Read Online The Beloved Land by T. Davis Bunn - Free Book Online Page B

hand with both of his own. “John Jackson, as I live and breathe. What a delight! What a genuine delight.”
    “It is good to see you again, Captain.” Clearly the man did not expect such a welcome.
    “Don’t let’s stand upon formalities, man. I insist you call me Gordon.” He pointed at the brevets sewn into the man’s greatcoat. “Besides which, I see you have been promoted to first lieutenant.”
    “Yes, despite my best efforts to the contrary,” he responded with a wry grin.
    “Nonsense. Both Nicole and I found you to be a man of great potential. It is good to see you have finally been recognized as such.” He could not help but notice the gaunt features, the pale skin above the man’s unkempt beard, the sunken eyes.
    “You have been ill?”
    “Consumption, I’m afraid.”
    “I am indeed sorry to hear this.” Gordon looked more closely at this sergeant who had helped Nicole enter the garrison at Cambridge, then rescued Gordon and his men from the British stockade. But the man’s former ebullience was not to be seen. “Are you recovering?” he asked.
    “Slowly.” A pause, then he added, “I wintered with General Washington at Valley Forge.”
    The twilight wind gripped Gordon harder still. “My poor man. I have heard it was most terrible.”
    “Good and bad both, sir. Good and bad. The conditions were fierce, as you have heard. But General Washington took us raw colonial recruits and whipped us into a true fighting force.”
    Gordon leaned closer still. “What brings you to Boston?” he asked.
    “My family left Philadelphia during the battles, intending to come here and stay with relatives. My father learned only at the last minute he was slated for arrest as a traitor.”
    “A patriot,” Gordon corrected quietly.
    “My family has left for the West. I have neither the funds nor the strength to follow.”
    “See here now. You must come and let me arrange quarters. And a meal.”
    Jackson drew himself up as straight as he could. “I did not come seeking charity, sir.”
    “Look here, Jackson. I owe you a debt I can never repay. Were it not for you, I would have swung from a British yardarm and been buried in a paupers’ field. You know this is truth.”
    “The debt is due to Miss Nicole, not I.” He coughed, wracking his entire frame. “Forgive me. The lady, she is well?”
    “She is residing at the seminary guesthouse. The lady will be as delighted as I to see you again.”
    “I should not visit Miss Nicole in this sorry state.”
    “Nonsense, she will not mind in the least.”
    But Jackson merely shook his head. “I would ask a boon of you.”
    “Anything, my man. But let us first see to your wellbeing.”
    “This will not wait. Follow me, please.”
    The tenuous hold Jackson maintained upon strength and resolve was evident in the way he moved. The slightest cough seemed ready to topple him. But Gordon knew better than to offer aid. “How did you find me?” he questioned his guide.
    “I asked about and learned you were the new harbormaster.”
    “Today was my last day.”
    Jackson stumbled on the rough cobblestones but kept himself erect. “I was headed down to find you when I saw you entering the church.”
    John Jackson now turned down a murky alley. Other than the torch marking the entrance, there was no light. Gordon hesitated a moment, peering into the gloom. “Where are we going?”
    “This way,” Jackson urged.
    Gordon eased his sword in his scabbard and followed. The way was so narrow he could reach out and touch both walls. Rain dripped and puddled, and wind gusts blew foul odors into his face. Jackson halted before a door and banged loudly.
    “All right, all right,” shouted a voice. “I’m coming. No need to wake the dead with your racket.” The door opened and a gray-bearded face poked through. He held a candle up to inspect the visitors. “Oh, it’s you, is it? Well, you’re too late. We’re closed for the night.”
    Jackson shoved his way past the