Liberty's Legacy

by Heidi Sprouse

  Wiping at my cheeks, I slipped out of the saddle and held my hands up to set Rebekah firmly on the ground, one arm around her waist to offer her a show of support. This place was foreign to her; she had given everything up to come with me. I wanted my angel to feel at home. I need not have worried, not when my mother was an angel of the highest order. Small wonder that I had been drawn to such an admirable woman as the girl by my side.

  Jacob raised his head, the marks of strong emotion plain on his face. In the flush of his cheeks. In the bright gleam of his eyes. In the mad flutter at the base of his throat. With his arm still holding tight lest she vanish into thin air, he gestured to Nicholas, Rebekah and me. “I am not the only one to come home. I turned up Stoner along the way.” His smile slipped away, and he nearly choked on his words. “I bring you your heart.”

  I threaded my fingers through my angel’s fingers and brought them to my lips. “And the woman to be my wife, Rebekah Barnes.” I could not keep my voice steady, my chin wobbling. “Mama, I have prayed for this homecoming since the day we left.”

  I lunged forward with Rebekah. She stepped away, pushing me forward. “This is a time between a son and his mother.” She stood to the side, her hand pressed to her mouth.

  I only had eyes for the woman who brought me into this world, carrying on liberty’s legacy for the sake of my father and the incomparable love they shared. One great stride and I latched on to her and Jacob. Mama buried her head in my shoulder, her muffled words going straight to my heart. “My boy. My dear, sweet boy. I dreaded the thought that I would never see this beloved face again.”

  I carried the same fear but would not tell her how close that ominous ending had come to pass. I would spare her any pain, especially tidings of her only child’s near demise. Reaching behind me, I extended my hand to Rebekah. She hesitated only an instant and accepted my invitation. I reeled her in, making her a part of us. Jacob did the same with Nicholas. We were a family, bound together by the threat of war and promise of peace.

  My mother lifted her hand to stroke my Rebekah’s dark head. “Welcome to the family.”

  34

  May 30, 2016

  Charlotte

  “They’re home.” Dazed, I snapped the journal shut and pushed it away, as if it were a bee that could sting. The bright rays of spring sunlight washed over our bedroom walls and bathed us in their warm glow, almost as warm as my husband’s arms around me.

  “Finally.” It was a whisper. I glanced up. Ben’s eyes were closed, the lines of worry smoothed from his face. Over the past several weeks, we had only been able to manage a few pages at time, forced to take baby steps as if walking a tightrope. One misstep and the fall would be more than either one of us could endure.

  I threaded my fingers with his. “I’m exhausted. Maybe we should stop here, leave the rest alone. Some things are better left unsaid.” Ben’s hand tightened on mine and he kissed the top of my head.

  “We have to see it through. Benjamin’s journal has carried us this far. To honor him, we have to complete the journey, but I do agree with you about one thing. We need a break.” He carefully set the book on his nightstand and flipped me over on the bed. “How about we start right now? You are dressed for the occasion.” I grinned. We both wore our birthday suits.

  ***

  I lost track of time, nestled in a haven of covers and my husband’s arms as he played with my hair. Each touch of the mess of heavy strands sent a chill through me that ran all the way to my toes. Every part of my body was hypersensitive. That was the power of Ben Wilson.

  “Whatever will we do to pass the time now?” His breath kissed my ear, his whisper making a low hum of contentment rise inside me.

  I turned over to lean my chin on his chest, peering up into his deep brown eyes. “Have your birthday extravaganza, of course!” Now that we had found our son from the past, there was more reason to celebrate than ever before.

  “Time to cash in on my wishes then. Just hold still.” With that, he ravished me. To my surprise, my wishes were coming true too … and I didn’t even tell.

  ***

  Jakey crawled on a quilt set out in the yard, calling out his first word, “Da da,” another gift that could not be bought on my husband’s thirtieth birthday. My mother and father arrived in the late afternoon to join in the festivities, Dad firing up the barbecue because he was the grill master.

  Jakey reached for Ben and my heart melted. This. This was what we needed, a reminder of all the blessings in our lives. To stop getting mired in the past. We could not change what had already been, but we could the make the most of right now. Spending the day with those I loved more than anything else in the world seemed the best way to grab hold of the present and ride it for all it was worth.

  Our little one soon became tired from his active afternoon, dropping off to sleep. I scooped him up and laid him in his playpen set under the shade of a grand old oak. Not for the first time, I wondered how long that tree had stood guard over the land. Had it been there during the Revolution? I pulled my thoughts away from my meanderings as my father stood up with a long, brown parcel in his arms. For an instant, I saw my forefather, William, with whom I had spent a great deal of time, when I traveled into my past life.

  For a brief moment when the package was set in Ben’s hands, he wavered, his eyes going wide. My father took his arm, his face creased in concern. “Son, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  My husband sank down into his chair with a shake of his head. “Must just be adjusting to getting older. Thirty I still can’t believe it.”

  I moved behind Ben when the trembling in his hands made the box shake. I rested my palms on his shoulders and he grew still. He reached up to pat my hand and gave me a small smile. Slowly, he peeled back the paper and lifted the lid. A musket that was also like a rifle lay in a nest of tissue paper. As my husband lifted it out of the box carefully with two hands, the light caught the stock. I peered more closely and gasped, covering my mouth with one hand. Ben’s finger traced over a fine, delicate script that was similar to writing that had become quite familiar to us in a particular set of journals. BWC … 1814 … Legacy. Ben’s breath came out in a rush and he leaned back in his chair, stunned. I pressed his shoulder to ground him even as my eyes filled.

  “Where …” His voice was faint. He closed his eyes, swallowed, tried again. “Where on earth did you get this?”

  My father leaned forward in his chair, pleased by the awe in my husband’s eyes. “Charlotte’s mother and I took a drive to Plattsburgh last weekend. I’d heard mention of a place with antique guns dating back to the Revolution on a website. I knew you had the musket from that time but this, this one is really unique. They didn’t know what to make of it in the shop. This baby is one of a kind. I think it’s a combination of a …”

  “A Kentucky rifle and Springfield 1795.” Ben ran his hands up and down the musket and the stock, becoming better acquainted with the gun. I wanted to do the same.

  My father’s eyes went wide. “You’re really good with your guns. Exactly right. Anyway, I knew you collected things from that time period and Charlotte told me you were really fascinated about anything having to do with the War of 1812. It’s in amazing shape considering its age and that it was probably used in conflict. Someone really took care of this gun. The owner of the shop said the last known person to have the gun was a Sutton, John Timothy Sutton I believe. The last of his line.”

  My heart swelled thinking about Tom Sutton. He’d given Jacob his bourbon and found a surgeon on his venture farther north at a time when it was a hotbed of activity, without a thought. Benjamin gave him the gun, in thanks, and because he could not carry it anymore what with the strain of bearing Jacob. Still, it was obvious. This gun had a place of honor in the Sutton home, passed down through the ages. I would cherish it as well and make sure Benjamin Willson Cooper’s handiwork was admired by everyone who set foot through our door.

  Ben could not con
tain his emotions over his gift, the tears spilling. He pulled my father into a hug and held on tight. “Thank you for this incredible gift. I will make sure it is cared for and do my best to learn its history.”

  He stepped back, one palm resting on the gun. His tension was rising yet again, passing from his arm to my hand. Sensing our strange mood, Mom and Dad prepared to take their leave. They slowly walked down to the lane, paying their respects on the field and the lone pine that stood watch over the dead. Darkness fell as I snuggled little Jacob close, rubbing his back. We all gave away hugs and kisses before I followed my husband back up our long, winding driveway. The stars winked brightly overhead, a shooting star making us both point at the same time. Ben chuckled and motioned for me to walk before him.

  As I forged ahead, I made a wish. Let my Ben finally be at peace with the past. Once inside, I put Jake to bed. I came downstairs to find my husband standing at the table, head bowed in reverence, his hands resting on the gun. The Legacy.

  I stepped up and ducked under his arms so I could touch the gun too. “He really was Liberty’s legacy. This gift is more precious than gold or money or jewels. We can hold a piece of Benjamin in our hands. Right here. Right now. Always.”

  Ben turned me around, cupped my face in his hands. “His legacy has been with us all along, Charlotte. It lives in us.” He nestled me in against his chest and kissed the top of my head. The thrumming of his heart beat against my ear. Proving Benjamin Willson Cooper lived … in him … in my memories … and in the child, sleeping up above in our house.

  Sleep was a long time coming that night. My mind kept turning over the very idea that Benjamin’s musket, like his journals … like my Ben … had found its way to our door. Beside me, my husband was restless as well. He tossed and turned, finally throwing an arm over his eyes and letting out a long exhalation. “Can’t sleep either?” I asked him softly.

  He chuckled quietly. “That obvious, am I? I’m sorry. I can’t stop thinking about the Legacy. Isn’t it odd how bits of our history keep following us?”

  There was a hint of fear and uncertainty in his voice. I understood. When I first crossed back to the present after my jaunt in the past, nothing made sense. I shifted until I was tucked in under Ben’s arm, one arm and leg entwined with his. This Benjamin Wilson wasn’t going anywhere. My hand grazed the mad beating of his pulse at the base of his throat, proving he was on edge. I stroked his hair and rested my head over the pounding of his heart. “Don’t you know, Ben? Love always finds its way home.”

  His kiss on my neck, his breath on my skin, his body lying next to mine were the only proof I would ever need. My Ben found his way to me. Through over two centuries, confusion, sadness and pain. I would not let him go.

  Morning tiptoed in quietly without any fanfare. No nightmares. No panic attacks. Just a slow stretch and a yawn in a bath of sunlight. Ben continued to sleep soundly, a first in a long time. I awoke early and simply watched the wonder that was my husband. When Jakey started to fret, I slipped out of bed and brought him out of the nursery. I tucked my little man beside me in bed and fed him until he was full. A soft burp escaped him and Jacob dropped off to sleep again. The joy welled up inside me. My whole world was in this room.

  Ben’s eyes opened, clear from pain or weariness. He kissed my temple and Jacob’s before tucking us in beneath the covers. “What are you doing?” I asked, curiosity getting the best of me.

  “Holding on to my legacy. Not many men can say that they have held their future in their hands. I do. It doesn’t matter what happens from here on out or with Benjamin’s journal. You are all that matters, only you.”

  I kissed the stubble on his cheek. “Let’s not waste another minute, all right?”

  Ben smiled, a smile that lit him up and drew me like a moth to the flames. “We still have to finish the journal. My parents taught me a valuable lesson. You always finish what you start and that includes housework too.”

  “I’ll be happy to read the rest of that journal, Ben, but right now, I need to soak in time with you and our son.”

  His hand rested on my head. “It’s a deal.”

  35

  15 October 1814

  Benjamin Willson Cooper

  “How’s that feel, Jacob?” Asabel Whitney stood at his shoulder, hovering with his hand extended. Fearful to interfere, more afraid to let his old friend fall. Asabel was a cabinet maker and carpenter by trade, but his most recent claim to fame was supplying the meandering general, as Izard was now known, with four thousand canteens within three days’ notice when his army passed through Johnstown on their infamous journey away from the thick of battle to Sacket’s Harbor.

  Out of the fire and back into the pan ran through my mind, a distraction from the way my gut twisted or how I held my breath, waiting for my stepfather to try out his new wooden leg. His stump had been a long time in healing, making him wretched although the man never complained. If this did not work and he became injured … Rebekah’s hand in mine reminded me to breathe, pushing the air out through my teeth in a hiss. One would think I was going through this trial.

  Jacob inched his way up to a standing position, holding fast to my mother’s hand. I took a step forward in case I was needed. He took several wobbly paces, the pain rippling across his face. Through gritted teeth, he spoke in a low tone that resonated in my bones. Such courage! “Yes. This will do fine. You have my gratitude, Asabel. What do I owe you in return?”

  Tall and wiry from his trade, the carpenter made for an awkward, gangly figure as a crimson flush flooded his face. “Nothing. I would say you have already paid enough.” Asabel stood with his head bowed, hat in hand, working it in his fingers and twisting the brim. “All I did for this war effort was make bloody canteens and some money. You gave up a piece of yourself.”

  Jacob stared at him a moment, then turned, making slow tortuous progress to the fireplace. I moved to offer him my assistance, but he waved me off, his jaw set. I knew better than to argue when his eyes flashed that way. He pulled his musket off the hooks over the mantle and crossed back, holding it out to our friend. “I insist you take it. This went with me to war. Now it is a symbol of peace, that work like yours can continue to build us up, not tear us down.” My stepfather paused and gripped Whitney’s arm. For an instant, I thought he was in need of support. In actuality, he offered comfort. “Do not speak or think poorly of those canteens you made. Those men needed water as they marched off to an uncertain fate. I can think of many times when I would have given most everything I had for a drop to drink.”

  Asabel could barely speak as he pulled Jacob into a rough embrace. “I will take good care of this musket. I will make sure my children and children’s children know its story and of the measure of the man who gifted it to me after crafting it with his talented hands. Good day, Jacob. Charlotte, Benjamin.” With a nod, he left, collecting himself as best he could.

  That night called for a celebration of sorts. For Jacob to be able to stand unaided, to walk from one place to the next even if it ached to the bone, was a victory. Mama prepared a feast with Rebekah’s help, the two women working together with ease. Watching them was a marvel. My angel had fallen into step without hesitation, weaving herself into the Cooper family quilt.

  Upon their insistence, Jacob and I sat in our chairs before the fire, drinking tea laced with Kentucky bourbon. I noticed that my stepfather’s had a much more liberal share of whiskey; his cup probably held more alcohol than not to ease his considerable pain from walking on his new leg all day. He had refused to rest and now was paying the price, yet a smile made his mouth turn up at the corners and his eyes were clear. His biggest fear had been revealed to me in one of his earliest coherent moments after his amputation, that he would no longer be able to provide for my mother, that he would be nothing but a burden. Today’s success with the wooden leg proved otherwise. Even if he suffered terribly, nothing would stop him from taking care of his home and wife. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. />
  As we all sat down to dinner that evening, Nicholas and his wife, Anna, rounded out our group. The mood was light-hearted. We were all home from the war. Hopes were high. Recent engagements against the British suggested the tides might have been turned in our favor. There was light at the end of the tunnel. God willing, Madison’s War would soon come to be a thing of the past. Groaning platters of food went round and round until no one could take another bite. The coffee and whiskey topped off the evening, making words flow freely. Perhaps too freely in the case of my mother as the dam broke that had bottled everything up inside of her during her lonely vigil. Three months of our absence must have seemed like an eternity.

  “I thought I had lost both of you.” She sat perched on my stepfather’s lap, staring into the crackling flames on the hearth. The room fell silent, all eyes turned to my mother. Jacob’s arms tightened around her and he rested his chin on her shoulder. Her trembling shook him ever so slightly as if a summer’s breeze had passed through the room, but her words sent a bitter chill down my spine. Rebekah stood at my shoulder, her fingers tightening in a spasm. Something wet hit my skin. Her tears splashing down. I patted her hand. Because of her, the fate my mother dreaded most had not come to pass.

  Mama sniffled and held a handkerchief to her nose. “When Izard passed through and camped here a few days, I went and asked man after man about all of you. Many knew about Nicholas and a man with flames in his hair and the sky in his eyes by the name of Cooper who was not easy to forget.” Her hand trailed to Jacob’s hair and fingered a strand out of his face. Clearly, my stepfather had been stamped on my mother’s heart. “One knew that Benjamin had taken ill and did not think he would survive. The soldier said you had gone back to collect your son or wait with him to die. A terrible thought crossed my mind, that if Benjamin died … you would not come home.”

  Her face crumpled then and she buried her face in Jacob’s shoulder. Nicholas blinked hard and called out, “I suppose it is no surprise that the men remembered me. I do make a lasting impression.”