“Your brother is in Morristown recording new regulations and general orders as Washington reorganizes the army.” He glanced at the window. “Sperry is in Lowantica Valley overseeing the barracks building.”
“Are you absent without leave, sir?” Her playful banter didn’t help matters. Nor did her nearness, close enough for him to catch her herbal scent.
For a trice he forgot where he’d been. “I spent the forenoon at a tavern meeting and the church hospital, visiting my ailing riflemen.”
“My heart goes out to your men. Being ill and far from home is hard enough. James said General Washington has been sick for a fortnight himself.”
He took another drink of the spicy toddy. “He’s recovering well.”
“I’m relieved to hear it. What on earth would we do ifhe succumbed?” Her barely masked horror echoed his own.
All would be lost and we’d all be hung.
He settled on a less treasonous answer. “General Washington is remarkable for many reasons, one of them being he stays alive. More than a few horses have been shot out from under him, his uniform torn by bullets. In battle he’s utterly fearless.”
“A lion among men, James said.”
“There’s none like him.”
“Is it true about the Indian prophecy?” She studied him for confirmation. “That a great chief foretold Washington has special protection and will live to lead a great nation?”
“So a sachem said along the Monongahela years back after Braddock’s defeat.”
She looked down pensively at her toddy. “I suppose should he fall, the next in rank would take his place. General Charles Lee?”
“Aye, Lee.” He reined in his disgust. “Boiling Water, the Mohawk call him.”
“On account of his temper, I suppose. Is it true he was recentlycaptured by the British at Widow White’s Tavern some twelve miles from here? If so, I can only hope they hold on to him.”
He chuckled, but it was no laughing matter. Lee was another nettle in a whole field of them. Did Mae realize the continuation of the entire Continental Army was in question, weakened and poorly supplied as they were? He didn’t let himself think too far into the future lest he lose heart altogether.
“I’m sorry if I’m carrying on about the very things you need to forget about, if only momentarily.” She smoothed a wrinkle in her petticoat with a pale hand. “My brother Jon is particularly concerned we may come to harm in Chatham should the British strike here. He’s not near enough to help us since he’s serving in New York.”
He nodded and set aside his empty mug. “Washington’s made mention of his defense of the Hudson Valley. He distinguished himself at the battle of Long Island last August. As far as enemies here in Chatham, smallpox is more a threat than the British.”
She looked so dismayed he was half sorry he’d said it. But her brother had told him she wasn’t inoculated, and that concerned him more than redcoats. “I had the pox in Quebec while a prisoner there last year. A brutal experience. I’d spare you the same.”
“Your marks are few.” She looked at him searchingly, the toddy cupped in her hands. “I’ve almost convinced my sister to take the inoculation. Aaron won’t rest till we do.”
“Wise.”
“Is it true Washington is recruiting women who’ve been inoculated as nurses to tend the sick in private homes and makeshift hospitals?”
“For eight dollars a month, aye.” He added another log to the dwindling fire. “But sewing seems good enough.”
“I would make a poor nurse, though I might visit the sick at the church.”
“Your father was pastor there?”
“For almost thirty years. ’Tis odd to find the pews removed aftera lifetime of sitting in them and hearing my father preach. A year ago he took a fever.” Her face grew shadowed. “My mother nursed him, fell ill herself, and then they died within a day of each other. Coralie is still wearing mourning, but I felt the need for brighter colors.”
He tried to picture her in black. A stark contrast given her flaxen hair and fair skin. Her unusual eyes could stop a man mid-sentence. He’d been trying to place their hue. All he came up with was wild chicory blue.
A sudden knock ended his musings. Coralie appeared after pushing the door open, a scolding in her expression. Sensing a confrontation brewing, Rhys excused himself and went upstairs to his bedchamber, certain that didn’t please her either.
seven
In the name of the great Jehovah and the Continental Congress.
