“We daren’t kindle a fire,” Lucy murmured, thereby shooting down their hope they’d go to sleep warm if not dry.
Wrapping her arms around her stomach, Mae simply nodded,empty of all strength yet filled to the brim with fear. How could she take another step? It would be one thing to push toward something certain, but she was heading toward a home she didn’t know would be welcoming and a possible reunion with a man she was unsure of.
If either of them lived to see it.
“Here,” Lucy said, looking as bedraggled as Mae felt. “I’ll see to the horses. Let’s get you in dry garments and tucked in a dry blanket with Petey.”
As quietly as she could, Lucy settled Mae before unsaddling both horses and hauling their saddlebags beneath the sheltering branches. Next came their rations, the jerked meat and corn dwindling but their canteens full of water.
“I pray the Indians are gone for good.” Mae’s whisper held profound relief. “I don’t know if they’re friend or foe.”
Lucy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I heard tell the Seneca wear one feather, the Onondaga two, and the Mohawk and Oneida three.” She looked perplexed, still scanning the woods. “How we hid in plain sight with two horses and a growling dog befuddles me still.”
“I’ve never prayed so hard.”
“Well, the Almighty answered. ‘In the time of trouble He shall hide me.’”
“How far do you think we’ve come?” Mae swallowed a bite of jerky. “Perhaps the better question is, how far do we have to go?”
“I’ve lost track.” Lucy pushed back a limp strand of fiery hair. “We’ll just continue south till we finally come to a farm or village, then we’ll rest a bit before moving on.”
“I don’t know south from north nor east from west.” Mae ate with filthy hands, the prospect of a bath ever before her. The thought of vermin crawling atop her scalp made her squirm. “A tavern of any sort would be welcome.”
“Hmm.” Lucy was looking at her as intently as an owl in the near dark. “Where’s your wedding ring?”
“Strung on a ribbon around my neck.” Feeling chastised, Maelooked down at her bare finger. How in the midst of the jumble had Lucy noticed so small a detail? “I don’t feel worthy to wear it.”
“Worthy? Well, as hard as we’ve been traveling, I’d feel a sight better with it around your finger than around your neck.”
“All right.” Mae unknotted the ribbon and slipped the ring back on her finger. She didn’t want Lucy worried. Her concern suggested she feared Rhys would hold her responsible for its loss. “Do we have funds enough to get to Virginia?”
Nodding, Lucy patted the money belt at her waist. “General Harlow is more than generous. But he said to stay out of Jersey. They’re still fighting there.”
Mae reluctantly abandoned the thought they might pass through Chatham. At the moment she wanted to lie down right here and die, not weather another mile. If it was only her, she might. But for her baby—and Lucy—she’d fight her way forward to a better, safer place.
Praise be she wasn’t in the back of beyond with Coralie.
As the last of daylight gave way to full dark, a distant wolf howled. Petey settled against Mae’s side, warming her in one spot, at least. She fell asleep praying for Rhys. She’d still not brought herself to pray for her sister. Coralie seemed nothing more than a distant stranger.
forty-six
If Ole England is not by this lesson taught humility, then she is an obstinate old slut, bent upon her ruin.
General Horatio Gates
Beneath overcast October skies atop Bemis Heights, Rhys faced General Gates’s adjutant, Colonel Wilkinson. Down the road, the Freeman Farm was oddly quiet, the September battle there momentarily forgotten. Now it served as the marker dividing the British from the Americans. Behind it was Burgoyne’s reconnaissance force of some two thousand troops, ready to test the Americans’ positions and strength.
“General Gates is keen to act, sir. He said—” Wilkinson hesitated, clearly aware of the immensity of the moment. “Order on Harlow to begin the game.”
Game.
Rhys gave a nod, his demeanor calm though his heart sprinted so hard he felt its tick in his neck. His Rifle Corps stood around him, hundreds strong, their weapons ready. They were well-versed on what to do. Target officers. Disrupt the chain of command. Drive the infantry back with all their firepower and force a retreat.
From a distance, the British drummers began to beat “To Arms.”With a wave of his hand, Rhys signaled his men to disperse. They started down the hill and skirted a wheat field just as the British began their advance from the north. Rhys entered the adjacent woods and took position, his heart now at a gallop.
The first to appear, General Simon Fraser anchored the enemy’s right flank atop his gray horse. The Scot seemed especially bold, riding before his troops to rally them like General Arnold was doing with the Continental line on the opposite side of the field.
Tense moments ticked by. Timing was critical. Rhys’s order to fire was followed by thunderous volleys into the British lines. Through the smoke he watched as Fraser stiffened then fell from his horse to the ground. The Scot’s line broke and scattered while others made a harried run to carry him from the smoking field. Redcoats began to retreat, running pell-mell across the dry grass, desperate to flee the Americans’ fire.
