Liberty's Legacy

by Heidi Sprouse

  I wanted to see her graceful form unfettered by heavy clothes that mimicked a man’s. She was one of the finer things in life and deserved to be clothed as such. I would love to see her wearing nothing. The thought slipped in unbidden. I let my eyes slide closed and filled my mind with those visions for a while. Odd. That a man could be so close to death and still long to sate the needs of his body that could only be met by a woman. Food and water were considered a necessity. I had no doubt that the touch of a woman was equally essential, if not more so. A woman could mend your spirit and your heart in ways that no other sustenance could.

  I must have slept. Sweet dreams were pleasant for a change. The illness had finally loosened its iron grip and I had hopes of feeling like a living, breathing being again who was not entangled in a web of pain. Just that morning, I drank hot tea and it remained in my stomach, showing no signs of a return appearance. My stomach rumbled, shaking me awake, making my mouth turn up in a hint of a grin. I might even actually eat something. Soon.

  I rested my hand on my stomach, felt a twinge. No, not today. Not yet. I must go slow, taking small steps, like those of an infant. One day at a time. By the grace of God above and this woman, I would have the gift of more time.

  I stared at the ceiling for a spell, contemplating the chinks in the logs. What work it must have taken to fell them and join them together. Rufus Barnes must have been a strong man, an admirable man if my angel could love him. My eyes drifted over the walls next, finally landing on Rebekah. Her hair was down, a lovely dark curtain of thick curls. She took up her brush and ran it all the way to the tips that brushed her waist. Where I wanted to place my hands and feel the delicate cage of her ribs, press my ear to the drumming of her heart. A strangled sound of longing escaped me.

  She set her brush down and rushed to my side. “What is it? Are you in pain? I can make you more willow bark tea.” Her brows knit in concern. “I pray you are not having a relapse.”

  I shook my head, threaded her fingers with mine, and kissed the back of her hand. “You are so beautiful. I cannot help but get lost in you.”

  She smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead, then my cheeks, and finally on my lips. “I do believe that you are still delirious, but you flatter me. I would be a fool if I did not let a man flatter me.” In a moment of inspiration, her eyes lit and she picked up her brush again. “Let me brush your hair. It has been sorely neglected while I have been too occupied with saving your life.”

  I did not argue, not when I hungered for her touch like a starving man craved his last meal. Her fingers combed through my hair first, making me close my eyes. The brush ran through the strands next and I thought that I would disintegrate on the spot.

  I began to tremble. Rebekah set down the brush and rested her hands on my shoulders. An answering quiver ran through her and passed down my body, setting my heart to racing. I had a powerful effect on her as well. With each passing day, my feelings for my angel grew stronger. Lying here in her bed, bathed in sunlight and the warmth of her touch, I prayed that the same feelings stirred deep within her.

  I cleared my throat and reached up to rest my fingers on hers, pressing lightly, striving to gain control of the fire that had been lit in the pit of my stomach. A fever of a completely different kind, one that would rage like wildfire and burn us both down to ash … if I were well.

  “Thank you for tending me yet again. I am sorry to offer you any inconvenience, but I need to go to the bathroom.” The tea had gone through me quickly what with there being nothing in my system for so long.

  “Yes, yes of course.” Rebekah pressed her palms to flaming cheeks for a heartbeat before pulling back my covers. “Let me bring the chamber pot and …”

  My hand clamped down on her wrist. Pitifully weak, yet still she heeded my message. “I have had enough of such embarrassment. I will not put you through more work. You do too much as it is, and I have been unable to lift a finger. The least I can do is walk to the privy.”

  Rebekah’s hands went to her hips. “You are not strong enough.” Her expression dared me to defy her. Lord but she was a resilient woman in every way, inside and out.

  Slowly, I pulled myself to a sitting position, holding on to her headboard with one hand, quivering like a newborn foal. I swayed and gripped the edge of the mattress with two hands lest I tumble backward. My head was spinning already, but I would not back down. “Then I suppose—I will have to prove—you wrong.”

  I made to stand, my legs nearly caving beneath me. She dove forward and set her shoulder under my arm. Her nearness, her body pressed against mine offering me a pillar of strength, and her minty scent made me sag against her. My arm looped around her waist and I buried my head in her hair. Dear Lord, I was in sweet heaven.

  “I think you need to lie down and suffer the indignity of the chamber pot for a few more days. After all, that will be better than falling flat on your face, do you not think so?” Laughter was trailing on the edge of her words, making them babble like a brook. In the midst of difficult circumstances, the woman still managed to make light of it.

  I straightened, setting my shoulders. I would use the privy if it was the last thing I did. “I will not be such a burden to you anymore. This is small in the grand scheme of things, but it will be one less mess for you to clean up.”

  I met her gaze with a level stare, praying she would agree before I started to sway. Judging by the tilt of her head and the grim line of her mouth, I expected a fight. She let out a deep breath. “As you wish, but will you at least allow me to help you to get there?”

  I sagged against her and held on tight. “I thought that you would never ask.”

  I sat in the privy, thankful for small favors. In spite of my tough words, I never would have made it while remaining on my feet. Rebekah was in the barn, working on her husband’s recipe. When I finally stopped trembling from the exertion of crossing the yard, I swiped at the cold sweat that covered my brow and inched my way back into a standing position. If I moved at the pace of molasses and held on to something, I could keep on my feet. To occupy myself and steer clear of how shaky my legs were, I counted every step. To the corner of the privy. To the fence around the corral. To the door of the barn. To the hay bale that caught me as my breath came out in a rush.

  My vision went black around the edges. A cool hand squeezed the nape of my neck and pushed my head between my knees. “Take a deep breath in. Let it out. Again. Wait until the world stops spinning.”

  Her voice was music that calmed the storm kicking up inside of me. I opened my eyes and her palm pressed beneath my chin until I could meet her gaze. “Ready to get up, are you? I do not believe that you were entirely truthful with me, dear Benjamin.”

  I tilted my head and gave her what I hoped was a playful grin. “I did what I intended to do. I made it. Getting back is another question entirely.”

  Rebekah shook her head and turned back to her stills. It was hot in the barn, hotter than what I imagined Hades would be with fires burning in two brick fireplaces stoked high. Wood was stacked in neat piles, an ax propped against the wall. What a woman to take on the task of a man and do all that chopping and everything else necessary to produce Kentucky bourbon. On top of the bricks above the flames were copper stills that emptied into giant oak barrels. Several stalls were filled with more barrels, allowing the whiskey to ferment and take on the unique flavor acquired by the barrels themselves.

  Watching my angel as she pushed her hair from her eyes, added wood to the fire, and took up a ladle to sample the latest batch, I was inebriated. From her.

  Her head tilted back, her throat rippling with each swallow, her sigh of appreciation drifting my way. I could not help but long for her no matter how weak I was. I wavered and almost toppled off the hay. She turned and was at my side in an instant, kneeling beside me to catch me. “Easy now, Benjamin.” She still held the ladle in her hand. “Want a sip to fortify you?”

  I raised my hand in protest, one arm arou
nd my stomach. “I do not think that I am up to that fine distilled drink just yet. I would like to wait until I can appreciate it.” And better appreciate you. A shake of her head and she drained the rest, setting my heart to drumming in my ears.

  “Benjamin, are you all right?” Her hand gripped my shoulder, her fingers digging in. It was meant to steady me but only threw me more off balance.

  “I am fine. Woolgathering, I guess.” About you and what you look like beneath that buckskin. She set her ladle down and stood before me, extending both hands. I accepted her offer. I knew better than to think I would be going anywhere else on my own. I only prayed I could get back without forcing Rebekah to drag me all the way across the yard to bed.

  She studied my face and ducked under my arm, wrapping one arm around my waist. “Take it slowly, Benjamin. After all, Rome was not built in a day.”

  Slow did not begin to describe it. I was certain each step was going to be my last, the sweat breaking out at my temples and running in rivulets down my face. I kept my eyes pinned on the cabin. My destination seemed elusive. The day was mild and uncharacteristically warm. I thought I would melt. About half way there, my legs gave, but Rebekah would not let me fall. She stood firm as I got my feet under me again. I leaned more heavily on her but continued moving forward, fearful my angel would hoist me on her back next. A few more excruciating steps and I dropped on her landing, shaking so hard I dropped my head in my hands, waiting to be reduced to rubble.

  The wooden step creaked slightly as she joined me. Her patience never ran out, something that never ceased to amaze me. Perhaps it is the guilt she carries because her efforts failed to save her husband. Her hand rested on mine, her fingers surprisingly soft and cool, sending the blood racing through my veins. All the way to my head. If I had any such effect on her, guilt was not her main motivation. I peeked at her and watched the flush creeping up from her neck. Crimson streaks stained her cheeks and she pulled her hand away, wrapping her fingers tightly around her knee. No. There was more than guilt that drew her to me and made her hang on my every breath. I wanted her to realize that I was only too willing to return the favor.

  “The day is so pleasant, the sun so warm. I think you should have a bath. I have done the best I can to wash your body when you are lying in bed, but you need more.” Distraction or no, the mere thought of being cleansed by her hands was enough to set my heart to tripping and make me pant.

  I straightened up and nodded, my voice faint. “As you wish.”

  She went inside and bustled back out with her cast iron kettle that hung over the fire. There was always a supply of water warming for any time Rebekah had a use for it. Cooking. Washing clothing. Cleaning the cabin. Cleaning me. She lugged it to the small lean-to beside the house where a copper tub waited. When it was cold, she had informed me that the tub came inside, but the weather was fine in late summer. I longed to help her as she went back and forth, fetching water at the well, waiting for it to warm, and carrying it outside. I was too weak, unable to even stand back up again on my own after my venture to the privy.

  “Do not bother warming any more. It is mild today. I can afford to handle a slight chill. It might even be refreshing.” I caught her on the way back from the well with yet another kettle of water.

  She set it down and set her hands on her hips, huffing from the exertion. “I will do no such thing. You are finally on the mend. All I need is for you to catch a chill and we will be back where we started, or worse. This time, you might not conquer the foe inside of you. No thank you.” Rebekah hauled the water inside. Exhausted to no end, I propped my head against the railing and my eyes slid closed.

  The next thing I knew, Rebekah stood beside me, empty handed. She wiped at her brow, her head tilted to the sun and the heat rushed all the way to my hairline. Something made her glance down at me and a secretive smile made her lips turn up at the corners. She held out her hands. “Your tub is ready. Let me help you.” I did not argue. I would endure anything to savor her touch on my skin. In my sickness, that was the one blessing.

  Leaning on her shoulder heavily, we inched our way to the lean-to. The steaming tub of water looked so inviting I nearly wept at the sight of it. Clothes and all, I would be willing to douse myself in a warm bath. Anything to wash away the lingering traces of sickness and weariness. She lowered me to a stool beside the copper tub and helped me to strip down. I no longer had any modesty. My angel had seen everything as she nursed me to health. I thought not for the first time how unjust life was that I did not have the same privilege.

  Those are not the thoughts of a gentleman. I attempted to tame my errant mind, to yank it back on to the path of propriety when our eyes met. We paused and stared at each other. She leaned in. Her breath brushed my cheek and I almost kissed her. Her blush intensified, the pulse at the base of her neck beating wildly. I reached up, set my thumb there, and her hand touched mine. Breathlessly, she whispered, “The water will get cold if you do not get in now and all my efforts will go to waste.”

  I swallowed hard and hefted my leg over the side of the tub. It seemed to weigh at least one hundred pounds. One foot in and the other followed as I sank down on the bottom of the tub, my head resting on the edge. As Rebekah began to bathe me, I fell back, my eyes drooping shut. The warm water felt so good, my angel’s gentle ministrations even better.

  I dreamed. Of my mother and father. Most of the images were brief snippets of their past. I do not know why I saw these scenes that played out before I was born. I must have heard the stories too many times from my mother and Jacob until my imagination took over, drawing pictures in my mind. I saw them with such clarity, as if they were my memories. One particular scene played out with crystal clarity, yet it was a moment in time that I do not remember anyone sharing with me.

  Benjamin Willson sat with my mother in a meadow, one I had seen before if I stood on the step at my grandfather’s house. My father was stretched out on the ground, white with pain. There were hollows under his eyes and he was sitting because it was too hard to stand, yet that did not keep him from holding my mother in his arms. There was such joy on their faces, in their eyes, as if they were the only two people on earth and nothing else mattered. My mother looped her arms around his neck and his mouth sealed hers. I meant to look away, but their emotions were too powerful, drawing me in.

  The scene shifted to that blasted battlefield and the last time that they held each other in their arms. My father’s hand was on her midsection, her braid nearly burning a hole in his pocket. His button was plucked off his jacket and nestled in her palm. The entire universe existed between the two of them. Inside of them.

  I came up fast out of the dream, too fast. My head spinning, I fell back against the edge of the copper tub. An intense longing for Rebekah took up every fiber of my being, in the same way that my mother and father consumed one another to the bone and marrow running through them, to the heart beating inside of them.

  I finally understood why I had waited so long to take a wife. I’d never found the right woman. Until now.

  24

  27 August 1814

  Benjamin Willson Cooper

  Joy was a river that ran deep, cleansing my soul, lifting my spirits. My stepfather and Nicholas Stoner were safe, here by my side in Rebekah’s cabin tucked away in the woods, and I was going to live. Against all odds. There had been many times that I thought I would never see Jacob again. I was grateful for the gift of our reunion.

  I was on the mend, but progress was pitifully slow, marked by a day when I improved remarkably only to be frustrated when my body turned traitor and sent me to my bed again. Today, on the day of their arrival, I was weak as a kitten, propped up against the pillows because I could not sit up unaided. Our hostess handed me a cup of water. My hand shook so badly that her fingers curled around mine, lifting the tankard to my lips. A look passed between us that gave birth to smiles and flushed cheeks—I dare say for both of us. The hectic color on her face was clear. Judging by th
e heat that blazed from my chest to my hairline, I imagined that my skin was a telltale shade of crimson. Intense feelings like ours could not be hidden. I did not want to hide them. Rebekah had become my everything.

  Jacob’s perceptive gaze studied us closely. His mouth quirked up at the corners and he cleared his throat, giving us a moment to gather our composure. “We are returning to Plattsburgh to offer what aid we can. The call has gone out to the governors of Vermont and New York to send militia, whatever they have, whoever they can spare, for as long as they can spare them. Unbelievable that of all times, that bastard, John Armstrong, would force General Izard to pull out when we need him now. Prevost has some fifteen thousand soldiers ready to descend upon us, men that are battle-hardened from the Napoleonic Wars. Even with seventy-five hundred strong, they would have us at a disadvantage. But cut us down to thirty-five hundred? They will eat us alive.” He cursed, expressing his true impressions of the secretary of war in no uncertain terms.

  Outside, the rumbling of wagons carrying supplies and artillery continued. The thunder of footsteps was as steady as the beating of the drums announcing the advance of an army. Moving four thousand men was not a stealthy process.

  Stoner stood at the window, arms crossed, muscles in his shoulders bulging. His jaw was set. He was a study in tension, ready to spring into action at the drop of a hat—or the blast of a musket. Of course, that had been Nicholas’ way for as long as I had known him. The man had gone to war when he was only fourteen or so. When he was not a soldier, he was hunting, trapping, fishing or guiding others through the great outdoors. Being still for any length of time was binding to him. He needed to move. To take action. To make a difference.

  He shook his head and turned away, approaching my bed and sitting on the edge. “The secretary of war is a fool. He is so worried about what might be happening at Sacket’s Harbor on Lake Ontario, boosting up the army of Niagara, that he is leaving the back door wide open. Your stepfather and I will do what we can but most likely will be little more than a few stoppers in a dam the size of the falls of Niagara.”