The babe. It came to her like a streak of lightning. She had the baby. Grayson's baby. Of course she had a reason to live, a cause to fight for. A bare smile formed over the rim of her cup.
Zeke was right. Grayson wasn't going to turn her in. He stood right there in the kitchen and said he loved her. Once she thought it was safe, Maggie would pack a bag and go north to New York where her cousin Trudy lived. Trudy would take her in. There Maggie could build a new life for her and her baby. She'd say her husband was dead. With so many war casualties, no one would question her pregnancy. No one but Trudy would ever have to know the baby wasn't Noah's.
Maggie looked up from her coffee cup, feeling much better. Her da had always said a man felt better when he had a plan. "All right, Zeke," she said. "I'll come stay with you and Mildred."
Zeke stood. "Good. Now run get your things and we'll go before the good captain has a chance to come back for you."
"I'll have her kidnapped," Grayson told Private Michaels. "That's what I'll do." He took a gulp of the sweet Madeira the barmaid had brought him. "I'll have her kidnapped and taken home where she'll be safe. Then when this bloody war's over, I'll marry her, that's what I'll do."
"Yes, sir," Michaels agreed from across the trestle table in the rear of the Commegys' Ordinary's public room. For the last hour the boy had been trying unsuccessfully to lure his captain away from the tavern and back to camp.
Michaels didn't know what had happened to Captain Thayer this morning, but he knew it was something terrible. He'd come back to his tent in a foul mood, ranting and raving. By noon he had been headed for the tavern where he'd sat all afternoon consuming too much wine and not enough food. An hour ago Michaels had come to check on Captain Thayer and found him talking crazy. Michaels didn't understand half of what his commanding officer said, but he knew they were things that could be misconstrued by men like Riker. Michaels knew he had to get Captain Thayer out of the tavern before it filled with the evening crowd of redcoats.
"Kidnap her and make her my rebel wife, that's what I'll do. The hell with the British army, the hell with General Washington, I'll marry her now!"
"Captain," Michaels said gently. "We should go, sir."
"Go? Go where? I'm tryin' to tell you, Michaels, I don't care what she's done, whose side she's on, whose side I'm on, for that matter. I just don't bloody care."
Whose side? What in the good Lord's name was the captain talking about? Then Michaels remembered the rumors stirring in the camp. Hadn't Riker practically come out and accused Captain Thayer of being a traitor to the Crown? A shiver of fear crept up his spine. The boy lowered his voice. "You've had too much to drink, sir. You need to go back to your tent."
Grayson wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Yes, he'd had too much to drink, but it still wasn't enough. He still hadn't washed Maggie's memory from his mind.
His Maggie, his brave, strong-willed Maggie was a rebel for God's sake! Probably a spy. Why else would she be in and out of the British encampment the way she was? Well, she might be a hell of a spy, but she certainly wasn't much of a bootmaker! He reached beneath the table and fumbled with the sole of his French boots. Hell, they were looser now than they'd been before he had her repair them!
He let go of his boot, letting his foot hit the floor, and reached for the tankard of Madeira. It was empty. He banged the tankard on the table. "Another, Michaels!"
"We really should go, sir."
"I said another! One for the road."
Reluctantly, Michaels took the tankard and slid off the bench to find the barmaid. Coffee, that was what his captain needed. Perhaps a cup of coffee would straighten him out. It wasn't that Michaels could say Captain Thayer was drunk. He'd never seen the man drunk, not like the other officers at least; he never slurred his words or tripped over his own two feet. No, Captain Thayer was never drunk like that. But how could it be good for any man to consume that much wine? And what of all those strange things the captain was saying? Yes, it was better to get him out of the tavern before he got into trouble.
Michaels retrieved the cup of coffee and headed back toward the table in the rear of the tavern where Captain Thayer sat. The captain hadn't moved, except that he had something in his hand now. A piece of cloth . . . like a sack one could buy sugar or flour in.
"Sir. A cup of coffee for you." Michaels eyed the sack in his captain's hand, wondering why were there holes cut in it?
"I didn't ask for coffee."
"I know you didn't, sir, but I thought you could use some."
Grayson eyed Michaels standing behind him. Why did the boy look so frightened? Grayson stuffed the flour-sack mask back into his coat. "All right," he conceded. "We'll go."
"I think that's a good idea, sir. Maybe a nap would do you some good."
Grayson pitched several coins onto the table and then swept up his cap. From there he headed for the door with Michaels trailing directly behind him.
"Son of a bitch," Zeke murmured under his breath as Grayson brushed past him. Zeke waited until the captain was out of earshot and then he leaned across the table to speak to Les and Edwin. Carter, seated beside him, turned an ear.
"That's it, boys," Zeke said. "It's got to be Maggie's mask."
"I thought you said you thought she was safe."
"I said I didn't think he'd turn her in," Zeke snapped. "How was I supposed to know he'd be drownin' his sorrows in a bottle and flashin' the mask for all the world to ogle?"
"How long do you think it will take before somebody notices he got it?" Les asked.
"Not long," Ed offered. "Not long a tall."
"So what do we do?" Carter asked, his face flushed. "There's nothin' we can do but hope he keeps his mouth shut."
Zeke stared Carter straight in the eye. "Damned if there isn't something we can do. This is Maggie we're talking about here. We take him out, that's what we do!"
"Kill him?" Carter mopped his brow with a tobacco-stained handkerchief. "I knew we shouldn't 'ave brought a woman in! I knew it!" He glanced up at Zeke beside him. "Thayer's an officer. We can't just kill 'em for no reason can we?"
Les drained his leather jack of ale. "Seems to me we got plenty of reason. That mask could get us all kilt."
"I say we just do it," Zeke said shakily. "As much as he's had to drink, I don' think he ought to ever make it back to the camp."
"Don't we need to talk to John?" Edwin asked.
"No time." Zeke leaned closer. "Let's just get it over with. We can catch him in Devils Woodyard, do it, and be done." He took a deep breath. "You with me, friends?"
Les slapped his hand on the table. "I'm in. I got no problem killin' the bastard. Me and Ed, we'll do it ourselves if you like. Might even have a bit of fun with it."
"For Maggie," Ed agreed. "We got to do it for Maggie's sake. For us all."
All eyes turned to Carter, and the man glanced up, sweating profusely.
"We'll not force you," Zeke offered.
"No. I'm in. I'm in," Carter stammered. "Just scares the livin' daylights outta me, killin' an officer, that's all."
Zeke gave a nod. "Now you boys listen and listen well, because we'll only have one chance at this . . ."
A few moments later, single file, the men left Manny's ordinary. They fanned out, appearing to all go their separate ways. Minutes later they met in a grove of pines.
"Darn if you ain't got it right," Les whispered. "The captain's comin' this way. He'll pass here any minute."
Pete, who had met Les just outside the ordinary, handed out flour-sack masks.
"What about the boy?" Ed asked, taking a practice aim with his primed flintlock. "Do we kill him, too?"
Zeke pulled his mask over his head. "I don't see why we have to. He wouldn't know nothing. But let's take him prisoner, at least for the time bein'. John'll know what's to be done with 'im."
"All right, boys, here comes our captain," Carter whispered.
The patriots waited until Zeke gave the signal and then they charged the British officer and
the young boy. Captain Thayer reached for his pistol, but Les brought his rifle down hard against the captain's head and the Brit crumbled to ground. "We take him alive," Zeke had said. "We find out what he knows of us, and then we kill him."
At the moment the other men surrounded Captain Thayer, Carter went for the private. But the boy was a fierce fighter for his size. He kicked and bucked, pummeling Carter in the face.
Carter swore, swinging his fist and knocking the boy to the ground. When the patriot fell on top of him, the boy reached for his attackers' mask. Carter released his weapon in the attempt to keep his face hidden. The boy took that instant to slip from beneath Carter's bulk. The young private was on his feet in an instant . . . running.
"Stop the boy," Carter shouted.
The men looked to Zeke for approval.
"We don't have time," Zeke responded roughly. "He didn't see us. By the time he makes it back to the Brit camp we'll be long gone."
Zeke turned and gave a nod to Les and Edwin, and the two brothers lifted the tied and gagged the captain and then the band of rebels hurried into the woods.
Chapter Thirteen
Private Paul Michaels raced through the dense Virginia forest ignoring the branches that slapped him in the face and the greenbriers that ripped at his breeches until his legs bled. He ran as hard and as fast as he could, petrified by the masked men. Were they chasing him? He didn't know; he was too terrified to look back.
Finally, when he thought his lungs would burst, he forced himself to sneak a peek over his shoulder. There was no one there. He slowed to a trot and then a walk, clutching his chest as he struggled to fill his lungs with air. Paul's entire body shook with fear; he'd wet his breeches.
He dropped onto a fallen log and cradled his head in his hands. They'd taken Captain Thayer! Who? The bloody rebels, of course—the bloody masked rebels who the captain had been assigned to track down. Paul knew he had to get back to camp. He had to tell Major Lawrence.
But as his breath came easier, a strange thought entered his mind. What if . . . what if what Lieutenant Riker had said was true? What if his captain really was one of the rebels? The thought was absurd. His captain, a traitor? And yet . . .
Paul went over in his mind the things Captain Thayer had said in the tavern, strange things about not caring which side the woman, Maggie, was on, not caring which side he was on. Something about lies.
What if this was the way rebels were bringing Captain Thayer back into their fold? What if it had all been planned? The boy laughed at the absurdity of the idea and his voice echoed in the treetops. The masked rebels scared him so badly, he was thinking crazy! Of course Captain Thayer wasn't a traitor. He'd gone to Eaton and Oxford, hadn't he? He'd joined the military even before the war against the Colonies began!
Paul pushed himself up off the log. He had to get back to the camp and tell Major Lawrence what had happened. The major would send men to rescue the captain . . .
Unless, of course, the captain was one of the rebels. Then Paul would be signing his death warrant.
Paul pushed back a lock of his white-blond hair, fighting the tears that stung his eyes. What was the matter with him? He was a man of nearly fifteen. Why couldn't he think straight? Why didn't he know what to do?
Because he was afraid, afraid for Captain Thayer. As remote as the possibility was, the truth was that Captain Thayer might be a rebel spy. They said there were spies everywhere in the camps—wash-women, whores, soldiers you'd never suspect.
Paul knew it was his duty to go to Major Lawrence and tell him everything. Not just about the captain being captured, but about what the captain had said in the tavern, about the mask he'd put in his coat, the same mask the rebels had worn when they'd kidnapped him. Paul knew he had to tell the major all of it, else he could be charged with treason as well. So why wasn't he on his way?
Because he loved Captain Thayer.
Paul wiped at his teary eyes with the back of his blood-encrusted, brier-scratched hand. No matter who Captain Thayer was, traitor or Englishman, he loved him. No one had ever been as nice to him as Captain Thayer, certainly not his father, who'd sent him off to war at twelve years old. Captain Thayer had nursed him himself when Paul had come down with the pox in the South. Captain Thayer had defended him when Lieutenant Riker had falsely accused him of stealing from his tent. Captain Thayer had brought him sweets from Williamsburg.
So what did Paul do? He didn't know. Who should he tell? He didn't know. He dropped back onto the log in utter, frightened bewilderment, knowing that as the minutes ticked by, the remaining minutes of Captain Thayer's life might be ticking away as well.
Then it came to him as suddenly as a revelation from God. The red-haired woman who had been so nice to him. The bootmaker. The other soldiers in the camp said she was one of those neutrals—she wasn't for any side but her own. Surely she would help him. Only last week she'd let him play with her dogs while she mended the captain's boots in her shed. Maggie was her name. Maggie. It had to be the Maggie the captain said he loved. She was the only woman he'd been with in two months.
Maggie would know what to do, wouldn't she? Of course Paul knew there was a chance the woman was in on the kidnapping, but he weighed the idea in his mind and decided he'd just have to take a chance.
Leaping up off the log, Paul changed directions and headed for the little farm just outside the town of York.
"So why didn't you marry my son when that worthless piece o' filth you called husband died?" Mildred Barnes asked in her usual straightforward manner. "You and Zeke could have had a fine passel o' boys by now. I'd have a grandchild to rock on my poor knee, 'stead of goin' to my grave with achin' arms."
Maggie turned away from the window. She'd only been here at Zeke's for a few hours and already she was getting restless. It just wasn't like her to be indoors in the midst of the day. She mopped her perspiring chest with the sprigged kerchief she wore around her neck. "I told you, Miss Mildred. The only reason I didn't marry your son was because he wouldn't have me."
The ivory-haired woman slapped her knee. "Horsedung! Ezekial's loved you since the two of you was wrestlin' over fishin' poles down by the river."
"Yeah, he loved me so much, he gave me a black eye over that fishin' pole." At the memory of the shiner Zeke had given her, Maggie covered her eye with her palm. She'd been a hell of a sight at that Sunday morning Mass.
"Well, you've ruined it now, Maggie Myers! Near broke his heart. He's done taken up with another from what I hear."
The elderly woman's words tapped Maggie's attention. She had wondered if Miss Mildred knew of Lyla. "You don't say," she said innocently. "And which one might that be?"
Mildred gave a snort of derision and plucked her corncob pipe from the pocket that hung inside a slit in her dress. "Don't be playin' games with me, Maggie Myers. I powdered your bottom when you was a babe."
Maggie smiled, wondering what unstated right that seemed to give women. "So you've heard he's keepin' company with Lyla?"
"Strangest keepin' company I ever heard of—walkin' a whore home from the store oncst a week, and now walkin' her to Sunday meetin'!"
Maggie's brown eyes widened. "He's taking her to church?"
"No, he don't take her!" Mildred shifted in her chair and reached for her leather tobacco pouch resting on a footstool. "He don't pick her up in his wagon. He don't invite her to his mother's house for Sunday dinner. Near as I can see, he don't even talk to her! He just walks beside her, and when they get inside the Good Lord's house, she sits in the back, same as every Sunday, while he moseys on up to sit with Harry and me."
Maggie went to light a broom straw from the smoldering coals in the kitchen fireplace. "Harry Carter sittin' on your pew with you these days, is he?" she teased, coming back into the front room. Maggie had always been interested in what was happening in the local Episcopal church most of the citizens of Yorktown attended. As a child she'd sworn to her parents that when she grew up, she was going to convert, but as the
years passed, she grew comfortable with her Catholic religion, or at least with her relationship with God, so she'd never bothered.
Mildred sucked on her pipe as Maggie held the glowing broom straw to the bowl. In a moment the elderly woman was rewarded by a puff of sweet-smelling smoke. "Now Harry Carter, there's a fine man."
"Sweet on you, is he?" Maggie teased.
"Oh, pshaw!" Mildred leaned back to enjoy her smoke. "Folks like us, we're too old for such." She winked. "Not that we don't think 'bout it oncst in a while!"
Maggie laughed, turning back toward the window. Across the rolling field she could just make out the outline of her farmhouse. Heavens, but she'd missed that house when she left Yorktown. So many memories, good and bad. But she couldn't think about herself, she had to think about her baby. If her child was going to have a fair chance at life, it would have to be far from here where no one would know of the babe's illegitimacy.
Movement in the field caught Maggie's attention and she immediately stepped closer to the window, sweeping back the loomed-lace curtains Mildred was so proud of.
"What is it?" Mildred asked. "Redcoats? Fetch me my papa's wheellock. Won't no redcoat take my Maggie long as I'm breathin'."
"No," she said. "A boy. Not comin' here, though. He's headed for my place." Maggie watched as he climbed the fence and went straight for the farmhouse. Who was it?
"A boy?" Mildred slowly rose from her chair. "A boy you know?" When she reached the window, she gave a snort. "Looks like a redcoat to me."
"Paul," Maggie murmured. It was the boy, Paul Michaels, who had brought her Grayson's boots. The same boy who had been at his tent that night Grayson saved him from Riker and his men.
Mildred's steely gray eyes narrowed as she studied Maggie's face. "You're not thinkin' 'bout goin' up there to see what he wants, are you?"
"He works for Captain Thayer," Maggie answered, lost in her own thoughts. Grayson must have sent the boy with a message. Was Grayson in trouble? A spine-tingling shiver of fear rose up her backbone.
"Captain Thayer? Seems to me, Maggie Myers, that he's the man Zeke's hidin' you from."
The Bootmaker's Daughter: Revolution (Destiny's Daughters Book 2) Page 15
