Chapter 4
four
What a glorious morning for America!
Samuel Adams, on hearing of the battle of Lexington
Over the next days, Mae saw little of their unexpected lodgers.
The officers left before first light and returned well after dark, once she and Coralie were in bed, though Aaron and Hanna told her James had come by the apothecary to speak with them.
Something about Washington needing smallpox inoculations for his troops.
“Just when we think we have James safely home, he’s elusive as a fox,” Coralie said as she stifled a cough.
“I imagine they’re preparing winter quarters in the foothills. Regular soldiers don’t billet like officers here in the village but camp in tents, he said—and undergo winter training and such.”
“This bitter cold is an enemy too.” Coralie looked toward the sofa where she’d discarded her fur hat. “I’d gladly return that bushy monstrosity to James if he’d wear it.”
“I’m going to wear mine when I go out this afternoon.” Mae’s glee matched Coralie’s revulsion. “Perhaps all of Chatham will soon be donning Mr. Franklin’s hats.”
In a quarter of an hour she ventured outside. A great many Continental soldiers remained in the village, some wearing wool overalls. A few gawked at her, one of them even asking where she’d gotten her unusual hat. The question sent her into the butcher shop with more eagerness than usual.
Bypassing the mostly empty window display, she called out a greeting upon entering. “Good morning, Mr. Vanderpoel.”
“Is it, Miss Bohannon?” The Dutch butcher’s florid face tempted her to flee outside again.
Villagers stood about, not bemoaning a lack of meat as much as sharing news. A few nodded and greeted her as she returned her attention to the man behind the counter.
“I suppose ’tis futile to ask for red meat,” she began.
“Ja, all the beeves are provisioning fighting men.”
She withheld a sigh. James and the officers needed meat—lots of it. She was especially determined to flesh out General Harlow’s striking leanness.
“And I’ll save you traipsing out to the mill, for there’s little flour and salt to be had either since the army moved in.” Mr. Vanderpoel continued whacking mutton with a cleaver. “Scarce as Spanish dollars and Dutch guilders.”
Thanking him, she left the shop and pondered Chatham’s noticeably bare shelves, its residents uneasy. Their own personal larder and root cellar contained enough pickles, preserves, potatoes, and apples to last till spring, or so she hoped. But meat was another matter entirely.
Once she was home, Mrs. Hurst promised to make another fish chowder. “Major James left this morn, saying he and the other officers would return to dine here this evening.”
Mae suppressed her delight, knowing Coralie wouldn’t be pleased and unsure how Mrs. Hurst felt about their extra guests, James aside.
As dusk fell, supper preparations were well underway, given they had cod. As she came downstairs, Mrs. Hurst met her, wonder on her face. “We’ve something out back, Miss Mae.”
Together they retreated to the rear door overlooking the frozen kitchen garden to find a dressed deer hanging. Mae’s surprise equaled that of Mrs. Hurst, who exclaimed, “I’ve not had venison in an age!”
Shivering, Mae shut the door. “Father always had a fondness for wild game.”
“Who on earth could have brought it?” Mrs. Hurst asked, returning to the hearth in higher spirits.
Mae followed her into the kitchen, hearing a noise at the front door.
Their supper guests already? James’s familiar voice rang out.
Was General Harlow with him? Never mind the amiable Captain Sperry.
He wasn’t quite so intriguing and couldn’t be guilty of bringing them venison, she felt certain.
She continued to the hall, where they were hanging hats and matchcoats on a pegged wall.
The hired lad, Adam, had taken their horses to the stable.
“I’m guessing we have you, General Harlow, to thank for the back door gift,” Mae said.
He turned toward her with a smile. “Only if you prefer venison.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll bring down an elk, then.”
Mae grew tongue-tied, realizing they were the only two in the hall. Coralie and James had already passed into the parlor with Captain Sperry, who was running a hand over the veneered spinet after exclaiming his pleasure over the cello in the corner.
“Whose instrument?” he asked.
“My late mother’s and now my sisters’,” James replied. “The cello is my poor attempt to join them.”
“Have you a violin?” Captain Sperry asked with a quick look at General Harlow as he entered the room. “One of us plays rather admirably. And he’s been trying to teach me when we’re not on the march.”
Mae masked her surprise. A sharpshooting violinist? She went to a corner cupboard and withdrew a cracked leather case. Of all the things she missed about her parents, their music was foremost. Turning back around, she handed it over to the general. “Our father’s.”
He opened the case with a thoughtfulness that touched her. “Maple and spruce. A fetching fiddle. Mine was lost at Quebec.”
Lost? A story there, she thought, her curiosity at fever pitch. She watched him rosin the bow and tune the strings while James sat down with the cello and Coralie at the spinet. Not quite a quartet . . .
The general, still tuning, already had her on the edge of her seat. “My mother taught me when I was small. Her family had a long fiddling tradition in Wales.”
Mae could no longer hide her surprise. A female fiddler?
He paused his tuning to look up at her. “Being a pastor’s daughter, you don’t associate the fiddle with drinking, dancing, and the devil?”
She smiled. “Heaven’s music, rather, Father often said.”
“Aye.” He struck a string. “Music has gotten me past many a hard place.”
His intriguing words gave her pause as he launched into a tune that began slowly but soon had her pinned to her chair, mouth half open.
His fingers flew on the fingerboard, infusing emotion into every skillful stroke.
Some of his notes resembled chirps—birdsong—so lifelike she almost looked out the window to the nearest tree.
She wasn’t the only one transfixed as he finished and his bow slid from the strings.
“See what we have to endure in camp some evenings?” James jested.
“Well, I’ve never . . .” Coralie said from her seat at the spinet as General Harlow returned the borrowed fiddle to its case. “I hardly feel capable of following such a musical feat.”
“I shall limp along with you,” James said, taking up his own bow.
In seconds the parlor was filled with the cello’s rich resonance, a harmonious balance to the spinet’s delicate notes.
But Mae was wanting more of the violin—more of General Harlow himself.
He sat near her on the sofa facing the hearth.
Firelight flickered over his strong features, shadowing his whiskered jaw and dark brows, the slant of his nose and cheekbones.
He was as rugged as he was handsome. His presence, like his violin playing, seemed to overflow the parlor.
Or had he made such a bold impression because masculine company was a rarity?
“I meant what I said about sewing for the army,” she told him during a lull in the music. “Your men must have many material needs. I’m a lone woman, but I can make a small difference.”
Finally he looked at her. “What have you in mind?”
“Shirts. Blankets. Hats and scarves and stockings. Whatever is needed most.” If he’d asked for the moon she might have agreed to it, given her fledgling infatuation.
There, she’d admitted it. Though it was clearly one-sided, her attraction to him was undeniable. She prayed it wasn’t apparent.
He mulled her offer for a moment. “Do you have friends willing to do the same?”
“Of course.” Why had she not thought of that herself? Proof he could make an addled mess of a reasonably intelligent woman. “I’ll send word round and gather a sewing circle. Plenty of Chatham women spin their own cloth or have the means to procure some. We’ll do what we can.”
She had General Harlow’s undivided attention at last. Shame flushed her face.
Why would she want it? He was as different from her as night and day.
A Virginian and a soldier she’d never see again once the army moved on.
And certainly nothing like the man her father hoped she’d wed.
Mulling the matter, she fisted her hands in her lap, hardly hearing the music as Coralie and James finished the piece.
Mrs. Hurst appeared at the parlor doorway. “Supper shall be served at seven o’clock.”
“We’ll make a little more music till then,” Coralie said, exchanging her spinet bench for a Windsor chair.
James took a seat beside Mae. “My sisters may well ruin me. I’m growing too used to the comforts of home.”
“Nonsense.” Mae smiled at him fondly. “You’re in need of some spoiling, given you’ve been away from home so long.”
She’d still not had time with James like she’d hoped, nor been able to ask him the questions she’d been saving since he left.
Coralie was right. James seemed changed in ways she couldn’t fathom.
Hardship and death did that to a man. He’d no doubt fought in brutal, bloody battles that felled men he knew well.
Yet for a short interlude, at least, he was well-fed and warm and removed from the turmoil.
“I, for one, have no complaint about billeting here,” Captain Sperry said as he stood to one side of the crackling hearth.
Mae looked at James. “You’ve told us little about the hardships you’ve endured with the Continental Army, but I can tell they’ve taken a toll.”
His narrow face darkened. “War is a brutal business, though we’re led by the most fearless of men.”
Coralie lifted a newspaper resting on a side table. “Is it true Mrs. Washington will join the general at headquarters in Morristown?”
Captain Sperry took the paper from her. “Probably not till March when the weather warms. Would you ladies care to attend a dance at Arnold Tavern on the Green?”
Lowering her eyes, Coralie didn’t answer, her resistance plain.
Mae hadn’t reckoned with a ball. Since the war’s start, all merriment had seemed to stop. “I would,” she said, “if only to meet your commander in chief. I’ve heard so much about him.”
Coralie’s gaze rose and fixed on their brother. “What is Washington like?”
“Tall.” James seemed a bit flummoxed, as if Washington defied description. “Slightly scarred by smallpox. His hair is reddish-brown when unpowdered, and he rarely smiles on account of his terrible teeth.”
“Poor man,” Mae breathed.
“He doesn’t play the peacock like some officers and has a general’s bearing,” Captain Sperry added. “Commanding. Stern. He’s the most superb horseman I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ve heard he dances upwards of three hours without sitting down.” Mae had long heard accounts of his prowess in the ballroom. “He’s even mastered the cotillion.”
“Ah, the latest dancing craze.” Captain Sperry chuckled. “You’ll see it for yourself if you come to headquarters.”
Mae smiled. “If invited, we could stay with our Morristown aunt.”
“I’m sure the captain will keep you duly informed,” James said. “He’s as fond of dancing as Washington.”
Mae stole a look at General Harlow. Did he not care to dance? He seemed to prefer to let the rest of them carry the conversation. Maddeningly so.
They went in to dinner before returning to the parlor, where Mrs. Hurst served dessert along with coffee and cocoa.
“Ah, the aroma,” came a boisterous voice from the parlor doorway. “Are you drinking the last of my chocolate?” Aaron stood there, Hanna on his arm, the both of them smiling as if delighted to find it so.
“Guilty,” Mae told them as they entered the parlor. Mrs. Hurst hurried away to bring more chocolate cups, and James more chairs. “My favorite apothecary and his wife highly recommend it.”
“Cocoa aids digestion and is even thought to promote longevity, among other things,” Aaron told them. “We certainly do a brisk business selling it at the shop, though it’s hard to come by of late.”
“Enough about chocolate,” Hanna teased. “We nearly have enough numbers here for a dance.”
“We were just discussing a future frolic hosted by General Washington and his officers,” Mae told her, warming her hands around her chocolate cup. “I’ve never attended any function in Morristown.”
“Arnold Tavern has a large ballroom on the second floor,” James said. “Some would say this isn’t the time for dancing, but I think otherwise.”
Captain Sperry cleared his throat. “We’ve seen so much misery that any mirth is most welcome.”
“Speaking of that, I need to confer with your commander.” Aaron turned to General Harlow. “Washington said I should speak with your Rifle Corps soon since they’re among the first to be quarantined in camp. I also have questions about the smallpox inoculation you had in Quebec.”
“At your convenience.”
“I have surgeries scheduled for tomorrow with the doctors, but after that . . .”
The general nodded. “I can ride out with you to camp day after tomorrow then.”