“Mark my word, the enemy willsoon be at our door, and they will show nomercy.”
Unable to sleep, Mae got down on her knees and prayed as if it was the last prayer she would ever say, until her knees and back protested. She pleaded for an end to the war. For Rhys’s safe return. For all the soldiers and camp followers at the twin forts and beyond to go home peacefully and whole. She even prayed for the British to make peace.
As the fort came awake, she breakfasted alone, just toast and tea at her own hearth. Rain was needed, and when she heard the first drops of a deluge she rejoiced. The air smelled of dampened dust that would soon become churning mud, though the heat was already easing.
Bible reading took the next half hour of her time. She pondered writing another letter to Hanna and Aaron but had received no reply. Best wait till she did.
Midmorning there came a sudden knock, and Mae opened the door to see a wet, bedraggled Lucy standing there, Petey by her side. Behind her the gray parade ground dripped with rain. “Please come in.”
Lucy entered and went to stand by the low fire burning in the hearth from breakfast. She said nothing—odd for Lucy. Petey snuck in before Mae could close the door, then sat and cocked his head.
“Would you like tea?” Mae asked her.
“Nay.” Lucy swallowed. “General Harlow isn’t here?”
“He’s gone out on another foray but should return soon. Is there something the matter?”
After some hesitation, Lucy shoved a hand into her pocket and brought out a piece of paper. Mae set down the teakettle and took what Lucy held out. A letter? The handwriting was as familiar as her own.
Coralie.
Her long, loping script was in cipher, sending Mae’s stomach somersaulting again.
“Where did you find this?”
“Up Popolopen Creek there’s a willow with a hollow in it.” Lucy stared at the letter as if it was tainted. “Your sister put it there while I hid and watched. It wasn’t long before a soldier come and took it from the tree once she’d gone.”
“A soldier?”
“Aye, dressed as a Continental. But he’s not familiar to me from either fort.”
Mae’s chill belied the room’s heat. Her thoughts tumbled one after another, trying to make sense of the matter. Restless, she sat down, only to stand up again.
“I’ve seen your sister go up the creek before, but I thought shemeant to relieve herself.” Lucy’s eyes were grave. “When I followed her, I found out otherwise.”
“Then we must tell General Clinton straightaway.” Even as Mae spoke, dread pinned her to the plank floor.
Heaven help us.
They went out, Petey on their heels, all three of them trying to stay beneath the parapets to avoid the deluge. The guards had no such refuge, their garments soaked, their cocked hats waterspouts. And Rhys, out there somewhere...
Mae stopped midway, fearing she’d lose her breakfast.
Lucy reached out a comforting hand. “Are you all right?”
“Nay.” Mae took a breath and continued on.
She’d never been to headquarters, just watched from a distance and thought it resembled a beehive with all its comings and goings. At Lucy’s knock, an aide-de-camp admitted them to a sizable room spread with maps and weaponry. Dispatches lay like fallen leaves on an immense desk, leaving no doubt a war was ongoing. Between narrow windows facing the parade ground a large flag hung, its stars and stripes a pleasing pattern.
She saw no sign of General Clinton, but his aide-de-camp soon remedied that. Had they interrupted his breakfast?
He appeared, smiling but clearly surprised when he saw them. “Mrs. Harlow and Mrs. Hawkes, what brings you through the downpour to my quarters?”
Lucy handed him the letter without speaking. Was her throat as tight as Mae’s?
“Cipher?” He examined it in the light of a hanging lantern since the room was shadowed. “Where did you get this and whose handwriting is it?”
Lucy told him how she’d found it, and Mae swallowed past her wooziness to confirm it was Coralie’s.
