“You say what you like, sir, to whomever it pleases you to say it. Go to the devil.”
And with that, he stabbed the spoon, handle first, into the table, and turned to walk away. Behind him, Richardson spoke, his voice still pleasant.
“I know your sister,” he said.
William’s shoulders tensed, but he kept on walking until the docks of Charles Town lay far behind.
131
Thunderstorms on the Ridge
July 4, A.D. 1780
To Colonel James Fraser, Fraser’s Ridge
From John Sevier
Mr. Fraser—
I write first to thank you for the Gift of your most excellent Whisky. I had Occasion to visit Mrs. Patton recently and shared with her a small Bottle that I had upon my Person. Judging from her Demeanor, I believe your Custom will be welcome at her Mill at any Time you wish, provided you come armed with the right Sort of Currency.
I write also to tell you that Nicodemus Partland, while inadvertently responsible for my Enjoyment of your Whisky, is otherwise no Gift to a liberal Society. Mr. Cleveland, in his Capacity as Constable, imprisoned Mr. Partland and three of his Companions, on Charges of disturbing the Peace. He kept them for three Weeks in his Barn, and then released them separately, one each Week, for the succeeding three Weeks, thus ensuring that Mr. Partland would not be greeted by a large Group of Followers upon his eventual Reappearance.
I have kept an Ear out, but have heard Nothing of any new Effort to raise a Party of Aggression （for I will not call such a Body a Committee of Safety, as the Term is often much abused） near the Treaty Line.
If the Cherokee Lands lie quiet, other Places do not. I have had Word of a Major Patrick Ferguson, who in the Midst of the Siege of Charles Town was sent to the South with Major Tarleton （for I know you are familiar with this Gentleman’s Name） and his Loyalist British Legion, whence they ousted an American Force at Monck’s Corner, near Charles Town. You had asked me if I knew of Major Ferguson, and now I do. I shall watch out for any further News of him.
Yr. Obt. Servant,
John Sevier
July 10, 1780
THERE HAD BEEN THUNDERSTORMS on the mountain all week and the day had begun with a brief rattle of rain against the shutters an hour or so before dawn and a blast of cold wind that shot down the chimney, hit the smoored embers, and spewed hot ashes all over the bedroom floor. Jamie leapt out of bed and sloshed water from the ewer across the hearth rug, stamping out stray sparks with his bare feet and muttering sleepy execrations in Gaelic.
He poked up the remaining embers, stuffed a couple of chunks of fat pine and a longer-burning hickory log in among them with a bit of fresh kindling, and stood there in his shirt, arms folded tight against the chill of the room, waiting to be sure the fresh wood had caught. Still snug in bed, I blinked drowsily, appreciating the sight of him. The rising light of the new fire glowed behind him and flickered on the stones of the mantel, making the shadow of his long body visible through the linen. The touch of that body was still vividly imprinted on my skin, and I began to feel somewhat less sleepy.
When he was sure the new fire was well underway, he nodded and muttered something—whether to himself or the fire, I couldn’t tell; there were Highland fire charms, and he undoubtedly knew a few. Satisfied, he turned, crawled back into bed, wrapped his long cold limbs around me, sighing as he relaxed into my warmth, farted, and went blissfully back to sleep.
By the time I woke up again, he was gone, and the room was warm and smelled pleasantly of the ghosts of turpentine and fire. I could hear the wind whining round the corners of the house, though, and the creak of the new timbers and lath of the third-floor walls just above us. Another storm was coming; I could smell the sharp scent of ozone in the air.
Fanny and Agnes were up; I could hear the muffled sound of their voices down in the kitchen, amid heartening sounds of breakfast being made. Agnes had agreed, with a mixture of trepidation and excitement, to go to Charles Town with the Cunninghams, and then to London, by which time she would theoretically have made up her mind as to which of the two lieutenants would be her husband. The captain had survived, but had had a setback that delayed their departure. He had rallied but was still in fragile health, and Jamie had told him that he was welcome to stay until the roads were safer. There was no chance of his riding; his legs were still paralyzed, though he did have sensation in his feet and I thought I’d seen a faint twitch of his left toe.
Silvia and the girls were up, too, though only a faint murmur of voices reached me from the heights of the third floor. Jamie had considered giving them one of the Loyalists’ forfeited cabins, but he, Jenny, and Ian had all thought it might be bad luck for Quakers to inherit the spoils of war, as it were. He and Ian and Roger would build them a new cabin, before the winter came. As for me, I was more than happy to have three more females able to cook on the premises, though the Hardmans’ expertise didn’t extend to much beyond roasting potatoes and making stews.