Little Spy of Vincennes (Patriot Kids of the American Revolution Book 3)

by Geoff Baggett

  “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” demanded Genevieve. “It is enough that we must endure your injustice later today when you steal the life of my husband at the end of your horrid rope!”

  Major Hay grinned angrily. “As if you didn’t already know …”

  Genevieve’s face took on a very confused look. She turned and stared at little Pierre, who pretended to be equally confused. Pierre smiled in his heart. His mother was doing a great job of pretending.

  “I assure you that I have no idea what you are talking about, Major.”

  “Your husband has escaped!” yelled the British officer. “And with the aid of people in this town. We discovered a tunnel below his guardhouse that led to an old building near the river. It seems clear that he did not dig his own way out. There is a conspiracy at work here, Madam, and we intend to get to the bottom of it!”

  Genevieve Grimard stared at the man, her eyes wide with feigned surprise. She exclaimed, “My husband has escaped?”

  The Redcoat officer stared angrily at her.

  She yelled again, this time in celebration, “My husband has escaped! Hallelujah! My Pierre has gone free!”

  She began to skip around the room. She grabbed Pierre and began spinning him around and dancing a lively jig. Both of them laughed and cheered. Soon Jean-Baptiste and Charles joined them in a grand family celebration. It was a parade of happiness inside the tiny Grimard home.

  “Enough!” shouted the officer. He turned to his men. “Search the house. Look for any sign of the fugitive.”

  “Surely you do not think he is here!” Genevieve protested.

  “No, I am almost certain that he is not here in this house. But we must make absolutely sure, and we must search for evidence of any crime against the Crown.” He glanced at one of his soldiers. “Search the house. Check everything.”

  “Right away, sir!” The soldier turned toward the other Redcoats. “You heard him, men! Tear this place apart!”

  Two of the soldiers used their muskets to prod the members of the family through the door and into the cold outdoors. They did not even allow them the opportunity to grab a coat or blanket. Genevieve cried in protest as she clung to her children and tried to keep them warm in the winter cold. Pierre stood defiantly, arms crossed, and stared at the soldiers with a piercing glare of hate.

  The squad of soldiers inside spent the next half-hour dismantling the Grimard house. They turned over cabinets and shelves. They ran their sharp bayonets through every mattress and every piece of clothing. They dumped food into the floor, including several large sacks of flour. When they were done, the house was in shambles. A thin coating of white flour covered everything inside the home.

  A British sergeant reported, “The house is clear sir. No sign of the criminal Grimard.”

  “Very well, Sergeant. Escort the children back inside, but the woman is coming with us.”

  “You’re not taking my mother anywhere!” screeched Pierre. He ran toward the pair of soldiers who were dragging Genevieve toward the gate. Just as he reached out and grabbed one of the men by the arm he heard and felt a loud pop in the back of his head.

  And then there was nothing. The entire world turned black …

  ~

  Pierre awakened several hours later. He was very disoriented. Though his surroundings looked familiar, he didn’t know where he was.

  He heard his little brother, Charles, proclaim, “Mama! Come quickly! Pierre is awake!”

  Pierre’s head was throbbing. He reached up and felt a bandage across his forehead. He reached around the back of his head and felt a hard knot.

  His mother pulled a chair beside the bed and sat down. Though she was smiling, her face showed her concern. She was worried about her son.

  She whispered, “How are you feeling, Pierre?”

  “I’m all right, Mama. My head hurts a little.”

  “One of those horrible soldiers hit you in the back of the head with his musket. I could not do anything to help you. They dragged me off to the fort. Mr. and Mrs. Turpin brought you to their home and took care for you. That is where we are now.”

  Pierre was confused. “Why aren’t we at our house?”

  “Oh, son, those soldiers made a horrible mess at our place. It will take days to put everything back in order. We will have to get new mattresses and curtains. Our cabinets will have to be rebuilt. There is much damage. But do not worry, our friends and neighbors are helping us.”

  Pierre saw something strange about his mother’s face. Her hair hung low over her right eye. It was odd … she never wore her hair like that. And it appeared that her eye was swollen.

  “Mama, what is wrong with your eye?” demanded Pierre.

  “Oh, nothing, dear. I’m quite all right.” She began to get up from her chair but her son grabbed her wrist.

  “Mama, show me.”

  Genevieve reached up and pulled her shiny hair away from her eye. The skin of her upper cheek and her entire eyelid were swollen and purple.

  “What happened to you? Who did this to you?” he demanded.

  “It is none of your concern, son. Now just lay back and let me fetch you some soup.”

  Again she tried to rise, but Pierre refused to release his grip.

  “I am making it my concern, Mama. Now tell me … who did this to you?” His voice was harsh. He had never spoken to his mother in such a tone.

  She stared in shame at the floor. Tears welled in both eyes and flowed down her cheeks. She still did not answer.

  A deep voice responded from the far side of the room. “Henry Hamilton did that, Pierre.” It was the voice of Francois Turpin. He was standing in front of the fireplace and puffing on his pipe. “He questioned your mother in the fort. When he didn’t get the answers that he was looking for he struck her.” Francois spit into the fireplace in disgust.

  Pierre shifted his gaze from the angry man to his mother. “Is that true, Mama?”

  Genevieve Grimard merely nodded. She did not speak.

  Pierre growled under his breath. He felt rage brewing from deep inside his heart. His hands trembled and ached. He released the grip on his mother’s arm. She quickly stood and walked over to the wash pan. She busied herself by washing dishes with Mrs. Turpin. Pierre could hear her weeping.

  Mr. Turpin walked toward the bed. “Don’t worry about your mother, Pierre. She is a fine, strong woman.” He sat down in the chair that Genevieve had placed beside the bed. Gaspard joined him at the wounded boy’s bedside. The boy brought Pierre a cup of hot tea with honey. He punched his best friend affectionately in the shoulder and then sat down on the foot of the bed.

  Francois continued, “Pierre, I saw that mother of yours endure much worse things on our journey up the Mississippi River from New Orleans.” He paused and chuckled. “Did you know that your father and mother once saved my life?”

  Mrs. Turpin sighed and exclaimed, “Not that story again!” She grinned. Gaspard laughed. Genevieve continued drying dishes in silence.

  “Truly, Mr. Turpin? They saved your life?”

  “Oh, yes. We were still in the Louisiana Territory, not even two weeks out of New Orleans, when I went out on a hunting expedition with your papa. I stepped in a hole full of deadly snakes. Four of them bit me through my moccasin. I was dead, for sure. But your father rescued me from the woods. He tied a belt around my thigh and then cut my leg open and drained the poison. He had men carry me in a litter back to the boats. Then your sweet mother nursed me back to health and cared for me for several weeks during the journey. She fed me and gave me water with a spoon when I was unable to drink. I surely would have died had it not been for your parents.”

  “She really did that?” asked Pierre in disbelief.

  “Indeed she did! And on top of that every man on that journey was scared to death of her! She ran our camp like a Hessian general. Those eighty boatsmen took off running every time they saw her coming. Why, even old Charles Rimbault, the famous river

  explorer of
Vincennes, was scared of Genevieve Grimard!”

  Everyone in the house laughed. Even Genevieve could not help giggling. Pierre was glad to hear joy in his mother’s voice again.

  Francois paused and leaned toward Pierre. “So, don’t go getting all worked up over a black eye. Your mama is stronger than any punch thrown by Henry Hamilton.”

  He sat back in the chair, sucked in a long draw from his pipe, and then exhaled the gray-blue smoke.

  “Anyhow, your mama is a legend in Vincennes now. She stood up to Henry Hamilton and made him so angry that he struck her. That swollen eye is her badge of courage.”

  Pierre was surprised. He had never heard the snakebite story. He liked the idea of his mother saving a man’s life. He always knew that his father was a brave, strong man. But he was beginning to realize that his mother was a steady, strong person, as well. He was proud of his mama … but he still despised Henry Hamilton.

  Gaspard exclaimed, “Tell him about how Mama fell out of a tornado and became your wife!”

  Pierre’s eyes grew wide with surprise.

  Francois chuckled and tugged on his son’s foot. “That, my boy, is a very long story. We will save it for another day. Now, let’s get Pierre up and out of this bed and get a little hot soup into his belly.”

  ~

  In the weeks that followed, life under the British became exceedingly difficult. Governor Hamilton was livid when he discovered that Pierre Grimard has escaped from his guardhouse. He became even more frustrated when he could not locate any evidence of the conspiracy to set the prisoner free. His anger quickly reached a boiling point.

  The governor decided to take out his frustrations on the people of the town. He imposed harsh rules and curfews upon the citizens. He broke down doors in the middle of the night and carried men off to jail. He ordered his troops to take food and supplies from the townsfolk. He did everything that he could think of to make the lives of the French people in Vincennes as difficult as possible.

  The weather made life in the Illinois Country even more miserable. Though the winter had not yet turned frigid, the country was shrouded in rain and cold. Soaking rains fell almost daily. The rivers and streams were swollen and overflowing. The Wabash River flooded thousands of acres of bottomland at the southern end of the village. The streets of the town became muddy lakes. The rains of January became even heavier in the first week of February.

  The people of Vincennes continued to do what they had always done. They struggled to survive. They fought against the weather, hunger, and disease. They endured the oppression off the British. And they counted the days until the Americans under Colonel George Rogers Clark would return and, once again, bring liberty and freedom to their tiny frontier village.

  chapter thirteen

  visitors in the night

  February 5, 1779

  Pierre’s feet were soaking wet and frozen. He had run off into the pitch black of night to find Mrs. Turpin and bring her back to the Grimard home. On the way he stumbled into a huge puddle of water and thoroughly soaked his buckskin moccasins.

  Pierre longed to warm his feet beside the fire, but that would have to wait. He had to take care of his younger brothers and keep them behind the curtain where the boys slept. Their mother needed her privacy. She was in the middle of giving birth.

  Beyond the curtain, Genevieve wailed from the pain of childbirth. Jean-Baptiste and Charles stared at their big brother in wide-eyed fear. Gaspard Turpin, who had accompanied his mother to the Grimard home, seemed concerned, as well.

  “It’s been going on for a long time,” Gaspard whispered. “We should have heard the baby cry before now.”

  “Everything is all right,” Pierre assured the other boys quietly. “Mama will be all better once her baby is out.”

  He desperately wanted to believe his own words. At the same time, his heart ached with worry for his mother.

  Soon they heard Josephine Turpin’s commanding voice from the other side of the curtain. “All right, little mama, we’re almost done. Now, just one more push, Genevieve! This is it! One more push! Do it now! Push, woman, push!”

  They heard Genevieve groan. She screamed loudly, and then suddenly became very quiet.

  “It is a girl!” Josephine shrieked. “It is a perfect little girl!”

  Pierre looked excitedly at his little brothers. “Did you hear that, boys? We have a baby sister!”

  “Aww …” complained Charles. “I wanted a brother.” He crossed his arms in disgust.

  The other boys giggled quietly.

  Soon they heard the dull whack of Mrs. Turpin’s hand hitting the child’s bottom. The baby coughed and sputtered for a moment and then emitted a high-pitched, powerful, piercing cry. Both Genevieve and Josephine joined in with their own cries of celebration and joy.

  “You did a wonderful job!” declared Josephine. “You should be very pleased with yourself.”

  “I want to see!” declared little Charles. Pierre tried to hold him back, but he bolted from his big brother’s grip and ran to the curtain to peek through into the room where his mother lay. The other boys shrugged and joined him. The four curious boys watched through the crack in the curtains and listened.

  “I simply cannot believe that I finally have a baby girl,” Genevieve proclaimed through tears of joy. “I have wanted a little girl of my own for so very long.” She gently kissed the newborn’s eyes and nose and then held her tiny, pink cheek up against her own.

  Josephine glanced toward the privacy curtains that were drawn shut across the far end of the room. Several glowing eyes stared in her direction through the narrow crack between the two drapes. She smiled.

  “All right, boys. You can come out now. Come and meet your new sister. Gaspard, you can come out, as well. Come and greet the newest member of the Grimard household!”

  The Grimard boys darted instantly from behind the curtain, scampered across the room, and surrounded their mother. She held the baby out for them to examine. Their faces beamed with wonder and joy. Gaspard, Josephine’s son, stood behind them and looked at the baby in silent curiosity.

  “Oh, Mama, she is so pretty!” declared Jean-Baptiste.

  The rambunctious Charles, barely three years old and still something of a baby himself, didn’t have anything to say. He simply climbed up onto the bed beside his mother and, without invitation, planted a firm kiss on the baby girl’s forehead. Genevieve’s heart leapt.

  “I think she looks like Papa,” declared Pierre. “Look at her long, wavy hair. And she has Papa’s eyes!”

  Genevieve held the little girl up and examined her closely. “I do think you are right, Pierre. And if she looks like your papa then she must also look like you, because you are his perfect image.” She lay the baby back on her chest and reached out to cup her hand against her oldest son’s cheek. Little Pierre turned his head and kissed his mother’s hand with tender affection.

  “Whatever shall you call her?” asked Josephine. “Pierre is not here to help you choose the name.”

  “We already selected names several months ago. If it were a boy he was to be called Nicolas.”

  “Well, you will just have to save that name for the next baby, perhaps. But what name for a girl?”

  Genevieve smiled. “Pierre insisted that a girl be named with the most beautiful name that he has ever heard or spoken from his lips.” She paused.

  “And?” Josephine asked impatiently. “Do not keep us in suspense. What is this most beautiful name?”

  “Why, it is Genevieve, of course!”

  Both women and the room full of little boys giggled with joy.

  ~

  February 23, 1779

  The last whispers of sunlight had disappeared from the tiny window. The world outside the Grimard home was shrouded in the dark purples and grays of night. Genevieve wiped sweat from her brow in desperation. Her children had become quite unruly. The tired woman was almost at her wit’s end. She wanted her children to go to bed so that she might
have some peace.

  Three weeks had passed since giving birth to baby Genevieve. The infant was suffering terribly from belly aches. She cried and fussed almost without ceasing. The rambunctious Grimard boys were of no help whatsoever. It was time for bed, yet all the lads wanted to do was pretend to shoot muskets and play war, fall out in the floor and “play dead,” and cause an overall din of madness and confusion inside the house.

  Genevieve screeched in weary anger, “Jean-Baptiste, I want you and Charles to stop all of that screaming and unnecessary noise and get into bed! Right now! I am tired of your constant wrestling and rough play inside my house. Daylight will come early tomorrow, and both of you will have many chores to do. Now get behind that curtain right now and crawl beneath those covers!”

  “Yes, Mama,” responded the older boy as he darted obediently toward his pallet in the corner. Charles followed, as well, though he continued to poke and trip his older brother on the way to their destination.

  Genevieve scolded the younger boy, “Charles! Stop it, immediately! Do not make me come in there and put you in that bed!”

  The lad complied, though he continued to sport a mischievous grin as he disappeared behind the curtain. Genevieve covered her mouth to keep from laughing at the unruly boy.

  Genevieve saw the larger hand of her ever-responsible oldest son, Pierre, as he reached up to pull the curtain closed. The exhausted mother breathed a prayer of thanksgiving and then sat down in her rocking chair to attempt to nurse her fussy baby. She relaxed for the briefest of moments and closed her eyes. She jumped in fear when she heard a subtle, hollow knock at the front door.

  She froze in fear. Who could it possibly be? No one ventured out after dark. Governor Hamilton had declared a sundown curfew on the town since Christmas Day. Anyone caught moving around after dark was treated as an enemy spy.