“I’m always aware of you, Mae, even when I have to be General Harlow.”
“So you’ve not forgotten my forename after all.” It felt goodto smile and tease him, to feel their tie was still intact. She took a tentative bite, rolling the root between her back teeth. To her surprise the bitterness mellowed to a mild herbal flavor.
“Need any for your sister?”
“Nay.” She pulled the ginseng from her mouth and examined it before tasting it again. “Coralie’s not one to sit on the ground and chew roots.”
He chuckled then turned serious. “What’s this about her tie to a redcoat?”
She spat out the root, feeling the most unladylike of her life. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Later, then.” He stood abruptly and left her side as they prepared to resume the journey.
That night they made camp in a wildflower meadow. A guard was posted, reminding Mae they’d entered contested territory. British patrols might be about, even spies, or marauders and their ilk. In the wagon bed, she and Coralie slept atop a mattress thin enough to be rolled up and stored away efficiently by day. Flat on their backs, they found rest for their sore bodies.
“Look how bright the North Star is.” Mae’s finger seemed to touch the clear sky as she pointed to various constellations. “Without the lights of town, I mean.”
“Forget the stars,” Coralie replied. “I hear wolves howling.”
“At a distance.” Mae had hoped to distract her. “We’re surrounded by riflemen, so be easy.”
“What do you make of the officers’ wives?” Coralie whispered.
“I’ve hardly spoken with them yet.”
“The one—Catherine Kersey—seems to regard us as no better than slatterns. I overheard her saying that unmarried women shouldn’t travel with the army.”
“Well, our being hereisunusual. She must not know Jon arranged it.”
“Who would have thought these city-bred wives would feel superior? They even have tents to sleep in with their husbands.”
“James said we’ll have a tent too if it rains.”
“James also said 1777 is the year with three gallows in it.”
“Meaning the sevens are gallows?”
“Rather ominous, if you ask me.” Coralie’s exasperated sigh hung over them like a dark cloud. “You know what the papers are printing, don’t you? A great cry has gone up among Loyalists and Tories calling for American rebels to be hung.”
“Rebels who are right this minute defending you.”
Coralie yawned, too exhausted to continue her tirade, or so Mae hoped. “You are Patriot to the core, Sister.”
She said nothing in reply, relieved when Coralie turned over. Soon her sister’s even breathing indicated sleep. Mae continued to look at the stars, wondering if Rhys did the same. She wasn’t sure where he bedded down, nor James, though like he’d said, he was well aware of her. Let that be her comfort.
The camp was quiet as a tomb despite their number, only an occasional snore or cough. Even the howling wolves grew more distant. She longed for a little music to sweeten the lostness she felt and recalled Rhys’s earlier words.
“Will you play your fiddle on the trail?” she’d asked.
“Only if I want to invite the British and Indians to dance,” he’d said.
A horrid thought. Homesickness carved a well-deep hole inside her, making her realize she’d never experienced this empty, melancholy feeling before. Yet it wasn’t Chatham she wanted but a Virginia house she’d never seen and the man who’d built it. Now well beyond Jersey, she was ready to move past girlhood and embrace a different sort of life. And somehow this challenging journey seemed a gauntlet to get there.
twenty-three
Stand your ground; don’t fire unless fired upon, but if they mean to have a war, let it begin here.
Captain John Parker
