Forever Ashley by Lori Copeland Read Free Book Online Page B

himself than to her. He
deftly maneuvered the horse through the milling crowd. “Since the embargo has
lengthened, more and more people grow desperate.”
    The horse galloped on as Ashley turned and watched the thief
being overtaken and thrown to the ground.
    The horse continued through the town, up winding alleys and
down dark passageways. A church bell rang, signaling twilight. Ashley gazed up
at the unadorned meetinghouse. The frame building was painted a dull white, but
the belfry on the roof was lovely with its moldings and tall spires. The
classic columns in front were severely plain, yet they added a note of dignity
to the structure.
    The horse rounded a corner, and Ashley slipped sideways in
the saddle. Aaron reached back to steady her, and she held on to him tighter,
trying to hitch herself up more solidly on the rump of the horse.
    “How much farther?” she shouted. Her bottom was numb
already.
    “Until we get there,” he called over his shoulder.
    Turning down another alley, Aaron slowed the horse. Ashley’s
gaze quickly took in the painted signs of various size and ornateness, marking
the mercantile, a bank, a boardinghouse, and she shivered—the barred narrow
openings in a wall housing the jail. As they rounded a second corner, her eyes
caught the sign on the silversmith shop and she squealed. “The Silversmith
Shop: P. Revere, Prop.”
    Paul Revere’s silver shop! Ashley remembered Revere’s
business was barely surviving in 1775 because of the worsening situation with
England. But then, Paul was a busy man. He was not only the leader of the Sons
of Liberty, a group that had found varied ways to oppose the English, but he
was Massachusetts’ number one express rider between Boston and Philadelphia.
    Tugging at Aaron’s coat sleeve, she pointed to the shop.
“Look! It’s Paul Revere’s silversmith shop! I wonder if Rachel’s there!” Ashley
hoped the dream would allow her to meet a woman of the 1700s. There were so
many things she wanted to ask!
    Aaron stiffened, glancing over his shoulder at her. “You
know Rachel?”
    “Well, not personally, of course. But I’ve read—”
    She saw the muscle in his left jaw working tightly. “You’ve
read what?”
    It was more of a statement than a question, reminding Ashley
that women didn’t read anything of substance in 1775. It was not thought
proper. But women’s roles had changed drastically since Aaron Kenneman’s day,
and Ashley wasn’t going to lie to him.
    “I’ve read that Paul took over his father’s silversmith
business when he was only fifteen.”
    “And?”
    “And awhile later he married his first wife, Sara Orne. Paul
and Sara had six children—plus two who died at birth.”
    Aaron swore impatiently.
    But Ashley went on with her recitations as if she were in no
danger of being throttled. ‘The surviving children’s names were Deborah, Paul
Jr., Sara, Mary...and Francine...no, it was Frankie...no, maybe it was Faith,
no—”
    “Frances!” Aaron snapped.
    “Yes! That’s it, Frances, and Elizabeth.”
    “Your memory serves you well,” Aaron said shortly. The woman
was a witch. First she babbled about things that made no sense; now she was
babbling about things that were true. Yet she claimed she was not a spy. “You
know much about a man you profess to have never met,” he accused.
    Aaron scowled as he thought about her wealth of knowledge.
Was it possible Paul knew this woman? Could he be romantically linked with her?
Of course not. Aaron dismissed the thought as worthless. He’d never known Paul
to be a womanizer. Paul didn’t have the time.
    “I only know what I’ve read,” Ashley repeated stoically,
knowing it was a waste of time to argue with a dream.
    “Perhaps you only have visions,” Aaron suggested, and none
too kindly.
    “Visions?” She laughed softly. “No, I don’t have visions. I
must have eaten pepperoni before I went to bed.” Yes, that would explain it.
She had eaten pepperoni again. Pepperoni