Raising her hand to the aide, she allowed him to lift her. She settled side-saddle in front of him, her hands wrapped tightly around the horse's mane.
Riding up the bluff toward home, Maggie waved at a bewildered Zeke as she rode by on the aide-de-camp's horse.
"You're not eating, Carter," Mary, his wife, chided softly. She stared across the trestle table at him. Their four children had finished their meal and had been excused from the table to finish their chores before it grew dark. With the arrival of October, it seemed to Mary as if there was never enough daylight to get everything done on a small farm. "You're getting thinner by the day."
Carter stared at the plate of hearty venison stew he didn't have the appetite to eat. He pushed away the pewter plate. "Save it. I'll have it later when I'm hungry."
She scowled, but got up from her seat and took away the plate. Her small hand brushed over her protruding belly as she made her way to the side-table where the dirty dishes sat waiting for her daughter to scrape. "The babe's dropped. I'd say it's any day now and you'll be a papa again." When Carter made no response, she went on. "If we're going to lock up and move out of the line of fire, it will have to be tomorrow, Husband. Harry says we should have moved a fortnight ago. General Washington may need our house to put up some of his men. Could you imagine that Frenchman Lafayette sleeping on our goose tick?" She laughed, her soft voice filling the low-ceilinged kitchen.
When she turned around, dishrag in her hand, Carter was slumped over the table, his head cradled in his hands. "Ah, what is it, Carter? You been walkin' around like a ghost for weeks."
He shook his head.
"You can't tell me? You can't tell your own wife?"
A rap at the door startled them both. Her gaze met his. No one visited during the supper hour.
"I'll get it," she murmured.
"No." He leaped up out of his seat. "I'll get it."
Mary watched her husband cross the room and swing open the door. A black-haired redcoat walked inside, pressing Carter back.
Mary clamped her hand over her mouth.
"Carter Perkins?" Lieutenant Riker asked.
Carter nodded. "I . . . but, but you must be lookin' for someone else. There must be a mistake."
Riker looked over his shoulder. "Natty! This the man you've speaking with?"
Carter's eyes widened at the sight of Natty Watkins being dragged in by the collar of his coat by Lieutenant Gordy Moore.
"That . . . that's him all right, Lieutenant," the middle-aged, raggedly dressed man stammered. "That's him, I swear it."
"What's this about?" Mary demanded, coming across the kitchen. "Carter?"
"Mary, get out!" Carter snapped. "This is none of your affair!"
"None of my affair when redcoats break into my house? None of my affair!" She took her husband's arm. "Carter, what do these men want? What's he talkin' about? What would you be doin' talkin' to Natty Watkins? Everybody in the county knows he's an informant for the redcoats."
"Get Natty out of here," Riker commanded Gordy over his shoulder. "And you, woman," he pointed to Mary, "had best take yourself into another room. I've business with your husband."
"No one in this house has business with a redcoat!" Mary shouted. "Now, get out! Get out of my house before I put you out!"'
Carter whipped his hand, striking Mary hard against the cheek. She cringed, more horrified than hurt as she slowly lifted her palm to the red mark on her cheek. "Now do as you're told, woman," Carter barked.
Mary's eyes brimmed with tears as she stared at the man she had loved for so many years, the man she thought she had known. "God save your soul, Carter Perkins," she whispered. Then she shifted her gaze to Riker, who stood impatiently by the door. "And may the devil take yours." After a moment of deadly silence, Mary squared her shoulders and walked out of the kitchen.
Carter licked his dry lips. "I'm tellin' you, Lieutenant, there must be some kind of mistake. I can't be the man you're lookin' for."
Riker walked over to the fireplace and lifted the lid on the Dutch oven that contained Mary's fresh stew. He dropped the lid with a bang. "Oh, no. I got the right man. Took some work, though. You see, Natty, he doesn't even report to me. Another man does." He shook a slender finger. "You were clever, Carter, to keep yourself so well hidden from all of us."
Carter shook his head emphatically, his entire body trembling with fear . . . with remorse. "I'm telling you, you got the wrong man."
Riker took two short strides and grasped Carter by a handful of shirt muslin. "We're past that, don't you see, Carter? Now stop wasting my time and let's get on with it." He brought his face inches from Carter's. "I want to know the names of the men who are riding around wearing those damned flour sacks and I want to know their names now!"
A tear slipped down Carter's cheek. If only God would strike me dead at this very moment, he thought. It would be better for all of us.
Carter had never meant to be a traitor to his country. It had been innocent enough to start with. He'd needed money, and the man, Natty, had offered him hard coin for useless tidbits of information. It was information everyone knew, so Carter hadn't figured he was doing any harm. But then Natty had begun to push him. He began to threaten to reveal his identity if Carter didn't come up with more pertinent information. By the time Carter wanted to back out, it was too late. His coat was lined with English coin; his soul was sold.
Riker tightened his grip on Carter's homespun shirt. "The names . . . I'm not a patient man," he growled.
Carter hung his head. "I can't," he whispered.
Riker shoved Carter down and brought his knee up sharply beneath his chin. Carter grunted in pain.
"Look, you can make this easy on yourself, or you can make it hard." Riker's steely gray eyes were fixed on Carter's ashen face. "What's it going to be, Colonial?"
Carter swallowed against his fear. Riker had been responsible for Billy Faulkner's torture and death and then Ed Bennett's. Torture was a slow way to die. He wondered if he had the strength to hold out.
A high-pitched scream startled Carter. Before the door even swung open and Gordy stepped in, Carter knew whose scream it had been. "Dear God, not my daughter!" he cried.
Six-year-old Lucy screamed and kicked, hammering Gordy in the back as the large redcoat carried the little dark-haired girl into the kitchen. "Right pretty thing," Gordy told Riker. "A hell of a fighter. Had to chase her halfway around the barn and clobber one of those brothers of hers to get a hold of her. Came after me with a hoe, he did."
At the sound of her daughter's screams, Mary came running, a fire poker in her hand. "You put down my Lucy this minute or you'll rue the day you ever set foot in my kitchen," she threatened Gordy in a low voice.
Gordy took a step back, chuckling as he looked to Riker.
"Quite a man you are," Riker commented dryly to Carter, "puttin' your family at risk like this over a few simple names."
Mary whipped around to face her husband. "There'll be no end to it, Carter. You speak and we'll be theirs the rest of our living days!"
Carter went down on his knees, tears streaming down his face. He clasped his hands as if in prayer. "If I tell you, if I tell everything I know, do you swear on your mother's grave you'll let me and my family go?"
Riker pulled out a chair, wood scraping wood as he took his time in answering. "You tell me the right names. You give me some good information and perhaps that could be arranged . . ."
Carter lowered his face to his clasped hands. "I'll tell you," he declared. "I'll tell you anything you want to know."
"No!" Mary screamed. "No, Carter. They'll die. We'll all die!"
"I'll tell you what. You give us the name of the man in our camp who's a part of this masked rebel band and I believe I could even get you a commission in the king's army." Riker sat down in the chair and propped a booted foot on the corner of Mary's scarred kitchen table.
"Anything, anything," Carter sobbed.
"Mama! Mama!" little Lucy cri
ed as she still struggled in the huge soldier's arms. "Mama, help me!" The faces of three other frightened children appeared in the doorway.
Raising the fire poker, Mary put out her hand for her daughter. Riker gave a slight nod and Gordy handed the child over to her mother.
"Clear the room," Riker commanded. "Gordy! Get the woman and children out and don't let them back in." He looked down at the pitiful sight of Carter kneeling at his feet. "Carter and I have a little talking to do."
Half an hour later, Riker and Gordy walked out of the Carter kitchen, mounted up, and rode away. Carter sat at the kitchen table, his head cradled in his arms.
When Mary was certain the redcoats were gone, she nodded to her eldest son, who immediately went out the front door to hitch the wagon. The other children gathered, packed bags, and followed their brother, their heads hung.
Mary walked into the kitchen, her progress made slow by her huge belly. She held her head high, her backbone straight. She retrieved two pots, several cooking utensils, and a sack of flour, and carried them to the kitchen door. On her second trip she took molasses, cornmeal, and the last grounds of coffee.
Carter finally lifted his head. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice a ghostly whisper.
"You betrayed your friends, Carter Perkins! Your own father, for God's sake!"
He shook his head. "Not Papa."
Her eyes narrowed angrily. "I heard you. I heard the words come right out of your mouth!" She lowered her head. "I'm ashamed, ashamed to have ever known you!"
"I did it for you, for my family," he sobbed.
"You did it for yourself!"
"Where are you going?"
She turned away from the broken man who had been her husband but whom she considered her husband no longer. "I don't know. Away from here. I'm going to go pick up Harry if the redcoats haven't gotten to him first and then I'm leaving this town, I'm leaving this county, I'm leaving Virginia. I'm taking my children far from here where they'll never have to live with the stain of their father's betrayal."
Tears ran down Carter's face as he put out his hand to his wife. "You don't understand, Mary. I didn't do it on purpose. It just happened. You've got to believe me!" He touched her sleeve and she pulled back her arm as if she'd been burnt.
"You're a weak man, Carter Perkins, a weak, pitiful man!" With that, she snatched up the lantern and walked out the back door, leaving Carter in utter darkness.
Maggie lay stretched out on Grayson's cot repairing his boots. Grayson sat at his field desk sealing a message meant for Colonel Hastings, who had come to Yorktown and had been given a fighting command by General Washington. Once Grayson was relieved of his duties in the British camp, he would join Colonel Hastings as one of his staff officers on the battlefield.
A small stove in the center of the tent chased off the October chill making the tent a warm haven for Maggie and Grayson despite the occasional sound of gunfire in the distance. Skirmishes now took place daily, turning the entire peninsula into a battleground.
Just as Maggie had suspected, she was still being permitted to walk in and out of the British camp with little more than a nod from one of the sentries. Quite a few Tories had joined the British army once the patriots had moved on Yorktown, so Maggie wasn't the only civilian free to walk about the camp. Maggie had become such a familiar sight that it just didn't seem to occur to anyone that she could be any threat. So against Grayson's better judgment he allowed her to carry his messages out of the camp and into the waiting hands of the patriots.
Maggie was enjoying the game immensely. With General Washington using her home for a hospital, she stayed with Elizabeth at John's home at night and walked back and forth between camps during the day. On occasion she even convinced Grayson to allow her to spend the night in his tent. Tonight was one of those nights when he'd not sent her home at dark.
"Done?" she asked quietly.
He rolled the tiny strip of paper and inserted it into a quill. "Done. After he reads this, I imagine I'll be able to join him. I've had enough of this farce. I'm ready to fight. Just deliver the quill to Colonel Hastings, but mind you deliver it yourself."
She saluted, purposely using her left hand to aggravate him. "Yes, Captain. Right away, Captain."
He slipped the quill into her leather bag containing her bootmaking tools and came toward the bed in his stocking feet.
She couldn't resist a smile as she watched him cross the tent. He was dressed in his uniform breeches that hugged his thighs. His shirt was untied and left open down the center of his chest to reveal a sprinkling of golden curls. His hair had been freshly washed and swung at his shoulders in a golden curtain. In Maggie's wildest dreams she never imagined she would be in love with a man like Grayson Thayer. And the best part was he loved her, too.
"I shouldn't have let you stay the night," he told her, waggling his finger. "You'll be nothing but trouble."
She set aside his boot and moved over to make room for him on the narrow cot. "Too late. Not safe for me to travel to John's after dark. Soldiers everywhere."
"I fear it's the soldiers' safety I should be concerned with." He sat down, brushing her cheek with his fingertips.
She leaned to kiss him, hypnotized by the clear blue of his eyes.
When the tent flap lifted, Grayson turned around. "Michaels, I said that would be all for . . ." He left his sentence unfinished. There, standing just inside the tent, was Riker. Michaels stood between Grayson and the lieutenant.
Grayson rose. Maggie scooted to the edge of the bed. It was obvious there was something wrong. Instinctively her fingers found the knife she wore in her stocking.
"I told him he couldn't come in," Michaels apologized, obviously distraught. "I told him you had turned in for the night, but he came in anyway. I couldn't stop him."
Grayson nodded. "It's all right, Michaels. You can go."
"Sir?"
"Just step outside, boy." Grayson didn't like the wild-eyed smug look on Riker's face. If there was going to be trouble, he didn't want the boy in the center of it. Mentally, Grayson calculated how many steps it would take to get to the table where he kept his pistol.
Michaels backed out of the tent and let the canvas flap fall.
Riker smiled, nodding grandly in Maggie's direction. "I've found the two of you together . . . what a surprise! Who'd have thought I'd be responsible for such a romance."
"You've no right to burst in here like this, Riker," Grayson snapped in the voice Maggie had come to recognize as his cover, Captain Thayer. "I demand to know what is so deathly important that it cannot wait until roll call in the morning."
Riker lowered his hand and before Grayson could make a move, Riker drew his flintlock pistol from beneath his coat. "Why, I've come to arrest you, of course."
Grayson remained perfectly calm. "Arrest me? God's bowels, what are you talking about? I told you to ease up on that Colonial grum; it's making you slow-witted."
Riker brandished the pistol angrily. "Oh, no you don't. You're not going to talk your way out of this, Captain, or should I say, Major?"
Maggie's heart skipped a beat. He knew! Somehow Riker had found out who Grayson really was.
"I don't know what you're talking about. By whose authority have you come to arrest me? What are the charges?"
"I come by my own authority. I thought I'd surprise my uncle. He's been disappointed in me, you know. He meant to send me away because he thought me unworthy. But this will prove to him that I deserve his respect."
"You're rambling," Grayson said, still keeping the guise of innocence. He slid his foot to the right toward the table where he kept his pistol.
"Oh no you don't!" Riker took a step forward. "Stand right there. I don't want to kill you if I don't have to. I want to see you hang. I want to see you turn blue and kick your feet above the ground before you take your last breath."
Maggie started to rise up off the cot, but Riker turned his gaze on her. "You, too, Miss Bootmaker."
Maggie brought her hand to her breast. "Me?" she said innocently.
He grinned. "A woman riding with a band of men. I find it hard to believe."
"Look, Riker, I don't know where you got your information, but someone has taken your coin and is laughing his way to the tavern at this very minute."
He shook his head. "No. My information's good all right. The best. It took me months, but I finally found a man who'd talk."
Maggie lifted her head. "A man?"
Riker took another step toward Grayson, his pistol beaded in on Grayson's head. Maggie knew at that moment that Riker had reached the edge. If she or Grayson moved, Grayson was a dead man. "One of your own," Riker said with a funny laugh. "He turned easy if you're wondering."
"Who?" Maggie demanded. "Who did you talk to?"
Riker shrugged. "Guess there's no harm in sayin' seeing as how I've got you both." His steely eyes met Maggie's. "A Colonial clod by the name of Carter, Carter Perkins."
The moment the words were out of Riker's mouth, Maggie knew it was true. Carter! She hung her head in pained frustration. How could he have done this to her? To them all?
Grayson threw a quick glance over his shoulder at Maggie. "I don't know what you're talking about here," he said, returning his gaze to Riker's taut face, "but I'm certain it can all be straightened out come morning."
"No, no, no, you don't understand, Thayer. You've been caught, you and the lady. The facts I have are true. You're not going to charm your way out of this one. You and this bootmaker are going to die." He looked at Maggie. "Now why don't you get up slowly so I can escort both of you to my uncle's tent. We want to catch him before he turns in for the night, don't we?"
When Maggie didn't move, he shook the pistol. "I said get up!" he shouted.
Maggie bounced up off the cot, fearing Riker would shoot Grayson before they ever made it out of the tent.
Riker began to back up. "Now come slowly this way the both of you, and I'm warning you, you make one bad move and I'll kill you right here, Thayer. You understand? Now get your hands up in the air where I can see them. Both of you!"
The Bootmaker's Daughter: Revolution (Destiny's Daughters Book 2) Page 30
