The Patriot's Conquest (37 page)

The sheriff turned with a look, then turned back, shaking his head.

As they finished, Jeffrey grinned and set down fiddle and bow. Then his smile fled as the wagon of death rambled down Hangman’s Road.

At the end of this journey, he would die.

Tree branches stretched over his head like long brown arms. The growing noise of a crowd greeted him. As the cart rolled through the woods to a clearing, his heart banged hard. Now he could see the tall, three-cornered gallows, a single rope dangling from its center. In front were masses of people, sitting in the grass and munching on food.

’Twas a picnic. The smell of roast duck and Virginia cider drifted toward him. He wanted to retch, but forced back the nausea rising in his throat.

Even the reverend blanched. “Dear Lord, ’tis as if the entire town has turned out for your execution.”

Jeffrey offered a cocky grin to disguise his mounting despondency. “And why not? ’Tis not every day they get to see a rebel hang.”

The coffin beneath him felt hard and unyielding, reminding him of how he’d ride back in the wagon
.
He hoped his family and friends would not weep too much. He dared not scan the crowd’s faces, fearing he would not see his Mandy.

The cart pulled up beneath the gallows rope. Jeffrey clenched his teeth, rose from his coffin and placed fiddle and bow inside with a sorrowful heart. He knelt at his coffin for the reverend’s blessing and prayer, and then the sheriff read the official warrant. He could scarce hear for the loud buzzing in his ears.

He stood, shaking off the reverend’s offer of assistance. Resisting the impulse to recoil as the rough rope was slipped around his neck, he closed his eyes instead.

“Sheriff, I am here as his lordship’s personal representative to ensure this prisoner is properly executed.”

His eyes shot open. Jeffrey stared in dawning horror at William Christopher. As with many other spectators, the man was eating. He finished the pastry, licked his fingers.

The sheriff grumbled, but stepped aside. Christopher grunted as he climbed into the cart. He scrutinized the rope around Jeffrey’s neck. Desperately, Jeffrey fought to control his trembling hands as the sheriff bound them in back.

“Have you any last words, Clayton?” Christopher’s sneer scraped against Jeffrey’s raw skin. Frustration and keen rage filled him as his arch enemy gloated.

Nay, he’d not give him satisfaction of seeing fear. If it took every last ounce of courage, he’d stand tall and proud. Jeffrey prayed for dignity. For bravery. For a miracle.

“Aye, I have last words, but they will be lost on dumb ears such as yours,” he stated, straightening his spine.

Christopher stiffened, but the reverend held up a calming hand. “Let him speak then. A man deserves some last words before his spirit leaves this earth.”

“Thank you, Reverend.”

He lifted his head and stared at the crowd with fierce intensity. He fought back emotion as he spotted Meg in front, tears streaming down her cheeks. A stricken George stood next to her, a comforting arm around her trembling shoulders. Jeffrey felt a stab of intense pity for his friend.
’Tis not your fault, George. You fought the good fight.

No sign of Mandy. His heart ached. Jeffrey set his shoulders like flint.

“I die an innocent man, framed for arson. There are those here who know my innocence and think they can silence me through death. But I say this. Kill me now and I shall rise up in the people. My voice will speak from beyond the grave. My life is but one. You cannot kill us all. We, the people of America, have a spirit of freedom you cannot crush. Nay, you try and we will rise up and claim liberty. May she long ring out every time injustice is committed, every time a tyrant imposes his will upon the people. Freedom is our God-given birthright. May freedom live long in the spirit and will of the American people. God save America.”

The last sentence rose on a fever pitch, uttered in a deep, sonorous tenor. Though Patrick was miles away, he could almost hear him applauding.

The reverend looked upon him with admiration, Christopher with distaste. The crowd applauded. Some women began to weep.

“God grant you peace, my son,” the clergyman said, laying a hand upon his shoulder. Jeffrey bowed his head as the reverend read from the 23rd psalm.

“Say what you will, Clayton,” Christopher’s cold whisper scraped across his raw nerves. “Know you go to your grave, Amanda will be nestling in my arms this night. She will be my wife and bear my children. Why you’ve probably wondered why she’s not gone to you these last few days. She’s been with me. She’ll not come even to bid you farewell. I shall know the delights of bedding her while your body lies rotting in the earth. Indeed, I shall take my pleasure with her while you burn in the bowels of Hell with the other patriot scum who will join you after His Majesty’s forces gather together.”

Jeffrey squared his shoulders, determined not to show the aching agony Christopher’s words caused.

In louder voice Christopher said, “This rope is too loose.”

With a gleeful sound, he tightened the noose. Jeffrey coughed, feeling the rough rope close around his life. His heart thudded like Indian war drums, making blood pound in his ears. Fear filled every pore. As soon as the wagon rolled forward, he’d hang. Terror threatened to dishonor and humiliate him.

Beg for clemency
, it whispered.
Not too late. Throw yourself at Christopher’s mercy. Anything is better than this noose.

From deep within, he found a glimmer of courage. He fed it with hope his death would proclaim a message and stir others to action. Perhaps his death would spark the very action needed to fight the British for freedom.

“Time to blindfold the prisoner.” Christopher dangled a black silk cloth before him.

Jeffrey shook his head. “Nay, I shall not hide from death, but look at it straight away. I die proclaiming my innocence. My death shall be on your conscience.”

Christopher shrugged. “So be it. Makes no difference to me.”

The sheriff hesitated. He seemed reluctant to do his duty. Jeffrey eyed him with pity.

“Any last requests?”

He thought rapidly. “Just one more minute. I’ve one more prayer to send to Heaven.”

Closing his eyes, Jeffrey prayed to feel his Mandy’s arms around him one last time.

His wife. If only one last kiss, one last feel of her soft white arms wrapped around him, one last look at those lovely violet eyes. With an anguished sigh, he opened his eyes and saw Christopher gloating look.

The pompous ass. Courage filled Jeffrey. He squared his shoulders and steeled his spine and sang a liberty song. His voice sounded scratchy because of the rope’s pressure, but he sang louder still. The song rippled through the crowd. One by one, they began to sing along. His spirits lifted. Damn, he’d die today, but at least die like a man, a radical to the end.

Through the singing, came distant hoof beats. A last minute miracle? Christopher jumped off the wagon as the sheriff made ready to crack the whip over the horse.

As the newcomer drew close, Jeffrey’s gaze widened with shock. Pleasure. Wild disbelief and uncertain hope.

Christopher followed his gaze and uttered a loud choking cry. “’Tis not! Cannot be!”

“’Tis most certainly so.”

Jeffrey grinned as Amanda rode up and dismounted in a fury. She charged toward the wagon. His grin widened at what she held in both hands.

She aimed both pistols at Christopher. A wave of fierce pride filled his heart at the magnificent sight of his wife, unbound rose gold tresses flowing in unkempt glory, cheeks stained with color. She looked like an avenging Greek goddess. Her voice was pure nectar poured from Olympus.

“Remove the noose from my husband’s neck, William, or I shall be forced to put a bullet hole larger than the size of your conscience in your head. Can you imagine how painful it will feel?”

Jeffrey had a noose about his neck. Amanda swallowed fear and let rage take over. She balanced the heavy dragoon pistols, praying William would listen to reason.

Jeffrey, her beloved. Standing at the back of the wagon, his broad shoulders squared, he waited for death. His song had filled her with overwhelming love and pride as she spurred Liberty toward the gallows. Jeffrey’s deep voice filled her with courage. The cocky grin she adored replaced his look of astonishment.

She brandished both pistols, praying her aim and hands held equal steadiness. “I have proof of his innocence and I’ll not have you hang an innocent man before I present it.”

Rage contorted William’s face, but the sheriff hastily obeyed her request. He loosened the hard knot and slid the rope from Jeffrey’s neck, then untied his hands. Stepping far away from the rope, her husband heaved a huge sigh of pure relief.

The captain glowered at her and stepped aside. Amanda tracked his movements. “What possible proof could you present that would prevent us from carrying out the deed? Your husband will hang. ’Tis certain, no matter what you say. And you yourself are in danger of arrest for threatening a British officer.”

“Sheriff, when you hear my words, you will not arrest me, but another.”

Amanda lowered the pistols, placed them on the wagon, then withdrew a slim volume from her skirt pocket. William’s face paled. The sight delighted her.

She never stopped surprising him. George and Meg approached the sheriff, but he scarce saw them, his gaze focused on his Mandy.

“Do you recognize this, William? You should, for ’tis your journal. You keep such meticulous notes.”

Amanda waved the journal in the air. She looked at Jeffrey with sorrow. “I would have arrived sooner, but Julie and I could not access William’s quarters until he left.”

As she read the entry, her voice rose on the wind. Never had he heard such sweeter words, except those whispered during their most passionate moments.

“The deed is performed. Tonight the fire burns Merton’s house, for my torch set it. Clayton’s walking stick lies outside Merton’s home. He shall bear the blame for my actions and Lord Dunmore will reward me richly for such a brilliant scheme, hanging his enemy in public for a crime so foul that all the citizenry will despise and curse Clayton’s name as his body dangles from the rope.” She snapped the volume shut.

“Who set the fire, William? Who offered to take Jeffrey’s cane to the silversmith’s shop for repairs when Mother asked, but instead used it against him? Who dressed like Jeffrey and ran from the scene yelling those same words overheard in the Raleigh? Who came into the Governor’s kitchen late that night, threatening a poor scullery maid as he hunted for butter to ease a painful burn on his hand? And how did that burn come to be?” Amanda shook the book like a wrathful clergyman braying about sin.

The sheriff’s gaze darted to Christopher’s gloved left hand. Christopher’s face contorted with rage. Suddenly he grabbed a pistol and Amanda at the same time, pressing the deadly flintlock against her neck. He forced her away from the wagon of death.

“Stand back or I will shoot her, I swear it.”

Fright clouded Amanda’s snapping violet eyes. She seemed paralyzed as Christopher dragged her away. Jeffrey snarled.

Meg shrieked. “William, don’t! Leave Amanda alone. You will hurt the baby!”

Shock filled Jeffrey, then joy and tenderness. He eyed Christopher, all his defenses mounting until a blood rage filled his head. His ears buzzed with it. The roaring was the same as when he’d fought in the war, only now it unleashed his fury to protect his wife—and his child growing in her womb.

Christopher’s gaze whipped back and forth as the sheriff and his men drew near, forming a horseshoe around the man.

Rogers’ Rangers Rule #19:
Allow your enemy to approach until he’s nearly close enough to touch. Then jump out and attack with your hatchet
.

Jeffrey leapt from the wagon. With great stealth, he circled around Christopher, who inched backwards, Amanda tightly in his grasp. Gaze wide with fear, she glanced over her shoulder at him. Giving an encouraging smile, he pantomimed jerking away and gestured toward the ground. She nodded.

When Christopher turned, he loosed his grip on Amanda. She twisted away and dropped down. Christopher whirled. Before he could shoot, Jeffrey launched himself at the corpulent captain as Amanda scrambled away on hands and knees.