League of American Traitors

by Matthew Landis

  Nora squeezed Jasper’s hand. She’d dug out a black sleeveless dress from somebody’s closet for the occasion. “You’re up,” she said.

  Jasper walked around his dad’s gravestone, past a couple in their fifties. They were short, stocky, and dark-haired. The woman was crying—of course she was crying. It was like Director Forrest had said: loss was a part of membership.

  Jasper stopped at the edge of the new plot where they’d just lowered Sheldon’s casket. “I want to thank everybody for coming,” he said. “I know it was a long drive.”

  He knew they expected him to say something else—he expected himself to say something else. It had been Jasper’s idea to bury Sheldon here; he’d been banned from the Burr plot for obvious reasons. But what, exactly was a person supposed to say at the burial of a traitor? A traitor who was also your friend? Who you’d killed?

  Something true.

  “Sheldon was my friend,” Jasper said. “I miss him every day.” There was that familiar burn at the edges of his eyes. “My first day at Juniper Hill, he gave me his bed. His literal bed. He took the one with no heater. He was always doing stuff like that. Helping me. With the research. On the range.”

  Sheldon’s mom whimpered louder. His dad was crying now, too. Tucker was watching from some tree fifty yards away, headphones on, arms folded. Jasper wasn’t sure he could keep it together for much longer.

  “We all do things we wish we could take back. But those things we do aren’t us. They’re just pieces. My dad was pretty much all bad pieces.”

  Where was this even going? Maybe he should’ve written something down. Or maybe he just needed to dig deep—to speak from the gut. Because hadn’t this whole thing come full circle? Wasn’t the past just repeating itself?

  “My ancestor was a traitor. But he did a lot of incredible stuff before that. Won big battles. Saved a lot of soldiers.” Jasper didn’t bother looking up at the audience to see how that landed. It didn’t really matter. This wasn’t about them. It was about Sheldon—about the memory of his friend’s life and death and Jasper’s role in both. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that nobody is all good or bad. It’s not a percentage thing. I get that we remember people for how their life ends, but that’s not fair, because it wipes out everything else good they did. We’re all just trying to get by, and sometimes we really make a big mess. It doesn’t make it any better, but it’s still true.”

  He picked up a handful of fresh dirt and threw it on top of the casket—the killer honoring his victim. His brain still couldn’t navigate the complex moral network that allowed him to mourn the person he’d slain. Maybe it never would. He’d carry and remember his friend’s life and death forever.

  “Thanks again for coming,” he said after a while. If he kept talking, he’d be crying worse than Sheldon’s mom. “There’s going to be some food back at the hotel for anyone staying the night.”

  The goodbyes and handshakes blurred together. Colton made Jasper swear he’d visit Tennessee, but not in the summer. Apparently, it was hot as hell then. Tucker let Jasper hug him, which was a big step. Lacy was all waterworks and promises—come visit St. Paul. I’ll miss you. Teachers and Directors milled around until it was just him and Nora staring at a hole in the ground, her arm around his waist.

  “That was good,” she said.

  “I can’t believe so many people came. I thought they’d boycott because of what he did.”

  “They came because of what you did.”

  A cloud passed overhead, giving them some shade. Jasper patted his pocket for his plane ticket and checked the departure time again. They should probably get going.

  “So, it doesn’t actually rain all the time in Seattle, right?” he asked. “Because I don’t have a raincoat.”

  “Not in the summer.”

  “Does it get this hot?”

  “Sometimes,” Nora said.

  “How far are you from where they filmed Twilight?”

  “I’m seriously reconsidering my invitation.”

  “I’m just saying that if we’re in the area, we should check it out.”

  “You can take my stepmom on a road trip one day. She’s a huge fan.” Nora kissed him on the cheek. “Our flight leaves at six.”

  “We should at least see the beach where they surfed,” he called after her. “La Push.”

  Cyrus walked over from the parking lot, nodding at Nora as he passed her.

  “So, do I have to call you Mr. Vice Chairman now?” Jasper asked.

  “A mouthful, isn’t it.”

  “You’re gonna need new business cards.”

  Cyrus handed him one. The new embossed title glistened.

  “You would already have this.”

  “Between the two of us, I think Sybil had them printed a while ago.”

  Two cemetery workers drove over in a four-wheeler and started filling the grave.

  “Have you given any thought to my offer?” Cyrus asked.

  “Not really sure a law internship is for me.”

  “Take the summer to think about it. Reach out if you change your mind.”

  “Maybe I’ll find myself or something in Seattle.”

  They watched the two guys shovel for a while.

  “Well,” Cyrus said.

  “Yeah.”

  “If you are ever in need of advice, you have my number.”

  Jasper went to shake his hand. Cyrus pulled him into a hug instead.

  “You will always wonder if you did the right thing,” Cyrus said in his ear. “But you shouldn’t wonder, because you did.”

  Tears spilled down Jasper’s cheeks. He didn’t even try to stop himself—he didn’t even care. He hugged Cyrus harder, using the guy’s shirt collar as a tissue. The outburst faded, and they pulled away, parting with a handshake.

  It was almost three now, and somehow hotter. Mosquitoes feasted on him. The cemetery workers in their overalls had to be miserable.

  It seemed like something Jasper should be doing himself—a responsibility.

  He didn’t ask. He just grabbed the extra shovel from their four-wheeler, took off his tie, rolled up his sleeves, and began digging.

  He hadn’t asked them to stop, but they must have sensed that he needed to do this on his own—put his friend to rest. Burying Sheldon wouldn’t be just empty words he’d trot out in some story recollection in the future. He was a part of this moment, hands dirty as he covered over this chapter of his life.

  And there was a future, a place he hadn’t even let his thoughts wander to before now because it had always seemed too elusive or too horrible to think about. But he was in it now—the rest of the story. Post-epilogue; or was it Chapter One? Whatever came next had to be better because it was exactly that: next.

  HISTORICAL DISCLAIMER

  This is a work of historical fiction, so I think it would be helpful to clarify where I have intervened into the historical record with fictional ideas.

  Joseph Reed did not bribe a Continental officer to convince Benedict Arnold to switch sides at the supposed behest of George Washington. Arnold betrayed America all on his own for reasons that are frequently debated. But, I think Reed’s campaign against Arnold definitely helped him over the cliff.

  In the same manner, Lieutenant Ira Boswell did not exist, at least not to my knowledge. I suppose there might be an Ira Boswell, somewhere, and he might be a Lieutenant, but you get the point. I made him up.

  Reed’s hatred for Arnold, however, was very real, as are the details of other historical persons referenced. Only their descendants who make up the characters of this work are fictional.

  Most sadly of all, the descendants of the Founding Fathers have not gathered into ancestral clans or sought to engage in honor duels against those who opposed their ancestors. While I have never met any of these descendants personally, I will assume they are a peaceful bunch. And if this is true, then I must sadly surmise that there probably isn’t a league comprised of America’s villains—though I think we can
all agree that would be really awesome. I sincerely hope one develops (minus the dueling).

  Lastly: if I suddenly disappear, consider it a sign that everything above is actually true and I am being interrogated in a basement somewhere by an agent of the new-and-improved Culper Ring. Please contact the FBI. Or Kingsley.

  NOTES

  Benedict Arnold

  Benedict Arnold was an actual person responsible for shocking acts of heroism on behalf of America and the equally shocking act of treason he committed during the Revolutionary War. I have tampered with his life the least, that is to say, everything in this book concerning him (and his historically hot wife, Peggy) except his interactions with Ira Boswell are factual.

  Joseph Reed

  Joseph Reed is, by all accounts, a Founding Father stud; but he was also sort of conniving, and definitely politically savvy. While I made up his cunning provocation of Arnold, I’m not totally certain it would have been outside his character. Nearly all of his actual life and activities in this book are accurate, including his governorship (an office that was then called President of the Executive Council) of Pennsylvania, and his public and private attacks against Arnold. I can only assume that when Arnold did eventually turn, Reed felt burning vindication; I know I would have.

  Reed’s accomplishments are many, but I’ll mention my favorite: as governor, he pushed for and oversaw the abolition of slavery from Pennsylvania. That’s awesome. Go Joseph Reed. Sorry I turned you into a monster.

  The Culper Ring

  General Washington’s cunning use of clandestine operatives as part of the Culper Ring is complete historical fact and did impact the Patriot war effort at various points.

  While the Culper Ring is not still active today, I don’t think any of us would be surprised if the CIA still used this name as some inside joke that only super awesome agents get.

  Honor Culture” and the Code Duello

  It is both true and downright hilarious that American culture once allowed (if not demanded) men of high social standing to solve their differences by blowing each other away with pistols (and, earlier, stabbing each other with swords). The Code Duello was very real and acted as a de facto handbook on these matters. Our Founding Fathers—as Hamilton mania has made very popular—lived and died (literally) by this “honor culture” for nearly two centuries. While it is also true that duels were not always fatal because a) dueling pistols were wildly inaccurate, and b) gentlemen often settled their issues beforehand or missed on purpose, fatalities abounded. Just ask Hamilton’s family. Or any relative of the men President Andrew Jackson killed in duels. (Okay, he wasn’t president yet when these duels occurred, but he was president when he repeatedly caned a would-be assassin in front of the Capitol Building. You literally cannot make this stuff up. Okay, actually you can, ’cause I made up a whole bunch of stuff for this book, but I’m not making up the story of Jackson beating that guy up.)

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Trying to get your first book published is like climbing Mt. Everest (assumes the author, who’s watched a couple movies about climbing Mt. Everest). If you do it alone, there’s a pretty good chance you’ll die of hypothermia or get crushed by an avalanche or fall into some bottomless crevice with a million other people who have bravely/stupidly gone before you, alone.

  What you need is a sherpa to help you summit. Here are some of mine:

  Kristy Landis, the Woman, who said, “No. Just … no,” when I was seriously floating the idea of self-publishing this book in 2014 after facing yet another season of agent rejections. This book is for you because of course it is for you. Your wisdom reined in my drama that day and led to the Call just three months later. Thank you for believing in me when my drama-queen self despaired basically every five seconds, and for reminding me that writing is something I do, not somebody that I am.

  Lauren Galit, World’s Bossest Agent, who took a flyer on Jasper when he was just an overly dramatic kid buried in a story with way too many words. She always believed the concept was rock solid, read and edited about a hundred drafts, and got the book into the right hands at Sky Pony and Gotham. I could literally not ask for more in an agent. BOOM. And Caitlen Rubino-Bradway, co-agent at LKG and author in her own right, who suggested critical shifts in portrayals of violence that got to the heart of this novel and made that theme sing like a freaking songbird.

  Alison Weiss, Editorial Director of Extreme Awesomeness, who kind of/sort of/definitely made me rewrite this entire book, which was as epically hard as it sounds but also totally necessary. Her ideas during massive brainstorm sessions saved the story from collapsing into giant plot holes and the author from collapsing into even bigger anxiety holes. I am indebted to her relentless work ethic, and often wonder if she is actually a robot. Alison. Rules.

  Team Sky Pony, including Bethany Buck, Sammy Yuen, who absolutely slayed this cover; production editor Joshua Barnaby who did typesetting stuff and kept this book on schedule; and the tons of other people doing things behind the scenes to make this book possible.

  Dave Connis, the Ultimate Traitor, who knows exactly what he did. He will never be forgiven.

  Jayne Pillemer, who helped me streamline an early draft down to the bare essentials. Her advice—to find the story arc and stick to it—was some of the best I got in those early days.

  My mom, Mary, who first read my really crappy ramblings in high school and told me that I should keep writing. And my dad, David, whose love of the Revolutionary Era got me hooked at an early age.

  And God, who wove this passion for storytelling into my DNA and put the amazing people above in my life that let it become sort of a job.