Standing in the large kitchen she was now mistress of, she felt at sea. But she could learn, could she not?
“I want you to teach me how to cook,” Mae began somewhat hesitantly. “I don’t want Rhys returning and having me make a mess of this beautiful kitchen he’s built.”
Bronwyn smiled, no stranger to Mae’s hearth mishaps down the hill. “If you make messes it’s only because you relied on Mrs. Hurst. Why don’t we start with cornbread?”
“That’s fine. But I don’t just want to make cornbread,” Mae toldher earnestly. “I want to master corn pudding, fried corn, creamed corn, hominy, and anything else I might have overlooked.”
“Corn is king here, truly.” Rhys’s sister was as patient as she was amused. “You northerners rely mostly on wheat, I take it. We do grow wheat but prefer maize.” She began poking around in the cupboards. “Let’s start at your own hearth then. Maybe you’ll feel more at home right here and we can partake at your table on occasion.”
“Of course,” Mae replied with some trepidation.
“If you truly want to impress, you should master my brother’s favorite, lemon cheesecakes.”
And so they began, crossing the untrod pine floor to stir and bake and fry countless meals, as Mae’s bespattered aprons soon proved. The bake oven built into the hearth was much like Chatham’s, though it took time to get the wood and heat in harmony.
Weaving between patience and exasperation, Mae burned most of what she baked but pressed on. When Father Harlow pronounced her venison stew delicious, she wanted to rejoice. He even rigged a clockwork spit in the hearth, complete with drip pan, but this required skill and attention too. Never had Mae appreciated Mrs. Hurst so much. Or Bronwyn.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be the accomplished cook you are, but I’ve learned a lot in a short time,” Mae told her.
“I’ve never seen anyone try harder. You’re making great gains. Let’s leave the kitchen for now and sew.” Bronwyn led the way, trading the sunny kitchen for the parlor across the hall. “Your stitching needs no instruction. Rhys mentioned how much he appreciated you and the Liberty Ladies in a letter.”
Had he? Mae took out her sewing kit with her newly sharpened scissors, thankful it had survived her journey. “When we met last winter, I began sewing for the army encamped at Lowantica Valley. Shirts, mostly. Once we arrived at Fort Montgomery I moved on to cockades and coats.”
“Ambitious,” Bronwyn said, admiring Lucy’s pincushion. “I’veheard the Continental Army is hoping to have blue uniforms with colorful facings for different regiments.”
“Rhys and his riflemen mostly rely on linen hunting shirts and leggings, though Lucy and I did make him a handsome blue coat in New York.” Mae tried to push away a darker memory. Their quarrel had come on the heels of finishing that coat.
Bronwyn looked up at her briefly before continuing work on a baby’s cap edged in lace. “I sense a sadness about you when you speak of him.”
Mae’s needle stilled. Bronwyn was as perceptive as she was capable. How much should she confide?
“My last memory of him is a quarrel we had which seems to overshadow everything.”
“I’m sorry, Mae. I don’t mean to pry—”
“You’re not prying but caring.” Mae looked down at the tiny linen gown half finished in her lap. “The quarrel came about because of a family situation. I have a younger sister, you see, named Coralie...”
Even saying Coralie’s name dredged up details and hurt feelings that were best forgotten. With a resolve to not besmirch her sister but simply state the facts, Mae let the whole story spill out, every miserable drop, and she felt both relieved and ashamed in the telling.
“So, your Loyalist sister chose Lieutenant Gibbs, and your family didn’t take kindly to the matter,” Bronwyn said as she stitched. “Don’t judge yourself too harshly. You wanted what was best for everyone, including Rhys. You acted out of love and a desire to keep the peace, not from wrong or deceitful motives.”
“I never thought her letters and loyalties would cause harm, but now I wonder if they didn’t play into the downfall of the twin forts in even a small way. Both garrisons were well prepared but terribly undermanned. Perhaps my sister relayed their situation to the British and they seized the moment and attacked.”
“You’ll likely never know.” Bronwyn gave a rare sigh. “‘Thingswithout all remedy should be without regard: what’s done is done,’ as Shakespeare says.”
“I can’t change any of it, though I wish I could. And I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Try to dwell on Rhys and his homecoming instead.”
But what if there’s not to be one?
So far Bronwyn hadn’t shared her own heartache. Mae had only heard the barest scraps from Rhys that Micah Edmiston had fallen in one of Virginia’s first battles. Had Bronwyn moved past his death and locked that part of herself away?
“I hope and pray there’s some word from Rhys soon,” Mae said. “And more news from New York.”
“Father has gone to market today so will hopefully return with a newspaper or broadside. I’m uneasy too. What little we do know is that General Washington is moving the northern army to winter quarters.”
“Our Quaker hostess outside of Philadelphia mentioned Valley Forge near the Schuylkill River as a possible encampment.”
