Chapter 42: The Noble Fight?
18th March, 1778
Charleston, South Carolina
Five years, four months.
It was only five years since Tom had come here, though it seemed in many ways a lifetime. He had to close his eyes to remember the faces of his family, and only in particularly lucid dreams could he remember his friends, or the factory where he worked, or the house he'd grown up in. Another layer back lay his school and classmates, or even daily life. Every month the memories grew just a little dimmer, and Tom dreaded the day he'd forget entirely. It seemed somehow a crime.
Jessie he never forgot though. Oh, sometimes her memory would leave him alone for a day, or even a week if it was really busy, but she'd always return...sometimes when he least expected it.
"...and the weather is especially fine today, sir," offered Sam, a tall servant of fifty, as he patiently worked on the Heyward's queue. His hair extended to between his shoulder blades, and it was held together with a thick black ribbon. "Couldn't ask for finer to start a journey."
Tom nodded distantly. It'd been a day just like this when he'd met Jessie at a fair. Well, maybe a little danker - it was London after all.
"And don't you worry about a thing here, sir. People generally leave us alone right 'nuf. They don't want to cross you, sir. Not after you put a hole through Master Rutledge's house!"
"That was an accident." Tom looked up in the mirror sharply.
"Of course it was, sir," the servant returned smoothly. "Everyone knows you wouldn't do that on purpose, but still it makes them think twice and for that we're grateful."
"That reminds me," Heyward reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. "I want you to go north. Anywhere. Norfolk, Richmond, Baltimore."
"For what, sir?"
"I don't want you here if the Brits get around us. You don't know what it's like out there, it's going to be a bloodbath."
"Bless you!" Sam laughed. "If the British do come, I'm one of the safest men in town!"
"How so?" Tom turned curiously as his servant reached for his powdered wig. By one of those freaks of fashion history, this also had a ponytail.
"Well, I suppose word will come out anyway, sir. The governor of Georgia, Mister Howe? He says any man who crosses the line and fights for him will both be freed if they need it and receive land in the bargain. At worst they'd make me join them. Not that I would want to, mind."
"Why not?" Heyward frowned at the mirror, adjusted the wig. He looked like a giant version of one of those puffs Jessie would use for makeup on top of an army uniform. Perfect.
Sam stiffened slightly and looked down. "... It doesn't matter sir, really."
"Try me." Powder on his hands. Christ, what an odious custom...
"Well, sir." He hesitated. "Sir, if I may... it don't really signify. If I stay here, well sometimes it's not much ... sometimes it's right hard, but maybe that's God's way of testing me and my family. I don't know, surely. Here I know everyone though, and there are good times too. If I go with them, then it won't really be much different. I wouldn't ever be a gentleman, either I could make the land work and everyone would always be saying I only got it for turning coat, or I wouldn't in which case I'm right back where I started. Either way people wouldn't treat me much different you know. The British say they're better, but until a few years ago we were British, sir. I don't see it makes much odds."
"But you could go home. Wouldn't you like that?"
"Home....what is home, sir?" Sam tilted his head to the side, then frowned and adjusted Tom's coat. "I been here so long, I don't remember where I came from. And I've been here so long, everyone I know, everyone I care for ... is here. Everything I want is here. Oh, there might be a thing or two I'd see different - for my son's sake, not mine - but that'll come in time. You know the line about the grass being greener, sir."
Heyward nodded. Put his hat on his wig, pondered not for the last time how ridiculous he looked. "I wonder if it's settling, though."
"Yes, sir," Sam answered instantly. Then, "If I may though, I've found that sometimes surviving is noble enough for one lifetime."
Which was fair enough, Heyward reasoned. Surviving and playing the game was one of the main reasons he kept up this charade. That and he had little better to do. "Just remember, if it gets .. difficult, get out. I don't want you trapped if the English get past us."
"Of course, sir. Shall I send for your horse?"
As Sam left, the door slammed open and someone hurtled up the steps. He burst in and crouched there, breathing hard. "I wasn't sure I'd catch you!"
"John? What are you doing here?" Tom frowned at the boy's army uniform.
"I'm going with you!"
"You are?" Heyward arched his brows. The two had spoken little more than pleasantries throughout the winter, the one uncertain of what to say, the other thinking hard.
"Aye! I mean, if I can." John blinked. "I want to reenlist."
"You do?" Tom shook his head to ward off the reply. "John....Are you sure about this?"
Preston nodded sharply. "The war's going to come to me whether I want it to or not. I might as well meet it head on."
Tom frowned. His ward's early performance hadn't exactly been stellar. "And Cassie?" he asked pointedly. He hated poking at the wound, but he had to know....
John hesitated. "Gone," he answered in a monotone. "And....nothing I can do about that." He looked up and bit his lip, hard. "So...all I can do is keep going, right?"
Tom snorted softly, still thinking of his own girl. "That's about it," he agreed quietly. John's eyes widened at the emotion in his voice. "Keep going and ... it doesn't go away. It becomes bearable though."
"All the more reason for me to come with you."
"Just...be sure. We're two months away from a major war .... everything we've done up to now is a child's tricks comparatively. It may be something we're not able to finish."
"I'm ready."
I hope so.
18th March, 1778
Charleston, South Carolina
Five years, four months.
It was only five years since Tom had come here, though it seemed in many ways a lifetime. He had to close his eyes to remember the faces of his family, and only in particularly lucid dreams could he remember his friends, or the factory where he worked, or the house he'd grown up in. Another layer back lay his school and classmates, or even daily life. Every month the memories grew just a little dimmer, and Tom dreaded the day he'd forget entirely. It seemed somehow a crime.
Jessie he never forgot though. Oh, sometimes her memory would leave him alone for a day, or even a week if it was really busy, but she'd always return...sometimes when he least expected it.
"...and the weather is especially fine today, sir," offered Sam, a tall servant of fifty, as he patiently worked on the Heyward's queue. His hair extended to between his shoulder blades, and it was held together with a thick black ribbon. "Couldn't ask for finer to start a journey."
Tom nodded distantly. It'd been a day just like this when he'd met Jessie at a fair. Well, maybe a little danker - it was London after all.
"And don't you worry about a thing here, sir. People generally leave us alone right 'nuf. They don't want to cross you, sir. Not after you put a hole through Master Rutledge's house!"
"That was an accident." Tom looked up in the mirror sharply.
"Of course it was, sir," the servant returned smoothly. "Everyone knows you wouldn't do that on purpose, but still it makes them think twice and for that we're grateful."
"That reminds me," Heyward reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. "I want you to go north. Anywhere. Norfolk, Richmond, Baltimore."
"For what, sir?"
"I don't want you here if the Brits get around us. You don't know what it's like out there, it's going to be a bloodbath."
"Bless you!" Sam laughed. "If the British do come, I'm one of the safest men in town!"
"How so?" Tom turned curiously as his servant reached for his powdered wig. By one of those freaks of fashion history, this also had a ponytail.
"Well, I suppose word will come out anyway, sir. The governor of Georgia, Mister Howe? He says any man who crosses the line and fights for him will both be freed if they need it and receive land in the bargain. At worst they'd make me join them. Not that I would want to, mind."
"Why not?" Heyward frowned at the mirror, adjusted the wig. He looked like a giant version of one of those puffs Jessie would use for makeup on top of an army uniform. Perfect.
Sam stiffened slightly and looked down. "... It doesn't matter sir, really."
"Try me." Powder on his hands. Christ, what an odious custom...
"Well, sir." He hesitated. "Sir, if I may... it don't really signify. If I stay here, well sometimes it's not much ... sometimes it's right hard, but maybe that's God's way of testing me and my family. I don't know, surely. Here I know everyone though, and there are good times too. If I go with them, then it won't really be much different. I wouldn't ever be a gentleman, either I could make the land work and everyone would always be saying I only got it for turning coat, or I wouldn't in which case I'm right back where I started. Either way people wouldn't treat me much different you know. The British say they're better, but until a few years ago we were British, sir. I don't see it makes much odds."
"But you could go home. Wouldn't you like that?"
"Home....what is home, sir?" Sam tilted his head to the side, then frowned and adjusted Tom's coat. "I been here so long, I don't remember where I came from. And I've been here so long, everyone I know, everyone I care for ... is here. Everything I want is here. Oh, there might be a thing or two I'd see different - for my son's sake, not mine - but that'll come in time. You know the line about the grass being greener, sir."
Heyward nodded. Put his hat on his wig, pondered not for the last time how ridiculous he looked. "I wonder if it's settling, though."
"Yes, sir," Sam answered instantly. Then, "If I may though, I've found that sometimes surviving is noble enough for one lifetime."
Which was fair enough, Heyward reasoned. Surviving and playing the game was one of the main reasons he kept up this charade. That and he had little better to do. "Just remember, if it gets .. difficult, get out. I don't want you trapped if the English get past us."
"Of course, sir. Shall I send for your horse?"
As Sam left, the door slammed open and someone hurtled up the steps. He burst in and crouched there, breathing hard. "I wasn't sure I'd catch you!"
"John? What are you doing here?" Tom frowned at the boy's army uniform.
"I'm going with you!"
"You are?" Heyward arched his brows. The two had spoken little more than pleasantries throughout the winter, the one uncertain of what to say, the other thinking hard.
"Aye! I mean, if I can." John blinked. "I want to reenlist."
"You do?" Tom shook his head to ward off the reply. "John....Are you sure about this?"
Preston nodded sharply. "The war's going to come to me whether I want it to or not. I might as well meet it head on."
Tom frowned. His ward's early performance hadn't exactly been stellar. "And Cassie?" he asked pointedly. He hated poking at the wound, but he had to know....
John hesitated. "Gone," he answered in a monotone. "And....nothing I can do about that." He looked up and bit his lip, hard. "So...all I can do is keep going, right?"
Tom snorted softly, still thinking of his own girl. "That's about it," he agreed quietly. John's eyes widened at the emotion in his voice. "Keep going and ... it doesn't go away. It becomes bearable though."
"All the more reason for me to come with you."
"Just...be sure. We're two months away from a major war .... everything we've done up to now is a child's tricks comparatively. It may be something we're not able to finish."
"I'm ready."
I hope so.
