Liberty's Legacy

by Heidi Sprouse

  Nicholas sat beside me and placed a firm hand on my shoulder. “Benjamin, go rest. I will sit with him now. You are done in, man.”

  I could not move. When I spoke, my words were devoid of emotion. I was dead inside. “I cannot go home without him, Nicholas. My mother has already paid liberty’s price once. I cannot make her pay it again.”

  He gave me a gentle shake. “Jacob has not given up yet. Do not give up on him.” I met his gaze. Unwavering faith stared back at me. I gathered what scraps I had left and allowed him to take my place. A chill ran through me. I rubbed at my arms to warm up. I scanned the room. Sutton was outside taking care of the animals and the recipe. Rebekah sat by the fire doing her mending. Her needle dipped in and out of the fabric, the light of the fire striking it and dancing on the walls. She paused, pressing her fingers to her temples.

  I took pity on her. It was very late and all of us were worn to the bone. I had spent the day bathing my stepfather from head to toe with cold water by the hour while Rebekah poured tea, broth, and medicine down his throat. Stoner and Sutton muscled him out the door to relieve himself or bring up whatever we put in him. For now, Jacob slept, but sleep did not ease him. His face was tight, the lines by his eyes and mouth carved deep. From time to time, he moaned or twitched. With every movement, I flinched as did my angel.

  His pain pierced my heart. If I could trade places with him, I would willingly do so to spare him. After all the sacrifices he had made to my mother and me, it was the least I could do. I leaned against the mantle to gather my courage, praying to myself. Please God. Please, don’t take him from us. Ease his pain. I beg this of you. If you give me this gift in my life, it will be more than enough. Please. Don’t let me face Mama without him.

  A small cry from the hearthside pulled me away from my desperate plea. My angel set down her sewing, bowed her head, and pressed her hands to her eyes. A shudder ran through her as she swabbed her cheeks with her sleeve and stared dully into the fire. Her face was pale, her clothing rumpled. Rebekah had done all that she could do in this instant, but in the end my stepfather’s life was in God’s hands. That knowledge gave little comfort for those who loved Jacob and fought to save him. It was wearing on all of us, including the woman I loved. I stood, walked behind her, and rubbed her shoulders, hoping to give her strength. Mine was failing, but I would give her whatever I had to spare. She let her head fall against my hand and her eyes fluttered shut. The power of my love for her made my throat burn.

  My chest constricted, making it difficult to breathe. If I was going to speak my heart, it must be now, while I still had some modicum of control over myself. I dropped down on one knee and took her hand. “Rebekah, my brief encounter with war has taught me how fleeting life can be, how precious. I do not want to waste a minute. Will you be my wife and share what is left of it with me? British or American, I care not which nation has control of us, only that I have you by my side. With you, I can ride out the tides of war and whatever is to follow.”

  She began to cry, sliding down on her knees to loop her arms over my neck. “Yes, dear Lord, yes, my Benjamin. I will go anywhere as long as you lead the way.” She kissed me and pressed her head to my chest. “I have been yours since the day you practically fell on my doorstep. I have been dreading your departure. I was so lonely when you and Jacob went to Plattsburgh. This cabin was emptier than ever. I was afraid I was destined to remain here, cast adrift, all by myself.” Her voice caught, her words breaking off.

  “I will do everything in my power to make sure you are never alone again. When I went to fight, my mind kept coming back to you and our time together. I pictured you, thought of your caring ways. You were the flame that kept burning for me. You helped me to keep moving forward, but all the while I wanted to turn around and come back to you.” I pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and stroked her hair, doing my best to soothe her the way she did the same for all of us. I held her close as a crushing wave of fatigue took me down to my pallet of blankets on the floor. My angel came with me. I closed my eyes and let the quiet of the room settle my nerves. The quiet crackling of the fireplace and Nicholas’ soft murmurs to my stepfather were the last thing I heard before I drifted off.

  I knew no more until morning. The sunlight was streaming through the window, full blast, bathing us in its heat and light. My angel was nestled against me. We were covered, although I did not remember drawing up any blankets. I moved slowly, my bones stiff and sore from sleeping on the hardwood floor. Getting up would be a challenge. Rebekah snuggled in closer, burrowing in against my side. I lost myself studying her features. Her skin pale as marble. The rich, dark strands of her hair slipping from her braid and tumbling down her back. The curve of her mouth, a mouth that smiled more than not, generous with laughter. Like Rebekah in every way. I longed to take her in my arms and kiss her, but it was not the time or the place. Besides, I didn’t want to disturb her rest.

  I stared at the dance of flames in the fireplace. Someone had made sure to keep the fire burning through the night. A kettle bubbled over the heat, undoubtedly something for breakfast. Porridge perhaps? My stomach rumbled for the first time in days. Perhaps I could manage a bowl with a dollop of my Rebekah’s sweet honey. I shifted with the intention of getting up when a shadow fell over us. I glanced up.

  Nicholas stood next to us, his smile nearly splitting his face it was so wide “Jacob’s fever has broken.”

  30

  17 September 1814

  Benjamin Willson Cooper

  Tom Sutton’s laughter rang out followed by an unfamiliar sound that squeezed my heart. My stepfather joined in. He was weak, having wasted considerably from the fever, infection, and pain that had waged war in his body, and had to stop frequently to catch his breath. Still, he laughed, a sound like music. I had feared I might not ever listen to that beautiful song again when we faced his darkest hours.

  We were all gathered around his bed, passing a jug of Kentucky bourbon back and forth. Even Rebekah took a swig from time to time. We had supped on a hearty stew and considered it a victory that Jacob had kept it down. I rested my hands on my knees and closed my eyes, glorying in a moment of peace after all the tension. All of us were mending in some way. My stepfather, from his dreadful injury. Nicholas, from a darkness of spirit that had settled on his heart after the death of Jonas Blair. I was still regaining my strength from my illness the month before. This small window of time, hidden away in the depths of the forest in Rebekah’s home, was a reprieve all of us needed.

  Nicholas swiped his wrist over his mouth after a particularly generous swallow of bourbon and handed it over to Sutton, his voice going hoarse from the effects of the strong alcohol. “We have been waiting here with baited breath since you set off with the last batch of whiskey. Do not leave us begging for news. What word have you on the war front? Did anything more happen in Plattsburgh?”

  My body tightened as I relived that day, my heart thrumming wildly at the mere mention of the town. I took a deep breath and focused on calming myself. Rebekah’s presence at my side managed to pull me back into the present. She spoke softly to Jacob as she tended his leg, changing his bandage as she often did to check its progress and keep it clear from infection. His jaw clenched, one fist straining against the covers.

  I took his other hand and met his pain-filled gaze. Somehow, the blue of his eyes had become even more intense since he was injured, so intense I had to fight not to look away. The conversation died out in the room as everyone’s attention was drawn to his brave battle. He swallowed hard as my angel swiped the stump with whiskey and squeezed her arm. “I am all right.” He focused his attention on the smuggler. “Sutton, do tell us any word you have heard.”

  Tom had shied away from conversations of war when he first arrived, so filled with relief and joy to see my stepfather’s marked improvement since the morning the fever finally burned itself out. Trapped by Jacob’s powerful stare, he could not avoid the topic any longer. He took one more swallow of w
hiskey and let out a deep sigh. “A great deal has happened since you came back here to lick your wound.”

  “Please continue. I only pray you do not tell us we are subjects of the Crown again.” Jacob drew himself up in anticipation, Rebekah propping pillows behind him. We all inched our way closer to focus on Tom’s tale. We had been shut off from the rest of the world these past few weeks. Time to let it back in. I steeled myself, preparing for the worst. Personally witnessing the price of war had dampened my optimism considerably.

  Sutton gripped my stepfather’s hand. “Dear Lord, no. I have only good news at this time. The Battle of Plattsburgh has come and gone. By the twelfth of September, we gave them a sound flogging in a manner of speaking. They lost two thousand men. We lost one hundred and fifty.” Nicholas let loose a curse under his breath. The smuggler’s mouth turned up in a grin. “You are right about that. Lieutenant Thomas Macdonough faced off a much larger force with the Saratoga, Ticonderoga, and more war ships. The British were much better armed, but Macdonough, that sly fox, drew them in close enough for a cannonade and managed a strike on the Confiance. They thought the Saratoga was going down when she came around. It was astounding, the most decisive engagement in Madison’s War to date. We cannot cease to take them by surprise, outwitting them with strategies that are foreign to them. We thrashed them on the water and on the land.”

  Another round of bourbon was fitting as we digested that bit of positive news, boosting my morale considerably. Tom took up where he left off, the color rising in his face with excitement, his eyes bright. “That is not all! The Battle of Baltimore took place from the twelfth of September to thefifteenth. The Redcoats tried to take Fort McHenry. General Samuel Smith defended Baltimore Harbor against the British fleet on the Chesapeake Bay. They bombarded our forces all through the night, but the flag was still flying come morning. Those bloody bastards burned Washington in August, but they cannot keep us down. We may fall, but we always rise again.” Fire snapped in his gaze and his voice shook with the intensity of his emotions.

  Rebekah patted his back gently. “Calm yourself or you will become one of my patients. I have had quite enough of nursing, thank you. I prefer a house full of healthy men.” She smiled indulgently at Jacob and me, making it clear that she spoke in jest.

  Jacob raised the jug in agreement. “Hear, hear!”

  Tom swallowed another gulp of bourbon, letting out an explosive breath. “My, but that does get stronger the more you drink it.” He passed off the jug and reached inside his shirt to pull out a rumpled pamphlet. “Look here now. A lawyer, Francis Scott Key, saw it all from the water, watched the bombs light up the sky all night, and bore witness to that moment when America’s flag continued to fly with the coming of the dawn. He wrote a poem about it and it is spreading through the states like wildfire.”

  Jacob took the pamphlet from Sutton’s hand and slowly scanned the words. As he neared the end, the tears welled up in his eyes and his lip began to tremble. “Yes, that describes how we all feel, perfectly.” He handed it to me, bowing his head in an effort to collect himself.

  I skimmed over the words, wondering what could have possibly affected my stepfather so deeply. By the end, I was forced to walk away lest I make a display of myself. I went to the mantle and leaned against it, my eyes stinging. The poem continued to stream through my mind:

  ***

  The Star-Spangled Banner

  O say can you see,

  by the dawn’s early light,

  What so proudly we hail’d

  at the twilight’s last gleaming.

  Whose broad stripes and bright stars

  through the perilous fight

  O’er the ramparts we watch’d

  were so gallantly streaming?

  And the rocket’s red glare,

  the bombs bursting in air,

  Gave proof through the night

  that our flag was still there.

  O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave

  O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

  ***

  Rebekah joined me, her minty breath and cool skin soothing as it brushed against mine. “May I see it, Benjamin?” I passed the poem to her and pinched the bridge of my nose. I did not need the pamphlet. It was branded on my heart.

  My angel wept openly and unashamed once she had completed it. I pushed aside my own emotions to contend with hers, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She wiped the dampness from her cheeks, sniffling. “I can picture it all. He painted the scene so clearly with his words. It is as if I was sitting there beside him in the middle of the battle.”

  Nicholas read it last. When he finished, his hands clenched into fists and he walked out the door into the night. Jacob jerked his chin in that direction and I took his cue, following the man who I considered the closest thing I had to an uncle. I found him leaning against a tree, his forehead pressed to his arm. A shudder ran through him.

  Tentatively, I rested my palm on his shoulder. “Those words strike a chord, do they not? They stir something deep within.”

  “Aye, that is true, Benjamin, but what I cannot help but wonder is when will it all stop? I have been fighting for most of my life. I was but fourteen when I became a fifer and nearly had my head blown off at the Battle of Saratoga. I lost my father in a raid from the Natives—they scalped him, those bloody bastards! I lost my brother during this horrible conflict at Sacket’s Harbor. How much more must we lose? How much higher is liberty’s price going to be? Will there be any of us left to enjoy it?”

  “I cannot answer any of those questions, Nicholas. I only know that too many have already paid with their lives. If we do not continue to fight with all we have in us, they have died in vain. I cannot allow that to happen. Neither will you.”

  He turned and raised his chin, squaring his shoulders. His characteristic bold expression was back in place. “You are right, Benjamin. Thank you for helping me to remember why we continue to fight. We must never give up.”

  31

  20 September 1814

  Benjamin Willson Cooper

  Nicholas and I returned to the cabin from a short walk. The door was open, Rebekah kissing Tom on the cheek as he bid her farewell. Their breath hovered on the air and I shivered. Autumn had crept up on us while Jacob continued to recover. My mind wandered to my mother, as it often had often in the days since the battle. We had been so preoccupied with caring for my stepfather that there had been no chance to send word to her about our welfare. I could only imagine her anxiety as she wondered what might have become of us. As Sutton stepped down to say goodbye to us, I was filled with an extreme longing to depart with him. There was only one problem. Jacob was not fit to leave, and I could not desert him. Nor could I leave without my angel.

  Nicholas offered his hand first, pulling the smuggler into a hug. “God speed, Tom. We may not see you again. We plan on heading back to Johnstown as soon as Jacob is well enough to mount a horse. Our women are waiting for us at home.”

  Sutton clapped him on the back. “May the road rise to meet you and the wind be at your back as you venture home.” He smiled sadly. “Home. I would love to have such a place to call my own one day.”

  Nicholas stepped inside with Rebekah, leaving the two of us to take our leave. I gripped the smuggler’s forearm and struggled against my rising emotion. “I am eternally grateful to you for all you have done, Tom, from bringing medicine to me in my hour of need to finding the surgeon as swiftly as you did for my father. I believe you saved his life.”

  Tom looked down at his feet, his cheeks flaming, uncomfortable with the extra attention. “You would have done the same—and more, judging by what I have seen from the lot of you. That reminds me.” He reached into his saddle bag and pulled out Legacy. “I want you to take this back. I did not feel right taking it before, but you were so pigheaded. There was no time to argue. I have plenty of time now and my patience is long.”

  I raised a hand in protest. “Mine is
even longer. I do not take back gifts once they have been given. It is a small price to pay in exchange for what you have given us. Take it and enjoy it. I can always make another. I cannot find another honorable man like you.”

  “An honorable man doing dishonest work, eh? All right then, young Cooper. Until we meet again, may God keep you in the palm of His hand.” Sutton hugged me hard enough to steal my breath away and mounted his great dappled horse. With a shout and a wave, he faded into the night, his buckskin quickly blending into his surroundings like the deer of the forest. I did not know if I would ever see him again, but I would never forget the smuggler-turned-guardian angel who rose up out of the chaos after our brush with death in Plattsburgh.

  As I turned to the cabin, the door opened once again and Rebekah joined me, her arms wrapping around me, her body pressed to mine to give and receive warmth. The butterfly flutter of her heart beating against my chest made my spirit rise as I drew her in even closer. With Rebekah, I found life, resilient and strong. Strong enough to lead me home.

  32

  1 October 1814

  Benjamin Willson Cooper

  I sat on Rebekah’s step in the cool of evening as the stars winked overhead. My stepfather and Nicholas stood at the fence, target shooting. Jacob propped himself against the corral on one leg, a forked stick on hand to offer him a crutch of sorts when he needed additional support. The booms of their muskets tore through the silence … and each one made me flinch.

  Rebekah squeezed my shoulder as she sat beside me. She placed a mug in my hand. I took a whiff, mouth turned up at the corner when I identified an all too familiar scent. “Whiskey?”

  She shook her head. “Tea doctored with whiskey.” She laughed until her mirth died out, her face creasing as I jerked with the next shot and nearly spilled the hot brew all over. I tried to cover my agitation by hiding behind my mug. Rebekah was not fooled. She took my hand. “The battle, it has left a mark on you. Your father, his is outward and quite obvious. You bear scars that run deep inside of you, carry a pain that you will never forget.”