alone acknowledge, the existence of a woman able to create jewelry every bit as fine as the pieces they designed. Goldsmithing was in her blood, passed down from her grandfather to her father, and to her.
Instead of dwelling on the irritating point, Lucy leaned closer to her brother and lowered her voice. “It is dumb, and they are silly.” She stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes, making Theo laugh.
He slid an arm around her waist and looked up at her in an adoring manner that never failed to melt her heart. “Will Papa be back soon? Mama said when he returns, we can eat, and I am starving.”
While Lucy finished the garnet brooch, her father had gone to make a delivery to one of the fine homes on Society Hill. The pearl earrings were a gift from a prominent citizen to the man’s wife, and Ward Carlson felt it best to deliver the jewelry himself. Considering how long he had been gone, Lucy expected him to step into the shop at any moment.
“You are always starving,” Lucy said, gently clasping Theo’s chin in her hand and grinning at him. “Papa should return soon. Tell Mama I will help her as soon as Papa is back.”
Theo turned and dashed through the doorway into a storage area that separated the goldsmith shop from their kitchen. Upstairs, on the second floor, there were two bedrooms and a large sitting room, then the third floor held Theo’s room, Lucy’s bedroom, and another small room they used for additional storage.
After wrapping the brooch in a piece of white linen, Lucy set it inside a small box and tucked it with the receipt into the locked case her father kept beneath the workbench.
Months ago, on a snowy February day, her father had suggested they rearrange the shop to position the workbench near the front window and entry door. Lucy had been sure her father had gone mad. Not only was the workbench in plain view of anyone traipsing up and down the street, but every time the door had opened, the frigid winter air had swirled inside, chilling her to the point she could barely work. Many of those winter days, she had retreated to the kitchen and worked at the table, where she was warmed by the fire.
Now, though, with the slightest hint of a breeze blowing around the workbench, she decided perhaps her father had not gone daft after all, at least in regard to the arrangement of the shop. Nevertheless, his thoughts on liberty were an entirely different matter.
Lucy stood and picked up a cleaning cloth, polishing the already shining glass of their display case that rested on a square oak table in the center of the room, prominently placed to be seen by anyone entering the shop.
Not only did the shop carry jewelry, such as rings, necklaces, bracelets, brooches, and lockets for both everyday and formal occasions, but it also offered buckles for shoes, knees, and neckcloths. They provided a selection of hair combs and pins, as well as an assortment of watches, watch chains, decorative fobs, and keys. Visitors to their shop would also find snuff boxes, thimbles, buttons, cuff links, and toothpick cases.
Because of the state of affairs with Britain, no imports were coming in from England, unless one wished to smuggle them. Most people in town relied on local craftsmen or imports from other countries. Lucy found satisfaction in what she and her family were able to make.
Even though she was forbidden to join the guild and take credit for her jewelry pieces, she drew profound pleasure in creating beauty from raw metal. She had always been fascinated by her father’s work, and recalled as a tiny child standing on an old wooden keg, watching his hands shape silver or gold into works of wearable art.
Much to her father’s dismay, Theo showed neither interest nor aptitude in the skill. The boy wanted to be a soldier or a farmer. Which one depended on the day.
Lucy grinned, thinking of how much joy the child brought to the Carlson household. She had been the firstborn, but her mother had then lost four babies before Theo had come along—a squalling red-faced infant with a hearty set of lungs and a determination to survive. Two more babies had followed Theo, but they had both died before they were more than a few days old. For the sake of her mother’s health and mental acuity, Lucy hoped no more would come.
The sound of rushed footsteps drew Lucy’s gaze out the window to the cobblestone walk that paralleled the street. A woman near her mother’s age hastened over the cobbles, skirts slightly lifted in her hands, moving so quickly she was almost running. Repeatedly, the woman glanced over her shoulder, as though pursued by a fearsome foe.
Lucy hesitated to step into something that wasn’t any of her concern, but she also didn’t want the woman to feel alone and frightened. Many of the people who frequented High Street were familiar to her, but the woman was a stranger. Lucy had noticed her stroll by an hour or so earlier with a servant walking close behind her, but that had been the first time she had seen the woman in their area.
The woman’s attire—from the fashionable hat on her head to the glimpse of purple satin shoes on her feet—spoke of wealth, yet something about her made her seem approachable.
Decision made, Lucy moved just outside the doorway and smiled. “Would you like to come in?” She waved a hand to motion the woman into the shop.
An expression of relief flew across the woman’s attractive features as she hurried inside, moving to stand with her back to the door, as far away from the window as she could get. Her breath came in gasps, and her face was flushed from the heat and exertion.
Lucy studied the small woman with brown hair peeking from beneath her hat and intelligence in her hazel eyes, wondering what or who had alarmed her.
The woman tugged off the gloves she wore and placed them on the corner of a display table full of rings, then pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her gown. She glanced around as she dabbed at her face and neck.
“I appreciate the invitation to step inside,” the woman said once her breathing had returned to normal. “I’ve heard this is a place where all are welcome.”
“It is, Missus …”
“Patsy. My friends call me Patsy,” the woman said with an inviting smile.
Lucy couldn’t hold back a grin. “I’ve always thought it to be such a delightful name.”
The woman nodded. “It most certainly is. And you are?”
“Oh, begging your pardon.” Lucy dipped her head politely and felt an urge to curtsy, but refrained. “I’m Lucy. Miss Lucy Carlson. This is my father’s shop.”
“And what a wonderful shop it is. So many lovely things.” Patsy looked around with interest as she stuffed her handkerchief back into her pocket.
At the sound of running footsteps, Lucy moved in front of Patsy, blocking her from view of anyone who happened to glance into the shop through the window or open door. Two men raced by. Only a few moments passed before a third fellow, the one Lucy had seen with Patsy earlier, trailed after them.
A fourth man, standing in the shade of the building across the street, appeared to be keenly observing the proceedings. A sense of unease settled over Lucy when he stared into the shop, as though he intended to peer all the way into her soul.
“Do you require an escort home, Patsy? My father will return shortly.” Lucy pulled her gaze away from the stranger and turned to find Patsy studying the display of rings. Patsy lifted a silver ring set with a large pearl surrounded by tiny diamonds that sparkled in the afternoon light.
“I do not require an escort, but the offer is appreciated, Lucy.” Patsy slid the ring on the middle finger of her right hand, but the ring was too small. She moved it to her ring finger and smiled. “This is exquisite, and I must have it. I shall tell my husband it is a belated gift to commemorate my birthday.”
“Birthday felicitations to you, Patsy. I hope it was a lovely day.”
Patsy’s expression softened. “I spent the day with my beloved, so I could ask for no grander gift than that, although this ring might come close.” Her eyes conveyed her humor as she pretended to preen over the ring.
Lucy laughed and took a step closer. “Then you must have it. How does it feel?”
“Only slightly tight. Would you be able to adjust the fit?”
“Yes, ma’am. I would be able to do that.” At a nod from Patsy, Lucy lifted the woman’s hand in hers, studying the way the ring fit, then retrieved what she needed to accurately measure Patsy’s finger. Lucy removed the ring from Patsy’s hand, looked at the piece of jewelry, and noted to herself the slight adjustments she would need to make. “It won’t take long to enlarge the band. Would you like to wait while I do so?”
Patsy craned her neck to look outside, then shook her head. “It would be best if you would deliver it to me, although I will pay for it now. Might you be able to make the delivery this evening?”
Rarely did they make deliveries after the shop closed, but Lucy felt drawn to Patsy and found she couldn’t refuse.
“Of course. Where would you like it to be delivered?” Lucy asked, curious as she studied the small woman who appeared charming and warm yet held a lively spark in her eyes.
Patsy offered an address Lucy knew was on Society Hill. “If you would arrive at six, that would be most appreciated.”
“I will be there.” Lucy’s mind raced with what she would wear and the care she would need to take in styling her hair that could be every bit as wild as her brother’s.
She completed the purchase and noted the sale in her father’s ledger. She turned the book around and held out a quill for Patsy to sign the ledger, then reached for the box where her father kept money to make change.
“Keep the money, dear. The ring is worth more than you’ve priced it, and your kindness is priceless.” Patsy returned the quill she had used to the inkwell stand, then glanced out the window.
The man who had been loitering in the shade across the street was no longer there. The woman’s shoulders relaxed, as though she noted his absence. “I must leave now, Lucy, but thank you for inviting me in. I’ll see you this evening, promptly at six.”
“I will be there. Thank you for coming in today.” Lucy walked with her to the door and watched as the woman strolled away, as though she hadn’t a care in the world. It wasn’t until Patsy turned at a corner and disappeared from sight that Lucy returned to the workbench. She made a few notes in the ledger and set it aside, then went over to the ring display to retrieve her tools. It was then she realized Patsy had forgotten her gloves. Rather than dash through the streets in an attempt to catch her, Lucy decided she would take them to Patsy that evening.
One of the gloves felt weighted, though, so Lucy reached into the soft leather and pulled out a locket. Shocked to find it there, she wondered why Patsy had stuffed the locket into her glove. It made no sense to Lucy. Perhaps the locket was the reason the men had been chasing her. How frightened the woman must have been.
Lucy held the locket to her heart, thinking how precious the piece must be to Patsy to protect it as she had. She sent up a silent prayer that the woman made it safely home, then looked at the locket again. A strange feeling settled over her, as though she were about to embark on a journey, which was utterly preposterous. The only place she was going was to Patsy’s to deliver the ring.
The locket appeared to be finely made, and it wasn’t all that different from several lockets she and her father had created.
Intrigued, Lucy carried the gloves and her tools back to the workbench. She was about to open the locket when her father entered the store. She hastily tucked it into her pocket and turned to greet him with a smile.
“Papa. Welcome back.”
Ward Carlson was a lean man with long, tapered fingers that were useful in the detailed work he created. But he was also as strong as an ox, as Lucy’s mother was apt to say. He had passed his robust health along to his two surviving children, a fact that made Lucy grateful every day.
“Well, Daughter,” Ward said, removing the cocked hat from his head and glancing at Lucy. “Did you have any customers while I was gone?”
“One. A woman purchased the pearl and diamond ring. She asked me to deliver it to her this evening. It’s an address on Society Hill, so I felt it imperative to agree. It could mean future business for the shop.” For reasons she couldn’t begin to explain, she felt a need to keep the locket a secret. Something about it and the mysterious Patsy made Lucy cautious to share it with anyone, even her family. She intended to study the locket later, when she could do so without fear of anyone watching her.
“You did well in agreeing to her request, Lucy.” Her father smiled and smoothed a hand over his head. His hair, a faded shade of red, was still thick, although gray touched his temples. For a man in his forties, he remained quite handsome.
“By now, your brother likely thinks we’ve starved him half to death. Shall we partake of the fine meal I know your mother has prepared?” Ward closed the shop door. If anyone came during the meal, the strap of bells attached to it would alert them to a visitor.
“Yes, Papa. Theo was asking about your return just moments ago. I’ll help Mama while you wash,” Lucy said, looping her hand around her father’s arm as they walked through the storage room into the kitchen, where the back door was wide open, letting in fresh air.
Although they didn’t have much space behind their building, they did have a garden and a henhouse for their chickens. An oak tree that had been planted before Lucy was born offered welcome shade, and a bench had been placed beneath it as an inviting place to rest on a summer day.
As Lucy entered the kitchen, the room felt uncomfortably warm from the fire required to cook the large midday meal.
“Papa! You’re back,” Theo said, giving their father a hug, then following him outside to the well they shared with their neighbors.
Lucy started to help her mother dish the meal, but the bells jangled as someone entered the shop.
“I’ll return shortly, Mama,” Lucy said. She kissed her mother’s rosy cheek that was flushed from the heat in the kitchen.
“Don’t dawdle, Luce,” Cleta Carlson warned, although she offered a sweet smile as she scooped mashed turnips into a bowl.
Lucy rushed into the shop and drew up short at the sight of the man who had stood across the street earlier, leaning against her workbench. Despite being so taken aback by his presence, she couldn’t help but admire his muscular form and his handsome features.
When he removed his cocked hat and nodded politely, her gaze fell on the sun-kissed golden hair of his head, traveled down to expressive brows that raised slightly at her perusal, and hesitated at soulful eyes the color of moss caught in a beam of sunshine. His full lips and defined jawline added to his masculine allure. As he straightened and stepped toward her, she had the fleeting thought that he moved with strength and purpose, as though he was in full control of himself and his surroundings.
“Hello, Miss Carlson,” he said in a soft, deep voice that made Lucy’s knees feel unexpectedly weak.
Or perhaps the weakness came from realizing she had stupidly left the ledger open and out in plain sight for anyone to read the entries. Not that she nor her father had anything to hide, but she didn’t think the tall man with a commanding bearing had any right to know who purchased merchandise in their store.
“May I help you, sir?” Lucy asked in a crisp tone as she strode behind the workbench, closed the ledger, and slid it onto the shelf where her father kept it.
“I came to retrieve something my…” He hesitated just long enough for Lucy to grow suspicious of his intentions and motives. “… aunt left here. A pair of gloves. Aunt Patsy sent me to retrieve them.”
Lucy could have easily handed over the gloves, which were sitting next to her tools just inches from where she stood, but she didn’t. Surely, he had to know she had seen him lingering across the street, watching for Patsy.
Did the man mistake her for a complete dunce? Or did he think his attractive features and a voice that rumbled like a summer thunderstorm wrapped in velvet would leave her so captivated that she would bow to his every whim and wish?
Affronted, she stiffened and lifted her chin. “I will give … Patsy the gloves when I next see her. If that is not her preference, then please bring a note from her to indicate otherwise.”
“I assure you, Miss Carlson, I mean no harm. My aunt was quite distressed to realize she had misplaced her gloves. They were a gift from someone quite dear to her heart, and it would be a tragedy for her to lose them.”
“And I assure you, Mister …” She paused, since the man had failed to introduce himself.
“Barton. Burwell Barton at your service,” he said with a bow, then offered her a boyish grin that caused her stomach to flutter. “But my friends call me Branch.”
“Branch,” she repeated, wondering if the name had anything to do with the series of barely noticeable moles on his left cheek that were shaped like a curved tree branch.
As though he could read her thoughts, his fingers brushed over his cheek. “A mark from birth, I suppose. Now, may I please have my aunt’s gloves?”
Lucy shook her head. “No, you may not. I intend to place them into her hands myself, sir. Now, unless I can interest you in a set of buckles or perhaps a snuff box, then I’ll have to ask that you depart. My family is waiting for me.”
“My apologies, Miss Carlson.” He backed toward the door. “My intent was not to insult or upset anyone.”
“Yes, well, I …” When she looked up into his face and caught him smiling, it was as though all the words she had planned to say fell back down her throat. Mercy, but he was handsome with those sharp cheekbones and a bottom lip that seemed designed for passionate kisses.
Passionate kisses? Heavens above! What was she thinking? For all she knew, this man could be one of the king’s spies.
“Until we meet again, Miss Carlson,” he said, saving her from forcing her brain and tongue to work in unison. “Good day.” With that, he turned and walked out of the shop, settled his hat on his head, and strode off toward the wharf, not that she watched him.
She snatched Patsy’s gloves from the workbench, rolled them together, and stuffed them into her pocket with the locket, then hurried to the kitchen, sliding onto her chair and bowing her head as her father took his seat at the head of the table.
As they enjoyed the good food her mother had prepared, Lucy ignored the conversation of her parents discussing a new house being constructed by one of the Loyalists and focused on eating the meal, hardly able to stand the wait until she could look at the locket. Something about it—about Patsy—made her beyond curious to know more.
Once everyone had finished the meal and Lucy had assisted her mother in washing the dishes, she scuttled upstairs to her room. Her parents rested outside on the bench in the shade, and Theo played with a bandalore that their neighbor to the immediate east of them, bookseller Jonas Jones, had given to him for his birthday.
The toy had become a favorite of Theo’s. A string wound around a thin center bar attached to two wooden discs. The object of the game was to unfurl the string, then wind it back up using the force of the pulling action without touching the discs. It took practice and skill, and Theo often played with it when he was restless.
Lucy glanced out the open window in her bedroom to assure herself of privacy, then took a seat at the small desk in her room where she sometimes read or wrote in a journal of an evening when the rest of the house was quiet. She took a polishing cloth from a drawer, then removed the gloves and locket from her pocket.
Carefully, she unrolled the gloves and smoothed them out, setting them aside before she centered her attention on the necklace.
The silver chain that held the locket was new and sturdy, the clasp of good quality and not likely to break if it were yanked or tugged, which had probably saved Patsy from having the locket stolen earlier.
The oval-shaped locket, crafted from fine sterling silver, bore no maker’s mark on the smooth back. The face of the piece fascinated Lucy, fashioned in an intricate repoussé arabesque design. She traced her fingers over the raised delicate scrolls and leafy flourishes intertwined in a pattern that created a central knot. The background behind the embellishments was darkened, most likely blackened with a sulfur process, to create a distinct contrast to the raised silver design.
Lucy opened the locket, uncertain what she might encounter. She smiled at a miniature portrait of a pretty child with dark hair floating about her head, rosy cheeks, and her lips curved upward in a slight smile. Did the little girl belong to the mysterious Patsy? Or perhaps she was a grandchild.
On the left side of the locket, opposite the portrait, the words In God We Trust were inscribed into the silver. For reasons Lucy couldn’t explain, it put her in mind of the Declaration of Independence. Her mother had procured one of the printed copies that were available the day they had heard the colonel read it. Cleta, Lucy, and Theo had poured over the inspiring words of liberty multiple times, memorizing their favorite passages. Lucy had no doubt her father would frown upon it, but she didn’t care. The Declaration was too important to their future not to treat it with reverence and respect.
The locket appeared nearly new to Lucy, but she set to work polishing it. With caution and care, she removed the little portrait to clean behind it only to discover a tiny clasp that had been hidden by the image of the child. When she pushed on it, the back of the locket opened, revealing a hidden compartment.
A rolled scrap of thin paper fell out onto her desk.
Lucy ignored it and studied a barely visible maker’s mark of PR on the right side of the hidden compartment. Had the piece been crafted by Paul Revere, a Boston silversmith and one of the Sons of Liberty?
Marveling over that notion, she sucked in a gasp when she read the inscription on the left side of the hidden compartment.
Martha Washington
“Oh my,” Lucy whispered, wondering if Patsy, as the woman had referred to herself, was really the wife of General George Washington, Commander in Chief of the Continental Army.
Dozens of questions danced through Lucy’s mind while she finished polishing the locket. As she worked to insert the paper back into the hidden compartment, it slipped from her fingers and unfurled on her desk.
“I shouldn’t read this,” she said, even as she lifted the scrap and frowned at the unfamiliar text.
Amm trnspt shps LI Hbr frst Agst
“What on earth does that mean?” Lucy questioned aloud.
“It’s a code,” Theo said, speaking beside her and startling her so badly that she yelped in surprise and dropped the locket.
Thankfully, it fell onto her lap instead of the floor. She set it on the desk as she glowered at her brother. “Theo! What have I said? Just earlier today, in fact?”
“Not to sneak up on you, but I was sure you heard me come up the stairs. I made so much noise, you should have thought the whole army of Redcoats was storming upon you. Papa sent me to tell you it’s time to get back to work.” Theo pointed to the locket. “What’s that?”
“None of your concern.” Lucy covered the locket with her hand.
Theo retrieved the scrap of paper that had fallen to the floor. “It could be from a spy. I heard Tommy Dinsmore tell Miles Evans that there are spies everywhere. They pass notes back and forth.” He scrunched up his nose in thought as he read the message. “I think the first word means ammunition.”
Lucy stared at the child, shocked to consider he might be right. It would certainly explain why Patsy—more likely known as Martha Washington—had been dashing down the street earlier, pursued by the men, and why the man who claimed his name was Branch Barton had been watching them and tried to intercept the gloves that had hidden the locket. Had Mrs. Washington’s arrival at the shop put them all in jeopardy?
Surely not, or the woman wouldn’t have come inside.
For all Lucy knew, the words scribbled on the paper in the locket could be the writings of a madman, or a list for a servant, or … code words from spies.
Lucy carefully rolled the slip of paper and tucked it into the locket. She closed the back and the front, gave it another quick polish, and slipped it into her pocket.
“You mustn’t say anything about the locket nor the coded message, Theo. Not even to Mama and Papa. Do you promise?” Lucy asked, rising to her feet and holding out a hand to Theo.
“I promise!” Theo took her hand and accompanied her downstairs.
Their mother was in the kitchen kneading bread. From the puffs of air blowing through the room, Lucy assumed her father had returned to the shop and opened the door, allowing a welcome breeze to drift inside and create a cross draft.
Lucy fingered the locket and strode into the shop, intent on keeping Martha Washington’s piece of jewelry a secret, and finding out exactly what the words meant.
If it were something that would help the Patriots, Lucy would do everything she could to be of assistance.
