Home of the Brave (4 page)

“I’d rather not discuss it,
Mother.”

“Very well. I know this is
asking a lot but can you go back up to West Point tomorrow and get
your Uncle Thomas’s sailboat?”

“William promised to bring
it back.”

“I have no confidence in
William’s promises. Besides, you’re a much better sailor than
William. He almost drowned us both on the trip upriver.”

“In William’s defense, Uncle
Thomas’s little sharpie is a fine boat for oystering on Long Island
Sound, but not for traveling against a heavy river current like the
Hudson.”

“Will you get the boat or
must I do it myself?” she asked angrily.

“Yes, Mother, I’ll get the
boat. But I can’t get it tomorrow.”

“When then?”

“As soon as I can,” he
snapped. “If that’s not good enough, please feel free to go get it
yourself.”

May 13, 1828

Cornwall, New
York

Carlotta Dubois opened the
door of William Van Buskirk’s house. “Bill’s not here.”

“I know,” Thomas said. “I
had to come back up here to get my uncle’s sailboat so I thought
I’d check on you.”

“Check on me?”

“See how you are. See if you
need anything.”

“Oh.” She stepped back.
“Come in.”

Thomas followed her inside
and closed the door. “William says that he hasn’t seen you since my
mother – my mother’s visit.”

“That’s true. I’ve sent him
a dozen messages but he refuses to answer.” She led him into the
parlor and sat down on the couch and began to wring her hands. “My
husband will be home on Monday so I can’t stay here.”

“I don’t understand. Do you
need help to get home?”

“No.” She sobbed. “I’m only
staying here because I need to talk to Bill, but he won’t come or
answer my messages.”

Thomas was unsure of what to
do. “He must be ashamed that he hurt you.”

She shook her head, sniffed
and took a handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress to blot her
eyes. “He likes hurting me as much as I like being
hurt.”

Thomas’s eyes wandered to
the prints on the wall. “You like being hurt?”

“Yes. Not injured like –
like what happened.”

He pointed to a drawing on
the wall. “Like that?”

“Yes. It excites
me.”

“Please forgive me, but that
seems absolutely mad.”

“There are millions of
people like me. Men and women.” She got up and retrieved a small
book from the shelf, gave it to Thomas and sat back
down.

Thomas leafed through the
pages looking at the drawings then put the book on the arm of the
couch. “There’s simply no way that I’m going to be able to
understand. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You could whip
me.”

He looked
horrified.

“Who knows? You might like
it as much as your brother. I didn’t know what I was missing until
Bill awakened me.”

Thomas turned toward the
door. “I think you should seek help. Discuss it with your minister
perhaps.”

“I’m Catholic and I don’t
even confess the things I do with Bill, let alone discuss
them.”

“I’ll see myself
out.”

May 14, 1828

Van Buskirk Point, New
Jersey

“She said that she wasn’t
aware of her appetite for punishment until William awakened it in
her,” Thomas said. “I don’t know how he did it, but he corrupted
the girl.”

Yank picked up a flat rock
and tossed it side-arm to skip across the water. “I think your use
of the word awakened is probably accurate. Something in the girl
was unbalanced before she met William.”

“She really seems like a
decent girl, Dad. Well bred, intelligent. William’s done something
to her and as an officer I’m obligated to report it to Colonel
Worth.”

“When you resigned your
commission you shed all the obligations of a serving
officer.”

“Then the civil
authorities,” Thomas snapped.

“I know how shocking and
upsetting this is for you, Thomas, but there’s nothing illegal in
William’s behavior. You have no obligation to report his activity
to Colonel Worth or to any civilian authorities.”

“Surely William is in
violation of the Academy’s code of morality, Dad.”

“I don’t know if there is a
code for staff. There wasn’t when I was there.”

“There’s a code of human
decency and William has broken it.”

Yank looked at Thomas. “You
asked me a specific question about your obligation as an officer
and I answered it. If you feel obligated as a man to take some
action, that’s an entirely different matter, and a question that I
cannot answer for you.”

“I must say that you are
taking this far more calmly than I anticipated.”

“Everyone seems to think
that I’m narrow-minded.” He picked up another rock and skipped it.
“I can’t think why.”

“Have you heard of French
writer by the name of Marquis de Sade?” Thomas asked.

“Yes, of course. He was
imprisoned by Napoleon and died in an asylum near the end of the
war.” He glanced at Thomas and then picked up another flat rock.
“Is that what you think William has become? One of de Sade’s
followers?”

“I wasn’t aware that de Sade
had followers, only that he had written some disgusting
books.”

Yank sent the rock skipping
over the water. “I’ve always been embarrassed by the discussion of
human sexuality so I’ve allowed you children to be educated in such
matters by your mother, who is untroubled by discussing almost
anything. As a consequence, I have no idea what you know and don’t
know.”

Thomas chuckled. “I’m
twenty-three years old, Dad. You don’t have to tell me about the
birds and bees.”

“No, but I might need to
tell you that what goes on in the dark, behind bedroom walls
between consenting adults can often appear to be something
disgusting when exposed to the light of day.”

“Meaning that inflicting
pain as a means of self-gratification is not wrong?”

Yank shrugged. “I don’t know
about right or wrong but I can’t see any real harm when two people
agree to something that provides them both with pleasure. As long
as no one is really hurt, of course. That would be another
matter.”

“Does William inherit it
from you and mother?” Thomas gasped.

Yank looked confused for a
moment and then laughed. “No, Thomas. I don’t know where he gets
it.” He chuckled again. “Not that I’d wish to, but your mother
would shoot me dead if I even suggested whipping or debasing her in
some way. The women who need that have no confidence and…” He shook
his head. “I should shut up now because I really don’t understand
it.”

“I’ve been afraid that –
maybe I was – you know, like William.”

Yank shook his head.
“William has always been cruel to animals, servants, anyone that he
could bully. It’s in his nature. As for this woman he’s involved
with, I really can’t say.”

“Why didn’t you do something
when William was younger if you saw those things in
him?”

“I didn’t know what to do.
Punishing him just made him harder and colder. Uncle Thomas was
merciless in trying to change him and all he’s gotten for his
trouble is William’s hatred in return.”

“I think William hates all
of us.”

“I think William hates
William, but I’ll be damned if I know why.”

“So what do you advise me to
do?”

“Nothing. Go about your
life. Go to Texas and raise cattle or survey land. But leave
William here.”

“What about
Robert?”

“Leave Robert
too.”

“He needs to be protected
from William.”

“If he does, he should drop
out of West Point immediately and forget ever becoming a soldier.”
Yank picked up another rock. “It might be best if you don’t tell
your mother about this. She might not understand.”

“Very well.”

June 1, 1828

Van Buskirk Point, New
Jersey

Nancy Vreeland expertly
maneuvered her father’s skiff around the point into New York Bay,
then tacked back into the Kill, gaining speed with the wind. “Hello
in the boathouse.”

Thomas Van Buskirk put down
his paintbrush, walked out of the boathouse onto the narrow dock
and shaded his eyes. “Hello yourself.”

“Catch me.” Nancy turned the
sailboat toward the dock, dropped the sails and scrambled forward
to coil the bowline.

“You’re going too fast,
Nance,” Thomas warned.

Ignoring his protest, she
tossed the line overhand then sat on the bow and put out a bare
foot to stave off the dock.

Thomas caught the line and
rushed to move a fender into place, barely managing to keep the
small sailboat from crashing into the dock. “You’re a
madwoman.”

She laughed gaily and
reached out her hand. “I knew you’d catch me like you always
have.”

Thomas pulled her up onto
the dock and extracted himself gently when she looped her arms
around his neck and turned her face up to be kissed. “Uh-uh. No
kissing.”

She gave him a pouty look.
“I was just being friendly.”

He tied the boat to a cleat.
“We can be friends without kissing.”

“We could be more than
friends if you’d forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to
forgive.” He walked onto the boathouse and picked up the
paintbrush.

Nancy stepped up beside him
and ran her hand over the unpainted patch on the sharpie’s hull.
“What happened?”

“William left her tied to a
dock at West Point and she got battered.”

“So instead of abandoning
her like you did me, you fixed her.”

He looked at Nancy for
several seconds but then dipped the paintbrush and began applying
another coat.

“How is it that you can
forgive your brother but not me?” Nancy persisted.

“If it makes you feel any
better, I didn’t forgive him either.”

Nancy sat down on a sail
chest. “I hear you’re going to Texas.”

He nodded.

“Take me with
you.”

“I don’t think
so.”

“As a friend. Just take me
there so I can make a fresh start.”

He turned to look at her
again. “There’s nothing but ruin in Texas for an unmarried
woman.”

“I’m already ruined, Tom.
Maybe in Texas…” She covered her face with her hands and began to
weep.

Thomas put down the
paintbrush and walked over to kneel in front of her. “Come on,
Nance. It can’t be that bad.”

“You have no idea,” she
sobbed. “My life is in ruin.”

“You’re twenty-two years
old, smart, beautiful, rich and healthy. A few mistakes will hardly
ruin your life.” He gave her a handkerchief.

“I hate living in
Washington.” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

“Then come home. Nothing’s
keeping you there.”

“I’m having an affair with a
married man.”

He made a face. “Okay. I
take back what I said about you being smart.”

“If you’re really going to
Texas, you need to find a wife here before you go,” she said in a
challenging tone. “Unless you plan on marrying an
Indian.”

“I’m not prejudiced against
Indians.” He squeezed her hand and stood up. “My mother’s an
Indian.”

“I could be a good wife,
Thomas,” she wailed. “I swear that I could.”

“We had a chance once,
Nancy, but that’s in the past.” He went back to the boat and, once
again, retrieved his paintbrush.

“Nothing’s changed. Nothing
important.” She got up and followed him to the boat. “I just have
some experience now. I’m much more fun in bed than any teenaged
virgin you’re going to find. I could teach you things.”

He looked at her. “The
things my brother taught you, I don’t want to know. I recently had
the unpleasant experience of meeting one of his Marquise de Sade
partners.”

“I’m not like that. He
wanted me to, but I wouldn’t.”

“You and I are through,
Nancy. We’re through forever. There’s nothing you can say or do
that’s going to change that.”

June 15, 1828

Washington, District of
Columbia

Nancy was laying face down
on her bed, weeping.

Anna sat down beside her and
rubbed her back. “Why are you so distraught? You didn’t love him
anyway.”

“I know,” Nancy sobbed. “But
being rejected again still hurts.”

“Maybe you should go
home.”

“I will if you
will.”

“I have a reason to
stay.”

Nancy turned to look at her.
“You’re fooling yourself, Anna. James Carver is never going to
leave his wife for you. As soon as the election’s over, he’ll dump
you just like Michael dumped me.”