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inside, and stayed to wave good-bye. The driver climbed back into his seat, then flicked the reins on the horses' backs.
"Remember what I said, Matilda," she called. "Take care. Whatever you do, take care."
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
September 24th, 1793
I cannot anticipate nor limit the period, when the devastation and horror too long experienced in this miserable place will have an end.
-Letter of John Walsh, clerk Philadelphia, 1793
By the time we reached the coffeehouse it was midday. An ugly yellow scrap from a ripped bodice was still tied to the handle of the front door, which was open.
I jumped out of the wagon before it had stopped moving. I leapt up the steps and burst through the doorway.
"Grandfather, hurry!"
The front room was a jumble. Tables and chairs lay helter-skelter. The clock was missing from the mantle; the pewter candleholders were nowhere to be found. King George's bird cage lay on the floor in pieces, as if smashed by a heavy boot. Grandfather hadn't seen the
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foul-mouthed parrot in days. Had he come home and flown off again?
The destruction in the kitchen was greater. Broken pottery covered the floor. The doors to the pantry stood open, and Eliza's crocks of preserves, the sugar cone, and her spice cabinet were missing. The coffee and tea canisters lay on their sides, empty. The dried meat, beans, and onions that usually hung from the ceiling had vanished. Even the kitchen table was overturned.
Something crunched behind me. I whirled around, but it was only Grandfather picking his way across the broken plates. "What happened here?" he asked quietly. His eyes moved over the mess, but it did not look like he could make sense of it. "I was just here a few days ago. I locked the door, Mattie. I'm sure." His voice was on the edge of trembling.
I picked up pieces of broken glass. "Don't fret," I said. "Someone broke in the window. You locked the door, Grandfather. It's not your fault."
"Did they take anything from upstairs?"
My heart thudded against my stays. Before Grandfather could say another word, I had lifted my skirts and raced up the staircase.
The second floor looked as I had left it, except that Mother was missing. The powerful stench of sickness lingered. I opened the windows and shutters to bring in fresh air, then crossed the hall.
My bed was still in Grandfather's chamber. I glanced
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in to make sure everything was in its place. The room still held his presence: his books on the nightstand with an old pipe. A painting of Grandmother hung over his bed, with a picture of the farm where he grew up beside it. Whoever destroyed the first floor hadn't bothered coming up here.
I went downstairs to rejoin Grandfather. The clothespress at the bottom of the stairs was untouched, the bed linens and tablecloths stacked in it as neatly as if Mother had set them there a moment ago. I lingered in front of it. It was almost possible to forget everything if I just focused on the scent of lavender and clean cotton and the beeswax that made the wood glow.
Grandfather was picking through the broken chairs in the front room, trying to salvage something to sit on. I opened all the windows and propped open the doors. There wasn't a breath of air to be had. The room still held the faint smell of coffee and tobacco smoke, but dust coated the furniture and the floor. Spiderwebs hung in the corners of the room. It felt like I had been gone a lifetime.
"Have a seat, girl," Grandfather instructed. "You're still weak."
"Only if you sit as well," I said. "Your face is as red as an overripe cherry." I did not mention how hard he was breathing. We moved two chairs to the door, where the air was a mite cooler. He massaged his left arm.
"Old battle wound," he said when he noticed my
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concern. "This arm goes pins and needles from time to time. The heat doesn't help any, nor this commotion."
He was still breathing hard, but his eyes had lost that glazed look they'd had in the kitchen. He needed a good night's sleep in his own bed, I decided.
"Right. When you were here a few days ago, everything was in order and locked up tight. You thought that Mother had gone to the Ludingtons' farm."
"And Eliza," he said. "She would have asked Eliza to join her."
"Eliza wouldn't go. She has family here and would have wanted to help. You know Eliza would never run from trouble."
He nodded his head.
"Whoever came here didn't go abovestairs," I continued. "Maybe they saw the fever rag and thought there was still an invalid in the house."
"It didn't stop them from destroying everything they touched," he said. "Was anything else stolen?"
"Food. They took every scrap of food in the kitchen, even the ..." I froze. "The strongbox!"
I fumbled with the tread of the hollow stair, then threw it to the side and lifted out the metal box. I opened the lid. It was still there, pence and shillings. Thank heaven for that.
I returned the box to its hiding place. It could be worse, I thought. The house is still standing. We're alive. Mother and Eliza must be somewhere safe, I had to
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believe that. The fever would soon be over, and our lives would return to normal. I just had to stay clever and strong and find something to eat.
A tear surprised me by rolling down my cheek. "None of that, Mattie girl," I whispered to myself as I scrubbed the tear away. "This is not the time to be childish."
A familiar yowl came from the back door. Silas waited at the threshold, unwilling to risk his paws on the messy floor.
I carried him in to Grandfather. "Here's a friendly face," I said as I held the cat close. "He seems healthy enough." I scratched between his ears. Silas rubbed his face in my hair. "Why didn't you scare those intruders
awayr
"They probably fed the beast a bite of ham, and he showed them the way to Eliza's goodies," said Grandfather.
He tried to lift his sword and scabbard to its place over the mantle, but his arms shook too badly. I set Silas down and took the sword from him. "Let me help you," I said. I raised the sword to its resting place.
"Thank you, my sweet," Grandfather said. "Don't know what's come over me."
"I know," I said firmly. "We've just come through a battle and you need time to recuperate." I wagged my finger at him like a commanding officer. "Captain Cook, you must report to your bedroll immediately for
126 an extended leave, Sir. Fresh water will be fetched for you."
He saluted me. "Yes, Ma'am, General Mattie."
I listened with envy as his boots shuffled up the stairs and clumped into his chamber. I wanted to take a nap. Why couldn't someone else come to clean up the mess and fetch the water? Silas looked at me skeptically.
"You're right," I sighed. "If I don't do it, no one will. But first, I need something to eat. Even Mother believed in a good meal before chores. Let's get Grandfather's water and see what we can salvage for supper." Silas followed me outside.
"Oh, my gracious."
The garden looked dead. Insects had devoured most of the leaves and vegetables, leaving behind skeletons of stems and branches. Weeds had exploded between the neat rows. All those weeks of backbreaking work had been for nothing. Hot tears threatened, but my grumbling stomach was more painful.
I drew a bucket of water from the well and used the dipper to drink as much as I could hold. I spilled the dipper over the top of my head, shivering as the cold water trickled down my back. I carried the bucket inside and poured a mug for Grandfather. He was already asleep by the time I entered his room. His color was better, and he was snoring like a barn full of plow horses. I set the mug on the floor and tiptoed back downstairs.
The ground was baked too hard to use the hoe. I
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decided to pull up what I could and hope to find something edible overlooked by varmints. A cloud of bugs swarm
ed around my face every time I touched a withered plant. I weeded the bean patch and found a few hidden string beans for my efforts. The cabbage plants were so infested with worms, I couldn't bring myself to look at them.
Every few minutes, I crawled under the cherry tree for shade and another cool drink of water. Ants covered the cherries that lay on the ground, but I found enough on the tree to settle my stomach. Silas climbed up to a cozy nook between two branches and went to sleep.
"I'll not forget all your help, wretched cat," I muttered as I knelt in the squash patch.
An hour later, I examined my treasure on the kitchen table: two handfuls of green beans, four stunted crookneck squash that had been nibbled by mice, and a few sour cherries. I divided the meal into two piles: one for me, and one for grandfather.
"Not exactly a banquet, is it?" I asked Silas.
Silas jumped on the table and lapped the water in my mug.
"Oh, no, you don't," I said as I lifted Silas off the table. "We still have rules, even if Mother isn't here to enforce them. Cats eat on the floor." I poured a bit of water into what was left of a bowl for him.
I tasted a green bean. Tough as leather, but not as tasty. I suddenly remembered what was missing. I
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pushed the bean to the side of my mouth and bowed my head.
"Thank you, Father, for keeping me alive. Please punish the terrible people who wrecked our home and stole our food. No, that's not right, they were probably hungry. Punish them a little bit for taking so much. They should have left something behind, and they had no reason to break things. Deal with them as you see fit. Please take care of Mother and Eliza and Grandfather." I sat in silence for a moment. "And Nathaniel."
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
September 25th, 1793
I think the malady is becoming more alarming, more than one-half [of Philadelphia] has emigrated.
-Letter of John Walsh, clerk Philadelphia, 1793
Silas woke me the next day by purring next to my head. I rose and stretched, enjoying the coolness brought by the night. Grandfather snored across the room. We had survived one day and one night.
I crept downstairs. I wanted Grandfather to get as much rest as he could. My skin was crusty with filth, and I itched. No doubt I looked a fright and smelled worse. I made my first decision of the day. I needed a bath.
"Much as I hate to start a fire on a day like this, we have to boil water," I told Silas. I fumbled with the flint and tinder until a spark jumped, and I built a respectable blaze. It was a shame there was no one to boast to but Silas.
I didn't bother putting a skirt or bodice over my shift to haul water from the well. It felt too good to walk across the garden unburdened by heavy skirts.
"Nobody can see me," I told Silas, who watched with disapproval. "There isn't another soul for blocks."
I dumped bucket after bucket of water into Eliza's biggest pots and swung them over the fire. As the water heated, I scavenged in the garden again. Gardening at dawn in a thin shift and with loose hair was nearly fun. I felt like a sprite or a hungry leprechaun, turning over leaves in search of a treat, looking under weeds for a pot of gold, or perhaps a turnip. Gardening in nightclothes could become a new fashion, I thought. Imagine plump Mrs. Ogilvie planting radishes in a red-striped nightcap. That would be a sight to turn Philadelphia on its ear!
The bubbling pots of water made the air in the kitchen thick and hard to breathe. I dragged the bathing tub into the front room and filled it with boiling water. When the tub was half full, I added cold water straight from the well until the temperature was comfortable. I closed the shutters, bolted the front door, and closed the door to the kitchen. Assured of privacy, I removed my shift and settled into the warm water.
It felt strange to take a bath like this-the house so quiet, no sound from the street, alone except for a nosy orange cat. I usually bathed once a month, or for special occasions. I stuck my leg up in the air and rubbed it with soap. This felt like a special occasion.
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The water soon turned brown with weeks of dirt and sweat. I held my breath and dunked my head under the water. I scrubbed my hair with soap and dunked again, over and over until my hair was free of blood and filth. I rubbed the soap on a rag and scrubbed my skin until it burned. When even the soles of my feet were clean, I dried myself by the kitchen fire.
My skin crawled at the thought of putting on my dirty clothes again. The only other clothes that fit me were someplace in the Pennsylvania countryside with the farmer who had abandoned us. I slipped on my shift and went up to my bedchamber.
I eyed Mother's trunk. I was nearly as tall as she, even if I didn't fill out a bodice the way a grown woman did. I swallowed. "I promise I won't wear any of your clothes to go fishing or climb trees," I said aloud as I opened the latch.
Mother's shift and blue-and-white striped overskirt fit better than I had imagined. They were made of cotton, spun fine and tightly woven, and felt as light as silk after wearing my dirt-encrusted homespun for so long. I twirled around the room, ready for a ball, curtsying to the east corner, and then the west. This would suit me fine.
It was time to wake Grandfather. Too much sleep could be as bad as not enough, and I needed his help in the garden. He was sleeping on his back, his arms thrown to either side. His chest rattled with every breath, and his face was the color of spoiled cream.
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Perhaps we should have found a way to stay at Bush Hill. He still wasn't over his cough. Mrs. Flagg would have welcomed the chance to dote on him for a few days. But she had other responsibilities. I could take care of Grandfather.
I shook his shoulder gently. "Grandfather, time to wake. I found a few things to eat, and we have much to do today."
He opened one eye. "I'll have a dozen eggs, a loaf of bread, and basket of plums, please," he mumbled.
"Your stomach will feel better if you don't talk about food," I replied. "But we'll find something today."
I floated down the stairs, clean, fresh, and hungry. Silas trailed behind me, swatting at the edge of my skirt.
"I don't suppose you could be useful and catch me a bite to eat," I said. "No mice, mind you. A fat chicken would be lovely, or a length of sausage, or beef stew . .. Listen to me. I'm as bad as Grandfather!"
I set a small pot of water to boil and added the beans and turnip. The thieves hadn't bothered to take any of the herbs drying overhead. I sprinkled parsley and sweet thyme into the water.
While the soup cooked, I swept the kitchen floor clean of the broken crockery. It made so much noise I did not hear Grandfather enter the room.
"It sounds like you're tearing the house apart board by board," he said. He squinted. "Excuse me, Miss. Have you seen my granddaughter, Mattie? She must be around here somewhere. Filthy little urchin, she is, wearing a grimy dress and a ragged cap."
"Get on with you," I said. "There's no call to be rude, and the bath water is still warm, if you don't mind it gritty."
"I'm a soldier, girl. I've bathed in icy streams."
I interrupted. "Frozen lakes and rushing rivers. I know, a real soldier doesn't need hot water. But I don't want you smelling like a real soldier, thank you very much. Especially in this heat. Once you've finished bathing, put your dirty clothes in the water. I'll wash them later."
Grandfather bathed quickly and was polite about his breakfast soup. It was slightly better than warm water with weeds in it, but not by much.
"Don't suppose there's any way we could convince Eliza to come back right away, is there?" Grandfather asked as he forced himself to swallow another spoonful.
"That wouldn't be right," I said. "I'm sure she's helping the people who are truly needy, folks sick with fever who can't care for themselves. We shouldn't be greedy."
"Is there much food in the garden?" he asked.
"A little," I answered. "We need to find someone who will sell us some bread and meat."
He shook his head slow
ly. "I don't like the idea of leaving the house," he said. "The world out there has turned upside down." He unbuttoned his top button and coughed. "What if we were gone and Lucille came
134 by with a wagon searching for us? No. We're safe here, and I don't want to hear any more talk of venturing outside, unless it's to the garden. We'll stick to home until we don't have a choice."
I spent the afternoon watering and watering and watering. Grandfather tried to help, but his left arm wouldn't listen to him. As soon as he stepped into the sunshine, his face turned that terrible shade of red again, and he could barely breathe. I begged him to stay on the porch. He blustered and complained at first, but decided it was high time he cleaned and oiled his old rifle. Maybe he could hunt squirrel when the weather cooled.
The pole beans looked better and the squash leaves spread like wide green hands shortly after I watered them. I had never thought a person could be proud of a squash plant, but I was ready to hug all of mine. I hauled buckets of water to the potato patch, drenching the plants which looked healthiest. When the plot was water-soaked, I gently poked the mud with my fingers until I found six fist-sized potatoes. I danced a few steps as I carried my prizes up onto the back porch where Grandfather sat in the shade.
"Potatoes!" I cried. "Potatoes, potatoes, potatoes!"
"What on earth has gotten into you, girl?" he asked.
I spun around his chair. "This is my potato dance, Grandfather. Look what I found. We'll have a real supper tonight. Have you ever seen anything fis beautiful as a potato?"
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Supper was a royal feast of boiled potatoes seasoned with a scrawny turnip and a few beans. But there was enough to ease the ache in our stomachs. Grandfather found a small bag of roasted coffee beans the thieves had overlooked, and he cooked a pot for us, army style. Hot mud would have tasted better, but he was so pleased with himself, I forced myself to drink it. Oh, for some sugar and cream!
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