“I’ll return my sister home, then ride to Morristown for this afternoon’s meeting.”
“Sperry will join you, then we’ll meet up for supper in Chatham,” Rhys replied.
Supper? Mae felt another qualm. “I must warn you both that Mrs. Hurst’s rheumatism has her in bed, leaving the kitchen to myself and Coralie.”
James chuckled. “In other words, perhaps we should tarry at Arnold Tavern.”
Mae tried to make the best of it. “Supper will still be served, though I can’t vouch for the quality. I might well be providing ground orange peel and calcium carbonate from the apothecary afterwards.”
“I’ll take my chances with any indigestion,” Rhys said. “And hope Mrs. Hurst is on her feet again soon.”
She took another look at him, feeling doubly undone. Their brief time together had left her as empty and grieved as she was elated, and all the more besotted. A thousand other things needed saying, but there seemed never enough time. Never enough words. Only insurmountable circumstances ... and feelings.
Rhys handed her up into the wagon. On the seat lay a pale green pincushion. Made of embroidered silk damask, it was astonishing in design, with ombré ribbon, fly fringe, and lace. Mae’s thoughts swerved to Lucy Hawkes before she slipped the pincushion into her pocket, eyes returning to Rhys.
The harsh winter light brought out a scar on his temple she’d not noticed before. She completely forgot the cold, lost in the sheen of his dark hair beneath his hat brim and the ruddy color in his cheeks as he said a few last words to James.
Look away, Mae, lest you lose your bearings all over again.
She and James rumbled off after a hasty goodbye, and she resisted the urge to look back. How long before the entire family knew of their regard for each other? And all the rest of the world besides?
eleven
If you were lost for America, there is nobody who could keep the army and the revolution [going] for six months.
Marquis de Lafayette to George Washington
Mae bent over the hearth, stirring a pot of venison stew with a long-handled spoon. Mrs. Hurst’s apron was wrapped round her twice, reminding her she had no business being in the kitchen. Why hadn’t Mother taught them to cook? Such a lack seemed a severe hindrance when the man she wanted most to impress was expected—and could likely cook better than she.
“I hear them in the hall,” Coralie said, taking blackened bread out of the bake oven.
Mae looked on with dismay, singeing her petticoat’s hem as she stepped too near the fire. “What a memorable meal this will be.”
“The butter is no better,” Coralie murmured. “It didn’t set well once I churned it, though I put it outside to firm up.”
Sighing, Mae poured applesauce into a dish. “Mrs. Hurst best recover soon or we’ll all be thin as rail fencing.”
“Surely this meal is better than camp rations.”
“At least we have ample spirits in the cellar, though these particular officers don’t seem overfond of drink, just victuals.”
Coralie eyed her with concern, still shaken by Mae’s falling so ill, or so she said. “I’m thankful you’re up and about and don’t seem so ... shamefaced.”
“Of my appearance?” Mae reached for more serving spoons. “I can do nothing about it.”
And my scars are as nothing to his.
She reached for the tureen of stew while Coralie gathered up applesauce and bread. Together they served the three hungry men seated at table. Mae kept her eyes down as the dishes were passed. If only she was as competent a cook as he was a marksman. Rhys Harlow deserved a woman—a wife—who knew her way around the kitchen and larder.
“I apologize that we have no salt,” Coralie said, seating herself. “Everything seems tasteless without it.”
“Enjoy the peach preserves,” Mae said, taking her usual place. “Mrs. Hurst’s fruit is without fail, at least.”
Rhys said grace, then met Mae’s eyes across the table at their combined “amen.” Still self-conscious, she resisted the urge to look to her lap, given she had no veil to hide behind. But his heartfelt words to her in Lowantica Valley stayed uppermost. The memory in the cabin—hours old—bolstered her even as the sight of his whipped back wrenched her. So private a moment, even intimate. And not long enough.
Tonight the men seemed especially subdued.Lord, let it not be about the food.James had mentioned a meeting in Morristown this afternoon. Had it gone awry?
When she could stand the silence no longer, Mae said, “I heard news in the village that General Washington’s lady has arrived.”
