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  PRAISE FOR NOVELS BY HEIDI CHIAVAROLI

  The Tea Chest

  “Captivating from the first page. I couldn’t read this novel fast enough, and yet the beautiful writing compelled me to slow down and experience every line. Dual tales of courage, love, and freedom proved even more poignant for being woven together as one. Steeped in timeless truths and served with skill, The Tea Chest is sure to be savored by all who read it.”

  JOCELYN GREEN, CHRISTY AWARD–WINNING AUTHOR OF BETWEEN TWO SHORES

  “The Tea Chest brings two women, separated by centuries, face-to-face with the same question: What is the price of liberty? A master at writing dual timelines, Chiavaroli takes us beyond the historical connection between these two women and wraps them together with a shared spirit.”

  ALLISON PITTMAN, CRITICALLY ACCLAIMED AUTHOR OF THE SEAMSTRESS

  “Seamlessly blending both the colonial and contemporary, Heidi Chiavaroli rivets readers with this compelling timeslip novel. The Tea Chest opens, unleashing an array of fascinating characters and complex circumstances that will have you turning pages as fast as your fingers fly till the end. I could not put this novel down.”

  LAURA FRANTZ, CHRISTY AWARD–WINNING AUTHOR OF THE LACEMAKER

  “Chiavaroli proves herself a master at the intersection of history and present-day in her new novel, The Tea Chest. A gripping tale of the Boston Tea Party and the choices we all must make for truth, the power of forgiveness, and the freedom that comes when we realize to Whom we truly belong. Swoon-worthy romance, heartbreak, and intrigue combine for a thrilling story that will keep me thinking for a long time to come. Bravo!”

  AMY K. SORRELLS, AUTHOR OF BEFORE I SAW YOU

  “The Tea Chest is the rare time-slip novel that gripped me equally in both present and historical settings. Chiavaroli is once again home in the era of her evident passion and its echo into our tumultuous present. Brilliantly researched and executed with passion, The Tea Chest is timeless and empowering. Long may Heidi Chiavaroli reign over thoughtful, effortlessly paralleled fiction that digs deep into the heart of America’s early liberty and the resonance of faith and conviction she offers as its poignant legacy.”

  RACHEL MCMILLAN, AUTHOR OF MURDER IN THE CITY OF LIBERTY

  “Freedom is an innate need in the heart of humanity, and in Heidi Chiavaroli’s latest novel, she takes her readers on a journey to the darkest moments and the brightest victories in the quest for freedom. The Tea Chest is not only a story of America’s birth as a nation, but also one that reflects the clamoring in humanity’s heart to soar unfettered by the weight of chains that bind.”

  JAIME JO WRIGHT, CHRISTY AWARD–WINNING AUTHOR OF THE HOUSE ON FOSTER HILL AND THE CURSE OF MISTY WAYFAIR

  “The Tea Chest is an enthralling story of beauty birthed from sorrow, hope amid ashes, and healing through pain. Chiavaroli has masterfully weaved a timeless tale that kept me turning pages far into the night . . . and reminded me of the gentle truth that identity and worth are found in the eyes of Jesus.”

  TARA JOHNSON, AUTHOR OF WHERE DANDELIONS BLOOM AND ENGRAVED ON THE HEART

  The Hidden Side

  “The Hidden Side is a beautiful tale that captures the timeless struggles of the human heart.”

  JULIE CANTRELL, NEW YORK TIMES AND USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF PERENNIALS

  “Heidi Chiavaroli has written another poignant novel that slips between a heart-wrenching present-day story and a tragic one set during the Revolutionary War. I couldn’t put this book down!”

  MELANIE DOBSON, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF CATCHING THE WIND AND MEMORIES OF GLASS

  “The Hidden Side is a brilliant portrayal of our country’s worst modern-day nightmare and the struggles of its traumatic birth. A stunning novel, not to be missed.”

  CATHY GOHLKE, CHRISTY AWARD–WINNING AUTHOR OF UNTIL WE FIND HOME AND THE MEDALLION

  “This page-turner will appeal to readers looking for fiction that explores Christian values and belief under tragic circumstances.”

  BOOKLIST

  “Filled with fascinating historical details, Chiavaroli connects two women through an artifact of the past. This heartrending tale will engage aficionados of the American Revolution and historical fiction.”

  LIBRARY JOURNAL

  “Both halves of The Hidden Side are singularly compelling, with more of a fine threading between stories than an obvious connection. There is also the shared message that even during times of spiritual darkness, with prayer and hope, forgiveness and new beginnings are always possible.”

  FOREWORD MAGAZINE

  “Chiavaroli’s latest timeslip novel does not disappoint. Both storylines are fully developed with strong character development and they are seamlessly woven together.”

  ROMANTIC TIMES, TOP PICK

  Freedom’s Ring

  “From the Boston Massacre and the American Revolution to the Boston Marathon bombing, history proves the triumph of grace. . . . Evocative, rich with symbolism, honest in its portrayal of human errors, Freedom’s Ring explores what happens when individuals reach the limit of their own ability and allow God to step in.”

  FOREWORD MAGAZINE

  “First novelist Chiavaroli’s historical tapestry will provide a satisfying read for fans of Kristy Cambron and Lisa Wingate.”

  LIBRARY JOURNAL

  “Joy, anguish, fear, and romance are seamlessly incorporated with authentic history, skillfully imagined fiction and the beautiful reminder that good can—and does—come out of darkness.”

  ROMANTIC TIMES

  “A powerful journey into past and present. This masterful love story of God and country both haunts and heals long after the last page.”

  JULIE LESSMAN, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF THE HEART OF SAN FRANCISCO SERIES

  “Beautifully written, a riveting debut novel.”

  CATHY GOHLKE, CHRISTY AWARD–WINNING AUTHOR OF UNTIL WE FIND HOME AND THE MEDALLION

  “An intriguing tale of two women separated by time connected through their search for a strength they desperately need.”

  MELISSA JAGEARS, AUTHOR OF A HEART MOST CERTAIN

  “From courage in the face of tragedy to the healing power of forgiveness, this book will leave you with a wonderful message of faith, hope, and second chances.”

  SUSAN ANNE MASON, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF THE COURAGE TO DREAM SERIES

  Visit Tyndale online at www.tyndale.com.

  Visit Heidi Chiavaroli at www.heidichiavaroli.com.

  TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  The Tea Chest

  Copyright © 2020 by Heidi Chiavaroli. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of woman copyright © Richard Jenkins Photography. All rights reserved.

  Cover illustration of shield copyright © Volonoff/Shutterstock. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Ron Kaufmann

  Edited by Caleb Sjogren

  Published in association with the literary agency of Natasha Kern Literary Agency, Inc., P.O. Box 1069, White Salmon, WA 98672.

  Scripture quotations in the historical chapters are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.

  The Tea Chest is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.

  For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Tyndale House Publishers at [email protected] or call 1-800-323-9400.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Chiavaroli, Heidi, author.

  Title: The tea chest / Heidi Chiavaroli.

  Description: Carol Stream, Illinois : Tyndale House Publishers, In
c., [2019]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019014802| ISBN 9781496434777 (hc) | ISBN 9781496434784 (sc)

  Subjects: | GSAFD: Christian fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3603.H542 T43 2020 | DDC 813/.6—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019014802

  Build: 2019-07-18 11:33:32 EPUB 3.0

  To Noah,

  Your creative spirit never ceases to amaze me.

  While Noah Adams and the Golden Tomahawk might not have made the cut for the title of this book, it’s still all yours.

  I love you so much!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  WITH EACH BOOK I release, my appreciation for those behind the scenes of each title only grows.

  Thank you to my agent, Natasha Kern, and my editor, Jan Stob, for coming alongside me in the brainstorming process. I am blessed to have both of you beautiful ladies, whom I respect immensely, in my corner.

  Caleb Sjogren, I’m so grateful that readers don’t ever have to read a novel without it first being sifted with your sharp eye and compassionate heart. If they could know how consistently you think of them and put them first, they would be writing you the fan notes instead of me. Thank you for all you do.

  I am so thankful to the Tyndale team for allowing me the privilege to partner with them in getting stories out to readers. Thank you to Karen Watson, Elizabeth Jackson, Kristen Schumacher, Andrea Garcia, and to all the many behind-the-scenes people at this precious publishing home.

  Thank you to my cousin, Stacy Leeds, for giving me a glimpse into what it’s like to be a woman in the military. I admire and respect you so much and am proud to call you my cousin.

  A huge thank-you to my critique partner, Sandra Ardoin, and my #1 fan, Donna Anuszczyk (aka Mom).

  Thank you to the Boston Tea Party Ships and Museum for making that long-ago December night come to life. Thank you to the staff at Medford Historical Society—Jerry Hershkowitz, Ann Marie Gallagher, Mike Bradford, and Kat Ruth-Coleman—for answering my many questions about Revolutionary Medford.

  To the many readers, bloggers, and reviewers who have read my books or stopped to give a word of encouragement or to write a review, thank you. You make it all worthwhile.

  Thank you to my sons, James and Noah, for continuing to think it’s pretty cool that your mom’s an author. Thank you to my husband and love, Daniel, for letting me vent when I’m overwhelmed, for celebrating in the times of victory, and for continually believing that I am called to do this writing thing.

  Lastly, thank you to my God and Savior for not only giving me strength when I am weak, but for renewing my joy and hope.

  I know of no way of judging the future but by the past.

  PATRICK HENRY

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Historical Note

  Preview of The Hidden Side

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  Hayley

  NAVAL SPECIAL WARFARE CENTER

  CORONADO, CALIFORNIA

  The bell was beautiful.

  Brass, harboring a thousand hidden stories, it reminded me of the Liberty Bell in Independence Hall—of the one time, pre–military life, that I’d left my Massachusetts hometown, the only man who’d ever earned my respect beside me.

  Somehow, my uncle Joe knew. He knew I’d needed to get away from it all. From the silvery peels of losing scratch tickets and broken rum bottles on the scratched wood of our coffee table, hope transferred to dirty needles, caps off, lying beside them.

  My mother, Lena, passed out on the couch, the logo of her Happy Helpers Housekeeping uniform just visible beneath the shiny drool along her chin.

  I’d needed to get away from the screaming late at night.

  The knife I kept beside my bed in case one of her boyfriends came in . . . again.

  The wondering if I’d ever have enough guts to use the knife if it meant protecting myself.

  After that trip to Philadelphia, after seeing that cracked, ancient, glorious bell, after listening to the classified stories disguised in fictional form that my uncle Joe used to instill hope, after exploring the exciting beginnings of our country, after knowing he believed in me . . . well, I didn’t wonder anymore.

  The first time I pulled the knife on Lena’s boyfriend, he’d slipped into my room, his cheap cologne filling the thick summer air. His steps came heavy as I pretended to sleep, my hand curled around the knife, waiting for the heat of his hand to graze my bare thigh and inch upward. From experience, I knew what would come next. But instead of succumbing to it, instead of praying that it would all just end quickly, this time, Uncle Joe’s stories came to mind. His words.

  “Your worth is not in where you come from, Hayley. Your worth is what you already have inside of you—what God put there from the very beginning—the will to live, the will to fight. No one can take that away from you. You have a say in how your life goes.”

  All that beautiful bell symbolized—freedom and pride and country and everything outside of that stuffy room with this man who kept my mother chained to her addictions—swelled over me. In one swift motion I twirled from my stomach, the knife tight in my grasp, the small lesson my uncle had given me on the best place to kick a man well-rehearsed and executed.

  As I stood over the crumpled form, knife unused, I felt a sense of power. And as he backed his skinny, shot-up backside out of my room, promising not to bother me again, I realized something. Something wonderful.

  I was strong.

  And to me, being strong meant one thing: I wasn’t weak.

  I wasn’t like my mother.

  Now, I glanced at the bell situated prominently in the Naval Special Warfare Center. When I’d come to the facility a week earlier, I’d ignored the bell, put it at a distance from myself. While I’d already made history in becoming the first woman to enlist in Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training, responding to the defense secretary’s announcement that all combat positions—no exceptions—would be open to women, I was determined to let that history play out. Now, having passed the intense physical screenings, the country’s eyes were on me, or rather the gender I stood for, as my name hadn’t been released to the press.

  And I’d been determined not to let them down. Determined not to let my uncle Joe down. Not to let . . .

  But I wouldn’t think of Ethan now. Or of Emma, or the tea chest and the newspaper article Ethan had sent me a few days earlier. They would only serve to ruin my concentration, to ruin everything I’d worked so hard for, to ruin who I knew myself to be.

  The wearing do
wn that I had prepared myself for had begun three days earlier. With each derogative comment from one of the men, with each bloodied wound and aching muscle piled upon my sleep-deprived brain an inch away from hypothermia, with each wave pounding us in IBS training and rock portage, I felt it.

  And today, for the first time, I imagined walking up to the bell outside the main office, as thirty-two of my classmates had already done, of releasing the melancholy sound from that old symbol of freedom and laying down my lonely green helmet alongside the rest. Of being done.

  Quitting. Maybe even going back home.

  My wet pants rubbed sand and sea salt into the open wounds on the insides of my thighs as I did squats with my team. My arm muscles burned as I tried to hold my own in balancing the log above my head, the “Up, down” directions of our instructor hazy in my mind.

  I’d read somewhere that if the thought of DOR (Drop on Request) so much as enters your head during training, then you’re not Navy SEAL material.

  With that thought, I forced my gaze off the bell, looked instead to the back of my friend Carpenter’s head, his own arms shaking with effort.

  The lieutenant paced beside us, stopped alongside me as we stood from our squat. “Ensign Ashworth, that bell’s looking pretty good, isn’t it? A warm bed, maybe a doughnut and some coffee. Oh, that’s right—tea for you, isn’t it, Ashworth? A cup of tea’s looking mighty fine right about now, isn’t it?”

  Seriously, this guy didn’t miss a thing. Not my bell fantasizing, or my tea sneaking in the chow hall. I forced my arms stronger, wished I’d left the tea at home. I’d given up more to prove I was one of the guys.

  It was just tea, after all.

  “No, chief!”

  “Then why are you embarrassing your team, me, and my instructor staff with your sandbagging attitude? Your weakness can jeopardize your entire team. Go make a sugar cookie, Ashworth. You have three minutes to hit the surf, get some sand, and decide you want to help your team. Move, move, move!”

  My arms fell numb at my sides, even as the men on either side of me groaned at the heavier weight now transferred to them. “Yes, chief!”