“We thought of that, Harry.” Coop held up her hands, empty.
“When you combed through his desk at home and then at UVA, what was he working on?”
“I’m not a scholar. I don’t know what’s significant or not. He had old maps. Trudy said he would consult the maps of the time because that was what the people used. She said how Ginger praised those early brave surveyors. Uh.” She tapped her forefinger on the table. “There were some first-person memoirs of the Battle of Saratoga and prisoner-of-war camps, and materials on old roads. Professor Brinsley Sims has been a big help. He went through everything and said he didn’t find anything incendiary, for lack of a better word.”
“When the department is finished, might I look?”
“I’ll ask Rick, but why?”
“I’m born and bred here. I might be able to pick something up, you know, from his going through old family Bibles.”
“Harry, what could that have to do with Ginger’s murder?”
“Maybe an old crime provoked a new one.”
“It would have to be a very old crime.”
“Maybe, but then again, it kept being brought forward, in ways we don’t understand but Ginger did. I can’t think of anything else. And I know it’s out there, but, okay, think of this. The Constitution says that in order to be president of this country, you must be born here. Ever wonder why?”
“No. I figured it was one more rule, like initially only giving the vote to white male property owners.”
“Aha! You do know some history.”
Cooper smiled. “Enough to know the fussing and fighting will never end.”
“There is that.” Harry’s animals came over and flopped down, though they were listening. “If the presidency were available to a naturalized citizen, of course that person’s early years would have been somewhere else. Our Founding Fathers knew the experience of the New World was just that: A person from another place, from Europe, no matter how brilliant, ought not be trusted with being our chief executive. They can hold any other office, but not that one. You have to be of this soil.”
“Never thought of that.”
“They did, because they saw how feudal past continued to affect Europe even in the eighteenth century, and really even today. We were born of the Enlightenment. No feudal past. We truly are significantly different from Europe and Asia.”
“Well, okay.”
“See, these were the kind of conversations Ginger would have. The man just loved what he did. It spilled over and out of him, and he was never pedantic or boring at it.”
“The past is prologue,” Cooper repeated the famous axiom.
“The past can kill you.”
Cooper looked at Harry, then said, “I’ll see what I can do. I have nothing else to go on.”
“Good. It will keep me off the streets at night.”
Mrs. Murphy said to Pewter and Tucker, “No, it won’t. When she gets like this, she—”
Pewter interrupted. “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.”
Mrs. Murphy thought Pewter might be onto something for once. After all, there weren’t too many angels in Virginia.
September 7, 1780
Gorgeous early fall weather made up for the work in a sweltering summer. No one complained about the labor. Two Hessian prisoners of war had broken their ankles sliding down as they worked to ease the grade on Ewing Garth’s wagon road. Other than that, no injuries.
At three in the afternoon, tired men picked up their tools. The walk back to their barracks would take forty-five minutes. Captain Schuyler pulled his horse out of the stables, where Garth allowed him to put the sturdy fellow.
Captain Schuyler unrolled the light blanket across the horse, then rolled it up, throwing it across the front of the saddle. “Almost done for the day.”
As he easily mounted, a figure slid through the barn doors opened for her. Captain Schuyler swept off his hat, bowed as low as he could while on the horse.
“Captain,” she greeted him. “Do you read, Captain?”
“I do, Miss Garth.”
She smiled again, incandescent. “I have brought you something. I imagine the nights at the barracks can be tedious.” She reached under her silk shawl to bring out a small volume wrapped in heavy white paper, tied with raffia. “I have not been able to thank you properly for the assistance you gave me when Renaldo misbehaved.” She drew in a deep breath. “Father doesn’t like me out of his sight when the prisoners are here, so you and I have enjoyed few conversations. I have not been able to show my gratitude.”
“He is quite right to protect you, although I do not think there is a man among the prisoners who would harm you.”
“But would they harm you?”
His black eyebrows raised. “Me? I don’t think so.”
“Should we lose this war, Captain, you will be branded by the British a traitor. My father fears he will lose everything and die a pauper for aiding our great cause. We must win our freedom.”
He smiled as his horse stamped a foot, eager to go as he heard the traces on the wagons jingle. “Miss Garth, we will win this war. I have seen the British in battle. They are disciplined but not so well led. Many of their soldiers are paid men from other countries. We are fighting for our land and”—he grinned—“we are paid infrequently.”
She had not known about the realities of the army, the haggling with the Continental Congress. “But still you serve?”
“With all my heart. I languish here at the camp, and I hope in time I will be recalled to my regiment so I can fight.”
She stared at him, saying nothing.
He blushed under her gaze. He tried to remember what Charles taught him. “Making your acquaintance has sweetened my current situation.”
Finally, her cheeks flushing too, she replied in her beguiling alto, “You are a brave man, Captain Schuyler, but I do so hope there is no”—she paused, searching for the right words—“foolish risk.” Then she collected herself, turned, and opened the barn doors even though Jeddie was ready to do so. “Might you keep the book’s giver to yourself, Sir? Father would be upset.”
He tipped his hat again. “Yes. And I am grateful as the nights are endless.”
—
As Captain Schuyler rode away, Catherine pressed three coins into Jeddie’s palm. The fourteen-year-old slave looked up at her.
“Miss Catherine.”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence because she whispered in his ear, “Jeddie, if you will keep your own counsel and occasionally assist me, I promise more.” She paused significantly. “You know how my father can be.” A gap-toothed grin revealed that Jeddie knew Garth’s ways only too well.
Catherine hurried back to the house, slipped into the kitchen, threw off her shawl. Rachel tiptoed down the back stairway.
Catherine shot her sister a look. “Better view from the top windows, Rachel?”
Ignoring her sister’s tone, the younger girl giggled. “He’s so handsome.”
Catherine shrugged. Sounding nonchalant, she said, “I suppose he is, in a rough way. I owed him something for his pains. This is the first time since Renaldo’s theatrics that I’ve been able to see the good captain by himself. I can’t stand the thought of an audience—like you, for example.”
“Oh, Cat, don’t be a toad. I’m not spying.”
“I’m not a toad. But there’s always someone around, watching, listening.” Catherine yanked her shawl off the table, wrapped it over her sister’s head, and slapped her bottom.
Laughing, they both walked down the hallway to their reading room, where the fire would ward off the coming night’s chill. Catherine kept thinking about how it felt to have Captain Schuyler’s arms around her. She’d never felt anything like that shot of heat. How powerful he was. Not for the first time, the young beauty wished she had her mother to talk to, to ask questions. Her mother had been both wise and uncommonly sweet.