Chapter 34
thirty-four
[That person] will be the best Soldier, and the best Patriot, who contributes most to this glorious work, whatever his station, or from whatever part of the Continent he may come.
George Washington
Mae inked her quill and wondered if she should share Coralie’s heartache with Aunt Verity.
Since you asked about Coralie and Lieutenant Gibbs, I will tell you that Coralie has just received word from him ending their engagement.
She is understandably distraught and even threw his letter into the fire.
I tried to comfort her to no avail. Please pray that her heart will mend and she will recover from being spurned in time.
For now, she remains on the farm with Jon’s family, though she may want to return to Chatham—
A knock sounded on the door. Lucy?
“Come in,” Mae called, setting aside her letter once again.
Lucy appeared, Petey on her heels. She made the adoring dog stay at the door, then shut it, sewing kit in hand. “I saw you come in with General Harlow and your brothers and thought you might want to begin those coats.”
“I’d rather sew than write,” Mae told her, leaving the desk to fetch some of the waiting wool. “How’s Private Hawkes?”
Lucy smiled her tea-stained smile. “Tip-top and drumming again.”
“So I hear.” Mae turned toward the window, where it seemed the drummers were intent on storming the gates of Hades. Though she wouldn’t tell Lucy so, Mae preferred the more lilting fifes of the fife and drum corps. Drums sounded ominous, but fifes reminded her of bright, piercing birdsong.
“He’s learning a new call—a drum signal—for battle. Though he’s been missing, he’s top drummer now, his major said.”
“Is it true the fifes are heard over the chaos of battle, like drums?”
“Aye.” Lucy took out newly sharpened scissors. “There’s a new lad who’s joined the corps by the name of Nathan Futrell. Only seven years old.”
Mae’s heart twisted. “So young.”
“Been playing since he was wee, like my Isham.”
“Where are his parents?”
“He’s orphaned.”
“How sad. Think of the danger.”
“Plenty of that.” Lucy sighed. “Especially when they happen to be standing in the middle of the battle with no protection, not even a musket.”
Soon the snip of scissors took hold as they cut the woolen cloth into pieces, their goal one fine coat. Next came the linen lining.
“I’m a sorry tailor,” Lucy said as she coated linen thread with beeswax. “Feminine garments are more to my liking.”
“Hopefully I’ll improve over time.” Mae studied their efforts, having used Rhys’s wedding coat as a pattern. “’Twill be a fine way to winter.”
“If we’re still here.” Lucy eyed her warily. “Burgoyne is fighting his way toward us, though he’s been slowed some at Fort Edward. I fancy he prefers a fort to plowing his way through the wilderness.”
Fort Edward again. Had Jane McCrea been buried there? “With General Washington and several thousand Continentals near at hand, I’m feeling rather comfortable.”
“Don’t get too snug. Washington may be heading another direction.”
Mae stopped snipping. “Truly?”
“He’s torn between staying here in New York to rout Burgoyne or stomping on Howe in Pennsylvania.”
“How like a game you make it sound.” Mae resumed snipping. “You hear a great many things, far more than I do.”
“Sutler’s Row is always abuzz. And I mostly keep my mouth shut and my ears wide open.”
“Perhaps I should do the same,” Mae said, examining the linen. “Shall I use a backstitch or running stitch to sew the lining together?”
“Take your pick, just make your stitches clean and tight.”
“Aye, General Hawkes,” Mae teased.
At week’s end Jon came to the fort from the farm. At their quarters where she and Rhys were having a simple supper alone, he appeared with James in tow. Though Mae welcomed them warmly, she sensed something amiss, as did Rhys.
He looked up from his plate and the tough cut of meat beneath his knife. “I sense a council of war.”
With a hoarse chortle, Jon sat down at the table while Mae got up to serve her brothers small beer. James looked more serious as he downed his drink in a few gulps and asked Mae for more. She grew more uneasy as her brothers exchanged a fretful glance.
“I bring news from home,” Jon began. “All continues calm in the valley, thankfully, as far as raids and such. But Coralie is wanting to move here to the fort.”
“Here,” Rhys repeated tersely, continuing his meal with a look at Mae.
James stirred as if uncomfortable in his chair. “Joanna said she’s cried since you left and claims she needs her sister.”
“Her sister is now my wife and has no time for theatrics,” Rhys told them, to Mae’s astonishment. “She’s busy being of benefit here and can’t play nursemaid.”
“Agreed, sir,” James said, clearing his throat.
Mae looked from her brothers to Rhys. A headache had turned him cross. He’d become especially protective of her since she’d been unwell lately. Yesterday she’d even been abed, unable to sew with Lucy. Rancid meat or vegetables, likely, given the stifling weather.
“If Coralie can return safely to Chatham, that might be best,” Mae told them quietly. “Hanna and Aaron and Mrs. Hurst will welcome her, and she can help with the baby once it comes.”
“I said the same.” James sat back, arms crossed. “But there’s little to no travel to Jersey at present.”
“Would that there was.” Jon took another drink. “I’m sorry to say that Coralie and Joanna don’t see eye to eye. Having her on the farm is proving more hindrance than help.”
“Joanna has been most patient and obliging,” James said. “The fault is not hers.”
Mae wanted to moan in dismay. She’d sensed the tension between Joanna and Coralie and pinned the blame on Coralie, who hadn’t fared well with the officers’ wives either.
A heartbroken, homesick sister was unendurable.
In truth, her own anger toward Eben Gibbs still simmered since he’d left them to deal with the difficulty he’d caused.
Finished with supper, Rhys pushed back his plate. “If she comes here, she’ll do so by working as a laundress or nurse where help is needed. If she refuses, she’s welcome to find a way back to Jersey on her own.”
“I’ll relay that to her,” Jon said. “And bring back her answer.”