Time Enough for Drums

by Ann Rinaldi

  “You took away my novel. And Bleu. And all the time you had this for me? I hated you then.”

  “Did you?”

  “Well, I did think you looked rather dashing when you came back from Boston. Yet I was angry with you at the same time. And then I got sick and you gave me that book of poems and I was so confused! I didn’t know what to think of you.”

  “Ah, yes, the book of poetry.”

  “I read it time and time again. It meant so much to me.”

  “You would have had a hard time convincing me of that. You were still a plague to me.”

  “Oh, John, don’t tease. But tell me, sir, what made you so sure when you were in Boston that I would …”

  “That you would learn to love me? I was never sure. But I was hoping.” He kissed my forehead. “It was most difficult for me to be stern with you when I loved you so.”

  “But you managed it just the same.”

  “Only because I was trying to help you grow up.”

  “And have I?”

  “Yes, Jemima. I would say you have grown up very nicely.”

  I pinned the locket at the neckline of my short gown, and then I let him kiss me again. Because I had already resolved that if you’re afraid of love, your heart will break anyway, only in not half so nice a fashion as it does when you let somebody love you.

  CHAPTER

  19

  He went away.

  He left on a July day when the town was under a stupor of white heat. He packed his saddlebags and took his long musket and put on the hat pinned up with the turkey feather and rode out of town on Star.

  One minute he was in Father’s study telling me how he expected me to keep on with my lessons, leaving his books for me to read. His hands were on my arms as gentle as goose down, yet like hot irons. He cradled me against his chest, pressed his face against mine, and said my name in terms of endearing promise. The next minute he was striding through the wide hall, and I was standing on our front steps watching him ride down Queen Street.

  He left on the pretense that he was gathering information on the war for a Tory paper in New York. He would write for that Tory paper but he would also post notices once a month in the Pennsylvania Gazette about his runaway slave, Portia, under the name of Charles Apgar. As long as those notices appeared, I would know he was all right, for his letters to me under his own name might cease at any time.

  I stood watching him go, thinking my heart would break. But it didn’t. It had to stay whole, for there were too many other things yet to come that would break it.

  CHAPTER

  20

  “Are you crying again, Jemima Emerson?” I turned from the window in the upstairs hall to see David standing next to me. How tall he’d grown this past summer, how brown he’d gotten, how his voice had deepened.

  “All you do is cry over that damned Tory, Reid. Honestly, Jem, I never thought you’d go daft over a Tory.”

  “Oh, David.” I sniffed and turned to put my hands on his shoulders. “Don’t scold. You’ll be in love one day yourself, and you’ll see that politics doesn’t have a thing to do with it.”

  “I should think it would with you. There’s Dan, a personal aide to General Schuyler, helping to negotiate with the Iroquois. And Mother getting a whole wagonload of shirts and coats off to the army in New York. And Father with his work in the Congress.”

  “David …” I wiped my eyes and looked up at him coyly. “Don’t be angry with me. I can’t bear it.”

  “I’m not angry with you. It’s our parents’ fault for allowing him to tutor you so long. You couldn’t help it. He did sweet-talk you. And everybody knows that girls can’t help falling in love when they’re sweet-talked. It’s all right with me, Jem, if it’s what you want.”

  I hugged him. How dear he was! “I’m so glad Father didn’t let you go off with the group of New Jersey militia that left last week.”

  “Huh! I’m not. They left to join Washington. He needs all the help he can get since Admiral Howe landed all those Redcoats on Staten Island a month ago and General Clinton came up from South Carolina with more. He won’t be able to hold New York.”

  “But we can’t let you go yet. You’re not even sixteen.”

  “Some of our boys were fourteen and fifteen when they fought at Lexington and Concord.”

  “Time enough for that, David. Like Lucy says, time enough for drums.”

  “All of a sudden Lucy is the philosopher in the household. And people worry about slavery. Lucy’s long since forgotten that she’s owned. She practically runs everybody around here. Jem, have you heard that Grandfather Emerson and Canoe are leaving?”

  “No. Where are they going?”

  “They’ve gotten news that a Cherokee war party attacked the whole white frontier, from southern Virginia to northern Georgia. They’re off to try to make peace with the Indians at the request of the Continental Congress. Damn, I wish I could go with them!”

  “Oh, David, everyone’s going away!”

  “Now, don’t you start that crying again. And you’d better get to the shop. Father’s looking for you.”

  Canoe and Grandfather came into the shop later that hot August morning to pick up a bundle of supplies. I helped Father wrap the coffee and cakes of chocolate, spices, sugar cones, and linen thread. Canoe stood before me at the counter.

  “John Reid will be fine,” he said.

  I looked at him. His eyes held warm sympathy and were understanding, but more than that they held a knowledge. Was it possible he knew of Reid’s activities? Grandfather and Canoe certainly belonged to the network of Patriots in Trenton. Had John confided in them, maybe even used their advice for his travels?

  “Gathering information for a Tory paper can be dangerous, Canoe,” I said.

  “Gathering information for any reason in wartime is dangerous,” he said, “but Reid is a smart man.” He set a small sack down on the counter. I knew it was pemmican, Canoe’s way of comforting me. “Thank you, Canoe.”

  He met my eyes. “He thinks much of you, Mr. Reid.”

  “And I think much of him.”

  “He came to see us before he left. Your grandfather helped him map out his route.”

  So it was true. They did know of his activities. Still, it was not to be spoken of outright. Canoe nodded, took his bundle, and padded out into the August heat.

  In late August a letter came:

  I am very fine here in New York but I am thwarted in my work for the time being. I must first make friends with the right people who can help me. So far it is all social discourse and I am not allowed to proceed further until I establish myself. I know my articles are needed for the paper and it pains me to sit and sip tea and rejoice in General Howe’s attack on New York, successful though it was, when I could be reporting the events. I hope all is well with you.

  Your obedient servant,

  John Reid

  I knew what he was about. He was in New York making friends with Tories, ingratiating himself by sipping tea. It must be killing him. I destroyed the letter immediately as he had instructed.

  “Read Daniel’s letter to me again, Betsy.”

  “Oh, Jem, I’ve read it to thee two times. Anyway, it’s private, I’ve told thee that.”

  “I don’t want those pages. Just read the other parts so I can remember to tell Mama when I get home. She hasn’t heard from him.”

  “Thee would be wise not to tell thy mother anything.” But she dug the letter out of her basket.

  … we did our best to evacuate the supplies stored here at Fort Lee after the fall of Fort Washington. But wagons were impossible to find. General Greene, my commander, managed to get the ammunition away, then sent five hundred of us out to guard the places where the British might land. But somehow, in the night, they climbed a place in the Palisades we never thought they could maneuver. They captured over two thousand of our men at Fort Washington. When we discovered they had climbed the Palisades, they were only eight miles away. So we o
fficers gave the order to flee, leaving our tents and cannon. Thousands of us marched off, leaving our breakfasts on the cooking fires.

  Your brother is with me. I was dispatched on my new assignment in August and told to join Washington because my superiors perceived me to be a capable officer with somewhat of a reputation for both gallantry and common sense. I asked to have Raymond accompany me. He has proved his worth. On the long journey down from the north I was plagued with a persistent cough and a cold in my chest and he took good care of me. But it’s November now and my men are quite ragged. My own coat has become shabby, but I worry that with all the marching my men’s shoes will soon be gone. At least I still ride dear old faithful Gulliver, who fares well. I shall not give further description beyond saying that this was an unhappy day for our Cause.

  I shivered as the cold December wind whistled down Queen Street. “I hate the British, Betsy.”

  “Thee mustn’t hate.”

  “I’ll hate all I want to. And if I see one Redcoat in this town, I’ll kill him.”

  “Thee couldn’t kill a fly.”

  “I could. Dan taught me how to shoot a musket. I hate them with their fine, fancy warships and their good uniforms. I hate this town too. Every day someone else leaves. Reverend Spencer left, and now the Presbyterians don’t have a minister either.”

  “My father says Reverend Spencer has a hundred guineas on his head for his Patriotic activities. Thee would flee too. But thee does not need ministers to pray.”

  Just then I caught sight of a broadside nailed to a post of the Black Horse Tavern. “Look, Betsy, it’s one of General Howe’s announcements about his protection papers!” We went closer to read.

  “ ‘We hereby do declare and make known,’ ” Betsy read, “ ‘to all men that every person who, within sixty days from the date hereof, shall appear and claim the benefit of this proclamation and at the same time testify his obedience to the laws by subscribing a declaration of the words therein is promised a free and general pardon.’ ”

  Below it, in script on heavy parchment, was a copy of the pardon issued by General William Howe when he entered New Jersey.

  “I think it’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” I said.

  “Has thy father signed one, Jem?”

  “My father would never. What about yours?”

  “Quakers do not take oaths. Did thee not hear how Stacy Potts refused to take the oath to the Patriotic Cause, even though he’s a true Patriot?”

  Again we viewed the broadside. “Let’s tear it down, Betsy,” I said.

  “Thee wouldn’t dare. Why, it’s the King’s own! General Howe acts for the King!”

  “All the more reason!” And without further ado I took a step onto the wooden walk and grasped the bottom of the broadside. It came loose and I stood looking at it, larger than life in my hands.

  “Hide it under thy cloak, quickly,” Betsy said. I did so. We looked up and down Queen Street, but it was empty. We hurried in the direction of my house, where we were going to do some sewing for the army.

  Ripping down the broadside had given me great satisfaction. For the past week, I had been so worried and distracted that I thought I would lose my wits and my senses altogether. I’d received another letter from John in late September. Also, the first notice in the Gazette about the missing slave, Portia, had appeared, just in case the letter hadn’t gotten to me. The letter had been fine enough although convoluted. I managed to decipher that John was doing what he wanted to do and making progress. Then in late November, just about a week ago, another letter came.

  This one told about the hanging in late September of Nathan Hale, who had been spying for the Americans. “His mission was planned badly,” John wrote. “His face was marked by exploding powder, so he was easily recognizable, and he had a cousin serving with the British. We are now hearing that the American intelligence service is better organized, so we have to be wary of them.”

  Still, I’d been worried. And then came the letter from Dan about the fall of Fort Washington. The Cause was faring poorly.

  “Ah, Jem, we were just speaking of you. Major Barnes has a complaint against you. Come and defend yourself.”

  My father looked over his spectacles as I entered his shop to relieve him for his noonday meal. The man at the counter was smartly dressed, and I recognized him as our neighbor on Queen Street, Mr. Barnes.

  He bowed to me cordially. He’d been the high sheriff of Hunterdon County, but in mid-July the Provincial Congress had brought charges against him as a Tory and he’d resigned. It was probably he who’d put up the broadside. And now he was in my father’s shop in all his fine clothes calling himself Major. Whatever for, I couldn’t imagine.

  “Jem, Mr. Barnes is now a major of the First Battalion, New Jersey Volunteers. He’ll be leaving soon to serve with the British army.”

  A British officer. What could I say?

  “Major Barnes claims he was standing on his verandah this morning and saw you tear down the broadside posted on the Black Horse Tavern.”

  “It was no ordinary broadside, Jemima,” Barnes said. “It was a proclamation from General Howe.”

  “I know what it was.”

  “Then you did tear it down?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why, Jemima?” my father asked.

  “Because I’d just seen a letter that Betsy Moore received from Dan that tells how the army had to flee Fort Lee and how the men’s shoes are practically gone and Dan’s coat is so shabby. That’s why.”

  My father took off his spectacles and wiped them.

  “Ah yes,” Barnes said. “Well, I quite understand your childish impulsiveness, then.”

  “It wasn’t childish impulsiveness. I’m not a child. I knew what I was doing.” I looked at his fine clothes as I said it.

  “Impulsiveness,” he insisted, “that can only bring trouble to your family when the British arrive.”

  “Oh, and are they arriving, Major Barnes?”

  “Jemima,” Father warned.

  “As far as trouble goes, my family already has trouble. We don’t know where Dan is or that he isn’t cold and starving.”

  “I understand, young lady,” he said, “but your brother is suffering the fortunes of war.”

  “So did General Howe’s broadside.”

  He sighed. “It’s a pity that nice Loyalist tutor you had left town. You’re a feisty one, Jemima Emerson. It seems he was the only person who could ever keep you in line. Take my word for it—when the British reach Trenton, such foolish actions will bring dire results.” He turned to Father. “James, I implore you as an old friend and neighbor to sign the loyalty oath. When it’s a question of being shot as a traitor or imprisoned or losing all your worldly goods, prudence should take the place of valor.”

  “Thank you for your concern, John.”

  “But you won’t, of course, will you?”

  “A loyalty oath to the King? John, I don’t know if my son is alive or dead right now. If we had a flag to symbolize what we’re fighting for here in these colonies, I tell you I’d be tempted to fly it when the British reach Trenton. But we don’t have one.”

  “Then when they come here, take your family out of town, James. Leave, like the others.”

  “I have my home and my shop,” Father said simply.

  Major Barnes drew his cloak around him. “I see there’s no influencing you. At least send your family out of town, then. Think on it.” He took my father’s hand in both his own, scowled at me, and left.

  “Father, I’m so proud of you.”

  He was tidying up the counter. “What he said was true, Jem, every word of it. And I’m not happy with you for what you did today, either.”

  “I did what I thought was right.”

  “I never have been able to control you, Jemima. As Major Barnes said, John Reid was the only one who ever could.”

  “You’re the one who is always telling us to have convictions.”

  “There
’s a difference between convictions and foolishness.”

  “And I suppose you’re not being foolish refusing to sign the loyalty oath?”

  “Don’t be saucy with me, miss. I won’t have it. In light of what you did today, I’m thinking seriously of sending you and your mother to Otter Hall if the British come.”

  “And you?”

  “You heard me. I have my shop.”

  “Well, I won’t go. And Mother won’t, either.”

  “Never mind about your mother. You’ll go if I say.”

  “I shan’t!”

  “Jemima Emerson, you’re wanting a birching, talking to me like that. And even though I never have, I will if you defy me in this matter.”

  “I don’t care if you do! I won’t go! I won’t leave you!” I burst out crying.

  He didn’t know what to do. He looked startled and confused. He came from behind the counter with a look so stricken, I knew I would never forget it. I ran to him and he held me in his arms. “Hush, hush, child.”

  “Father, don’t make me go to Otter Hall. The family is all separated as it is, and I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  He quieted me, then promised he would not make me go. He promised we would stay together always. “The British can’t separate us,” he said. “Why, the British probably won’t even come to Trenton. We’re getting upset over nothing.”

  Five days later the British did come to Trenton. But the retreating American army, Daniel with them, came first.

  CHAPTER

  21

  We were at supper that night, with the December wind beating in dark waves against the windows, when the front door burst open, admitting a gust of cold air.

  “The American army is nearing Princeton!”

  It was David. He came in with a clatter, his musket slung over his shoulder. He set it down in the hall and stood with the rain dripping from the cape of his rifle frock.

  “Is that any reason to interrupt a man’s supper?” My father looked up from his soup.

  “No, sir.”

  “You’re late.”