Robert Conroy - Liberty - 1784

“I have no plans to go all that far west, Faith,” Uncle Wilford added gently, evading the fact that Indians would always be a menace no matter where they went. There were Indians near Pendleton but they were mainly a pathetic bunch of drunken beggars, something to be scorned, not feared.

He continued. “I do not plan on totally leaving civilization. I think we will find a place in Pennsylvania that will be far enough from the sheriff and the damned English who are so corrupt and cruel as to put a man like Braxton in charge of us.”

“Don’t say it so loud,” Faith said, looking around in fear.

“Unless the sheriff’s under the table I don’t think he can hear us,” Sarah answered with a tight smile. Under the iron rule of Sheriff Braxton, Pendleton was an evil place and she would be glad to be rid of it.

Uncle Wilford continued. “I sold the place as is to someone from Boston. A Tory, so he and Braxton will be happy with each other. I have the money and we’ll just pack up and leave quickly. We can be miles away before the sheriff even realizes we’re gone. We can lose ourselves in a vast country such as this.”

To himself he hoped it was true. He’d heard rumors of terrible British oppressions to the west under the command of Banastre Tarleton at Pittsburgh.

Now even Faith looked excited. “When do we pack?”

“We’ll start tonight,” Wilford said. “I want to leave at sunset tomorrow.”

A thought chilled Sarah. “Uncle, did you say the buyer is a Tory?”

“Yes.”

“And did he pay in gold?”

Wilford laughed, “Of course. Did you want him to pay in Continentals?”

“Then I think we should leave tonight, and I think we should only take what we can carry. Leave everything else.”

Her uncle looked shocked, while Faith looked puzzled. “But why, Sarah?” she said.

“Because no Tory would miss a chance to get back the money he’s paid to a rebel. They’ll raid us and rob us. Or worse, since Braxton will doubtless help them recover their money. And we’ll be considered criminals for planning to leave without permission.”

Uncle Wilford stood, anger contorted his face. “She’s right. I’m a fool for not recognizing the peril I was creating. We pack now and we run.”

* * *

They waited until dark and moved into the woods near the house. The women were dressed in men’s clothes so they could ride the horses they were leading, along with a couple of other pack animals. What few personal possessions they brought were carried in pathetically small sacks. They had only two weapons, a musket carried by Wilford, and a fowling piece carried by Sarah. Wilford had to leave his blacksmithing tools since they were too heavy to carry. He only retained a large hammer that he said he’d like to use on either Braxton’s or the Tory land buyer’s skulls. Sarah seethed with anger at the injustice of it all, while Faith sobbed softly.

They were less than a mile away from their house when they heard horses in the distance, coming closer. They stopped and waited silently, holding their own horses heads down so they wouldn’t respond. A line of riders moved past them less than a hundred yards away. Sarah counted seven men and thought she recognized the bulk of Sheriff Braxton on the lead horse. When they were past, she asked her uncle if he recognized the buyer of the house as well. He did and snarled that he’d like to kill the son of a bitch.

“We should ride away now,” said her aunt.

“No,” Uncle Wilford said. “We’ll wait until they’re distracted.” A grim smile played on his face.

The riders circled the comfortable and quiet-looking frame house and dismounted. What looked like a candle shone through an open window. Funny, Sarah thought, I don’t remember seeing that candle before, but it does make it look like the house is occupied. She wondered if that was the distraction he mentioned? If so, it wasn’t much of one. As she watched, the men smashed down the front door and rushed inside.

Uncle Wilford swore and then smiled with a cold fury. “The bastards. But now watch.”

A moment later, the soft glow in the window became much brighter and, suddenly, flames erupted from the house. Wilford chuckled harshly.

“I rigged the oil lamps to spill if someone tried to come in through the doors. If I can’t have the house, then no would-be Tory thief’s going to get it either.”

An explosion lit the night and men tumbled from her uncle’s home. At least two of them were on fire and writhing on the ground, screaming at the top of their lungs. Others grabbed buckets from the well and doused the burning men while the house was quickly consumed. Sarah and the others hoped that one of the men burning was Sheriff Braxton or the thief of a Tory who had come to rob them. Wilford thought it likely that one was indeed Braxton. For all his faults, Braxton wasn’t a coward and he would have led his men inside. One of the burning men was being ignored and obviously dead, while the other was frantically being treated by his companions.

Sarah smiled grimly as they mounted their horses. She was confident that no one would chase them this night. Even Faith looked pleased. The war against the English was not over.

* * *

Will Drake found his Connecticut property easily enough, but he didn’t particularly like what he saw. Instead of a neat, clean, well-painted, and tidy house and barn, the main building was almost a ruin and the barn looked like it would fall over in a mild breeze. He had lived there until the end of his boyhood and had fond memories of the house and his family. Now, it looked like a shell, a mausoleum, and a tawdry one at that.

Worse was the presence of Francis and Winnie Holden, his cousins. They had never been close and Will had always suspected them of Tory leanings. Their presence on the property reinforced it-otherwise how would they have gotten the property that was rightfully Will’s?

They were thoroughly surprised to see him, but greeted him cordially enough. Will looked in their eyes and could see it was all superficial. Their eyes were cold and wary, even fearful. They wondered why he had come, and what he wanted.

“I know you’re surprised to see us living here,” Winnie said nervously. She and her husband were obviously not thrilled at Will’s unexpected arrival. “But we bought the place at a government sale. It’d been seized for nonpayment of taxes after it was abandoned. I can’t imagine you’d be displeased. After all, it’s staying in the family.”

“Of course not,” Will said evenly and with great effort. They were in the small kitchen eating some kind of stew prepared by Winnie who, in Will’s opinion, should have let someone else cook. Still, it was food, and he wasn’t that far from his days in the Suffolk to pass up a meal.

“We had no idea what’d happened to you,” Francis said. “It was as if you’d dropped off the face of the earth. Heard rumors, though, that you were in a British prison.”

“I was for a bit, but they let me go,” Will lied.

“But I heard they were still keeping officers.” Winnie said.

Will forced a laugh. “I wasn’t an officer when the war ended. I got broken to the ranks for hitting a man senior to me. The man was a coward and I damn near killed him.”

It was yet another lie, but he didn’t trust his cousins, and was beginning to regret coming. He didn’t doubt that they’d gobbled up the property for far less than what it was worth, and he didn’t doubt they feared his presence as a potential claimant on what was now their land. He knew they’d turn him in if they suspected him of being an escapee.

“What are your plans?” Winnie asked, so transparent and cautious that Will almost laughed.

“I just want a good meal with you folks and then I’m heading west to start over. I’m satisfied that everything is in good hands here, and I want to start my life up again. If you’d be kind enough to give me breakfast, I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”