Resurrection: Rebirth of the United States

J. Passepartout: The entire west seems to have a lot of forest fires! California I understand. California's just...different. Washington and Oregon? Hmm..

Dead William: I'm still learning what the Oregonians are doing. It's strange for me: Aside from the culture shock, I'm going from a medium sized, stagnating city to a very small one that's growing rapidly. The challenges they face are completely different and it's a little odd reading the news and trying to figure out who's doing what.

Vann the Red: Funny you should ask. I shipped four boxes through the US Postal Service - not much, but enough to get started. Box 1 contained miscellaneous books, gear, CDs, EU2, and so forth. That was mailed on March 11. Boxes 2-4 contained my computer, padded with spare clothes, and other gear keeping my keyboard and mouse company in box 4. They mailed right before I left - March 15. Boxes 2-4 show up on March 22. Box 1 finally appears on the 29th, the day after I go to the local post office and start asking questions. I wonder if it was the post office's idea of an April Fool's joke.

Draco Rexus: Might take me a post or two to get back into the swing of things, especially with my new project, but yep - I'm back!

coz1: Peperna? Ah yes...she comes to me in my dreams. She tells me to do things to beef eaters...

Storey: I know very little about Oregon, except from the temperature I suspect I'm on the wrong side of the Cascades. Thanks for the offer! When I head for the coast I'll call on you!

Stuyvesant: Yes...centrally located. And there's a point where civilization effectively STOPS. Oh...a few bit villages, but I'm used to Connecticut, which is a solid mass of towns.

carlec: Don't talk to m abut Winter Park! LOL

As for hurricanes...I'm sure you probably feel differently, but I love 'em. A few years ago when that big hurricane slammed into Norfolk, Virginia I was outside saying hi.

Yes Coz, Peperna told me to do that too!

And for those curious:

Oregon State Flag, Front view:


Rear:

-= 145 =-​

April 1784
South Carolina


"Cassie? Spell invidious?" John Preston looked up from their dining table, hidden by papers covered by his illegible and not quite literate scrawl. He poised a quill over one of these precious notes and stared at her.

Cassandra Preston was in no position to advise anyone on spelling. She sat with Christina snuggled against her bosom, sipping at a cup of tea. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm working on my speech!" John grinned. What was left of the Patriot's League planned to meet in church tomorrow, and men had encouraged him to report on and end his investigation. That was fine, but he had a surprise in store for his fellow Carolinans.

"But they're just notes, Johnny. No one's going to see them but you!"

"They may want to publish my findings! I wouldn't want to look bad!"

Cassie smiled at his enthusiasm and sipped her tea. Investigations suited her husband. Maybe he'd finally found his lot in life. "And what will you tell them?"

"The truth of course!" He moved to a seat by her side, showing her several pages of notes.

Cassie squinted: She would have had better odds of reading Immanuel Kant's latest essay defining enlightenment. "What does it signify?"

"In short, there's no reason to believe Tom caused Rutledge's house to explode. Mister Rutledge says he was stabbed, but the doctor found no wound and anyway he says pain and delirium can answer for alot. Also there's no proof of this secret society. I suppose there wouldn't be, but I can't prove Tom was trying to fight one."

Cassie looked down, troubled. "Even with his talking about the bent cross?"

John shrugged. "I'd be happier asking him about it myself, but I'm not sure this group exists. If I can't say they do, then how can I say Tom was fighting it?"

"Why did he flee?"

"God's death, Cassie: I'd flee if I thought the whole town was going to rise up against me. Everyone was hysterical for the first few days. There's still a bounty on his head! Bloody hell, there was a day or two when I thought he might be guilty. Imagine that?"

"Imagine that," Cassie whispered. The whole town was going to rise up echoed in her mind. She stood, then finding nothing to do sat again.

"What's wrong?"

"How do you think people will feel when you make that speech?"

John grinned. "They'll be relieved of course! No one liked to think Tom, one of our own generals, could do such a thing! We can forget about this nonsense, finish this Cherokee War and....Cassie?"

"Let me try again. How do you think people will feel when General Heyward's former ward defends him against the word of a man Carolinans love?"

"Are you...saying I'm lying to protect him!?"

"No," she answered quickly. "However will it not cross someone else's mind? One who doesn't know you so well?"

"Well, damn them!"

"Couple that with defying Mister Rutledge, and..."

"I'm not calling him a liar, Cassie! I'm just saying he was hurt..confused..."

"Wrong."

"Aye, but everyone is wrong now and then."

"Not him." Cassie stared at him. "Why do you think everyone was so quick to condemn Tom? No one for a moment believed Mister Rutledge might be mistaken."

"What in God's name are you saying? That I should lie to protect Rutledge?"

"No, of course not." Little Christina, sensing her mother's agitation, whimpered.

"Cassie, we're not dealing with lunatics. If I stand up there and present the evidence, then everyone will agree this was a horrible mistake and we can go about our lives."

She didn't answer for several moments, calming their daughter. "Johnny, if you tell the whole town they're wrong they're going to be angry."

"Let them," he snapped.

"They'll turn on you."

"Let them."

"And us."

John looked away. "So you are saying I should keep my head down. Lie through omission." He studied his notes, the source of so much joy only moments before, and tasted ash.

"No, husband." She rose again and kissed his forehead. "Only that you cannot say to hell with the world and expect to get away with it. Not anymore, not if you ever could."

"Don't think I want to argue, but I'm not sure you can fairly say that to me," he scowled.

She stiffened, then gave a sheepish smile. "Perhaps not once, but then something changed."

"Oh?"

"I gained a husband and daughter. Anything I do affects them."

"Tom's innocent." John looked up, eyes appealing.

"Probably. But you don't have to push everyone's nose in it."

He sighed and lowered his forehead to her stomach, felt her arm around his shoulder, and sighed.
----------------

"That was a very interesting speech, Colonel!" Black/Rutledge smiled and rose from the back of the church, bowing. One side of his face still looked horrible, covered with burns and scar tissue, but doctors remarked on how quickly it healed. Of course he'd received much sympathy, even from the ladies who couldn't quite meet his shattered visage, and that as much as anything stayed John's hand. He couldn't win. Not today.

"I thought it fit," Preston replied gravely. Someone pat him on the shoulder as the men of Carolina shuffled past the pair.

"Inconclusive. That is almost certainly the shortest speech I ever heard!" Black's jovial voice could be heard across the sanctuary, and some smiled to see the two weren't at odds after all.

"As I said, it fit," John said. "I couldn't find anything. I suppose I'm not an investigator."

"No, but it was good of you to try! Carolina has no greater champion of justice than you, sir!"

Preston regarded his companion. That might be true.

Dead William: John's starting to do rather well. Whether he can keep it up may be another story. Black's not through playing with his mind as we'll see.

Cassie actually does not how to read...kinda. Her upbringing was as a tavernkeeper's daughter, so she is probably little beyond recognizing the letters and sounding out words. With John's poor writing it's not enough.

I'm sure you're right about the spelling. I wanted to show John's eagerness to get it right, and remind everyone his reading and writing isn't so great either.

J. Passepartout: If Cassie hadn't intervened, John probably would have done just that: Give his speech, and damn anyone who stood against him.

Vann the Red: John has to tread carefully for the reasons Cassie laid out. The entire town is against Heyward now. Championing him will simply turn the town against John. To alter the situation he'd either need to find a way to prove Rutledge/Black is worse, or come up with something that irrefutably proves they're wrong. 'Lack of proof' won't do it. And they'll still resent his telling them.

Draco Rexus: Preston is starting to mature, though as I said Black's still toying with him. John's simply not equipped to deal with his manipulations.

coz1: I think you're right: Having Christina has helped John realize there's more to the world, and Cassie can control some of his wilder impulses. John's maturity, I think, is that he's starting to look beyond himself.

jwolf: Preston's definitely suspicious. He obviously doesn't know 'the truth', but as you said...he's putting too many pieces together for Black's comfort.

I figured Bend got its name from some bend in the Deschutes River. I think the town predates US 97 - unless 97 was once a dirt trail!

Stuyvesant: I'm not sure how the 'champion of justice' thing will play out. I saw it in two ways also. The first is the hopeful 'John's going to figure this out if it kills him.'

The less attractive alternative I saw more as hubris: Preston can be proud to a fault, and that can easily descend into a "I know what's going on better than you" situation where he just stops listening to anything but his own judgement. He could still be 'fighting for justice' - but if that happened he could very easily still be mistaken.


All: Wow! I'm hurt! No one noticed I doctored the Oregon flag. The back of the Oregon flag has a beaver on it, not a cow.

And now, on with the show!

-= 146 =-​

April 1784
Georgia


Governor-General John Burgoyne of Georgia emerged with a handkerchief over his nose. Outside at last, , he lifted his face to the warm sun and inhaled deeply. "I dare say, Mister Kelleher, it is positively appalling in there."

Malcolm Kelleher paused to replace his glasses, blue tinted against the sun. "There was an amputee earlier. Gangrenous."

"No doubt, poor soul. The smell, however..." Burgoyne walked towards the fort protecting Savannah. "And what of our guest?"

Kelleher was happy the glasses would help hide his expression. He clasped his hands behind his back. "I am not a medical man."

"I dare say he's certifiable." Burgoyne shook his head. "Did you see his eyes? He must have hurt his head. It is too bad really: A dashing commander from what I understand."

Kelleher paced silently. General Heyward's story seemed extreme. Cruelty towards Indians was, frankly, neither here nor there. A plot to overthrow the infant republic and install a dictatorship, one proven hostile to English interests? Far more interesting. Were it true, why would Heyward, who'd fought so decisively in the last war, warn them? On the other hand... Kelleher didn't think he was lying. Far worse, he was certain the man was holding back.

"Parts of his story appear true, however." Kelleher paused to rest under a tree; the Georgian heat always affected him badly. "His injuries, for example, are consistent with an explosion that happened at Mister Rutledge's house in Charleston. It seems there is a bounty on his head for that incident."

"They deem him responsible?"

"The citizenry does. The constabulary are investigating. They seem slower to judge. Mister Rutledge is adamant about his guilt."

Burgoyne sniffed. "I dislike assassins."

"If he's an assassin he's a poor one, getting caught in the explosion."

"He didn't run away fast enough?"

Kelleher shook his head. "Mostly facial and chest injuries? He faced the explosion when it occured. He wasn't running, Nor did he shield himself, or his arms would be similarly marred. It is possible his own explosion surprised him ... a fuse too short perhaps ... but then an explosion strong enough to destroy a house really must kill a man at point blank range."

"Hmm," Burgoyne replied. True, all of it true. "Then why implicate the general?"

"Could he be telling the truth? He realizes Mister Rutledge is 'up to something' and was impolitic enough to let him know?"

Burgoyne pondered. America was already hostile to Britain ... but they were very badly organized. Reports from Philadelphia made excellent light reading. A central authority without division, such as a single dictator or king, could be very annoying. "Then you believe his story?"

Kelleher shrugged. "I cannot say. It may be irrelevant. General Heyward has made himself unwelcome in Charleston and may be induced to provide the most valuable information. If Mister Rutledge is preparing something unpleasant, then forewarned is forearmed."

"Hmm. It could be a trick to lure us into incaution." No. A man didn't burn himself nearly to death for a ruse de guerre. "Regardless, we will need to be careful."

"I have a man in the hospital watching him, and others in South Carolina regarding Mister Rutledge and his constable's report. I would like to take steps to ensure word of General Heyward's arrival doesn't make it out, however."

---------------------------

May 1784
South Carolina


Black sat on the front porch of his new house, smaller than the last but still beautiful, and studied his lawn. Plantation wasn't the right word, as he had no slaves and did not trade in cotton or agriculture. A man in his position didn't need to. Even weeks after the explosion, his face still bore some scarring. He couldn't heal all of it without arousing suspicion, and anyway the pain gave Rutledge something to think about.

Charleston ... his city. Black's house stood on the outskirts of town, but well within the defensive forts. From his attic he could see much of the city and it amused him. All of it belonged to him. Oh, the mortals didn't know that. They would never truly understand it. A mere word, however, and every man, woman and child thought what he wanted, did what he wanted. They belonged to him too.

Most of them. Even as he smiled, Black watched John Preston advance up the walkway closely. No longer an impulsive boy, he was beginning to think for himself. Worse, he had asked a few too many questions about his relationship with Thomas Heyward. It could be nothing but unexpected thoroughness, but he smelled danger. Today would tell him much.

For his part, as he advanced John Preston wondered what the devil was wrong with Rutledge's lawn. A stately oak tree that dated back to the city's founding looked withered and ... old. The grass within ten yards of his house unexpectedly died. Why? John could name any number of reasons it could happen: Charleston was technically a swamp after all. But not so God damned fast.

He bowed and climbed the steps. "You asked to see me?"

"Yes, John!" Black continued to smile - and study. "Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you." Preston returned the smile and stare both. "I just come from home and supped there."

"Oh? How is your wife and daughter?" Black's smile tightened.

"Very well, thank you." John leaned back, eyes narrow. "How are you feeling?"

"I am recovering well, I'm told."

"Indeed. God must smile on you to heal so rapidly."

"Yes," Black replied. "He does."

John tired of dancing. "You asked to see me?" he repeated.

"Hm? Of course. You will be pleased I think. I've an assignment for the Carolina Guard I would like you to see to personally."

Preston nodded distantly.

"I've discovered the location of Thomas Heyward. He is at a hospital in Savannah, which only further lends evidence to his crimes. Consulting with the enemy, going to them for succor when his plan failed. What do you say to that?"

John's eyes widened slightly. Tom? In Georgia? With the Brits? Why!?

Black read his doubt. "I would be sorry to hear he initiated his plan because the British bought him."

"That's impossible!" John blurted.

"Is it? Let us not forget Jasen Exeter. He trained you while with the American army, did he not? And yet you abandoned him as a traitor in South Florida."

"I.." Preston nodded reluctantly.

"At any rate, his reasons for being there are not important. Even with your inconclusive investigation you will agree he stands accused here in South Carolina. He must be tried."

"I...do not know if a trial can be fair here," Preston replied stiffly.

"You must have more faith in your fellow Carolinans, John. What I would like you to do, is gather a small force of Guardsmen you trust, go there and retrieve him for me. Once he is in custody we can further discuss what would be a fair venue."

"You want me to go into Georgia and just ask for him!?"

"Of course not, John. Aside from any ill will they may have for you, the fact is Thomas is too valuable to them. They will defend him if they may. I recommend stealth."

"I will bring him back....if I can." John thought quickly. Could Tom really be a traitor? If so, then yes he had to be tried. If not, then he had to be warned. Either way he'd have valuable information on what was going on here. They needed to talk.

"See that you do, Colonel. I would be sorry to see another failure on your illustrious record."

"I'll find him!" Preston snapped. He bowed then left.

Black watched John's receding figure with a smile. Yes, this would answer all his question. A grunt from behind interrupted his thoughts.

"Yes, Jasen. Follow his little band. If Tom is there, kill him. If John tries to stop you, kill him too."