“Nothing thus far.” Joanna passed a basket of bread. “Word is there’s activity on the other side of the river, though. Something about a Loyalist spy hiding in a cave between raids on Patriot farms.”
“We have more to fear from that Ramapo Valley gang, horse stealing for the British and all else,” Jon told them between bites.
“Claudius Smith?” Rhys looked up from his plate. “He goes by the alias of James Reed and John Wright.”
“That’s the one.” Joanna grimaced. “Evil by any name.”
Jon met her eyes. “We’ve had militia on watch in the Ramapo Mountains because of him and his fellows. We don’t want trouble come the harvest.”
“Wise,” Rhys said. “I’d also recommend the militia assist in bringing in the valley’s wheat, if only to stand guard once the harvest is underway.”
Jon nodded. “All the farms could be covered that way.”
“Now that Washington is at the Clove I doubt there’ll be much trouble.”
Mae listened, yearning for Virginia. Yet how could one pine for a place they’d never been? Rhys gave her a glimpse of his farming life as he talked, but try as she might, she couldn’t see him trading his rifle to get behind a plow or planting seed or even haying, scythe in hand.
“So how is life at Fort Montgomery, Mae?” Coralie asked as she poured more cider.
“Never dull,” Mae replied, having lost count of time. “I’ve finished making cockades and am now sewing garments again.”
“And the officers’ wives?”
“We met for tea recently. And we usually have dinner together with the officers.”
“I’m glad you’re not the only woman there,” Joanna told her, taking Phemie on her lap. “Though I know there are plenty of women followers on hand. I’ve even thought of taking some produce to sell on Sutler’s Row myself.”
As the heaping contents of the dishes dwindled, Mae stood. “Let me tidy up. ’Tis the least I can do after so fine a Sabbath dinner.”
“I’ll make no objection,” Joanna replied with a grateful smile.
Mae plucked an apron from a wall peg and tied it around her waist while her oldest nieces began clearing the table. How good it felt to do the most mundane tasks and be among family again. Seeing Coralie hale and hearty dispelled the lingering taint of her own nightmare.
As the men rose from their chairs and left the house, Mae looked up from scrubbing dishes. “I thought I heard a horse.”
Joanna brightened. “The post rider, likely, though he’s not been by for some time.”
At that, Coralie rose from the table, hastened out the door, and bypassed the men on the porch. Might it be too much to hope Coralie would have a letter?
Going to a window, Mae saw the rider slow and greet Coralie. He came to a full stop near the barn before rummaging in a saddlebag. Mae could sense her sister’s tempered hopes, ready to be snuffed like candle flame, and all but held her breath. At last the rider leaned forward and extended a letter. For Coralie or someone else?
Coralie’s smile answered as she turned back to the house. Good tidings or ill? As he was an officer, the whereabouts and fate of Eben Gibbs were ever in question.
Lord, letit be good news, please.
Mae returned to her dishwashing while Joanna sat down in her favorite chair, both of them waiting. Coralie returned on catlike feet, reading as she walked. She came to a stop by the hearth, and the room grew more hushed. A sudden cry rent the quiet kitchen, shattering Mae’s hopes. Coralie hurled the letter into the low fire,then fled upstairs. Drying her hands on her apron, Mae watched the paper curl as flames licked the edges, ending in embers and ash.
Joanna looked perplexed. “What on earth?”
Coralie had held tight to her secret. Would it be left to Mae to tell them?
“My sister had some sort of understanding with a British officer stationed in New York,” she began quietly. “Lieutenant Eben Gibbs was originally from Chatham, but his family left for New York City at the start of the war, given their Loyalist stance. He and Coralie kept corresponding...”
Joanna sighed. “I pray the man’s not ill—or dead—though I never thought I’d be saying that about a British soldier.”
“I’ll go up to her.” Mae hung the dish towel on a peg, trying to summon the right words before climbing the stairs with a weight like a cold iron on her heart.
Coralie was in her room beneath the eave, sobbing so hard she struggled to breathe.
