Read Online Undead and Unforgiven by MaryJanice Davidson - Free Book Online

agreed, then snuck a peek at my watch. Then remembered that since cell phones, nobody wore watches anymore. “Really stressful.”
This. This is why I should stop engaging with people in Hell.
    â€œWas he brave?”
    â€œI didn’t ask—”
    â€œOf course. Impetuous, rash? Of course! Some would say that his time in His Majesty’s army allowed him to study their methods, and it did—it made him a much more dangerous traitor to King George III!”
    â€œUm. What?”
    â€œWho knew the Stamp Act of 1765 would lead to my son betraying his king and the eventual deaths of tens ofthousands? George Mason should have persuaded my boy to fall in line. The one good thing that man did was refuse to sign the Constitution. John Adams, Alexander Hamilton, von Steuben . . . troublemakers, every one. It’s obvious. My poor son was misled by evil companions.”
    Finally
, the penny dropped. “Are you talking about George Washington, the first president?”
    â€œYes, of course.”
    â€œThe evil companions . . . those would be the guys who basically fought for and created the greatest country in the world?” (I’m a patriot. Sue me.)
    â€œRebelling against their lawful king!” came the indignant reply.
    â€œThe money!”
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œNothing.” Every time I’d taken out my wallet, I’d seen the male version of this woman. No wonder she looked familiar. “Look, I’m sorry he gave you grief with the whole overthrowing British tyranny and all, but as a loud, proud American, I have to tell you, I think it all turned out for the best.”
    â€œRebels and traitors,” she sniffed. “I couldn’t hold up my head in church for years.”
    Cripes, this woman could have been a professional buzzkill. “Well, yeah. Back then I’m sure it was a pretty big scandal.” Now that I was giving it some thought, I could see her side of it. After all, some could argue Hell’s rightful king had been overthrown by an annoying, vulgar American with no right to the crown and no idea what to do with it once the dim idiot had her paws on it.
    It was fair to say I’d never thought about the Revolution from the perspective of a mom who was fine with being a British subject and annoyed her kid wouldn’t get with the program. As kids, we’re fed the version “the king sucked, so we kicked him out, God bless ’merica!” andnot the one that went “if we’d lost, the names Washington and Jefferson and Adams would be synonymous with Hitler and Goebbels.”
    â€œListen, Mrs. Washington, history’s written by the winners. In this case: us. So your kid’s rebellion is generally considered pretty terrific. There are schools named after your son, and highways and cities. They named the capital after him, and a state. They carved his face into a mountain! You have bragging rights most moms can only dream of!”
    An affronted sniff was my only answer. If she held grudges this long, no wonder she was in Hell. One of those souls who, even if I told her she could go, would stay, would insist she was exactly where she was supposed to be, forever and ever, amen.
    I tried one more time: “You know he’s on all the money, right?”
    â€œI hated that portrait.”
    I had to stop; the grumpy Dame Washington was making me want to snort in the worst way. Luckily I spotted the sodom—Marc running out of the Lego room, and no wonder: Cathie was dismantling it as quickly as she’d put it together. The woman should have been an architect. Or a demolition engineer.
    â€œMarc, c’mere, I want to introduce you to somebody.” He trotted right over, smiling a greeting as Dame Washington gave him a regal nod. When I tried to nod like that, I looked like I was fighting a nap. Must be a generational thing. Or a Colonial American thing. “This is May Bell