Chapter 25
twenty-five
We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.
Benjamin Franklin
Fort Mongomery was perched high on a cliff overlooking the Hudson River, a plunge that made Mae’s stomach drop even from a distance.
The Rifle Corps and company approached from the west along a newly built road wide enough for artillery and wagons.
All seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief when the fort’s main gates swung wide, rescuing them from woods that seemed increasingly hostile and dark.
Mae dismounted, leaving Orion to a fort farrier since the bay had thrown a shoe at the base of Bear Mountain.
She took a moment to peer over one earth and timber wall to the river far below, relieved they’d arrived unscathed.
For the moment, the garrison seemed more melee as several hundred riflemen swarmed the fourteen-acre fortification.
Mae soon lost sight of Rhys but found Coralie in Jon’s embrace.
Their eldest brother, aside from a few wrinkles she didn’t remember, seemed much the same, both short and stout, his robust voice carrying.
He released Coralie when he saw Mae, scooping her up into a bearish hug that seemed to erase all the years that had come between them.
“You’re here—safe—and I can finally give thanks. ”
“General Harlow and his men kept us from harm,” she said, smiling. “And the Almighty, of course.”
“We’re clean but still hardly fit to be seen.” Coralie smoothed her wrinkled skirts. “I cannot wait to sit down at a real table with real food.”
Jon laughed and motioned them toward a two-storied timber building that resembled barracks. “Our humble quarters aren’t as civilized as Chatham, but I can promise you plenty to eat.”
That night they gathered in the officers’ mess for supper.
Coralie’s dismay was evident as the two officers’ wives and their husbands joined them.
Had she thought they’d dine alone with Jon?
To Mae’s delight, Rhys sat across from her, with Fort Montgomery’s commander, General James Clinton, at the head of the table.
Tall and as physically imposing as Rhys, he wore a uniform of blue cloth with buff facings adorned with epaulets much like General Washington’s.
Mae wondered if his brother at Fort Clinton dressed the same.
Everyone sat and smiled through introductions before the meal was served by orderlies in the airless, candlelit room.
Roast beef, vegetables, and hearty wheat bread as well as thick slices of Cheshire and Dutch cheeses filled pewter plates.
The rigors of military life weren’t discussed, as if there’d been an order forbidding it.
Unsure of their surroundings and fort protocol, Mae kept quiet, listening to the steady hum of voices all around her, the officers’ wives foremost.
Alice Wentz took out a fan and wafted it slowly, leaving Mae wishing she’d brought hers. Forts had few windows and fewer adornments.
“I don’t mean to complain, but is New York always skillet-hot in spring?” Catherine Kersey asked as she dabbed her brow with a handkerchief. “I’m tempted to jump from the cliff top to the river below.”
A rumble of amusement ensued from all but Coralie, who seemed steadfast in her vow to shun the wives’ company and conversation. Eyes down, she continued eating, though her own skin shone from the heat.
“A sheer hundred-fifty-foot drop is not recommended even on the hottest of days.” General Clinton took a long drink of Madeira, his own lip beaded. “There’s a steep, narrow trail that weaves from the garrison’s east sally port if you’d like to brave it and wade in the river.”
“Come now, Catherine, perhaps a boat would be best,” cajoled her husband.
“There are a number of bateaux, Durham boats, and canoes,” Jon said with a glance at Mae. “But be advised, the water is deep with dangerous currents.”
“Not to mention British patrols and their Indian allies,” General Clinton added as dessert was served.
Mae breathed in the bitter aroma of strongly brewed coffee, glad when cream and sugar appeared. The sponge cake with violet jelly was delicious, returning her thoughts to Lucy’s candied violets. She’d not seen her since.
“How soon will your sisters venture to your Highland Falls farm?” General Clinton asked Jon, who sat between Mae and Coralie.
“Tomorrow,” Jon replied, looking to his sisters. “After you’ve had such a rigorous journey here, you’ll be happy to know you’ve not far to go. The trail is downhill and into the valley, thankfully.”
Coralie sent him a relieved smile.
“A fortuitous time to arrive.” General Clinton leaned back in his chair, looking pleased. “All seems relatively calm at present.”
Mae set down her fork. “We appreciate your hospitality, General, and the sacrifices and courage of everyone in this fort.”
“You’re most welcome, Miss Bohannon, but it is I who should thank you. Your presence here raises the spirits of countless men and reminds them of what they’re fighting for—family, their very homes and lands. I hope you feel welcome here at Fort Montgomery however long you tarry.”
Reveille awoke them. The drumming beat through the wooden walls and finally roused Coralie, who sat up atop her cot, rubbing her eyes as light seeped through the sole window.
Mae yawned and began to dress in what she’d worn to dinner the night before, wondering if her leather shoes would make the journey to Highland Falls.
A heel was missing, but she secured the dusty buckles, a dozen thoughts darting through her sleepy head.
Would Rhys accompany them?
After breakfast came her answer. Rhys waited by the fort’s rear gate—but not only her beloved.
Half a dozen Indians ringed their baggage wagon, two of them conversing with Rhys while James looked on.
He’d told her Rhys had learned some of their language during his captivity in Canada.
She tried not to think of his lacerated back.
“What on earth?” Coralie stopped walking. “I was expecting Continental soldiers, not—”
“The Americans’ ablest scouts and guides are Indians.” Mae continued walking despite her sister’s nails digging into her forearm.
Jon came across the fort’s parade ground, his pleasure evident at finding them up and ready to depart. At Coralie’s questioning, he explained, “These are Oneida allies who’ll accompany us to the farm before continuing further up the Hudson on a foray.”
With a few last-minute orders, horses were saddled and brought round as everyone readied to ride out, Orion having been reshod.
Only the Indian escort was on foot. The sun crested over the fort’s eastern wall as the main gates were opened by sentries.
The sole wagon carrying their baggage rolled down the sloped embankment into the forest behind the mounted riders.
No one spoke as birdsong pierced the dawn. Silence seemed the language of the woods, at least in wartime. Perhaps the sights and sounds of the Hudson Highlands were best savored in quiet.
Before they’d gone a quarter of a mile, Mae wished she could dismount and gather the bounty she saw.
Grapevines clung to tree trunks while milkwood and moss grew in pink and green bursts.
Blue and purple irises crowded creek banks while wildflowers she had no name for brightened the narrow, sunlit valley.
Again, so different from Jersey, the only place she’d ever known.
She could see why Jon had chosen to expend his labor and life here.
Was Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley as beautiful?
In a quarter of an hour she spied a stone house, a large fenced garden at its back. Children went about their chores to the barn and chicken house and stable. An apron-clad woman appeared on the porch, shielding her eyes from the sun as she faced the party coming toward her. Joanna?
“The Bohannon homestead,” Jon said with pride.
Mae looked at Rhys, who’d come to a halt, the reins slack in his hands. Was he thinking of the house he’d built far from here? Rather, was he missing it and wanting to resume a normal life beyond the shadow of war?
With a start she realized their Indian escort had melted away into the woods.
Rhys dismounted and helped her down as Joanna and the children hurried toward them—all flaxen-haired and green-eyed.
Alexander, the eldest son, was now equal to Jon in height while Bennett, Cassandra, Dierdre, and Euphemie were smaller versions of their mother and eldest brother.
“Our Jersey kin, can it be?” Joanna hugged Mae and Coralie at the same time, her ample frame making Mae wonder about another Bohannon. “With all that’s happening I despaired of ever seeing you again!”
The children eyed them shyly, unused to the notion of two aunts or an Uncle James. Mae couldn’t recall if Joanna had family near. Rhys tousled the hair of the youngest boy while Mae fastened her eyes on tiny Euphemie. Phemie, they called her.
“And James? Look at you—a Continental officer!” Joanna said. She turned to Rhys once introductions were made. “General Harlow, we’ve just gathered the eggs so we’ll have breakfast. Plenty of bacon, fried potatoes, and toast to go around.”
Mae couldn’t imagine feeding all the children and guests, but Joanna acted as though it was an everyday occurrence. The smallest of her brood skipped toward the house and held the door open wide, inviting them in. Mannerly, all of them. Even Coralie looked charmed.
Nay, this wasn’t Chatham, but the house was spacious and well-kept.
Folded quilts brightened an enormous cupboard, and one of the largest hearths Mae had ever seen anchored the main room, a framed if faded painting of a ship over the mantel.
Jon and Joanna had done well carving a home out of the wilderness.
The table was made of the same boards as the floor, large enough for all of them to gather round. A pitcher of the flowers Mae had seen behind the garden fence graced the center. She met Rhys’s eyes as a flush stole over her and left her wishing this was their table. Their children.
“We’ve a room ready for you two sisters,” Joanna was saying as she began serving. “Top of the stairs. After breakfast we’ll bring your belongings in and get you settled. I’m so thankful you’re here. We keep hearing reports that Jersey is naught but a battleground.”
“But is New York any safer?” Coralie asked as she buttered her bread.
“With so many newly built American garrisons along the Hudson, aye.” Jon winked at her. “Were you loath to leave Fort Chatham?”
“True, we had no such defense there,” Coralie admitted with a smile. “I do wonder how long General Washington will remain.”
“He’s just moved his headquarters to Middlebrook, south of Morristown,” James said.
“Though by now he might be on his way north to join us here along the Hudson. The Jersey militia has forced the British out of the colo—state—as the British have failed in their efforts to win most residents back to the Crown.”
Hopeful, Mae sat as quietly as the children.
Might this be the time for Coralie to share her plans?
Since she’d apologized to James and he her, perhaps the next discussion would be less charged.
But Coralie simply continued to sip her coffee as talk turned to Jon’s fields and the oxen he’d recently driven home from market, and what was happening in the valley.
Once they’d eaten, Mae helped with the dishes while the men went outside. When she emerged from the house, she found Rhys with Copper in the pasture ahead of his return to the fort. He approached her, hat in hands, the black cockade catching her eye with its decorative knot of silk ribbon.
“So, Miss Bohannon, may I see you the next Sabbath?”
“You may, General Harlow.”
He studied her thoughtfully. “You seem . . . preoccupied.”
“I’m just trying to come to terms with being here, so different than Jersey.”
“You’re missing Chatham.”
“Is it so telling?”
“Only by someone who’s made a study of you.”
“I’m missing home, yet it’s ceased to be that for me.” She looked at him entreatingly, near tears. “I’m missing you too, even though you’ve not left yet.”
Her emotional words dwindled as James approached, ready to return to the fort.
Bidding them goodbye, she stood and watched them ride out, the entire valley at their back.
Wooded hills to the west pressed close, teeming with bears and wildcats and snakes—and capable of hiding the enemy.
The river to the east hemmed them in, a formidable crossing.
All the frontier raids she’d heard of or read about in newspapers returned in a bloody rush.
What did tomorrow hold?