Amused, Rhys looked to his boots to allow them a moment’s privacy, though Sperry continued his gawking. With good reason. Bohannon’s sister was as comely as winter was long. Surely this was Chatham’s belle. There couldn’t be a prettier sister.
“Your Patriot brother, at long last, aye,” Bohannon finally said. “I’ve returned from Canada to winter over with General Washington and troops. Me and my two, um, compatriots.”
“Welcome, gentlemen.” Her eyes widened again as she took in all three of them. “Do come in out of the cold.”
“Gentlemen” was a stretch, but they all removed their cocked hats just the same.
“This is my oldest sister, Maebel—we call her Mae. Miss Bohannon to you,” Bohannon half jested, darting a look at Sperry. “And this is Captain Sperry and my commanding officer, General Harlow, of Harlow’s Rifle Corps.”
“Honored.” She smiled at Sperry and then Rhys, a wide, dimpled smile as beguiling as her lively eyes.
They stood in the hall of the house now, midday light streaming through the open door behind them.
“And this is Coralie, the youngest of the clan.” Bohannon gestured toward the staircase another young woman was descending.
She was as plain as Maebel Bohannon was pretty. Or mayhap the stark black she wore made her seem so. Seemingly flustered by so many men, she uttered nothing in reply. Or did she simply rely on her sister to speak for her? Flushing, she gave Bohannon a quick peck on his cheek.
“Your timing is excellent.” Again, Mae smiled and gestured to the dining room, where a dozen different dishes sat upon the table. “Perhaps you can even guess what we’re having for dinner.”
Rhys held her gaze in question, hardly believing his good fortune. There was no mistaking that distinct scent. “Virginia ham?”
“You have a discerning palate, General Harlow.” Pleasure lit her pale features. “There’s also corn chowder, codfish, and gravy. Potatoes, bread, pickles, and preserves. Even molasses dumplings.”
His mouth watered as it hadn’t done for months.
“We don’t normally feast like this.” The younger Miss Bohannon’s hoarse voice bespoke a cold. “’Tis our brother Aaron’s birthday.”
“If you’d like to wash up first, James can show you the way.” With that, Mae disappeared into what Rhys guessed was the kitchen to likely tell the hired help there’d be more guests at table. When she reappeared she said, “You’ll stay the night, of course, all three of you.”
“Nay, all the winter,” Bohannon corrected with a smile.
“Oh my, a billet of invitation, then.” Coralie Bohannon’s brow tightened. For a fleeting moment, Rhys detected resistance in her gaze. Then she pursed her lips and looked upstairs as if trying to parcel out bedchambers.
Mae took charge again. “We’ve unused beds that shall do nicely.”
“I’ll take my old attic room,” Bohannon told her. “The guest rooms should suit the general and captain.”
For now, his rifle stowed in the hall, Rhys became acquainted with the washbowl and linen towels in a small room adjoining the kitchen while Mae held court in the dining room. She signaled him and her brother to take the table’s ends. The sisters sat opposite Sperry, who seemed none too troubled by the view.
Coralie placed a napkin in her lap. “Despite it being his birthday, our apothecary brother has been called away on an emergency.”
Aaron Bohannon. Rhys tried to track the names. An elderly woman appeared, her white mobcap covering silvered hair, more dishes in each hand. The housekeeper?
“Good to see you again, Major James,” she said briskly. “For a moment I mistook you for your brother, Colonel Jon.”
“Understandable, Mrs. Hurst,” Bohannon replied. “I may encounter him and the Albany County Militia in future should we move into New York.”
“Then you must tell him he’s missed here in Chatham.” Eyes down, Mrs. Hurst poured them all cider, commencing the meal.
Nearly speechless at the bounty in wartime, Rhys counted eleven temptations adorning the linen tablecloth, serving spoons at the ready.
Folding her hands, Mae looked at Rhys. “Will you do us the honor of a mealtime prayer, General Harlow, given you’re the foremost officer here?”
With a nod, Rhys obliged. “Grant, O God, Your protection, strength, understanding, knowledge, justice, our very existence, but foremost the love of God and all goodness.”
At his “amen,” not a person moved. Coralie looked perplexed while Mae regarded him with something he couldn’t name. Were they Anglican? He thought Bohannon had told him Presbyterian.
“A Welsh prayer,” Rhys said.
