Chapter Twenty-two
Zeke whistled between his teeth as he walked along the dirt road, his hands stuffed in his pockets. It was twilight, that strange time between day and night when dark shadows lengthened in the forest and strange sounds rose out of the mist that hovered above the humus ground. Zeke picked up his pace as he entered Devil's Woodyard. He'd certainly never heard the devil chopping his wood as he passed through this section of the forest as others had. Just the same, he whistled a little louder. Zeke wasn't a superstitious man, but he wasn't a fool who invited trouble, either.
Zeke checked his pocket watch as he rounded a bend in the road. It was seven-thirty. He had plenty of time to pass by Pete's blacksmith shop and still meet Lyla at eight-thirty in the churchyard. He smiled beneath his whiskers. She'd promised to pack a picnic supper. Wouldn't that be something to sit in the grass and eat with Miss Lyla! Zeke could barely contain his excitement. The longer he knew Lyla, the more he liked her. Like . . . hell, it was more than that. He was downright in love with her. The thing was, Zeke didn't know just what he was going to do about the matter, but he was thinking hard on it.
Zeke came out of the woods and entered the crossroad at Commegys' Ordinary. He tipped his felt cocked hat in Mistress Wilberry's direction.
"A good evening to you, Zeke Barnes," the rotund, elderly woman called as she passed in her pony cart.
"A good even' to you, ma'am," he countered, veering left as the pony cart squeaked by.
Pete Clendaniels's smithy shop was located directly across from Commegys' Ordinary. Zeke walked up the slightly inclined driveway and waved to Mary Perkins, Carter's wife, who was just going up the steps to visit with Pete's wife. Zeke noticed Mary was heavy with child again and couldn't help wondering if he himself would ever father a son or daughter.
Mary stopped on the steps. "Good to see you, Zeke. It's been a while. Why haven't you been over for supper? The boys miss you."
Zeke swept off his battered hat, blushing slightly. Despite the hard life as a poor farmer's wife, Mary Perkins was still a pretty woman with a cap of dark curls and a comely face. When she smiled, her cheeks dimpled.
"Haven't been asked as of late," Zeke answered her honestly.
Mary scowled. "I don't know what's gotten into that husband of mine. He never invites anyone home these days. I have to practically boot him out the door to get him to go bring his father over for a decent meal!"
"How is Harry? I heard he was feelin' poorly with his gout."
"Pshaw!" Mary fluttered a small hand reddened by the strong lye soap she used to wash the laundry she brought in to make extra cash. "You know Harry. Nothin' keeps him down for long. He hobbled all the way up to our house two nights ago wantin' to know how I made a custard. Thought he'd try one himself."
Zeke gave a nod as he pushed his hat back on his head. "Harry's a tough bird, I'll give him that."
"Well, go on with you." Mary absently stroked her round belly. "The other men are already inside the barn. I don't want them sayin' an old hag kept you."
Zeke grinned, pulling his hat down over his head. "Wouldn't never say that, Mary." He touched his brim and turned away. "A good even' to you."
Mary laughed as she made her way across the porch to the front door. "Same to you, Zeke."
Zeke passed the glowing pit of coals Pete used to heat the iron he bent to his will to make horseshoes, wagon wheels, and the like. His young freckle-faced apprentice was busy putting away tools. Zeke walked into the open barn. Pete, Carter, and Edwin stood in a semicircle looking over a new cow Pete had purchased from a farming family fleeing Yorktown in anticipation of battle.
"Hey there!" Zeke called. "What you boys up to asides trouble?"
Pete grinned. He had discarded his blacksmith's leather apron, but his sleeves were still pushed up and a thin sheen of perspiration covered his face. He'd obviously just laid aside his blacksmith's tools, calling an end to the workday. "Hell's bells, Zeke! We been waitin' on you half an hour. Where you been?"
"Been!" Ed exclaimed. "I can tell you where he's been. I passed the river not more than an hour ago and there's Zeke, broad daylight, takin' a bath. Even had soap!"
Edwin chuckled. A tall, slender man with graying temples, he was the quieter of the two bachelor Bennett boys, but Zeke liked him just the same. "Sounds serious to me."
Pete patted the rump of his new spotted cow. "Bathin' and it not even' bein' a Saturday?" He gave a low whistle. "Sounds like Zeke's goin' prowlin' tonight. Gonna catch him a piece a tail, I'd surmise!"
The men snickered. Zeke's face reddened beneath his beard as he limped toward his friends, but he refused to let them bait him. What went on between him and Lyla was no one's business but his and Lyla's. The fact that he'd done nothing more than timidly hold her hand was beside the point. He wasn't discussing Lyla with these crude men and that was final. "We got business, or did you three hens just call me in for a peckin'?"
Pete gave Zeke a playful push in the shoulder. "Have we got business, you say? Damned straight we got business! Got better than business!" He broke into a wide-toothed grin. "We got ourselves a bag of Brit dispatches bound for New York. It seems our General Cornwallis is gettin' a little antsy stuck out on yonder peninsula. Seems he's lookin' for a little relief by way of the Chesapeake."
Zeke swore softly beneath his breath. "How the hell did you manage to capture dispatches?"
Pete hooked his thumb. "Would you believe Edwin here found the sack lyin' on the floor of the tavern?"
"Should have told 'em I killed a score and ten of greencoats for it," Ed said dryly. "Would've made a better tale."
Zeke crammed his hands into his pockets like he always did when he needed to think. "What makes you think some bloodyback didn't leave you those dispatches on purpose?"
"Because an hour later six soldiers come marchin' up the road lookin' for the bag. They turned over tables. Poured out a fresh-tapped keg of ale on the floor and threatened to cut off Manny's balls if he didn't tell them who had taken the bag," Pete answered for Ed.
"So where was Ed through all of this?"
"He brought the bag of dispatches to me and hiked back across to the tavern."
"Just pretended I was dead drunk, passed out," Ed said with a shrug.
"Didn't need to do much of an actin' job with that, did you?" Carter asked, sinking his elbow into Ed's side.
Ed pushed him away. "I wanted to see if anyone came back for 'em."
"Manny all right?" Zeke asked.
Pete nodded. "They didn't hurt him. Just shoved him around a little. You know Manny. He kept up a steady tongue quotin' the good Lord. Always got an answer for everything. I think the soldiers thought he was touched in the head. They left madder than hornets, threatenin' to put us all into the service of Georgie's navy. I stood right outside this door and watched 'em go."
Zeke ground his boot into the hard-packed dirt of the barn floor. "So what do we do with the dispatches? Wait for John and Major Thayer to get back from Head of Elk?"
"This information is too hot to wait on, I'd say. There's men in Williamsburg who need this information. I'd guess Washington'll be there soon." Pete rolled down his sleeves and pulled the drawstrings of his cuffs. "I think I can make arrangements to have a messenger pick up the dispatches by dawn."
Zeke glanced at Carter, who had a strange look on his face. "What do you think, friend?"
Carter spat a wad of tobacco on the ground. Pete glared at him. Most people had enough manners not to spit in a man's barn. "I . . . I think whatever you all think. Thinkin's not my business. I just do as I'm told."
Zeke gave a nod and turned back to Pete. "You're going to have the dispatches picked up here?"
"Nah. Too risky. Too many people come and go through this crossroad day and night these days. I thought maybe you could take 'em."
Zeke nodded. "Reckon I can."
Pete walked to the new cow's manger and dug into the fresh-cut grass, pulling out a feed sack. He tossed it to Zeke
. "Dispatch bag is inside. Someone will come tonight for it. Pay no attention to whether he's male or female, old hag, or child. The code word will be," he paused, "boiled trout."
Zeke lifted a bushy eyebrow. "Boiled trout? That's a hell of a code word!"
"Won't have to worry about anyone comin' up with it on their own, will we then?"
Zeke laughed in agreement. "Well, guess I'll be goin' on my way."
"Go right home and wait," Pete instructed. "I don't know for sure when the messenger will be by."
Zeke's smile fell from his face. "Go home now?"
"That a problem?"
Zeke thought of Lyla and how long he'd waited for the opportunity to sit and talk with her. "It's just I got somewhere I got to be."
Pete frowned. "It's that whore, ain't it?" He shook a meaty finger. "I'm tellin' you, Zeke, you're headed for trouble with that wench."
Edwin walked up and took the sack from Zeke's hand. "Aw hell, Pete, let him be. I ain't got no woman to court. I'll go home and wait on the messenger. Good enough?"
"I suppose," Pete conceded.
Zeke looked up at Edwin, who was a good head taller than he was. The two men exchanged no words, but thanks were offered and accepted. With a farewell wave, Zeke went out of the barn and headed for the churchyard, whistling as he walked.
Zeke entered the grassy churchyard and walked around to the rear of the tiny log building the Methodists had built to hold their services in. Already there was a sprinkling of plain wooden crosses under the grandfather elm and ash trees. Soldiers who had come home to rest.
Zeke went on whistling. Faintly, he heard another voice join in. It was a sweet feminine trill that made Zeke's stomach go all soft and queasy. It was all he could do to keep up the tune.
When he slipped through the hedge he saw her and came to a halt. He could feel his palms growing cold and clammy. Lyla was dressed in a pale-blue sak gown that emphasized her petite but buxom figure. Her glossy honey-colored hair was pulled back with a thick blue ribbon the same hue as her dress. She was spreading out a wool blanket. To Zeke, by the light of the candle lantern she looked like an angel just spreading her wings.
He ended his tune; she finished just behind him. "You came," he said, an odd husky catch in his voice.
"Of course I came. And I brought supper." She indicated a woven basket covered by a napkin. "Nothing fancy like Maggie must feed you. Bread and cheese and apple tarts." She tucked her hands behind her. "I didn't make the apple tarts." Her face brightened. "My grandmam did, though."
"It don't matter what we have," Zeke said, coming to her. He felt awkward, so awkward that a part of him wanted to turn and run. But he didn't. "I'm just glad you came."
Lyla sat down and reached for the basket. "Oh, and I forgot, there's sweet cider. My sisters and I picked the apples."
"Your sisters?" Zeke eased himself down onto the blanket wondering just where he should sit. "You didn't tell me you had sisters."
She shrugged. "I don't want to talk about me. Nothin' to tell." She handed him a thick slice of rye bread covered with a slab of white cheese. "Let's talk about you."
Zeke laughed as he accepted the bread. "Even less to tell about."
She took a bite of her bread, smiling over the cheese. "Guess we don't have to talk at all, do we, Ezekial?"
Her gentle gaze met his and the bread Zeke was trying to swallow caught in his throat. He reached for the mug of cider she'd poured and took a deep drink. He hoped none dribbled down his beard, but, good God, if he didn't get some air, he feared he'd start turning blue.
The bread finally went down and Zeke found his voice. "I don't know why you won't tell me anything about yourself. I don't care care where you live or how you live." He thought for a moment, an idea suddenly coming to him. His steely gray eyes crinkled at the corners. "You don't have husband, do you?"
She laughed, her voice sounding like churchbells in the still evening air. "God'a mercy, no. What made you ask?"
He shrugged, taking another bite of his bread, but this time making certain it was smaller. "Just wanted to make sure."
When they'd finished their bread and cheese, both ate a sweet, flaky apple tart and then licked their fingers like greedy schoolchildren. Lyla took a sip of the cider and offered the cup to Zeke.
She smiled at him as he drank and he lowered the cup. "What?" he asked. He wiped his beard with his hand. "Am I making a mess?"
She laughed. "No, 'course not. I'm just smilin' because I'm happy. I've known plenty of men in my time Zeke, but you beat all."
"What are you talkin' about?"
She shook her head. "You really don't care what I do for those soldiers, do you?"
He looked away, embarrassed by such talk. "I figure you got a reason," he mumbled. "Not any of my business."
"You don't care that other men touch me?"
He didn't say anything. Then to his surprise he felt her hand glide over his.
"I . . ." He cleared his throat and started again. "It ain't that I don't care, it's just . . . just that I don't think any less of you." He dared to look into her eyes.
She was smiling. She was smiling at him. "Bless you, Zeke. God bless you," she whispered.
Zeke wanted to kiss her, he wanted to kiss her so badly that he hurt for her. Slowly he leaned toward her. She didn't move.
His lips brushed hers and he heard her sigh. She rested her hand on his shoulder and kissed him back. It was Zeke's first kiss in well over ten years.
As he withdrew, she brushed his beard with her fingers. "Ah, Zeke. You're such a gentleman." She held him in the countenance of her smile for another moment and then began to pack away the leftovers. "I haven't long. I have to meet somebody," she said. "Let's make the most of the time we have left."
All Zeke could do was stare at her with big gray eyes.
Her airy laughter filled the churchyard. "So tell me, Zeke. Did you have a pleasant day?"
Ed Bennett drifted off to sleep in a comfortably lumpy chair in front of the fireplace. He had waited until midnight for the messenger who was supposed to come for the dispatches, but when no one showed up, he decided to take himself a little nap. He knew he would hear the knock when it came at the door; he was a light sleeper. He'd learned that the hard way back at Valley Forge when he'd fallen asleep in a perimeter camp and been hit over the head by a deserter. It had been Les who'd saved his neck that night.
Ed shifted, making himself cozy. He had a small fire burning on the hearth and a warm coon hound on his lap. What more could a man want, except maybe a little human companionship. And he expected Les within the next day or two.
Ed heard the latch on the cabin door lift, but by the time he straightened in the chair, reaching for his flintlock propped against the fireplace, the soldiers had burst through the door.
"Where are they?" an overweight redcoat demanded, bringing his rifle barrel down on Ed's fingers so hard that his hand went numb and the flintlock clattered to the floor.
"What? Where's what?" Ed asked, blinking away the confusion of sleep. There were redcoats everywhere. Soldiers were ripping open goose-feather bed ticks and turning over tables. Feathers drifted through the air.
"Don't play stupid with me," Gordy bellowed. He lifted his bayoneted rifle, bringing its razor-sharp tip to Ed's throat.
Ed swallowed against the sickening fear in the pit of his stomach. The dispatches. The bastards were looking for the dispatches. How the hell had they known?
"I said, where the bloody hell are they?" Gordy repeated in a fury.
Ed made one swift movement, meaning to swipe the rifle from the fat lieutenant Gordy, but he wasn't fast enough. A soldier came from behind and dropped a rope over his neck, jerking it tight until Ed went down on his knees.
Ed heard an odd gurgle in his throat as he struggled to catch his breath. He felt light-headed, almost detached as two soldiers tied his hand behind his back and tied them to his bare feet.
"You can tell me now and make it easy," Gordy s
aid. "Or you can tell me later." He picked up the fireplace poker and thrust it into the coals, watching it until it glowed red. "Your choice, Colonial clod."
"You've got to tell them," Ed heard someone beg in desperation. The voice was familiar. He opened his eyes and was shocked by the sight he saw. "Not you," he whispered in disbelief.
"Enough!" Gordy raised the red-hot fireplace poker up beneath Ed's nose so that he could smell the heat of it. "We've got no time for this!"
Ed closed his eyes. Our Father who art in heaven . . . The words tumbled through his mind as he gritted teeth in anticipation of the agony to come. But he'd not tell the pettifogging bastards the dispatches were down the well. Not with his last dying breath.
Suddenly Edwin heard a hair-raising scream. Then he realized it was his own.
Maggie slipped down off the wagon seat and massaged her achy lower back. Grayson dismounted and came to help her unhitch the horse. "You feeling all right, sweet?" he asked, concerned by the dark half circles beneath her eyes.
"Fine. Just dead tired." It had been a tiresome journey down the Chesapeake, then the James River to Williamsburg. Once in Williamsburg they'd set out immediately for Yorktown, riding to make it by morning.
Grayson rested his hand on her shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Maggie. I never heard a complaint on this whole trip."
She smiled up him. "Let's get my horse out to pasture and then let me make us some breakfast before you go back to camp."
He kissed her. "I really should go now."
She caught the stock of his shirt and pulled him to her. "Come on. Just a little breakfast." She lifted up on her toes and kissed his mouth. "Or maybe we could skip the corncakes and get on to dessert." Her laugh had a husky catch to it.
"Ah, Maggie. You'd tempt a saint," Grayson murmured as he encircled her waist with his arms.
Their lips met again, but the sound of a horse and rider broke them apart. Maggie shielded her eyes from the morning glare of the sun.
The Bootmaker's Daughter: Revolution (Destiny's Daughters Book 2) Page 27
