“General Harlow is from Virginia,” Bohannon said by way of explanation. “His father is an English Quaker, his mother Welsh.”
“I’ve read of the Welsh revivals, General Harlow.” Mae sent Rhys a look of appreciation. “My late father kept abreast of spiritualmatters in Britain and often exchanged letters with ministers there.”
“I’m sorry to hear of your parents,” Rhys said, serving himself bread.
“Do you have family, General?” Coralie asked, helping pass dishes.
“My father and sister are in the Shenandoah Valley. My mother’s been buried three years now.”
Murmured condolences went round the table.
“I’ve never been further than Chatham,” Coralie said. “You’re a long ways from home, General.”
“And you, Captain Sperry?” Mae asked. “Where are you from?”
“Eastern Virginia. But I have my eye on New York’s Champlain Valley or even further southwest at Cherry Valley.”
“Indian lands,” Mae said. “Those in league with the British.”
Surprised, Rhys kept his eyes on his plate and continued eating. Miss Bohannon obviously kept abreast of the conflict. Not all women did.
“If we win the war, we’ll receive land grants for our service from the new American government,” Sperry told her. “Two hundred acres or more per man.”
“Our oldest brother, Colonel Jon, lives in New York,” Mae said. “After our parents passed last year he asked us to visit him along the Hudson River, where he’s farmed for almost a decade. But now with the war on...”
“As soon as peace is restored, perhaps.” Coralie smiled for the first time all evening. “I’m sure order will soon reign in all thirteen of His Majesty’s colonies.”
three
Should there still be soldiers without accommodation after all such publick houses were filled, the colonies were then required to take, hire and make fit for the reception of his Majesty’s forces, such and so many uninhabited houses, outhouses, barns, or other buildings as shall be necessary.
The Quartering Act of 1765
Mae could hardly keep her mind on the meal, given their unexpected guests. Though she longed to have James to herself for a heartfelt talk, his fellow officers deserved all the graciousness she could muster. These three, all deemed traitors to the Crown, were men of merit and distinction. She’d heard of General Harlow and his Rifle Corps, even read about them in the newspapers, but had never imagined he’d be sitting at their very table, her brother among them.
Given their rank, she’d expected a uniform, but all three men dressed like humble woodsmen—a blend of fringed linen, buckskin, and leather offset by the black straps and belts of their weapons, which they’d left in the hall. James’s and Captain Sperry’s tricornes looked worn, but General Harlow sported a new cocked hat with a black ribbon cockade held by a cord and button.
None were gentlemen like so many British officers, nor were these rebels the ruffians and convicts that newspapers and broadsheets wailed about. Though quieter than her brother and the captain, General Harlow had more of a presence. Nothing, she wagered, escaped his notice, including Coralie’s obvious unease and her own barely hidden awe.
Whittled down by the wilderness, the foremost officer at table’s end was all whipcord. The mother hen in her wanted to mend his worn garments and insist he sleep undisturbed for a week—and fatten him with endless dishes and drinks. James was leaner than he’d once been, though the captain was more fleshed out and the shortest of the three. General Harlow had to duck beneath the lintel to enter their kitchen to wash. He had a healthy appetite, and she detected a deep, unspoken appreciation for the bounty before him.
“Please, have more,” she said, passing him seconds of the heartiest dishes. “And if you’re wondering why there’s Virginia ham, we’ve Tidewater friends who keep us supplied, though this is the last in our smokehouse.”
James chuckled. “Billeting here should come with a warning. My sister seems determined to reverse our soldierly starvation and make us fleshy, indolent men.”
“Here’s to dessert.” General Harlow’s lift of his cider glass told Mae he hadn’t forgotten what was to come.
Looking at him again, she lifted her glass in turn, the sudden swirl to her middle as silly as it was rash. There were a hundred Chatham men who didn’t move her. How could one rough-hewn stranger do so with a mere half smile?
On the other hand, the general hardly gave her a glance. She acknowledged it with a bruised feeling. She wasn’t a plain woman, but he made her feel quite undeserving of notice. He never met her eyes overlong, nor did he direct any comments to her.
“Save room, too, for Mrs. Hurst’s excellent coffee,” Mae said, noting Coralie’s cold had stolen most of her appetite. Or was ittheir unexpected company? “We’ve a coffee mill in the kitchen that hails from Boston. And plenty of cream, even a hoarded sugar loaf.”
“Or if you prefer cocoa,” Coralie added, “there’s hot chocolate.”
“Chocolate?” Captain Sperry rolled his eyes in a sort of ecstasy. “Have you no shortages here in this part of Jersey?”
Talk turned to the dearth of supplies as a dozen questions beat between Mae’s brows. Would these men truly winter here in their very home? An hour ago the house had echoed, and she’d been disappointed Aaron and Hanna weren’t coming. How life could take an unexpected turn.
