{"id":6507,"date":"2021-10-12T14:07:05","date_gmt":"2021-10-12T18:07:05","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/?p=6507"},"modified":"2021-10-24T22:40:27","modified_gmt":"2021-10-25T02:40:27","slug":"in-pieces","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/in-pieces\/","title":{"rendered":"In Pieces"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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By Rhonda Ortiz<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Certain things ruin a girl\u2019s reputation, and madness is one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boston, 1793\u2014Beautiful and artistic, the only daughter of a prominent merchant, Molly Chase cannot help but attract the notice of Federalist Boston\u2014especially its men. But she carries a painful secret: her father committed suicide and she found his body. Now nightmares plague her day and night, addling her mind and rendering her senseless. Molly needs a home, a nurse, and time to grieve and to find new purpose in life. But when she moves in with her friends the Robbs, spiteful society gossips assume the worst. And when an imprudent decision leads to public scandal, Molly is tempted to take the easy way out: a marriage of convenience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Merchant sailor Josiah Robb is as familiar to Molly as a brother\u2014as dear and as exasperating. Yet she is no sister to him. He hopes to marry her before anyone else does, but sailing the high seas leaves no time for convincing Molly that he is more than her teasing childhood friend. Josiah wants a new job and a fresh start, and when he agrees to carry a confidential letter to President Washington, his life is forever changed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the wake of tragedy, these longtime friends discover a new intimacy. But slander, confusion, absence, and a wealthy, conniving bully stand between them. And with French spies on the loose, they not only have to rescue their reputations\u2014they have to protect their lives.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Chapter 1<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

March 1793<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Molly Chase should have been in church. Not skulking in the alley behind the merchant buildings like a common thief. Not braving the March weather or hoping the few men wandering the streets near Boston Harbor would overlook her horse and wagon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She needed to raid Papa\u2019s warehouse before his creditors did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A year ago today, the churchmen laid Mama\u2019s body to rest in the graveyard. Eight weeks ago, they laid Papa\u2019s body to rest beside hers. Now everything Papa had owned, including his business holdings, belonged to his indebted estate. His lawyer would know if something went missing before next week\u2019s auction. Molly\u2019s one hope was to take what she needed before Mr. Young checked current inventory against the old lists. Before he realized that he was missing a receipt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But to risk his anger to steal cloth, of all things? Even if it was the finest indienne muslin? Mr. Young insisted everything must be sold if they were to pay off Papa\u2019s debts, and textiles were valuable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All this fuss for mere frippery. Her plan was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thou shalt not steal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Molly leaned against the flaking warehouse door. Her plan wasn\u2019t ridiculous, but justifiable. List the reasons. Make the case.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She could no longer bear the nightmares. Thoughts of Papa\u2019s lacerated wrist and blood-soaked waistcoat pervaded her mind, day and night. Hiding away in her room would no longer do. She needed a task, a problem to solve\u2014something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And dressmaking provided the perfect distraction. Papa might have complained about his well-heeled daughter sewing for her friends, but Mama had understood that she was an artist and clothing was her medium. Mama would tell her to fight darkness with light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sew. Reclaim her imagination. Conquer the nightmares. Be happy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But in order to sew, she needed cloth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But this cloth? One might argue the muslin belonged to her, not the estate. Papa had not ordered it. She had. She had managed his brokerage business while he drank away his sorrow. Two months ago she could have taken whatever she wanted. No meddling lawyer. No questions asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A line of logic perhaps only she understood. She would never convince Mr. Young. He would point out that she paid for the muslin with her father\u2019s money, not hers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A whistle shrilled through the fog, followed by bells and shouts and commands. Molly looked around the corner and down the long cobblestone street. Charcoal clouds gathered on the eastern horizon. In the distance she could see the top yard of a mainmast gliding toward the wharf\u2014a ship trying to outrun the coming storm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had no time to loiter. Molly squared her shoulders, reminded herself that she was in charge, and pushed open the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Stench emanated from the darkness\u2014the faint reek of decaying flesh, hiding somewhere in the recesses of the silent warehouse. Like Papa, lying on the study floor. Blood everywhere. His sinews exposed\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She reached for the weathered doorframe and gripped it, forcing herself to the present. \u201cSilk, linen, muslin, wool. Like paint for the painter or stone for the sculptor. It\u2019s but a smell. Ignore it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Molly covered her nose with her handkerchief and stepped inside, waiting for her vision to adjust to the dim light filtering through the shuttered windows. Then she pulled her petticoat close and weaved through the dusty shelves toward the northern end of the warehouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Three long cedar chests covered with canvas tarpaulins lined the wall\u2014their textile storage made by Papa years ago. Unfortunately, the stench was stronger back here, and she needed both hands to handle the cumbersome bolts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She inhaled and lowered the handkerchief. Disgusting, but she could manage for five minutes\u2014long enough to take what she wanted and leave. She hoped the cloth hadn\u2019t absorbed the odor. She pushed aside a French cherry table, its delicate inlay cracked from too many years in storage, then stepped to the first chest and pulled the tarpaulin off the lid and onto the floor. With a heave, she swung the lid up and back against the wall and looked inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Muslin-covered rolls waited for inspection. She shimmed a roll out of the chest and dropped it with a thump on top of the cherry table. Off came her gloves, and she unrolled the bolt. The turquoise Lyon silk satin. She unrolled the bolt a few more inches and lifted the corner of the silk with her fingertips, feeling its warp and weft. This would be the last from Lyon. France\u2019s revolutionaries thought silk too aristocratic and were closing their factories. She hadn\u2019t planned on taking the satin, but maybe\u2026maybe she should. And what about the mauve taffeta? And the ivory gauze silk, while she was at it. Could she layer taffeta and gauze for that robe \u00e0 la turque she was contemplating? She could try\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Enough of gowns. Not right now. Concentrate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Molly opened the second chest. At the top sat a box of fashion babies\u2014wooden dolls wearing replicas of the latest French gowns. She rummaged until she found the one wearing a round gown with a high waist. She had never seen the like\u2014it resembled a Greek toga. Mr. Peterson, Papa\u2019s supplier, said the style was some mantua-maker\u2019s ridiculous experiment and no one was wearing it. But Molly liked it. She set the baby and box aside and reached for another bolt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One of the delicate muslins, at last. She set it beside the silk and pulled out another. Tingles ran up her spine, her mind dwelling on gathers and bias, pleats and boning, embroidery and trim. All else faded\u2014the stench, the patter of rain, the chill, the dust scratching her throat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Time itself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The sage brocade for Prudence? Tabitha would like the rose taffeta. If only Rachel hadn\u2019t moved away\u2014she would love the cherry blossom chintz. But the turquoise satin ought to be worn only by someone with a flair for the dramatic. Joy Christianson?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She must try to see Joy, as Mama taught her. The best of gowns flattered not only a woman\u2019s body but her soul. \u201cArtists must be observant and empathetic,\u201d Mama had said. \u201cLook for the goodness in others, and art will follow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Molly closed her eyes and imagined her friend\u2019s cheerful face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joy was friendly. Popular but not conceited. Knew her own mind. Sometimes stubborn. Often clumsy. Always fashionable\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

New round gown style\u2026satin\u2026loom width, twenty-four inches\u2026Joy was five foot five\u2026twelve yards\u2026lining, trimming, embroidery\u2026silk thread\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHello? Mr. Chase? Are you here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Molly jumped. Her arm flailed and knocked the chest lid loose. Her hand snapped to grab it before it landed on her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A tall man wearing a battered greatcoat stood at the door, scanning the warehouse. Shadows shrouded his face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Distracted by the stench, she had forgotten to close the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho\u2019s in here?\u201d the man barked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Josiah Robb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Molly flipped behind the nearby shelf. She intended to avoid Mr. Young, but given the choice between Mr. Young and Josiah, she would have chosen the solicitor without a second thought. Josiah was the son of their former cook and had grown up under their roof. He was as familiar to her as a brother\u2014as dear and as exasperating.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had also been Papa\u2019s favorite child. Never mind that he wasn\u2019t even his son.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That ship coming in\u2014it must have been his ship, the Alethea. Why could it not have come tomorrow? Why was he not there? Officers had things to do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Molly laid a fist against the shelf. She was in for it. Josiah had a sixth sense for catching her at her worst and mercilessly teasing her. And he just found her sneaking around Papa\u2019s warehouse, pilfering goods. But she needn\u2019t explain herself. Best to affect nonchalance and deflect his curiosity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s me,\u201d she called sweetly, as if a Sunday morning visit to Papa\u2019s warehouse was a regular occurrence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMolly?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Josiah\u2019s footsteps rang against the plank flooring. \u201cWhew! It stinks in here. I can\u2019t believe you made it past the door.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She returned to her rummaging.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd nice to see you too.\u201d He pulled his wet tricorn hat from his head. \u201cI\u2019ve been away for months. The least you could do is say hello.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He tossed the hat and greatcoat on top of the remaining unopened chest and leaned against its side, hovering over her. He smelled of grime and sweat, as he always did when he came home. Years ago she had made the mistake of teasing him about it, and he had retaliated by sneaking into her room and leaving his saltwater-stained laundry on top of her pillow. Cleanliness was a touchy subject.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI saw the door open,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd I saw the Alethea coming in, half an hour ago,\u201d Molly countered. \u201cShouldn\u2019t you be with your ship?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAn hour and a half ago, you mean.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Had she really been here that long? Goodness, she was a horrible thief.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd don\u2019t worry about Perdita. I gave her a feed bag.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Where had he found oats for the horse? Josiah\u2019s resourcefulness always astonished her. He could turn criminal and never get caught.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBecause you asked, the ship is secure, cargo is staying aboard until tomorrow, and I\u2019m not on watch, so the captain gave me permission to go surprise Mother and Deb.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Molly\u2019s heart twisted. She had been avoiding the Robbs. His sister had called on her twice this past week, but Molly had been out of sorts and refused to see her. Not that she didn\u2019t love sweet, faithful Deborah. But she dreaded telling the Robbs the truth about Papa. Their families were close. They ought to know. Yet she also thought Papa\u2019s shame should die with him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEnough about me.\u201d Josiah craned to see inside the chest. \u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She sighed, spared him a little glance. \u201cI\u2019m looking for something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re looking for something?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHere, in the dark, dank warehouse?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs that so surprising?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cToday is Sunday, Molly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She leaned farther into the chest and pulled out another bolt of muslin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMercoled\u00ec.\u201d He muttered something in\u2014Spanish? Italian? Some other foreign tongue he had picked up in his travels?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Molly ignored his linguistic swaggering and examined the bolt instead. Josiah was quick with languages, facts, figures, philosophy, theology, and everything else that came in the form of schoolwork. And he always rubbed it in. Growing up, they had taken their French lessons together until Papa realized she was a dunce and was holding back Josiah. Then Papa spoiled Josiah with Latin, even though he didn\u2019t need it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI want to try my hand at a new style of round gown. It has a high waist, like this.\u201d She clinched her sides under the bust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Josiah laughed. \u201cAll right, Moll-Doll. You need yet another gown. But I cannot believe you would brave the weather and the vermin for the sake of your excessive vanity. And breaking the Sabbath too, you heathen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The command to keep the Sabbath wasn\u2019t the only commandment she had broken today. But she wasn\u2019t vain. Her wardrobe was minimal and conservative. She left ornamentation to her friends and ostentation to women outside of Massachusetts. She knew he was joking, but the accusation still rankled. \u201cI thought we had grown past that old argument.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHardly. It\u2019s my favorite pet assumption about you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The wind rattling the window shutters recalled Molly to the task at hand. Too much time had been wasted in arguing. Josiah needed to go before someone heard them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCould you move?\u201d She pointed to the unopened chest where he perched. \u201cSilk thread is in there, and you\u2019re in my way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He didn\u2019t budge. \u201cCan\u2019t you buy some tomorrow?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI want it now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow do you know it\u2019s in here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre you not supposed to be home by now?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTrying to get rid of me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes. I\u2019m in a hurry. After all, it is Sunday, and I\u2019m not supposed to be here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He smirked. \u201cThen why not get the thread later?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJosiah!\u201d Molly stamped her foot as if they were still eight and ten. So much for her supposed nonchalance. \u201cI have no time for this!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had trapped her in her own words. And throwing childish tantrums while he remained coolheaded meant that he\u2019d won.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then his smirk softened, and his eyes held hers. Her frustration melted away, and the smile she could not hide pinched her cheeks. \u201cYou provoking man. I\u2019ve missed you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course you have.\u201d Josiah winked. Then he straightened to his full height and tossed on his hat and greatcoat. He pushed past her and hoisted several rolls of cloth onto his shoulder\u2014unlike her, merchant sailors were used to hauling things. \u201cI\u2019ll come back for the rest.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo!\u201d Molly dropped the tarpaulin that she had begun to remove. \u201cI\u2019ll do it myself.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A wave of rain pelted the roof. He glanced up and quickened his pace toward the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPlease.\u201d She ran and grabbed him by his coat sleeve, pulling him to a stop. \u201cI mean it. You cannot be seen with this cloth.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Josiah set the bolts on a nearby shelf. \u201cWhy?\u201d he asked, ever so calmly. But his brow lifted, demanding the truth. He knew she was up to no good. He would know\u2014as children they had often been up to no good together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s only that\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She squirmed. Could she still hide? She should have hidden when he first showed up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He smiled his stubborn smile. \u201cOnly what, Molly?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Molly opened her mouth to explain, but her excuses wouldn\u2019t come. Nothing would negate the fact that she was stealing what was not legally hers. Josiah would poke a hundred holes in her argument. \u201cMr. Young does not know I\u2019m taking these,\u201d she admitted, her cheeks hot, \u201cand I would rather not drag you into our dispute.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy not ask your father?\u201d Josiah frowned. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t know you\u2019re helping yourself to his stores?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Papa. Josiah had just returned from sea. He did not know about Papa.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Heaviness sank into her chest. She had to tell him the horrible news. Papa\u2019s body, on the floor of his study. His wrists, the knife, the blood\u2014one could hardly tell the one from the other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She squeezed her eyes shut. The image refused to disappear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI take that as a no, he doesn\u2019t.\u201d Josiah\u2019s growl pulled her to consciousness. He lifted her stack of cloth again. \u201cI don\u2019t know why I do these things for you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She waved away his words. \u201cI need to collect the thread.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Molly walked back to the unopened chest, gripped its lid, and swung it upward. Out came a wave of foulness. A dead raccoon. How had it gotten in? Its flesh, rotted. She gagged. It filled her lungs, stung her eyes. Her feet stumbled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The study door opened. A force pulled her inside. Metallic blood. Spilled wine. She circled the polished desk, piled high with tradesmen\u2019s bills. Shattered glass crunched beneath her feet. Papa was on the floor, sprawled across the scarlet-stained hearthstones, the knife in his hand. His handsome mouth drooped open, but his spittle had dried\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014the miniature of Mama, broken in pieces\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014her own lungs, dying in her chest\u2014no air\u2014bile in her stomach\u2014no legs beneath her\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMolly! Talk to me!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Molly opened her eyes. Josiah had her by the elbows, all but lifting her off the floor, his panicked face inches from her own.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe killed himself,\u201d she confessed. \u201cI\u2019m stealing this because he\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then she vomited.<\/p>\n\n\n