"Damnation, but the two of you are a sight! Uncanny it is!" He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Straight off, who's who? I can never tell the two of you apart." He raised a finger, narrowing his gaze. "And I'm not up for your games, Grayson. You're in enough trouble as it is."
"I'm Grayson, Colonel," Grayson said, breaking into a easy smile as he offered his hand. "And it's good to see you, sir. It been more than a year."
Colonel Hastings accepted his hand with a squeeze. "Good to see you in one piece, son. More than once we thought we'd lost you down South."
Grayson grinned, leaning back easily in his chair. "No, sir. You'd not be so fortunate."
Colonel Hastings turned to Sterling on the left. "Fortunate, hell! You boys are two of the best men I've worked with since this cursed war began. I just wish I had more men like you."
"Well, thank you, sir." Sterling responded graciously.
"We're pleased we have your confidence, sir." Grayson slid forward in his chair. "Now I've already got a plan as to how I can get back into Major Lawrence's camp and make a gain at the very same time."
The handsomely graying colonel gave a dry chuckle. "Bold as ever, aren't you, son? Seems to me I ought to hear a little groveling. You gave us a hell of a scare, Thayer. You screwed up royally and you ought to be strung up for it."
Grayson lowered his gaze to the colonel's scarred desk for a moment and then lifted his eyes to look directly at his commanding officer. "All I can say now, sir, is that I'm sorry. I erred. I have no excuse. But I can tell you it will never happen again."
"At least and not live to tell about it," Sterling murmured.
Colonel Hastings glanced at Sterling and then back at Grayson again. "It's your brother's opinion that you've been out too long. That you bungled because you lost your edge."
"I repeat, sir. It will never happen again."
"It's no crime to admit the pressure has gotten to you. It's not General Washington's policy to keep men in the field, like you've been, for more than a year or two at a time. Just too damned risky."
"I realize that, sir. But my case is different."
"Yes, yes. I have your records here and I've read them over thoroughly." He nodded at Sterling. "The records of both of you. I know about the escapade in Philadelphia. You two must have angels sitting on your shoulders to have scraped out of that in one piece."
Grayson's face was solemn. "I'd like to go back in immediately, sir. We'd be fools not to have a man on the inside at Yorktown. There's no telling what Cornwallis is going to do. He and Clinton seem to be having some sort of tug-of-war with troops."
"That's all fine and good, Grayson, but back to the problem at hand. I need to decide if it's a good idea if you go back in. I need to decide if it's good for you, good for all of us. You know your father and I were good friends. I feel responsible for you boys. You get yourself killed and—"
"I'm not going to get killed."
Colonel Hastings leaned over his desk, wrapping his knuckles on the wooden surface. "I understand from your brother that the only thing that came between you and a musket ball between your eyes was a hellfire young lady by the name of Maggie Myers."
Grayson glanced down at the black boots Maggie had polished only this morning. "That's true, sir." He looked up. "What I'm asking for is another chance."
Colonel Hastings exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "All right, for the sake of argument, let's say I do agree to let you go back in." Sterling gave a groan, but the colonel ignored him, going on. "How the hell do we manage it without raising suspicions as to your true identity?"
Grayson stood, feeling more comfortable on his feet. "I've put a great deal of thought into it, sir, and I think my idea would prove to be very serviceable."
"I'm listening."
"The rebels captured me and that's all the redcoats know, correct?"
"So we gather."
Grayson broke into a boyish grin as he walked behind his chair and leaned forward on its back. "So send a message to Major Lawrence and offer me in a prisoner exchange."
Sterling swore beneath his breath.
Colonel Hastings cocked an ear. "A prisoner exchange?"
"Certainly. This way I'm successfully replanted in the pits of Babylon and we get one of our officers back in return."
"Too simple," Sterling commented.
Colonel Hastings lifted a graying eyebrow to Grayson. "And what is your comment to that observation?"
"God's bowels! Don't you see, Sterling," Grayson said with excitement as he came around the chair. "That's the glory of it. It's so simple, it would never occur to the bloody fools that they're being duped!"
"What makes you think they'd be willing to trade to get you back?" Colonel Hastings stroked his chin. "Your military records with the British are not exactly exemplary. You've been demoted more times than you've been promoted and you seem to aggravate the hell out of every commanding officer you work for."
Grayson shrugged. "It's the part I play."
Sterling leaned forward in his chair. "Colonel, I can't believe you're seriously considering this."
"I've made no decision, and I can tell you I don't intend to make one today. I just want to know what it is Grayson here has up his sleeve. He's a clever boy."
"And his cleverness is going to get him killed!"
Grayson turned to Sterling. "I made one mistake, do you intend to punish me the rest of my life for it, Brother? Where's your loyalty? I can do this and do it right." He raised a fist. "Damn it! Don't you see? I deserve another chance."
Colonel Hastings looked from one brother to the other and then leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest again. "All right, Grayson, you've said your piece. I'll need a day or two to think about it."
Grayson retrieved his cap. "Thank you, sir."
Sterling raised out of his chair and reached for his cap as well,, assuming he, too, was being dismissed.
"Not you, Sterling. I want you to stay."
Grayson lifted a blond eyebrow. "Sir?"
"You heard me. I want to talk to Sterling . . . alone. With our Lafayette on his way to Williamsburg, we've got other business to attend to that's not of your concern."
Grayson glanced down at Sterling, who was taking his seat again. "Very well, then," he said, trying not to be angry with his brother. "You want me to wait for you, Sterling."
"No. You and Maggie take the carriage and go home. I've my horse. Reagan'll be furious if we're all late to supper."
Sterling gave a nod and then turned to Colonel Hastings, snapping a salute. "Sir."
"Dismissed." Colonel Hastings returned the salute and Grayson had no choice but to walk out the door.
Outside the redbrick house that had been made into offices for the Army, Grayson leaped into the carriage where Maggie waited and tossed his hat onto the leather seat. He called to the driver to head for home and then settled back on the carriage bench across from Maggie.
Unlike any woman he had ever known, Maggie said nothing. She only looked at him . . . waiting. Grayson could tell by the anxious look in her dark eyes that she wanted to know what had happened in Colonel Hastings' office, but somehow he knew that if he didn't offer any information, she wouldn't ask. At least not now.
He smiled at her and she smiled back. "Heavens, but you're a sight for sore eyes," he murmured.
Her cheeks colored as she glanced down at the beautiful apple-green caraco jacket and matching petticoat Reagan had loaned her. This all seemed so unreal. The beautiful home at Thayer's Folly, the kindness of Sterling and Reagan. Maggie brought her hand to her throat and stroked the soft cotton of the modesty piece she wore tucked in her neckline. She felt so much like a queen today dressed in stylish clothes and riding with her dashingly handsome soldier in a carriage that she didn't even mind tight-fitting heeled slippers that hurt her feet.
"You want to see more of Williamsburg?" he asked, unable to take his eyes from her.
She sho
ok her head. "No."
"More shopping?"
She laughed. "Holy Mary, no. You've bought me far too many gifts already." She thought of the boxes of items to be delivered later to Thayer's Folly. Why, Grayson had even bought her a trunk to transport her belongings to New York when she left.
"Because I love you." He reached for her gloved hands and took them in his. "I just want to make you happy, Maggie mine. It's all I want."
Her dark gaze held his for a moment. "Noah used to say the very same thing."
"I'm not Noah," he countered. "You married him out of necessity, marry me for love."
She looked away, but didn't withdraw her hands from his. Williamsburg was alive with the hustle and bustle of late afternoon. Children ran in the streets laughing and chasing one another. Patriot soldiers seemed to burst from the very seams of the town now that the British had evacuated it. The streets brimmed with venders calling out their wares.
"Fresh fish! Fresh fish! Buy my fish!" called a short little woman in a drooping mobcap.
"Cool milk! Last of the day!" cried a young girl carrying a yoke with a bucket balanced on each end. "Cool milk!"
Maggie glanced back at Grayson. "I should think it will be good to be home. It's a wonderful place, Williamsburg. I like the people."
He brought her gloved hand to his lips. "Colonel Hastings made no decision. He wanted to talk to Sterling, but he still said it would be a few days."
"You mean he's even considering letting you go back!" She snatched her hand from his grasp. " 'Twould be lunacy."
Grayson leaned back, resting his back on the smooth leather of the seat and stretching out his booted feet. "I have a plan." He tapped his temple. "A damned good one and the colonel knows it."
"I thought we agreed it was time you hung up your red coat and replaced it with a blue one." "
"No. You and my brother agreed, not me. I agreed to nothing of the sort."
"You'll lose your head. You'll be hung out at the crossroad for the crows to feed on your gullet."
He grimaced. "God's teeth, woman, but you've got a way with words. Must you be so gruesome?"
She slipped off her seat and sat next to him. "How many friends have you seen die, Grayson?"
He blinked. "I've seen many men die. Killed too many."
"But friends. Do you know what it's like to cut down their bodies and then have to scoop 'em with a shovel to bury them because the redcoats wouldn't let you cut 'em down any sooner."
He draped his arm around her shoulder and kissed a curl of her sleek, combed hair that had escaped her straw bonnet. "I'm not going to die. Marry me and give me something to come home to."
She sat back in the seat to watch the countryside roll by as they wound their way out of town. "I thought we agreed we weren't going to talk about that. It'll do nothin' but ruin the time we've got left."
"Nothing ." He took her chin and forced her to turn her head so that he could kiss her.
"What?"
"Nothing. It will do nothing but ruin . . ."
She bit down lightly on his lower lip. "What? You're my schoolmaster now?"
"It could work, Maggie. If only you could have seen yourself come down the grand staircase this morning. You looked as if you belonged, like none of us will ever belong."
"You've been too long in the sun Grayson. What do I have to say to make you realize you and I aren't cut from the same cloth? I sew boots to feed and clothe myself, for heaven's sake!"
He frowned. "You may sew them, but I'll not say how well."
She raised any eyebrow, fighting the urge to smile. "What do you mean?"
"These boots I had you resole back in Yorktown. They rubbed a damned blister on my heels walking yesterday." He lifted a foot. "They never rubbed before."
She patted his thigh. "I can always take another look at them."
"And well you should. I paid a king's ransom for them."
"Serves you right. Better places that money could have been spent," she lectured. "Do you know how often our soldiers go to sleep at night with empty bellies?"
"I had to look the part, didn't I, Maggie?"
"I think you like the fancy boots and starched matching uniforms."
"I think—" Grayson suddenly looked up. "What the hell?" Maggie followed the direction of his gaze to the dusty road ahead where a rickety, two-wheeled cart had turned over. A crowd of men and women had surrounded the vehicle in the center of the road and they were shouting angrily.
"Casey, stop here," Grayson ordered the driver.
Before Maggie could speak, Grayson was out of the carriage and sprinting toward the commotion. After a moment's hesitation, Maggie jumped out of the carriage with the help of the driver and made her way toward the crowd of irate men and women.
"See here!" Grayson said, pushing his way through the throng of farmers and farmers' wives. "What's this all about?"
As he forced his way to the center of the circle, he could see an elderly man with a raised pitchfork holding back a burly red-faced farmer. Someone had unhitched the old man's oxen from the cart and then tipped the cart over, its contents of turnips spilling onto the roadway. A dark-haired woman in a striped tick petticoat was leading the oxen away.
"Get back," the wizened man threatened. "Get back or I'll poke you full of holes!"
"Try it, Tory scum, and I'll snap your neck with my bare hands!"
"You got no right to take my oxen!"
"I say, what's this about!" Grayson repeated, coming to stand as close to the two men as he dared. "Whose oxen are those, and why's that wench leading them off?"
The old man turned to Grayson with hate in his eyes. "They're mine, and this bastard, he's got no right to take 'em."
The red-faced man turned to Grayson. "This here's Reynold Hogg, Tory scum from over to Coon's Corner, Major Thayer," the man said, thinking it was Sterling he spoke to. "He thinks to come into town and sell his turnips, but I say he don't belong. He wouldn't sell when we needed food for our men."
"You took my vegetables anyway, didn't you, Skeeter Townsend?" Reynold spit a brown stream of tobacco onto the red-faced man's boot.
"Why you!"
But before Skeeter could raise his fist, Grayson caught it. "Now easy, easy there." He looked behind him at the angry sea of faces. Everyone was talking at once, shouting obscenities and tossing an occasional turnip at the Tory. "Back up, will you, and give us some air?"
Maggie climbed on top of an overturned wooden crate and watched with curiosity as Grayson spoke to the incensed crowd of commoners.
"You've got no right to take this man's property," he told them sternly.
"He's Tory trash, Major Thayer," a woman hollered.
"Tar and feather him, I say," offered a blond-haired young man with a cowlick.
"Don't belong on roads with decent folk," said another.
Grayson held up a finger and the men and women began to lower their voices. "How old are you, Reynold Hogg?" he asked the old man.
Reynold screwed up his face. "Nigh on eighty. But what the hell's that go to do with my turnips, soldier." He spoke the last word as if it pained him.
"Eighty years old," Grayson told the crowd, giving particular attention to the burly Skeeter Townsend. "For four score of years this man was an English subject. For eighty years he obeyed his king in word and deed." Grayson looked at the men and women who surrounded the overturned ox cart. "If you'd followed one way of thinking for eighty years, wouldn't it be hard for you to change? Think from this man's point of view for a moment." Grayson lifted off his uniform cap and tucked it beneath his arm. "Can you blame him for not being willing to go against all he's ever believed in for the utterly unknown? What we seek in this fight for independence is something no one in the world has ever known. Equality and inalienable rights are ideas that are hard to swallow."
"Don't make any difference," Skeeter insisted. "He don't like our way of thinking, he can go the hell home to Mother England's bosom!"
Maggie watc
hed the crowd as several people nodded their heads in agreement, but still, Grayson had caught their attention. He had them thinking, she could see it in their sunburned faces.
"No, no, you're wrong, Skeeter," Grayson said. "This man has a right to this road, the same as you. Because when we win this war we'll be united as one people. All who agree to the freedoms laid out in our Declaration of Independence will be welcome."
"But he's for the bloody British." Skeeter protested.
Grayson shook his head. "It doesn't matter. As long as he does our Army no harm, when this war is over, and the end is coming . . . Reynold Hogg will be a man equal to you, Skeeter Thompson. For those who remain in these United States after the war, there will be no sides. We will stand strong as one in the Commonwealth of Virginia, one nation under God."
Skeeter lowered his head, shuffling his big feet. "Guess maybe I got a little carried away, Major Thayer."
Grayson dropped his hand to the red-faced man's shoulder. "Everyone's blood is boiling these days. It's the heat. Now go on with you."
The crowd parted as Skeeter made his way to the woman who had been leading the oxen away. "Let 'em go, Martha. Anything like their owner, they're probably too stupid to pull a plow anyway."
Maggie watched as Grayson organized several other men to upright the two-wheeled cart, while women began to toss the turnips back onto the bed. The boy with the cowlick backed the oxen back into their traces and in a matter of minutes, the farmers and their wives had scattered. Grayson stood tall alongside the road, watching the old man, Reynold, climb back onto the seat of his cart.
"If you're expectin' thanks," Reynold spat a long stream of tobacco onto the ground, "you ain't gettin' any," he told Grayson.
But Grayson only smiled. "You'd be best not to take those turnips in tonight else you may lose your oxen for good the next time."
Reynold frowned and lifted his reins. "Damned rebels and your speeches," he muttered as he plodded off. "United as one, bloody hell! We ain't lost yet."
The Bootmaker's Daughter: Revolution (Destiny's Daughters Book 2) Page 21
