He sucked in hard, his face stricken as his hand came up to cup her cheek. “Miss Rebekah, you know his fate already.”
She stepped back, her jaw set. “I will hear none of that talk, Tom Sutton. Young Benjamin’s father intends to pull him through and I will be here to make certain it is so. It is the least I can do after losing my Rufus.” She gave him a shaky smile and a swift kiss on the cheek. “Get that medicine to me as quickly as possible, you hear?”
The woodsman hugged her and stepped outside. The rumble of wagon wheels faded into the distance after a short spell. Sweat broke out on my forehead as the war ensued with my stomach. I did not think that bit of tea was staying put. I rolled on my side and tucked my knees into my chest, gripping the side of the mattress with a clenched fist. I concentrated on the soft hum of conversation between the lady of the house and my travel-worn step-father, trying to distract myself.
Jacob settled in a chair by the fireplace, his hands raised to the flames as a ripple ran through him, making his clothes quiver. A bolt of fear ran through me. What if my step-father caught this horror from tending me? Rebekah brought him a fresh cup of tea. He watched her from the corner of his eye, keeping quiet. She wiped my brow again, her palm lingering on my forehead. Rebekah winced at the heat rolling off my skin. Weak as I was, I managed to reach up and entwine my fingers with hers. I managed a nod and my eyes slid closed. She left my side and it was as if someone had cut off a limb.
When I managed to take in my surroundings again, Rebekah was seated by Jacob, sipping at her own cup of tea. He set his cup down and spoke in a low voice. I had to strain to hear her. “Who was your visitor?”
She let out a sigh and stood, her moccasin-covered feet padding quietly on the wood floor. “I must be completely honest with you, so you can make a decision with your eyes wide open about your association with me. My Rufus was a smuggler. He brought his recipe for bourbon whiskey with him from Kentucky. When Madison’s War began, the opportunity to make a living off his special blend was simply too good to be ignored. The Royal army and the locals in Canada were only too willing to buy his goods. After my husband died, I was all alone here. I had to find a way to make a living. He passed his recipe on to me and I continue to make it in my distillery out in the barn. Tom Sutton is a part of a network that smuggles my bourbon whiskey up north and divvy up the profits with me. That is the plain truth of it. I will understand if you cannot stay under the same roof with the likes of someone like me. I sense that you and your son are men of honor.”
Her admission brought me to full awareness, my body going tight at the thought that we might have to leave. I gritted my teeth as the next spasm attacked my stomach and wrung me out. I silently prayed Jacob would not make me move.
Jacob gave her a weary smile. “I thank you for your honesty.” He folded one of her hands in his. “I will be honest as well, brutally so. I do not believe my son will make it if I take him anywhere else. As for your colorful past, is not this young nation built on a foundation of breaking all manner of conventions? You must do what you must do to survive. Everyone must. To my knowledge, many are smuggling to make ends meet. What other choice do you have when England has cut off supplies from other nations?” His words trailed off, his eyes troubled.
What choice did any of us have? My step-father did not want to fight, but war had come to us. We did not ask for it, but we would meet the enemy at the gate.
Rebekah returned to her chair and they both stared into the flames while I attempted to tame the beast inside me. My stomach was griping like a snake writhing inside, jabbing me with its vicious fangs time and again. I knew it was a losing battle.
My step-father spoke, and I clung to the sound of his voice to soothe me in any way possible. “Your recipe must be quite desirable if it is in such demand. I have heard of the wonders of Kentucky bourbon, but I have never sampled it myself. Do you think that I might have a swallow? I am sorely in need of fortification, something more than tea can offer.”
Rebekah stood and squeezed his shoulder at his request, moving to the kitchen to fill two tankards. A strong whiff nearly burned the hair in my nostrils as she passed by my bed. Jacob took a great swallow and coughed, swiping his lip with his sleeve. His eyes watered, but his smile stretched from ear to ear. “Powerful stuff that is, but fine. Very fine, indeed.” Another swallow and the tremors that had shaken his body finally came to a halt, giving me a bit of ease.
Our hostess sipped at her drink. She caught my step-father staring over his shoulder at me. He could not truly relax if I was not well. It was not in his makeup.
Rebekah laid her hand on his. “You have a very strong bond with your son.”
Jacob’s voice shook when he managed to push the words past his clenched teeth. “Benjamin is not even mine, but I love him like my own. His father died on the battlefield at the close of the Revolution. I married his mother to keep dishonor from her name—and because I loved her.”
“You made a conscious decision to love him as well when you pledged your name. I see that your strength of character has rubbed off. The typhoid reduces most to sniveling weaklings. Your Benjamin must be miserable but does not wallow in it.”
They continued to sip at the bourbon, filling their cups when they were drained, loosening their tongues. I let the river of words wash over me, flowing softly back and forth, carrying me afloat when my fever and pain threatened to pull me under.
“Tell me. How did you meet Benjamin’s mother, and does she have eyes like his? I have never seen anything quite like that hue—except for perhaps my honey when I hold it up to the light in a jar. Never trapped in someone’s gaze.” Rebekah wore a gentle smile, the heat of the fire intensifying the color in her cheeks and the glitter in her eyes. I waited for Jacob’s answer.
“I will never forget the day I first laid eyes on Charlotte.” My step-father turned his body and leveled his gaze with mine. He told this story as much for my benefit as for sating our hostess’ curiosity. “She was in her father’s blacksmith shop, perched on a stool by the window. The sunlight streamed in, catching her eyes. Catching my breath! Her wild tumble of curls—like sun-drenched wheat—formed a cloud around her head and shoulders. She was probably about five or so, only a child. So was I, but I knew from that instant that I wanted her.”
He took a few more swallows of his bourbon, tipping his head back to finish it. “I got my way but have always wished that I’d earned her affections first.” He shrugged. “No matter. How did you meet your husband? Kentucky is a long way from Plattsburgh.”
Rebekah took a sip of her drink. Her throat rippled, the pulse at the base of her neck dancing wildly. I wanted to touch it. My stomach chose that moment to give me a jab so fierce it stole my breath and nearly bent me into a ball. Her words gave me a tenuous hold on consciousness. “My Rufus decided to leave Kentucky, bringing his recipe for bourbon whiskey with him. He had heard that there might be a high demand for his recipe up north, so he made the long trek and built his cabin in the woods. Once he began selling his whiskey, he would come in to town to buy supplies. I was helping my father with his mercantile when I first laid eyes on the stranger in our midst. We could not stop looking at each other. I was in love—from the beginning.”
She was quiet, her hands tightening around her cup. Her face had gone tight, her eyes gleaming brightly with unshed tears. “You should have seen him. In town, he dressed the part of a dashing gentlemen. Then he would take me to his cabin and wear the clothes of the woodsmen. I loved him even more in his buckskin. I know that may sound hard to believe, but it is the truth. He showed me his distillery and taught me his family’s recipe, entrusting the secret to me. By the time the war began, we were married and had built our life together here in the wilderness of the Adirondacks. I joined him in his smuggling endeavors.” The tears began to fall, her face crumpling. “How I loved him. He loved me with a powerful love too. I thought he was strong enough for anything, but the typhoid was stronger.”
&n
bsp; I made a strangled sound, the pain in my stomach too much to bear. I rolled over and held back a groan. Between my aching head and the knives carving my innards, I did not know which was worse. I held my tongue, but I could not stop my body from shaking. I was on fire one instant only to be freezing as if doused in that icy creek water next. I longed for a drink, so thirsty I could barely swallow. I did not say anything. If I drank, I knew my body would rebel. Why put anything in only to have it come back up or out, depending on which direction it chose? Neither was desirable. I closed my eyes and listened to the soft rise and fall of voices, longing for sleep to spare me from my misery for whatever amount of time was granted to me.
“I do not understand why he is so ill and I am not. I would take this burden and carry it for him gladly if I could.” My stepfather’s voice was ragged.
Rebekah murmured back to him in a voice that was sweet music. I wished she was by my side and could hold me while I slipped away to sleep forever. “Is there anything you did differently during your journey?”
Silence pressed down on all of us as Jacob pondered her question. I wondered if I had fallen asleep. “Nothing, except Benjamin went for a swim in the creek.” The humor rose up in his voice, nearly bubbling over in the form of laughter, creating a warm spot inside of me. “He filled his canteen and drank his fill while I spoke with some of the militia members that surrounded us, taking a reprieve. Some of them were drinking from the creek, others were bathing, and more relieved themselves on shore.”
Rebekah gasped. “It is the water. You did not drink from the creek?” Jacob murmured no. “I am sure that is at the heart of your son’s illness. My Rufus shared the canteen of another smuggler who was infected. He died shortly before my husband. I have learned to boil water before I drink it or make my bourbon. An old Native woman, a healer, told me that boiling the water will kill evil spirits and keep you from harm.” There was a smile in her voice. “I do not know about evil spirits, but it would not surprise me if there is something that lives in the water and is too small for us to see. No matter. Ever since I lost Rufus, I have boiled the water. There has been no illness in this house since.”
Water poisoned me? My stomach chose that instant to protest and I turned over yet again, my arms wrapping tightly around my middle. Make it stop. Please. Make. It. Stop.
Footsteps approached. I looked up. Rebekah eyed me closely, her hand on my forehead. In her other hand, she held her tankard. “Take a swallow of this, Benjamin. It will light a fire in your gut.” She pushed the hair from my forehead. It was wet with sweat. “Perhaps stronger than the one that you already have. My Rufus said that his innards burned like he swallowed a red-hot coal.”
An arm as strong as an iron rod wrapped around my shoulders to hoist me into a sitting position. I drank, hoping her bourbon had curative powers, that something would put me out of my misery. She gave me an encouraging smile and tipped the cup yet again. I let the liquid fire roll over my tongue and slide down my throat, taking in deep swallows until it dribbled down the front of my shirt. With a thirst more powerful than any I had ever known, I drank it down to the last drop, taking in a great gulp of air at the end.
I closed my eyes, hoping against hope that I had won the war when my innards gave a great wrench. I lurched from the bed. I would not get sick on her bed or her floor. I made it as far as her door and hit my knees. I crawled to the heavy growth of brush by her cabin and gave in to the needs of my body as it purged itself of the bourbon. I had never been so ill in my entire life. I wanted to die.
A cool hand rested on my neck. I slowly turned my head to see the steady presence of Jacob lending me his strength. A picture of my mother hovered in my mind. Her honey eyes, like mine. Her smile. For his sake and Mama’s, I managed to get up off my hands and knees. Leaning heavily on my step-father, I managed to make it to Rebekah’s bed. The room spun, and I knew no more.
17
4 August 1814
Benjamin Willson Cooper
I was in and out as the first light of dawn crept in the window, washing the walls in light. I imagined I could touch it, that if I did, unspeakable warmth would rush through my body from head to toe. If I could drink it, would the sun’s rays chase the illness away? A cool, wet cloth pulled me from my daze. Rebekah. My angel.
I glanced over at Jacob. He was sound asleep on a pallet of buckskins by the fire, a furrow digging into his forehead from time to time. Rebekah followed my gaze. “The poor man is done in.”
“He has not slept to speak of since...” My words trailed off, my thoughts muffled by the fog of my fever. Rebekah entwined her fingers with mine. I forced myself to focus. “Not since I took ill. I do not know how many days—that has been. It feels like forever. Jacob has always been my keeper.”
“Even though you were not his own.” I stared up at her and nodded. I finally understood what Jacob had done for me. This woman was not mine and yet I had already developed such a powerful attraction to her.
“No matter. I am the child of is heart and he is the only father I have ever known.” I winced as my innards twisted hard enough to steal my breath away. “I am glad.” I sucked in, blew out again. “I am glad—he is not suffering—this illness. I do not think. I do not think. My mother. Could bear to lose. Another man. She loves.”
Rebekah leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Then we cannot let you go either, for if there is one thing I am certain, your mother’s heart belongs to you.” Her hands cupped my face and she became still. I thought that she was going to grace me with a kiss when a whistle pierced the silence. “It is Tom Sutton.”
She hurried to the door, taking up her musket yet again. Jacob stood from his pallet, scraping at his face, prepared to confront any intruders that could be lurking outside. Rebekah pulled on the knob and the smuggler we had met the day before walked in with his arms laden with a pack. She took it from him and hurried to the table. “Sit, Tom. I will make you breakfast before I send you on your way.”
He nodded and eased himself into a chair by the hearth, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. “That is mighty kind of you, Miss Rebekah. I have not stopped to eat, drink, or sleep since you sent me. I knew how urgent it was to get this medicine.” Tom rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a wad of money. “Here is your portion from the latest exchange. I will come by in a week for another batch. I do not want to come too soon. Things are heating up. They say General Prevost is fast approaching and he will be bringing a much larger force with him. There is also talk that Izard may have to pull out. If they leave Plattsburgh undefended, we are all done for.”
Sutton set his hat on the table and rubbed at his eyes. Jacob sat down across from him. I wanted to join them, be a part of the conversation, but my body was too busy speaking with me loud and clear. I rolled off the bed and crawled yet again, making it out the door and into the nearby woods before I dropped my pants. As my insides emptied out on to the ground, the world went on tilt. I pitched on to a bed of leaves and weeds. I closed my eyes and began to drift.
“What do you think you are doing?” Rebekah stood propped against a tree, her jaw jutting out as I lay still after relieving myself, unable to do more than pull my pants back up.
The thunder in my head crashed even louder. I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the sun. “Waiting to see who wins the battle inside of me. Right now, I would wager on my stomach.”
Two strong hands took hold of mine. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Tom has brought me every Native remedy there is. We will make that wayward stomach fall into line and quell this rebellion.” I opened my eyes and focused on my angel, brighter than any sun.
***
My step-father’s face was tortured as he prepared to go. He did not want to leave my side, yet I did not need another caretaker. One person wasting her time on me was one person too many. No matter how miserable I was, no matter how much my guts griped and my head throbbed, I would not let Jacob know. I managed to hitch myself up to a sitting position to play ou
t the greatest ruse of my life.
My step-father sat on the side of the bed, his palm on my forehead, forcing me to stare into his blazing blue gaze. The tears came, welling up and spilling over. They ran down his face. He did not try to stop them or wipe them away. “I must go. I need to let Stoner know we are here and offer whatever aid that I can. You heard Sutton. If the men are planning on pulling out, Plattsburgh is going to need a miracle to save her. I will be back for you. No matter what. I am not abandoning you. Be well, my son. Know that I have always loved you and let that carry you through this trial.”
Weakly, my hand came up to grip his shoulder. He winced. At the heat? Or the complete lack of strength? If a strong wind blew through the room at that moment, it would take me down and pitch me to the floor. I forced myself to keep my voice steady, to stay propped up against the pillow. He will not see me fall. “Be sure to carry my love with you, Father. Be safe. Do not worry for me. I am in the best of hands. Come back to me when you can. I will be waiting for you. I promise.”
Rebekah pressed her palm in his at that moment and gifted him with her smile. I watched him go out the door. I struggled to sit up more, straining to look out the window. Rebekah lent me her sturdy shoulder, allowing me to see my step-father mount. I kept my eyes pinned on the torch of his hair. He turned back toward the window one last time. I raised my hand in farewell, making sure it he would get one more glimpse of me to tide him over. He waved and began his journey.
Completely done in, I collapsed in my pillows. The flames rose up inside of me, licking at my bones, turning me to dust. My head would soon split down the middle. I could not remember the last time I ate anything. No matter. I could not keep anything down. The clutches of darkness pulled at me, impossible to resist. My last thought? For the first time in my life, I might not be able to keep my promise.
Liberty's Legacy (The Liberty Series Book 3) Page 11
