Day of Honor 01_ Ancient Blood - Diane Carey [72]
Alexander didn’t answer, but nodded twice, vigorously, and looked at Jeremiah.
The cousin’s eyes were tight with concern as he oversaw their spare meal. What did Alexander see there, and what was Picard missing? A man frightened for his cousin’s wellbeing? Even survival, probably. These were hot times. Of those in this cabin, only Picard and the boy knew that Sandy would indeed survive the war to pass his chronicles along to future generations, or that his legacy would indeed reach so far, or that there would someday be such a telescope as this with which to gaze back.
Jeremiah was just now moving the stack of pamphlets aside to make room for Sandy’s plate, and seemed to feel awkward about doing so, so much that Sandy noticed the pamphlets and plucked one off the top of the stack just before his cousin had a chance to turn away.
“What’s this?” the sergeant asked. “Do they indeed possess literature in the Colonies? I hadn’t thought so.” He smiled, and looked at the pamphlet, not noticing his cousin’s suddenly blanched face.
Then Sandy laughed spontaneously.
“‘Common Sense’! I’ve heard of this. Thomas Paine, yes—I recall when that slackard left England. And good riddance as well. A failure and a scoundrel and troublemaker, that one. I’ve heard of his rantings since he came here. He’s bent upon success here which he could not legitimately achieve in England. He wants it by wresting away the possessions by rebellion that he could not acquire by merit. He’s worse than a rebel. He’s an Englishman turned traitor.”
And Sandy laughed again, this time looking up at Jeremiah and smiling. He gave the pamphlet a little shake.
“Why do you have this?” he asked.
Chapter Fourteen
“OH, NO … “
The small cabin turned suddenly chilly.
“You cannot be one of these creatures,” Sandy Leonfeld declared to his cousin.
Flinty resentment surged through Jeremiah Coverman’s contriteness. “Can’t I?”
Caught fast by curiosity, Picard watched both men very carefully, and noted that Alexander was rapt as a hawk on prey.
Sandy Leonfeld looked like a man with the stuffing kicked out of him. His shoulders sagged, his proud chest caved in, his chin sank. His whole uniform seemed suddenly soggy.
He moaned upward from a sickened heart. Over and over he warbled, “No … no … no …”
He shook his head and blinked repeatedly at the pamphlet in his hands, then looked up.
“You’re a British citizen,” he uttered on a breath. “The Crown, Jeremiah … the Crown is everything!”
“The Crown is nothing,” Jeremiah countered with sud den abrasion, as if he had just taken the disagreement as an insult.
The two cousins, so lately reunited in great joy, stared at each other astringently.
Pity gripped Picard as he saw that Sandy Leonfeld was a man watching a precious thing die. Great loss shone upon his young face, in lines as purely etched as ancient rivers gouging the surface of a planet. His eyes disappeared in a shadow beneath his thick blond hair as he lowered his head and mourned.
That pain was mirrored fully in Jeremiah Coverman, and now threatened to be the only thing left the two had in common. Perhaps shame and certainly sorrow limned his face as well, but unlike his cousin he did not lower his eyes. He evidently had no intention of making excuses. Now Picard understood why the communication between the cousins had eventually ceased—Jeremiah hadn’t wanted to tell Sandy what was happening in this household, in his mind and heart.
No—not shame. Picard looked again for it, expected it, but found none in Jeremiah’s demeanor. Resentment, yes, but no embarrassment for this turn he had taken.
Sandy Leonfeld battled his very physical reaction to this news, and found the strength to square his shoulders. “The divine right of kings is beyond refute,” he simmered. “A person can be born better than others. All blood is not alike. These Colonial ideas of equality are awkward, and their declarations are truant.”
Though bread and cheese stood guard on the trestle, no one touched it. The two deckhands