Hanna brought a bucket just in case as Aaron took hold of Coralie’s arm.
“Summon to mind a hymn or Scripture,” he said without slowing his work. “Think on what is true, honorable, of good report, and so forth.”
“How like Father you sound.” Coralie sighed. “Perhaps you missed your true calling.”
“Nay, preacher I am not. Nor soldier. I’m quite content as an apothecary treating any who come my way.”
“Even rebel soldiers.” Coralie’s tone held a bitter taint that madeMae squirm, but their brother seemed to take no notice—or no offense if he did.
Aaron closed his surgery kit. “You should expect to feel no different at first. A fortnight might bring a fever or rash. Hopefully any symptoms will be mild. I’ve already told Mrs. Hurst to send for me immediately if either of you worsen.”
“Thank heavens Mrs. Hurst has survived the pox twice herself,” Hanna said. “Though ’tis rare anyone suffers a second time.”
“Washington calls smallpox more destructive than the sword. He’s inoculating most of his men in secret. If word leaks to the British that most of his men are in quarantine and recovering, the British might well strike.”
“Strike here in Chatham and Morristown?” Coralie looked at him. “Just like Jon warned might happen.”
Mae’s bare arms turned to gooseflesh as he continued.
“You’ll both need to quarantine for three weeks. Of course the officers billeting with you have either had the disease or the inoculation, so they can come and go freely.”
Mae moved to a window, her back to them all. Three weeks. She could make a great many garments and such as she’d already laid up supplies with that in mind.
“I pray there’s no scarring.” Coralie touched her cheek. “I wouldn’t be able to face anyone if the pockmarks are as hideous as some I’ve seen. Heaven forbid I be blinded.”
“Whatsoever things are true, honest, just...” Mae said over her shoulder, fingering the mother-of-pearl heart hidden in her pocket.
“All finished. I commend you both.” Aaron began washing his hands in a basin. “Now go home. Have plenty of tea and molasses bread, read and rest, and think no more about what we’ve just done.”
Bundled up again, they left the apothecary and made none of the usual stops to the booksellers or dressmaker or butcher. In early morn, few of Chatham’s citizens were out, just an abundance of soldiers.
“I wonder why there are so many Continentals about.” Coralie voiced Mae’s concern aloud.
“Perhaps the lobsterbacks are near.” She ignored the vexed look Coralie sent her. “Look, they’ve doubled the sentries on the bridge and atop the hill.”
“So we’re to be raided by the British or endure twenty-one days of isolation instead,” Coralie grumbled. “I do wonder what’s in store for us.”
Mae settled in, finding life not much different after inoculation. Winters always kept them close to the hearth, and this was no different except they couldn’t venture beyond the front or back door. Sewing and knitting became her mainstay. She fancied she was becoming better at it as the stacks of shirts and tangle of stockings grew.
Coralie returned to writing letters. Since Mae had snuck a look at her letter to Eben, she couldn’t help but feel their sisterly relationship had severed. Forever changed. Coralie had vowed to report to him all that she observed. Her possible perfidy taunted Mae, and Eben Gibbs became the worst of blackguards in her mind. Would Coralie inform him of what General Washington hoped to keep secret—the weakened condition of Continental troops?
As she stitched till her fingers grew sore, Mae prayed and tried to ignore the thickening ill feeling betwixt them. It didn’t help that there’d been no sign of James or the officers. What was happening in Lowantica Valley and Morristown? Teetering between suspicion, hurt, and fear made her especially low-spirited, but she forced herself to remain amiable.
Almost two weeks passed and they seemed to have weathered the inoculation well, and then...
“There’s a faint mark on my chin. A pimple, I hope, nothing more.” Coralie held a hand mirror, examining her face for any marks, then looked back at Mae. “You’re rather flushed.”
Mae continued to sew. “Only a headache.”
“Let’s have a last cup of hot chocolate since you favor that.” Coralie set down the mirror. “We’ve just enough for another serving for us both. I overheard Aaron say that there’ll likely be no more cocoa unless it’s smuggled or the war ends.”
Hot chocolate sounded nauseating, but Mae was too weary to naysay her sister. When she disappeared to the kitchen, Mae felt stark relief. She was weary of Coralie’s company. Weary of her sore arm and this chair and her benumbed backside, all the while wondering about the general, whom she hadn’t seen for days. So many days that it seemed callous—uncaring—if not outright rejection. Or was he simply so busy with military matters he hadn’t time for anything else? Putting her sewing away, she shut her eyes to ease the strain.
Coralie brought a tray, not the usual tall porcelain chocolate pot but two cups. “Are you all right?”
“Well enough. I simply need to read or do something else.”
She passed Mae a cup. “You’re certainly not your usually cheery self.”
