What was she doing this very moment?
Nearby, General Gates’s tent glowed with pale light. Rhys sat down to warm himself at one of many glittering campfires scoring the heights as Jon stretched out battered hands to the flames, his voice rising above the fifes.
“Did you hear the latest reports of the enemy pushing toward the twin forts while we sit here awaiting Burgoyne’s next move?”
“Aye.” The terse word carried a bushelful of angst. The miles between him and Mae had never seemed greater, every inch a powder keg waiting to ignite.
forty-four
Remember officers and soldiers, that you are Freemen, fighting for the blessings of Liberty.
George Washington
Fog hung over the Hudson River like a veil, lifting only slightly as the morning wore on. Mae ventured to the riverbank to wash her garments, continuing up Popolopen Creek and away from the laundresses who reminded her of her sister. But nowhere could she escape Coralie. Further up the rocky bank stood the willow that had held her secret letters.
Kneeling, she took out her turmoil on her soiled petticoats and shifts and stockings, soaping and rinsing them with a vengeance. What was happening with Rhys, Jon, and James? More than a month had passed with little word. Now October, summer’s green had faded to autumn tints. Even the river seemed changed, not the silken blue ribbon of before but a gritty pewter gray. Birdsong erupted from the trees, but it seemed a muted and melancholy music, the wood pewee particularly plaintive. Her own thoughts twisted with sorrow.
Rhys, Rhys. I’m sorry. Stay alive. Come back to me.
Straightening, she looked down the creek where it emptied intothe river below, her hands moving to her bodice. Spring seemed so long in coming. Time blurred and left her wondering exactly when the baby would arrive. No longer so sick, she still tired from the simplest of routines. She prayed that it would soon pass lest she be accused of laziness in addition to aiding and abetting a spy.
She rinsed a final stocking and hung it to dry on a bush beside her other smallclothes. The distant talk and laughter of the laundresses chafed. Since Rhys left she’d forgotten what it was like to laugh or feel lighthearted.
“There you be!” Lucy’s strident voice turned her around. Lucy hurried down the steep bank’s trail, her face pinched and red, Petey on her heels. “We’ve no time to waste.”
“What means you?”
“The pickets report the British are just upriver—the redcoat Clinton and his men!”
Flummoxed, Mae looked to her wet laundry. “So there’s to be a battle? Right here?”
“Not on my watch!” She grabbed Mae’s hand and began pulling, Petey between their petticoats.
“But my laundry!”
“Laundry be hanged! We needs care for our very lives!”
“But we can’t run south and meet up with the enemy.”
“There’s another way. I promised General Harlow—”
“What?” Hearing Rhys’s name grieved her yet filled her with hope.
“There’s no time to tell you. Hurry!”
They were at the top of the bluff now, winded but still at a half run. Mae put a hand to her head, dazed and dull-headed after little sleep.
“Hurry and gather a rucksack of belongings.” Lucy issued orders like an officer. “Wear your sturdiest shoes and pack a second pair. Bring the general’s belongings too, as we might need them, as many as will fit. Meet me in Sutler’s Row as fast as you can.”
With that, she disappeared as Mae stared after her.
Once inside Fort Montgomery, Mae found it much changed as officers barked orders and soldiers swarmed in every direction, preparing to defend the garrison. Where were the officers’ wives? Would they remain?
In her quarters she did as Lucy bade, filling an empty rucksack with the best of her meager belongings while loathing leaving garments behind on the riverbank. Would they go far? Perhaps to Jon and Joanna’s farm? Or the nearest Patriot refuge, wherever that might be?
Sutler’s Row was emptying, carts and wagons, people and animals fleeing in every direction. Lucy was waiting near her dismantled tent, holding the reins of two horses, one of which Mae had never seen. Petey’s head was visible from an unclasped saddlebag. Orion nickered when he saw her, but there was no time for affectionate greetings or to ask why he was here and not at the farm.
Ignoring the chaos around them, Lucy helped Mae into her saddle before climbing atop a stump to reach her own. She then led them into woods that seemed ready to erupt in light of the latest news. Their horses, well-fed and rested, seemed equal to the task.
