Liberty's Legacy (The Liberty Series Book 3)

by Heidi Sprouse

  “I will make it Rebekah’s finest bourbon.” My step-father had grown a strong liking for her recipe. I looked forward to learning how to make it with her, sample it . . . and her as well. Yanking my thoughts from that dangerous path, I stepped inside to find my mother and my angel rocking and sewing by the fire, chatting easily as if they had known each other forever. “Mama, could I have the salve for Father? His leg is paining him.”

  Needlework forgotten, she quickly stood and went to the bedroom, returning with a tiny pot. Her eyes were troubled as she gazed up at me. “He does too much. I am just happy he is here, with us. Alive.” She raised her hands to cup my face. “That goes for you too, Benjamin.”

  I kissed her on the crown of her head and gave her a smile. “You know we cannot stop him and there is no telling the stubborn man anything.” I took up Rebekah’s jug of bourbon, dropping a kiss on the top of her head before I left them. Her smile lit, like a flare-up from the cinders of a fireplace. I carried that glow inside me as I joined my step-father on the step.

  He was rubbing at his stump with one hand, the other balled in a fist. I winced. The end of his leg was angry, red, and swollen, bleeding where it had become aggravated. “You have to give your body a chance to become accustomed to your wooden leg, to toughen up. That means resting each day. If you do not, you will have yourself a nasty infection again. You have enough of that, have you not?”

  He gave me a weary smile, took the bourbon, and tipped his head back for a healthy swallow, passing it back to me. I took a slug as well, then took out the salve, a fresh batch that my mother and Rebekah made using herbs from the Natives and their garden. I started to rub my step-father’s stump, pressing my fingers deep into the skin.

  He sat back and groaned deeply, rattling me. “Do not stop.”

  When the entire area was thoroughly coated and his body went loose, I set down the jar of salve. We passed the jug back and forth. Jacob grinned. “My, but that does light a fire in your gut.” His face became serious as he slung an arm around my shoulders. “There has been something I have been meaning to tell you. Your mother and I were talking. We would like the two of you to live here after your wedding.”

  He raised his hand when I began to protest. “I am thinking I will need your help from time to time, even when I am healed. As for your mother . . .” His voice went hoarse, his expression softening. His eyes glistened brightly. “She cannot bear to be parted from me or you again. I may not be able to give her all that she deserves.” His hand gestured to his leg. “I can at least give her the peace of mind that comes with knowing her men are under her roof.”

  “I would like nothing better, Father.” He nodded, his eyes drifting shut. If we sat much longer, Jacob would be passed out on the step. “Let us spend our evening under that roof now.”

  I stood and extended my hand. Jacob’s fingers closed around mine and he came up on one foot. Together, we went inside. This time, he did not argue when I laid him down on his bed. Mama sat with him, stroking his hair until he fell into a solid sleep. I sat by the fire with my Rebekah. She tucked herself in on my lap, her head tucked beneath my chin. My fingers closed around a bit of her buckskin shirt. I cleared my throat, snagging her attention. “My parents want us to stay here with them after their marriage. Do you have a problem with that?”

  She turned and set her lips on mine. “I would not care if we lived under the roots of an uprooted tree in the middle of the forest if I was with you.”

  “I think we can do better than that.” Jacob’s voice rumbled behind us, making us both start. He was on his wooden leg again, holding Mama’s hand. He looked tired, but the lines had eased around his eyes and mouth. He tapped his injured leg. “I took your advice about the stocking. Brilliant, Benjamin.” My step-father eased his way forward, leaning on Mama for support, and touched Rebekah’s chin, raising it. “You are welcome here. You took us in your home and nursed us back to health. Let this be your home from this day forth.”

  Rebekah stood, her smile wobbly, and hugged my parents. A knot that I did not know I carried unraveled in the pit of my stomach and I could breathe easily again. I had not known where we would go, only that I had to marry my angel as soon as possible. Once again, my problems had been whittled down to size because of my loving parents. I relished the thought. We were truly home.

  36

  25 October 1814

  Benjamin Willson Cooper

  I pinned my eyes on the lone pine tree off in the distance. It seemed much bigger than the last time I had visited this hallowed ground, back in July before we set off for Plattsburg. I thought it fitting to take the woman I would marry here on the anniversary of the Battle of Johnstown, in remembrance of the day my father gave up his life for liberty.

  Ice ran through me the instant I set foot on the field. I clamped my eyes shut, my breath coming out in rush. I wavered. Rebekah ducked under my arm. “What is it?”

  “I always see him die here.” I breathed hard through my nose, in. Out. In again. I took her hand. “That is why I brought you here. I always feel so close to my father when I set foot on this patch of land.”

  We walked slowly to the tree, the sun emerging from behind a cloud to send a shaft of golden light through its branches. My angel did the unexpected, sinking to her knees. “Sir, I love your son with all that I am and all my heart. I am asking for your permission to marry him. I promise I will take care of him and cherish this gift that you gave to this world.” I dropped beside her and bowed my head, humbled by her request.

  The air shifted, lifting my angel’s hair from her brow. Warmth washed over us and a voice whispered on the wind, “Liberty’s legacy lives in both of you. Let it shine.” I folded her in my arms and rocked her back and forth, basking in my father’s blessings. It was the first time he spoke to me.

  Later that evening, we returned with Jacob, my mother, my grandfather, his wife, and his son. Each of us held a candle as my step-father read The Star-Spangled Banner. It suited the occasion, portraying another moment of American resilience. When he was done, he pulled a ragged, bloodied piece of material from his pocket. The strip of Jonas Blair’s coat that had been tied around Jacob’s leg when he was injured. I helped him, digging a hole beneath the boughs of the pine that extended in welcome.

  “Jonas Blair was one of our own. I could not carry him back to Johnstown, but a piece of him has been brought back to the place where he belonged.” We all bowed our heads in memory of a Johnstown native who had sacrificed everything. Each of us called out the name of someone else we had lost. My father. Rufus Barnes. My grandmothers, Mary Ross and Phoebe Cooper. Casting them up to the heavens above as the stars twinkled brightly in the night sky. I believed our loved ones were winking back at us.

  37

  24 December 1814

  Benjamin Willson Cooper

  On this most holy of days, the Treaty of Ghent was signed. The day that marked the official end of the War of 1812. The day my Rebekah became mine in the eyes of the Lord. Early that morning, I woke from a restless sleep and took to the barn. Anything to fill the hours until we wed. When I returned to the house, my mother and Rebekah sat on my parents’ bed. A pale rose gown was spread out on Mama’s lap and she stroked it lovingly. I knew I should retreat, but hovered in the doorway, listening intently to their earnest conversation.

  Rebekah’s dark head was bowed, her braid dangling down her back. Mama reached out to finger it. “You will look lovely tonight with your midnight hair, but you need a gown. We cannot have you wed in buckskin. This dress used to hang in the Needle and Thread in town. I had imagined wearing it with Benjamin’s father. I dreamed of dancing with him while this fabric swished around me, whispering to me.” Her words died, her voice choked. She dabbed at her eyes and my stomach went tight. I hated to see Mama cry or any woman for that matter.

  “Benjamin’s father died before I could wear this gown for him, but Jacob bought it for me when the Treaty of Versailles was signed at the end of the Rev
olution. They opened Sir William’s estate to invite the town in to celebrate. I finally had my dance in the hall. I know my Benjamin was there. I heard his laughter. I am sure he will be there tonight when his only son marries and we will dance together again. Please wear this tonight. It is too beautiful to be ignored. Like you, Rebekah. Thank you for loving my son.”

  Rebekah wrapped her arms around my mother. “Thank you, Mrs. Cooper. I promise. I will love him well. He is more than I deserve.”

  A quiet moment passed and Rebekah slipped outside. I do not think she even saw me, she was so overwhelmed. My mother called softly from the next room. “I know you are out there, Benjamin. Come in, please. I have a gift for you too.”

  I went to her side and took her hand, sinking down beside her. Her head bent as she focused on my fingers and the white strands threaded in her hair made my heart ache. To me, this woman was timeless. I did not want to accept the notion that she would grow old. That one day she would be gone.

  Something slid on my pinky finger, snapping my thoughts away from a dark path. I glanced down to see a small band of iron on my hand. When my mother spoke, there was a catch in her voice. “Your father made that band for me. I want you to give it to your bride.”

  “Mama, I could not do that. This ring is yours.” I slipped it off my finger, marveling at its smoothness, remembering when Mama dangled it on a string when I was a child to keep me occupied.

  She squeezed my hand. Only then did I feel another band rubbing against my skin. My mother fingered it with her other hand. “Jacob made this ring for me and another for himself. The journey to Plattsburgh and back taught him how short and precious life is. He wanted something to represent our connection. I did not think it right to continue to wear another man’s ring. Your step-father has been a good husband to me. More so, he has loved me when I was prickly, difficult, or hysterical. The least I can do is prove my devotion by wearing his band. Please. Take the ring.”

  I held my mother close and spoke in a hush in her ear. “It will be a piece of Father and you that is passed on to my bride and our children. Thank you, Mama. I love you.”

  She smiled at me even though there were tears in her eyes. “I love you more.”

  ***

  My angel was so beautiful in Mama’s gown. The moment she walked through the door, I wanted to take her in my arms in the elegant hallway of what used to be the home belonging to Sir William Johnson, founder of our town. Once a representation of British tyranny, now it was the home of a fellow American and a symbol of freedom, where a brighter future burned brightly in which we were no longer under England’s thumb.

  Outside, the snow was falling, and a cold snap had the town in its bitter grasp. Inside was a haven of warmth and light. The place was filled to the brim with townspeople, dear friends, and family who had come to celebrate the end of the war and our wedding. I stood by the minister, my eyes trained on the open door.

  A swirl of snow danced around Rebekah as she stepped over the threshold. Her gown skimmed the floor, flaring out behind her, coming in at her trim waist, hugging her body. I could finally see that my Rebekah had curves and she made me go still. Someone played a tune that was hauntingly sweet, pulling at my heart as my wife-to-be came closer. I took a deep breath in and held it. It was all I could do to keep myself from pulling her hair down from the intricate braid that had been wrapped around the top of her head, forming a crown. Her hand found a home in mine and I knew without a doubt that if I spent the rest of my life with this woman, it would not be long enough.

  The ceremony passed in a blur. The only thing I could see clearly was the glow of Rebekah’s smile. The green of her eyes that brought springtime in the midst of winter. The warm, pink flush of her skin. The mad flutter of her pulse on the slender column of her neck. My mouth went dry and my heart hammered, banging against the cage of my ribs.

  The minister took our hands and his words drifted to me as if from far away. “Do you take Rebekah to be your wife?”

  “I do.” I would do anything for my angel.

  “Do you take Benjamin to be your husband?” He asked my Rebekah.

  She softly answered, “I thought that you would never ask. I do.” The tears threatened to blind me in that instant. It was a reminder of that moment when Rebekah had offered me assistance when I was deathly ill. The moment when she opened her home and heart to me, when she first gave me the gift of her love.

  Soft laughter from around the room reminded us that we were not the only people in the universe. The minister cleared his throat and lifted his hands above us in blessing. “You may kiss your bride.”

  I focused my gaze on my angel, shutting out everyone and anything else. This moment was for Rebekah and her alone. My hand cupped her face as I marveled at her beauty. My wife! What a lovely flower! I would never forget the day I wed my love and bowed her in a kiss that lasted so long, everyone in attendance cheered. Finally, a reason to celebrate, a sorely missed time to feel light of heart and joyful.

  A shout rang out as drinks were raised in a toast. My angel’s Kentucky bourbon rounded out the offerings, already in hot demand. The dancing began next. Locals played their instruments while couples formed around us, their feet tapping on the tiled floor, the glow of the candlelit candelabras lighting their smiles. The wind of their passing washed over me, but I only noticed my Rebekah as her arms wrapped tightly around me. We swished from one corner to the next.

  She is mine. The words echoed over and over in my head and I tightened my grip, drawing her flush against my chest. I did not truly believe my senses. I must be imagining things. In an instant, I would awaken on a bed of buckskin in a tiny cottage that had been transformed into a furnace as the fever raged through my body. This hallucination would fade away as I reached death’s door and turned the knob, crossing over to the other side. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.

  Rebekah squeezed my hand. “It is real, all of this.” With a start, my eyes flew open. She could read my mind. Before long, she would be like Mama and Jacob, finishing my sentences. Her mouth turned up in a smile that was contagious.

  I bent my head and buried my face in the crook of her neck. “I do not want this moment to end.”

  “It will never end. A love that is true never dies.” Her voice broke and her tears wet my face. I straightened and lifted her up in my arms, swinging her around. Our guests applauded and called out their blessings.

  One deep voice snagged my ear. I scanned the crowd and picked out a red-haired man with more liberal streaks of white running through the copper strands. They had accumulated considerably since we met only a few months before. The lines were etched a little more deeply in his face, but I would recognize him anywhere. Isaac Cooper, my step-father’s cousin, stood with his arm around a woman I assumed was his wife. He nodded to me, his teeth flashing in a wide smile, and raised a glass. The sight struck me and made me go still.

  Here, in this room, where the past, present, and future of America shone with a powerful light, I could believe that the cloud of war had finally passed. I prayed that my life with Rebekah would not be darkened by another conflict, that if we were blessed with children, they would know peace and prosperity in a land that was finally their own. Eyes burning, I nodded my head and raised a hand in greeting.

  I turned to resume our dance when my gaze fell on my mother. She was radiant in a gown of burgundy commissioned by my step-father, her golden curls piled high on her head. She tipped her head in laughter only to have the smile fade from her face as her eyes filled with wonder. My father’s ghost stood behind her, resplendent in his uniform of a Patriot in dark blue. As she reached out to my step-father, my father’s ghost reached out for her. They formed a triangle with one focus at its heart—love. Love for my mother. Love for one another.

  Unbelievable. I held my breath as their steps slowed. Benjamin’s hands rested on my mother’s shoulders. She turned her head and gasped, Jacob missing a step as he led her. They both could see the familiar f
igure that hovered behind her.

  “Benjamin . . . is that . . .” Rebekah whispered in my ear, her skin gone white.

  “My father.” A shaft of air as warm as summer on the brightest of days washed over us, making Mama’s dress flutter. Jacob’s lips trembled as he carefully bowed to his former rival. My mother steadied my step-father when his leg threatened to give, blowing a kiss in my direction. There was a shift around Rebekah and me, enveloping us in what could only be described as pure love and then it was gone. I met my mother’s gaze. She nodded once to me as the tears made tracks down her face. Mama finally had her dance with my father at Sir William’s.

  ***

  I placed my hands on Rebekah’s waist and set her on the ground. Her breath came out in a rush and she cried out in surprise as I scooped her up in my arms and strode toward our house. My mouth touched down on hers, stirring the coals that had been burning deep in my gut since early that morning, the anticipation building throughout the day. Tonight. Tonight, I would know my wife in the way that a man was meant to know a woman.

  I nudged the door open and carried her inside, to our bedroom. My mother and step-father would be staying with the Stoners to give us privacy and continue the celebration of the end of yet another war. Gently, I set Rebekah down and grazed her jaw with a kiss. My voice was husky when I spoke. “I must take Flintlock to the barn.”

  “Do not be long.” She caught my hand and kissed my fingers. It was all I could do not to fall on my knees. Who would have known that the brush of her lips on my hand could affect me so?

  “No more than a scattering of heart beats.” I snatched my hand away and practically sprinted out the door. With a hasty remount, I rode my horse to the barn, quickly rubbed him down, and sent him to his stall. A cursory glance at his food and water would have to be enough. My wife was waiting for me.