Spirit of the Revolution by Debbie Peterson Read Free Book Online Page B

them.
    “This is my house, yes, meaning my family built the place in my youth. However, this isn’t the place of my birth,” Mathias replied. “That event took place about one mile north of this location, in a home no longer standing.”
    “When? When were you born?”
    “According to my mother, I entered this world on the fifth day of a very cold December in the year 1747.” Then as if anticipating her next question, he added, “And my mortal existence unexpectedly ended the sixteenth day of June in the year 1778.”
    “Then you did live during the time of the Revolutionary War. You could easily fit into the time period of this painting then,” she said as she pointed first to him and then at the figure of George Washington.
    “Yes, I suppose I could have.” Mathias nodded as his gaze traveled to the painting. He tilted his head to the side as he studied its subject. “However, I didn’t accompany General Washington’s army to their encampment at Valley Forge. My assignments took me elsewhere.”
    Her mouth dropped and as she gasped, she placed a hand over her heart. “You knew George Washington?”
    “I didn’t know him intimately, of course,” he said, meeting her gaze. “But I did have the honor of speaking to him on a few occasions when our paths crossed during the war. He’s a great man, an admirable man, and we were honored to have served under his leadership.”
    “Did you serve with one of the Pennsylvania battalions, then?” asked Jo.
    “In the early days of the war, I served very briefly with the First Battalion militia. Soon thereafter, Colonel Daniel Morgan recruited me, along with some of my friends, to serve with his army of Rangers. Then toward the end of our lives, Colonel Morgan assigned us to work with Major John Clark,” Mathias replied.
    “You served as a Ranger? I didn’t know the Rangers even existed during the Revolutionary War.” She wondered if the Rangers from his era bore any resemblance to the elite Rangers of today. Perhaps she should do some research. Mathias McGregor, late of Pennsylvania, shrugged in response.
    “Is that how you—how you died? Fighting as a Ranger during the War?” she ventured.
    Mathias returned a single nod. “Yes. Unfortunately, many good and noble men on both sides of the war lost their lives for what they passionately believed. However, those of us who considered ourselves patriots regarded dying as a necessary evil if men and this country were ever to gain independence and freedom from oppression and tyranny.”
    The words said with quiet dignity and respect compelled a subject change. They could discuss the war and his part in it, a little later perhaps.
    “So, Mathias McGregor, firstborn son of Adam and Tamar Davies McGregor, how many siblings did you take pleasure in bullying around?” She had no idea why such an absurd question popped into her head. Perhaps having a ghost made her a little batty after all.
    Mathias chuckled as he leaned forward with his hands still clasped together. “What makes you think I bullied any of my siblings, Miss Michaelsson?”
    “Oh, just call it woman’s intuition,” Jo replied as memories of her brother’s merciless teasing, stormed her mind.
    Mathias answered each question she asked him. She learned he was of Scottish descent and second-generation born American. He told her he had ten brothers and sisters, none of which he bullied—much. Finally, she learned his father enjoyed success as a merchant, which of course, explained the existence of this beautiful home.
    In an effort to avoid the subject of war and death, she sat across from a ghost and casually questioned him about his mortal life and ancestry. She may just as well be conducting some sort of an interview for an historic documentary. At that very moment, she pictured herself sitting primly on an elegant sofa, with notepad and pen in hand. She would adjust her black-framed glasses and say, “So, can you supply me with documentation for