Greene coughed, rendered uncomfortable by the question. "Well, no, this war is being fought for the people."
Thaddeus didn't understand. "You do not consider them people?"
Greene sighed. It was a hard matter to explain to a foreigner. "They're property," he answered, then frowned. "It is quite complicated. . . ."
Thaddeus couldn't see the reasoning behind this. "It would have to be, for I do not see the difference."
"But they are black, you see," Greene told him helplessly.
Thaddeus could see that the general thought that explained everything. But it didn't, not to him. The silence hung about them for a moment as Thaddeus resolved to speak to his friend Thomas about this matter and see if something couldn't be done to change the situation. With a polite smile, he excused himself and went into another room to find some specifications he needed to proceed with his work.
Greene sighed as he leaned back in his chair. The young man will learn eventually, he thought. Things are still too new for him here. He glanced up in response to a knock on the door. "Come in."
His aide walked in, followed by two men and a woman. A third man, older than the others, was brought in as well. His hands were tied behind his back. Greene, tense from concern about the upcoming offensive, looked impatiently at his aide.
"Well, what is it?" He perused Krystyna. A comely wench, although oddly dressed. Because he was growing weary, he jumped to a conclusion. "I have no time to listen to grievances about the conduct of one of my on-again, off-again soldiers." There had been too many of those of late, naive girls in the family way because of a moonlit night. He looked at Jason and Sin-Jin. "If someone got your sister in the family way, I am truly sorry, but you should have warned her to say 'no' with conviction." He began to look for a report he had to finish and send to his superiors.
"If the general would only stop to listen," Krystyna said before either man had a chance to speak, "he would realize that my honor is not at stake here. We have brought you a spy." The man's high-handed presumption annoyed her.
Greene stopped shuffling through his papers and stared at her. "A spy?" he echoed. He frowned, looking at Andrej. "What sort of a spy?" He had to deal with people set against one another, some shouting "Spy" just to rid themselves of an enemy.
"The man is from Poland," Krystyna explained quickly. "He claims to be an American sympathizer. He sets up meetings between rebel plantation owners and Dutch or French traders — "
They were wasting his time, and he had work to do. "I see nothing wrong in that." Greene began to dismiss them.
"But he informs on the rebels," Jason broke in, "who are then captured by the British, to be hung as examples. And he takes the Americans' money, saying that it's to go to Washington's army, but he pockets it, or turns it over to the British." Jason suspected, given the nature of the Count, that the British saw little of the money the man acquired.
Greene's interest was stirred. "I see." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You have witnesses?"
"I have me." Incensed by the memory of betrayal, Jason leaned over Greene's desk. "He led me into a trap. It was only with the aid of my friends that I escaped a British noose."
"Bring the man forward." The general beckoned to his aide. "What is his name?"
"Count Andrej Malinowski," Krystyna answered. "In my country, he is regarded as a treacherous, cold-blooded murderer." Bitterness sharpened on every word she uttered.
Andrej drew himself up. "General, I appeal to you, these people have fabricated some horrid story to discredit me. They tried to rob me, and when I defended myself against them, they took me prisoner, bound me like a common thief, and swore they would get their revenge on me."
Greene circled the man slowly, trying to make up his mind who he believed. "And why would they do that?"
Andrej began to think he had a chance. "Because I am a wealthy man and would not marry that woman. I am afraid I had my way with her. She was an easy sort." He licked his lips nervously as he tried to see if he was convincing the general. "The one next to her demanded that I marry her. It was a plot to seize my possessions. But I saw through them and had no intention of marrying the strumpet, so they conceived of this story. I have no heirs. If they have me killed, they will find a way to seize my property."
"You are a lying, godless animal!" Krystyna cried.
Greene looked from one face to another, trying to discern who really was lying. Of the two stories, the Count's made more sense, and he was the best dressed person in the group, which gave credence to his claims of wealth and of being set upon by conniving thieves who were trying to outwit him. These were hard times.
"I am afraid I have no time to act as judge in this matter. Much as I would like to rid us of all spies, I have only your word against his to rely on, and I see no reason to believe either of you. Therefore, I must simply wash my hands of this whole matter and tell you to be on your way."
"Then you are siding with the murderer of little children!" Krystyna told him.
Greene was about out of patience. "My dear young woman, I hardly think that—"
"Because of him, my land is overrun with Prussians. You have an advantage. You are fighting the British. You have never seen what Prussians leave in their wake. They burn and pillage, leaving dead and dying in their path, and empty shells of beings trying to piece together their fragmented lives." Why didn't he believe her?
"I have no power to rectify that, even if I did believe you. I have no connection with your country, whatever it is."
But Krystyna wouldn't be put off. "No matter. You have something to do with America," she insisted. "And a man like this is the same wherever he goes. He will help the men who would destroy your land before it even has a chance to become a country."
By now, Greene was completely at a loss, but he still had no facts to go on, and he had little time to waste. He waved his hand at Krystyna. "Young woman — "
Just then, Thaddeus walked back into the room. Krystyna's back was to him, so she didn't see him enter. But he saw Andrej and stopped dead.
"My God, where did you come from, you vermin?" He saw the bonds on the Count's wrists. Good! He'd been captured. "Do you know who you have here?" he asked Greene. "One of the greatest blackguards my country ever had the misfortune to spawn. He arranged for the murder of one of Poland's greatest patriots."
"Then what these people are saying about him is true?" Greene asked.
"If it is something reprehensible, it is undoubtedly true. I would stake my life on it."
Krystyna turned around, slowly, not believing her ears, the look in her eyes one of disbelief and joy. And Jason saw it.
"Thaddeus!" she cried.
For a moment, Thaddeus was speechless. "Krystyna, is that really you?" He threw open his arms, and she flew into them.
It was so wonderful to see him again. Overcome with emotion, she clung to the man from her past. A flood of words passed between them no one else in the room understanding what was said, except Andrej, who was in too deep a despair to pay any attention. He had heard how invaluable Thaddeus had made himself to the engineering corps of the American Army. Now his chances of being set free were now nonexistent.
Sin-Jin sighed with relief. Until the other man had appeared, he'd thought the situation lost. But Krystyna's countryman had convinced the general of the Count's guilt. As Sin-Jin glanced at Jason, he saw the grim expression on his new friend's face. It seemed this had not been a total victory.
Chapter Forty Four
Aaron and Jeremiah made the journey home in silence, each man watching the other, waiting for something that would precipitate trouble. Though Aaron was Jeremiah's master, he knew that in this case he was at the man's mercy. At any moment, Jeremiah could leave him to die as payment for shaming his daughter, and he was too weak to defend himself.
But rather than seek revenge, Jeremiah took care of Aaron, seeing to his wound and cleaning it whenever they stopped to rest. They were just a few miles short of hom
e when Jeremiah reined in the horses again, signaling another break in the ride. Aaron nearly fell from his horse as he tried to dismount.
Jeremiah caught him. He eased the man to the ground with a great deal of gentleness, though there was none evident on his face. He helped Aaron to sit up, his back against a tree. "You hurtin' bad?"
"Yes." The word came out with effort. Aaron felt as if his shoulder were on fire. He wondered again about the poultices Jeremiah kept applying. Were they healing him or killing him?
Jeremiah said nothing in response, but Aaron guessed that the black man was pleased. "Black people can hurt too," he finally said.
"I know that." Aaron caught his breath as Jeremiah peeled back the bandage and took another look at the wound. Sweat drenched his brow.
"Just wonderin' if you did," Jeremiah said easily. With skillful hands, he rewrapped the bandage. Then he took the water pouch from Aaron's saddle and handed it to him. Aaron's hands shook as he tried to bring it to his mouth.
Jeremiah took the pouch and held it to Aaron's lips. "Why'd you pick me to come with you?" he asked suddenly. "Lots of others to pick from at the house. Bigger men, too."
Aaron fell back against the tree, exhausted. Jeremiah took the pouch and closed it. "There was no one else I trusted the way I do you. You always come through."
Jeremiah stopped to study Aaron. "Funny word comin' from you, 'trust.'"
"A man learns things along the way." Aaron felt himself growing weaker and weaker as he spoke.
Jeremiah's voice came to him from far away. "What kind of things?"
"Being happy with what you have. Not straying outside your marriage vows." Desperately trying to focus on Jeremiah's face and fearing for his immortal soul, Aaron went on. "I'm sorry for the women I took, Jeremiah." Because of who he was, he couldn't apologize any more than that. He prayed it was enough. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
There was a long pause. "I understand."
These were the last words that Aaron heard before he slipped into unconsciousness.
Lucinda had taken to spending most of her time sitting on the window seat, looking out. Waiting. She refused to believe that they wouldn't return, all of them. The household had been informed just this morning of Nathan's fate. A messenger had arrived from General Washington, expressing the American leader's great regret over the loss of so able a patriot and so fine a friend. Nathan's death had reinforced the possibility that Jason would be hung for his transgressions. But Lucinda refused to believe it. Somehow, Aaron would manage to free his brother. And he would return to her. It could be no other way. Not now, not after they had finally become the people they had been meant to be.
Tears shimmered in her eyes.
"Mama, come away. It's almost time for luncheon." Christopher walked into her room. "You know Grandfather doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"Eat without me, Christopher." She didn't turn from the window, willing her husband and the others to appear on the horizon. "I want to be the first to see them when they come back." She didn't even hear her son leave the room.
All her concentration was focused on watching the road. A dozen times since she had taken up her vigil she had thought she'd seen them approaching, but it had always been someone else. Or her imagination. She rubbed her eyes, weary. And then she did see them. She saw him.
Aaron!
Her eyes straining, focusing on the tiny image riding forward, Lucinda stood up, throwing the window open even further. There were only two riders, both on the same horse. Aaron and Jeremiah. Why would he be riding with Jeremiah? Why was his horse being led?
As they came closer, she realized that Aaron's head was nodding, as if he were unconscious. As if he were . . .
"No!" Lucinda covered her mouth with both hands. It couldn't be . . .
"They're here!" she cried as she raced past the dining room. "They're here!" She was out the door before either Morgan or Savannah could rise from the table.
Morgan threw down his napkin, hurrying after his daughter-in-law. He had heard the concern in her voice and wondered about its cause.
Savannah closed her eyes, muttered a heartfelt prayer, and went out after them. Her face was pale when she saw only one brother. Fear seized her. "Where's Jason?" She tugged on Aaron's sleeve. "Where is he?"
Lucinda firmly pushed her aside. "We'll ask questions later," she ordered, taking charge. "Let me help." She raised her arms up to receive her husband's limp body, fighting to keep her tears back. Let him be alive, oh please, God, let him be alive.
"Stand back before he falls on you, girl," Morgan ordered, elbowing her out of the way. He took his firstborn into his arms. Jeremiah helped Aaron slide from the saddle, then dismounted himself. He reached out to take back his burden.
But Morgan shook his head. "No, I'm not that feeble yet. I'll carry my son." It was the first time any of them had ever heard pride in his voice when he referred to Aaron.
"Jeremiah, is he . . . ?" Lucinda couldn't make herself say the word.
"No, Miz Lu, he just needs tendin' to. Caught a bullet while we was escapin'." He looked at Morgan. "Brave thing he done. Mast'r Jase sent him home."
Morgan turned. He had assumed, when only two returned that the others were dead. "Jason? Then he's free?"
"Yes, sir. He's free. He done went to give the money to the man who set it all up. Loose ends, he said, needed tyin'."
"Thank God," Morgan murmured under his breath.
Marwilda appeared at the door as they walked into the house. Alerted by Lucinda's tone, she had rushed to gather the things she would need to tend to the wounded. Morgan placed his son gently on the daybed, confident that if Aaron could be saved, the large black woman would be the one to do it.
"Where's Krystyna?" Christopher asked suddenly.
It was only then that they realized they hadn't even thought of her. Lucinda felt ashamed.
It was Jeremiah who answered the silent question in everyone's eyes. "She went with Mast'r Jase."
"God bless them both," Lucinda murmured as she held onto her husband's hand. God had already granted her one miracle, perhaps there was another He could spare.
Chapter Forty Five
General Greene was his own law and order. What he decreed, stood. There was no court to appeal to and no one to provide a defense for the accused.
On the basis of Jason's story and Thaddeus' verification that Andrej had been a treacherous man back in Poland, Greene found Andrej guilty of treason. The proceeding was over in an hour.
Now Andrej paced about his small, dark cell. Raw, naked fear was written on his face as his heart raced deep within his chest. Desperately searching for a way out, he nervously ran his hands through his thinning hair, scratching his scalp and drawing blood.
Why had he come to this accursed country? Why hadn't he been content just to keep what he had acquired when he had seized Krystyna's lands? His overwhelming greed had gotten him into this. That and his desire to avenge the insult Krystyna had dealt him by spurning his proposal.
Krystyna. Why had he ever allowed himself to be so overpowered by his desire for her? He had always wanted to grasp everything just beyond his reach. It was part arrogance, part fate that he was the captive of his cravings.
And now they had brought him to this. Damn them! But he would get out of this. And he would see his enemies die. He would personally send them all to hell.
The door to his cell creaked open, and two soldiers clad in blue entered.
"What is it you want? No, no, let me go!" he pleaded as each man took one of his arms.
"General says it's time," one soldier said. There was loathing in his eyes for the man who squirmed between them as they dragged him out onto the grounds.
"Time, time for what?" the Count demanded hysterically. Before him stood a crowd of soldiers. And Krystyna. God damn her.
With a superhuman lunge, Andrej pulled himself free and threw his arms around her. His bravado dissolved into tearful whimpers as he sank down
at her feet. "Please, please, I do not want to die! I cannot die. Not now. I am not ready!"
Jason pulled him roughly to his feet, thrusting him at the two soldiers.
"My father was not ready to die, either," Krystyna said, her eyes cold and dispassionate. "And neither was Nathan. He was only twenty-one. How many will we save today by executing you?"
"None, none, I swear it. I shall reform. I shall give away all my money to the poor. To the Poles. To you." He turned and looked at Greene, the wild look of a trapped animal in his eyes. "I promise. Only, please, please make them set me free!" He trembled, tears glistening on his fat cheeks.
Krystyna turned away. Jason placed an arm around her shoulders.
Andrej would not stand on the hastily constructed scaffold. He wouldn't rise off his knees. The two soldiers who had taken him from his cell were forced to hold him up as the noose was placed around his neck.
To the last, Andrej kept pleading and screaming. The few words General Greene said for the good of the Count's soul were drowned out by the man's desperate ravings.
And then it was over. The box was kicked away, and the Count thrashed about in surprised horror until he finally became limp.
Krystyna forced herself to watch, but the sight didn't please her. Vengeance was not such a sweet thing, she discovered. It was hollow. But it was something she had had to exact, if not for her father and for Nathan, then for the next person who would have been betrayed by the Count. Who knew how many others he had sent to the grave one way or another?
"It is over for you at last."
Krystyna looked up to see Thaddeus standing next to her. He took her hand in his. "Your father's murderer has been punished. Now your father can lie peacefully in his grave."
Krystyna nodded numbly. "And others will not have to lie in theirs."
Thaddeus smiled his agreement. "I must attend to something at this moment, but I would like to speak to you when I finish, if I might." He looked toward Jason, who had withdrawn his arm from Krystyna's shoulders when she had addressed him. Thaddeus seemed to be asking Jason's permission, assuming that Krystyna had an attachment to the American.
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