The Iron Chain

Chapter Six

Jake rode north along the road as cautiously as possible, searching with one eye for any activity that would hint at his destination, and with the other for additional American patrols. His pistol was no longer in its holster — he held it firmly in his hand.

This part of New York was particularly difficult to travel through at night, even when the moon was full; hilly and densely wooded where it was not farmed, it piled shadow upon shadow. The trees, proud of their new coat of leaves, obscured much of the already dim light thrown off by the stars,

Such are the areas where ghosts are born, and Jake might have been forgiven for thinking the spark he noticed through the woods on his right was some specter in search of its lost corporeality. Cautiously he dismounted and walked his horse along the roadside, paralleling the light's movements. It was running downhill toward what seemed to be a peculiarly shaped group of hills. As his eyes studied the landscape, the formation transformed itself into three buildings. A tight path through the roadside scrub-the type of shortcut children take to church — opened in front of him. He walked down it and within a few yards found himself in a haying field.

Jake's boots were heavy and he felt as if with every step he and his horse were making enough noise for a regiment, though in truth they were as silent as the slipping of time through a man's life. The animal he'd taken from Johnson had adopted him as its true master, and mimicked his movements perfectly; he pulled his head down as if to show he could sink to all fours if needed.

As Jake drew closer, he realized the layout of the barnyard, arranged with its back to the field he was crossing, favored his approach. He also saw that there was definitely a gathering in the barn, and noticed a pair of figures walking down a lane from the other direction toward the building.

The light he had seen had obviously come from a torch, but its bearer had not gone into the barn. Nor had he taken up station in the field to guard against intruders, or else Jake would have had to announce himself long before this. Whoever it was had disappeared around a corner of the building, and Jake had to walk some distance in that direction before the light reappeared.

Prudence as well as curiosity demanded an explanation. The edge of the field was marked by a run of short fruit trees and a split-rail fence. Jake tied his horse to one of the posts and crouched down to creep through the grass.

He was close enough to the barn for the hushed sounds inside to form a murmur in his ears, a kind of music to which the figure carrying the light danced.

Not danced, but worked, for the shadow was placing dried rushes, sticks, and branches against the base of the building. This was no ghost, nor a lackadaisical guard, but a woman, thin and hatless, who was strong enough to take a large pail in one hand while holding a torch with the other.

Suddenly realizing what she was doing, Jake jumped from the bushes and flew to her, grabbing her hand just as she was about to light the pitch she had poured from the pail.

"Not a good place to be starting fires," he said, forcing the torch from her grip. "At least not tonight."

"Let me go, you Tory bastard," she yelped before Jake could clamp his hand across her mouth. "I'll send you all to hell.

She was a cyclone of energy; Jake had to lift her off her feet and plunk her onto the ground to knock some of the fight out of her. Seventeen or eighteen at most, the girl wore the simple dress of a servant. The torch illuminated a winsome, spirited face; he felt an instant attraction, all the more so because she was on the right side of the conflict.

"You've got to close the front door before you set a barn on fire," said Jake, who had experience in such matters. "Otherwise everyone gets out. And look at this — you've concentrated your oil in one spot; the blaze will be easy to extinguish."

"You Loyalists are all so smug and sure of yourselves. I hate you."

"If you be quiet a moment," said Jake, deciding not merely to trust her but to enlist her as an ally of sorts, "you will discover that I am not a Tory, but a patriot like yourself."

Whether she would have believed him or not, the young woman was given no chance to reply. Jake clamped his fingers back across her mouth as the indistinct murmurings from inside the barn turned into the definite noises of someone being sent to investigate the disturbance. He stamped out the torch, but there wasn't time to escape — or dismantle the brush next to the barn.

Only one thing to do: Jake pulled the girl forward and grabbed her in his arms, planting a large kiss on her lips as two Tories turned the corner of the building.

"What's going on here?"

"Be with you shortly," he said as one laid his hand on his shoulder.

He was fortunate that they had not brought a candle with them, for otherwise they could not have missed the obvious signs of the aborted arson. The two men laughed and headed back inside for the meeting. "Well, how was that?" said Jake as he let the girl go. His answer was a smack across the face. "I'm practically engaged," said the girl. "Was my kiss that unpleasant?" Rarely do words have such a direct impact as these — the girl broke out crying.

Jake once more took her in his arms, this time soothingly. "I am a patriot, and your friend. Tell me why you were going to burn down the barn, and I guarantee to help you."

His voice was so reassuring, and the kiss had been so gentle and warm, that the girl trusted him instantly. Still, it took her a minute to calm enough to talk again. Emotion had broken from her like a river rushing a dam; its pent-up fury was overwhelming once released. Finally her sobs subsided enough for her to tell her story.