The Heavens Shall Fall (14 page)

Katy nodded. Her eyes surveyed Rebekah.
“It is stated plainly in your dress. You should not wear weeds in protest of the British, Rebekah. It might not bode well for Jonathan.”

Rebekah felt panic swell within her.
“What do you mean, Katy?”

Katy bit
her bottom lip. Rebekah knew her well enough to know she didn’t want to say the words. Katy tilted her head and looked back over the garden.

“
Do you know I envy you, Rebekah? Even now. You are loved. It was written in your eyes every time you looked at him and he at you. He willed you back to life when you were wounded. Then when you lost the baby, I saw him break down and cry outside your door when they took the little one away. He thought no one else was around.

“
I sat with him and he talked of you. How it was his fault because you weren’t healthy enough…how he should have already sent you to Williamsburg…he knew how much the child meant to you, but to him, it was you he couldn’t bear the thought of losing.”

Overwhelmed by emotions, Rebekah choked back her tears.
“Katy, you are my dearest friend. I know you are trying to tell me something. You are scaring me. Is it...is it Jonathan?”

Katy turned back to Rebekah and g
rasped her hands. “You know I have never cared who won this damn war. I hate it. I want it only to be over…”

“
Katy…” Rebekah pleaded. “Tell me.”

“
Do you remember the explosion down at the magazine a few days ago? It was said to have been a conspiracy against the Crown. The British have already hung two souls who they said started the explosion and hold seven more.”

Rebekah searched Katy
’s eyes, confused. “Katy, you make no sense. What has this got to do with Jonathan?”

“
It is said that the men confessed to a conspiracy instigated by Jonathan,” Katy uttered.

In a haze, Katy
’s words echoed around Rebekah. Conspiracy. Treason. Arrested. Trial. Rebekah felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under her feet. Jonathan was arrested for treason. Justice would be swift. His trial set for the morning.

A gust of wind blew harsh against Rebekah
. She clung tightly to her cloak. Rain poured during the night and made it difficult to trudge through the muddy streets, but she didn’t slow her pace. She walked purposely toward King Street and the courthouse.

She had to get to Jonathan. It couldn
’t be true. It couldn’t…but she feared the worst. Shortly after Katy broke the news to her, the highly disagreeable Colonel Woodland summoned her into the drawing room. Looking quite pleased with himself, he informed her that her husband had been arrested for treason.

Then the man proceeded to tell her that certain privileges had been revoked. She and the rest of the family would now inhabit the servant quarters,
and wait for word not whether but when their possessions would be confiscated.

Guards posted at the doors refused to permit the family exit. They were prisoners in their own home. Desolate, Rebekah spent a sleepless night. The insufferable British were determined not only to murder her husband, but
to keep her from him.

Rebekah swallowed hard. She had to think. She had been in dire straits before. If her world collapsed around her, she would not go meekly. If she had learned anything, she had learned she needed to fight for what she wanted in this life.

In the night, she devised a plan for her escape to see Jonathan. Esther made no effort to stop her. Moreover, Rebekah believed Esther would have come with her if it had been feasible. But for the plan to work, Rebekah needed Esther’s help.

The plan worked to perfection. Simple, but effective.
Esther had caused a distraction as she banged on her bedroom door. Esther seemingly pleaded with Rebekah to come out, but Esther’s pleas were to an empty room.

While the guards thought her in her room, they gave no thought to an apparent servant girl
who left in the early morning hour to go to the market. With one of the servant’s cloaks about her, Rebekah walked out the back with Jasper by her side.

Thank the good
Lord for Jasper, faithful and true. Her protector.

Gray clouds loomed in the sky as the sun rose o
ver the horizon, giving the scene before her an iridescent quality. It had been her first venture from the house since the occupation by the British. All around her were Redcoats! They had swarmed the city.

St. Michael
’s bell rang nine times. On each peal, her heart resounded within her that she might be too late. Jasper pushed through the amassing crowd and Rebekah followed. On most days, it would not have been a long walk. Today it seemed endless.

Despite the earliness of the hour, spectators crowded the streets along with an array of Redcoats, Greencoats
, dragoons, paroled militia, and curious citizens. Wagons had been diverted around the courthouse, leaving only horses to contend with when crossing the street.

Mumblings and whispers frightened Rebekah.

“Gonna be a hanging for sure!”

“’E
m Brits will make a spectacle of it!”

“
God curse them, Miss Rebekah.” Jasper called her forward. She hadn’t even noticed she had stopped. He took her by her elbow. “Now don’t ya falter none here. Ya are a strong woman. Master Jonathan needs ya now.”

Rebekah nodded
and chided herself. Jasper was right. She had to do something to save Jonathan…to make them understand there had been an awful mistake.

Confusion reigned around her
. She pressed forward, only to be halted at the foot of the steps to the courthouse. Sentries barricaded the entrances and refused access to everyone but a selected few. And Rebekah wasn’t one of them.

“
No, no, please. Let me through.”

Stoically, the Redcoats clutched their rifles to ensure no one passed. They gave little attention to a hysterical woman. Instead, their attention was drawn toward the shouts of defiance
that echoed in the streets.

A swarm of Redcoats disbursed into the streets
, only escalating an already volatile situation. Rebekah watched a man thrust aside, fall to the street and bleed profusely from his injured head. Another was struck with a rifle’s butt and held down with a bayonet against his throat.

Rebekah turned from the chaos
and edged back up the steps. Once more, a sentry stepped between her and her intention. He commanded, “Step back.”

She swallowed back tears
that welled in her eyes. She would be damned if she would give them the satisfaction of seeing her weakness. Suddenly, from the corner of her eyes, she noticed a group of British officers as they rode up.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea. The officers rode up to the steps and dismount
ed. The mob silenced. Three of the officers walked up the steps together, smartly dressed in their scarlet red waistcoats, starched white shirts, fitted wigs under a cocked hat with a button ornament, and shiny black Hessian boots.

Out of nowhere, an object flew through the air
and hit one of the officers in the back. Rebekah saw the remnants on the side of the waistcoat: a tomato, rotten from the smell of it. The officer turned back to the crowd.

Instead of anger, he seemed amused. The officer flicked off the remainder of the
tomato skin. From her view, she saw a smile emerge on the officer’s handsome face, a classic profile, with chiseled features and a distinguished, aristocratic nose. His eyes darkened with deep, private thoughts that exuded a taut and watchful power.

“
Halt,” he commanded the soldiers who rushed out to waylay the culprit who had dared to humiliate a British officer. He raised his arm to the crowd. “I know. I know that you are frightened. Unsure of what lies ahead for you. It is understandable.

“
Have faith, my friends. Know this proceeding is for your safety. The king’s one desire is to reestablish your city to its former glory. You do not need to fear. It is our intent to bring order from the chaos you have endured these last few years, which have pitted neighbor against neighbor. Know it is justice we seek…for you. That is all.”

St
ruck by the elegance of his mesmerizing speech, Rebekah recognized he had quieted the streets. It scared her. Who was this man who made this mockery of a trial against her husband seem just and true?

Oh, Lord, however was she going to get to Jonathan!

Then she saw him—Black Rory rode up.

He had changed little. Dark and intimidating, he walked with an arrogance that came from conquest. His long
, dark hair was pulled back in a queue. It did little to hide the large scar that ran down his cheek beneath the patch that covered his eye. He wore no uniform, only the dress of a backwoods man: a hunting shirt over fringed pants. He cared little for formality.

He stalked up the steps. He didn
’t see her, but Rebekah’s heart ached with the knowledge he came for one purpose: to see that Jonathan hung. The man she thought at one time she loved, but that was before she learned that love had nothing to do with fear or intimidation.

She had never wanted to see Rory again. With
the British occupation, she had known the possibility existed, but she had pushed the thought from her mind…until now. She lowered her gaze; she stared into nothingness as she thought.

She couldn
’t. Oh, but she could! She didn’t have a choice.

Rebekah looked over at Jasper. She grasped his arm.
“Go. Go to Rory by any means necessary. Tell him…tell him I need to talk with him.”

Jasper sighed, but gave her no argument. He understood
, as did she—Rory was her last hope to save her husband.

* * * *

The hot, sweltering air in the crowded, confined space suffocated Marcus. He had listened to the heated argument ongoing between the different sides. He found he had little interest in the proceedings. Instead, Corbett’s words still echoed in his head.
A child?

What child?
His child, he wanted to scream! He wanted to know about his child...and...his Hannah, who was snatched so cruelly from him. The time when his heart had been ripped from his chest, leaving only an empty void...filled only with the knowledge he would find his son.

He had been as confident in that knowledge as he had confidence the sun would rise each morn. He had held to honor and duty and had lost a part of himself. He had clung to the hope that something good had come from the hell he had lived through. But in reality
, it had all been a dream...a foolish...idiotic dream.

His dream of holding Hannah in his a
rms again, sharing their son. The piece of him that connected her to him. Now she would be nothing more than a ghost who haunted him with her pleading eyes...pleading not to leave her. He had let her go and hadn’t had a moment’s peace since.

His heart hardened. He had enough of this place...this war. He had done his duty to God and
king.

Before the occupation, Marcus had had plans for Corbett. He had known of Corbett
’s connections to the Reed & Sandler business by his marriage. He realized it could be used. Clinton wanted to establish a normalcy to Charles Town, wanted to show that Patriot sympathizers could become loyal subjects once more to the Crown. But more importantly, the general wanted to establish a steady economy.

All that changed when Corbett uttered those words—
“what child?” Moreover, Clinton’s tactic toward the good doctor had altered after that dinner with Landor.

Landor informed him
, along with Andre and Clinton, that the shipping company of Reed & Sandler they had hoped to crown their successful occupation of Charles Town with was managed by Rodger Morse’s sons, Corbett, and Pierce Cutler! Landor might as well have told them it was managed by John Laurens himself, as much good as it did discovering the hard-core Patriots at the helm of the much-needed shipping company.

Marcus didn
’t need to be told that the business papers had been hidden. The thought of pressuring Corbett’s wife faded when he questioned Corbett himself. Corbett had the look of wanting to laugh in his face when he insinuated his wife greedy and afraid of losing her wealth.

Hell! The other night at
the dinner hosted by Theodore Landor, the man announced that not only had Corbett’s wife refused to attend, but his daughter told him that her good friend, Rebekah Corbett, as well as Esther Daventry, had prepared to lose everything, planned to leave Charles Town and go north. It didn’t offer much hope that Mrs. Corbett could be manipulated like Landor.

The speculation that Corbett could be use
ful in obtaining control of Reed & Sandler ended—thus sealing his fate.

If Corbett could not be useful one way, he would another. Marcus sat rigidly
and observed Jonathan Corbett’s trial...mockery…or whatever such that it was called. In the end, it would be an example set for the inhabitants of Charles Town.

Clinton had one desire after the occupation—to establish rule within Charles Town
: harsh upon those who opposed it; indulgent toward those who supported the king. Marcus understood the essential element of establishing control.

The former militia laid down their arms and signed an oath of loyalty to the king for their parole. If any should be found to take up arms again against His Majesty, the sentence would be death by hanging.

An example needed to be set: a price to be paid for their disobedience to the Crown. Doctor Jonathan Corbett, passionate Patriot, renowned for his exploits, would be that example.

Days after the surrender, the magazine had exploded
and caused a multitude of casualties. In the course of the investigation, no evidence was uncovered that it had been a Patriot sympathizer, but it would not go unpunished, whether or not the tragedy had been caused by an unfortunate accident.

Colonel Woodland had been the one to uncover a few disgruntle
d militia, suspicious in nature. When two declared “Death to King George!” under interrogation, it was taken as a confession. They were hung immediately. The other seven would have said anything to have their lives spared.

Colonel Woodland made no secret of his hatred of Corbett. He thought the doctor a fraud. It came as no surprise to Marcus that Woodland came back with Corbett
’s name in a conspiracy.

It was ludicrous. Corbett was known for his passion for the cause, but it had been done with integrity. He was beloved among the Patriots for his commitment to duty and honor.

Marcus respected Corbett. He understood that Captain Jake Pennington would not be walking this earth if not for the good doctor. A man such as that would not contemplate a conspiracy that would gain nothing for his cause.

Then the question arose when Corbett would have done so. General Lincoln protested that Corbett was above reproach
, was by his side during the whole of the siege. Marcus didn’t doubt Lincoln’s words or Corbett’s, when he said that he realized the hatred the British held for him. He had not run.

No, he hadn
’t a doubt that Corbett was an innocent man, but it would do Corbett little good. Evidence would tilt in the favor of a guilty verdict. His father and brother hung as spies; his noted antics on the battlefield; Woodland’s drummed-up witnesses. The verdict would be quick and harsh.