Spirit of the Revolution Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Praise for SPIRIT OF THE REBELLION

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Spirit of the Revolution

  by

  Debbie Peterson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Spirit of the Revolution

  COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Debbie Peterson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Angela Anderson

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Faery Rose Edition, 2013

  Print ISBN 978-1-61217-763-2

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-764-9

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for SPIRIT OF THE REBELLION

  “Civil War ghosts, and ultimate true love create an absolutely enchanting love story. It will have you believing in the magic from the moment you begin reading it. I enjoyed Spirit of the Rebellion, and would very highly recommend it to someone who enjoys a very intelligent book revolving around the aspect of historical romance. You won't regret reading it, I can guarantee it.”

  ~Heather, Sizzling Hot Books

  “I cried, I laughed and I fell in love. This wonderful story had it all. This was magical from the beginning until the end.”

  ~Robin, Romancing the Book

  “The ending was absolutely amazing; I had hoped for one way and got an even better one.”

  ~Jessica, Wonderland Reviews

  “This lovely story captured my attention with its wonderful characters, intense plot, and well written structure. Good ghost romance stories are hard to come by, but this one is a definite keeper!”

  ~Nikki, Siren Book Reviews

  “The romance is heart-wrenching and wonderful and simply toe-curling.”

  ~Englishrose, Clean Romance Review

  Dedication

  Mom and Dad, this one is for you.

  My very own Kay-Kay and Ray.

  I love you both so much. Thank you for

  all of the love and support, all the days of my life.

  And to our beloved Arabian mare,

  Lacy Velour 1985-2011.

  You are forever immortalized on these pages...

  Prologue

  Berks County, Pennsylvania

  June 16, 1778

  A single melodic trill broke the early morning silence. Another chirrup followed the first as Mathias McGregor approached the pasture fence with a saddle hefted over his broad shoulder. In that same instant, the black stallion ceased his grazing. He flung his head upward and turned his neck to face the sound. To the untrained ear, the prolonged warble was naught but the call of a screech owl. Yet, knowing the difference, Beadurinc nickered in response. In obedience born of loyalty and affection, the powerful steed loped across the grassy field to where he waited.

  Mathias saddled the horse, mounted up, and then turned his stallion toward the woodland. Once inside the forest, he urged him into a gallop for the need to outrun the dawn. The rustle of dried leaves and the snap of dry, broken twigs accompanied each well-placed hoof. Yet the clamor didn’t endanger their journey. Far from disturbing the nocturnal sounds of the forest, they blended in perfect harmony.

  Mathias used these elements to his advantage, just as he always used them during this time of uncertainty and war. With calm assurance, he maneuvered through the trees and toward his point of rendezvous. The charred remains of the Van Gelder’s barn loomed in the distance. He reined his mount to a halt and slid to the ground. After he dropped the reins, he gave the horse a gentle pat, and left him to graze. The stallion wouldn’t wander far.

  Mathias’s gaze drifted over the landscape, searching for any threat to his current task. Finding nothing amiss, he inched his way forward. He stayed in the darkest shadows as each noiseless footstep brought him ever nearer the rear of the barn. The side door hung precariously on a single hinge, yet he slipped through the entrance without making a sound. He stepped into the obscurity of the darkened corner and waited.

  More than once, he took his grandfather’s gold pocket watch from its resting place and glanced down at the time. Worry set in as the appointed hour slipped away minute by precious minute. Had something happened to prevent his contact’s arrival? Personal danger increased the longer he waited—but perhaps he could spare a few minutes more. Sounds of wagon wheels rolling over the rutted trail ushered in the faint light of dawn. Voices called out to each other as those wagons halted very near the structure. Mathias withdrew his flintlock pistol and cocked the hammer. His left hand rested atop the handle of the large knife tucked inside his wide leather belt.

  Footsteps grew louder, two pair, one lighter than the other. He turned his gaze in the direction of the large double doors and held his breath. Shadows cast by the faint light of the rising sun entered the interior first. He could now discern the form of a woman and a child moving along the ground and toward the barn door.

  “Mathias?” the woman whispered his name as she entered the structure.

  He slowly released his breath, replaced the pistol, and emerged from the shadows. “Elisabeth, has something happened to Jacob?” he asked in a voice barely audible.

  Elisabeth gazed upon her son and shook her head. “No. A few hours ago, the Redcoats asked my husband to accompany them on their march to New York. He couldn’t refuse, and he couldn’t send word. So, he sent me in his stead. I am to deliver this.” She extracted a small scrap of paper from the pocket of her homespun apron. “He would allow me to carry no more than that, I’m afraid.”

  “You’re taking quite a risk meeting me here, whether you carry anything or not.” Mathias took hold of the note and tucked it inside the pocket of his vest. “Will you be all right?”

  “Yes.” She pursed her lips together and then said, “Jacob has charged me with taking the children up north to my father’s home. To ensure our safety, he has asked us to stay there until the war ends. We’re on our way there now. I bade Willem to ask for a moment of privacy as we approached so none of the servants would suspect my purpose. We must leave now in order to keep it that way.”

  “Then God speed,” Mathias replied.


  “Mathias—” Elisabeth placed a hand on his arm to halt his departure. “The information Jacob has acquired is one of great importance. He said you must deliver it to General Washington with all haste.”

  Mathias nodded, made his way to the side door, and left the barn in the same manner in which he entered. He waited for the wagons to pass before he returned to the forest. Beadurinc nickered as he approached, and then sidled up next to his master. Mathias took hold of the reins and drew them over the stallion’s head. Before he mounted, he withdrew the note from his pocket and perused the contents. The torn scrap of paper no bigger than an oak leaf simply read, “Time is key” and nothing more. He destroyed the missive in the instant. Without doubt, the message intended for General Washington lay hidden somewhere inside Jacob Weidmann’s home. With luck on his side, he could gather his small force of Rangers and conduct their search before the sun climbed much higher.

  Less than one hour later Mathias and his four companions rode hard and fast, cutting through the woods toward Weidmann’s homestead. Since the Lobsterback army evacuated the area, they didn’t expect to encounter any obstructions in regards to this latest mission.

  Yet, short of their destination, a large platoon of English soldiers burst through the trees in all directions at once. Mathias reined his mount to a halt. He turned his gaze to his right, to his left, and then behind him in an effort to size up his opponents. Their presence puzzled him until his gaze fell upon Percival Peddelton—one of the Weidmann’s most valued and trusted servants. He narrowed his eyes as his gaze drilled into those of the traitorous worm that slithered up a tree seeking refuge.

  “That one, right there in the center,” Percival said with bravado, as he pointed him out from the safety of his treetop perch. “Mrs. Weidmann gave him something important, and he stuffed it inside his left pocket not one hour ago. I witnessed the whole incident from start to finish. Everyone around these parts knows the McGregors align themselves with the patriots. Whatever she gave him, you can trust it involved our enemy.”

  The English leader ordered them to dismount. The Redcoats vastly outnumbered Mathias and his men. That simple fact produced an irritating smirk on the mouth of the officer in charge. The man assumed Mathias and his men would obey his order without hesitation, question, or incident. In return, a single corner of his mouth curved upward. One should never assume. In that same moment, several things happened simultaneously.

  “I’ve a mind to take the lot of them to hell with us, Mathias, starting with that one, right there,” bellowed Samuel Fraser. The sound of his voice boomed like thunder as it echoed throughout the forest. The startled soldiers cast each other furtive glances. Then before any member of the Lobsterback army could react to his bold declaration, Sam yanked the pistol out of his belt and with one shot, wiped the smirk from the leader’s face.

  Just as Sam made his statement, Mathias locked his gaze on Percival Peddelton. He took a small measure of satisfaction when fear replaced the smug expression on the coward’s face. With lightning speed, Mathias drew his flintlock in concert with Sam’s, and fired. A millisecond later, both Peddelton and the English officer lay dead. Their unexpected deaths set off a haze of musket powder, ball, and shot. Projectiles continued to fly in all directions. As the battle raged, more than half the English platoon fell to the expertise of the five Rangers they intended to capture, torture, and hang.

  Their ammunition spent and no time to reload, Mathias and his elite unit made use of every weapon at their disposal. Each Ranger fought bravely for their lives as well as their country. The battle lasted less than fifteen minutes. One by one, each loyal companion fell under a barrage of English gunfire and bayonet that flew from all directions at once.

  Then finally, one ball found its target and pierced Mathias McGregor’s heart. Slipping away from his mortal frame didn’t trouble him and while he witnessed the slow descent of his physical body, he beheld the carnage of the last battle he would ever fight for his beloved nation. The scene yielded a clarity his natural eyes could never have seen.

  He had no idea this is what it would feel like to die and the experience amazed him. A brilliant light appeared off to his right. The iridescent beam beckoned him to enter, just as it surely compelled the vast array of dead English soldiers who wandered the grounds looking stunned, lost, and confused. Most of them entered, but some walked away. Mathias stood there in indecision as Sam ambled up from behind and rested an elbow atop his shoulder. Alexander, William, and Jedediah followed, ever loyal in life, now loyal in death.

  “Well, I believe this is just about the most extraordinary experience I’ve ever had,” Sam remarked, his tone casual. “Now tell me Mathias, what would you like us to do from here?”

  Chapter 1

  Present Day Pennsylvania

  Late spring

  “Okay, Carolyn, I put you on loud speaker so I can set the phone down. Hopefully, you can still hear everything I’m doing.” Jo placed her phone on the small antique table left of the sofa. “Right now I’m picking up the very last box. As you already know, it’s filled with my most precious things.”

  “So, dive in and unpack it already,” said Carolyn.

  “Now you know I can’t do that.” Jo shook her head as she sat down, placed the box atop her lap, and inched the tape off the cardboard lid centimeter by centimeter.

  “Jolena Leigh Michaelsson! What in the world is the matter with you? Why are you removing that tape at a snail’s pace? Don’t think I can’t hear you,” Carolyn berated. “Do you or do you not want to be an official resident of your house?”

  “You know I do, and you also know anticipation is part of the excitement. I’m supposed to savor this moment, Kay-Kay, you know this,” she said using the nickname she gave Carolyn Taylor, well before they discarded their diapers. “If I just ‘dive in’ as you suggest, this party will end before it begins. Where is the fun in all that?” The exasperated sigh on the other end of the line made Jo laugh.

  “Oh, whatever,” Carolyn grumbled. “You know this is the very reason I’ve yet to return to the house. You would surely drive me crazy by savoring all of your special moments. I mean, get real, girl. What could possibly be so special about taking an hour to plant your last bush or finishing the last section of trim with a one-inch paintbrush? Get on with it, already.”

  “The excitement, as well as the pleasure, comes in seeing this house restored to its former glory, piece by precious piece. You know, for someone who holds a PhD in anthropology and archeology, you have no imagination or patience whatsoever.”

  “That’s not altogether true, Jo. Just because I didn’t want to keep driving out to the house during the restoration, doesn’t mean I lack imagination. And patience? How can you say that when a simple dig can take months of excavation one tiny shovel at a time. Well, I’ll have you know—”

  While Carolyn rambled on, Jo’s mind wandered back to the day she stumbled across this place. The journey began as a quest to find the rural farm properties in southeastern Pennsylvania that once belonged to her ancestors. Not that she expected them to look as they did back then, of course. But having a love of world history, family history, and all things antique, she just wanted to see some of the same things they may have seen. Look at the world through their eyes. It really didn’t take her long to get lost, and she never did discover the exact location her ancestors lived. But she did find this house.

  Despite the shameful neglect, she found the underlying beauty of the homestead amazing. Her vivid imagination conjured the glorious dinner parties and garden luncheons the original owners surely hosted during the late eighteenth century. Something about the house compelled her to explore it, and the faded For Sale sign hanging halfway off the front gate provided permission. After she exited the car, she approached the walkway and took a moment to absorb every detail of the property.

  An overgrowth of decayed vines and leaves climbed and twisted in complete disarray over the stone exterior. Massive round pillars h
eld a lovely wrap-around terrace, but the balustrades needed repair. Broken windows needed replacing. The trim needed a miracle. Large, hideous weeds had overtaken the once grand gardens. The former lush lawn had all but disappeared. Add a bit of misty fog, a few creepy ravens, and in its present condition the house would resemble something straight out of a Hollywood horror movie.

  She approached the front doors, and found them locked. A search for a hidden key yielded nothing. However, the back door at the rear of the house welcomed her with arms wide open. She peeked inside and stepped over the threshold. This door led into the kitchen, and she gasped in delighted surprise as she took in the old-fashioned charm. The original owners trimmed the large country kitchen with a generous amount of brick on the walls and pine planking on the floor. A wood burning stove still sat on a raised brick platform along the center of the west wall. With a bit of hard work she could restore the kitchen to its former splendor. Thanks to all the lessons from a patient father, she could do a great deal of the labor herself. That would save a ton of money.

  She picked her way through scattered debris, dust, and cobwebs to explore the rest of the house. Her mind contrived each room in the original condition. Somehow, she just had to find a way to buy this house and restore it the way she envisioned.

  She climbed up the staircase while caressing the hand-carved railing. Jo wandered through each spacious room on the second floor. From the bedroom at the end of the hallway, she strolled out onto the balcony, withdrew her cell phone from her pocket, and called the number on the sign below. The agent said the owner would consider any offer she presented. A true enough statement as the gentleman sold her the property far below the listed price.