Mae went through the motions a second time, finding the gun cumbersome at best. She was hard-pressed to school her astonishment when Jon said, “With enough practice you might best General Harlow’s reloading in twenty seconds on the run.”
Alex gave an admiring whistle. “Uncle James said his best time is five shots in under a minute.”
“That matches the British army’s three to four shots per minute with a smoothbore musket, which is far easier to reload than a rifle,” Jon said as he helped Mae measure the powder.
Composing herself, Mae fired again, this time wide of the mark. The jolt to her shoulder left her wondering how Rhys managed repeated firings. “Coralie’s turn.”
Both Jon and Alex chuckled. “Coralie’s refused. She said you’ll make a far better markswoman.”
Mae handed back the rifle, more than ready to return to the garden. “Can Joanna shoot?”
“Joanna won the last women’s competition at the valley’s spring gathering,” Jon said with obvious pride. “She and Alex hold the farm when I’m away at the fort.”
Mae mulled this over as Jon and Alex returned to the fields. She looked after them as they moved beyond the small, heavily leafed orchard. Wheat would soon be flowering, the maize tasseling and bending slightly in the breeze. She turned in a slow circle, still chary of the landscape.
“Mae, quit your woolgathering,” Coralie admonished, coming up behind her. “There’s far more to be done than firing a gun. I’ve been told to water the horses and turn them out to pasture, then feed the chickens. How I miss our hired help at home.”
“This is a working farm, remember. Feeding chickens and helpingwith the horses aren’t herculean tasks. We’re not guests but family.” Mae turned toward Fort Montgomery, wishing she could see its bastions. “Your attitude needs mending.”
For once, Coralie seemed contrite. “I apologize for being fractious. I’m just impatient. Joanna said a courier rides through here, but I doubt mail delivery is reliable or timely. Long gone are the days we went to the tavern for the post.”
“You wrote Lieutenant Gibbs before we left?”
“I posted a letter from Morristown the day before our departure, yes, but who knows when he’ll receive it? Once he does, I hope he’ll write back quickly, given we’re both in New York.”
“You still want to marry him, then.”
“I do indeed, no matter how you or Jon or James feel.” Coralie fanned her flushed face with her apron hem. “And I know what you’re thinking. You keep waiting for me to tell them.”
“Would you rather I do it?”
“I’ll announce our plans once Eben replies and all is in place.”
“Did you ever think the post might fall into the wrong hands? That by telling your whereabouts this farm and valley might be raided? Overrun by the enemy?”
“We’re talking about Eben, a longtime tie from Chatham, not the British and their allies.”
“We’re talking about a redcoat officer determined to quash at all costs what he and his fellows call a treasonous rebellion. Do you deny that?”
“I refuse to think of Eben as the enemy!”
“Then are we the enemy, Coralie? Your family?”
“I don’t want to take sides, Mae!” Her taut features bespoke her turmoil. “This madness must have an end. Andyouare mad if you think the Americans—outgunned and outnumbered—will win this ill-founded, misbegotten war.”
“They may be outnumbered and outgunned, but this war is neither ill-founded nor misbegotten. General Washington and those committed to the cause will prevail.” Mae spoke quietly lest theybe overheard, though anyone watching would realize their tense exchange. “Any man who will stake his very life on winning independence is not easily overtaken or undone.”
Before she’d finished, Coralie turned and walked toward the barn, leaving Mae to the garden’s weeding. But her thoughts were in a tumult, and she wondered again just how dire the American cause was. Her entire future with Rhys seemed to depend on it.
When the dinner bell sounded, they all gathered again, then spent the afternoon hours inside the house. Joanna spun on her Saxony wheel while Mae sewed and Coralie washed dishes and set the table for supper.
Dierdre, not yet ten, took out her own sampler to sit beside Mae. “What are you making, Aunt Mae?”
“Cockades.” She held up a rosette fashioned from scraps of silk she’d gotten from Madame Jaquett before leaving Chatham. “Soldiers wear them on their hats. I noticed your father doesn’t have one, so this is his.”
Dierdre reached out a hand and stroked the silk. “I like this blue color best, not the scarlet of the redcoats.”
“Would you like me to teach you how to make cockades? Your father would rather have one made by you, I’m sure. Or there’s white silk if you’d rather.”
