As Christmas neared, Eric sat with other commanders and watched as Washington paced the ground and pointed at the maps. “We are desperate, gentlemen. Desperate. Our army has been sheared to threads, those men who remain with me talk constantly of the fact that their enlistment periods are up. Now, I have a plan…”
His plan was risky, desperate, dangerous—and brilliant, Eric thought. On Christmas night they recrossed the Delaware, nine miles north of Trenton, with 2,400 men, during a snowstorm. The cold was bitter, the wind was horrid, the water was ice. Eric felt his face chafed, he felt the numbing sting as the water rose from the tempest-tossed river in a spray to strike him. But in the pale light ahead he saw Washington standing at the bow of his boat. All of the men saw him. They crossed in safely.
At dawn they fell on the Hessian garrison at Trenton.
Victory was complete. Drunk, stunned, and hungover, the mercenaries fighting for the British tried to rise from their beds, but the colonials were all over them. Eric had little need to shout orders, for his troops moved with swift efficiency, and the attack was a complete surprise. When it was all over, of fourteen hundred Hessians, a thousand had been captured, thirty had been killed, and the Americans had lost only two men frozen to death and five wounded. Most important, perhaps, was the booty they captured, a good supply of small arms, cannon, and other munitions.
That night the small band celebrated. Within twenty-four hours, however, danger threatened again. The British general, Lord Cornwallis, was moving quickly. By January 2, he faced the American position with 5,000 men while another 2,500 awaited an order join him from Princeton.
“There is no way to fight this battle,” Washington said. “Campfires…” he muttered.
“We leave them burning?”
“We leave them burning.”
They slipped away by night. On January 3, battle cries went up as they came upon the British regulars who were marching to join Cornwallis. The battle was fierce, and furious, and when it was over, the Americans were victorious. They hurried on to Princeton and captured vast supplies of military equipment, then hastened away to Morristown.
That night they again celebrated.
“They will tout you as one of the most brilliant commanders ever,” Eric told Washington.
“Unless I lose a few battles. Then I shall be crucified.”
“My God, no man can do more than you have done!”
The general smiled, stretching out his feet. “Then until the spring, I shall be a hero. Cornwallis is abandoning his positions in western New Jersey because we have cut his communications. It is time we dig in for winter ourselves.” He hesitated. “I have some letters for you.”
Eric was a mature man, a major general, a man who commanded hundreds of men, who shouted orders in the field, who never flinched beneath powder or sword. He was, in fact, growing old with the damned war. And yet now he felt his fingers tremor, his palms go damp. “From my wife?”
Washington shook his head. “No, but from France. One from your man, Cassidy. Another from Mr. Franklin.”
“Franklin!”
“Mmm. Poor Ben. He’s been sent there by Congress to woo the French into assisting our cause. Seventy years old is Ben. And quite the rage of Paris, they are saying. A good choice by Congress, so it seems. The ladies are all charmed by his sayings and his wit and even his spectacles. Even the young queen is impressed by him.”
“He is an impressive man,” Eric muttered as he ripped open the letter from Cassidy and scanned it quickly. Things were well, the voyage had been smooth, they were living in the shadow of the royal party at Versailles. Everything was wonderful, so it seemed, and yet Cassidy urged him to come. He looked at the letter and realized that it had been written in September. He frowned at Washington.
“The letter went to Virginia before it reached me,” Washington said.
Eric nodded, then ripped open the second letter. Worded in the most polite and discreet tones, Benjamin Franklin informed him that he was about to become a father. “’Seems a pity that the child cannot be born upon American soil as you are so firm and kind and staunch a father of our land, but nevertheless, sir, I thought that the news would delight you and as it seems from her conversation your lady is not disposed to write, I have taken this upon myself…”
The letter went on. Eric didn’t see the words. He was standing, and he didn’t realized it.
All the months, all of the longing, all of the wonder. And now Amanda was going to have a child and she was all the way across the Atlantic Ocean. And Franklin was right. There was no way that the child could be born on American soil. He tried to count, and he couldn’t even manage to do that properly. He had last seen her in June. He had seen her in March…but no, he would have known by June. What was nine months from June?
“Eric?” Washington inquired.
“She’s…she’s having a child. At last,” Eric said, choking on the words.
“At last?” Washington’s brows shot up. “My dear fellow, you were married what—two years?”
“Three now,” Eric corrected him. “I had thought that we could not, I…” His voice trailed away. He knew that no matter how dearly Washington had loved his adopted stepchildren and stepgrandchildren, he had wanted his own child. Washington bore no grudge against other men and loved Martha dearly, yet Eric felt suddenly awkward. It was the surprise, the shock. He sank back to his chair and he remembered that he had accused her of being Tarryton’s mistress. And he had sent her away in raw fury, God alone knew what she would feel for him, if she wouldn’t have rejoiced in betraying him in France. No! he assured himself in anguish. She was not alone. Jacques Bisset was with her, Jacques who surely knew that no matter what he had said or done, he loved her.…
“God!” he said aloud.
Washington sat back, studying him. “It is winter. I can foresee no action for some time to come. Perhaps I can send you with letters for the French to Paris myself. If…if you can find a ship that will sail.”
Eric grinned suddenly. “I can find a ship to sail. My own, George. I shall take theLady Jane. And I will make it up to you. I will capture a British ship with a multitude of arms, I swear it.”
