Chapter 3
three
Should there still be soldiers without accommodation after all such publick houses were filled, the colonies were then required to take, hire and make fit for the reception of his Majesty’s forces, such and so many uninhabited houses, outhouses, barns, or other buildings as shall be necessary.
Mae could hardly keep her mind on the meal, given their unexpected guests.
Though she longed to have James to herself for a heartfelt talk, his fellow officers deserved all the graciousness she could muster.
These three, all deemed traitors to the Crown, were men of merit and distinction.
She’d heard of General Harlow and his Rifle Corps, even read about them in the newspapers, but had never imagined he’d be sitting at their very table, her brother among them.
Given their rank, she’d expected a uniform, but all three men dressed like humble woodsmen—a blend of fringed linen, buckskin, and leather offset by the black straps and belts of their weapons, which they’d left in the hall.
James’s and Captain Sperry’s tricornes looked worn, but General Harlow sported a new cocked hat with a black ribbon cockade held by a cord and button.
None were gentlemen like so many British officers, nor were these rebels the ruffians and convicts that newspapers and broadsheets wailed about.
Though quieter than her brother and the captain, General Harlow had more of a presence.
Nothing, she wagered, escaped his notice, including Coralie’s obvious unease and her own barely hidden awe.
Whittled down by the wilderness, the foremost officer at table’s end was all whipcord.
The mother hen in her wanted to mend his worn garments and insist he sleep undisturbed for a week—and fatten him with endless dishes and drinks.
James was leaner than he’d once been, though the captain was more fleshed out and the shortest of the three.
General Harlow had to duck beneath the lintel to enter their kitchen to wash.
He had a healthy appetite, and she detected a deep, unspoken appreciation for the bounty before him.
“Please, have more,” she said, passing him seconds of the heartiest dishes. “And if you’re wondering why there’s Virginia ham, we’ve Tidewater friends who keep us supplied, though this is the last in our smokehouse.”
James chuckled. “Billeting here should come with a warning. My sister seems determined to reverse our soldierly starvation and make us fleshy, indolent men.”
“Here’s to dessert.” General Harlow’s lift of his cider glass told Mae he hadn’t forgotten what was to come.
Looking at him again, she lifted her glass in turn, the sudden swirl to her middle as silly as it was rash. There were a hundred Chatham men who didn’t move her. How could one rough-hewn stranger do so with a mere half smile?
On the other hand, the general hardly gave her a glance. She acknowledged it with a bruised feeling. She wasn’t a plain woman, but he made her feel quite undeserving of notice. He never met her eyes overlong, nor did he direct any comments to her.
“Save room, too, for Mrs. Hurst’s excellent coffee,” Mae said, noting Coralie’s cold had stolen most of her appetite. Or was it their unexpected company? “We’ve a coffee mill in the kitchen that hails from Boston. And plenty of cream, even a hoarded sugar loaf.”
“Or if you prefer cocoa,” Coralie added, “there’s hot chocolate.”
“Chocolate?” Captain Sperry rolled his eyes in a sort of ecstasy. “Have you no shortages here in this part of Jersey?”
Talk turned to the dearth of supplies as a dozen questions beat between Mae’s brows. Would these men truly winter here in their very home? An hour ago the house had echoed, and she’d been disappointed Aaron and Hanna weren’t coming. How life could take an unexpected turn.
The next pressing thought lent a flush she felt from her hairline to her toes.
Had General Harlow a sweetheart?
When she stole another look at him, she saw his plate was empty.
Rising from her chair, she helped Mrs. Hurst serve coffee, hot chocolate, and dessert.
As the men lingered at table, she and Coralie withdrew to the parlor.
No sooner were they in the paneled room across the hall than Coralie began her frantic whispering.
“What if Eben were to suddenly appear and find Patriots at our very table?”
“Then he’d be outnumbered,” Mae replied wryly. “The only redcoat in the room.”
Arms crossed, Coralie began pacing before the hearth. “I feel duplicitous, though I’ve done nothing but sit down with them.”
“Chatham’s support for the revolution is what sent your lieutenant away to begin with,” Mae reminded her quietly, casting a look at the dining room where talk continued robust. “Have you not told him that Jon joined the militia and James is an American officer too? Aaron has made no secret of his allegiance either.”
“I’ve told him nothing of the sort. Suppose Eben doubts his feelings for me due to my family’s loyalties—or rather the lack of them?” Her acrid tone turned plaintive. “Suppose he changes his mind about our marriage?”
“Then he’s not worth a pittance.” Mae took up an iron poker and jabbed at the fiery logs as if adding an exclamation point to her words.
“Worse, are we ready to billet them all winter? When Eben arrives I won’t be able to keep our engagement secret any longer.”
“’Tis time to tell our family your plans, then.”
“But what if it creates more division? James never cared for Eben to begin with, and now we’re to be married. What are we to do?”
“Deal with that on the day.” Mae, used to Coralie’s worrying, now found it especially exasperating. “Can we not rejoice that James is home after not hearing from him for months?”
Chastised, her sister finally settled, hunkering down in the wingback chair that had been their mother’s. “I’ve heard the Rifle Corps are a favorite of General Washington, given they scare the British to death. I can’t believe our brother is now one of them.”
“James was always an excellent shot.” Mae felt a beat of pride. Her brother with an esteemed company of riflemen. Who would have thought?
“He seems much changed.” Coralie darted a look toward the open door. “Captain Sperry is amiable enough, but General Harlow seems rather dangerous.”
“Their weapons are certainly dangerous,” Mae said. She’d been struck by the length of their long rifles as soon as she set eyes on them. No doubt they weighed ten pounds apiece.
“He says very little and seems to be weighing every window and door for the enemy, and us too, as if testing our allegiance.”
“Being quiet and observant are the hallmarks of an officer, I would think. General Washington is said to be the same.”
Coralie grimaced. “And all three are dressed like the worst of backwoodsmen—hardly the equal of respectable British officers. I’d expected decent uniforms, at least.”
“You can hardly expect a new fighting force of thirteen colonies—now states—to wear the same garb, especially with British blockades depriving us of cloth.”
A noise in the hall quieted them as the men crossed over to the parlor. Mae’s pleasure rivaled her sister’s pain. Could Coralie not, as she’d said, rejoice in James’s return?
Their long-lost brother stifled a yawn as he looked around the room rather mournfully. “Little has changed except Mother and Father aren’t here.” He began rummaging in a rucksack while General Harlow and Captain Sperry stood by the parlor’s two windows and looked out on the snowy green.
Finished digging, James stood, holding something behind his back, and Coralie’s sternness eased.
“You remind me of our mischievous brother of old,” she said, “who used to scare Mae and me to death with spiders and snakes.”
“Hopefully you’ll like this much better.” He presented large twin balls of fur. “Two Canadian gray marten hats to keep you warm this winter.”
“A replica of Benjamin Franklin’s?” Mae took hers, marveling. “I’d heard of the coiffure à la Franklin—all the rage in Paris—but I never expected to own one.”
James smiled. “Try it on, the both of you.”
Mae did so, catching the eye of General Harlow when he turned away from the window. His admiration—or was it amusement?—didn’t escape her. Flushing, she turned her back on him to peer into a looking glass. The fur had the feel of silk and instantly warmed her head like a wig.
“Thank you, James. A very thoughtful gift.”
Coralie still held hers askance, staring at the fur as if it might bite.
“It doesn’t have teeth, Sister,” James said as if reading her mind. “Cured and fashioned by a Quebec hatter at my request. If the esteemed Dr. Franklin approves, surely you must.”
Coralie relented, donning the creation with obvious distaste. “I shall get used to it, I suppose.”
“You Continental officers would be warmer in these than your cocked hats.” Mae removed hers, admiring the silver-gray fur. “I’m not a hatter, but I can sew shirts and breeches or knit stockings for any soldiers who need them.”
“Obliged.” General Harlow met her eyes as if holding her to it. “Many of the troops lack proper garments, even shoes. Some are reduced to rags on their feet.”
“Bloodied snow is a frightful sight.” Captain Sperry winced. “Several died on the march into northern Jersey.” At Coralie’s gasp, he apologized. “My manners suffer, I’m afraid. I know better than to talk war and wounds in feminine company.”
“I would rather hear the truth and be of help than have matters hidden.” Mae’s thoughts returned to her smokehouse guests. “We heard the battles of Trenton and Princeton took a frightful toll.”
“Washington fought like a lion. If the Americans hadn’t won there’d be no continuing now.” James took a seat on the sofa. “As it was, we lost some of our best, including General Mercer, a first-rate commander and Scot.”
“I pray there’s no more fighting this winter,” Mae said, turning her hat into a muff to warm her hands. Even a roaring fire failed to reach the parlor’s corners. Noting Captain Sperry’s stifled yawn, she said, “You men are understandably weary. Let me show you to your rooms upstairs.”
Coralie stayed behind as Mae climbed the steps ahead of their guests. Thankfully the rooms were kept in readiness for visitors. Her parents had always practiced hospitality, and that hadn’t ended. Mrs. Hurst had even lit the hearths, their fires casting a comforting glow on paneled walls.
Which bedchamber would General Harlow choose?