The Bastard Son (Winds of Change Book 2) (7 page)

Sumner caught Jane’s gaze. Confusion reigned within her lovely eyes. He suppressed a smile. She had no knowledge of his life outside of Laker’s Grove. She thought him an overmountain man. He turned his attention back to Israel. “We have a lot to go over and little time to do so.”

“Reckon we need to do it quickly. I don’t like being away for long. I don’t want no questions,” Israel said.

Sumner escorted Jane to the parlor. “The owners live in Columbia and let us use the house when we need it. Make yourself comfortable, I won’t be long, but I have to meet with Israel. Then, we will talk.”

He left her sitting by herself with only her thoughts for company.

After his talk with Israel, Sumner sent him on an errand in town. The day took a turn for the better. Letters had arrived from his sister, Cathryn. Relief flooded him on reading that everything had gone well for her in England, happily married to Captain Pennington with her three children. It relieved a worry of his.

His son, Caleb, Sumner discovered, had become quite a handful, but he had expected little else from his own son. He watched Israel ride away toward Leesburg. He hoped his request wouldn’t be hard to accomplish.

Walking outside, Sumner found Jane in the gardens, staring out as in a world of her own. She didn’t acknowledge him until he startled her by placing a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes widened for a moment, awakening from the trance.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, taking a seat beside her.

She looked so lost. Her reddened eyes betrayed her weeping. A sudden realization of the effort she exerted not to break down in front of him swept through him. He looked in her dark, brown eyes and marveled at the woman.

“I promised we would talk, and it is almost time that I have to depart,” he began. “Be patient with me just a little while longer. As I told you, I’m not good with words.”

“I told you last night, I don’t want you to feel…”

“Can you not listen to me for a minute, Jane?” he said harsher than he intended. Feelings came easy though the words came hard. “I’m sorry. It is only that we don’t have much time.”

He took her hand and kissed it. His voice softened. “Please, let me say what I must. My name isn’t Farley, Jane. It’s Meador, Sumner Meador. My home lies in Charles Town and it is where I’m sending you…to my home…to Elm Bluff.”

Drawing in a breath, he went on afraid to stop before the words were said. “I told you that I was married before and have a child. Mary was a good woman, one who also dealt with much in her life. She died in raid like your family…a cruel and brutal death, which I will avenge one day. I say this to you to tell you that although I loved Mary in my own way, it was not…” he paused and looked adoringly into her eyes. “It is not the love I feel for you. You are part of me as much as my heart that beats in my chest.”

Jane turned her lovely face to him. A silent tear fell from her eye. He reached over and wiped it away.

“Jane, I can’t leave you as it is now. I would never be able to do what I must if I am worried about you. I want you safe and far away from here.”

“What are you saying, Sumner?”

“I love you, Jane.” Cupping her face in his hands, he repeated. “I love you. Marry me. I sent Israel to get the Reverend in town. Marry me today and let me go and do what I must with the knowledge you will be waiting for me when I return.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief, untrusting of what she heard. She uttered, “Marry you?”

“I know I will make a damnable husband, but tell me you will be there for me.”

Her face erupted in pure joy. He memorized her happiness and burned it into his soul to hold to the moment forever. Then he kissed her lips, breaking from them only long enough for her to answer.

“Yes, Sumner, always.”

Sumner rode to find a battle, unwilling now to accept the dark and gloom that had befallen the Patriot cause. Despair had overcome him after Camden. Now, a lively step once more lived within him. The purpose he had clung to once more surfaced. He had found hope again; hope that lived with the woman he had made his bride.

He had left Jane only moments after taking vows to spend the rest of his life with her. He had stared into her eyes without any doubt of the course he had chosen. He loved her beyond measure. She returned his love and in this was the cause that sent him away from her. He would fight for their life together, for freedom, for the cause.

For most of his time within the South Carolina militia, Sumner had served as a scout. The last couple of weeks, he spent his time spying upon the activities of the Loyalists. He reported back to Colonel Isaac Shelby. It was he that Sumner rode to find. Upon seeing the destruction that Bloody Benny had caused, Sumner immediately sought out one he trusted above no other in the militia, Elijah Johnson.

Elijah, like Sumner, had long served as a scout and now served with Colonel Shelby. He made contact with Elijah, only to come quickly to the conclusion that time was running out for the Patriots, if indeed they could run the damn British out of their land.

“About time ya showed up. Didn’t think ya were gonna make it.”

Sumner slowed his horse down; lather streaked his mount’s flanks. He had already pushed his horse too much, covering over a fifty-mile distance in a short span.

Only a little shorter than Sumner, Elijah, a rough faced, buckskin-clad man, carried a long Kentucky rifle in his hand. “We better haul shanks. Know I feel better with ya by my side. Shit,” he said, cocking his eye at his partner. “Ya know I won’t be goin’ nowhere without ya, especially now. A fight is brewing, my friend. Come on in. I got a few more meeting up here. Should all be in by morn and then can head up to North Fork on the Catawba.”

“Let me tend my horse. I rode him hard.”

“Most the men are already here, up at the cabin,” Elijah said. “We will eat well tonight. I just skinned a deer.”

An overmountain man, Elijah was at home in the dense virgin forest. He had land just across the border in Eastern Tennessee. Although, not many of the overmountain men had taken a stance as Elijah had, but not many had watched his father killed in front of his eyes in an Indian raid back in the Indian wars of ’75.

“Damn British Red Coats turned their eyes away while the Injun scalped my father. He was still breathing,” Elijah recounted his story. “Nothin’ left to do but fight.”

Elijah had no one but himself, but Sumner didn’t know anyone else that could fight like Elijah or shoot half so well.

“So is Ferguson on the move?” Sumner spoke of the English officer scouring the backcountry.

“Dunno for sure. It’s the rumor.” Elijah laughed. “Fuckin’ fool don’t know what he’s up against.”

Sumner didn’t answer immediately but walked over to the creek’s edge and slaked his thirst in the icy water of the rushing stream. His horse did the same. He took the saddle off and rubbed the beast down as best he could.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the moonlight fell upon a crude little cabin with glassless windows. He could hear laughter emanating outward, crude guffaws as one would hear at taverns or around the gamecock rings. The men had already made themselves at home.

The aroma of venison cooking over an open fire was in the air. It would be good to eat well before they left in the morning. He looked up at the sky, the moon, and the stars. He wondered what Jane was doing at this moment, their wedding night. He imagined she was staring up at the same sky. In that he took comfort. That and the fact she was safe.

* * * *

Sumner woke before the sun rose that morning. It would be a hard ride through densely covered timber to catch up with Colonel Shelby. The call had gone out for men to join the militia.

Meeting up at Colonel William Sherman’s house outside of Winnisole Springs, brisk rumors had it that this time the call had been answered. By mid-day, Sumner had in view a large, hewn, weather-bordered long house and saw firsthand the turnout. The yard overflowed with a swell of backwoodsmen.

“Colonel Shelby appealed for all men to stand by and die with him against the tyranny facing us,” Elijah said crossing within the gates. “Fearless and vigilant men, united in bravery!”

Sumner had heard the call before, but never had he seen such a response. The faces of the men told they had come to fight, angry…mad men.

He tethered his horse in front of the house. Dismounting, Sumner tied the reins to the hitching post and followed Elijah up the steps and into the crowded house. Colonel Isaac Shelby wasn’t hard to find, surrounded by an entourage of militia leaders.

The crowd receded when Shelby made his way toward Sumner. Shelby and Sumner were of the same age; Shelby was shorter, but a renowned rebel. His bravery was not questioned, unafraid of making a stand for what he believed.

“Sumner. Glad to see ya.” Shelby clasped his back. “You are ready to fight?”

“Do you have to ask?”

Shelby smiled broadly. “Then let’s excuse ourselves. I have need to talk to you both.”

Shelby gestured for the men to follow; Sumner found himself in a noisy, packed room, filled with a vibrant excitement. He recognized most: William Campbell, John Seiver, Joseph McDowell, Benjamin Cleveland. Militia men from all over, North Carolina, South Carolina, Virginia, and Tennessee, had come to stand together.

Something had happened…something that brought all the factions together.

The American militia had a reputation, not a good one. Not trained, seasoned soldiers, they had been known to have run from battle, especially if the hated Tarleton came riding at them in his aggressive manner.

These men, though, seemed ready to fight…together. This was different. Sumner felt it the moment he rode into camp.

Shelby found a quiet corner. “Sumner, we need to fix upon Colonel Ferguson’s position and quickly.”

“If it is what you need, I will do so, but it seems I missed something. What is going on?”

“It was not I that has banded this group together but Ferguson himself,” Shelby said. “In the arrogance of all the British, Ferguson has made a proclamation. Put down our guns or he would lay them down for us. Threatened our women with rape and other shocking cruelties. Called us mongrels and said we couldn’t protect our own families.”

Astonished, Sumner now understood. Ferguson had done what the Patriot leaders had yet been unable to do, unite these men with a common cause.

Sumner had fought against Ferguson in the past. He found him to be a worthy opponent, an intelligent sort, aggressive but not in the league as Tarleton. But this…this proclamation was fighting words.

The British colonel had greatly misjudged the situation, not knowing the nature of the men he called out. He forced the hand of these men that up until now had no desire to declare sides.

Suddenly, Sumner laughed out loud. “So, he is coming to save your ladies, gentlemen. I take it you want me to tell you where you would like to discuss this declaration with him?”

“We need to know how many men he has and where we could do battle.”

“I need only a moment to refresh myself,” Sumner said and turned to Elijah, who stood with a cocky knowing smile upon his face. They needed to prepare.

Elijah held open the door for his cohort. He said, “Let us go greet Ferguson, who has sowed his words into the wind and he will reap the winds he has created!”

* * * *

Sumner had helped before with Shelby’s hit-and-run raids on Loyalist outposts. He understood his part and the unmistakably danger it held, but also the unmistakably need for the information. It couldn’t be helped getting caught within the fever the mountain men held against the British and with it confidence in his objective.

“In all my time trying to convince my friends of the danger of the British, it was a damn British officer himself that has forged all against them.” Elijah chuckled to his friend, riding down Ridge Road, between the waters of King’s and Buffalo Creeks. He mused, “March over the mountains, hang all in their way and lay waste to our lands with fire and sword.”

“I have seen what they can do,” Sumner warned his friend. “Tarleton has laid waste to all within his grasp. I have myself felt the thrust of his force and if I ever have the opportunity, I will repay him!”

“You and everyone else,” Elijah said. His manner turned solemn. “Don’t cha think everyone within the country hasn’t heard about his brutally?”

“It is that way with most of all British to have the sense they have better claim to this world than we do. To look upon us without respect. Tarleton has bragged he has killed more men, ravished, and raped more women than any in this war,” Sumner said. He pointed to Elijah to take a path off the road. He sighed heavily, trotting through the undergrowth. “He has done every atrocity known to man. He dug up old Colonel Richardson’s body after he had died six weeks ago. He even brought his family, wife and children to see the body. Then he flogged the wife and burnt the house to the ground. For no more reason than because Richardson had been a thorn in his side.”

“Christ, Sumner, you’re roaming all over the place,” Elijah winced when a branch caught back at him, slapping him in the face. “Slow down. We’ll catch up to him.”

Elijah halted his horse at Sumner’s side. “Sounds as though you wish it was Tarleton, but Ferguson ain’t been any better.”

“He took on command of the American Loyalists, I hear.”

“Aye! No one else believed they could be trained. He has used them to comb the countryside for any he can find and been harsh against any that have taken the oath and deserted. That I know.”

On his way down to Hanging Rock Creek, Sumner had seen three hanging on a tree outside their home for abandoning the Loyalists. Shame. Most men feared for their lives and only wanted to protect home and family.

But Sumner realized it wasn’t only the British that terrorized the backcountry. The issue since the British occupation had become that the British had done nothing to contain the ravishment of the countryside by the raiders. Moreover, the British seemed to have encouraged the behavior.

Elijah pulled back upon his reins and motioned to Sumner. Broken branches. Men had crossed the area, not long ago. This could only mean one thing—Ferguson had crossed the Broad River.

Both men dismounted and tied their horses upon sturdy branches. There would be no more talk. They were close.

The two split up. Each took different paths up the steep incline. The woods were dense with vegetation. Sumner listened for any sound before he moved forward with his hand on the handle of his knife. A noise in the distance disturbed the normal serenity of the forest.

Crawling on his belly, he came to the peak of the small hill and saw his objective. Off to the far right, a road led to the summit of King’s Mountain. There it was—the British encampment.

Ferguson’s men had set up camp. It swarmed with Loyalists. From his view, Sumner guessed around eight hundred…no wait, there had to be more. He needed to get a better view. He would have to make it around somehow.

Suddenly in the stillness, a noise resounded in his ear, a scuffle.
Elijah!
Quickly, he descended toward the commotion. His eagle eyes looking for any sign, he caught sight of a figure standing over a man. Moving in closer, he saw it was Elijah underfoot of the assailant, with a blade reflecting in the sunlight.

Moving stealthily through the underbrush, Sumner took his knife in hand and moved behind the Loyalist sentry. In one quick motion, Sumner grasped hold of the man, pulled back his neck and swept the knife’s blade.

Sumner slung the lifeless body down on the ground. Covered in blood, Sumner helped Elijah to his feet.

No words were exchanged for each understood the need to retreat quickly back to Shelby. They had the information required. It would be here. Major Patrick Ferguson had chosen the place to make his stand against the overmountain men, the summit of King’s Mountain.

* * * *

Warren Parker rode in deep thought back to Laker’s Grove. Sumner had warned him not to attempt such a foolhardy venture when he mentioned the cow.

The thought nagged him to the point he had come out to retrieve it. He figured the animal would fetch enough to make the trip worthwhile. At least, it would be better than letting it starve.

He decided to chance the encounter. What could happen? Sumner thought Bloody Benny was going to have someone waiting to pounce upon him. Warren laughed to himself. Wasn’t his fault Benny let Sumner slip through his fingers! Besides, he would only be there long enough to get the cow. Slip in and out. A matter of minutes at best.

He sighed with relief when he passed the bend and caught sight of the house. It stood as before, none the worse from the encounter with Bloody Benny. Sumner had been wrong in his assumption that Benny would return, but then again he would hurry.

Riding up to the barn, Warren leaped off his horse, rope in hand. He cautiously opened the door. Immediately, he caught sight of his prize. He slung back the gate to the cow and tied the rope around her neck.