Liberty's Legacy (The Liberty Series Book 3) Page 7

  I stood and kissed him gently, wiping away his tears and mine. Carefully, I took Jacob in my arms and set him back in his crib. Such a good baby. He never even made a fuss, completely content in the time and place where he belonged. I returned to the rocker and offered my husband both hands. “Come back to bed. You’ve been missing from my side entirely too often these past few weeks. I ache for you when you are gone.”

  His face twisted, and he wrapped an arm around me on the way to our room. “I’m sorry. I never meant for that to happen. I’ve been selfish, not thinking about what a toll this has taken on you.”

  As we slid under the covers together, my body melded with his, making me feel complete. My eyes drooped shut as I murmured softly, “Don’t you know by now? Whatever happens, whatever is in store for us, we’ll handle it better together.” He kissed the back of my neck and propped his chin on my head. I smiled to myself as his breathing changed, becoming light and even. Within minutes, I tumbled over the edge with him.

  The phone woke me from a sound sleep, the bright light of morning painting my walls in its brilliance. My husband continued to sleep the sleep of the dead by my side. With my eyes squeezed shut to keep out the blinding rays of the sun, I picked up the phone. “Hello?” I croaked.

  “Charlotte?” chirped a bright voice. “This is Elizabeth Cooper Bradley.”

  10

  February 14, 2016

  Charlotte

  “Some anniversary, huh?” Ben grazed my fingers with a kiss, sending a rush of heat that shot straight to my heart. I caught my breath. Every time. Every, single time he touched me. Would that ever change? I hoped not.

  We made our way to Cooperstown early in the day. As I passed the marker for the town, I couldn’t help but wonder if William Cooper, the town’s founder, was a relative to Jacob. We pulled into a long, winding driveway. A sweeping lawn rolled off in the distance, extending far to the back, to the sides, and down to the narrow ribbon of a quiet country road. We crested a hill that gave us a breathtaking vantage point in all directions where a grand old Victorian estate was perched at the top. The siding was a burnt orange with a trim in butter yellow, calling to mind a jack-o-lantern. A wrap-around porch graced with intricate railings and candles winking in all the windows on several floors were beautiful features, but the one that took the prize? Hands down, the tower with its narrow, pointed peak and a balcony of its own. That room called my name. It was an author and book lover’s dream.

  Ben squeezed my hand, shaking me from my instant love affair with the house. I turned to him and gave him a swift kiss. “My best present is having you, by my side. Here. Right now. You and Jake. I don’t need things, Ben. Just you, whole, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens. Besides, visiting this place today of all days is perfect. I feel like I’m Cinderella and you have brought me to Prince Charming’s castle. What I wouldn’t have given to live in a house like this when I was little. I could’ve tucked myself away in that tower and lost myself in books—reading, researching, writing—for days.”

  I stepped out and glanced at the year etched deeply into the foundation. 1840. I grabbed my husband’s arm. “Look at the date! If this house has been in the Cooper Bradley family since the time it was built, it could have belonged to Benjamin Cooper’s son. My family tree did have a question mark by the name Willson Cooper, remember? Maybe this is another key that will unlock a door for us.”

  “There’s only one way to find out.” He gave a little bow, gesturing for me to go before him, unable to hide the trepidation in his face. We had no idea what to expect. Nothing? Mothballs, dust, or worse—a can of worms? I pushed my misgivings aside and boldly walked over the neatly clipped flagstone walkway. Immaculate. Everything about this home and grounds made a statement. Of wealth. Respect. Placing great value on one’s heritage.

  Ben snaked his arm around me to ring the bell, a faint, high note echoing as if through a tunnel. We stood several seconds, his hand raised to ring again when the tapping of heels on the floor came closer and closer at a sedate pace. The heavy oak door, painted in a dark chocolate stain, swung open to reveal a small bird of a woman. She reminded me of a parakeet or a canary, her blue eyes bright as the sky, undimmed by age. Like Jacob’s. Her bearing was proud and unbent by time. A remarkable woman.

  “Good afternoon. I am Elizabeth Cooper Bradley. It is a pleasure to meet you. You must be Ben and Charlotte Wilson, I presume? Do come in.” With a gracious nod of her head and a wave, she gestured to us to step inside.

  We followed her down a long hallway, past rooms filled with antiques, softly lit with chandeliers dangling overhead. She had to be in her late seventies or early eighties but moved with sure, steady steps, perched on high heels, clothed in an elegant suit of mauve with a cameo brooch at her neck. Her hair, a pure white, was swept away from her face and tucked in a neat twist on the back of her head. Her jewelry and makeup were carefully selected to match her ensemble. Nothing haphazard about this woman.

  She motioned to an ornate table as we entered the dining room. A silver tea service was already in place. “Would you care for some tea?” Both of us quietly answered in agreement. I could never imagine saying no to such an elegant woman’s invitation. The impudence of such a thought!

  Ever the hostess, Mrs. Bradley poured for each of us, added lumps of sugar to our liking, topping it off with cream. She sat down in the high backed, cushioned chair at the head of the table in the place of honor, a position that suited her well. “Ms. Brown tells me that you are fascinated by Revolutionary history and the aftermath, especially anything to do with the Cooper family and Benjamin Willson. I’ve heard as much as well from Mr. Hughes, your town historian, on several occasions considering I love to dabble in the time period myself.”

  I sputtered in my tea and wiped at my mouth with a napkin while Ben gently tapped me on the back. I hadn’t expected to be plunged into a subject that was so close to us right off the bat but covered best I could by plowing on full speed ahead. “I don’t know if you realize this, but Charlotte Ross Cooper is my ancestor. My father, Martin Ross, is a professor of American history and has traced his roots in the colonies back to William Ross, Charlotte Ross Cooper’s father. I consider myself Charlotte Elizabeth Ross the Second.”

  Mrs. Bradley set down her tea and extended her hand which I accepted in a firm handshake that was much stronger than I would have expected. It appeared we had a backbone of iron in common. “Then I do believe we might be distant relatives in some way. I’m always thrilled to find ties that link us back to those trailblazing years in this incredible nation we have been blessed to call our home.”

  She turned and rested her hand on my husband’s, her face softening. “As for you, Ben Wilson, your name may be spelled differently, but you are entangled in the web of the Cooper and Ross families as well, aren’t you?” A nod of her head and her gaze bore into him with intensity. “More than the rest of us, I might gather.” She turned her attention back to me. “I must say that I do find the connection between Benjamin Willson and Charlotte Ross Cooper to be of particular interest.”

  My heart thumped loudly against my ribs, the blood humming in my ears. For a moment, dizziness made me close my eyes. I took a deep breath and forced myself to ask the question that had been preying on my mind for some time. “How did you find the connection?”

  Mrs. Bradley took another sip of her tea, her cup trembling slightly as she set it down with a clink. I believed it was due to emotion, not infirmity. Her gaze traveled to a window that looked out on her backyard. I took in the view, my eyes drawn to a family plot, its cemetery stones neatly lined up in rows, surrounded by a black, iron gate.

  “My father, James Cooper, was our family’s history keeper. He was deeply invested in our lineage, both in time and money. He spared no expense in tracing every bit of our past that he could, gathering up scraps and snippets from when he was a teenager until shortly before his death a decade ago. While there are gaps and question marks in
our family tree, he did find a connection to Abraham Cooper, Jacob Cooper’s father. It appears that we are directly connected to Abraham’s brother, Silas. An interesting name for our first family member to make it to the colonies. It means wood, and he did plant the seed for an enduring forest if I do say so myself. My father followed any links to our forefather that he could find and was drawn to Jacob Cooper for some reason, accumulating several items connected to the man. His den is filled with so many artifacts from that time period, I am still cataloging and sorting through them.”

  She sighed as if weary from the task and waved her hand as if batting at an annoying fly. “That is neither here nor there. One day, about a year ago, I was immersed in a massive trunk that Father stowed away when I discovered the jacket with the braid in its pocket and Charlotte Ross Cooper’s note. You know the one I speak of, the one in your Fulton County Museum? I was quite shaken when I held it in my hands, when I ran my finger over those blood stains and that ragged hole, even more so when I flipped the note over and saw that Charlotte Ross Cooper wrote the note for Benjamin Willson. I’d seen her name on our family tree, meticulously documented by my father. Benjamin Willson was not on that tree—but Benjamin Willson Cooper was.”

  Ben nearly dropped his cup at that, mumbling an apology as he set it down and his hands curled into fists in his lap. I took his hand and there was a little give, easing the knots that formed in my stomach every time he became agitated. “I found that much as well, Mrs. Bradley. How did you learn more?”

  She turned back to us, her fingers threaded in her lap. “Why, the journal of course, the one I sent to Maynard? The William Ross gun was also a part of my father’s collection. I sent that on to the expert in firearm antiquities and asked him to contact Maynard to ensure it ended up in the right hands. We history buffs must stick together, don’t you think? I apologize, I digress. I have traveled through quite a maze on this quest for knowledge.”

  Mrs. Bradley picked up her tea cup and drained it this time. Buying time to gather her courage? “You will probably think that I am mentally imbalanced, but something is prodding me to divulge everything to you. I had a vision of a man, one night when I was sorting through Father’s collection in search of anything more that was linked to Charlotte Cooper or Benjamin Willson. The man was compact and brawny, with fiery hair and eyes of an unforgettable blue, like the sky on the clearest of summer days when it goes on forever. He said his name was Jacob Cooper.”

  Ben sprang from his seat at that and went to the window, pressing his hands against the sill. His muscles were tight beneath his shirt, as if coiled to spring. Or break the window, setting him free.

  Mrs. Bradley’s voice was faint as she went on. I could detect a slight tremor. “He told me . . . he told me to make sure I did right by Benjamin Willson and Charlotte Ross Cooper before he vanished. I never saw him again, but I will remember that man until the day I die. Honorable. That is the strongest sentiment that I have about him.”

  I pressed my hand on her arm to give her strength before joining my husband, lending him some of my own. “That’s why you replaced Benjamin’s stone in our Colonial Cemetery?”

  “Yes.” Her chair scraped against the floor, the light tapping of her shoes joining us as she surveyed the view. “Jacob’s visitation is the reason that I sent off the gun and the coat, even though they had connections to my family’s past. When Benjamin Willson Cooper’s journal unearthed itself from the vast depths of Father’s collection, I had no doubt where it should go as soon as I read the inside cover stating it was a gift from his mother. I must admit, I couldn’t help reading it myself and I did make a copy before sending it on. I hope you understand.” She pressed her hand to her chest, her eyes glistening with tears. “It holds the tale of two unforgettable love stories, both with one woman at the heart.”

  Ben’s arm pulled me close, my head finding its way to his shoulder. That love story continued in us. With every beat of our hearts and every breath. I looked up at my husband and my reflection wavered in his gaze. Our entire universe was here, in this room, in each other’s arms. It had been since the day our souls met over two hundred years ago.

  Mrs. Bradley gasped, her fingers clasped beneath her chin, eyes wide in wonder. “I think the next chapter of the tale belongs to you. As for you, Charlotte, I hope you know that your name means ‘free man,’ a term that suited Charlotte the First well—and you, I believe.” She gave Ben a nod, stepped forward, and squeezed our hands. “Come to Father’s study. Take as long as you like. Perhaps fresh eyes will find what I have missed.”

  ***

  “Please take your time. You are welcome to poke your nose anywhere you would like. Just ring this bell on the desk if you need anything.” With that, our hostess took her leave. Ben and I gazed around us, our eyes wide in amazement. We were in the tower. I wanted to pinch myself!

  I’d pictured a small room for a study, perhaps a desk, a few shelves, some pictures on the wall. This room consisted of two floors, filled to the brim with carefully displayed books and artifacts from James Cooper’s collection. A spiral staircase sat in the middle of the room, leading to the next floor.

  Ben laughed softly. “I guess I knew that it couldn’t be easy. It’s never easy for you or me, is it?”

  “That makes it mean so much more—because we’ve worked for it.” I shrugged and kissed him on the nose, doing my best to lift his spirits as we plunged into the task before us. One wall was lined with bookshelves. I started thumbing through them in the hopes of finding another journal like ours. No such luck although the assortment of primary documents and books were fascinating enough that I could have been lost in them for hours.

  My husband circled the perimeter of the room, stopping to study some of the paintings and maps on the wall. As he moved on, passing several display cases, I’d find him bending over or squatting down to examine one curious find after another. “I think we’re going to have to stay over. There’s so much to look at. Do you think your mom and dad can watch Jakey for a week or so?” I mumbled something unintelligible, too involved in a journal that belonged to Silas Cooper. As I sifted through his words, Jacob’s voice rang out in my mind.

  A loud grunting from one corner brought me to the surface. I set the diary down and turned toward the source. Ben was on his knees, emptying out a massive chest of some type of hardwood that had been carved with intricate designs and the family crest. I settled beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing?” Browsing through Mrs. Bradley’s family heirlooms was one thing. Dissecting them was quite another.

  “Something drew me to this thing. I don’t know why.” He pulled out one item after another, neatly stacking them on the floor beside me. I studied each one closely. Nothing of any relevance to our search. He exhaled hard in disappointment when his hand hit bottom until his fingers fumbled over a panel that had give. A little finagling and it shifted, revealing a small compartment. Inside was a journal. Plain, covered in weathered leather, one that was scuffed and had seen much wear.

  Ben picked it up, flipped the front cover open, and clutched it to his chest. His head bowed down but not before powerful emotions flickered across his face. Tears sprang to my eyes nearly blinding me. I held my breath. Let it out. Pushed the words past my tongue. “Did you find him?”

  He nodded and snapped the book shut. Ben stood only to sit down fast, pressing a hand against his head. “I’m dizzy.”

  Alarmed by his color, I pushed his head between his knees. “Breathe in. Breathe out. Again. Give yourself a moment to get your feet back under you.” I sat beside him, an arm around his shoulders. His body was quaking.

  A few tortured minutes went by and he sat up, visibly shaken. “Sorry. I don’t know what happened. For a moment, I was someplace else, the wind whipping around me, the dead leaves tumbling by my feet. Someone with hair like a fiery torch walked ahead of me.”

  I took his hand. “Another vision. I’m sure it won’t be the last. Don’t figh
t them. Let them take you where they will. I’ll always be here to lead you back.”

  He leaned forward and kissed the corner of my mouth. “I’m counting on it.”

  We carefully returned everything to the trunk and closed the lid, Ben patting it in gratitude. Hand in hand, we walked back toward the dining room, the journal tucked under his arm to protect it. Elizabeth rose slowly from her perch by the window, setting aside a book in her hand as she looked at us expectantly. “You found something.”

  Ben nodded and held up the journal. She clapped her hands together. “Delightful. Another piece of the puzzle. Please, take it and learn what you will. If you could make me a copy of the pages, I’d be ever so grateful. Now, you both look worn out from all of that searching. Getting mired in the past can do that. How about another cup of tea? I find that it soothes the soul. You can never have too much.”

  At my nod, she gestured to the right. “Step out on to the sun porch. It’s bright and really cheerful right now this late in the afternoon. I’ve spent many a pleasant hour in this room.”

  With a start, I realized we’d been lost in the study for most of the day, judging by the angle of the sun. We stepped down to a lower level when I noticed a man in the corner. He was broad of shoulder, compact, and muscular. His hair was a flaming red, his eyes a dusty blue, clouded with confusion as he stared out the window with no apparent notice of our presence.

  Elizabeth spoke in a hush. “Please don’t mind Cooper, my grandson.” She paused with a wince, as if he was too painful to discuss, but forced herself to continue. “He was wounded over in Afghanistan. He came back in body. . .well most of it,” she nodded pointedly to a titanium leg. “but not in mind. He just sits, goes through the motions, and stares. He never speaks. What I wouldn’t give to hear my boy speak again. I was supposed to pass the torch of our family’s history to him.”