Day of Honor 01_ Ancient Blood - Diane Carey [103]
“He left a thriving business in England and New York. How could a man do that? His schedules and methods of correspondence relay revolutionized Atlantic shipping. He was received at the British court! Why would he forsake all that to crawl in the dirt and risk his life?”
Picard prodded, “Must be a compelling reason.”
“I cannot imagine,” Sandy murmured.
Alexander made a face. “Neither can I.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Picard suggested.
“Really?” The boy looked at him.
“That’s what we’re here for.”
“Right!” The boy shimmied closer to Sandy. “Yes, ask him!”
“Very well!” Sandy twisted around to his other side. “Mr. O’Heyne—”
O’Heyne turned. “Mr. Leonfeld?”
“Yes, we have a question.”
“I’m at your service.”
“You’re an educated, successful man of high standing, yet here you are holding a musket. Why would you fight with these common people when you could be safe and comfortable elsewhere?”
“Thank you for that, but I’m not of high birth at all,” O’Heyne admitted openly. “My father was a Dublin pauper. He came to the colonies as a criminal.”
“Criminal?” Alexander asked. “What kind?”
O’Heyne looked at the boy. “A murderer. Killed a landowner with a shovel to the side of the head. I don’t know the situation, but the dead man’s wife took pity on my father. Rather than go to prison, he was sent here. He began as a collier and gradually gained security. He made certain my brother and I were educated in the concerns of finance.”
“And you built a business?” the boy pursued. “My brother and I built it together, but the British impounded our business, both in Liverpool and New York, when I spoke up against the monarchy. We sacrificed it all. My brother is now a captain in the Fourth Continental Light Dragoons.”
“You could have lived in riches in England, or even here,” Sandy protested, “if you had simply run your business and not become involved in this dispute. Why on this earth would you give up everything, sir?”
O’Heyne’s green eyes flickered. “For freedom, sir. Not to worry. If I live, I’ll build my fortune again. Wealth cannot be kept out of the hands of the industrious.”
He paused briefly, leaned over the crates, and looked down the dim tree-lined road.
“In England, I’ve been treated with respect, but in a bastard-son manner. They’ll have me for tea, but they don’t prefer to have me. You gentlemen should walk among the English dressed as you are now and see what it’s like. As colonists, you have no right to speak your mind. You’ll be lower than the lowest East Ender. You’ll be required to quarter soldiers of the British military, no matter what your loyalties are. Your goods are required to be sold through Britain, and you have no say in how these revenues are spent or—”
“But that,” Picard said, “is how the protection of the colonies is paid for, Mr. O’Heyne. Your movement is wresting away a large and legitimate British investment.”
“The investment of those living and working here isn’t considered at all. The British have some legitimate claims, but not enough. This is a philosophical disagreement, not just two bullies striking at each other. It’s an argument over the worth of a human being. How long should the class system last? How long does God want me to keep my station of birth? If I’d kept to my father’s station, I’d be hitting you with a shovel. Now that I’ve achieved ‘betterment,’ even in your eyes, should my sons have to go back to the shovel? Or can we continue the pattern until all are ‘better’?”
“I love to hear you talk, Patrick,” Jeremiah said with a grateful smile. He seemed glad not to be holding up the platform by himself anymore.
“Thanks, Jeremiah,” O’Heyne said with another grin. “You hear those drums, Mr. Leonfeld? Those soldiers are coming here to shoot me for wanting sway over my own destiny. Should I be shot for that? Who is it I’ve stolen from by making myself successful? What is it I’ve done? What should I be hanged for? What have I taken