by Mary Calvi
He felt an unease as his fork entered the last slice of plum and he lifted it to his mouth. Over the time away from Mary, he had collected any information he could about her. The assessment presented by Captain Hugh Mercer was more than any man with dignity could take. A banquet was hosted by Loudoun, where officers gawked at the woman who held his heart. “I will wait for you” is what she had said to him. He knew she was true to her word. He placed his elbow upon his desk and let his forehead fall on his hand.
Loudoun! The man who called Virginia his dominion! Throwing banquets was more important to that man. George knew he himself had sacrificed much, risked even more for a position in the military and a chance at a better life not only for him but for the colonists, who ought to have days of peace. He wanted to fight. He wanted to protect. He wanted to save a people! Many of them suffered at the hands of the enemy, and now this!
George took out his quill for a second letter to this Lord Loudoun. It irked him even to write his location—Fort Loudoun. In page after page of rage, George presented his bitterness and frustration like a malcontent. He got to the end:
… if, under all these concomitant Evils I shoud be sickened in a Service that promises so little of a Soldiers reward.
I have long since been satisfied of the impossibility of continueing in this Service without loss of Honour …
Althô I have not the Honour to be known to Your Lordship: Yet, Your Lordship’s Name was familiar to my Ear, on account of the Important Services performed to His Majesty in other parts of the World—don’t think My Lord I am going to flatter. I have exalted Sentiments of Your Lordships Character, and revere Your Rank; yet, mean not this, (coud I believe it acceptable), my nature is honest, and Free from Guile.
We have my Lord, ever since our Defence at the Meadows, and behaviour under His Excellency General Braddock been tantalized; nay, bid expect most sanguinely, a better Establishment; and have waited in tedious expectation of seeing this accomplished. The Assembly it is true, have, I believe, done every thing in their Power to bring this about, first, by Sollicitting His Honour the Lieutenant Governor to Address His Majesty: and next, addressing His Majesty themselves in favour of their Regiment, what Sucess these Addresses have met with I am yet a stranger to.
In regard to myself, I must beg leave to say, Had His Excellency General Braddock survived his unfortunate Defeat, I should have met with preferment equal to my Wishes: I had His Promise to that purpose, and I believe that Gentleman was too sincere and generous to make unmeaning offers, where none were ask’d.
And now before I sum up the whole, I must beg leave to add—my unwearied endeavours are inadequately rewarded—The Orders I receive are full of ambiguity: I am left like a wanderer in the wilderness, to proceed at hazard—I am answerable for consequences, and blamed, without the privilege of Defence!
He continued on a page more. He exhaled. It was done. He folded the fifteen pages and put them aside. He would read them through before sending them to New York.
Another letter needed to be written. He would return for her, so he had told her before his swift departure when their moment upon Valentine’s Hill was interrupted by a cavalry of British officers rushing to present him the memorandum from the assembly requiring his immediate departure on account of a fort needing to be built.
If only he had refused the order and chosen love instead. If only he had reached out for her hand and asked her then to be his and only his for all time. Happiness, moral duty, they should be able to be connected, inseparably connected.
George brought out the gift he’d purchased in Boston, which he so desperately wanted to take to her. He imagined her eyes looking at him in that loving way and how they would react as she opened the box. He then pulled out the last letter he had received from Yonkers. Joseph Chew had kept his pledge to keep George abreast of her situation, “Pretty Miss Polly,” wrote Mr. Chew, “is in the same condition and situation as you last saw her.” She was waiting for him, just as she promised. George, too, was in the same condition. This frustrated him. He and she should be moving forward, not remaining in stasis.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Genu
But alas! we are not to expect that the path will be strewed with flowers.
—GEORGE WASHINGTON
YONKERS-ON-HUDSON
Mary didn’t want to do what Frederick told her must be done. Her stomach felt sick over it. He was right, but that didn’t mean she should be happy about it. She would quickly thank Captain Roger Morris and be done with it. It took her this long to finally agree. Months had gone by since the banquet. Her world had gone silent that night.
It had been Captain Morris who discovered her lying alone in the dark in that room where that scoundrel left her. She had little knowledge of what happened. An image flashed in the back of her mind; she forced the thought into hiding, for she wanted to keep its awfulness from even herself.
She would keep the conversation with the captain short. More than anything, she wanted the guards assigned to her by Lord Loudoun gone. The protection began after the banquet. They followed her each time she set foot outside, each time she rode on horseback. She wanted to get fresh air alone; instead, she had to deal with officers trailing her. Valentine, the horse born to George’s mare, outsped the guards every time. George would be proud. She wrote to him numerous times to keep him abreast of the young horse, which, although small, was still a fine mare. She hoped he received these letters, but how was she to know? He never wrote back, not a word. She understood, for he was a colonel fighting a war. There would be little time, she surmised, for writing letters.
She heard the clip-clop of hooves hitting the cobblestone path leading to the front door of the manor. Through the window to the right of the doorway, she saw the arrival of an ostentatious chariot. It looked as if a sheet of ice covered the exterior, for the black color had an extreme gloss. A golden lion shimmered upon its door. Green velvet housing covered the livery.
Dressed in a yellow suit, the man Eva had taken to calling “Genu,” Captain Morris, stepped onto the path. He wasn’t particularly tall. He was close to her height if she wore a satin heel. He held something sizable concealed behind his back. The last thing she wanted was a gift from him.
The captain had a spring in his step as he walked to the manor’s front door. He appeared to her as a summer’s garden in bloom, with embroidered flowers on the fabric of his coat that were large enough to see from a distance.
She planned to answer the door herself. No attendant for this. She needed the greeting to be over before it even started. She moved back from the window as he drew closer. The sound of his heels could be heard near the doorway. A quiet moment followed. Maybe he decided to turn around. She did not hear his heels click again. The lightest tap at the door came next. He must have seen her at the window. How humiliating, she thought. She waited before opening the top portion. If she looked only from the top, this affair would be done with sooner. Otherwise, he would expect to be invited in.
She undid the latch and opened it. Before she could get out the sentence she planned to say to him, he took off his tricorn hat and brought his hand from behind his back to reveal giant-sized flowers—with faces like the sun.
“For you, the Helianthus verticillatus.”
An awkward lull followed. She peered out the top of the door but could not see the stems. She undid the latch to open the bottom half. “These flowers are known to grow double this size.”
“Where do they come from?”
“They are native to France, Italy, and Spain. There are other species of this genus, as well—of the smaller variety.” He pointed to the seeds at the center of the flower. “If planted at the correct time of year, your gardeners will find they can be propagated quite easily, especially in the greenhouse.”
“The flower heads appear to be tilting.”
“I surmise due to their flexibility … or for reasons of kneeling before beauty.” With these words, he knelt before her
. “Without flowers, you might as well live out of this world.” He handed her the bouquet. He stood back up, said a brief farewell, and strolled off.
Mary was left holding a bouquet of sunflowers that carried a scent of musky earthiness. She realized she never thanked him for what he had done. She would hear of it from her brother.
Chapter Twenty-Six
State of Denial
I am become in a manner an exile …
—GEORGE WASHINGTON
FORT LOUDOUN
Dullness ruled. George could do no more than acknowledge its power. The days dragged on. The months dragged on. Fifteen months passed.
He wiped his brow; the heat was sweltering. He smelled of sweat and he didn’t like it. He sat at the slant-front desk he recently obtained and opened the prospect door to expose the interior drawers. He did his correspondence here. The desk was plain but neat and not very large—spacious enough to store his papers.
Today he shuffled through the letters he kept aside for personal matters. He tried continually to get leave to make his travels, to take care of the personal business he should have addressed when he was in New York with Mary Eliza in his arms. Now he was trapped in this lonely place, protecting a frontier with an inadequate force and dealing with skirmishes from a crafty enemy. Left nearly defenseless. Still alive, until the time the savages decided to attack.
He organized the letters from his superiors again. He put those next to the ones he sent; George transcribed every letter he wrote, so that he could review any one of them at a later time.
To Colonel John Stanwix in New York, he had written:
I should be much obliged, cou’d I obtain your permission to be absent about 10 days to settle some private affairs of very great consequence to me—You may be assured, Sir, I shall make no ungenerous use of your indulgence if my request is granted; and that I shall not quit my post if there is even an appearance of danger.
His commanders denied every such request, writing back to him:
I hope Col. Washington has not been upon the Cerimony of not going for ten days on his private affairs without my leave, hope he will always take this upon himself, being well assured of your not being Absent from your Command where your presence is so very necessary …
George made additional requests. Each one of them was denied: “yr Absence on that Account from Ld Loudoun must be suspended till our affrs gives a better prospect…”
How could the affairs give a better prospect if they never bolstered the number of troops or arms? Instead, he waited in a fort not yet complete for want of moneys and materials. He looked over his letter in response:
I did not purpose when I asked leave, nor ever intended to be answered, but at some favorable time, when the Service could admit of it without any detriment.
Why was it only he was refused personal leave? It seemed every other officer but him had such an opportunity. He again wrote to Stanwix:
I took the liberty in a letter to ask leave to be absent about 12 or 14 days, if circumstances in this quarter would permit; but having heard nothing from you since, I am inclined to address you again on that head.
The response to his request, he reviewed:
tis more than a fortnight ago that I answer’d your letter when you mention’d its being convenient to your private affairs to attend them … in wch letter I express’d my Concern that you should think such a thing necessary to mention to me as I am sure you would not choose to be out of call should the service require your immediate attendance …
As he sat, frustrated, he heard a knock at the door. The post rider had mail for him. “Colonel Washington, for you,” said the messenger.
George opened the packet and was pleasantly surprised by a letter from Chew. He quickly sat down and opened it. Washington had written him to inquire about the subject so dear to his heart. This was Chew’s reply:
Dear Sir
I hope the Conclusion of the Summer may bring forth something at Present Every thing look dark & Gloomy. I find no fault with the measures taken and the scripture forbids us to speak Evil of the Rulers of the Land …
as to the Latter part of your Letter what shall I say, I often had the Pleasure of Breakfasting with the Charming Polly, Roger Morris was there
George stopped here for a moment as shock struck him. Roger Morris! It couldn’t be.
(dont be startled) but not always, you know him he is a Ladys man, always something to say, the Town talk’t of it as a sure & settled Affair.
George slumped back in his seat, devastated to hear such news.
I can’t say I think so and that I much doubt it, but assure you had Little Acquaintance with Mr. Morris and only slightly hinted it to Miss Polly; but how can you be Excused to Continue so long … I think I should have made a kind of Flying march of it if it had been only to have seen whether the Works were sufficient to withstand a Vigorous Attack, you a Soldier and a Lover. Mind I have been arguing for my own Interest now for had you taken this method then I should have had the Pleasure of seeing you—my Paper is almost full and I am Convinced you will be heartily tyred in Reading it—however will just add that I intend to set out tomorrow for New York where I will not be wanting to let Miss Polly know the sincere Regard you h a Friend of mine has for her. and I am sure if she had my Eyes to see thro she would Prefer him to all others.
now my Dear Friend I wish you Eternall Happiness and Content and assure you that I am with sincere Esteem Your most Obedt Servt.
Jos Chew
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Games They Play
The game, whether well or ill played hitherto, seems now to be verging fast …
—GEORGE WASHINGTON
YONKERS-ON-HUDSON
Mary nearly burst into an uproar. She stormed into Frederick’s library. “They stole him!” She shut the door hard, turned to her brother, and waxed impassioned. “Right off the street!” Frederick quickly shifted his eyes to the left. She hadn’t realized they were in the company of Beverley. “My apologies, Beverley.”
“Polly, I know what you’re here to discuss,” said Frederick. “I have been told that the dressmaker’s husband willingly signed the contract to serve.”
“Leaving a tavern at midnight is not a time to sign up for Britain’s army. J. E. Sherwood has a wife, a son, and a daughter who is not well. He must be allowed to return home. Rosie is alone.”
“I cannot assert myself into every predicament your townspeople find themselves in,” her brother declared. “Influence ceases to exist if not used prudently.”
“They have nowhere else to turn, Frederick.”
“Beverley, what do we know of this situation?”
“Lord Loudoun has assigned a recruiting captain who has lugged many a man right off the street. The colony is a paradise for recruiters. A captain offers ale, flashes gold before their eyes, and can twist a nay into an affirmation from any chub.”
“Frederick, please. Mr. Sherwood is a good, hardworking man.”
Beverley continued. “Not only here, in the colonies of Maryland and Pennsylvania, they’ve even signed up indentured servants to enlist, offering them freedom after their service. The same for slaves in the South. Of course, the masters, they see these recruiting officers as thieves. However, those seeking freedom have signed up in plentiful numbers. They’ve made the best soldiers in America, from what I understand.”
“And Frederick?”
“Yes, Polly.”
“Rosie fears British soldiers will move into her home on order of Lord Loudoun. They’ve taken over homes in New York City.”
“’Tis true,” Beverley said. “Loudoun is demanding colonials quarter the troops under the Mutiny Act.”
“An Act of England—extended to America?” asked Frederick.
“Aye. Lord Loudoun has used one enacted in Scotland to allow for troops to be housed in private homes. And one separately enacted in England, forcing the allowance of incidentals.”
“Thirty companies h
ave arrived in the last month.” Frederick’s brow furrowed. “I never considered where they would be sheltered.”
“And there is no legal redress!” Mary added.
“Calls have been made elsewhere for the Crown to put an end to quartering any man in America—but to no avail. We should negotiate to prevent their use of the manor and of the church. They’ve turned churches into hospitals elsewhere in the colonies.”
“Our St. John’s?” Frederick looked anxious. “They would not dare. And the manor?”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Frederick rose from his seat, stepped to the window, pushed aside the curtain, and peered out. “Polly, I believe now is the time to allow a visit.”
“A visit? What does one have to do with the other? The visit already occurred.”
“A chance meeting at the entryway will not do. Captain Morris lives in Lord Loudoun’s mansion and is an aide to him. How can we ask for help if you still haven’t thanked him? This has gone on too long.”
“Frederick, a visit is not necessary. Since the last visit, this captain has been near me every time I leave this place.”
“And you’ve spoken not a word to him.”
“You say he is one of my two guards now; however, there must be gossip, for he follows too close. He even came inside the manor one morning while I was breakfasting!”
“This captain in His Majesty’s Army is a well-respected one. Polly, I expect you to keep your pledge.”
“I have not affirmed anything.” She turned her back to Frederick.
“One for the other.”