Chapter 22
twenty-two
George Washington’s expense claims to Congress
On the next Sabbath in Morristown, Rhys attended church.
First Presbyterian’s white spire, seen for miles, impaled a cloudless spring sky.
General Washington entered first surrounded by his Life Guards, the pews filling fast. Rhys followed with Bohannon, his gaze immediately landing on Mae.
She sat with her sister and an elderly woman. Her aunt?
“Careful lest Aunt Verity invite you to Sunday dinner,” Bohannon murmured as they took the pew behind them.
“Our last civilized meal,” Rhys replied. “I’m tempted.”
But the only temptation for now was Mae, and if he had to weather Aunt Verity he’d be glad to do it. He’d been so entrenched in preparations to decamp he’d not had a moment to spare her. When she turned her head to acknowledge him, she smiled, easing his mind somewhat.
Bohannon had brought both sisters and their baggage and horses to Morristown day before yesterday.
Tomorrow they would march. There was now no doubt they were leaving, nor any use praying they’d stay behind.
Though Mae had no finer guard than the Rifle Corps, he still had grave concerns about her going, and that included her sister.
Coralie was as fractious as Mae was amiable.
He wanted no trouble on the trail. The enemy without was concerning enough, but an enemy within . . .
The service began, and the pastor’s sermon about Abraham going into the wilderness was not far from the mark.
Washington appeared thoughtful, his attention unswerving despite two hours passing.
A special prayer was said for the safety and protection of the Rifle Corps, given their destination.
When the final hymn was sung, all filed outside into the April sun, where Bohannon’s prediction materialized as Aunt Verity descended like a hawk, fixing Rhys with a canny eye.
“General Harlow, I presume? You must join us for Sabbath dinner.”
“Gladly,” Rhys replied, replacing his hat as Mae came to stand beside him.
“My housekeeper has prepared ample dishes—a sort of farewell celebration. ’Tis not every day we have two fine officers joining us.” She smiled up at her nephew, who dutifully leaned over and kissed her wrinkled cheek before offering her his arm, Coralie on his other side.
Mae lay a gloved hand on Rhys’s extended forearm as they made their way down the congested street and slowed her steps so they were well behind her family. “Is all in order to leave on the morrow?”
“We depart at dawn.” One look at her entreating expression and he remembered Bohannon’s words.
Details. Women wanted details. “You’ll ride at the center of the column, such as it is.
My men don’t march in formation as do regulars and militia.
There’ll be the customary baggage train to slow us, but with fair weather, no breakdowns, and no enemy activity, we should arrive in a week or so. ”
The longest week or so of his life. She’d be closely guarded, and he’d not rest till she was safely in Colonel Bohannon’s hands.
“A few days’ march through the wilderness is doable if difficult,” she said serenely. “As I’ve already mentioned, I’d rather be with you than without you, come what may.”
Sabbath dinner proved a formidable feast. Rhys navigated Mae’s aunt’s probing questions with as much tact as he could muster while consuming large amounts of roast beef and all the early vegetables her garden could provide, as well as a great deal of wheaten bread and gravy.
“So, my dear nephew, promise you’ll send word that my nieces have arrived safely? I want to hear all about Jon and his family too.”
“I promise,” Bohannon said, forking another bite of beef. “I’d feel bad about leaving you if Aaron and Hanna weren’t near at hand. They asked me to relay their hope you’ll visit them soon.”
“If the village isn’t rubble and ashes, you mean.” She smirked. “Otherwise a visit to Chatham might suit, though neither village shall be the same once the entire army is gone. I won’t know quite what to do with myself.”
Thankfully the talk turned to crops, a local fair, the Sabbath sermon, and the birth of Morristown’s triplets before circling back around to New York.
“Well, I must say, I’m confident that Maebel is in good hands, General Harlow.” Aunt Verity’s smile faded as she looked to Coralie with noticeable concern. “I wish I could say the same for my youngest niece and Lieutenant Gibbs.”
A hush fell over the room. Rhys sensed Mae’s unease even as Coralie looked abashed. What was afoot? At the opposite end of the table, Bohannon cleared his throat and set down his knife and fork.
“Lieutenant Eben Gibbs?” he asked, attention on Coralie. “I’m not sure what happened to him since he left Chatham, though I sense you do.”
“We exchange letters on occasion,” Coralie said, eyes down as she dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “Though his last letter was rather . . . lacking.”
“Like the man himself,” Bohannon muttered.
“James!” Coralie stared at him in reproach. “I’ll not have you talk that way about an officer—”
“In the British army?”
Rhys sensed he’d stepped into a wasps’ nest. Mae looked as distressed as Coralie.
“What are his intentions?” Bohannon persisted.
When Coralie failed to answer, Aunt Verity said, “Last I heard, he considers the war all but won. She hasn’t shared more than that.”
Another strained pause brought the housekeeper round with a berry pie, though all seemed to have lost their appetite.
Dessert left on the table, the woman hurried out, surely sensing the ill feeling in the room.
Mae took up a knife as if nothing was amiss and began to cut wedges as Bohannon and Coralie continued their wrangling.
“You know how Father felt about Eben Gibbs.” Bohannon’s intensity turned his features taut. “I refuse to call him lieutenant because unlike American officers who earn their rank through service and merit, British officers simply purchase theirs.”
Coralie’s high color reminded Rhys of her scarlet gown at the ball. Standing so abruptly she almost toppled her chair, she threw down her napkin and then fled the room. All eyes returned to Mae, who handed dessert around the table. Such serenity would serve her well in the wilds.
Or so he hoped.
Mae got little rest that night. Dismayed and fearing she’d be half asleep in the saddle the first day of the journey, she lay wide-eyed, wondering what to tell Rhys.
If she should tell him. She’d almost convinced herself that Coralie and Eben Gibbs’s correspondence didn’t matter.
But his last, baffling letter left her wondering once again if he’d been using her sister for information—intelligence—even of the most innocuous kind.
How she wished Coralie would stay behind.
What if she arrived in New York and found that the lieutenant didn’t even want her?
The next morning Aunt Verity managed a tearful goodbye as James hefted their belongings to the wagon Coralie would ride in, her horse tethered behind.
Mae mounted Orion as Morristown became a hive of riflemen and horses and wagons.
Most of the Rifle Corps were on foot save the officers, Rhys leading on his chestnut gelding, Copper.
As Rhys said, she was at the center, two officers’ wives ahead of her and Coralie.
They’d been hastily introduced to Catherine Kersey and Alice Wentz, who were as unalike in physical appearance as they seemed in temperament.
Catherine was as tall and spare as Coralie while Alice, shorter and plump, resembled Mae.
From Boston, they seemed genteel, their husbands among General Washington’s topmost officers leaving Morristown for Fort Montgomery.
Too excited to be tired, Mae ran a gloved hand down Orion’s glossy neck as he tossed his head and shifted his weight from side to side, clearly wanting to move. At Rhys’s command they finally began. All around her ranged riflemen, the bane of the British, their weapons ready.
These Rifle Corps were no strangers to the wilderness.
All the accoutrements of war hung about them, down to the hatchets and knives at their waists, and they moved with the silence and stealth of Indians, though the wagons and followers raised a frightful din.
Most men wore the shirts she and the Liberty Ladies had sewn, which were dyed with walnut hulls and chamomile leaves to a warm brown or a pale green like the woods themselves.
As the miles unfolded, towns and fields and pasture gave way to forests, the road shrinking to a skunk’s stripe with barely enough room for the wagons to pass.
Beneath her hat, Mae squinted as the sun burned down, turning her head and her riding habit itchy and damp.
This was no leisurely jaunt from Chatham to Morristown.
Every mile seemed to present a new challenge, and Coralie, already weary, exchanged her wagon seat for the saddle till Rhys halted for a respite.
Self-conscious among so many men, Mae all but ran for the cover of the woods to relieve herself, Coralie on her heels.
Here there was no chamber pot or prim necessary at the back of the kitchen garden.
Thick-waisted chestnuts and oaks and a screen of mountain laurel with blooms as big as dinner plates allowed them a moment of privacy instead.
They emerged from the brush batting at flies and yanking their petticoats free of briars. For a moment, Mae just stood and tried to get her bearings. A lack of breakfast and the heat sent her senses swimming.
“That wagon seat is hard as iron—much like General Harlow and his riflemen.” Coralie dabbed her shining brow with a handkerchief. “We’ve only just begun, but it seems he means to kill us long before we see Jon—”
Mae silenced her with a glance. “If we’re weak and haven’t been beyond Morris County, that’s hardly the general’s concern. He cautioned me against coming in the first place.”