There’d been talk he and his Rifle Corps might be sent south to bolster the simmering if stagnant southern campaign, but Rhys took no comfort from hearsay. Being nearer Virginia seemed a hollow move. Would Mae be waiting? Again, the uncertainty tore at him.
Had he shaken her enough with his outburst that she’d return to Chatham instead?
forty-seven
We fight, get beat, rise and fight again.
General Nathanael Greene
’Twas cold enough to snow. After a second hard frost, Mae and Lucy began to see signs of civilization once they broke free of the woods and found the Old York Road. Their mutual relief was as profound as they were bedraggled and dirty. Since Orion had thrown a shoe, they searched for a farrier, finally finding one who reshod the hardy bay.
As they were low on strength and supplies if not specie, their new challenge was to avoid Loyalist strongholds. Two strangers traveling alone garnered considerable attention, so they tried to be as discreet as possible, finally coming to a Quaker-owned boardinghouse on the outskirts of British-occupied Philadelphia. Quakers were safe, sound. Being pacifists, they welcomed one and all.
The unadorned clapboard house in the midst of an orchard seemed more castle. Once inside, Mae stood by the common room’s hearth while Lucy arranged lodging, securing them separate rooms. A hot bath followed, and then the two of them met again to have supper. Their Quaker hostess brought the latestbroadsides and newspapers at Mae’s request. Despite her neutral stance, Widow Wistar was astonishingly astute when it came to the conflict, but why wouldn’t she be, with the war at their very door?
Mae’s heart picked up in rhythm as their hostess said, “Though the British won at Brandywine and Germantown and now hold Philadelphia, they’ve lost New York. The redcoats are said to be surrendering there as we speak.”
Lucy looked at Mae, understanding dawning. “Our men are near Saratoga—or were.”
So many men. Rhys, Jon, James. And Lucy’s Isham.
“’Tis reported a great many lost their lives on both sides, but there are more Americans than Brits still standing,” the widow told them, pouring them freshly milled cider. “Now both armies will likely withdraw to winter camps and there’ll be no more fighting till better weather.”
Mae wrestled with the heartless uncertainty of it all. “Where is General Washington at present?”
“North of Philadelphia, though some suspect he’s readying to move his men to Valley Forge.”
Supper was served, heaping bowls of chicken stew, warm bread, cheese, and butter that neither Lucy nor Mae could get enough of. Still famished, they partook of dessert—apple dumplings with custard sauce. Murmurs of the other diners swirled around them as the great hearth’s robust fire warmed the entire room.
“I’m tempted to stay another night and rest the horses as well as us,” Lucy told her, clearly exhausted. “But with the weather worsening we need to press south as fast as we can.”
“How far have we come?”
“One hundred fifty miles, the farrier said, and another one hundred fifty to the Shenandoah.”
Halfway. Mae’s spirits plummeted to her worn shoes.
Lucy seemed undaunted. “At least there’s no more wilderness bristling with animals and Indians, just hostile Loyalists.”
“Do you know the way?”
Lucy finished a second cup of cider before she said, “Of a sort.”
“Are we still seeking the King’s Highway south?”
“The widow warned us away from British-patrolled areas like the King’s Highway. We’re to keep to Ridge Road, which is less traveled and intersects with Tulpehocken Path, an old Indian trail that leads to the Susquehanna River. If we continue southwest to the Cumberland Valley we’re nearly there.”
Mae regarded her with admiration. “General Harlow was wise to put his trust in you, Lucy. I’d probably have led us to Canada by now.”
“You’re good company even befuddled.”Lucy smiledat her fondly.“Bear in mind the days are short and the nights long. We mustn’t slacken our pace.”
They went upstairs, their steps dog-tired but their stomachs blessedly full. ’Twas strange to see Lucy without Petey about her petticoats. The little dog remained with the horses in the stables. Did Lucy miss her faithful companion?
Once in her room, Mae readied for bed—a real bed, not stony ground. If only she could simply revel in being clean, well-fed, and safe again. She donned a nightgown from her saddlebags before snuffing the solitary candle in its stand. Sinking down atop the feather mattress only allowed a fleeting peace before her biting worries beset her.
All she could think about was Rhys. Where he was. How he was.Ifhe lived...
She forced herself to reckon with the thought. Was he still in New York? Where would he be sent next? Into another winter encampment rife with disease and death? As days and events unspooled, would they ever be reconciled? He was, he’d said once, a soldier first, a husband second. War had a way of lasting years.
