Chapter 13
thirteen
The men are literally naked, some of them of every color and make. . . . Saw officers mounting guard in sort of a dressing gown made of an old blanket or bed cover.
Baron Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben
The next week, Rhys’s place at table yawned empty.
Mae sat in her usual place across from his empty chair, recalling all the little things she missed about him.
His thoughtful presence. The half smiles he sent her when no one else was watching.
How his queued hair refused to be confined to a ribbon, coffee-colored strands falling free to his wide shoulders.
His mesmerizing gray eyes, intent in his gaze.
“More peppermint tea?” Mrs. Hurst offered, coming from the kitchen with the pot.
Thankfully their housekeeper was back on her feet, bemoaning the ongoing lack of salt and disappointed General Harlow had returned to the winter encampment and wouldn’t lodge with them again.
Coralie looked rather smug, as if she’d overheard their kitchen conversation and knew he’d distanced himself.
Might she have been spying on her and Rhys too?
Now, as they finished two o’clock dinner with just Coralie, James, and Captain Sperry, Mae felt increasingly uneasy. Having had several glasses of wine, James and the captain were even more talkative than usual. And, as usual, Coralie excused herself under the pretense of writing another letter.
Mae’s relief was tinged with alarm. Coralie’s company was a continual thorn. Wondering if her sister would sneak down the stair to the secret room, Mae listened absently as the men discussed winter encampment woes, even the coming ball.
“You’ve been invited.” James pulled a paper from his pocket.
Setting her coffee cup down, Mae took the invitation and read aloud.
Pleasure Ball
The Misses Bohannon are expected to attend the ball at Arnold Tavern on the Green on Friday, 28th of March current, at 7 o’clock PM.
She felt a bit awed at the fine script. The general and Mrs. Washington’s names were penned beneath though likely signed by a secretary or aide-de-camp.
“Will you attend?” James asked as she pocketed the invitation.
“Should I? There seems to be so much . . . need. I’m afraid I would feel a bit hypocritical to make merry in the midst of it.”
Captain Sperry winked. “The ball is part ruse, remember. Meant to outfox the British into thinking we’re a more well-supplied enemy than we actually are. What better way to assert a show of strength than an expensive fete at winter’s end?”
“Granted,” James added, “more than a few officers might attend looking threadbare, but we shall have a grand time of it if only to flummox the British.”
“We need ladies like you to raise the men’s spirits,” Captain Sperry said. “Make them forget the woes of war for a few hours.”
There was only one man for whom she was interested in doing that. Would Rhys be there? As an officer, could he refuse? If he danced as well as he handled a rifle and played the violin, she’d be smitten all over again.
For now, Coralie was uppermost in her thoughts, likely hiding behind the wall and listening, casting a dark cloud over everything. Mae felt up for a little ruse of her own.
“Have you heard the news?” she asked conspiratorially, toying with her empty cup.
James and the captain looked at her.
“Of course, ’tis somewhat secretive thus far”—she raised her voice rather than lowering it—“but I have it on good authority that the French are to provide a great quantity of weapons, equipment, and uniforms to you Patriots. French arms and French gunpowder should put the British at a decided disadvantage. Spain and the Dutch aren’t far behind to join the alliance. ”
A lengthy pause.
“Where are you getting your information?” James asked, his expression difficult to read.
“I have my sources.” She smiled in a show of confidence. “Corresponding regularly with a former Chatham friend who lives near the Franklins in Philadelphia helps.”
“The same Franklin who sailed to Europe recently for unknown reasons?” Captain Sperry said.
“The same.” She all but glared at the wall and the secret room behind it.
Subterfuge did not come easily to her, but let that bit of news be passed on to the British. She had heard the French were anxious to deal a blow to their longtime enemies after suffering such a stinging defeat in the Seven Years’ War.
She said with relish, “Britain shall soon find themselves the loser in a very costly international war.”
James knelt by the fire to light his pipe. “We’ve been hearing of a great many Frenchmen enlisting of late.”
She nodded. “The French rather fancy our republican notions of independence.”
Captain Sperry blew out a breath. “All I’ve been hearing about are Britian’s formidable Hessians and hired mercenaries.”
“Who are deserting in spades?” Mae couldn’t hide her triumph.
James nodded as he returned to his seat. “What a bundle of confliction a war is when men are hired to fight battles they didn’t start. Not even their esteemed general, Friedrich Adolph, Baron Riedesel, can stop the tide of German desertions.”
Captain Sperry looked to Mae. “Did you also hear that his baroness will soon join him?”
“Tell me more.”
“Baroness Riedesel has decided to brave the Atlantic voyage and even bring their small children.”
“As camp followers?” Suddenly Martha Washington’s journey from Virginia seemed a small matter indeed.
“That remains to be seen, but if she does follow the British army it will be in a chariot with a retinue of servants in tow.”
“Perhaps she’s a spy.” James looked disgruntled. “Why else would a noblewoman cross an ocean and risk her own life and that of her children?”
“To think a great many men and women are spying on both sides.” Mae spoke slowly, recalling something she’d read in The New York Journal. “Is it true those Americans who unmask enemy spies are to be awarded large pensions, land, and medals?”
James stared at her through his haze of pipe smoke. “Sister, you’ve always had an active mind and appetite for news, but you seem to be particularly zealous regarding wartime matters.”
“On a lighter note”—she smiled at him—“I want you to take Father’s violin to General Harlow. None of us play it, and he can put it to good use in camp amongst his men. Nothing like music to lighten hearts.”
“Generous of you. Is this a loan or a gift?”
“A gift, to remember us by once he leaves Jersey.”
“Shouldn’t you ask Coralie first?”
She lifted her shoulders slightly. “I’m invoking my right as the senior musician and sister.”
Chuckling, Captain Sperry took out his pipe. “I sense a family feud.”
“Nonsense,” Mae said. “Betimes it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.”
“Violin aside, I doubt she’ll be joining us at the ball,” James mused.
A footfall drew their eyes to Coralie, who carried a tray with cups and a chocolate pot. “Aaron brought more cocoa by earlier, and I decided not to be a sleepyhead.”
“We were just discussing”—Captain Sperry shot a look at Mae—“the coming ball.”
“At Arnold Tavern?” Coralie sat down and began pouring the fragrant chocolate into cups. “I’ve decided to go.”
What? Mae barely masked her dismay. “I thought it would be of no interest to you whatsoever, given your tie to Lieutenant Gibbs.”
Coralie sent her a venomous look.
“Eben Gibbs?” James’s attention swung to Coralie. “What means you?”
With a frown, Coralie passed Mae a brimming cup. “Oh, you know . . . he and I are longtime friends. We exchange letters on occasion.”
James sat back, pipe in hand. “Where is he?”
“Somewhere in New York.” She yawned as if the mention bored her. “I’d rather talk about the coming ball.”
“I didn’t think you were interested.” James set down his smoking pipe to drink the chocolate. “I was going to ask Samantha Heath in your stead.”
“I hope you do,” Mae told him earnestly.
“Well, Mae and Samantha can’t be having all the fun.” With a little laugh, Coralie poured herself a cup. “Besides, Aunt Verity will feel snubbed by my absence if I don’t accompany you to Morristown.”
“Will you be wearing your new”—Mae almost said wedding—“gown?”
Coralie took a sip. “Tomorrow I’ll visit Madame Jaquett to see if she’s finished with the final alterations.”
“I’ll go with you,” Mae told her with an enthusiasm she was far from feeling.
“Bienvenue, mademoiselles!” Madame Jaquett welcomed them effusively into her shop as the ball approached. “I have finished both gowns. All that remains is for you both to try them on a final time.”
Mae donned hers, which was deemed a perfect fit. Next came Coralie. Standing before them in what was to be her wedding finery, she looked every inch a bride. Her trim waist and height accented the crimson silk damask with blond lace sleeve ruffles and fichu.
“Alors, the hem still needs to be altered a half inch.” Madame Jaquett knelt, examining where it touched the floor. “If you can tarry I shall do it this very afternoon.”
Sensing a long alteration, Mae excused herself. “I’ve a letter to post at the tavern.”
“Wait,” Coralie said, gesturing to the discarded dress she’d worn to the shop. “Please post my letter as well.”
To the lieutenant? Taking the sealed paper from Coralie’s dress pocket, Mae schooled her dismay and went on her way to Day’s Bridge Tavern.
Despite the deep gray of the day, signs of spring snuck past lingering patches of snow.
Snowdrops bloomed in green and white profusion along the riverbank and at the base of bare trees.
But her mind wasn’t on them nor the tethered horses indicating the presence of soldiers.
Chatham’s largest tavern was truly a second Continental headquarters, as some said.
By the time she’d walked into the tavern’s entryway and past the noisy taproom, she’d made up her mind.
She retreated to the small, empty room to the right of the stairs, stood by the hearth’s fire, and silenced her guilt as she broke Coralie’s seal.
Why were her hands shaking? Because she felt this a reverse betrayal?
The letter began with all the usual flowery lovers’ talk, making her feel the worst sort of intruder. Coralie described what she had been doing, the lack of goods in Chatham, deaths and illnesses of those he knew, news from church. Nothing that would frame her sister as a spy.
Perhaps Coralie had had second thoughts and never mailed the one incriminating letter telling Eben she’d report everything she could to help the British cause. Had Mae been wrong to suspect her sister? Yet why was Coralie returning to the hidden room to overhear conversations?
The fire’s logs settled, shifting the interior’s light and shadows. Stepping nearer a lit candle on a table, Mae gasped as Coralie’s writing between the lines of the letter became visible from the candle’s heat. Not a cipher or secret code . . . a sympathetic stain?
Forgive me for being so foolish as to not write discreetly previously. I will now do as you advise with ink as I continue to glean information from J and CS at home. To our loss, RH has returned to Lowantica Valley. Though essential, he was never glib.
I plan on attending a ball in Morristown hosted by none other than George Washington himself to see what can be had there.
You said your superiors are most interested in knowing troop movements, supply routes, etc. Now with so many rebels in the village, I will make it my ambition to learn more.
I trust that what I provide is of use and can help, in even a small way, to bring a halt to these turncoats ruining our very lives.
Further shaken, Mae lay the letter on the table, wrestling with the contents while wanting to throw it into the fire.
What would Coralie’s punishment be if she was caught?
Nathan Hale flashed to mind. She wouldn’t hang like Hale, surely.
The schoolteacher-turned-spy’s death haunted.
Was it just last September the young Patriot had met his demise?
“Miss Bohannon.”
The low voice turned her around. Rhys?
He stood in the doorway, concern on his face as she shoved down her hurt he’d not used her forename. His gaze lowered to the letter. Surely he sensed her disquiet. He was as shrewd as his rifle was unerring. The room grew unbearably still, the ticking of a corner clock overloud.
For once she wished he was garrulous.
She pocketed the letter, then held out her cold hands to the fire’s warmth, missing her wool mittens. “I came here on an errand but didn’t expect to see you.”
“I’m here regularly for meetings and mail.”
“How are you faring at Lowantica Valley?” She took him in from his wool coat to his boots. When he’d resided with them all the lean corners of him had begun to soften, but now he appeared whittled down again. The time they’d been apart seemed an eternity, not days. “Are you warm enough? Well-fed?”
“Nay to both.” He looked to his boots with a wry half smile. “And the company is decidedly lacking.”
She made no reply, riven with frustration.
He could remedy the situation between them in an instant.
But he wouldn’t. Though she didn’t know him as well as she wanted, she was certain he wasn’t one to change course.
He was honest. A man of integrity. One who would keep his word.
And it only magnified her feelings for him.
They were staring at each other in a most unseemly manner. Openly. Lingeringly. Longingly. He was the first to look away.
“I should go.” She raised her cape hood and he started to say something more, but then, as if he thought better of it, let it pass. “Good day, General Harlow. Till we meet again.”