They laughed again, their voices mingling in the dark, wet night. Riding directly beside her, Grayson reached out and took her hand. "Ah, Maggie. Don't you see? I can't live without you. I'm mad in love with you."
She smiled, savoring the feel of her hand in his. "I'm glad you came," she whispered.
Chapter Twenty-one
In early September the columns of General Washington's rebel army reached Head of Elk, Maryland. Exhausted but in high spirits, the soldiers set up camp on the banks of the Chesapeake Bay and patiently waited their turn to board a vessel bound for Virginia.
Though there was an overwhelming shortage of boats, Washington was not to be beaten. He ordered his officers to round up every schooner, open barge, and dilapidated ferry they could find. The plan was to transport the army across the Chesapeake and down the James River. Boatload after boatload of soldiers, some who had walked half the continent to get to Head of Elk, boarded vessels and joined their fellow soldiers under Lafayette, Wayne, and St. Simon in the camps that surrounded Williamsburg. From Williamsburg, Washington intended to march his army southeast to Yorktown and defeat Cornwallis's army, trapped on the York peninsula.
The evening that Maggie rode into the patriot camp she was immediately taken by the calm order of it all. There seemed to be a certain peacefulness that hung like a canopy over these weary soldiers.
As Maggie rolled past the neat lines of canvas tents she stared out at the men who moved about, cooking sparse evening meals over communal fires and making repairs to their weapons. Again and again, men nodded respectfully as she drove by in her two-wheeled cart.
She couldn't help making comparisons between the British camp in Yorktown and this patriot camp. The British encampment had become a quarrelsome place after weeks of idleness. These Colonials seemed thankful for a respite from the wages of war. Their camp was orderly, the men quiet, but not sullen. They were biding their time.
"Evening, ma'am," a boy of no more than fifteen called as he ladled gruel onto a wooden trencher and handed it to his companion.
"Pretty thing," a tall sergeant with "Freedom or Death" emblazoned across his brown-fringed tunic mused as Maggie passed.
"Holy Mary," Maggie sighed so that only Grayson, who rode beside her, could hear. "They're all so thin! They're starving to death, Grayson."
Grayson nodded a greeting to a soldier who squatted by his campfire. "Not starving, just lean," he told her. "Starvation won't come until winter." Still, it tugged at his heartstrings to see his fellow soldiers dressed in buckskin tunics, their moccasined feet bound in rags while he wore German boots and a clean muslin shirt. It had been too long since he last spent a night or two among his own kind. This trip would do him good to remind him of who he fought for, while living in the midst of the British army.
"Oh, Grayson," Maggie murmured as she pulled up the reins and her wagon rolled to a halt. "Go on ahead without me, I'll catch up," she called to John who was leading the train of wagons further into the camp where the headquarters were set up. She snapped back the brake and jumped to the ground. Grayson reined in his horse, his gaze following hers.
Stretched out in front of a tent was a red-haired man with a clipped red beard and mustache. Lying on his side, he cradled his head in his arm as another soldier unwrapped bloodied rags that bound his feet.
Maggie dug beneath her wagon seat and pulled out a canvas bag containing tins of homemade salve and rolls of bandages the women of Yorktown had sewn.
Grayson's eyes glimmered with pride as he watched Maggie approach the patriot soldiers and kneel.
"Let me look at that," she said softly, pushing aside the friend's hands.
"Ma'am?"
"I said, let me do it. But I'll need you to heat me some water, clean water."
The soldier crouched frozen for a moment, in disbelief. "Why, you're . . . you're a female woman!"
Maggie pushed her cloak off her shoulders, letting her bright-red hair fall in waves down her back as she tied it back with a green ribbon from her pocket. "That I am, soldier. Now fetch the water while I'll have a look at your friend's feet." That matter dealt with, she turned her attention back to the injured man. Her gaze met his; he had the clearest green eyes she'd ever seen.
"I dinna realize they were so puir till I came into camp this morning," he apologized, attempting to sit up.
She laid her hand on his arm. "Just lie back and let me have a look."
He eased back until his head rested on his arm again.
"So, where're you from, soldier?" She began to carefully unwrap the blood-encrusted bandages.
"Walked from somewhere in New York, but my home be down on the York River."
"You don't say!" She bit down on her lower lip as the ill smell of rotting flesh accosted her. She nearly had his left foot unwrapped. "I live in Yorktown! I have a brother-in-law that runs Commegys' Ordinary. You know it?"
"Ken it!" he swore excitedly. "I drank many a pint at Commegys' Ordinary a'fore this blasted war!"
"The name's Maggie Myers." She offered one hand and he clasped it warmly.
"Rob Campbell, ma'am, Lieutenant Rob Campbell."
She paused. "Rob Campbell?" The name rang in her ears. How did she know a Rob Campbell? Why was the name familiar? Suddenly it came to her, and she broke into a sly smile. "You wouldn't happen to know a lady by the name of Elizabeth, would you?"
His eye lit up. "My Liz? You know my bonny Liz?"
Trying not to cringe at the sight of Rob's swollen and bloody bare foot, she set aside the foul bandages and started on the other foot. "Know her! She lives not a mile from me! She loaned me a dress to wear to a bull roast this summer." Maggie's eyes suddenly went wide. "Rob, you've got to get home. Elizabeth's near her time."
He bolted up. "Her time?" His face lit up excitement. "The lass is with child!"
Maggie began to unwrap his right foot as quickly as she could. "Grayson," she called.
He walked over from the next campfire where he'd been speaking to several Virginians. "What do you need, Maggie?"
"You've got to get John here. This is Rob Campbell, Elizabeth's husband."
Rob offered his hand. "John's here?"
"We brought some food and medical supplies." Grayson clasped his hand in goodwill. "The name's Grayson Thayer."
Rob glanced up at him, taking in his neat appearance and shined boots. "You're nay a fighting mon?"
"It's a long story, Rob, but I'm a Virginian, same as you and one of Washington's army, same as you."
Rob gave a nod. "I dinna mean to offend. It's just wi' my boy's wi' no decent coat wi' winter coming, I nay like to see a mon in fancy clothes."
Grayson looked at Rob's feet. "Where's your boots, Rob Campbell?"
The redheaded man grinned. "Left them in the Jerseys on some rutted road!" He laughed at his own joke and Grayson laughed with him.
"You're in luck, Rob, because I've got a lady here who just might be able to help you with that. What do you think, Maggie?"
"Got a pair of boots in my wagon. A few stitches here and there and you'll be in luck." She winked. "Just let me get these feet cleaned up."
Rob shook his head. "I juist canna believe my Liz is going to give me a bairn." His eyes teared. "The lass dinna say a word in the last letter I got back in July."
"I'm certain she didn't want to worry you," Maggie said as she tore a strip of clean bandage and dipped it into the hot water Rob's friend had brought. "Now this is gonna smart a bit, Rob, but I got to get the flesh clean else your feet are gonna fall off at your ankles."
"Just do it, lass. I maun speak to my commanding officer to see aboot leave if I'm to be there when my own bairn comes into this blessed world."
Grayson patted Rob on the shoulder. "I'll leave you in Maggie's capable hands and find John. I'm certain arrangements can be made to get you home ahead of the fighting if only for a day or two's time."
"I willna forget your kindness," Rob answered solemnly. Just let me know if there's anything R
ob Campbell can do for you."
Maggie dipped her clean rag into the hot water and applied it to the bottom of Rob's foot. "For now, friend, you can just lie back and hold still!"
The Scott laughed, but laid back, waving to Grayson as he walked away.
It was near midnight before Maggie finally settled down on a horse blanket in front of a blazing campfire. Grayson pushed a tin cup of coffee into her hand and hugged her against him. "You must be exhausted."
She nodded, taking note that he'd been drinking. She could smell the liquor on his breath. She sipped her coffee, wondering why it upset her to think that Grayson had shared a mug of grum—an awful homemade concoction—with another soldier. What man didn't partake on occasion? Still, it irritated her.
She took another sip of the weak, bitter coffee and rubbed the back of her neck to ease the tension. "I am tired, but it feels good to do something worthwhile," she said to Grayson, then pointed to a pile of boots just outside the circle of firelight. "And see, I told you our men would be in need of my services. There's not a decent boot in this camp."
John Logan entered the firelight and sat down across from Grayson and Maggie, reaching for the coffeepot. Les was right behind him. "I can't believe you found Rob! I thought there was one chance in a million of finding him among the thousands that are passing through here!"
"Is his commanding officer going to let him go home?" Maggie asked.
"He didn't take too readily to the idea. He was afraid every soldier in this camp would be wanting a few days' leave, but I think I convinced him this was a special situation. Rob Campbell's been a faithful soldier and a superior leader in his company. He's stayed in long after his enlistment was up. If I promise his major I can get Rob home and then back to his company by the time they make Yorktown, I think we've got ourselves a deal."
Maggie smiled, suddenly lost in her own thoughts. Rob was going to be home when Elizabeth's baby was born, or at least shortly after. Where would Grayson be when their child was born?
"Fine man, Rob Campbell" John remarked. "Did you know he came to us as a bondman? He was our overseer for years."
Grayson stirred the coals with a charred stick. "A bondman?"
"Seems he was a political prisoner in Scotland. When his service was up he stayed on with us. Married Elizabeth before he went off to New York to fight in '77."
Maggie leaned forward, hugging her knees. "Your sister married a bondman?"
"I said he wasn't bound when they married."
"You don't care that your sister married a man who once worked your fields?" Maggie asked, scrutinizing John curiously.
"What mattered to me was the man. That's what this new country of ours is about, isn't it? Men and women being judged on their own merit? The social classes of Mother England are falling away before our very eyes."
Grayson took Maggie's hand, turning it in his. "We could be a part of that change if you married me, sweet Maggie."
She looked into his eyes. Was it Grayson who spoke, or the alcohol? His words always seemed to turn sweeter after a drink or two. She stood and said good night, then walked to where she'd laid out a blanket to sleep on. Several soldiers whose boots she'd repaired had offered her their tent, but she wanted to sleep here under the stars tonight.
Grayson said his good nights and followed her, stretching out on the blanket beside her. "What is it, Maggie?" he whispered. "Are you angry with me?"
She rolled onto her side, away from him. "Just tired," she murmured. "Go to sleep."
Grayson sighed, muttering something about feminine moods and then rolled into his blanket and closed his eyes.
When Grayson woke in the early morning, he saw that Maggie was gone. Spotting her near the fire that had been left to burn through the night, he got up and went to sit beside her.
She sat cross-legged on the cool ground, a boot in her lap as she attempted to thread a needle with coarse thread. It was still dark out, the purple shades of night just beginning to lighten as the September dawn began to break.
"What are you doing?" Grayson asked.
She didn't look up. She hadn't slept more than an hour or so last night. Her mind had just been too filled with thoughts to sleep. "I thought I'd get an early start," she answered him. "John said we can only stay another day and then we've got to be off if we're going to take one of the barges to Williamsburg with the men."
Grayson watched her for a moment and then took the boot from her. "Show me," he said.
She looked up. "What?"
"Show me, Maggie. Two can sew twice as many pairs of boots as one."
She couldn't resist a smile. "You're serious."
"Entirely. You're right. What these men need most is decent shoes and boots to carry them into battle. We've got food enough, and there's even a sufficient amount of black powder for once, but everyone's shoes are rotting off their feet."
She shrugged. "It's simple enough if you remember to keep the thread tight." She slipped the needle into his fingers and guided his hand. "I'm just repairing rotted seams so there's no need to punch new holes. It just in and out, in and out. You should knot between each stitch, but I'm afraid if I knot, there won't be enough thread to last."
Grayson sewed two more stitches on the side seam and held it out to check his work. "I just might make a better bootmaker than you," he teased.
Maggie retrieved a pair of boots that were missing soles from her pile and sat down to cut out new ones. "No one's better than me, except my da, and he's dead."
Grayson lifted an eyebrow. "I have to say, you didn't do such a fine job on my boots, Maggie. You fixed the loose sole, but then the seam started rubbing my left heel. They wore such a blasted blister on my heel that I had to wear my old boots."
She lowered her head to trace a sole onto a square of the leather with a small knife. "Another blister? You don't say? Well, once we get back to Yorktown you'll have to let me get a look at it. You must have busted an inside seam."
Grayson was quiet for several minutes as he concentrated on sewing, but then he spoke again. "Maggie, did it ever bother you knowing that the English shoes and boots you sewed carried those soldiers into battle to kill our men? I mean, I understand you did it so that you could get into the camp, but—"
Maggie began to laugh.
"What's so funny?"
She looked up at him, an impish grin on her face. "Want to know a secret, Captain-Major?"
He narrowed his eyes, leaning toward her to steal a kiss. "Secrets are my business, love."
She kissed him and then pulled back, returning to her work. "Those boots I sewed for all of those men passing through Yorktown and then the ones in the camps . . ."
"Yes . . ."
"Well, I can't say I did my finest work on them."
"You didn't do you finest work? What are you saying, Maggie?"
She giggled. "What I'm saying is I didn't exactly fix their boots. I just made them look like they were fixed."
He stared at her incredulously. "You did what?"
She shrugged. "I sewed their blasted boots, but only so they could get on their merry way. I wager a week or so down the road there was more than one or two redcoats with blisters on their heels and loose soles."
Grayson burst into laughter, his rich tenor voice echoing in the chill morning air. "You sabotaged their boots. You're priceless, Maggie Myers. Priceless! Only a woman would be so ingenious!"
Maggie just smiled to herself and went on with her work, but secretly she was pleased that Grayson approved of what she'd done. She might not have been educated by fancy tutors, but she had a brain just the same as Grayson did, and damned if she couldn't use it when she wanted to!
All day and into the night Maggie and Grayson worked side by side repairing the seams and patching the soles of soldiers' boots. Word spread quickly that there was a real bootmaker with thread and needle among the ragtag army and soon the line of anxious men stretched beyond her vision through the rows of tents. Maggie was comfortable with
the soldiers. She laughed and talked with them as she repaired their boots as best she could, making life more pleasant for the lonely soldiers, if only for a brief time. It was not until Grayson came for her near dawn the following day that she finally laid down her needle and thread.
"Maggie, the barge is loaded," Grayson told her gently. "We have to go if we're to get Rob back to Yorktown."
Maggie looked at Grayson and then at the seventeen-year-old, Joshua O'Banyon, from Massachusetts who stood beside her, holding a pile of rotten leather that had once been his shoes. She shook her head sadly. "There's nothin' I can do for you, Josh. I haven't got a scrap of leather left and . . . and there's nothing I. can do with that." She indicated the sodden leathers in his hands.
Josh gave her a bright smile. "That's all right, ma'am. I'll just put 'em back on my feet and wrap 'em with a few strips of cloth. Be good as new. Honest."
Not knowing anything else to say, Maggie gave a nod and turned away. "Good night, Josh."
"Good night, ma'am. Safe journey."
Grayson took her arm and led her down toward the water's edge where the barge waited. "Cuts you in two to see boys like that, doesn't it?" he mused.
Maggie rested her head on his shoulder. "He looks too young to grow a beard stubble, but he's determined. They're all so determined. They think they can win, shoes on their feet or no. I only hope they're right."
Grayson came to a halt and pointed toward lantemlight that glimmered off the still water on the shore. "John and the others are waiting."
"Where're you going?" She laid a hand on his shoulder. "I thought you said the barge was about to push off."
"I'll be right back."
"Where you going?"
Grayson walked away, calling over his shoulder. "Just something I have to take care of, sweet. Don't worry. Get aboard and I'll catch up."
Still confused, Maggie made her way to the rickety barge that rested low in the water beneath the weight of soldiers and cannon and there she waited for Grayson. The mooring lines were just being lifted when she spotted him by the dim light of the glowing lanterns sprinting toward the barge. As burly sailors poled the vessel off the bank, Grayson leaped for the deck and in the pale, golden light Maggie saw that he was in his stocking feet.
The Bootmaker's Daughter: Revolution (Destiny's Daughters Book 2) Page 26
