Coralie still held hers askance, staring at the fur as if it might bite.
“It doesn’t have teeth, Sister,” James said as if reading her mind. “Cured and fashioned by a Quebec hatter at my request. If the esteemed Dr. Franklin approves, surely you must.”
Coralie relented, donning the creation with obvious distaste. “I shall get used to it, I suppose.”
“You Continental officers would be warmer in these than your cocked hats.” Mae removed hers, admiring the silver-gray fur. “I’mnot a hatter, but I can sew shirts and breeches or knit stockings for any soldiers who need them.”
“Obliged.” General Harlow met her eyes as if holding her to it. “Many of the troops lack proper garments, even shoes. Some are reduced to rags on their feet.”
“Bloodied snow is a frightful sight.” Captain Sperry winced. “Several died on the march into northern Jersey.” At Coralie’s gasp, he apologized. “My manners suffer, I’m afraid. I know better than to talk war and wounds in feminine company.”
“I would rather hear the truth and be of help than have matters hidden.” Mae’s thoughts returned to her smokehouse guests. “We heard the battles of Trenton and Princeton took a frightful toll.”
“Washington fought like a lion. If the Americans hadn’t won there’d be no continuing now.” James took a seat on the sofa. “As it was, we lost some of our best, including General Mercer, a first-rate commander and Scot.”
“I pray there’s no more fighting this winter,” Mae said, turning her hat into a muff to warm her hands. Even a roaring fire failed to reach the parlor’s corners. Noting Captain Sperry’s stifled yawn, she said, “You men are understandably weary. Let me show you to your rooms upstairs.”
Coralie stayed behind as Mae climbed the steps ahead of their guests. Thankfully the rooms were kept in readiness for visitors. Her parents had always practiced hospitality, and that hadn’t ended. Mrs. Hurst had even lit the hearths, their fires casting a comforting glow on paneled walls.
Which bedchamber would General Harlow choose?
four
What a glorious morning for America!
Samuel Adams, on hearing of the battle of Lexington
Over the next days, Mae saw little of their unexpected lodgers. The officers left before first light and returned well after dark, once she and Coralie were in bed, though Aaron and Hanna told her James had come by the apothecary to speak with them. Something about Washington needing smallpox inoculations for his troops.
“Just when we think we have James safely home, he’s elusive as a fox,” Coralie said as she stifled a cough.
“I imagine they’re preparing winter quarters in the foothills. Regular soldiers don’t billet like officers here in the village but camp in tents, he said—and undergo winter training and such.”
“This bitter cold is an enemy too.” Coralie looked toward the sofa where she’d discarded her fur hat. “I’d gladly return that bushy monstrosity to James if he’d wear it.”
“I’m going to wear mine when I go out this afternoon.” Mae’s glee matched Coralie’s revulsion. “Perhaps all of Chatham will soon be donning Mr. Franklin’s hats.”
In a quarter of an hour she ventured outside. A great many Continental soldiers remained in the village, some wearing wooloveralls. A few gawked at her, one of them even asking where she’d gotten her unusual hat. The question sent her into the butcher shop with more eagerness than usual.
Bypassing the mostly empty window display, she called out a greeting upon entering. “Good morning, Mr. Vanderpoel.”
“Is it, Miss Bohannon?” The Dutch butcher’s florid face tempted her to flee outside again.
Villagers stood about, not bemoaning a lack of meat as much as sharing news. A few nodded and greeted her as she returned her attention to the man behind the counter.
“I suppose ’tis futile to ask for red meat,” she began.
“Ja, all the beeves are provisioning fighting men.”
She withheld a sigh. James and the officers needed meat—lots of it. She was especially determined to flesh out General Harlow’s striking leanness.
“And I’ll save you traipsing out to the mill, for there’s little flour and salt to be had either since the army moved in.” Mr. Vanderpoel continued whacking mutton with a cleaver. “Scarce as Spanish dollars and Dutch guilders.”
Thanking him, she left the shop and pondered Chatham’s noticeably bare shelves, its residents uneasy. Their own personal larder and root cellar contained enough pickles, preserves, potatoes, and apples to last till spring, or so she hoped. But meat was another matter entirely.
Once she was home, Mrs. Hurst promised to make another fish chowder. “Major James left this morn, saying he and the other officers would return to dine here this evening.”
Mae suppressed her delight, knowing Coralie wouldn’t be pleased and unsure how Mrs. Hurst felt about their extra guests, James aside.
