Liberty's Legacy (The Liberty Series Book 3)

by Heidi Sprouse

  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 step-father 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.”

  “I do not want to forget. That pain reminds me I am alive and honors those who are not.” Like my father. I had a new level of respect and appreciation for the price Benjamin Willson had paid during the Battle of Johnstown. I closed my eyes. “I do wish at times that the images inside my head would fade. I am tired of war. I do not want to see so much death and destruction anymore.”

  My angel took my cup and pulled me against her chest, her fingers running through my hair. “Lay your burdens here for a while. Let me help you to set your memories aside for a bit.”

  Her flame burned so bright, she was the only thing I could see.

  ***

  Jacob’s bones were close to the surface of his face, dark smudges like bruises marring the hollows beneath his eyes. His skin was as white as the light coating of winter’s snow that had blanketed the land that morning in an unexpected, early storm. The change in the weather was a reminder. If we did not go soon, we would not be home for winter.

  That thought had been preying on his mind, so much so that he pushed himself to get out of bed every day. With help from Stoner, he had fashioned two sticks to place beneath his arms as crutches and could go back and forth across the yard. He fell many times, but nothing could stop him from getting back up. Like our fledgling nation.

  I remained close to my step-father’s side, at the ready should I have to catch him. The last thing we needed was a broken bone to cause a setback that could keep us at Rebekah’s indefinitely. One more trek to the corral and back to Rebekah’s step and he sank down on it, letting out his breath slowly as he inched his way to his backside. “It is time that we head home. We have waited long enough. Your mother must be going out of her mind with worry.”

  I stood over him and gripped his shoulder. “Father, you are not completely healed and you are still weak. You tire much too easily. Before we undertake such a journey, you need to get your strength back.”

  He pulled himself to his full height. When standing on the top step, he towered over me for once. The set of his jaw was firm, his eyes boring into mine. “I do not need to walk. I can ride. Smoothbore will carry me home.” At my troubled expression, he eased his way down a step and pulled me into his arms. “Do you not see, Benjamin? I am going out of my mind with worry for your mother. She has been left alone much too long. I do not care if I have to crawl on my hands and knees. I will make it home to her before winter settles over the land and locks us in a prison of ice and snow.”

  The man is made of iron. Having a blacksmith for a grandfather, I had often marveled at the strength of what he produced in his shop. My step-father had the same substance at his core, carrying it inside of him every day. His injury and illness had only made him even stronger. He had become truly skilled with his crutches and would not allow us to carry him anywhere nor would he accept any kind of help at all. Jacob was stubbornly independent. If he promised to crawl his way home, I had no doubt that would happen, come hell or high water.

  I stepped back and looked him in the eye. There was not a speck of doubt to be seen. I nodded in surrender. “All right. We will go in the morning. Rebekah is coming with us.”

  He grinned. “I would not have it any other way. Besides, I might need her.” Jacob tapped the thigh of his injured leg with a rueful grin. Just that morning, Nicholas had tried to fashion him a fake leg carved out of wood. It had torn up the recently healed stump, proving the flesh was too raw and tender. Jacob was in terrible pain, burning off the Kentucky bourbon at a respectable rate. If my angel was there to tend him should the need arise, that would be a great load off our shoulders.

  That settled, my step-father sagged and lowered himself to the step once more. He stared out into the night, a jug of bourbon at his side. In his hands, he fingered a crumpled, mud-spattered bit of paper. The pamphlet with The Star-Spangled Banner had been pulled out countless times since Tom Sutton passed it on. I had seen Jacob rereading it many times. Silver tracks ran down his face in the moonlight. Ever since he had been hurt, his emotions were close to the surface.

  I sat beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. His body gave, his breath coming out in a rush. “Are you well? Do you need me to help you to bed? I have told you that you are pushing yourself too hard.”

  His face twisted as he glanced at his leg. “Am I well? That is debatable. I cannot help but wonder what your mother will think of me when she sees me.”

  My hand tightened its grip. “She will praise God that you are alive, that you are home.” I had to bite my tongue to cut off the words and in one piece. A small piece of Jacob Cooper had been laid to rest on the plot of land where Rufus Barnes slept. I performed the burial by myself, the morning after my step-father lost his leg. I wept.

  Jacob stared out at the land around him. When he spoke, he sounded unbelievably weary. “I have been thinking about this dreadful war and these words from Mr. Key. They give us hope, they help us to take heart, and yet,” He stopped, unable to go on, his jaw clenched as his hand traveled to his stump and pressed hard. “I cannot help but wonder. Will it ever be over? The shadow of war—England’s shadow—has been hanging over me for most of my lifetime. First, we survived the Revolution and we thought our path was made clear with our victory. Here we are again while this War of 1812 drags on and on. There is no end in sight. We held them off and raised our flag yet again, but England will not give up. She is like a dog gnawing on a bone and she has to pick us clean of every bit of flesh until she takes it all. What if the mother country never gives up until she takes back everything that she has lost? We stick in her craw, like a fearsome toothache that will not go away. What if this darkness oppresses us forever?” His head bowed, and he held on to his leg with both hands.

  My stomach churned at his despair. If Jacob lost hope, I did not know how I would be able to find any of my own. I dug deep for words that would help him to take heart and replenish his strength. “The light burns in us. It will continue to burn bright, no matter what the outcome of this war. Liberty’s legacy will ring true, if not now, the next go around, and this great nation will rise again. With men like you and my father, such bold molds making stamps, it cannot be any other way. I believe we are turning the tide. I believe that when we send her packing this time around, England will go home with her tail between her legs and not come back again. How many times can we embarrass her? We are too formidable, even if we are missing a limb.”

  Jacob looked up at that one and gave me a terrible smile. I pushed on. “Aye. Even with no limbs. You would still smile in the face of death and dare them to come on. We are stronger than they can imagine because we are fighting
for what is ours. They are only looking for another conquest while their hearts are at home. Our hearts beat madly here because this is our home. We have bled here. Our seeds have been planted here. From your generation on, Father, America is all we have ever known, and we will do whatever it takes to keep her and guard her.”

  Jacob took my hand. “Even if it means giving our last breath and our last drop, like your father.”

  I held on, my grip tightening. “That is true, Father. We could go that far if need be, but I think that you have sacrificed enough. It is time for us to go home and make sure that there is someone to carry on Liberty’s legacy.”

  Jacob’s hand came up to grip my jaw and his eyes bore into mine, made more intense in the glow of the moon. “No matter what, no matter what it takes, you must carry on. Do you understand me, Benjamin? You are the only reason your mother picked up her heart and her life on that field all those years ago, the very thread that bound us together. You are the reason I have had a purpose in my life.” He paused only to take a deep breath. His words had not run out yet. “You think that I survived this injury because of Rebekah, Sutton, and that doctor. The reason I made it through the most difficult thing I have ever had to face is you. You were there by my side through it all. I pinned you in my mind to keep the blood pumping through my veins and my heart beating in my chest. Do not ever underestimate your worth.” His words died out as he choked on his emotions.

  I squeezed his hand hard enough to make the bones rub together. “Do not fear. I am not going anywhere, Father, except home and I am taking you with me . . . if I have to walk all the way with you on my back.”

  We left the next morning with a wagon filled with some of Rebekah’s valuables. Stoner drove her pair of horses while Stoner’s fine steed, Courage, followed at the back. Tom Sutton stood in her doorway with his hand raised to wave us off. He was finally getting his dream come true—a home of his own, a place where the smuggler could carry on with Rebekah’s work. Her still and her recipe had been passed on. The Kentucky bourbon, carried from the homeland of Rufus Barnes, would continue to flourish. I knew it would travel with us to Johnstown as well.

  The tears streamed down Rebekah’s face. She was leaving the place that had been home for many years and a man who had been her best friend, keeping her sane and curbing her loneliness after her husband died. She sat in front of me on my saddle, her head craned to get a final glimpse of everything she was leaving behind.

  I wrapped an arm around her, her trembling stabbing me in the heart. Leaving her place was difficult. It was a piece of her. “Are you sure, are you sure about leaving behind everything you have ever known to go with me? I know this is home.”

  “This is just a patch of ground, sticks, and stones. The memories will never die, and they are inside of me. Wherever I go, with you by my side, you will be my home—and you are all I ever need.”

  The journey back to Johnstown was much easier. It took us only a week. We moved at a steady pace, familiar with the trail, seldom bothered by other travelers. We no longer had the sense of impending doom in Plattsburgh hanging over us. If more conflicts were underway, they did not touch us. Although we rested often for my step-father’s sake, Jacob insisted that we never stop for long. He demanded we push on. I could hear him moaning at night and knew that he did not sleep well. The stump was a torment. Sometimes, phantom pains would rip him from a sound sleep. He explained the unsettling sensation was as if the limb was still attached and ached like his leg was on fire.

  The last night before we reached town was such a night. There was a bitter wind blowing and we shivered inside our tent, burrowed under layers of buckskin that Rebekah had the brilliant foresight to bring. We had been unable to keep a fire burning what with the wind. Jacob drank steadily to put himself to sleep, but it did not last long. His screams tore the rest of us from our slumber.

  I lunged from my spot beside Rebekah and crawled out of the covers, heedless of the chill, so cold my teeth chattered, and my skin hurt. I grabbed Jacob by both arms and pinned him. “What is it? Is it your stump? Do you need some of that salve Rebekah made?” She had been inspired by a Native who stopped to chat one day on the fringe of the forest. The medicine eased his pain some and took his mind off the constant throbbing that was his companion. I wondered if it would ever go away.

  Jacob gripped his leg with both hands. “No, it is not that. It is the ghost pains again, as if my leg is still there and someone has decided to take the saw to it all over again. Those nasty blades, how they bite and tear!” He gritted his teeth, his head tipping back. “Dear Lord, what do I do? How do I make it stop? There is nothing there to fix!”

  Gently, I pried his hands away and began to massage his leg, striving to be gentle, speaking in a soft tone that would quell the upheaval caused by his missing limb. It was as if his leg had a memory of its own and did not want to go easily into the night. All of us were wide awake, hovering at his side. Rebekah laid a hand on his brow while Nicholas held his hand with an iron grip that made the tendons in his arm bulge. With all our ministrations combined, the tension slowly ebbed from my step-father’s body. He sagged against the skins on the ground, a sheen of sweat covering his face. When I rested my palm on his chest, the hammering of his heart banged against my hand. Gradually, the beat slowed and his breathing leveled out.

  “Thank you, all of you. The worst of it has passed. I am sorry to disturb your rest.” His words slurred with weariness.

  I squeezed his hand. “Do not apologize. We are happy to do anything we can for you.”

  Nicholas shifted beside him, rummaging in the darkness. There was a pop and the scent of whiskey filled the small space. “Take some more bourbon, Jacob. It will do you good.”

  My step-father acquiesced all too easily, taking long draughts before his head fell back with a sigh. I did not think that he was being completely truthful with us. Judging by the lines that had been etched into his face since his injury, around his eyes and his mouth, even running alongside his nose, Jacob’s pain was a constant.

  The jug made the rounds once more and I willingly accepted. My mind was muddled with worry for my step-father, stark images from the day he was injured all too vivid as they passed through my mind. I could not shut them off, but I could drown them out. As I continued to nurse the jug one fiery swallow after another, I doubted I would sleep. The sun proved otherwise, poking at my eyelids when I awoke with an empty jug and a small puddle of bourbon at my side. My head throbbed from indulging too much, but I dare not complain. If my step-father could mount and continue home, so could I.

  A boot nudged my leg and someone cleared his throat. I slit one eyelid open, wincing as the glaring light of day pierced my brain. Jacob stood over me, pale and thin, the dark shadows beneath his eyes telling the story of how well he passed the night. He nudged me once more, a weary grin stretching from ear to ear. Still, it spoke volumes about what kind of man my step-father was to grin at all as he bore life’s troubles. “Get up, my son. Today we will make it home.”

  Home. That simple word, so small and seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, hit me hard in the pit of my stomach and snatched my breath away. I pressed a hand to my heart as the longing welled up and made my eyes burn. Johnstown and the only home I had ever known called to every fiber of my being, but there was one word that overshadowed all the rest and drew me from the covers, staggering out into the broad light of day with a hand pressed to my forehead to hold back the dull throbbing. That word was a name that I held most sacred and dear.

  Mama.

  33

  8 October 1814

  Benjamin Willson Cooper

  Even the air reminded me of my childhood. The scent of fallen leaves crunching beneath our horses’ hooves on a carpet of flaming colors carried me back to endless days of autumn when I ran through field and forest or went on the hunt with my step-father and Nicholas. There was a nip that threatened to turn into a frost by morning, a breath of winter. The sun
dipped down to merge with the horizon as we followed the lane that I could ride with my eyes closed. Up ahead, smoke wafted from the chimney. The warm glow of lantern light and a fireplace’s flicker beckoned us to come closer.

  My arm tightened around Rebekah’s waist, my breath hitching. “At last,” I whispered.

  She turned to set her hand on my jaw. I closed my eyes, fearful that this was all a dream and I would wake up, ravished by fever, my life ticking down like a broken timepiece that could not be wound again. My angel’s breath on my skin, the brush of her lips grazing mine offered me comfort, one constant in my life from the moment we showed up at her doorstep.

  Our horses came to a halt, jerking my head up as a powerful yet invisible force drew my gaze to another doorstep that had offered me solace for all my days. Built by my step-father’s hands, bathed in his blood, sweat, and tears, this was my place. Jacob was determined that I would come into this world with the promise of his name, his love, and a home. For me. For the woman he had loved since childhood. The creak of the hinges made my stomach tighten as the blood rushed through my veins, straight to my head. Dizzy, my hand gripped the saddle and Rebekah’s fingers laced with mine, grounding me. I held my breath in anticipation as the silhouette of a woman filled the doorway.

  My step-father let out a cry, slipping to the ground, his leg trembling. Nicholas jumped down behind him, rushing to his side to catch him. By unspoken agreement, our old friend continued to be a pillar of strength, bearing Jacob’s weight as they crossed the yard.