“HBC failed to make its required payment to DFC on January 1st, 1775. After communicating through lawyers for months, my parents sailed from here to London on April 19th, the very day your brother was killed at Concord in Massachusetts.

“Since they arrived in London, I have received only two letters from them, one in June last year and a second last September. I have sent them a letter each month since they departed but have received no answers. I have no idea if they are alive or where they are.

“The British now rule Canada with the iron fist of martial law and I have no idea whether they are intercepting our correspondence. I need to get to one of our DFC offices where I can send and receive communications—hopefully with my parents—but at the very least with our many DFC lawyers.

“Going overseas right now is not a good idea for many reasons. The best thing I can do is get to New York City or Norfolk, Virginia. I have five thousand in Spanish silver dollar coins and an equal amount in British pound sterling coins in my father’s office safe. I need to get that specie out of Quebec as soon as I can.

“That’s one reason why I’m hoping and praying you will take me with you tomorrow night, Nathanael. Now, what else do you need to know about my family, dear one?”

I was, as I so often have been—to this very moment—stunned by Marie Sirois. Right from the first day when she saved my life, it was apparent she—or at least her family—had wealth. My father is an architect for affluent American families. But what Marie has shown me—and said over the last three months—is extraordinary.

All I could say in response to her query, “What else do you need to know about my family, dear one?” was with a question of my own: “How can I help you?”

She was still looking at me with those fascinating green eyes, her chin cupped in her right hand. She spoke very quietly, “We have talked about this enough. If you are leaving here—and you should—I am going with you.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You have said the same thing about me. I care more about you than any of the material things here or anywhere else.

“Let’s pack up and be ready to leave with Natanis and Lieutenant Steele tomorrow night. Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” she said with that beautiful smile. “Because I may be pregnant with your child.”

Newburyport, Massachusetts

Saturday, April 27th, 1776

Unlike our trip from Massachusetts to Quebec and all that’s happened since we arrived, our return was in every way the opposite, even though it didn’t begin that way.