by J. Y. Harris
When she faltered, he shot out his other hand to steady her, then they continued forward. His fingers loosened on her wrist and slipped down to her hand.
Finally, they reached the small fence he’d seen earlier. Although they could hear muted sounds and voices from the city street ahead, nobody was in the yard, and the house to which the yard belonged was dark.
“I’ll get you over the fence,” Jacob said in a low voice. “Then you can go around the house to the cross street.”
She nodded, barely visible in the deepening shadows. “Willow Street, I’m familiar with it. I’ll be fine. Thank you, Jacob. You’re a real gentleman.”
He smiled, a bit crookedly. “Only when I have to be. If circumstances were different, who knows what I might attempt with such a fair young lady?”
She smiled, too, and plucked a piece of grass out of his hair. “If circumstances were different, who knows what I might allow such a handsome young man?”
Jacob looked surprised, and then laughed. “Next time you have a pass to travel outside the city, you know where to find me. I promise you’ll get a good meal, and a very proper, gentlemanly escort back to the city after you’ve eaten it.”
“Well, where’s the incentive in that?” she asked, laughing even as she spoke.
He looked as if he were about to say something, and then thought better of it. “Come on, I’ll boost you over the fence.”
Jacob lifted her so that she was sitting on the top rail of the split-rail fence. Rebecca then swung her legs over to the other side and hopped down. She took the flour sack from him.
He caught her hand. “Farewell, message-carrier.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her fingers. Then he turned her hand and brought her palm up to his lips.
A dog barked not far away, and Rebecca jumped. She pulled her hand back and clutched the flour sack with both hands.
“Goodbye, Jacob,” she said in a hushed, breathless voice. “Stay safe.”
She turned and hurried through the yard toward the street.
Jacob stood still for a moment, listening to be sure no alarm was raised or disturbance created. When all remained quiet, he melted back into the shadows and made his way along the side of the road back toward the crossroads of Germantown and Frankford Roads.
As he approached the intersection, he could just make out two forms coming toward him along Frankford Road. Luckily, the two soldiers were preoccupied with their own thoughts and not looking for movement in the nearby weeds. Or listening for it, for that matter.
“What the ‘ell d’ye think that was?” one asked, the one who had held his bayonet on Jacob earlier.
“I dunno,” the other replied. “But I feel a proper fool for having marched down the road after it, whatever it was.”
“And march smartly, too, no less. That was some of me best marchin’, that was. And for what? There was nobody there!”
“Well, I know I heard them voices, and you did too, no denyin’.”
“Yeah, but ’oo’s gonna believe us? ’Oo’s gonna believe them voices was real, when there warn’t nobody there?”
“Nobody, that’s ’oo. Ain’t nobody gonna believe it, cuz we ain’t gonna tell anyone.”
“Not tell—”
“Shh. Keep your voice down. It’ll be time for our relief to come soon, and I want nothin’ more than to get to my dinner and ale, without any fuss or commotion. And that ain’t gonna ’appen if we start talkin’ about voices in the woods, and phantom orders.”
“But—”
“But nothing’! You want to be questioned and reamed out half the night? You want the Cap’n to know we stepped away from our appointed post and left it unguarded as we went chasin’ down the road after shadows?”
“Well, no, the Cap’n’d skin our ‘ides.”
“Exactly. Now, there’s no ‘arm done—all’s right and tight here, ain’t it? Nobody ever has to know what just ’appened, or what we just done. Got it?”
“Yus, I got it. And I ain’t gonna let go of it, neither. Like you say, no harm done, and nobody seen it. Guess I’m with you, and I’d just as soon pretend it never ’appened.”
“Good, we’re agreed: it never ’appened. Now, let’s just take a moment to reflect, and start with the forgettin’.” He let out a breath. “So, what d’ye think we’ll be ‘aving for our supper?”
Jacob had heard enough. He began inching his way slowly through the brush away from the road crossing.
Suddenly, he stopped. Someone was approaching—he could feel it. Faint vibrations in the ground beneath him told him so. Lifting his head, he pinpointed the source of the sensation: Frankford Road. A horse—no, two horses.
A few seconds later, the two soldiers heard the horses too. They immediately straightened up and took up an official pose. Almost like real soldiers, Jacob thought wryly.
The horses came into view: one rider was a man, the other a woman, the skirt of her habit draped gracefully over the horse’s flank as she rode sidesaddle. The riders calmly approached the two soldiers.
Jacob knew that the sound of the clopping hooves and the soldiers’ attention being drawn to the riders would easily cover any slight rustling of grass he caused. But, to be safe, he stayed put. Just for the moment.
The man on horseback spoke confidently to the soldiers, and produced a paper from inside his coat; no doubt one of the travelling passes Jacob had heard so much about.
To their credit, the soldiers looked soldierly, and at least seemed as if they knew what they were doing. One of them held the pass up to look at it in the fading light, and Jacob could hear him question the man. Apparently the pass indicated that the two riders were acquainted with a Major Lorne, whom they were expecting to meet in the city. The sentries had not seen anyone by that name, but since the riders had the appropriate documentation, they soon let the man and woman pass.
As the horses made their way into the city of Philadelphia, no doubt smelling the nice warm stables waiting for them ahead, Jacob continued his slow, steady retreat through the tall weeds.
Once he got far enough away from the road crossing, where the trees became more plentiful, Jacob felt safe enough to get to his feet and make his way along the treeline.
He started as there was a sudden commotion in the brush next to him; a mouse or squirrel, perhaps? Or maybe a possum, waking to begin its nocturnal wanderings. Unlike most animals, this didn’t continue to make noise; it was abruptly quiet.
Whatever it was, Jacob couldn’t see it. It was certainly nothing large, so it presented no threat to him.
Finally, after he’d gone almost a mile or so along Germantown Road, he could barely make out two figures up ahead, standing in the road. Jacob gave the whistle he’d used earlier, and after a few seconds, he heard another whistle in reply. It wasn’t the one Brad had used earlier, the fake bird call; this was just a human-sounding whistle, which Jacob thought was odd.
Well, it had been a long day, and, whistle or no whistle, he was looking forward to a mug of warm wine and a hearty potato. Like a horse sensing its stable, he could almost smell the tasty dinner ahead of him. It had no doubt been a long day for the Everheart siblings as well, and if they agreed to join him at the tavern, so much the better.
Suddenly Jacob tensed. He had let his mind wander for a moment as he made his way up the road, but now he realized that rather than his two young friends, the figures he saw ahead were both tall, and both male.
Jacob stopped. What an idiot he’d been! Contrary to his training, contrary to his common sense, contrary to everything he’d ever practiced, he’d let his guard down, and this was where it had led him. Thinking quickly, he knew the strangers had obviously seen him; there was nothing for it now but to approach them openly.
He cursed under his breath. His mistake was inexcusable, and, worse, was now potentially dangerous. Was this the reason Brad’s whistle had been different? Had he been trying to warn Jacob about something amiss?
In the deepeni
ng dusk, Jacob saw one of the figures—a soldier, he saw now—lift something, and knew that the ‘something’ was a musket, leveled right at him. At this distance he was well within range for reasonable accuracy from a good marksman.
Worse, Jacob could now see the form of a horse in the shadows near the trees; even if he ran, unless he stuck to the woods, he’d be easily overtaken.
Since he was no longer advancing toward them, one of the soldiers—the one with the Brown Bess—started walking toward Jacob.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Just a wayfarer travelling peaceably along the road,” Jacob answered. “And who might you be?”
“I’m a soldier on the King’s business. Do you have any paperwork, or a pass to be on the road?”
“I didn’t know I needed such. I’m a free person travelling on open road.”
“Travellers to or from Philadelphia need a pass to cross its border. In or out.” This officer was obviously not one to be trifled with. His crisp, matter-of-fact manner said he would brook no nonsense.
“There’s the answer to the confusion, then,” Jacob said with an easy smile. “I’m not from Philadelphia. Nor, obviously, am I headed that way. I come from the Frankford Road.”
“And where are you headed?”
Jacob was perfectly willing to answer some questions and comply with someone who was just doing his job, but this officer was a little too sharp for comfort.
For Jacob’s comfort, certainly.
He didn’t want to antagonize the officer. This one was of quite a different stamp from the two bumbling slackers he’d encountered guarding the road into Philadelphia.
Yes, this one was definitely sharp. And that was dangerous.
In answer to the question, Jacob replied, “I’m heading toward the Wheel Pump Tavern on the King’s Highway. Do you know it? I’ve been on the road a good part of the day, and am looking forward to a meal and a bed.”
“Yes, I know the place,” the redcoat replied, eying Jacob. “Their biscuits are very good, and their stew is always tasty. Where are you coming from on the Frankford Road?”
Oh, he’s good, Jacob thought. First agreeing with his statement, drawing him into casual conversation, and then the sudden change of subject, obviously trying to catch him off-guard.
Jacob, however, didn’t fall into the trap. He’d been around enough British soldiers to know that you should never, ever, let down your guard. You have a part to play—in his case, on this particular evening, the innocent bumpkin traversing the countryside—and you have to play it for all you’re worth. You have to live it, breathe it, own it, as Major Clark had told him countless times. Never show doubt or hesitation. Those are the telltale signs of a liar.
Or, a very poor spy.
Without hesitation, Jacob answered the soldier’s question. “I’ve been visiting a friend who lives near Frankford.”
“And where are you headed?”
“I told you, the tavern on the King’s Highway.”
“Is that your final destination, or are you just stopping there?”
“If you must know, I’m hoping to get a job there. I hear they may need someone to clear tables and mop floors.”
The officer had advanced closer to Jacob as they spoke, and Jacob knew that if he bolted now, he’d be both shot at and chased on horseback. Even if he ran through the forest he didn’t know how far he’d get; if he managed to make an escape, the local British regiments would be alerted to look for him for having fled questioning.
No, even though he wasn’t doing anything wrong, he’d do better to answer a few questions and see if he could wiggle out of this on his own. It was his own blasted fault he was in this mess; he sure as blazes wasn’t going to lead the British toward anyone else while trying to get out of it.
“Yes, a steady job is always a good thing,” the officer said dryly. He was still advancing on Jacob, slowly, casually, as if they were just two people who’d stopped to chat.
Jacob was aware that the second soldier had circled widely around, and was now standing behind him.
Cutting off his retreat.
On one hand, that made this easier for Jacob, as now, with one soldier in front of him, and another behind him, he would have to bolt either to the right or left; either way would take him right into the woods.
The woods he knew like the back of his hand.
“I know where you’ve been,” the officer said.
“Of course you do. I just told you where I’ve been.”
“No. I know where you’ve really been.”
“So do I. I know where I’ve really been.”
“You’ve just come from Philadelphia.”
It was a statement; a confident one, certainly, but Jacob knew he was just guessing.
Jacob laughed. “Now, I can see where you might think that, with this road leading into and out of the city, and all. But I’m telling you, I came down the Frankford Road. Besides, how could I have been in Philadelphia? You just told me people need a pass to get in or out, and I ain’t got one.”
The officer seemed to consider this. He made a hand gesture, and from behind him, Jacob heard a flint struck. The scene brightened as the soldier behind him obviously lit a torch.
Jacob hadn’t realized the redcoat was that close behind him, but then, he’d felt it more important to keep his attention on the officer in front of him.
Now, with both soldiers so close, Jacob knew he was fairly caught. He hadn’t wanted to run before, as that would have aroused suspicions which could possibly have been avoided.
But now, he might not get the chance at all. Running would lead them to believe that he had something to hide.
And he didn’t.
At least, not as far as the British soldiers were concerned. There was no way they could prove he’d been in Philadelphia, or that he hadn’t, in fact, come down the Frankford Road.
Even the two redcoat dolts who were patrolling the entrance into the city would swear he hadn’t been there.
No, the officer had no reason to hold him, Jacob knew.
The question was, how long would it be before the officer knew it?
The soldier raised his musket away from Jacob and slung it by its strap over his shoulder. His eyes, however, were still on Jacob as he held his hand out.
“Torch, please.”
The soldier handed the officer the torch. The flame caused shadows on the officer’s face to dance.
“It appears there’s not much more we can learn at the moment,” he said in his clipped British accent, and Jacob exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Then the officer said, “Take him, sergeant. Bind him to a tree until we can get him to the garrison for more questioning.”
“Hey!” Before Jacob could react, his arms were seized from behind and held fast. “What’re you doing?” he protested. “I told you where I been. You have no reason to detain me. What more do you want?”
“I want the truth. We know someone’s leaking information and carrying it to the colonials, and we want to know who, and how.”
“I don’t have any information. Like I said, I’m just making my way to the Wheel Pump Tavern.”
“We’ll see about that. Sergeant, once you tie him to the tree, search him. I want to see everything he’s carrying.”
“Yes sir, Cap’n Pendragon.”
Jacob made a mental inventory of what was in his pockets. He was always very careful, and was glad to know that nothing he carried could either identify or incriminate him.
The sergeant led Jacob off the road—and none too gently, either--and put him with his back to a tree; he then bound his hands behind him, around the trunk. He also wrapped a rope around Jacob’s ankles and tied that behind the tree as well.
Damn, Jacob thought. Looks like I should’ve run when I had the chance. But who knew I’d run across such a stickler of an officer?
Well, he’d been in worse spots than this. And gotten out of them. Jacob
was just glad the Everhearts weren’t with him. It was bad enough to find himself in such a ridiculous—and embarrassing—situation. And on top of that, to now have to get himself out of it.
It was good he didn’t have to worry about them as well. With luck, Brad and Kristen were deep into the forest somewhere, on their way to meet—well, whoever they’re supposed to meet.
Those are two strange birds, he told himself.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jacob idly watched as the two soldiers went about their business. The officer—Captain Pendragon—stowed his musket in the saddle of his horse and pulled out a paper from one of the saddlebags. The other one, the sergeant, tried not to look useless.
“Pssst!”
Jacob’s head snapped up with alertness, his eyes darting left and right.
“Pssst! Behind you, but don’t turn your head.”
He kept still.
“It’s me, Kris. Kristen,” said the low voice from right behind the trunk to which he was tied. The two British soldiers were quite a ways in front of him; as long as he didn’t make noise or try to move, Jacob didn’t think they’d pay any attention to him or otherwise bother with him.
He put his head down and to the side.
“What are you doing here? Get away, the both of you.”
“No way. We’re Americans. We don’t leave our friends behind.”
“Look, I have no idea what that means, although it sounds nice. But I’ll be fine. I’ve got a plan.”
“Yeah? What’s your plan?”
“Well, actually… My only plan is to try to come up with a plan. But I will.”
Jacob felt tugging on the rope binding his wrists behind him. Suddenly it went slack.
“Now, don’t move,” Kristen whispered. “Pretend the ropes are still in place. You’ll know when to make your move.”
“When?”
“You’ll know it when it happens. It’ll be very startling, but don’t hesitate. Just run into the forest to your right. That’s important—to your right. Capiche?”