by J. Y. Harris
Unlike Rebecca’s brother, who probably decided to join, or was urged to join, and was likely gone a day or two later. And rather than having a uniform issued to him, and being assigned a weapon or other equipment on which he would be trained, William would have taken whatever clothes he had, and his own musket.
And this country, she thought, my country—or rather, the colonies—is relying on these young, untrained, ill-equipped boys to go up against the British military machine, which was undeniably the world’s mightiest army of the day.
Kristen found it mind-boggling. She knew the facts and the history. She’d heard often enough about the ‘rag-tag Continental Army.’ But it wasn’t until now, today, when she was experiencing it herself, that she could appreciate how risky it had been, and how crazy and unbelievable it really was.
The trio of young people had long ago passed by the encampment that Brad and Kristen had seen earlier. The one near where the ‘playground’ was. Or would be, in about two hundred and some-odd years.
“Do you have any idea where we are?” Brad asked his sister as he dropped back to walk beside her.
“Yeah. Apparently we’re on our way to Flourtown, wherever the heck that is, and for whatever good it’ll do us.”
“Well, near as I can figure, Flourtown is a few miles north of the park where we started.”
“But what are we gonna do when we get there? Nothing there is going to help us get back to our own time, and we don’t have one of these almighty passes she keeps talking about.”
“I know. And honestly I don’t know what we’ll do when we get there.”
“Then why are we going? We’re trudging through the woods to someplace we don’t have any reason to go.”
“Well, we don’t have any reason not to, either. Plus, this way we’re not wandering around in the woods by ourselves, not knowing where we are. If you’ve got any other ideas, I’m open to suggestion.”
“Since you mention it, may I point out that we’re moving away from the place that brought us here? Maybe that mystery fog—and the place where the fog was—is the key to getting back. Maybe we should’ve stayed put.”
“And do what? Stand there in the middle of the forest all day? The fog disappeared, remember? It’s not like we could have walked back through it to the other side, because it’s gone.”
Kristen sighed. “I just wonder if we’ll ever get back. I mean, what if we’re stuck here?”
Brad thought for a second. “Nah, I don’t think so. It would bring on a variation of the Grandfather Paradox.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a theoretical situation in which someone goes back in time and changes some detail which may or may not seem important, but could change the future—his own future. For example, if you went back a hundred years and somehow caused your own grandfather to die before he fathers any children. In that case, your father or mother would never be born, and therefore you would never exist. That’s the paradox: if you never exist, you can’t go back in time, and if you go back in time, you might change things to the point you would never exist.” He took a breath. “See? You get it now? Who knew, watching sci-fi shows can actually come in handy. They’re geeky, but useful.”
Kristen just shook her head. “Well, I hope you’re right about us not being stuck here. I don’t want to miss out on my prom, or getting my driving permit. Not to mention the fact that I absolutely insist on having indoor plumbing and a decent hairdryer.”
Rebecca turned to check on the siblings. “Are you two lagging behind for a reason, or are you just slow?”
Kris smiled. “Well, well, the colonial girl has a sense of humor after all. Good to hear. No, we’re cool.”
“I know. The weather has turned quite chilly in the past week. Autumn is here full force. Now, why are you smiling?”
Brad shook his head. “Never mind, it’s not important.”
“We’re going to get on the road soon for the rest of the way. That should make travelling a little easier.” Once again, Rebecca took the lead.
“The road will take us directly to Flourtown?”
“Yes, but I do need to make a stop. As I said, my brother’s regiment is nearby, along the way, and I have to get a message to him.”
“We’ll go with you.” Brad winced as his sister smacked his arm, but otherwise he ignored her. As usual.
“That’s not necessary. My message is urgent and confidential, and I don’t wish to delay you on your way to the mill.”
“It’s not a problem. We’re in no particular hurry.” This time Brad anticipated Kristen’s action, and caught her hand before she could hit him again. “Besides, we want to be sure you get there safely.”
Rebecca smiled. In fact, Kristen noticed that she smiled quite nicely—and right in Brad’s direction. Girl, you do not want to go there, Kris thought. Brad is not the guy for you. Wrong place, wrong century. When I say he will leave you, I mean he will leave you. With any luck, that is.
They walked on. And on and on, or so it felt to Kristen. No wonder there weren’t too many overweight people in this time period, she thought; they walked so dang much. Not to mention, not a Mickey D’s in sight. Or Starbucks or TCBY. She supposed the wealthy families probably had nice carriages, like Kristen had seen in movies. Otherwise, most people walked or rode a horse, and maybe a cart or a wagon.
Just their luck she and Brad had to run into someone who had neither.
Suddenly Rebecca halted and held up her hand. “I think I hear something, and I believe it should be the 2nd Pennsylvania regiment. Let me check; stay here.”
Before Brad or Kris could say anything, Rebecca slipped into the woods between the trees. She came back quickly. “This is the regiment,” she confirmed. “If you feel you must come, follow me.”
CHAPTER THREE
Kristen followed Rebecca while Brad took up the rear. The path—more of a narrow track, really—went gradually uphill and when it leveled off, the Everhearts saw a large flat area filled with tents and soldiers. At least, Kristen supposed they were soldiers; only about half wore discernible uniforms.
The men were engaged in various activities. Just like at the other encampment they’d seen, some men were cleaning weapons, some practicing formations, others were involved in various mundane tasks: chopping wood, mending clothes, fixing wagons or other equipment. Off to one side of the encampment Kristen even saw a few men working with what looked like a deer-skin stretched between two poles. She winced and looked away.
Farther off, in a large field behind the tents, were more soldiers. A lot more soldiers, numbering in the hundreds, she guessed, apparently engaged in military exercises and drilling.
“Here comes William,” Rebecca said.
Kris and Brad watched as a young soldier came to meet them, and gave Rebecca a brotherly hug. “What are you doing here?” he asked, and glanced questioningly at two strangers.
“These are the Everhearts, who I met on my way here. May I present my brother, William Darrow.” After the introductions were made, Rebecca said, “I have an urgent message from Mother. Confidential.”
The Darrows stepped away and spoke quietly for a few minutes. She tried not to look, but it became clear to Kristen that there was some matter of disagreement between them. It was like watching a mime performance: Rebecca talked and seemed to insist; William shook his head and gestured negatively, occasionally pointing to the camp over his shoulder. Whatever it was that Rebecca wanted, William wouldn’t—or couldn’t—comply.
“Now there’s a familiar scene,” Brad said. “A brother and sister arguing.”
“Yeah, who knew that wuss-head brothers exist in every timeline.”
“Or stubborn sisters who think the world owes them whatever they want.”
Any retort Kristen would have made was cut off as Rebecca and William came to join them. Neither looked happy.
“We have a problem,” Rebecca said. “I can’t go with you to the mill. My plans have changed and I nee
d to go—er, someplace else.”
“What about your ‘urgent’ mission to buy flour?” Kristen asked. “Those pies aren’t going to bake themselves.”
Brad gave her one of his usual ‘wrinkled brow’ looks. It was standard practice and a common occurrence, signifying irritation, annoyance, or just a ‘get real!’ message.
“Is there anything we can do?” he asked. “We’re not in a rush to get to Flourtown, so if we can help in any way….”
Now Kristen gave Brad her own version of the WB—wrinkled brow. Instead of getting them back home where they belong, her brother seemed more interested in chatting up Colonial Cathy.
They had a problem, she and Brad. They were lost in the woods, not to mention lost in time. They had no idea how they got here, or how they’d get back. If they’d get back. Worse, Kristen was soon going to get the full effect of that double glass of OJ she’d had this morning. She did not care to think about what she’d have to do about that.
Rebecca and William gave each other meaningful looks, his insistent, hers reproachful, and finally she said, “Very well, I accept your offer to accompany me on my errand. But only reluctantly.”
She and her brother said their farewells, and as William returned to his troopmates, Rebecca led the others back to the road.
Brad fell in step beside her. “Don’t worry,” he said, hoping to reassure her, “there’s safety in numbers.”
“I’m not worried for my safety,” she said. “I’m more concerned about yours.”
“Ours? Why should we be in danger?”
“Forgive me, I shouldn’t have said anything. We’ll be walking together so we should just enjoy pleasant conversation.”
They were all silent for a moment, each lost in private thought. Well, so much for ‘pleasant conversation.’
“You know,” Brad began, “we don’t know that much about you.”
“That’s not quite true,” Rebecca answered. “You know considerably more about me than I do about you. You know my name, that I live in Philadelphia, I have a brother named William, and my parents are from Ireland. Also, I’m on my way to get flour. Or, I was on my way to get flour.”
“And the pies,” Kristen chimed in. “Don’t forget the pies. Her family likes to bake.”
Rebecca looked at her strangely. A look, by the way, that Kristen was all too familiar with, although mainly she was used to it from her brother.
Seeing that look, Brad gave a small snort of amusement. As if to say I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who thinks Kristen is an annoying nutcase. “Anyway,” he said, “why don’t you tell us where we’re headed? Surely that can’t be much of a secret, and we’re going to find out soon enough.”
Rebecca seemed to consider this for a moment. “I suppose you’re right about that. Very well. We’re going to a place called Tyson’s Tavern.”
Brad and Kristen exchanged looks. “Tyson’s Tavern,” he repeated.
“Yes. Do you know it?”
“No. That is, we’ve never been there, but we’re—er—acquainted with a member of the Tyson family. At least, I assume it’s the same family.”
“From back home,” Kristen clarified. “Not from here.”
“Well, I’m only going there to deliver a message,” Rebecca said. “To one of the officers who are there.”
“To your brother’s commanding officer, you mean,” Brad said, stopping in the middle of the dirt road. “You’re taking your urgent message to the commander of the 2nd Pennsylvania.”
“Yes,” Rebecca replied cautiously; obviously she thought he was a nutcase himself. “That much has been obvious so far.”
“Yeah,” Kristen agreed. “So?”
“So… in reality, the message is actually intended to go to the commander of all the troops in the area, to General Washington himself. I know who you are now,” Brad continued, a note of excitement creeping into his voice, “and I know why you’re here. Your mother’s name is Lydia, and the British have been using your home in Philadelphia as a sort of meeting house, because General Howe and his officers are using the homes nearby as a headquarters. And now you have information for General Washington. Information that your mother overheard from the British.”
Rebecca looked frightened. “Who are you? Loyalists? How do you know such things?”
Brad put his hands out in a gesture of calm to reassure her. “No, we’re not spies, and we’re certainly not Loyalists. Believe me, we want the Americans to win this war just as much as you do. Or as much as most people, anyway. I know you’re Quakers, so I don’t know what that means in regard to your thoughts about the war.”
Rebecca was obviously still spooked, but she turned and continued walking quickly, as if by doing so she could leave this turn of events behind her.
Kristen was gaping at her brother as if he’d sprouted wings and turned purple. “What the crap are you talking about?” she hissed at him. “Seriously, what gives? Did that fog make you psychic? Or just plain psycho?”
“No, it didn’t make me psychic. Although, how cool would that be? All right, listen: you obviously know all about our local connection to the Revolution—the one we’re supposed to be re-enacting today. Well, you might not know all the details about how this Battle of White Marsh came about.”
Kristen shook her head, and Brad continued.
“When the British army occupied Philadelphia late in seventeen-seventy-seven, General Howe took over some houses for himself and his top officers. Mostly they were houses of Loyalists who were glad to have them, but there were—are—obviously a number of Quakers in town who were pretty neutral on the whole Revolution thing. Anyway, Howe took over one house for their official meetings. It was the house of a Quaker woman, Lydia Darragh.
“One night she eavesdropped on a meeting being held in her kitchen, and heard the British talk about a surprise attack on the Americans—er, the Continental army—in two days’ time. When the meeting was over, Lydia hurried quietly back upstairs to her bedroom, and pretended to be asleep when one of the British officers checked on her. The next day, she supposedly used a trip to the flour mill to get the information about the attack to Washington’s army, so that’s why the Americans were prepared for the attack and the battle went our way.”
“So you’re saying that our friend pie-girl here is at this very moment taking that information to General Washington?”
“Maybe not to him personally, but to someone who can get it to him, yeah.”
“She’s carrying out the history that leads to the battle we’ve heard about our whole lives, and which took place practically in our backyard.”
“Yes. Do you care to repeat it a few more times?”
“Yeah, funny. I just find this amazing. I mean, how do you know this? Why have I never heard about it?”
“Well, I know about it from research I did for a paper on the Philadelphia Campaign of the Revolution last year. And you’ve never heard about it because you really don’t care about this stuff, and you’ve never bothered to learn about it.”
“I know, right? I mean, its history. It’s in the past. It’s done and can’t be changed. I know about the Battle of White Marsh: that it occurred, how many died on each side, and all that, but I didn’t know about all this cloak-and-dagger spy drama that led up to it.”
“There’s a lot of that ‘cloak-and-dagger’ stuff all around, if you know where to look for it. Now you’re actually living it, whether you like it or not. An insider’s look, so to speak.”
“Wait a minute,” Kristen said. “If you knew this story already, why didn’t you recognize it right away, when we first met our friend, here?”
“Because in the accounts I read, the woman’s name was Darragh—with a ‘-agh.’ I assumed it rhymed with Farrah, or Sahara. Rebecca said her name was Darrow. At least, that’s how she pronounces it: like ‘sparrow.’ For all I know it could be spelled ‘-agh’ but pronounced like ‘-ow.’
“And besides, nothing I read mentioned anyth
ing about a teenaged girl. All accounts indicate that Lydia herself took the message to the Continental army.”
“So why do you think the history books say something different? I mean, the name is different, no mention of Rebecca….”
Brad shrugged. “Who knows? The whole Lydia Darragh story isn’t that well-known; I really didn’t find much info about it—just one or two small paragraphs in a couple of sources—and what I did find said the story could never be confirmed. In any case, it was probably just a matter of a confusion of facts, things getting distorted in the re-telling. Sort of like that game Telephone, when kids whisper a sentence from one person to another; what the last person hears is rarely what the first person actually said.”
“Yeah, I remember. We used to play it at family campouts, with all the cousins? That was fun.”
“Well, this is not a game. This is the real deal.”
“True. But at least we know how it’ll turn out.”
At that moment Rebecca made a hissing noise and motioned for them to be quiet. She stopped near a large nearby tree. Brad and Kristen caught up to her and stopped, listening.
In the brush they could hear rustling, then the low murmur of voices.
“Who do you think it is?” Brad whispered. “Friendlies?”
Rebecca shook her head. “I’m not sure. William said they had seen British scouts in the area. I’m afraid they may be trying to get an exact location of Continental forces, or find the best route to—“
When she cut herself off, Brad said, “It’s okay. We know they’re planning a surprise attack on Washington’s army.”
Rebecca looked suspicious again. “How do you know that?”
“Nobody told me, I swear. I just—er, figured it out.”
“Then you must know something that General Washington doesn’t.”