Chapter 20
twenty
The hour is fast approaching, on which the Honour and Success of this army, and the safety of our bleeding Country depend.
Remember officers and Soldiers, that you are Freemen, fighting for the blessings of Liberty .
. . that slavery will be your portion . .
. if you do not acquit yourselves like men.
George Washington
Coralie’s decision to remain in Morristown with Aunt Verity gave rise to Mae’s suspicions that something was afoot other than sewing.
Coralie was gifted at Broderie perse, an appliqué using patterned India chintz that Aunt Verity was so fond of.
But might her remaining have more to do with being near Continental headquarters instead?
Tight-lipped about his own orders, James returned Mae the few miles home, not even staying for supper. Clearly his mind was elsewhere, and Mae suspected it had to do with the army’s imminent plans.
When Mae’s solitary meal was over, Mrs. Hurst saved the remainder for Hanna and Aaron, who were working long hours at the apothecary.
Wartime hours, Aaron sometimes said, concerning Mae as he’d begun to look more and more beleaguered of late.
Until the church ceased to be a hospital they’d continue overworking, though Aaron was increasingly concerned about Hanna’s condition.
Nearly out the door with the leftover supper, Mrs. Hurst looked aghast when Mae tried to go in her stead. “Not with so many men milling about and the threat of British invasion so high. Bolt the door behind me. I’ll stay here with you tonight if your brother doesn’t return.”
Unsure about both James and Captain Sperry, Mae went upstairs to take advantage of Coralie’s absence. She went through her sister’s writing desk to see what, if anything, could be found to confirm she was spying even in the most insignificant way.
Only a few old letters from Eben and a few scraps of rag paper indicative of the British blockades were on hand.
Nothing new, nothing incriminating. Torn between relief and dismay that Coralie remained in Morristown, Mae went below to play the spinet and try to quiet her nerves and every roiling remembrance of Rhys.
The next afternoon, when the ever-watchful Mrs. Hurst visited another widow, Mae stepped out to fetch the tavern’s post. She took the river walk, a foot trail worn by countless soldiers and citizenry that followed the sweep of the Passaic.
Many were outside on this mild spring day, including triple the sentries on the bridge.
Rather than be fearful, shouldn’t she be reassured with so many Continental soldiers about?
Were the British waiting till the Americans left Jersey to strike?
Suspicions that they would indeed arrive on the heels of the Continental Army’s leaving had begun spreading like wildfire.
Would Chatham and Morristown be punished, even burned, like other Patriot-supporting villages and towns?
She’d seen so little of James and Captain Sperry lately that she’d begun to think they’d decamped already, though Rhys wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye, surely.
Raising a hand to steady her straw hat, Mae waved to a couple she knew, intent on her destination. If Lieutenant Gibbs had written Coralie, she’d attempt to read the letter without breaking the seal. If she did break it, she’d burn the letter.
Lord, forgive me.
She stepped onto the tavern’s long porch, smoke and spirits assailing her as she tried to rein in her hopes that Rhys might be here. She passed into the hall opening to the taproom and found herself seeking the corner table he preferred, only to find it occupied by someone else.
Just as well. Her business was the post. She sought the tavern keeper, who kept all the mail delivered by couriers in a cupboard behind his desk.
The letter he handed her was worn and mud-flecked, though her brother Jon’s strong copperplate hand wasn’t diminished.
A letter from Lieutenant Gibbs had fared less well—torn, the seal already broken.
Mae sought the small chamber off the entrance hall to read both. An elderly man smoked near the fireless hearth, a few empty tankards and handbills on a table. Sitting in a window seat, she read her brother’s letter first.
Dear sisters,
I write to you hoping the distance between us will soon be shorter and you will be on your way north with a colonial detachment.
I have it on good authority that Chatham will no longer be safe once General Washington removes to other parts.
I cannot hazard you remaining there, though the journey before you is no small endeavor.
I feel you need to be nearer us here in New York.
It was our parents’ wish for us to be reunited, so we will see it done as safely as we can. Furthermore, Aaron is in agreement and may well join us in time.
Don’t concern yourself with the details. I am arranging matters, and all that needs doing on your end is packing. And praying. Till we meet again.
Your loving brother,
Jon
“Miss Bohannon.” The beloved voice brought her head up.
Rhys stood in the doorway, his return to formality a douse of cold water on her fiery feelings. Propriety, however, must be maintained, at least outside a linen closet.
He removed his cocked hat and gestured toward the open tavern door. “Walk out with me.”
She went ahead of him as if responding to an order. “I didn’t expect to see you in town, General Harlow.”
“I had a letter to post to Virginia.”
To his family there? She swallowed down her questions as they stepped off the porch together.
“I also have something to discuss with you based on a conversation I had with General Washington yesterday.”
He sounded so grave she stopped walking. “Then by all means tell me here and now.”
He met her eyes yet still managed to keep watch on all surrounding them. “At the behest of your brother in New York, you and your sister are to travel with the army.”
She nodded and took out Jon’s letter. “My brother has posted the same right here.”
“You’ve been assigned a guard to the Hudson Highlands.” His half smile was wry. “A four-hundred-man rifle corps at your beck and call.”
“Fancy that, when all I need is one.” Her amusement matched her pleasure. They weren’t facing a looming separation after all. But he clearly wasn’t as pleased as she.
“I wish it were that simple—and safe.”
“Meaning you believe this entirely too dangerous.”
“It’s no secret what I think.”
“There are rumors flying around Chatham that the British mean to make an example of Chatham’s treasonous loyalties and reduce the village to ashes once you Continentals decamp. I’d rather accompany you and your riflemen.”
He looked away from her to the alert sentries on the bridge, his expression grim.
“Be that as it may, I’ve been through New York’s neutral ground a time or two.
It’s lawless. Filled with Loyalist and Patriot raiders who terrorize local residents.
The worst of it being something could happen to you and I would never forgive myself. ”
She fastened her eyes on the linen fringe of his shirt and tried not to think of the scars beneath. She’d not considered herself dying. Only him. Would she and Coralie become targets, moving with the army? Her chest was so tight she forgot she’d pocketed Lieutenant Gibbs’s letter.
Still, she said firmly, “I’d rather be with you than away from you, hard as it is, dangerous though it may be.”
The look in his eyes was anything but encouraging. “Start packing, then, as we’re to leave with only twenty-four hours’ notice.”
Rhys walked her home, the turn of events silencing them, perhaps even building another wall between them.
Their linen closet kiss seemed like it never was.
She stopped at the front door without asking him to stay on for supper or even a drink.
There was simply no time. Their leaving was imminent.
With a terse goodbye he turned away, and she retreated to the parlor to read the remaining letter.
The contents were quite bland, with Lieutenant Gibbs complaining of the boredom of army life and the many Hessian soldiers at Fort Knyphausen, which she knew was located along the Hudson River in Manhattan, New York.
At least she knew his whereabouts, an uncomfortably close twenty-five miles.
She still lamented the capture of the former Fort Washington last fall.
A great many Continentals had been taken prisoner and held on prison ships and in warehouses and other makeshift prisons in the area, all of them dire.
But the floating hulk HMS Jersey was surely the worst, further depleting Washington’s troops.
She lit a candle, holding the letter over the flame to see if Lieutenant Gibbs had used any sympathetic stain like Coralie had.
But it simply seemed a benign, terribly unromantic post and nothing more.
Coralie wouldn’t miss it if she threw it away, but, conscience guiding her, Mae lay it on the hall table where her sister would see it once she was home from Morristown.
Restless, she wished James were here, wanting to share the news they were leaving soon. Or did he already know?
She went upstairs to her bedchamber to consider what needed packing and what would be left behind. What possessions from her six and twenty years would she choose?
Leaving Chatham suddenly seemed the most significant hurdle of her life.