He took it back and slipped it inside his coat, out of sight. But his eyes held hers as if by exchanging locks they’d exchanged some sort of vow. Hair might seem a small gesture to some, but she read meaning in his eyes, and in her heart she felt something significant had happened.
A foreshadowing of things to come, after he’d taken a step back?
He reached for his rifle. The long barrel looked menacing and shook her with all its grim implications.
He put on his cocked hat, his hair still hanging free. When she attempted to locate the leather tie, he smiled. “It’s warmer left undone.”
“Good night.” Fisting his clipped hair in the folds of her petticoats, she watched him leave without fuss.
No tears. No more touching. No questions.
She put the pearl heart and his clipped hair beneath her pillow. It seemed to sweeten her sleep, which was long in coming. What would he do with her braid? Carry it with him? Into battle and beyond?
Lord, protect him. Let him not be hurt.
Her prayers seemed small, her hazy dreams beset with shadows and loss. The crow of a rooster awakened her along with Mrs. Hurst’s movements in the kitchen below. She pushed back the warm nest of covers and dressed hurriedly, craving tea and toast.
“Morning, Miss Maebel,” Mrs. Hurst greeted her as she made breakfast. “Where on earth did we get that bushel of salt?”
“From General Harlow. He brought it by last night.”
“Thought so.” The widow gave a rare smile. “We’ll be careful and make it last as long as possible. I overheard Aaron say he’s in need of some at the apothecary.”
“We can share ours, then.”
“Or maybe you can just smile at the general and get another bushel.”
Mae laughed. “I’ll have some salt on my eggs with some brown bread and molasses, if you please.”
With a nod, Mrs. Hurst began heating a skillet while Mae made tea. When Coralie appeared, Mae pushed down the bruised feelings that lately always accompanied the sight of her.
Forcing a smile, Mae asked, “Care for herb tea or coffee?”
“Anything to warm me.” Coralie approached the table as Mae took another cup from a cupboard, glad Mrs. Hurst had moved the salt to the larder so there would be no questions. Her sister, it seemed, had no liking for the general no matter his gifts.
Soon the two of them sat in the dining room, where a robust hearth’s fire barely took the chill from the room. Toast and tea quickly grew cold as their talk turned to the coming ball.
“Though our gowns are ready, I lack suitable shoes.” Yawning, Coralie buttered more toast. “A visit to the cobbler might help.”
Would she not change her mind about going? Though she seemed a small threat, it was many like Coralie who could collectively spy and sabotage the American cause.
When Mae said nothing, Coralie prodded, “You’re awfully quiet this morning. Are you feeling well?”
“I stayed up late sewing, is all.”
“Mind your eyesight. Sewing by the fire is quite tedious.”
Mae lapsed into silence again, though Coralie was clearly in a chatty mood.
“What are your plans for today? Staying home or sewing with the Liberty Ladies?”
“The latter.” Mae took a sip of lukewarm tea, glad when Mrs. Hurst refilled the pot with hot water. “And you?”
“Hanna needs my help at the apothecary filling orders for villagers.” Finished with breakfast, Coralie stood as the hall’s case clock tolled eight. “I’d best be early. There’s been so much business of late.”
She went out, and Mae sat for several long minutes after her sister had left the house before going upstairs to her room. Finding Eben’s letters was easy enough. Coralie had them tied neatly with the embroidered ribbon from Madame Jaquett in her desk. They were even arranged chronologically, the latest on top. Disregarding any guilt at trespassing, Mae pored over the letter and hung on one telling line.
Beloved, the war is all but won. The Continental Army, from every report, is a shambles.
