#( 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 ; threads (( Abe ))

[cabbxges-and-kings]

( A.be W.oodhull ; closed starter )

        𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞-𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞. Even if the British had been long gone, marched out to the sea they washed in from, Abraham was still paranoid. Eight long years he was never going to get back, spying for Washington, and despite all the challenges he faced, Abraham didn’t regret it one bit. With how long it had been, Abraham was going to deal with some repercussions from the war, maybe more than most people.

        Sweat ran down his neck as he leaned over his harvest, picking up each cabbage he planted one by one. It was a successful harvest, producing much more cabbage than he truly knew what to deal with.

        Pieces of cabbage leaves clung under his boot and dirt coated his hands to the wrists, tossing every bundle of cabbage into the wagon beside him. When he stood up, wiping his sweaty grimy hands onto the knees of his pants, he nearly toppled over when he turned around. Rogers stood with his cold stare and a shit-eating grin, transporting him back to the war.

        ❝ What are you doing here? ❞ Abe asked, his voice winded as he stepped back, his eyes wide. ❝ I thought you left with the British? ❞ What little Abe knew of him, he understood Rogers wasn’t wanted in the colonies. He wouldn’t have holed himself up in his root cellar for so long, wary of British troops in the area. All logical reasoning left him as his chest tightened, glancing over at his homestead that appeared untouched.

@pyratezlife

[cabbxges-and-kings]

( A.braham W.oodhull ; continued )

        𝐀𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐦 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞, 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. The baby could’ve been left in worse places, like the tavern or in Robinson’s care, but he wondered why the baby hadn’t been left at Whitehall or the garrison where more people were present.

        ❝ It could’ve come from Oyster Bay, it’s close enough,❞ Abe guessed, turning over the parchment to find it empty on the other side. He shifted Thomas on his hip to steady him better. ❝ It can’t be someone from Setauket, they would’ve left the baby at the garrison. “

        The question Mary asked made Abe look up, furrowing his brows. ❝ What? No. ❞ He shook his head. ❝ I have no idea how this baby came here. ❞ He was more confused than angry at the insinuation, brushing over the fact that the cheating scandal was not that long ago, fresh in the rumor mill of Setauket. Abraham had been careful of his movements in Setauket, not daring to step inside the tavern while everyone’s eyes were on him. Anna was the only woman he had interacted with in that manner. If it was Anna’s, she would have told him sooner. Abraham would hope so.

        ❝ I’ll see my father tomorrow, I can ask him if he knows anyone surrounding Setauket who is missing a child. Or I’ll ride out myself and ask. ❞

@anoseforrottenapples

[cabbxges-and-kings]

( A.be W.oodhull ; continued )

        𝐀𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭. He looked up, his hands resting on his hips.

        ❝ No- no- look, I can do secrets, but not secrets I hardly understand. ❞ The thing is, Abe never intended to run into the Brotherhood--whatever it was--it just happened. One night, a cloaked figure snuck into his root cellar, and somehow, through his journey into the city, he made some contact with them. Something with the spy ring, Washington, the war. He was fed information little by little, each fact making his confusion greater.

        ❝ What is the Brotherhood and what do they want with me? As all things considered, I work for Washington, no other man. ❞

@wildark

[cabbxges-and-kings]

( Abraham Woodhull ; closed starter )

        𝐀𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, paying more than he would for a regular room to provide that extra layer of security. But with how his last failed harvest weighed on his finances in the winter, he wasn't able to put together enough shillings to afford a room of his own in his travels in spring. It made him a little antsy to wonder how he was going to conceal his intelligence letters, but Abraham was confident in his ability to adapt. He would have to watch over his roommate’s schedule, speculate what that would look like based on their job description, and operate from there. His roommate wasn’t going to spend all his time in their shared room, and he had survived living with another person during his college days. So, how hard was this going to be?

        He lifted his bag onto his bed, unclasping the opening and digging through his belongings to keep himself occupied as his roommate was getting settled across from him.

        ❝ So, ❞ he started, pausing for a moment as a showcase of looking busy. He shoved his quill and ink to the other side of his bag and moved a book to the opposite end. He pushed a shirt deeper into his bag. ❝ How long are you here for? In for a visit? ❞ Abraham asked, his tone friendly and unassuming. He peered over his shoulder, his eyes running along his attire to gather a guess on his profession. He certainly wasn’t a King’s man, surely he would be spending his time in a barracks somewhere, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t important to the King.

@anoseforrottenapples (Troy)

[cabbxges-and-kings]

        𝐀𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐦 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐝. Thomas was delicate, and it’s what plagued Abe a couple of weeks after his birth. He had a son, it was his, and he imagined he would have one, but shook his world when it became a reality. Thomas was his son, he was so small, so delicate, that Abraham was a little bit too gentle around him.  A father’s protection was instilled early in him, but now he realized Thomas wasn’t as delicate as he once imagined. He hardly cried much after an injury and Thomas always watched his footing, more than most children his age. He was always quiet, perhaps too quiet for his own good. Thomas was stronger than most, perhaps stronger than his own father some days. 

        ❝ They can be. But Thomas? Nah, you’re tough as nails, aren’t ya’? ❞ He slipped back into that soft tone, his fingers stroking over his shoulder. Abraham looked down at his song, his fingers brushed over a wild curl at the end of his hair. He watched as Adelaide reached out to touch his hair, still hesitant and gentle in her movements, whether she believed Abe’s reassurance or not. Abe smiled at the nickname. ❝ No, his name is Thomas. Not Sprout. It’s either Greek or Hebrew. ❞ He had overheard this at the dinner table with his father when his brother was around. Richard often used this as another way to praise Thomas, always finding something to delight himself over his son. 

        ❝ You don’t have any siblings of your own? ❞ Abraham looked up at her, his hands falling back to his hips. He assumed that with her inexperience with children, she hasn’t had the experience of raising a sibling. 

Again, her lips pull into a small, fleeting smile as she watches the boy shy away and his father assures her he won't harm her. Well, of course not, it's the opposite that worries her - how fragile is he? His little hand felt so soft and he looks like a doll.

But his tone when speaking to his son is also something impossibly confusing and new to Ada, something that awakens longing and rage, because even she, even someone who has never heard it, knows this is how it's supposed to be. Perhaps because even if she can't remember her mother's voice, she can tell it would have been the same tone, that maybe it had been before sickness had taken over. "Yes," she answers, still looking at Thomas to bring back that sense of warmth that filled her before, and her eyes dart to his father, "Ada, if you prefer. I'm just... worried for him... I know they are delicate. They are delicate, right?" But she kneels down to be closer to his height, and her hand shakes only a little when she attempts a soft touch again, the way his father had done it because it felt safer, brushing his blonde hair instead, "Hi, little one... Sprout. Is... Is that an... English name?" It does sound like it, but who is she to judge a father's choices when they don't involve blood, so her question to Abraham is simply uncertain.

[cabbxges-and-kings]

( A.be W.oodhull ; continued )

       ❝ The note is important, that’s all you need to know. ❞ The fact Abe kept getting pushed and pulled back into the spy ring no matter how many times he attempted to cut the cord was infuriating. Why couldn’t anyone listen to him and allow him to make his own choices? No, he always had to be at the hands of someone else making his choices for him. Ben knew this frustration of his, but with how long the two were apart, he doubted Ben remembered (or cared). This spy ring was all too important to him.

      He was about to head in the other direction when her next words made him pause. When she couldn’t finish her sentence about Ben, his hand balled into a first, regret over his previous words sinking into his chest. No, Ben couldn’t be dead. There was no way. Ben was too smart to get himself killed.

      He took a breather when she told him he was indisposed, not dead, thankfully. His balled fist slowly unwinded itself and his previous annoyance was swiped under the rug. He had to see Ben himself and make sure he was okay. This intelligence held more meaning to him than ever if Ben was out of commission for the time being.

      He nodded, drawing in his lower lip as the circumstances changed. The name Lufton was unfamiliar to him as he arched a brow. ❝ Where is Lufton? ❞ Was it close to Oyster Bay? York City? Philadelphia? He had no clue, but even if the trip was long, he’d go to see his childhood best friend no matter their rift in recent years.

@curseconsumed​

[cabbxges-and-kings]

( A.be W.oodhull ; continued )

      𝐀𝐛𝐞’𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭, the reins once dug in his hands felt like he was missing an extension of himself. He was being too hasty in his ride to Oyster Bay, remembering about a visit to Samuel Townsend that he didn’t wish to miss or arrive any later for. With his mind distracted by his rush to get to the Quaker and his eyesight just as blurred, he didn’t take notice of what was in front of him and how exhausted his horse was becoming under his care until his side met hard, sharp dirt that knocked the wind out of his lungs.

      His upper body rose to a sit, his hand that was all cut up and aching with a burning sensation held him up while his other pained hand pressed against his side. He didn’t think a rib was broken or anything was broken on his person, but he couldn’t quell the pain shooting through his body at his fall.

       ❝ What? ❞ he squinted up at her, only hearing her scolding tone that sounded awfully familiar to the one at home and something about a physician and suffering. She wanted him to sue someone? No, no he’d deal with the consequences of his actions later when he arrived at the Townsend residence. A wince left his mouth as he attempted to stand, taking a few tries and an urge to ignore to aching muscles to stand properly.

       ❝ Lady, my father is a Magistrate. I don’t need to sue anybody, he’d do it for me. I am well aware of the law. ❞ Just as annoyed as she sounded, he brushed off the dirt on his front of his clothing. He mumbled under his breath as his hand moved over his jacket, �� -- Didn’t go to King’s college for nothing. ❞

      Finally, he met her piercing stare as he felt his spinning mind finally gain some focus, though barely. ❝ Just… help me get back onto my horse if you can. ❞

@curseconsumed​

[cabbxges-and-kings]

( A.braham W.oodhull ; continued )

        𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐀𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐦 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰, 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦. He had already finished hanging the curtains in the spare room, the place Abraham wanted to wipe completely clean from his memory. Even with the complaint of the Ensign not knowing how to make his bed, Abraham liked the idea better that his home’s inhabitants were determined by him. Not by some King and as a spy, the awareness of an additional person placed him on edge even in his own home. A place that should be a sanctuary from the war outside his door. While his spy work resided in the underground dwellings of his root cellar, there was a floorboard one had to loosen to get access to Abraham’s codebook to capture his neck in a noose. 

        When he turned, he was met with the scatter of wooden figurines drawn across the floor and as Thomas’ lifted his head to look at him with his big, dark eyes, he heard a baby’s gurgle of an apology cast his way.

        ❝ It’s alright, Sprout, ❞ he cooed, a smile brightening his features as he began to sweep the figurines into his palm. ❝ We just have to clean up our messes before Momma notices. ❞ A chuckle resided in his chest as he scooped up the toys to sit atop the wooden chair Thomas had initially positioned them. 

        “Abraham!”

        At the muffled sound of Mary’s voice being heard just below the window, Sprout had already left his toys behind to crawl towards the doorway. With a hurried step, Abraham picked up Sprout before he could cross the threshold and the farmer was out the door as Mary yelled for him a second time.

        Abraham squinted in the sharp glare of the setting sun as he opened the door. With Thomas clutched close to him, he would be able to feel Abraham’s racing heartbeat at Mary’s quickened voice as she called for him. 

        ❝ Mary? ❞ As she turned to regard him, his eyes lowered to the basket in her arms. ❝ Did Father stop by? ❞ Abraham didn’t see his Father going as far as to get a basket to deliver his baked goods for the family, especially without staying for dinner. As an apology, Richard didn’t exactly give a gift for forgiveness.

@anoseforrottenapples

[cabbxges-and-kings]

        𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫, but as she denies him a glance or a smile in return, averting her gaze as if he insulted her in some way, his smile loosens on his lips and falters. Instead, the corners of his lips dip into a frown before he wipes a hand over his lips, wiping away the frown before anyone can notice as his gaze locks onto a corner of the room. The question is much more complex than either of them will ever admit.

        ❝ You’re the only one. ❞ In the body of his departed words, there hides a hidden meaning: thousands of them all pointed in the same doomed direction. She’s the only one who truly knows him, who gave him a chance under a sky of stars and the blanket of night. His face had reddened from tears, from the annoyance of a blush, to the ache of a curve to a smile in her presence. He had imagined that any secrets he had in store, Anna knows them all. She had seen every side of him--all of his faces--and especially the sides he kept squared away from Caleb or Ben, even if they were equally as close to his heart. Not quite to the extent that Anna has. Ever since his childhood, Anna has been wrapped around his heart before he realized he had the chance of losing her.

        Then, a flicker in her eyes alights the previous mirth that flamed the both of them. She shifts in her seat, springing to life with every passing moment, as her gaze finally captures him in the lingering silence. Without speaking, Abraham can decipher the secret language of emotion that flows through both of them and just as quickly, he can match it in a reflection. He can imagine-- no, he can feel her lips on his as her gaze sweeps over his face and concentrates on his lips.

        You.

        He can hear the sound of the cellar door closing behind them. The sounds of patrons become muffled as they descend the stairs, luckily not missing a step (as if they have done this before). 

        As she finished her statement, he could feel himself halt in his lean toward her. His hand loosened around his tankard

        Eating all of it.

        His lips twist into a scowl as his brows furrow. He withdraws and sits up in his chair, grasping the forked tip knife and he slowly skims a piece off the edge, but he doesn’t take a bite. Not yet.

        ❝ You delight in torturing me, don’t you, Mrs. Strong? ❞ he huffs out as if he’s a loser in a game (which, in fact, he is: a loser in a game of wit). 

Shades of melancholy encompassed the tavern, occupying every corner, till joy was scant but a sepia tainted remembrance. The moment Abraham's laughter resounds, it shatters a spell she hadn't even realized she was living under.

Anna had been snared in this inescapable prison far longer than desired and now, that a taste of freedom had been offered, loosed hands grapple for it with all her strength. But like all things as of late, it appears to slip.

The brunette's overzealous gaze falters, turning briefly away from his grin as she sobers slightly. "Do I, still? Truly?" Comes her soft questioning. Since the chill of Fall captured the fields, Anna has very much doubted her knowledge of him. He's much changed. York City had done something. Something she hadn't yet uncovered.

Then again, she supposes, she too had metamorphized. Transforming from battered butterfly to something more steely, more gripped with resolve. If the new resolve wasn't just an eternal fatigue that not even rest abates.

If she has lost sight of him, she wishes to reclaim the trodden ground. How? She hasn't an idea.

Abraham's reply is recklessly empowering. A stirring once more kindles to life in Anna's veins, churning hurricane-like, towards a disastrous end. The brunette shifts, dark eyes considering him, tentative and deliberate. Her lips, though seemingly always poised, don't gift him an immediate response.

Dare she press the boundaries? Dare she make mention of her dearest, most kept desires? There is much the brunette may ask of him. Most requests of the nature broach appropriate boundaries given their present lots.

Never has a trap nor temptation been so alluring, almost as if it had been dipped in honey before being proffered. Anna leans herself forward, taking up what scant space exists between them over the table. Her focus is zeroed in upon his lips. Those damnable lips could always goad her towards trouble. Caution is abandoned, tossed towards the winds blowing in off the Sound. "You." All of him. She is so tired of being gifted halves. She does not gift him the rest of the sentiment which follows, 'you --- with me--- for a few hours'.

Deep down, Anna knows Abraham is a prize she could never have in full. Sure, there were fleeting instances, illusions of wholeness, but they fizzled out in the piercing prodding of morning's first light. One kiss may lead to a thousand other concessions. Ones Anna has no right to entreat of him.

Her eyes seek out his reaction. An amendment is readily prepared if he may cower or shy away. "You--" Her lips turn upwards in amusement, "eating all of it."

[cabbxges-and-kings]

( A.be W.oodhull ; continued )

       𝐀𝐛𝐞’𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫. If it was not for any desperation on his part, for his impulsive decisions and rash actions, he wouldn’t have been standing in her room and looking over Hope dressed in her shift. It was severely improper for a married man to stand in her room, to look over her like this as she was not his, in the dead of night, with the knowledge of his affair with Mrs. Anna Strong already circling through the Setauket’s sewing circles, but Abe decided that his reasoning here was more important than any semblance of being proper.

       Even as his mind swirled with the plan of hightailing it out of here and how he would make it to the dead drop without arousing suspicion of any particular nasty redcoats, he listened to her words. When she delved into their shared past, he drew in his lower lip and squeezed his eyes closed to block out the memory. Whatever he was inquiring about earlier hardly mattered and their kiss years ago mattered even less. ❝ I’m sorry that I veiled my intentions in our kiss long ago, Hope, I shouldn’t have misled you as I did. But that was long ago. ❞ As a youth full of wild hair and wide-eyed curiosities, it was only that wonder that made Abe kiss Hope to experience the feeling of a first kiss. It had been a one-sided thing, he was aware that Hope had feelings for him, and he took advantage of that to sate his own curiosity about what it would be like to kiss someone. Hope was his first kiss, but his love has always been with Anna Strong. 

       And look where that love got him in a loveless marriage with Mary. He knew too much about how soft a woman’s lips were, specifically Anna’s lips.

       He exhaled through his nose and continued, ❝ And I, as a married man, can only apologize for it. I was wrong to mislead you and I cannot apologize enough for it. ❞

       Now, he could address the real reason why he was here in her room than to make amends. They were a team, all of them were, and they had to stick together to work. Abe could find the hidden messages underneath a letter’s fancy words, but it was easier for him to retrieve it from Hope. Especially as spy ring hung overhead these few weeks when intelligence gathering was dry in Setauket. He needed this and the ring needed anything they could get to make up for that loss in the few weeks. ❝ The decoded intelligence. Do you have it ready for me to leave at the dead drop? ❞

@multistoty​

[cabbxges-and-kings]

( A.braham W.oodhull ; continued )

        𝐀𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤. He had been fetching the bottle and refilling his glass the entire dinner, drinking what he could swallow through a flurry of conversation, but he wasn’t drunk. His mind felt as if it was spinning, he had tossed his overcoat onto the lap of the next chair, and he felt more and more eager to chat. He wasn’t sober, but he surely wasn’t drunk.

        He knew where he stored his alcohol, in stashes both in the kitchen and in the root cellar. As he grumbled under his breath that ❝ I thought we weren’t at the coffee house any longer, ❞ he quickly got to his feet. As his world seemed to spin even more, his movements were slower than normal at grabbing his coat. The coat whisked away from his fingers in the first grasp. Fresh air would be nice and Townsend couldn’t do anything to stop him from grabbing anything from his root cellar on his property. The glare in his eyes does anything but stop the stubborn man from pushing his arms through the sleeves of his coat.

        His question stops him.

        He remains in the open space between the chair and the table, still fashioned with a tablecloth and lit candles to illuminate the space. The places are all stacked in the cupboards by Mary’s careful touch and Thomas’ wooden soldiers are stacked neatly in a line by the windowsill to help his mother with keeping the place tidy. There’s no mention of intelligence between them. With the British out of Setauket, there’s no need to fret over making up a cover story for why Robert Townsend left York City and why he was here in the Woodhull home and not at his father’s. There isn’t much to converse over besides what was already talked about over dinner, he already told Townsend about his crop, about Washington’s visit, how he should’ve been there, and how Major Hewlett inquired about the “man in New York”. It seems as if there’s nothing left that needs to be said, except for this. This unspoken question that was always left by the roadside to anyone who prodded Abraham Woodhull into answering. 

        He snorted, the alcohol loosening his lips to produce a snarky answer. ❝ You could always see through my lies, so I should’ve expected this. ❞ He was fine, he had his crop, his life was back in order, and the war was over with. There was nothing to complain about. No Hewlett, no Simcoe, no Eastin, or Baker to worry about. ❝ Why does it matter? ❞ He doesn’t deny or answer his inquiry, whether he was stressed or not, but there’s another attempt made to deflect. To try to bring the conversation back to anything else but his current state. The alcohol and the fresh air he was looking forward to escapes from his memory.

@audaciiae

[cabbxges-and-kings]

( A.be W.oodhull ; continued )

      𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐛𝐞’𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. To preserve his Loyalist act and to keep the spy ring concealed as much as possible, Abe was recommended ordered to be shut inside the barn like it was the end of days. His shoes were starting to get worn in by the pressure he placed on his feet, by his pacing, and the general tension held within his body. When he wasn't pacing, he was flicking through memories in his mind to keep the day away. A blink, it would be morning. Another blink, it would be night. Days were lost to the sands of time and the smell of the barn and the tickle of hay was rendered normal to the farmer turned spy.

      His eyes pulled away in its unfocused draw on the wrapped body next to him to peer up at his childhood best friend, his warm voice breaking through his disengagement of everything around him. Even under the gray wrappings swaddled the body, he could see the image of his father’s closed eyes and pale face under his eyelids. Even as he stared up at Ben.

      He swallowed past the lump in his throat and the dryness scratching at the inside of his neck bothered him less than his grief, the solid stone weighing down his stomach and the rest of his body with it. He felt like he reached middle age early and that he finally reached his father’s age in hours.

       ❝ Thomas was young and healthy, ❞ he repeated, knowing Ben would know exactly who he was speaking of now. It wasn’t his son, but his brother. There wasn’t a large age difference between the two sons, usually Thomas’ clothes that he grew out of would soon fit Abe’s growing stature as they aged into adults. ❝ And he died. ❞ I killed him was a whispered confession between his words as his gaze remained steady, more focused this time, on Ben’s.

       ❝ Who will be next? Youth means nothing in the hands of death and you know that, Ben. ❞

      The mention of the war made Abe break away from his stare, tilting his head and staring down at the ground with an annoyed pinch between his brows that pulled them closer together. The war cost his brother, it cost his father, his town, the detachment of his community. There will be another war and Thomas will be called upon--demanded--or he will go on his own free will. Abe couldn’t stop him and he couldn’t give him any wise wisdom for the journey on the battlefield because Abe had no place on it in this war. He was a spy, the lowest of the low as some believed.

       ❝ What if the British strike again if we win? What then? And Thomas is eligible to fight? I can’t stop him if he feels like it's his duty to fight for his country. Thomas isn’t here to dissuade his nephew from service. That’s what I’m worried about. ❞ He didn’t want to explain what brought this on. Death was everywhere, even as he was locked away in his barn. His father’s body was still here and he would have to find a way to get both that and him back to Setauket, but that was the least of his worries. He felt like this was only the beginning, it was all going to get worse from here and neither Ben nor Caleb could convince him otherwise. They may not be there at all to offer comfort.

@honorhearted​

[cabbxges-and-kings]

        ❝ You’re wrong. ❞ Abraham mouths off quickly (and without remorse), his lips pulled into a thin line as his annoyance just simmers below the surface, hidden in the clip of his words. “ Even if he’s defected to the Loyalist side--to the King--I value loyalty above all else. Who’s to say Lee isn’t willing to betray the British as well? He betrayed the King once before by siding with the Patriots, he may do so again. “ Yet the irony that lies within his words is that Lee isn’t the only man that has two faces, playing a fool in one act while his loyalties reside in another. Charles Lee may outrank him on any side, but Abraham wasn’t willing to allow his treason to be known to the length Lee has. He prefers secrecy and he feels as if that’s the best strategy. But besides that, they're similarly entrenched in the nasty and rotten act of betrayal.

        The fire in his tone isn’t one that originated from his passion for the Loyalist cause, but instead, stems from the annoyance that gnaws at him from Philomena’s lingering presence. Her coy smirks, the sweet lift of her voice that tries to ensnare him for whatever reason she may choose. If she wanted his money--or to uncover his secrets--he preferred that she was honest. 

        Forbidden fruit is always the most savored.

        ❝ Yet it sours the quickest. ❞ As much as his words have been a contrast to his true character, there is some truth in this. No, his thoughts didn’t drift toward his affair (that was a different matter: forbidden, but more complex in nature). But as quick as the excitement exhausted itself, the forbidden fruit will become ordinary and second nature. Or one’s paranoia and guilt may consume them after they get a taste. Whichever came first.

        As Philomena draws him closer with a fist full of his jacket, he looks down his nose at her into her cerulean eyes that hold so much mischief in them. The coy buoyancy of her voice, the little distance that separates them may all be tempting, but it won’t be his downfall. His heart is promised to another, both in a legal bind and then another by a secretive vow. With this pressing heavily on the front of his mind--images of Anna’s brown eyes staring into his, her pink lips curving into a smirk flashes before his eyes--that forces him out of her grip and he replies with a glare at her in the shadow of night.

        It’s possible that he can be both. His father's son, Thomas’ brother, and a Patriot. He can also be a farmer, loyal to the King to those that hardly know him.

        ❝ Do you believe it was right for Charles Lee to defect? You speak a lot about him like you know him. ❞

"Isn't he?" Philomena drops her coy inquiry like an atomic bomb. Cerulean orbs come to light, sparkling near sapphiric, with strange doses of bemusement. She knows more than she is letting on about the General's allegiances for she herself had delivered him to Andre on more than one occasion. Tangles in the sheets with most men tend to gift her more insight than most.

Pressing her luck the way she seems to everything else, she tactfully asks. "Then do you not celebrate his defection--- as a loyalist? With it, should come the end of the war. In fact, he is planning on handing the armies straight over to Clinton." Now, her eyes are seeking him, searching for a truth, she already knows. The dog-faced Lee was supposed to be the rebels salvation, now he may lead directly to their ruin. A ruin she no longer desires to serve as a catalyst for given Andre's abhorrent betrayal.

"Forbidden fruit is always the most savored," she teases. Her answer every bit as veiled as her inquiry had been. He was supposed to be off-limits. Yet, there's something vaguely invigorating about his squirrelish energy.

Philomena senses his discomfort and freely curls a hand into his shirt. This none-too-subtle anchoring allows her to attempt to draw him nearer to her lithe frame. Tipping her head upwards, the temptress ghosts her lips along his. Desirous, her eyes fixate hone in on his darker hues the way heat-seeking missiles find their targets.

"Are you truly the son of your father or does your heart and your loyalty lay elsewhere?" Her tenuous words are not imparted easily. There's a dangerous awakening crackling in her veins, reminding her that if she overplays this hand, she will soon meet the noose. The bridge of her slight nose moves to nuzzle his jaw, her eyes on the lookout for unwanted attention before they return to his.

[cabbxges-and-kings]

( A.be W.oodhull ; continued )

      𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭. Abe wasn’t territorial by any means of his hometown. He was observant of travelers, but none really stuck to mind unless he could weasel some information from their eager paws, but he couldn’t see what was so eye-catching about Setauket. He spoke like a man that would argue that the city was better than any lousy countryside town, even if he admitted that he was a farmer. A farmer on a large plantation, sure, close to the city, but not the kind of farmer Abe was. 

      Maybe his competitive nature was getting to him, sizing this man up in hopes of catching onto his weaknesses if his crop supply was to overtake Abe’s tanking farm of maggot-infested cabbages. The troubled son was sure his father was well aware of this soon-to-be new resident if he was indeed eager to move in and to investigate the nearby towns. He’d have to mention it later when he visits for dinner. But even beyond a competitive view, there wasn’t something right with him that Abe couldn’t ignore. Could he be a British Spy? If Simcoe and Hewlett were aware of the Patriot leanings in town and the way recent trouble in Setauket seemed to justify the recent whispers of spies, what stopped them from enlisting a spy of their own to seek out the source? He’d have to be wary of him.

       ❝ Well, there’s plenty of towns close by with ample land for your farm, sir. ❞ Abe’s voice was heavy with disdain even as a smile spread upon his lips, not daring to fall back a step as this stranger loomed in close. His nostrils flared when he mentioned Abe being a family man. If he knew already that he had a family, a potential weakness that could be targeted if he was cruel enough, then what else did he know?

@curseconsumed​

[cabbxges-and-kings]

( A.be W.oodhull ; continued )

      𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐛𝐞’𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐲-𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐞𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬. He was waiting on intelligence from York City for too long and when Townsend’s specific codeword was spotted through the lengthy paper, each other headline failed to draw his attention as much as the phrase “french raspberry brandy” caught his wandering eye. Relief settled in his stomach as the acquired intelligence settled just under his jacket in an inside pocket, a reassurance from how tied in knots it became during his trip to the city.

      Setauket wasn’t too far away and this comfort released some of the tension from his legs, growing tired from the long journey. Through weaving through the busy streets, making up an excuse for why he needed passage into the city when he was at checkpoints, and the entire trip taking up the majority of his day: the knowledge of knowing his hometown was closer than the city brought the weary traveler some relief. All until his ears perked at the sight of a woman yelling and as his eyes roamed over the path before him, he saw her. The sun shone down on her ginger locks and he couldn’t pinpoint her appearance to anyone he knew, even her voice was unfamiliar to his ears, and he slowed his horse down to stop in front of her.

      She wasn’t lying when she said her horse was dead. He spotted the animal laid out on the ground, almost as if it was asleep without the movements of breath raising and lowering its stomach. His eyes then spotted the flintlock in her hands and the sight of it made his posture straighten. He couldn’t see any gunshot wound on the horse, so she must’ve not used it then. He couldn’t smell or see any powder, but the spy remained uneasy around her. Especially if she was to find out that he wasn’t the loyalist he made himself out to be.

      He raised a hand in a greeting, a smile was easy to spot on his thin lips as his tone remained friendly. ❝ It’s just me, miss, just got back from the city. Would you kindly lower the flintlock? ❞

       ❝ A town by the name of Setauket is nearby, I can take you there. A man there breeds horses and he’ll be able to get you another one for the road. ❞ With unease rolling through his gut, he managed to maintain a sense of stability and confidence in his voice as his hands tightened around the reins in his hands. He squeezed it then to relieve some of the pressure from within. ❝ Where were you headed? Your husband isn’t with you? ❞ He didn’t extend a hand just yet to help her up on his horse, not while she had her weapon in her hands.

@notsoinnocentlittleangel​​

[cabbxges-and-kings]

( A.be W.oodhull ; continued )

       𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐬 “𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐭” 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐲𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫. Of course, his father would allow this arsehole to dine in his home. William was likely the most kindhearted and jovial guest his father has ever had the pleasure to speak with. He could hear the protests and the defenses Richard would bring upon Bradford’s name if Abe was ever to disagree with his positive outlook.

       The fact he was sitting here and drinking their sherry annoyed him, too. His father had the funds to supply alcohol in the home on a regular basis and had enough money at his disposal that the high price of tea didn’t matter to him, but how Bradford was allowed access to his father’s hospitality was an area of frustration. Especially when Abe had to beg for a compliment from his father.

       A small, pleasant smile formed on the farmer’s lips even as he brimmed with anger under the surface. ❝ Yes, precisely. A guest of my father’s, not a guest of mine. ❞ He wouldn’t allow Bradford to walk through his door, assured that even Mary would find some issue with Richard’s new guest. He found an issue with Hewlett staying in Whitehall and deciding on his own accord to host parties and dinners without the Magistrate's say, but he was a far more agreeable guest and easier to forgive for it. 

       Even as Bradford shortened their distance, closing in on him with that same pompous speech, Abe stayed rooted where he stood and peered up at him. 

       He laughed at his attempt at a threat. ❝ I see no reason why the King has to be involved in this. I would only be your enemy, not the entire King’s Army. You aren’t King George’s offspring, his heir, or else you would feel no need to threaten me and instead send me off to the hangman. ❞

@curseconsumed​