Guns of Liberty (14 page)

“What that Englishman doesn’t know will hardly be doing him any harm, eh?” O’Flynn said with a twinkle in his eye. He winked, and a laugh sounded deep in his throat.

“But he does know, which is precisely the point,” Meeks strode through the doorway. His brown cape flapping, he swooped down on O’Flynn, who froze, flask poised and tilted an inch from his lips.

Meeks’s long left arm lashed out and flat-handed the whiskey flask. The earth-tinted glass went spinning off into a nearby stall. O’Flynn staggered backward, lost his footing, and sat down in the dirt, much to the amusement of Dees and Wiley.

O’Flynn scrambled to his feet, his features bunched and ugly with anger. His hand dropped to his knife sheath, but Meeks was quicker. Meeks’s hand shot out and clamped in a viselike grip around O’Flynn’s throat. The Irishman’s eyes bugged out and color drained from his features as Meeks backed him up against a wooden post that supported the roof beams overhead.

“The town is gathering on the Green. It is time to position yourselves along the roads,” Meeks said.

Dees, Wiley, and Chaney took up their rifles and headed for their horses as the major continued to issue his orders.

“Chaney, watch the east road leading out of the village. I left Black Tolbert on the north.” The Englishman glanced over his shoulder. “You two lads will wait along the south road. Remember, if the wagon comes by, follow it. I must find out where these rebels are hiding their stores.”

Padraich O’Flynn made a choking sound; his arms fell limply to his sides in an attitude of submission. The fingers closing off his windpipe eased their hold, allowing a trickle of precious air to flow into his lungs.

“And you’ll take the west road,” Josiah Meeks finished, his tone silken and deadly calm.

“That … I … will,” the Irishman gasped.

Meeks swung around and retreated to the center of the barn. He left his back toward O’Flynn the entire time as if dismissing the man as a threat once and for all. The Irishman, shaken by the sudden, savage strength of the gaunt officer, couldn’t leave the barn fast enough. He leaped astride his horse and galloped away.

Meeks heard the man depart. The smell of settling dust mingled with the smoke of the campfire and the aroma of black tea. Things were in place, he thought. And he was optimistic as to the outcome of his plans. There was nothing to do now but wait and enjoy these moments alone.

“Now, you hungry-looking bastard, you can tell me what’s going on and how Danny McQueen is involved!”

Meeks, startled, spun on his heels and faced the shadow-darkened ruins at the rear of the barn. Big Henk Schraner emerged into the firelight. His thick lips were curled in a smile. He moved confidently and waved a cocked pistol before him.

“I don’t know what the hell is happening here, but I reckon McQueen is involved. I been following you all day to find out.” Henk raised the pistol. “And don’t get any ideas. I’m no fool like that drunken Irishman. You just keep your distance.”

“I can tell you’re no fool, whoever you are.” Meeks seemed completely unperturbed at this sudden turn of events. A man to whom violence was second nature, Meeks could be surprised but never panicked. This bold intrusion presented a new challenge, one he would have to handle as quickly as possible.

“Who are you? What’s McQueen to you?”

Meeks’s attitude changed, his shoulders suddenly hunched forward, his expression grew pale. He outstretched his arms as if pleading for his life. “Please. You must let me go.”

“Shut up,” Henk ordered.

“But you don’t understand.”

“That’s right! But I aim to.” Schraner inched closer to the fire and squared his big, beefy shoulders. “I could break you like a twig,” he warned the one-eyed man. “And I will if you don’t start telling me what I want to hear.”

“I’ll pay. I’ve a purse of gold.” Meeks patted a leather pouch tied to the broad leather belt circling his waist.

“Gold?” Henk brightened at the sound of clinking coins. “Hand it here.”

Meeks dutifully ripped the pouch free and tossed it to Schraner. The throw was short and plopped to the earth at Henk’s feet. The brawny youth, on reflex, stooped to retrieve it. He straightened, sensing his mistake.

Meeks shot him. The roar of the pistol filled the barn. Henk tossed his own gun into the air as he was blown off his feet and landed flat on his back in the middle of the barn. Meeks calmly crossed to the fallen man.

Henk felt no pain, just numbness in his chest. He was shocked at the trick fate had played on him.

Meeks began to reload his pistol. Standing over the fallen youth, the British officer added powder and shot to his weapon. He took his time, working nonchalantly, which made his actions all the more horrible. At last he finished, and only then did he take notice of the wounded man outstretched at his feet.

“Who else knows of us?” Meeks asked, pointing the gun at Henk Schraner’s heart.

“Go … to … hell.” Blood trickled from the corner of Henk’s mouth.

“Wait for me there,” Josiah Meeks said.

The second gunshot was as deafening as the first.

To Kate it all seemed a kind of dream. Men, women, and children filed through the night-shrouded streets of Springtown as if drawn by an unspoken command. Lanterns, like the stars overhead, flickered and blazed as they dangled from the closed fists of the marchers. This large gathering was unnaturally quiet, as if each participant was made humble in this hour, when life and limb would be pledged to a sacred cause, a pledge sealed by this single, simple act, the hanging of a lantern from the liberty tree.

The pace quickened as the crowd reached the Green. Citizens who had come before stood back, making way for those who would join in the sacrifice. Kate’s hand tightened around Daniel’s, but the big man kept pace with her of his own volition, his own heart still in turmoil. He felt like a traitor in their midst. He was apart from them, yet among these same brave souls, sharing what they—and she—felt.

Here stood men of the soil, tillers and planters come to sow the seeds of war. Here stood shopkeepers and townsfolk who had longed for a quiet and prosperous life; now they were willing to risk all for that rarest, costliest of commodities, freedom. Here stood the common laborers in their homespun clothes whose callused hands could not even spell the words these men were willing to die for.

The young came, for their spirits hungered for adventure. They were so eager to be a part of something great and glorious—yes, the young, confident of their own immortality.

The old came to the liberty tree, those who had seen the passing of many seasons; they knew what lay ahead, knew what must be risked, and they willingly bore their flames to freedom’s fire.

Kate was awed by the immensity of the gathering. Daniel, too, sensed the power surrounding him. The energy of such a throng could become like a rushing river, a wild flood—leading where? He glanced about at the faces drifting from shadow into light, then back to shadow. A year from now how many of these women would be widows, or dead themselves? A year from now how many of these stalwart youths would be carrion comfort on some desolate, battered piece of ground? He raised his eyes to the liberty tree as lanterns were lifted to the budded branches. It was spring, the season of hope and rebirth. Why, then, did he feel dead inside?

“Daniel.” Kate spoke his name and turned to him.

It was then that he saw the light of the liberty tree reflected in her eyes.

The crowd surrounded him on every side and pressed forward, carrying him along like an uprooted tree. Images danced like devils in the firelight, and faces from the past mingled in his mind’s eye as he struggled to breathe. He saw Josiah Meeks sitting at a table, toying with his eyepatch like he had toyed with Daniel. Meeks dissolved, became Black Tolbert, who drew a pistol from his belt and aimed it at Daniel’s heart, and the barrel blossomed black smoke. The image changed. Daniel saw his father dangling from a gallows. Ravens came to feed upon Brian Farley’s slowly spinning corpse. As the body turned, Daniel saw the face, the rugged, cinder-burned features that could redden with anger and then crack a smile at the drop of a hat.

His father’s eyes were open and Daniel was drawn to the dead man’s gaze. Closer, ever closer, as if floating in the air, Daniel was miraculously brought by some irresistible force to stare directly into the wide, lifeless eyes where burned …

The liberty tree! Bedecked with tongues of flame, it burned in the eyes of Brian Farley McQueen and would never die.

His father’s eyes shimmered, blurred, and then dissolved … Daniel stood upon the Green, staring into the eyes of Kate Bufkin, and in that moment he knew what must be done and the price that must be paid.

“I’ll go with you,” Daniel said. Trees die, lanterns fade, but what takes root in the human heart burns with unquenchable fire. “We’ll carry the light together.”

K
ATE BUFKIN COULDN’T SLEEP
. She tiptoed out of bed and padded across the narrow guest room in the Albrights’ house. She pressed her face to the night-cooled windowpane and gazed down into the empty backyard. Clouds had covered the moon, and in the distance, thunder rumbled as if the gods were restless beyond the village streets. Well, why shouldn’t they be? The people of Springtown had cried out to the heavens this night. Ale had flowed. Music, bright and lively, had underscored the event. Revolution might well be kin to celebration, if the evening’s revelry was any indication. She wondered if the liberty tree was still bathed in light. She knew it would always be ablaze in her heart. Kate sighed and once again returned her attention to her surroundings.

Here was a simple room, barely large enough for a narrow alcove bed, a dresser, and a chair. Like the Albrights themselves, the room was simple, honest, and utilitarian. The rug on the floor felt luxurious, and she curled her toes into the thick weave. Kate glanced at the bedside table, upon which rested a pewter tankard of milk her cousin had left out for her. Appreciative of Martha’s kindness, Kate left the tankard untouched. Her thirst was of a different nature this night. A few hours earlier, she had stood hand in hand with Daniel McQueen before the liberty tree, and as the fifes played he had whirled her about in his arms in the center of the Green.

Exhilaration filled Kate’s heart. She could still feel the pressure of his strong arms, still taste his kiss—and she thirsted for more. A primal passion burned in the center of her being, and it coursed through her veins like molten gold. She was helpless to resist it—and did not want to.

She found her dressing gown draped across the foot of the bed. The young woman quickly slipped the garment over her shoulders and tied the ribbons that adorned the front of the gown. Its hem brushed the hardwood floor as she stepped into her slippers and hurried to the door. She cracked open the door and checked the hallway. It was empty. She eased her own door wider and stepped into the passage. Kate could hear the low, ragged sound of the reverend, blissfully snoring two rooms away. Francis Junior had the room next to Kate’s. The door stood ajar. She peered around the doorsill, and in the pallid glare of moonlight seeping through the unshuttered window, spied the young boy snuggled comfortably in his bed, his small frame all but hidden beneath a patchwork quilt.

Kate tiptoed past. A loose board creaked underfoot and she froze near the steps, glanced toward the Albrights’ bedroom door, waited to be discovered, and then sighed with relief. The reverend and Martha had participated enthusiastically in the demonstration on the Green.

The young woman continued on to the stairway and carefully started down. The tolling of the Seth Thomas clock below punctuated each step. Her throat tightened and her heart seemed to skip a beat. Kate managed to stifle a mischievous chuckle. Reaching the lower floor, she paused yet again, hand on the walnut railing. There was still time to hurry back upstairs to the safety of her room. No, she gave up being safe hours ago. Kate took a deep breath and rounded the corner, hurrying across the foyer and into the sitting room where Daniel had arranged his bedding near the hearth.

Embers pulsed and flickered as they slowly devoured the remains of a single log. In early summer, the night air turned cool toward the wee hours before dawn. However, Kate had other ideas about keeping warm. She spied Daniel’s huddled form and experienced a tinge of disappointment that he was bundled in his blankets and obviously asleep, when she had lain awake ever since climbing the stairs to bed.

Still, she couldn’t remain angry for long. She stole to his side and sank to her knees; she placed her hand on his blanket.

“My dear …” her voice trailed off. More blankets had been rolled and bunched and left beneath the covers to resemble the shape of a sleeping man.

Daniel McQueen was gone!

“Havin’ a year up on me doesn’t make you any smarter, as I can see,” Mose Wiley grumbled as he studied the sky through the branches of an oak tree. “We should keep to the trail.”

Al Dees had left the wagon tracks and worked his way up the wooded ridge north of a rainwashed meadow and the Daughters of Phoebe farm.

“What if someone backtracked and spied us?” Dees retorted.

“We kill them,” Wiley replied patting the stock of his Pennsylvania long rifle. The flintlock was loaded and primed and as lethal as its young owner.

“Just like that.” Dees wagged his head.

A thunderclap caused both men to wince and struggle to bring their skittish horses under control. The geldings trumpeted, rolled their eyes, and fought the riders. But Dees and Wiley had grown up on horseback. They soon succeeded in steadying their nervous mounts.

“Anyways, that wagon’s stopped for more than directions. I think here’s the place we been looking for.” At least Dees hoped so. They’d been trailing the Sicilian’s panel wagon for more than two hours. His back ached, and he was saddlesore and rainsoaked from the two cloudbursts they’d ridden through.

Wiley lifted his spyglass to study the farm and the figures, illuminated now by the glare from the open barn doors. “By George, you be speaking the truth, man. They’re bringing the wagon inside. What do you think, Al?”