She felt a start, realizing she’d been gone long enough that Coralie might come looking for her. “Then I bid you good night, sir.” She curtsied, their return to formality, this painful show of restraint, becoming a sort of game between them.
“Good night, Miss Bohannon.”
twenty-five
We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.
Benjamin Franklin
Fort Mongomery was perched high on a cliff overlooking the Hudson River, a plunge that made Mae’s stomach drop even from a distance. The Rifle Corps and company approached from the west along a newly built road wide enough for artillery and wagons. All seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief when the fort’s main gates swung wide, rescuing them from woods that seemed increasingly hostile and dark.
Mae dismounted, leaving Orion to a fort farrier since the bay had thrown a shoe at the base of Bear Mountain. She took a moment to peer over one earth and timber wall to the river far below, relieved they’d arrived unscathed. For the moment, the garrison seemed more melee as several hundred riflemen swarmed the fourteen-acre fortification. Mae soon lost sight of Rhys but found Coralie in Jon’s embrace.
Their eldest brother, aside from a few wrinkles she didn’t remember, seemed much the same, both short and stout, his robust voice carrying. He released Coralie when he saw Mae, scoopingher up into a bearish hug that seemed to erase all the years that had come between them. “You’re here—safe—and I can finally give thanks.”
“General Harlow and his men kept us from harm,” she said, smiling. “And the Almighty, of course.”
“We’re clean but still hardly fit to be seen.” Coralie smoothed her wrinkled skirts. “I cannot wait to sit down at a real table with real food.”
Jon laughed and motioned them toward a two-storied timber building that resembled barracks. “Our humble quarters aren’t as civilized as Chatham, but I can promise you plenty to eat.”
That night they gathered in the officers’ mess for supper. Coralie’s dismay was evident as the two officers’ wives and their husbands joined them. Had she thought they’d dine alone with Jon? To Mae’s delight, Rhys sat across from her, with Fort Montgomery’s commander, General James Clinton, at the head of the table. Tall and as physically imposing as Rhys, he wore a uniform of blue cloth with buff facings adorned with epaulets much like General Washington’s. Mae wondered if his brother at Fort Clinton dressed the same.
Everyone sat and smiled through introductions before the meal was served by orderlies in the airless, candlelit room. Roast beef, vegetables, and hearty wheat bread as well as thick slices of Cheshire and Dutch cheeses filled pewter plates. The rigors of military life weren’t discussed, as if there’d been an order forbidding it. Unsure of their surroundings and fort protocol, Mae kept quiet, listening to the steady hum of voices all around her, the officers’ wives foremost.
Alice Wentz took out a fan and wafted it slowly, leaving Mae wishing she’d brought hers. Forts had few windows and fewer adornments.
“I don’t mean to complain, but is New York always skillet-hotin spring?” Catherine Kersey asked as she dabbed her brow with a handkerchief. “I’m tempted to jump from the cliff top to the river below.”
A rumble of amusement ensued from all but Coralie, who seemed steadfast in her vow to shun the wives’ company and conversation. Eyes down, she continued eating, though her own skin shone from the heat.
“A sheer hundred-fifty-foot drop is not recommended even on the hottest of days.” General Clinton took a long drink of Madeira, his own lip beaded. “There’s a steep, narrow trail that weaves from the garrison’s east sally port if you’d like to brave it and wade in the river.”
“Come now, Catherine, perhaps a boat would be best,” cajoled her husband.
“There are a number of bateaux, Durham boats, and canoes,” Jon said with a glance at Mae. “But be advised, the water is deep with dangerous currents.”
“Not to mention British patrols and their Indian allies,” General Clinton added as dessert was served.
Mae breathed in the bitter aroma of strongly brewed coffee, glad when cream and sugar appeared. The sponge cake with violet jelly was delicious, returning her thoughts to Lucy’s candied violets. She’d not seen her since.
“How soon will your sisters venture to your Highland Falls farm?” General Clinton asked Jon, who sat between Mae and Coralie.
“Tomorrow,” Jon replied, looking to his sisters. “After you’ve had such a rigorous journey here, you’ll be happy to know you’ve not far to go. The trail is downhill and into the valley, thankfully.”
Coralie sent him a relieved smile.
“A fortuitous time to arrive.” General Clinton leaned back in his chair, looking pleased. “All seems relatively calm at present.”
Mae set down her fork. “We appreciate your hospitality, General, and the sacrifices and courage of everyone in this fort.”
“You’re most welcome, Miss Bohannon, but it is I who should thank you. Your presence here raises the spirits of countless men and reminds them of what they’re fighting for—family, their very homes and lands. I hope you feel welcome here at Fort Montgomery however long you tarry.”
Reveille awoke them. The drumming beat through the wooden walls and finally roused Coralie, who sat up atop her cot, rubbing her eyes as light seeped through the sole window. Mae yawned and began to dress in what she’d worn to dinner the night before, wondering if her leather shoes would make the journey to Highland Falls. A heel was missing, but she secured the dusty buckles, a dozen thoughts darting through her sleepy head.
Would Rhys accompany them?
After breakfast came her answer. Rhys waited by the fort’s rear gate—but not only her beloved. Half a dozen Indians ringed their baggage wagon, two of them conversing with Rhys while James looked on. He’d told her Rhys had learned some of their language during his captivity in Canada. She tried not to think of his lacerated back.
