Read Online Valley Forge by David Garland - Free Book Online

from the barracks."
    "Yes," said Mears. "You bribed him to keep his mouth shut."
    "The bribe wasn't enough to satisfy him. I had to shut his mouth another way. I just thought I should warn you, Cabal. By the time you get back, the body will have been found. Questions will be asked."
    "I'm used to talking my way out of an awkward situation."
    "There's nothing to connect him with you."
    "Then I've no worries," said Mears blithely. "One less rebel in the world is a cause for celebration. In your place, I'd have done the same."
    "He left me no choice."
    "Forget about it."
    "I will." Skoyles looked around. "This is a big boat for one person."
    "I manage."
    "Have you always fished alone?"
    "My son used to help me."
    "What happened to him?"
    "He died."
    "I'm sorry to hear that, Cabal."
    "I wish that I'd been," said Mears coolly, "but I shed no tears over him. Peter never really took to the sea. He wanted to fight. When the war broke out, he ran off to join one of the Massachussetts regiments."
    "He was a
rebel?
"
    "Yes. It broke my heart. Divided loyalties in one family are a terrible thing. I tried to hold him back but Peter wouldn't listen. We never saw him again. Our son was killed at Hubbardton."
    "I was there myself," said Skoyles, remembering the carnage on the battlefield. "I took part in that engagement. Your son was one of many who did not survive."
    "All they told us was that he'd fought gallantly under the command of Colonel Francis." Mears chewed on the stem of his pipe. "Peter was on the wrong side. I wish I could find it in me to mourn his death."
    "War is cruel. It separates father from son, and brother from brother. It can also play havoc with friendships."
    "You've no need to tell me that."
    "I'm sure. You must have lost many friends."
    "Dozens of them," said Mears sourly. "Cambridge used to be such ahappy town. We were a community. Then the trouble broke out and everything changed for the worst. People who had got along well with each other in the past suddenly fell out. They began denouncing their neighbors as loyalists. It was like a witch hunt."
    "How did you come through it?"
    "By keeping my opinions to myself."
    "Your son must have known you were no rebel."
    "He did, but he kept my secret. I owed him for that. Peter was ready to fight against everything I believe in, but he would not accuse his father of treachery. It's a terrible thing to say," he went on guiltily, "but there was a sense of relief when we heard that he'd been killed in action. More than that—God forgive me—I felt a peculiar satisfaction."
    "I take no satisfaction in another man's death," said Skoyles, "even if he is an enemy. When I first came to America with the army as a mere lad, I was billeted on a farm and became close friends with one of the sons there. We kept in touch for years. I always knew that our paths would cross again somehow."
    "And did they?"
    "Yes, Cabal. Oddly enough, it was at Hubbardton."
    "Was your friend in the rebel army as well?"
    "Not as a soldier, but he was dedicated to their cause. When I met him again and saw that he was uninjured, I was glad. I wanted him to live even though I knew that he'd use his talents against us."
    "His talents?"
    "He was trained as a silversmith."
    "Just like Paul Revere," said the fisherman with a sneer.
    "Two of a kind," Skoyles continued. "Like him, Ezekiel produced prints that were aimed at stirring the emotions, and acting as recruiting officers for the patriots. We met again at Saratoga but he was on the winning side that time. Somehow," he added, "we remained friends, even though I killed his brother in battle at Bemis Heights."
    Mears was astonished. "You killed his brother?"
    "It was in self-defense."
    "Yet this man still looks upon you as a friend?"
    "I think so."
    "Then he's a strange fellow indeed. What's his name?"
    "Proudfoot," said Skoyles. "Ezekiel Proudfoot."
    The bookshop was halfway down a lane off Front Street, close to a busy thoroughfare yet somehow quiet and