Рита Браун - Tail Gait

Captain Graves called to him. “Lieutenant.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Tell your men to take a rest. Wash in the creek. The waters are somewhat cool.”

“Yes, Sir.” Charles obeyed the senior officer from the Royal Irish Artillery.

He called to his men, and the call went down the line of workers.

Men happily left their tasks, stripped naked, and waded into the swift creek.

“Shall we join them, Sir?” Charles smiled at the older officer, a scar alongside his neck from an old saber wound.

“An excellent idea.”

The two peeled off their clothes, which stuck to them thanks to the sweat, and waded in. Piglet ran from the tree, launching himself into the water, where he paddled furiously.

“Come here, fellow.” Charles put his arms under the low-built dog, holding him in the water while he sank up to his chin.

How good it felt.

They cooled off for fifteen minutes, then emerged, shaking water off like Piglet himself. Another ten minutes and the men were dry enough to wiggle back into their breeches and torn pants, some shredded tatters at the bottom.

Weymouth, the butler’s son, walked along with a bucket and ladle.

Captain Graves ordered them back to work, but held back Charles by his forearm. “A moment, please,” he said.

Charles and Piglet followed the short, lean man to the tree where Piglet had been sleeping.

Reaching into his pants pocket, torn at the side, the sandy-haired man pulled out a folded piece of paper. Carefully, Captain Graves unfolded it, handing it to Charles.

“Have you ever seen discharge papers?”

“I have not.”

“I took them off one of my men who fell at Saratoga. Cruel. He’d been discharged but could find no way back to Ireland, so he thought one more battle and he’d make his way home. He was killed in the first volley. I thought to save his papers, things.”

Charles nodded. “Yes, I did the same if I had time. Thought I’d send them back.”

Graves nodded, too. “Bits of paper, a few coins, all to show for a life.”

“This war has to end sometime,” Charles sensibly replied.

Graves folded his arms across his chest, sighing. “You are well born, Lieutenant. I am less so. To what do we return, regardless of station?” He leaned toward the younger man. “If we go home as part of a losing army, there will be no fetes for us, no rewards. We’ll be lucky to collect what pay is due to us. The Valley Road on the other side of these mountains reaches north into Pennsylvania, south down into North Carolina. It’s safer across the mountain.”

“Perhaps best not to head south, given events.”

Captain Graves smiled, revealing a crooked incisor, but he had all his teeth, a blessing. “Wise. I intend to escape, which should be obvious. I need discharge papers and I have heard from the men you have beautiful penmanship as well as your drawing capabilities.”

“I am flattered.”

“You can copy this and insert my name. I have equivalent paper.”

Hesitating, Charles replied, “What of the seal?”

“I have wax in my quarters and I paid the blacksmith to make me a seal. Just copy this word for word with my name, Captain Bartholomew Graves, Royal Irish Artillery.”

“Captain, what if you are apprehended and taken for a spy?”

He leveled his gray eyes at Charles. “I’ll face that if I must.”

“You’ve no provisions, no weapons.”

“I can fend for myself. You’re a young man and an intelligent one. These rebels will win. Listen to me, Lieutenant, this isn’t India, where the people are accustomed to submission, to a potentate. Oh, the people here are alive to wealth and power. They aren’t fools, but have you not noticed each man believes he can stand up to any other man? I tell you, Sir, they won’t give in.”

Thinking hard about this, Charles heard himself utter, “I don’t think they will either.”

“Then look out for yourself, Sir. I am a man of middle years, but I think I can thrive here. You are young. This is a place for young men.” A flash of passion crossed the older man’s face, and that caught Charles off guard.

“I will give your thoughts consideration.”

“King and country, is it?” Captain Graves half smiled.

“Yes,” Charles simply said.

“If you leave, if you slide into the forests, become a new man, or if you remain Lieutenant West but you do not take up arms against the king, I don’t feel you or I have violated our oath.” He unfolded his arms. “And why should I stay strapped by my birth, my position, pleasant though it can be? I will never rise above a captain, and should I return I would be a man of some property in Ireland, but there you have it. I was raised in Ireland. It is different for me.”

“Yes.” Charles struggled. It sounded almost like treason but not quite. What was it?

“Again, Lieutenant, will you draw me these papers? I will pay you fifteen pounds.”

“I—”

“Twenty!”

“I will. May I have a few days? I’d like to practice my hand on rough paper.”

Captain Graves clapped him on the back. “Yes. And I hope you see reason over time. For yourself.”

As they walked back to oversee the men, Catherine and Rachel, with food baskets and cold tea, rode down to them in a wagon, accompanied by Captain John Schuyler. As though overnight, Rachel had matured.

Captain Graves stopped for a moment, then smiled at the sight of pretty girls. “Oh, to be young again.”

May 8, 2015

Twilight’s silver-blue gave the early evening a magical feeling. Venus shone brightly over the mountains, but most of the stars would be more visible later as the last reflections from the sun died.

Harry loved this time of day. The foxes, owls, and other night hunters ventured out as the day birds and animals tucked up for the night. She saw a herd of deer way in the back pastures. Deer kept a hunting schedule somewhere, disappearing in mid-October, reappearing in January. Watching them graze, Harry knew they could wipe out an apple grove, grapes, young corn, and yet she never had the heart to shoot them. What she did have was Tucker, happy to be of service and chase them away.

The horses were in for the night. Their schedule would shift as soon as she felt the day’s warmth would be steady and the night would be refreshingly cool.

Sliding the barn doors half closed, she walked into the tack room, where Snoop was cleaning bridles and saddles, doing a good job.

Tucker, at her heels, ran out again through the front barn doors. “Intruder.”

The cats in the hayloft hurried to the open doors, saw a rooster tail of dust, and noted Cooper’s squad car.

“Let’s go down to the tack room.” The tiger cat headed for the ladder.

By the time Cooper reached the tack room, both cats reposed on saddles. Tucker followed close on her heels.

“Hey,” Coop greeted Harry and Snoop.

“Come on in and sit down.” Harry motioned for her to step inside. “Snoop’s been working with me today.”

Cooper nodded to Snoop, now smelling of saddle soap. “Glad you’re here,” the deputy said. “Let me ask you a few questions.”

“Sit down, Snoop. That old chair will hold you.” Harry pointed to a frayed director’s chair as she took the chair behind the desk.

Flipping open her notebook, Cooper asked, “What made you call Harry, Mrs. Haristeen, yesterday?”

“The guys looking for work crews came down on the mall. They parked up in the lot across from the library.”

“Did you recognize anyone?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I don’t know who the paving crew boss was, somebody new, and I don’t work too much for them, but the landscaping man was Harley Simpson. He’s been picking up day crews for as long as I’ve been down on the mall, eight years.”