[That person] will be the best Soldier, and the best Patriot, who contributes most to this glorious work, whatever his station, or from whatever part of the Continent he may come.
George Washington
Mae inked her quill and wondered if she should share Coralie’s heartache with Aunt Verity.
Since you asked about Coralie and Lieutenant Gibbs, I will tell you that Coralie has just received word from him ending their engagement. She is understandably distraught and even threw his letter into the fire. I tried to comfort her to no avail. Please pray that her heart will mend and she will recover from being spurned in time. For now, she remains on the farm with Jon’s family, though she may want to return to Chatham—
A knock sounded on the door. Lucy?
“Come in,” Mae called, setting aside her letter once again.
Lucy appeared, Petey on her heels. She made the adoring dog stay at the door, then shut it, sewing kit in hand. “I saw you comein with General Harlow and your brothers and thought you might want to begin those coats.”
“I’d rather sew than write,” Mae told her, leaving the desk to fetch some of the waiting wool. “How’s Private Hawkes?”
Lucy smiled her tea-stained smile. “Tip-top and drumming again.”
“So I hear.” Mae turned toward the window, where it seemed the drummers were intent on storming the gates of Hades. Though she wouldn’t tell Lucy so, Mae preferred the more lilting fifes of the fife and drum corps. Drums sounded ominous, but fifes reminded her of bright, piercing birdsong.
“He’s learning a new call—a drum signal—for battle. Though he’s been missing, he’s top drummer now, his major said.”
“Is it true the fifes are heard over the chaos of battle, like drums?”
“Aye.” Lucy took out newly sharpened scissors. “There’s a new lad who’s joined the corps by the name of Nathan Futrell. Only seven years old.”
Mae’s heart twisted. “So young.”
“Been playing since he was wee, like my Isham.”
“Where are his parents?”
“He’s orphaned.”
“How sad. Think of the danger.”
“Plenty of that.” Lucy sighed. “Especially when they happen to be standing in the middle of the battle with no protection, not even a musket.”
Soon the snip of scissors took hold as they cut the woolen cloth into pieces, their goal one fine coat. Next came the linen lining.
“I’m a sorry tailor,” Lucy said as she coated linen thread with beeswax. “Feminine garments are more to my liking.”
“Hopefully I’ll improve over time.” Mae studied their efforts, having used Rhys’s wedding coat as a pattern. “’Twill be a fine way to winter.”
“If we’re still here.” Lucy eyed her warily. “Burgoyne is fighting his way toward us, though he’s been slowed some at FortEdward. I fancy he prefers a fort to plowing his way through the wilderness.”
Fort Edward again. Had Jane McCrea been buried there? “With General Washington and several thousand Continentals near at hand, I’m feeling rather comfortable.”
“Don’t get too snug. Washington may be heading another direction.”
Mae stopped snipping. “Truly?”
“He’s torn between staying here in New York to rout Burgoyne or stomping on Howe in Pennsylvania.”
“How like a game you make it sound.” Mae resumed snipping. “You hear a great many things, far more than I do.”
“Sutler’s Row is always abuzz. And I mostly keep my mouth shut and my ears wide open.”
“Perhaps I should do the same,” Mae said, examining the linen. “Shall I use a backstitch or running stitch to sew the lining together?”
