Patriots dream, p.27
Patriot's Dream, page 27
“Ask Cam and she’ll tell you nobody but the English matter. That’s not true, though. The western parts of the state were settled by Germans and Scotch-Irish. And, although we all hate to admit it, most of the English settlers weren’t gentry…. Now don’t you sniff at me, Camilla Wilde. Our very own ancestress was an indentured servant, or worse. I’ve always suspected the worst of that redheaded woman.”
“Many aristocrats,” said Camilla coldly, “were reduced to poverty after giving their entire fortunes to serve the ill-fated King.”
Mrs. Cox guffawed unkindly. Jan tried to turn the subject back to the one that interested her.
“Germans and Scotch-Irish? Do we have any of them in our background?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Cox said. “There was that Lutheran connection of the Wildes, Cam. What was the name of the family?”
“It was not in the direct line of descent.” Camilla obviously didn’t care for this topic. “One of the younger sisters…. I never pursued that particular line.”
“Naturally,” her friend said. “Have more tea, Cam. Your ancestors aren’t as interesting as mine, anyway. Jan, let me tell you about Washington and that minx Sally Fairfax. There was a lot in that affair that didn’t ever see the light of day, let me tell you!”
It was impossible to change the subject without rudeness. Jan heard a lot more than she wanted to know about the gallivanting of the Father of his Country. It sounded pretty harmless to her, but Mrs. Cox enjoyed every innuendo.
When they took their departure, Mrs. Cox invited Jan to come back anytime.
“Especially if you want to hear some gossip,” she said, with a wicked grin. “I can tell you things the history books don’t print.”
Camilla waited till they were out on the street before she expressed herself.
“Poor Marian, she has altered, and not for the best. I hope you will disregard her remarks, Jan. General Washington carried on a casual flirtation with Mrs. Fairfax, no more. He was a handsome man, and most attractive to the ladies.”
“I’m sure…. About that German family, Aunt Cam—”
“As I told you, I never traced that line. It was a collateral branch, and quite undistinguished.”
Jan could have shrieked with frustration. Here was a hint at what she most wanted to know, and Camilla didn’t even remember the name of the family. She continued to question her aunt until Camilla agreed to show her some of her genealogical records.
Camilla continued to talk about the noble family and exalted social standing of the Wildes all the way home. Jan tried to shut out the sound of her voice, but was only partially successful. Nor was she pleased to learn, from Uncle Henry, that Richard had called and announced his intention of dropping by for a few minutes on his way to rehearsal.
“I told him to come for dessert and coffee,” Henry explained and added, looking pleased with himself, “I’d have asked him to dinner, but I know how you girls are about unexpected guests. I can see how you feel. If there are only three chops—”
“There are only three chops,” Jan said grimly. “And there is no dessert. I was going to make instant pudding. I can’t offer Richard—”
“He said he’d bring some ice cream. Peach. He asked me, so I told him, peach—”
Jan fled into the kitchen. She adored Uncle Henry, she really did, but…. And damn Richard. What business had he dropping in whenever he pleased? He would want to know the answer to the rather important question he had asked her…. Was it only yesterday?
Richard arrived while they were still at the table. He had brought not only peach ice cream but chocolate ripple, which was Camilla’s favorite. Everyone had a nice time except Jan who said little. Nor was she particularly gracious when Richard asked her to walk to the car with him.
“Don’t worry, honey, I’m not going to heckle you,” he said, as soon as they were out of the house. “I’m not going to say another word until you’re ready to talk about it. I don’t suppose….”
“No,” Jan said. “I mean, I’m still thinking.”
“Sure, you take your time. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. How about Saturday? We could spend the afternoon. Have lunch, go swimming.”
“All right. Thank you.”
“What are you mad about?” Richard asked, with the smile that could be so charming.
“Aunt Cam, I guess. Honestly, Richard, I get so tired of the ancestors! They couldn’t all have been cavaliers fleeing from Cromwell; there must have been a bank robber or a pickpocket somewhere on the family tree.”
“Sure there was,” Richard said. “More pickpockets than barons, after all. You and I enjoy them, but your aunt…. Let her revel in her aristocratic ancestors. It doesn’t hurt.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“And I know you wouldn’t say anything to hurt the old lady. Come and yell at me when you get mad.” He stopped and turned to face Jan. “Damn this daylight saving,” he said, with a glance at the crowded street. “You’re safe, Jan, I won’t try a passionate embrace in broad daylight in front of fifty gaping tourists. Good night, honey.”
He is a dear, Jan thought, as she went back up the steps. Sweet, thoughtful…. Why can’t I love him?
But she knew the answer.
Chapter
17
May 1781
THE TAVERN WAS THE ONE JONATHAN HAD MENTIONED to Mary Beth the day they learned of Charles’s death in battle. It deserved every opprobrious epithet she had given it.
The taproom was not the handsome paneled chamber one found in such hostelries as the Raleigh, but a small room with walls of rough planking and a crude brick fireplace. The corner bar had a wooden grill that could be lowered when the bartender left the room in order to prevent patrons from helping themselves. The fireplace was drawing badly and the room was thick with smoke. Ale and rum spilled by hundreds of drinkers had left the splintery tables sticky to the touch, and the stains on the bare planking of the floor were evilly provocative.
Jonathan sat on one of the settles before the smoking fire. The contents of the mug he held had not been touched, and the ale had gone flat. The man next to him snored in a drunken stupor, his flabby body sprawled over most of the seat. Jonathan ignored him. From time to time he slipped his watch surreptitiously from his pocket. His clothing did not match the handsome gold timepiece. He had never been noted for the elegance of his attire, but his present costume had slipped far down the social scale; it was the rough homespun shirt and breeches of a laborer.
Finally the watch’s lagging hands indicated the hour he had been awaiting. He gave a small, quickly stifled sigh and went out.
The night was dark, and so was the man who slipped noiselessly out of the concealment of the empty stall in the stable. Sensing rather than seeing the movement, Jonathan spun around, and the dark shadow let out a breath that would have been a laugh if it had had any sound behind it.
“You sure nervous tonight.”
“James,” Jonathan whispered.
“You expectin’ Gen’ral Cornwallis?”
“Or one of his associates. I walk in that expectation hourly,” Jonathan admitted.
A blur of white teeth showed briefly. The other man’s voice held sympathy as well as amusement when he said softly,
“Cain’t blame you for that. You worse off than me, an’ I startle easy myself…. What you got this time?”
Paper crackled—thin, much-folded paper—and two hands met briefly in the darkness.
“Cornwallis is on his way to Petersburg to join Arnold,” Jonathan whispered. “He is expecting reinforcements from New York shortly; the details are written here. That will bring British strength to about seven thousand men.”
James made a soft clicking sound with tongue and teeth.
“I dunno what the Gen’ral can do. He say he ain’t even got enough men to get beat.”
“Where is Lafayette now?”
“Somewhere’s around Richmond.”
The reply had been slow in coming. Jonathan sensed the other man’s hesitation; his voice, though soft, held a note of bitterness when he replied.
“I don’t blame you for not trusting me, James. I’ve turned my coat too often.”
“One thing you never change your mind about,” James said slowly. “Don’t mistake me, Mr. Jonathan. The less you know—”
“The less I’ll be tempted to tell to save my neck from a noose,” Jonathan finished. “All right. I understand. Has there been any word from Saul?”
“They don’ catch him yet, if that’s what you mean,” was the grim reply. “We all dream ’bout ropes, Mr. Jonathan.”
An involuntary shiver passed through the black man’s body, and Jonathan said impulsively, “Why do you do it, James? Why do you risk your neck for a cause that makes you another man’s slave?”
“I druther be a slave here than in the West Indies,” James answered. “That’s where the British sell the folks they catch. They don’ free ’em, that’s for sure. Besides…”
“Well?”
“It’s a fine word—freedom,” the other man said hesitantly. “There’s gotta be more to it than a word.”
“God grant that it be so,” Jonathan whispered. “If the ringing phrases are no more than words, then you and I and hundreds of others are victims of the bitterest jest in history.”
“I get my freedom, though,” James said confidently.
“Did your master say so?”
“Mist’ Armitage? He let me come, but…. The Gen’ral done promise me.”
“I hear that Lafayette is a fine man.”
A soft chuckle relieved that taut atmosphere.
“He not a man, jes’ a boy that ain’t outgrowed his baby fat. But he gettin’ bald already.”
“Marie Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette,” Jonathan murmured. “Nineteen years old when he ran away from France to join us, against King Louis’ express command…. They say Washington loves him like a son.”
“Cain’t help likin’ him,” James admitted. “An’ you can trust his word; that counts more…. Why don’ you come meet him, Mr. Jonathan? He ask about you.”
“No. You promised, James.”
“An’ I keep my word too. But I dunno why you do this. Seems like this way everybody out to hang you, Mr. Jonathan.”
It was Jonathan’s turn to chuckle, but his laugh held little humor.
“You have summed up the situation admirably, James. But it’s an uncommonly productive arrangement, while it lasts. I had a hunch last time I saw my…friend in Tarleton’s brigade that he was getting suspicious of my zeal.”
“Then you better stop,” James said, concern deepening his voice. “Your fren’ be waitin’ for you with a pistol one o’ these days.”
“I can’t stop quite yet. There is something afoot. I suspect they are planning a raid on Charlottesville. It was a good idea to move the capital, after what Arnold did to Richmond last year; but I fear they did not move it far enough. And if the British can capture the governor, or the members of the legislature….”
“I tell the Gen’ral.”
“There’s nothing to tell yet. If such a move is planned, I’ll have to find out the date and the movements of the troops. I’ll try to inform you.”
“Mmm.” James managed to convey agreement, apprehension, and admiration in the single sound. “All right, I see what I kin find out too. I gotta go now, the Gen’ral, he waitin’ for me.”
“I know. I appreciate your staying to talk to me, James. It was selfish of me to delay you.”
“It’s a lonesome thing, what you do,” James said gently. “You take care, Mr. Jonathan. You hear?”
“You too. Next week, the other place.”
There was no answer, no visible movement, only the slightest shift of the darkness. Jonathan was alone.
Instead of returning directly to the inn he took a roundabout path, following the creek for part of the distance, and stopping every few minutes to listen. It was uneasy weather, with a brisk erratic wind that created strange sounds among the leafed branches. Tattered clouds, driven across the half-moon’s face, shaped shadows in places where none should be. The eeriness of the night did not help Jonathan’s taut nerves. He hesitated for some time before entering the grove of firs that separated the inn path from the main road; and when the dark figure moved out from behind a massive tree trunk, his hands encircled its throat before it could utter a sound.
Almost as quickly he released the strangling hold and caught the swaying figure by the shoulders. The hood of the cloak that enveloped it had fallen back, but he did not need the evidence of sight to identify her.
“Leah! What are you doing here? You shouldn’t have come. If you were seen—”
“I had to see you. Should I have gone to your room?”
“It wouldn’t have damaged my reputation,” Jonathan said shortly. “Come; put up your hood and I’ll walk you home.”
“I have to talk to you.”
“We’ll talk as we go. This is the worst possible place for a private conversation. A regiment could creep up unseen.”
He did not wait for her to answer, but arranged the folds of the cloak so that it concealed her face and figure. Then he took her arm. Neither spoke until they reached the open area of the road. It was a narrow track, barely wide enough for a wagon. They walked along the weedy verge, next to a field that lay open under the fitful moonlight, and finally Jonathan relaxed.
“How did you know I would be…out tonight?” he demanded.
“The slave knows what the master does before he does it,” she answered. Her face was hidden in the shadow of the hood, but the irony in her quiet voice told Jonathan how much she had changed since Charles’s death. “Don’t worry,” she added. “None of the ones who know would betray you. But it’s a dangerous game.”
“I didn’t mean you to know,” Jonathan said, ignoring the implicit warning. “What you did tonight was dangerous too. Why didn’t you speak to me today when I visited Mr. Wilde? I didn’t even know you were in Williamsburg.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? There is no danger now to his precious honor. He doesn’t know or care where I am.”
“He’s a broken old man,” Jonathan said, disturbed by the cold hate in her voice. “You mustn’t blame him—”
“I do blame him. If I could do him an injury, I would.”
“Hating will only hurt you, Leah, not him.”
“You sound like a preacher,” she said savagely. “Why don’t you go and live with him then? He dotes on you. ‘Mr. Jonathan, Mr. Jonathan,’ all day long. It’s very funny. If he had the faintest idea what you have done—”
“You wouldn’t tell him?”
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” she said, after a moment. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore. Do you think I like feeling this way? I don’t want to hate. Especially now…. Please stop here. We’re almost in town and I have something to say to you. You must tell me what to do.”
Trudging along, a worried frown on his face, Jonathan seemed to have forgotten his fears of being seen. They had not met anyone on the road. Now, as her hand tugged at his sleeve, he stopped obediently.
“I wish you could find it in your heart…. Oh, very well,” he said as she let out a muffled sound of exasperation. “I’ll be happy to advise you if I can. You might have chosen a wiser mentor; God knows I haven’t done well with my own life. What is the problem?”
The answer was short and simple. Three words expressed it.
Jonathan literally staggered. His face, whitened by the moonlight, went even paler.
She waited, her hands clenched, while he struggled to assimilate the news, but her own nerves were strained to the breaking point, and soon she burst out,
“Turn your back and walk away if you want to. I thought you would understand. You’re horrified, I can see you are. Why don’t you ask me who the father is?”
“Why—I know that,” Jonathan said, in a gasp. “When did—Oh. Of course. In March, before he went back. How can you—are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Poor child.”
She shook her head. There were tears on her cheeks, tears of relief that he wasn’t angry, but she held her head high.
“You don’t have to be sorry for me. I’m proud. Can you understand that?”
“Yes,” Jonathan said.
“Only…it’s so hard to know what to do.”
“You don’t want to tell his father? He has so little to live for now—”
“And you think this would bring him joy? How can you be so innocent? You don’t understand people at all, you never see evil in them. Do you know what he would do if he found out? He’d sell me. As soon as he could, as far away as possible. He couldn’t stand to see me, or the child; we would remind him of too many things he can’t face. I wouldn’t mind going away. But I won’t belong to another man, not now. And I won’t let Charles’s son, the only thing that’s left of him, be a slave. I know what I have to do, that wasn’t hard to figure out. But I need your help.”
“You want to run away,” Jonathan said slowly.
“I want to be free. I want Charles’s child to be free. You can help me. You have to! That’s what you did all those years, help people get away—”
“But they were men,” Jonathan said. “Able-bodied men who could earn a living. Or women who had men to take care of them. What could you do, alone—worse than alone, with an infant to support and tend….”
His voice trailed off helplessly. Leah took a step back, her eyes narrowing.
“You must help me,” she said. “If you don’t, I’ll tell them about you. I’ll tell Walforth that you’re tricking him. I can, you know. Men still go to the British, they go every day. We have our secret ways….”
Jonathan stood like a man turned to stone. Leah’s voice broke in a sob.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t do that; you know I wouldn’t. But I’m so afraid….”
Jonathan put his arm around her and pulled her against his shoulder. She clung to him while he stroked her hair.
