Chapter 7
seven
In the name of the great Jehovah and the Continental Congress.
Attributed to Ethan Allen at Fort Ticonderoga
“I’ve a letter from Eben.” Coralie’s sternness faded as soon as General Harlow went upstairs. “A post rider finally arrived at the tavern. I could hardly wait for the general to leave to tell you. He seemed to hold you captive forever.”
“Captive?” Mae laughed. She’d missed his company the moment he left the parlor. “I’m hardly a bird in a cage, Coralie. I just skated the river.”
Coralie made a face and brought the letter from her pocket. “Eben is insisting I take the inoculation right away.”
“As soon as possible, yes, though we’ve delayed so long Aaron has his hands full inoculating American troops.”
Taking a seat beside Mae on the sofa, Coralie unfolded the paper, the red wax seal bright. “As for Eben, he’s well and sends news from New York but doesn’t say just where.”
The ever-elusive Eben. He’d always had a furtive quality about him. There were many forts along those New York waterways, some British occupied and some American, all of them in dispute. Jon was on the west bank of the Hudson River at a place called Highland Falls near Fort Montgomery.
“He writes that he desires to be led directly to action, in resentment of the atrocious insults to king and country.”
Grandiloquent Eben. Mae held her tongue, though it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so.
“’Tis common knowledge, he says, that the Continental Army is near collapse and the conflict will soon be at an end.” She scanned the letter, her triumph apparent. “Which brings us to the matter of our nuptials.”
Mae felt a sinking in her spirit. “Is he getting leave to come here?”
Coralie looked up, holding Mae’s gaze. “Promise me you won’t breathe a word of our plans till the deed is done.”
Plans? Eben didn’t seem to have any. Patience wearing thin, Mae sent a silent prayer heavenward. “Will you elope and leave for your honeymoon in New York City without a word to anyone?”
“Why wouldn’t I? I don’t think anyone here would take kindly to Eben’s return or our marriage.”
“No matter what happens, we’re still family. You still have friends here.”
“Then why do I want to flee?” Coralie folded up the letter and stood. “Our village is nothing like it once was prior to the conflict. I fear Chatham will never be the same.”
Nor will I, Mae thought. General Harlow had seen to that.
The new parsonage, home to the Heaths, sat beside the Presbyterian church. Samantha and Phineas welcomed Mae and Coralie the next Sabbath with cups of mulled cider that spiced the air and raised Mae’s spirits. Soon the four of them were gathered round the table for a filling if simple meal.
“I’ve not seen you Bohannons in an age,” Phineas told them as he carved roasted mutton at the head of the table. He was nearly as gaunt as General Harlow. “What with the church becoming a hospital, I’ve not stopped ministering all day and sometimes all night.”
“How many men are in your care there?” Coralie asked.
“Two and forty at present, though the number varies daily. We’ve just buried two soldiers from the First Connecticut Brigade.
” His mournful look said much. “We need a larger building, given the number who’ve fallen ill and require surgery and a lengthy recovery.
” He looked toward Mae. “I don’t suppose you want to join the village’s nurses like Samantha instead of sewing? ”
Coralie laughed outright. “My sister is much better at smiling coyly and handing out sweetmeats and kind words.”
Mae winced. “Samantha is made of heartier stuff, I confess.”
“We each have our talents and our shortfalls,” he said amiably. “So tell me, how fares your brother James? I hear he’s billeting at your house with two fellow officers.”
Mae nodded and passed a bread basket. “They travel between Lowantica Valley and Morristown most of the time, though they do manage to join us for supper on occasion and stay the night.”
Samantha managed a rueful smile. “I regret I’ve not seen James as much as I’d like, though he’s oft in my thoughts and always in my prayers.”
She looked so troubled that Mae wished she could offer some encouragement. Before James declared as a Patriot, he’d been a frequent visitor at the Heath residence. But time and distance seemed to have come between them and snuffed Mae’s hope to have another sister-in-law.
“Your father’s last wish was to see him again,” Phineas said. “I regret James’s service kept him from it.”
Did James regret it too? Or did serving his country trump being by his dying parents’ side?
Mae met his intent gaze somewhat uncomfortably.
She read more into his words than what was said.
Had her father voiced a hope that they’d marry?
Phineas had attended him at the last. Though she and Phineas had no understanding betwixt them, Samantha had hinted of his interest. Mae shied from the role of pastor’s wife but hadn’t naysayed the notion—until Rhys Harlow wiped him from her mind at first meeting.
“So many Chatham men have enlisted,” Samantha said. “The village seemed to empty at the start of the war and now leaves me wondering who will make it back.” She turned to Coralie. “What do you hear from your British officer?”
“Lieutenant Gibbs? We exchange letters on occasion.” Coralie darted a glance at Mae as if to shush her from saying otherwise. “He may return here, though given his loyalties I fear he won’t get a warm welcome.”
“His parents moved to New York City at the outset of the rebellion to be with their Loyalist kin, if I remember right.” Phineas frowned. “It might be wise if he steered clear of Chatham, given that last tarring and feathering incident.”
“Please, say no more,” Coralie murmured. “’Tis terribly upsetting.”
Samantha eyed her sympathetically. “I remember your eldest brother is with the New York militia now.”
“Colonel Jon Bohannon.” Mae felt a particular pride in all he’d accomplished away from Jersey. “He’s missed.”
“He’s been back to Chatham but twice,” Coralie told them. “We’ve met his wife and oldest children but not the youngest.”
“He’s along the Great Warpath, if I recall.” Phineas grimaced. “As it stands, I’d rather encounter smallpox than a Huron warrior. We’re not just fighting the British but their Indian allies.”
“The Americans have the Oneida on their side,” Mae said quietly. “The Tuscarora too.”
Had they read the newspaper accounts of the worst of the violence in New York? Settlements and towns set on fire, families burned out, many displaced or killed. Both sides were guilty of untold brutality and bloodshed.
“Heaven help us all.” Samantha looked more distressed than Mae had ever seen her.
“I pray for peace.” Phineas poured them all more cider. “I’ve heard firsthand that most of the Continental Army’s enlistments have ended and many men have returned home, thus General Washington has no substantial fighting force despite his latest victories.”
“What a waste war is.” Coralie shook her head. “Imagine the men taken away from their families and their women and children left to fend for themselves. And now many of those fallen soldiers won’t return home or see their loved ones again. I feel helpless in the face of it.”
Mae had prayed for peace when the fighting raged in Princeton and Trenton, almost on their doorstep. And then came a January lull. “I admire General Washington calling for prayer and fasting so frequently.”
Prayer, fasting, and spring would bring a great many changes. The army, if not disbanded, would move on and Lowantica Valley would return to fertile fields, Chatham and Morristown to soldier-less hamlets. James would leave, as would Captain Sperry—and General Harlow.
That she wasn’t ready to wrestle with. Not yet.