Turncoat

by Deborah Chester

  “Why?” she whispered.

  He forced himself to turn away, although it hurt. It wasn’t fair to her, and it wasn’t fair to him, not to start something now.

  There was so much he wanted to say to her, so much he could have said. He struggled with himself a long time. Finally he said, “Thank you, Sally Crewe. I will not see you again.”

  “Won’t you ever return to America?” she asked wistfully. Her voice was choked.

  What have I done? he asked himself. But he knew. He had filled her dreams with a kiss by starlight and if he flattered himself now it would be to think she might hold this memory in her heart all her life.

  He shook his head. “No, I won’t come back.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered and rested her hand upon his arm.

  He could have kissed her again. But he didn’t. “So am I,” he said. “Good-bye, Sally.”

  “Will you leave early then?”

  “Before dawn.”

  She reached out and smoothed back his hair, then she drew away from him and pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders. She turned and together they walked back to the house. “There’s no more to say, is there?” she asked at last.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Her steps quickened. She swept ahead of him into the house, holding her head high. At the foot of the stairs, however, she glanced back. He saw anger in her face, but it was only to hold back something else neither of them could admit. For a moment, her eyes softened.

  “Be well, Noel Kedran,” she said.

  He took her hand and kissed it. “Be well, Sally Crewe.”

  With a small, formal nod of her head, she withdrew her hand from his and went upstairs without looking back.

  Dawn found him sitting in a cold saddle, bundled to the chin against the damp dew. The money he had taken from Peterson served to pay Kinkiddie for his hospitality and for a horse. Saving out a little for expenses, he tucked the rest in Robert’s belongings while the boy was sleeping. He hated to slip away without saying good-bye, but it was hard enough already.

  Now he was a good three miles from the Kinkiddie farm, heading due east with the sun in his eyes. To the west clouds were massing. It would probably rain soon. He pulled his tricorne lower and kicked his horse into a trot. He had allowed himself a day’s easy ride to Valley Forge. Kinkiddie had given him complicated directions, involving such landmarks as a tree split by lightning and a road that turned a quarter mile beyond it, or the Millers’ pond that dried up last July and never had held water again. Noel preferred to rely on his LOC instead. He intended to go slowly since he still tired easily from exertion. If he came to the valley about nightfall, then he would be fresh tomorrow to deal with Leon.

  By the time the sun was well up, the sky was overcast. The wind blew cool and restless. Noel glanced around, frowning. He had the feeling of being watched, a nervous buzzing along the edge of his consciousness. More than once he reined up and listened, his senses stretched alertly. Nothing. But the uneasy feeling only intensified. He was alone, yet his solitude made him feel more isolated than reassured. Dwarfed by the sky and trees, he seemed to be diminishing, losing scale, shrinking to a mere speck in the landscape. The idea that a giant pair of eyes stared down at him from the sky took hold of his imagination.

  He shook his head in self-irritation. Foolishness.

  Finally he looked overhead, but all he saw was a pair of crows wheeling beneath the clouds.

  Noel sighed and rubbed his face. What was the matter with him? Maybe he wasn’t as recovered as he thought, yet he felt fine physically. If only he could shake this uneasy itch from between his shoulder blades.

  The sound of hoofbeats coming behind him made him look back with one hand instinctively on his pistol. A rider was approaching at a gallop. Noel considered taking cover, but he’d already been seen. He reined up and waited tensely.

  But as the rider drew nearer, Noel’s hand slid away from his weapon. There was no mistaking the slim body, the golden hair, or the eager grin. The boy came plunging to a halt beside Noel, his mount blowing steam and pawing the ground.

  “Jupiter!” he said. “I thought I should never catch up. You must have set out much earlier than I expected.”

  Noel bit back a sigh. “Robert,” he said as kindly as he could, “I appreciate your coming to tell me good-bye, but it’s better to just—”

  “Oh, no, sir, not good-bye!” said Robert. A shaft of sunshine broke through the clouds and illuminated them. The boy’s blue eyes seemed to reflect the light. His face shone. “I’m coming with you! I’m ready to have an adventure.”

  Noel stared at him dumbfounded. A dozen scathing comments ran through his mind. He held them back, not wanting to hurt the boy’s feelings, although right then he could have given Robert a shake.

  “You are not coming with me.”

  “But I have to. You’re going to see the general, aren’t you? That’s, that’s where I am going.”

  “You,” said Noel firmly, “are going to Philadelphia with your sister.”

  “Tame stuff,” scoffed Robert. “I’m grown now. I’ve got to do my part. Who wants to sit about Philadelphia in my uncle’s fusty house, studying lessons?”

  “A future governor of Pennsylvania had better be well educated,” said Noel, then could have bitten his tongue.

  Robert opened his blue eyes wide. “Me? A governor? No disrespect, sir, but I think you must be out of your head. I hate politics. I’d much rather carry a musket.”

  “But you don’t have one, do you?” asked Noel.

  “Well, no. But I—”

  “You don’t think Washington can afford to provide everyone with arms, do you?”

  “Well, times are hard for the army, of course. Congress won’t support them properly. My uncle is so shabby! But I thought I could be useful at something.”

  “Such as?” Noel made his tone as flat and as unencouraging as he could.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I could beat on a drum, or—or carry the flag. It’s very striking with those stripes and stars. Have you seen it?”

  “Yes,” said Noel curtly.

  “Don’t you think it’s prime?”

  “Very colorful,” said Noel.

  He kicked his mount forward, and Robert rode beside him. There was a long moment of silence save for the creaking of the saddles.

  “You’re angry, aren’t you?” Robert finally asked.

  Noel flashed him a look and said nothing.

  “I can see that you are. I’m sorry, but my mind is made up. There are things a man must do.”

  “Such as?”

  This time Noel’s tone made Robert turn red. “Well, I—well, fight for one’s country.”

  “Without a gun.”

  “I shall get a gun.” Robert held up the purse. “You left this money in my room.”

  Noel glared at him. “That money was to help your sister, you idiot! How could I give it to her without—” He stumbled over the rest of his sentence and gave it up. “Ah, hell! You’re supposed to go to Philadelphia, not traipse after me.”

  “I’m not traipsing after you,” said Robert with dignity, although his voice trembled some as Noel continued to glare at him. “I am going to volunteer.”

  “And what about your sister?”

  “She’ll be all right.”

  “Will she?”

  “Of course. Sally can take care of herself.”

  “What makes you think that? Because she’s always taken care of you?”

  Robert flinched. “You’re so different today. I thought you’d be glad to see me. I—I thought you liked me.”

  Noel’s temper snapped. “And what’s that supposed to justify? You’re a boy, Robert, a heedless, stupid boy. You aren’t thinking. You certainly aren’t acting responsibly.”

  “I killed that soldier to save you,” said Robert, his blue eyes dark with anger and hurt. “I didn’t have to shoot him. I could have let him finish you.”

  “You killed a
man. Your first. And that’s something to be proud of?”

  “Well, no, not exactly…but I did it to save you.”

  “And now you want to kill again.”

  “I want to fight the enemy.”

  “Blood’s an addictive taste,” said Noel harshly. “You’ve already forgotten how sick you felt afterward. You think the next time it won’t matter so much, and after that it won’t bother you at all. Maybe you’re right. War is a hell of blood and hot guts spilling over your hands and a man cursing you as he falls at your feet. War is someone doing his best to kill you. Maybe he’ll succeed.”

  “I’m not afraid,” said Robert stubbornly.

  “You should be. When the man who danced at one of your sister’s parties is charging at you, screaming curses, and aiming a bayonet at your stomach—”

  Robert shrugged, tuning him out. “I can take care of myself.”

  White heat swept over Noel. “You fool! You’re full of fantasies of fame and glory. You’re too young to think anything can ever happen to you. So you’ll go blundering in and get yourself killed, and I can’t fix it for you! Do you understand? Oh, I can do a lot. I can make a quick save of events, turn them back on course. I can give people advice. I can perform all kinds of rescues, but what makes you think I want the responsibility of saving everyone? I never asked for it. Each and every time, there’s some fool who just has to dive into what he’s supposed to leave alone. Leon won’t help. God knows, he’s caused more trouble than anyone. But I can’t do it all, Cody! If you go out there and get yourself killed, I can’t—”

  “Sir,” said Robert, looking shocked. “My name is Robert, not Cody.”

  Noel blinked, feeling confused and drained by his sudden anger. “What?”

  “I said my name isn’t Cody. That’s what you called me.”

  Noel frowned and looked down, thinking of another boy in another time, hardly older this one—another decent, bright boy who had died in his arms.

  Don’t get involved with the people you will meet, whispered the voice of his training instructor. Their lives must be played out. You cannot change what will happen to them.

  Noel sucked in a deep breath and straightened in the saddle. “Robert, I—”

  “You’ve said enough, sir,” said Robert angrily, color burning in his cheeks. “You were very clear. I shan’t trouble you again.”

  “Robert, wait!”

  But the boy lashed his horse and galloped on, leaving Noel behind.

  Chapter 17

  Furious, Noel nearly spurred his horse after Robert, but he knew it was no use. His outburst had cost him any influence he’d had over the boy.

  Noel struck his saddle with his fist. “Damn!”

  He’d known all along that it was going too well. No changes in history had been too good to be true. Now here it was, the alteration that he’d been dreading. Robert might think himself able to charge across a battlefield, slaying the enemy right and left, but those were just a boy’s dreams. He was sensitive and compassionate, qualities that would make him vulnerable in any dangerous situation. That, combined with his inexperience at fighting, left him an easy target for seasoned veterans in Britain’s well-trained army.

  And what of the governorship? What of the happy household, what of the two sons who would found one of the soundest, most stable financial institutions of history? What of Noel Robert Crewe? And what of Sally?

  “LOC, activate,” said Noel angrily. “Check for history alterations, specifically in reference to Robert Crewe.”

  “No alterations found.”

  “Yeah, well, stay alert. It’s about to happen.”

  Kicking his horse, he rode on.

  Late in the afternoon, he reached the valley. A steady drizzle had fallen most of the day. He was wet and tired and hungry. His mood had not improved, and he’d been cursing Leon and Robert most of the way.

  A checkpoint stopped him. Noel opened his dripping cloak to show he wore civilian clothes. “My name is Kedran. I’m here in search of a man called Nardek.”

  “Is he a soldier, Mr. Kedran?”

  “Probably.”

  The sentry looked surprised. “You’ll have to talk to Sergeant Clovis. Is it urgent business?”

  “Yes, very urgent.”

  The sentry called to another man. “Escort this gentleman to Sergeant Clovis.”

  The soldier saluted and squinted up at Noel through the rain.

  “If you have weapons, sir, you will surrender them now.”

  Noel handed over his pistols. He was tempted to ask about Robert, but held back the question. These men were too busy to bother with a young boy, and right now Noel was still inclined to let the brat suffer the consequences.

  His guide swung onto a horse and led him up the muddy road. About a quarter mile later they encountered another checkpoint, which questioned them briefly before waving them through.

  In the misty twilight it was hard to see much when Noel finally entered the valley that had been so famous for centuries. Dismounting, he followed his guide through a crowd of soldiers dressed in partial uniforms and mismatched clothing. Many of them lacked boots or shoes and wore rags bound around their feet instead. Most were thin, their faces chiseled by adversity and hardship. But their morale seemed high, and they had a confidence that was palpable.

  “This way,” said his guide.

  Noel hurried after him, still staring. The majority of buildings, including barracks and officers’ quarters, were crude log structures. But there were also tents. As the winter headquarters for the American army, it didn’t look like much. Smoke rose from chimneys. The smell of cooking food filled the air, overlaying odors of horse manure, soured mud, and unwashed bodies. Noel looked at the distant hillside, trying to see if anything looked familiar. Had he really marched here with the defeated army? Those walking skeletons would always haunt him, but the hallucinations weren’t happening now.

  They skirted a parade ground, the grass worn away by marching feet. Numerous tree stumps dotted the area. Noel stopped in astonishment.

  “This is where you drill?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. This way, please.”

  “But how can you march with all those stumps in the way?”

  The man grinned briefly, his teeth a pale glimmer in the fading light. “Why, the baron just has us march around ’em. Makes us quicker on our turns, don’t you see.”

  “Oh.”

  Over on the right, a cluster of men around a fire were singing bawdy songs. Another group was playing cards, using scraps of bark for a deck.

  This, thought Noel in excitement, was exactly the kind of spirit people of his own century had lost. This was the quality travelers such as himself had been trained to observe and record. If only he could put this in his pocket and take it home with him, to share, to spread to the citizens who had lost initiative, and drive, and hope. It was the adherence to a cause that was just. It was the hope of freedom. It was the chance to win big or to lose all.

  Noel inhaled it like air and put his LOC on record mode.

  “Wait here, sir.” His guide knocked on a plank door and went in. Moments later he opened it and beckoned Noel inside.

  Sergeant Clovis was barely five feet tall, a tiny, wizened scrap of a man who might have been of any age. His wig lay on his desk where he’d tossed it. His head was balding and covered with freckles. His front teeth were missing, probably knocked out by the butt of a musket, and he sucked on a long clay pipe. The noxious scent of unfiltered tobacco clouded the room.

  Noel started coughing.

  Clovis frowned. “Never smelled decent Virginia weed, eh? Takes some getting used to, but there’s none better in all the colonies.”

  “No doubt,” said Noel, choking. “Sorry, but I’ve been down with pneumonia. Can’t—”

  “Lung fever, eh? That’s different, then. Hold on.”

  Clovis put out his pipe and propped open the door with a split piece of firewood. There were no windows. The room wa
s hot and stuffy, but the smoke began to curl outside, and the rain-washed scent of fresh air came in.

  Noel took a breath in relief. “Thanks.”

  Clovis gave him a cursory smile and gestured at the stack of papers littering the crude table he used as a desk. “Damned figures, totting them up and writing them down. I think better when I smoke. It’ll clear presently. Now, Mr., er—”

  “Noel Kedran.”

  “Mr. Kedran. Can I be of assistance to you? You’re here to see one of the men?”

  “I’m looking for my brother. His name is Leon Nardek.”

  Clovis’s withered lips pursed momentarily. Something went cold and watchful in his eyes.

  Noel grew wary. He knew Leon had to be in trouble.

  “Brother, you say?”

  Noel nodded.

  “Well, you’re the spittin’ image of him.”

  “What has he done?”

  Clovis grunted and sat down at his desk. He shoved quill pens, inkwells, and sand jars to one side of the blotter. “What hasn’t he done? But before we get into that, let’s clear up a few things. Your names are exact reversals of each other. Why is that?”

  “Uh, a joke of my father’s,” said Noel in startlement. Most people didn’t even notice. This man was quick. “Leon was born on the other side of the blanket, so to speak, and he—”

  “Aye, he’s a bastard all right. I’m not surprised he’s one in the legal sense as well as in every other way. And you’re here to see him. Why?”

  Noel fell back on his standard story. “My father is dying. He wants both of us there.”

  Clovis grunted and pursed his lips. “Are you aware of your brother’s recent activities?”

  Noel hesitated.

  “Where are your sympathies, Mr. Kedran?”

  Noel met his piercing eyes. “With America.”

  “Hmpf. Easy enough to say, standing in our camp.”

  “I have no quarrel with the Continental army,” said Noel.

  “The army, however, has a quarrel with Leon Nardek,” said the sergeant, toying with the feather of his quill pen. His fingers were spattered with ink. “Several, in fact.”