Guns of Liberty (21 page)

Yet, even after learning all the British agent had to say, Kate still managed to cling to the hope that Meeks could be stopped. Her faith in Daniel had never wavered—until Woodbine’s arrival. Here was no deliverer but simply another piece in Josiah Meeks’s puzzle of deceit. Now Kate stared into her folded hands upon the tabletop as Woodbine revealed the depths of his betrayal of the cause he had professed to serve.

“Don’t ask me how, I just knew,” Woodbine said. “That very morning, something in Bill Rutledge’s eyes told me he had somehow learned of my true loyalties.”

“A man drinks to excess, he is bound to act a bit queer the following morning,” Meeks replied.

“And well I thought as much. But to be sure I left shortly after the good doctor rode away. I joined O’Flynn and my lads in another part of the city and dispatched the Irishman to watch my house, but from a discreet distance. I had already left the city, trusting in my own intuition. Sure enough, about an hour from the inn, O’Flynn caught up to us. He had ridden two horses into the ground just to catch us.” Woodbine paused to drain the contents of his tankard.

“And?” Meeks pressed. It appeared he had little regard for the merchant; he mistrusted any man who frightened so easily.

“I was right. By midmorning, a dozen armed men surrounded my house. They took my servants prisoner and were waiting for me, when O’Flynn decided he’d seen enough.”

“And I have heard enough,” Meeks said. “We shall have to abandon one of our plans. We obviously cannot remain here and wait for Washington. But we can destroy the arms and supplies. Now, I have narrowed the possible farms the rebels could be using down to two. The Schraner farm and the Grauwyler farm both offer concealment and ample protection. Schraner has two sons, and he is an old Indian fighter himself. The Grauwyler widow has five sons, all of them patriots.”

“You are wrong,” Woodbine said. It pleased him to correct the Englishman. O’Flynn was right. Meeks was too damn haughty. “The guns have been right under your nose. The Daughters of Phoebe have hidden the rifles and gunpowder on their farm. Their barn is the rebel’s armory.”

“Impossible,” Meeks retorted, facing the merchant. “There are no men around. Who’s to guard the weapons? Surely not a bunch of old hens. Why that’s the last possible place I’d ever …” Meeks had started to say “use,” but “look” would fit as well.

Woodbine could see he had convinced Meeks, or the Englishman had suddenly convinced himself. Either way, it didn’t matter. The merchant had done everything required of him. Now it was time to salvage what he could of his own property and wealth until the rebels were crushed.

“I am leaving you my men. They are in my employ, but I have told them to follow you.” Woodbine slapped his tankard down on the table. He caught Loyal staring at him. Kate’s brother contemptuously shifted his gaze. Woodbine walked over to the young woman. “I pity you, Kate, for you have hinged your fortunes to that which can only bring you ruin.”

She made no reply. Brave words failed her.

“Where are you going?” Meeks said.

“I shall take whatever gold and silver I can from my estate,” Woodbine said, “and continue on to Boston, where I shall seek safety with General Gage and his troops until the hostilities have ended.”

Meeks handed the merchant an oilskin packet. “These papers will see you are brought directly to General Gage. Give him my compliments, and tell him what I am about. These papers will also guarantee you are placed under his personal protection. You have done well, Nathaniel. Once these rebels are dancing a gallows jig, you shall be amply rewarded. Perhaps the governorship of one of His Majesty’s colonies”

Woodbine beamed with pleasure and started for the door. “I’ll take a fresh horse from the barn, if I may.” He paused and looked around at Kate. He touched his hand to his tricorn hat and with a flourish of his pea-green cape, left the room.

Meeks turned to Will Chaney. “See that O’Flynn and his men stand by their mounts, and be ready yourself. We will yet deal these traitors a crippling blow.”

“What about her ladyship there and her crazy brother?”

Josiah Meeks turned to Kate. He strolled over to the woman, touched her hair, and stroked her cheek. “Horses for them as well. M’lady wouldn’t miss this for the world.” He laughed. The rebels had finally outsmarted themselves. It had been a clever, even courageous ruse, to hide the rifles where they were least protected. But the ruse had backfired. There was nothing to stop him now but a bunch of women. Yes, it was indeed worth a laugh.

Twenty minutes later and two miles down the Trenton Road, Woodbine slowed his mount to an easy walk. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin the animal on the wheel-rutted trail and risk being set afoot with so many miles before him. Pursuit might well be forthcoming out of Philadelphia and could overtake him if he lost his horse. For now that he had a good start, he was safe. But he had to be careful and keep from panicking.
Take it easy, now,
he cautioned himself.
No one is going to catch you.
He’d be safe in Boston long before word of his loyalist activities reached the ears of his fellow colonists. Even then, he wouldn’t be alone. There were plenty of others who felt like him. It was just that right now, as he studied the way ahead, he wished he’d brought a few of his men with him. He pulled back on the reins and the mare slowed its pace even more.

Here the road cut through a thicket of black walnut and stately elms. It was a particularly well shaded, heavily wooded stretch and always a pleasant find on a warm summer’s day, for the cool, shadowy canopy the trees offered could be most refreshing to a hot and weary traveler. But to a fearful man pursued by phantoms of his own imagination, the way through the thicket seemed ominous indeed.
I will not turn back
. Woodbine drew a pistol and nudged the mare with his bootheels, and the animal obediently continued along the road. Warblers sang in the branches overhead. Squirrels chattered at his intrusion. Somehow, the music of nature began to soothe him and ease his tension.

Woodbine relaxed, grateful he had managed to overcome his momentary cowardice. The mare quickened her pace. The edge of the grove lay just ahead, where sunlight washed the wheel-rutted path and amber fields stretched off to either side. He returned the pistol to its saddle holster and resolved to enjoy the rest of the journey.

Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from the grove and Colonel Nathaniel Woodbine was no longer alone on the Trenton Road. It all happened so quickly he had no time to react. One moment he was enjoying a solitary reverie and the next, cold fear numbed his limbs and safety seemed far away.

“You forgot to say good-bye.” Daniel McQueen held a pistol to Woodbine’s head.

T
HE DAUGHTERS OF PHOEBE
had set a fine table that afternoon, in front of the common house, laden with round loaves of bread, a platter of roasted chickens, a tureen of creamed onions, and boiled potatoes.

Daniel McQueen arrived right between grace and gravy, leading his prisoner. Woodbine made a pathetic sight. The diminutive merchant was securely bound and forced to cling to horseback by his thigh muscles alone, an effort that left beads of moisture on his bald pate. Daniel had gagged the man with the merchant’s own periwig.

All the Daughters of Phoebe were seated at the table. Even Sister Constance, a rail-thin wisp of a woman whose parchment skin stretched over a skeletal frame and whose gray dress hung loose upon her. Sister Hope-Deferred-Maketh-the-Heart-Sick stared in dumb amazement at the red-bearded Scotsman as he reined the weary black mare up to the table. She placed her hands on her broad hips and blurted, “Glory be!” She voiced a surprise they all felt. Sister Mercy looked over her shoulder and loosed a startled cry as the dust settled over them. She cowered against Tim Pepperidge, who recognized Daniel, leaped to his feet, and snapped up his rifle. Daniel rode in close to the young man and kicked him square in the chest. Pepperidge went sprawling over the table, scattering loaves of bread and overturning a bowl of potatoes before tumbling to the ground.

Gideon came charging up, his ferocious growl filling the air. But the mastiff skidded to a halt inches from Daniel’s bootheels. The dog sat back on its haunches, studied the red beard, then altered its course. Woodbine drew up his legs and issued a muffled cry of horror as the huge dog regarded him with all the affection of a favorite meal.

Pepperidge crawled to his feet and tried to bring his rifle to bear on the intruder, only to have the weapon ignominiously snatched from his grasp by Daniel.

“Damn it, lad, I’m not your enemy. Save your powder for the Tory war party that’s coming to raid the farm.”

“Sweet mother of God,” Sister Agnes exclaimed.

“Raiding … here?” Sister Ruth protested. “But why? I mean, our secret—”

“Isn’t secret any longer,” Daniel said. “Thanks to Mr. Nathaniel Woodbine here.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of his prisoner. “Now, I don’t know how long we have. I cut across country to get here, while the Tories will probably keep to the road. They could come riding down Cobb’s Hill at any moment!”

Daniel glanced over his shoulder, fearful that even mentioning the possibility might have summoned Meeks and his loyalist raiders.

“I don’t believe you.” Pepperidge was angry and humiliated at the ease with which Daniel had disarmed him.

“Me neither,” Sister Ruth said.

“I think perhaps you’re after the guns,” Pepperidge added.

“Then you’d be dead now,” Daniel retorted belligerently, and returned the rifle to the astonished young man.

“I believe him,” Sister Hope said, bounding down the steps with an agility that belied her amply padded frame.

“As do I.” Sister Eve emerged from the front door of the farmhouse. She held a blunderbuss in the crook of her arm. At close range it could rip a man to shreds with its load of pellets and bent nails. Daniel eyed the weapon and the big-boned woman in gray who headed the religious sect.

“I thought you were women of peace,” he commented wryly.

“We are,” Sister Eve replied. “I was aiming at your legs.”

Daniel grimaced. “With that cannon it would be kinder to shoot me in the head and save me the trouble of bleeding to death.

“Well, I think he brings us nothing but trouble,” Sister Ruth protested sourly.

“Oh, Ruth, that’s because he’s a man. You blame every man for the grief your no-account husband caused,” added Sister Constance, ending with a dry, rasping laugh at Ruth’s expense.

The widow scowled and would have left but for Sister Eve, who ordered her to remain at the table until a plan of action could be agreed upon. If the farm was to become a battleground they had to have some idea of what to do. Sister Ruth grudgingly returned to her place, her orderly, placid existence forever in a shambles.

“Take to the woods,” Daniel told them. “Staying in the farmhouse will place you at the Tories’ mercy.”

“And where will you be?” Sister Hope said, adjusting her habit and straightening her apron.

“In the barn. Maybe Woodbine here will buy me a little time. Meeks can’t afford to risk the life of such a prominent loyalist.”

“And if he doesn’t buy you time?” Sister Agnes, the beekeeper, called out.

Daniel shrugged. The answer was obvious. He’d put up a fight. Meeks would probably torch the barn. When the flames touched the powder, the munitions, the barn, and Daniel McQueen would disappear in a blinding flash. It would be one hell of an exit.

“I’ll stand with you,” Pepperidge said in a chastened tone of voice. He didn’t understand any of this. But it seemed Daniel wasn’t the renegade Papa Schraner claimed. “If you’ll have me.” He wore a sheepish expression on his face as if he half expected a rebuke. Sister Mercy placed a hand on his arm, then realized how such a gesture must seem and drew her hand back as if burned. She glanced about to see if anyone had noticed. No one had.

“I’d be glad for the company,” Daniel said. “But I had hoped you would ride to the Schraner farm. You might even make it back here in time.”

“The Schraners are selling off a pair of mules and a milk cow. Eben said they’re expecting a dozen or so men to show up to bid on them,” Pepperidge said excitedly. “Maybe more!”

“I can ride good as any man,” Sister Mercy spoke up. All the older women turned toward her. She drew herself sharply erect, throwing back her shoulders. “I shall ride the back trail over Cobb’s Hill. And if Cherry Creek is dry, I can even save another half hour.”

Daniel glanced at Sister Eve, who nodded her consent. “Very well, lass. Our fortune, for good or ill, is in your hands.” He reached down and clapped Pepperidge on the shoulder. “We have work to do, my fine fellow. Maybe we’ll teach these Tories the price of guns.”

It was warm, even in the shade of the barn. Carrier pigeons cooed and fluttered restlessly among the rafters. A bee whirled and darted through the dancing dust to torment the bound man near the entrance.

Nathaniel Woodbine never spent a more miserable hour. His arms ached from lack of circulation. His mouth was dry as grit, and a bee was threatening to sting the tip of his nose. Where the blazes was Josiah Meeks? The major was obviously taking his own sweet time, for he had yet to arrive. Of course, as far as Meeks knew, he was on his way to raid a cache of weapons guarded by a bunch of helpless women. The rebel guns were his for the taking. Why hurry? He was no doubt resting his horses in case his small force should need to make a speedy getaway from the farm. Back at the inn Meeks said he intended to burn the women out. There was no telling who such a fire might attract. Yes, Woodbine could read the major’s mind. Such a precaution made perfect sense, for any situation but this one. Meeks had unwittingly allowed Daniel to instigate a plan of defense. Woodbine swallowed. Gad, his throat felt raw. At least Daniel had possessed the common decency to remove Woodbine’s periwig gag.

The merchant was securely tied to the back of the Sicilian panel wagon, and through the open doors of the barn he watched Daniel prepare a special surprise for any would-be attacker.