by Ann Rinaldi
“We’ll include him in our evening prayers, James,” Mother said.
CHAPTER
23
Colonel Johann Rall rode into town on the twelfth with his five hundred grenadiers. They had fierce mustaches and arrived marching to a brass band. From our windows I could see Hessians in the street, going in and out of the houses on Queen, houses that had belonged to our friends. It made me angry seeing these black-uniformed men in our town. Father, who went to his shop that morning, said they called themselves Knyphausen and that they were in the village school and Presbyterian church. He told me I was not to go out of the house.
I did not see why I should be a prisoner in my own town. So when he went back to the shop after his noon meal and Mama and Lucy were busy, I slipped out. No one bothered me as I ventured forth, and so I went on and before I knew it I was strolling through most of the town. When I got back, it was almost suppertime and Father met me in the hall. “Where have you been?”
“I just went for a little walk, Father.”
“Didn’t I tell you not to go out?” He looked so fierce, his face was flushed. His hair nearly stood on end.
“But this is our town. We can’t let—”
Before I had finished he was grasping my shoulders with both hands, shaking me roughly. “If you go outside this house again without permission, I’ll take a birch rod to you! I’ve half a mind to do it now! When will you learn to obey?”
I saw more fear than anger in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Father,” I said. “I won’t do it again.” Mother and Lucy hovered behind him.
“I never was strict enough with you, Jemima Emerson,” he said, “and now I rue the day!” He released me. I ran to Mama, who put her arm around me. “She’ll obey you, James. Won’t you, Jem?”
I nodded, but he strode in to supper without looking at me. At the table he said that people who came into the shop had told him the Jaegers, who wore green uniforms trimmed with red, were at the old French and Indian War barracks down near the river. He would go to his shop every day, he said, for if he didn’t, they might ransack it. He had heard that the Knyphausen regiment was using the parsonage of Dr. Elihu Spencer and ripping into his book collection to light fires and clean their boots.
The next morning Father came in from milking Silly, our cow, whom Mother had originally named Priscilla. “Jemima, you’ve not fed the chickens yet.”
“I thought I’d do it after breakfast, Father.”
“Do it now. It’s a simple enough task, yet you can’t seem to remember to do it. Well, go on.”
It had been my job since David and Cornelius had left. I couldn’t see the fuss over a few straggly chickens. Yet he was determined not to let up on me, it seemed. “But Father—”
“Are you about to give me an argument?”
“No, sir.”
“Then go!”
I put on my blanket-coat and went out into the cold. I thought his anger was all out of proportion. Then I thought it was probably the news he’d received yesterday, that the Hessians had two brass three-pounder guns in the churchyard of St. Michael’s. I hated going into the barn without Bleu there and I sorely missed Chauncy the goat, who used to nibble at my petticoat in greeting. I squinted my eyes in the dimness. There were Romeo and Juliet, Father’s faithful carriage horses, and old Silly, all munching their breakfasts.
I was just about inside the door when I felt someone grab my wrist. I cried out, but a hand was clapped over my mouth. I thrashed my free arm around, but then both my wrists were secured behind my back.
Fear knifed through me. I kicked, but he was too strong for me. A Hessian! I screamed, but the sound died in my throat. I kicked again.
“Ow! You little devil! You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” He laughed his old familiar laugh, and a surge of relief went through me. John!
But I couldn’t say his name. His hand was still over my mouth, and with the other still gripping my wrists behind me he led me into the shadows. “Ssh. You must promise to speak in whispers before I release you.”
I nodded agreeably and he let me go. “John, what are you—”
“Shush. Must I shush you?” And he did then, by drawing me to him and kissing me. I shushed very nicely then for a few minutes, struck dumb by the wonder of his kisses, the look in his eyes, the wonder of him, standing there whole and alive. Tears came as I reached up to touch his dear face. He looked drawn, tired, and lean. He had grown a beard, too.
“John, what are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to see you,” he teased maddeningly.
“You know what I mean!”
“I’m working.”
“Do be serious.”
“But I am. See?” And he motioned to a bundle at his feet. “I have my paper and supplies. I’m still writing for the Tory newspaper. And I peddle a little tobacco on the side. It’s an easy way to get into an enemy camp. The Hessians are always eager for a smoke. I have a letter of introduction and safe passage from the British authorities, along with a copy of my loyalty oath to the King. The American army has a price on my head.”
“John!”
He smiled. “It’s to complete my disguise. I’ve built a reputation as a fine writer for Tory newspapers. And I sell nothing but the best tobacco. Your father has promised to be out of it for the next day or so in his shop.”
“Father knows you are here?”
“Weren’t you told to come out and feed the chickens?” He smiled more widely now, flashing his fine white teeth. Oh Lord, how I’d missed him! “He was provoked when you hadn’t done so yet. I see they still need me to keep you in line.”
“Will you be serious?”
“All right. When he came out to milk Silly and found me, he went right back inside and got some fresh-baked bread and cured ham. While I ate, he told me what he knows of the troops in town.”
“You’re working for Washington.”
He made a deep bow. “He needed someone with a Tory reputation who knew the town. The Tories here would point out a stranger. But I’m well known. I left loyal to the Crown and I’ve come back the same way. Now you must recite some lessons for me.”
I gaped. “At a time like this?”
“Yes.” And he took my hands and led me to sit on a bale of hay. “Your father says you might add to what he told me. I understand you slipped out of the house against his wishes yesterday afternoon and took a nice long walk.” He was scowling, the way he used to do when I’d been naughty.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“My ever-disobedient little pupil. This one time I’m grateful, but you mustn’t disobey your father again. Suppose I had been a Hessian grabbing you just now? Do you know what would have happened to you?”
I blushed but did not answer.
“Well? Do you?” he insisted.
“Yes, John. I won’t do it again. I promise.”
“Good. Now, can you tell me what you saw on that nice long walk? Are there any British in town?”
“Twenty of them at the Friends Meeting House on Third Street.”
“Good. Excellent. Any others?”
“No. Everyone else is Hessian. They’re horrible-looking, John.”
“Yes, they are. Where is the artillery? Can you remember?”
I thought for a moment. “At the Methodist church. And our own English church. The Hessians hold over a dozen buildings below the Assunpink Creek, and they’re even out on the Penny Town Road. I couldn’t help noticing things.”
“I’m glad you did. You always had a sharp mind, Jem. But don’t let your curiosity or your sauciness get you into trouble. You’re in an occupied town now. You must be careful and mind your parents. One more thing. Have you noticed any of the enemy building boats?”
I shook my head firmly. “No, but yesterday Colonel Rail had a parade. He ordered the cannon to be drawn forth and his musicians played the French horns and trumpets and drums, and all his officers made a grand entrance. They say he’s quite mad over music and pomp.
But oh, how long for the sound of our fifes and drums.”
He kissed my forehead tenderly. “You’ll hear them soon again, I promise.”
“John, David, and Cornelius have joined with Washington. And Raymond Moore is very ill and close to dying nan had to leave him north of New Brunswick.”
“Now aren’t you glad you wrote to him as long as you could?”
“Yes. If I could get a letter through, I’d write now. Would you mind terribly?”
“I would mind if you didn’t. Now listen to me. You are not to tell your mother or Lucy that I’m here. I’ll be in town today, then back across the river.”
“And will you be back?”
“I don’t know. I do as I’m told, as should you. I’m not the only agent working for Washington. Are you doing your reading?”
“Oh, John!” I giggled. He took my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You have done very well with your lessons today.”
Tears came to my eyes. He held me close. “Go inside now before your mother gets concerned. Or your father wonders why I’ve kept you for so long. I’ll continue to place ads in the Gazette so you’ll know I’m still alive.”
CHAPTER
24
Saturday, the fourteenth, Sunday, and Monday were very quiet. Then on Tuesday the British sent a patrol out to Penny Town, north of Trenton. They were fired upon and one soldier was wounded. Father said it was General Philemon Dickinson’s militia who fired, Americans who lived in the area. They struck the British at random and disappeared again into the woods.
That same day the Pennsylvania militia landed thirty men at the ferry picket post Rall had set up south of town. They harassed the Hessians with gunfire and withdrew across the river.
“At least Washington isn’t just sitting there across the river,” Father said. He was elated.
Wednesday morning we were awakened by cannon fire at dawn. It echoed in the distance, carried on the brittle morning air. That evening Father came in from the shop to tell us a landing party of fifty men had attacked the Jaegers at the ferry picket post and withdrawn to the other side of the river.
Thursday morning dawned bright and clear. Father was in a cheery mood. “Would you like to come with me to see the Moores today, Jem? I think we should pay a visit to our neighbors and see how they’re faring.”
Father and I had a nice visit at the Moores’, but I came home sneezing and with a raspy throat. Mother fussed over me and declared I was feverish. Father said I should have a bowl of Lucy’s soup and go right to bed. I protested, but he scowled sternly.
“I want to sup with your mama alone,” he said. “I have much to talk about.”
I heard him telling her that the Moores wanted to travel to find Raymond but could not leave their farm. But I thought there was some other matter pressing him, for I’d seen him and Mr. Moore huddled together before we left.
“I’m glad thee responded to my word to come,” Mr. Moore had said, “and I’m glad I could act as intermediary.”
Something sinister was going on, I was sure of it. Lucy fed me and gave me one of Mama’s concoctions for fever, although I had been in a state of fever since John Reid had shown up. But I couldn’t tell her that.
No sooner was I in my flannel nightdress than I heard my parents arguing. I waited until Lucy left the room, then slipped into the hall.
“James, on such a bitter night. It terrifies me.”
“It isn’t like you to know fear, Sarah.”
“It isn’t like me to show it. I show it now because I saw the orders issued by General Howe threatening to hang without trial anyone firing upon or molesting British soldiers or peaceable inhabitants.”
“I have no intention of firing upon anyone. I’m simply delivering dry foodstuffs and rum to General Dickinson’s militia in the woods of Penny Town. I’m a merchant doing business.”
“Why didn’t the note come directly to you? Why to the Moores?”
“Sarah, be sensible. It was the only way they could get the note to me. Isaac Moore sent word to the shop yesterday that I should come out. Those men are freezing in the woods, and if I can help them I will.”
“On such a night you can be tracked easily in the snow. You’ll endanger them.”
“I’m only taking a horse. The snow will cover our tracks easily. I know the roads better than the Hessians. You must allow me this, Sarah. It’s something I can do to help. How do you think I’ve felt seeing my town taken over and being able to do nothing?”
I didn’t hear Mother’s reply, but I heard him telling her to secure the doors. “I’ll go out the back way and stay overnight with the militia. Don’t wait up for me.”
After he left, I went to the window in the upstairs hall and saw him come out of the barn with Romeo. He threw a bag of supplies over the horse’s back. He wore his civilian clothes, for he had no uniform, yet I was thrilled with the importance of his mission. He had only his musket. I watched him pull the hood of his blanket-coat up over his head and ride off into the flurries of snow.
I slept the sleep of the dead that night from the fever concoction Lucy had given me. I awoke to see the sun slanting across the floor in my room the way it did when it was very late. For a moment I could not figure out what was going on.
I had been sound asleep one moment, but a sound had pulled me awake the next. There it was again.
A scream. It pierced the air, long and protracted and filled with agony. I recognized it instantly as Mother’s, and it pulled me out of my childhood forever and thrust me headlong into the world of adulthood, a world where nothing was ever secure again.
I did not have to ask what was wrong when I went downstairs and found Lucy and Mother in the parlor. I knew, from the look in Mama’s eyes, that Father was dead.
CHAPTER
25
“Child, you gotta eat sumpthin’.”
“Lucy, if I’d gotten up on time it wouldn’t have happened.”
“That ain’t true. Your papa weren’t killed here. He be killed someplace on his mission last night. They just leave him in the shop. What could you have done?”
“I could have gone with him. I know how to shoot. Dan taught me. I could have killed them.”
“Hush. ’Nuf talk about killin’ now.”
“Why did they do it, Lucy? They had no reason.”
“They don’t need no reason.”
“That’s no good, Lucy. It doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s all we got, child. These times got no sense.”
“They beat him to death. They smashed his head in.”
“Hush. Don’t say it.”
“I have to say it. I hurt inside, Lucy. It helps the hurting.”
“Then say it.”
“They beat him to death. They smashed his head in. And they ransacked his shop. He’s dead. My father is dead.”
“Yes, he’s dead. I saw him.”
“I saw him too, Lucy. The Indian women from Otter Hall let me see him.”
“They shouldn’t have.”
“I wanted to. I had to. His eyes were open. How can you be dead with your eyes open, Lucy?”
“His eyes are closed now, child.”
“Lucy, he was a good father.”
“Yes, he was.”
“He was always threatening to birch me. And you know what? He never even had a birch rod. He never hit any of us.”
“He loved you, child.”
“How can I live without him? I don’t want to live without him. The way I feel, I want to die too.”
“Nobody dies from grief.”
“But I want to.”
“Lucy ain’t gonna let you.”
“Where’s my mama?”
“She be upstairs with Mrs. Moore. She be all broken up. She gonna be no use to you today. You gotta depend on Lucy.”
“You’ll stay with me? You won’t leave?”
“Yes, I’ll stay.”
“My father made you free, Lucy. You can go if you want.”
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“None of us be free, child. When you white folk gonna learn that? We all be tied to sumpthin’.”
“I’ve been mean to you. John Reid scolded me because I was mean to you. So why should you stay?”
“ ’Cause I wants to.”
“Lucy, do you think I’ll ever see John again. Or Daniel? Or David?”
“Don’t you be thinkin’ that way, now. Don’t you let your mind turn against you like that. Sure, you will.”
“Lucy, Mr. Moore is asking the Hessians if we can bury my father in St. Michael’s churchyard. I wonder if they’ll move the artillery when we bury him.”
CHAPTER
26
We buried my father on Monday, the twenty-third. The ground gave up a coldness that made the air feel like the grave. The guns had been removed from the churchyard, and the detachment of Hessians that stood nearby behaved with utmost respect. I stood very close to Mama. She had spent the last few days in her room, cared for by Lucy and Mrs. Moore. I don’t think she knew what was going on. She seemed dim-witted now. She barely ate and her eyes did not look at you, they looked beyond. She seemed almost bewitched.
At the burial she showed no feelings, not even when Betsy Moore hugged her, crying. She seemed not to recognize anyone or even pay mind to the fact that she was in a churchyard. But it was just as well, for when the doors of the church opened, I could see the Hessians’ horses stabled inside.
I felt almost relieved that Father was dead and could not see that.
Back at our house the few neighbors we had left had assembled and brought hot soup and cornmeal pudding and cured meats and pies. I sat quietly and ate while people came up to me and said good things about my father and called me a poor child.
“It has a thin coat of ice on it already,” Mrs. Potts was saying to Mr. Moore. “It looks as if the Lord is with the British. If the river freezes, they’ll be able to walk across it and take Philadelphia.”