The next pressing thought lent a flush she felt from her hairline to her toes.
Had General Harlow a sweetheart?
When she stole another look at him, she saw his plate was empty. Rising from her chair, she helped Mrs. Hurst serve coffee, hot chocolate, and dessert. As the men lingered at table, she and Coralie withdrew to the parlor. No sooner were they in the paneled room across the hall than Coralie began her frantic whispering.
“What if Eben were to suddenly appear and find Patriots at our very table?”
“Then he’d be outnumbered,” Mae replied wryly. “The only redcoat in the room.”
Arms crossed, Coralie began pacing before the hearth. “I feel duplicitous, though I’ve done nothing but sit down with them.”
“Chatham’s support for the revolution is what sent your lieutenant away to begin with,” Mae reminded her quietly, casting a look at the dining room where talk continued robust. “Have you not told him that Jon joined the militia and James is an American officer too? Aaron has made no secret of his allegiance either.”
“I’ve told him nothing of the sort. Suppose Eben doubts his feelings for me due to my family’s loyalties—or rather the lack of them?” Her acrid tone turned plaintive. “Suppose he changes his mind about our marriage?”
“Then he’s not worth a pittance.” Mae took up an iron pokerand jabbed at the fiery logs as if adding an exclamation point to her words.
“Worse, are we ready to billet them all winter? When Eben arrives I won’t be able to keep our engagement secret any longer.”
“’Tis time to tell our family your plans, then.”
“But what if it creates more division? James never cared for Eben to begin with, and now we’re to be married. What are we to do?”
“Deal with that on the day.” Mae, used to Coralie’s worrying, now found it especially exasperating. “Can we not rejoice that James is home after not hearing from him for months?”
Chastised, her sister finally settled, hunkering down in the wingback chair that had been their mother’s. “I’ve heard the Rifle Corps are a favorite of General Washington, given they scare the British to death. I can’t believe our brother is now one of them.”
“James was always an excellent shot.” Mae felt a beat of pride. Her brother with an esteemed company of riflemen. Who would have thought?
“He seems much changed.” Coralie darted a look toward the open door. “Captain Sperry is amiable enough, but General Harlow seems rather dangerous.”
“Their weapons are certainly dangerous,” Mae said. She’d been struck by the length of their long rifles as soon as she set eyes on them. No doubt they weighed ten pounds apiece.
“He says very little and seems to be weighing every window and door for the enemy, and us too, as if testing our allegiance.”
“Being quiet and observant are the hallmarks of an officer, I would think. General Washington is said to be the same.”
Coralie grimaced. “And all three are dressed like the worst of backwoodsmen—hardly the equal of respectable British officers. I’d expected decent uniforms, at least.”
“You can hardly expect a new fighting force of thirteen colonies—now states—to wear the same garb, especially with British blockades depriving us of cloth.”
A noise in the hall quieted them as the men crossed over to the parlor. Mae’s pleasure rivaled her sister’s pain. Could Coralie not, as she’d said, rejoice in James’s return?
Their long-lost brother stifled a yawn as he looked around the room rather mournfully. “Little has changed except Mother and Father aren’t here.” He began rummaging in a rucksack while General Harlow and Captain Sperry stood by the parlor’s two windows and looked out on the snowy green.
Finished digging, James stood, holding something behind his back, and Coralie’s sternness eased.
“You remind me of our mischievous brother of old,” she said, “who used to scare Mae and me to death with spiders and snakes.”
“Hopefully you’ll like this much better.” He presented large twin balls of fur. “Two Canadian gray marten hats to keep you warm this winter.”
“A replica of Benjamin Franklin’s?” Mae took hers, marveling. “I’d heard of the coiffure à la Franklin—all the rage in Paris—but I never expected to own one.”
James smiled. “Try it on, the both of you.”
Mae did so, catching the eye of General Harlow when he turned away from the window. His admiration—or was it amusement?—didn’t escape her. Flushing, she turned her back on him to peer into a looking glass. The fur had the feel of silk and instantly warmed her head like a wig.
“Thank you, James. A very thoughtful gift.”
