“Not soon enough,” she said with feeling.
thirty-one
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.
Declaration of Independence
Days became weeks, and dispatches came bearing news that General Washington had entered New York and was moving toward King’s Ferry a few miles south of them. A sense of jubilation threaded the air both inside Fort Montgomery and out.
Mae returned from visiting Lucy along Sutler’s Row just as Rhys returned from the quartermaster’s, James following, their arms full of indigo cloth. Entering their quarters, Mae removed her straw hat and hung it from a wall peg.
James set his burden down atop the table, which gave a little groan. “Your husband has volunteered you to make uniform coats for the foremost officers who need them.”
She looked at Rhys, cowering at the very thought. “I beg your pardon?”
“I have full confidence in your and Lucy’s sewing and am weary of seeing so many without. The ‘apparel oft proclaims the man,’ as Shakespeare said.”
“And you riflemen? Might I relieve you of your fringed linen?” She ran a hand over the cloth atop the table. “Such fine wool seems quite hot in summer.”
“By the time you’re done it might be winter,” Rhys told her with a wink.
“I’ll fashion the first for you, then, if only to practice.”
He nodded. “I’ve no objection. You’ve plenty of cloth. What you lack are buttons.”
“Brass buttons would be best. I can go to Sutler’s Row in search of some.”
James regarded her in amusement. “Lately you’ve been more outside the fort than in it.”
“I spend my time sitting in the shade with Lucy Hawkes, sewing and knitting for soldiers, especially those in the infirmary.”
“Private Hawkes is improving,” Rhys told her. He knew her concern for Lucy.
“Praise be, you’ll soon have your drummer back.” Mae eyed his wedding suit hanging on the wall. “Will you kindly part with your frock coat so I can use it as my template?”
“Whatever you need, aye.”
“What I need is more thread, not only buttons.”
“I’ll ask the quartermaster, then.” James looked at the small desk she used and her half-finished letter to Hanna and Aaron. Beside it lay a sealed one to Aunt Verity. “Homesick?”
“Only at first.” She smiled. “There’s far too much to fill the hours. Besides, we’re to have Sabbath dinner at the farm with Jon and family tomorrow.”
James looked at Rhys. “Jon has returned home as there’s been talk of a raid in the valley.”
Mae felt such a qualm she sat down. “What means you?”
“British Loyalists are known to be planning raids on Patriot farms.” Rhys took a seat opposite her. “We’ve sent out scouts and patrols to alert residents up and down the Hudson.”
“Does this mean we’re not going to Jon and Joanna’s?”
“I’ll have a better idea when I speak with scouts come morning,” Rhys said. “I may ride out myself.”
The Sabbath came and went, keeping them at Fort Montgomery. Mae prayed there’d been no more talk of raids and the valley would remain undisturbed. Rhys returned with a peaceful report, bringing wool for knitting. Mae pictured Joanna at her spinning wheel, working despite any danger. At least a stone house was harder to breach and less likely to burn than a log one.
The next week a great commotion went up among soldiers and civilians alike. General Washington had reached the Hudson Highlands north of them in a place known as the Clove. A portion of his army was with him, the rest moving toward the British threat in Philadelphia.
Mae, feeling celebratory herself, danced a little jig with Lucy to a fife’s joyful piping on Sutler’s Row.
