George Washington
Another week passed, with Oneida spies and scouts appearing more frequently at the twin forts. The lush landscape held a brittleness, the hardwoods showing the first signs of color. Mae felt a change in the very air. Would autumn come early? Chatham was especially beautiful in the fall, the foothills and mountains afire. New York would be the same, she sensed, once the dog days of August were behind them.
She dressed for dinner, wearing her loosest gown, her stays less tightly laced. Seated in the officers’ mess, she smiled when Rhys’s fingers found hers beneath the table as they sat side by side.
Caty Kersey’s chair was empty. Ill again, she kept to her quarters, attended by a midwife from the Hudson Highlands. Major Kersey had excused himself too. He was a doting husband, the prospect of a family reinforcing his desire to fight.
“I suppose there’s one benefit of being childless—I shan’t leave your side,” Alice told her husband fondly. “And it’s all a matterof perspective, is it not? I’ve only come from Boston, while some officers’ wives follow them across an ocean.”
“You speak of Baroness Riedesel, traveling south with Burgoyne and the British,” Colonel Wentz said. “She even has her young children in tow. Three to be exact, including an infant daughter.”
Alice’s astonishment mirrored Mae’s when she’d first heard about the noblewoman in Chatham. “Those Hessian wives sound as fierce as their husbands.”
“Her husband, General Riedesel, is an upstanding officer, though he’s joined the enemy,” Colonel Lamb told them. “He served with distinction in the Seven Years’ War.”
“And you, General Clinton?” Alice asked as dinner was served. “Is it true you have children at home?”
Clinton smiled from his position at the head of the table. He was clad in one of the finished indigo coats, brass buttons gleaming, the fringed epaulets glinting with the metallic thread Lucy had worked. “Cornelia and I have four daughters and an infant son, George Washington Clinton—a fierce Patriot since birth.”
They laughed as two orderlies served dinner, though Mae thought it sad the war had taken Clinton away from his family at such a time while also plunging a German noblewoman and children into the thick of it.
She listened to Rhys and the officers talk about the books and writings they were reading before circling back to the rebellion. Stomach settled, she helped herself to heaping dishes of beef, salat, wheaten bread, and a great many vegetables from valley settlers selling the last of their garden’s bounty on Sutler’s Row. If she wasn’t careful she’d reveal her condition to everyone at table.
Rhys eyed her with amusement as her nausea gave way to ravenousness. His momentary shock along Popolopen Creek had since faded to a quiet, steadfast joy.
“The Mohicans are proving invaluable to us. There are no better scouts or intelligence in the northern campaign,” Rhys was saying as the men discussed Indian allies.
“It doesn’t hurt that you can speak their tongue,” James told him with a knowing smile.
“Can you now?” Alice asked, appearing as surprised as Mae.
“Only because two Mohicans were held captive with me in Quebec. It was either learn their language or languish from loneliness,” Rhys replied with a touch of drama. “Some of our allies speak better English than I do.”
The others chuckled, and conversation continued as an orderly served apple tarts.
“When are the prisoners in the guardhouse being transferred?” Colonel Lamb looked to General Clinton, who gestured to Rhys.
“Harlow is the one who apprehended them near the Clove, where General Washington is encamped with troops. He’ll be escorting them to a court-martial shortly.”
The Clove. Lucy had told her it was a twenty-mile stretch where a few taverns stood, a region terrorized by Loyalist outlaws often in league with detachments of British regulars.
“We were able to get confessions from two of the fugitives exposing the rest.” Rhys set his knife and fork on the edge of his empty plate. “Smith claims to hold a lieutenant’s commission in a Loyalist regiment, but I have my doubts. General Putnam will decide their fate since he’s the authority on military justice.”
Clinton’s relief was obvious. “Putnam warned that their gang has been promised a considerable reward if they seize American officers and conduct them to the British.”
Mae felt a qualm and looked to Rhys. “You’ll go with a guard to deliver the outlaws, I hope.”
“Rest assured, Mrs. Harlow.” Clinton smiled as if to cheer her. “Your husband will lead the party, which will be heavily guarded. He and your brother are far too valuable to risk capture or any violence along the way.”
When supper was finished, she and Rhys, the officers, and Alice walked to the Grand Battery. Though she’d been several times, she was continually awed by both the cannons and the view. Whowould believe amid all this wild beauty that armies were advancing? Everything looked so sunlit and serene, forests and mountains hemming in the river as it glided north and south.
A detachment of guards changed positions outside fort walls just as Mae spied Coralie. A basket of laundry on her hip, she spoke with a soldier in the shade of the powder magazine. Their animated talk and laughter drew more than Mae’s eye. Rhys glanced at them, surprise on his usually stoic features.
“And who,” Mae all but whispered, “is my sister talking to?”
“Captain Sinclair of the 5th New York Regiment.”
“Perhaps she’s forgotten Lieutenant Gibbs.”
