by Becky Akers
“Didn’t know what had become of you,” Mrs. Wyckoff said. “We looked and looked for you. You missed all the excitement. There’s a thief at the fair, and they say he made off with five or six horses. He got clean away, even though some soldiers shot at him.”
They were also startled that their dashing bachelor had married in such haste, though Mrs. Wyckoff was relieved. Now she had a reason for the coolness that had answered her coquetry. She had lost sleep over Mr. Huntington’s apathy to peer at the looking glass while her husband snored and her candle guttered. Was she aging faster than she supposed? Where were the gray hairs and wrinkles that had repelled their adorable guest? How reassuring that his chastity rose from loyalty to a sweetheart, now become his wife, if they were telling the truth. There were more and more informal marriages because of the war, and this bore all the earmarks. Strange, Mr. Huntington had seemed more honorable than that. Then Mrs. Huntington claimed they had to rush off first thing in the morning to visit her family in Gravesend. “You must be worried about them, after the Redcoats landed there last month and all,” Mrs. Wyckoff had said, and the girl’s blankness confirmed her doubts. She smiled sweetly as she showed the bride to her husband’s small room with its bed that would hold only one. Please Heaven, their lovemaking would not wake her tonight so that she must lie listening, frustrated and pining.
Alice sat on the bed and surveyed the room with its window, candles, and books. She had never known anyone better than Nathan at finding books, wherever he went. He was outside now, seeing to the horse. He should be joining her soon. And then....
And then they would talk before going to sleep at opposite sides of the room. One of the things she loved about Nathan, that set him above other men, was his high-mindedness. Unlike that scheming popinjay, Guy Daggett, or her husband, or the men she had met this week, Nathan would never paw at her. She preferred it that way. She truly did. It would be evil to tempt him. Still....She sighed, thrilling to the memory of his kiss four years ago.
A knock sounded at the door. She opened it to find him on the threshold, dwarfing the chamber, cheeks scarlet. He might have stood there the rest of the night had she not drawn him inside.
Nathan went to the window and leaned on the sill, looking over the field between house and lane. Night was falling, and the corn hardly rustled in the hot air. A movement along the road caught his eye, but when he focused on it, the crop there was still. He must have imagined it. Or perhaps a hog was rooting for fallen ears. He watched a few minutes more, then turned in disgust. If Redcoats were waiting to take him, he would have spotted their uniforms a mile away.
“Nathan.”
Ally’s hand on his shoulder made him jump as though burned. Hurt clouded her eyes, and she ducked her head. He caught her arm, took her chin in his hand, lifted her face to look into his.
“You don’t understand, Ally, what temptation....But we’ll marry soon, I promise, and then....”
He had spoken the words she’d lived to hear for eight years. All else vanished to leave her and Nathan in the world of their love. She stood silent, afraid to break the spell. Finally, gulping, she said, “You’ll marry me then? Even though your father disapproves?”
“I’m going to talk to him, Ally, try to persuade him. But yes, whether he gives his blessing or not, we’ll be married, tomorrow if we can.” He smiled then, his old, teasing smile. “That is, if you’ll have me.”
Laughing, she threw her arms about him and kissed his cheeks, his lips. He held her face tenderly between his hands, returned her kisses, wrapped trembling arms around her, crushed her to him. Desire rose in her, such fierce desire as put to shame what she had felt with Guy Daggett.
“Nathan, ’tis a—’tis tempting for me, too. If we—no one would know, you see—”
He laid his fingers across her lips. His trembling slowly ceased. He gave her one last, gentle hug before releasing her. Then, with a smile, he turned back to the window.
She was content. She had felt his passion, and it was as strong as his love, stronger than Guy Daggett’s. Soon they would satisfy that honorably as man and wife.
“Let’s go to sleep,” she said. “You want to start early tomorrow to catch the ferry, so we should get to bed.”
“I call dibs on the floor,” he said with mock gravity, as if she might fight him for the privilege.
“Believe me, you can have it, after all the nights I slept on the ground coming down here.”
“I told Mrs. Wyckoff not to bother getting up with us tomorrow.” He yawned and stretched out on the pallet they had made. “They don’t get up until six, and I said we’d probably be leaving at first light. She wanted to know whether I’m anxious to meet your family.”
“I’m sure they’ll love you, Mr. Huntington.”
“Well, now, I don’t know. I hear you’ve got some cantankerous brothers. Mrs. Wyckoff’s going to set out a loaf of bread and leave some fruit on the table for us, the best she can do for a wedding present, she told me. Say, Ally, did you know at a Dutch wedding, ’tis the custom for all the ladies to kiss the groom? Least that’s what Mrs. Wyckoff claims.” His voice faded as his soft breathing filled the chamber. It was so small, she had only to lean out of bed to touch him, and she gloated over him in the twilight. She rested her hand on his, where it lay across his stomach, and squeezed his fingers. He smiled in his sleep.
Crouched in a cornfield a dozen yards from the Wyckoffs’ house, Guy Daggett swatted another mosquito and damned them under his breath. He would wager every insect on Long Island had tasted him by now. His back was one huge, itchy welt. His neck stung as sweat trickled over the bites on it. Not even his knuckles had escaped their ravages. He was cramped from sitting for so long, but he would be miserable once he stood in his wet and muddy breeches.
Still, his spirits soared high as a hawk clutching prey in its talons. He had found Nathan Hale again, had seen him framed in the window with the lamp lighting his face. Guy longed to accost him, to discover how successful his mission had been. He doubted there were any secrets remaining to His Majesty’s forces, and his stature increased with that of the spy he would deliver to General Howe. But Hale had proved slippery, and Guy didn’t kid himself that he could take him without reinforcements.
While the mosquitoes feasted, Guy’s mind boiled with plans. He would tarry another hour, until the place quieted for the night, make sure Hale was not sneaking out again (though he would have to be stupid to flee after dark in this area close to the army’s camps and thus heavily patrolled). Then Guy would fly to the nearest fort. He must tread carefully and be sure to receive credit, for this was the sort of thing officers vied to appropriate as their own. Unless he stayed a jump ahead, the highest rank to whom he talked would steal his glory, and then where would his knighthood be? Or the estate with which his grateful king was likely to reward him? He pictured Alice ensconced in his parlor, pouring tea for the Howe brothers as they awaited his return from a fox-hunt—
Guy eased to his feet. The lamp downstairs went out. Would someone kindle another upstairs? He waited, crickets deafening him, but no light appeared. Clouds sailed past the moon, three more mosquitoes bit him, an owl hooted from the woods. He slipped through the rows of corn to the lane and ran to his hobbled horse. Soon he was streaking toward the nearest encampment.
It took a quarter hour to convince the guard that he was in earnest, that his news warranted disturbing Colonel Pritchard, that the fate of the war depended on the actions of the next few hours.
“Look, Daggett, they lash me for this, and I’ll find you, don’t matter where you hide.” The soldier tapped him with his musket so that the bayonet beat a staccato on his chest. “Now, you wait here till my relief comes, and I’ll take you to the colonel. But shut your phiz until then.”
The relief took so long to arrive that Guy despaired. He was on the verge of telling the soldier to forget it, that he would capture Hale himself, when the sentry appeared. The guard shouldered his musket and led Guy t
o a farmhouse, now the colonel’s headquarters.
An officer sat inside the door, a napkin spread over his uniform, half a duck and some bread littering the desk before him. He glowered at them, annoyed at his supper’s interruption.
Guy’s escort saluted and said, “Daggett, this is Captain Ornsby, aide to Colonel Pritchard. Sir, this man claims there’s a spy hereabouts.”
The captain dismissed the guard and tore a drumstick from his bird. “A spy, eh?”
Guy took a deep breath. This officer with his supercilious manner was the sort he had hoped to avoid. “Captain, sorry to bother you, but your colonel ought to know about this. I’m sure he’ll be grateful. Think I could get a few minutes with him?”
“Colonel Pritchard’s gone to bed. You can tell me about this spy.”
“Well, all right. Ah, this man’s an old acquaintance, sir. I’m shocked and—and grieved he’d do something like this. Of course, to turn him in, well....” Guy spread his hands and sighed.
“How much do you want?”
A less sophisticated man, one who had not spent years in London watching such deals, might have answered forthrightly and congratulated himself on business well-done. But Guy knew Ornsby’s question was only the first step in a complicated dance. He stroked his chin and considered his next move.
It turned out that Colonel Pritchard was not yet asleep and could be disturbed, after Guy mentioned some of the gentlemen he knew in England and the percentage of his reward that would find its way to the captain. Ten minutes later, Guy sat across from Pritchard at his camp desk, in a bedroom the colonel had combined with his office. The lady hired for the evening cast him a baleful look on her way out, her shadow enormous in the light from a solitary candle. Pritchard rubbed his wigless scalp and poured them each some whiskey.
“Well, sir, what’s this about a spy?” Pritchard sprawled in his chair, downed half his drink, and burped.
“There’s a fellow staying with a family not far from here. I know him well, and I can tell you, he’s a die-hard rebel. He’s dressed as a civilian, sir.”
“Dressed as a civilian, is he?” The colonel studied him. “Well, yeah, that’s how most of the farmers around here dress, sir, and likely that’s all he is, some farmer caught staring into the barracks, or he got too nosy in a tavern. I know you folks hereabouts don’t like the way Howe’s tiptoeing around, can’t understand why he don’t crush the damn rebels. Hell, I don’t either. But that don’t mean I can round up everyone on Long Island looks at us cross-eyed, now, can I?”
“Colonel, this man—”
“Can’t tell you how many spies been marched in here the last week. Yesterday, they brought in some poor half-wit for poisoning our rations. I told them our supplies come fresh that morning and I for one was still alive after breakfasting on them. I swear they were disappointed.” The colonel raised his glass to him. “No, sir, I’m not going off half-cocked just because you found another spy.”
“This one’s a captain in the rebel army.”
The colonel slowly straightened. He set his whiskey on the desk. “Where is he?”
Guy smiled briefly. “Colonel, you give me a detachment of men, I’ll bring him here to you. Believe me, General Howe sees how much damage this man could have done, there’ll be enough glory for both of us.”
The colonel’s pocket watch ticked off the moments as he considered. Guy mentioned his devotion to the king and his months of supplying powder to the troops. At last, Pritchard shrugged. “I’ll give you some men at first light. You’re wrong, and you got them out of their beds for no reason, they’ll make short work of you.”
“I need them now, Colonel.”
“Don’t push me. You’ll get your detachment, but it’ll have to wait till morning. The men’d laugh me to Halifax, I send them out now on a wild goose chase. You say this man’s a spy, but how do I know? Might have been discharged, might be coming back to his true allegiance.”
When Guy emphatically shook his head, the colonel continued, “Mayhap he’s got family in the area.”
“He’s from Connecticut.”
“Mayhap they’re distant family. Anyway, you’ll have to wait for morning.” He bellowed toward the open door. “Captain!”
Ornsby appeared, brushing crumbs from his uniform. “Sir?”
“Issue this man a blanket for the evening. At dawn, give him four men, tell them—”
“Sir,” Guy said, “with all respect, I don’t think four men—well, I’d hoped for eight or ten.”
A vein beat in the colonel’s forehead. “We’re talking about one rebel, aren’t we?” He turned to Ornsby. “Give him four men. Make sure they understand he’s in charge, and they’re to obey his orders. That’s all, Ornsby.”
Guy tossed in his bunk, the delay torturing him. The prize was close, within his grasp, but the British Army’s plodding arrogance might deprive him of it yet. He concocted and discarded one ploy after another for taking Hale now, by himself. He finally fell asleep after the picket called the midnight watch to wake at the first tinge of dawn. He scrambled into his waistcoat and opened his door.
Captain Ornsby stood on the threshold, arm raised to knock. “Ah, our spy-catcher. A fine morning for it.”
“The men ready?”
“Ready and at your service.” Ornsby pointed to two Redcoats and two Hessians standing at attention on the parade-ground, their breeches still wet with pipe clay and dazzlingly white. The bayonets on their muskets reflected the rising sun. The pit of Guy’s stomach dropped as he saw his dreams coming true. Those bayonets! Not even the charming, handsome, honorable Nathan Hale could escape now.
Guy briefly explained their quest to the detachment. Then he mounted his horse and led them to the farm.
The family was sitting down to breakfast when he banged at the door. The farmer answered and bowed to the soldiers as he recognized some customers. “Well, boys, this is a surprise, I must say, but nothing I like better than to have the business come to me instead of me go to it. Can yous stay for a bite?”
“No, sir, we—” The sergeant subsided at a glance from Guy.
“We’re here on official business.” Guy studied the man’s face but discerned only good-natured curiosity and a desire to please in order to forestall plundering, not the fear that would mean he knew what his guest had been about. “There’s a Nathan Hale staying here, and he’s under arrest.”
But the man shook his head. “We have no one by that name. ’Course, we did have a—” He stopped short, a sick cunning shading his eyes.
“He was here last night. I saw him. Now where is he? There’s a woman with him.”
The lady of the house stepped into the hallway behind her husband. “Johannes? What do they want?”
Guy spoke before her husband could caution her to say nothing. “You been sheltering a spy, madam. Where’s that young man who was staying here with you?”
“Mr. Huntington? A spy? Oh, you’re not serious!” She put a hand to her mouth as she laughed, emphasizing her beauty. Trust Hale, the ladies’ favorite, to find the comeliest farmer’s wife on Long Island and sack in with her. “A spy! Oh, I’m sorry, but that’s so funny. Mr. Huntington’s one of the most courteous, most honorable gentleme—Oh!” She gasped as Guy stepped forward to grab her wrist, twisting it.
“Here now,” her husband thundered. “What do yous think you’s doing?”
“He’s a spy, no matter how sweet you were on him. He’s a dirty spy.” Guy whirled on the men behind him. “Search the house.”
“Here now. I tell you no one’s here, just my family and me.” The farmer tried to block their way while comforting his wife, who glared at Guy.
Not quite the gentlemanly Captain Hale, am I? Guy thought savagely. Oh, and if I had you in that bed, I’d show you some lovemaking would put his pretty ways to shame.
He pushed past the couple into their parlor while the sergeant and his men fanned out into the house. The lady darted around him. She ran to the table
where her children had dropped their spoons to stare and swept them into her arms. From above their heads, she spat at him, “My husband told you there’s no one here. Mr. Huntington and his wife left this morning, before we were even out of bed.”
“His wife?” So Hale had had Alice at last, ahead of him. “Where were they going?”
“I—I don’t know,” she cried while her husband quavered from the doorway, “They talked about seeing the girl’s family in Gravesend.”
Gravesend? Alice’s family? Such falsehood told him more surely than the truth that they were heading for the ferry. Never lie, Alice. You do a poor job of it.
He smiled triumphantly, and the farmer said, “Now leave my house. I’m a loyal subject to the king. Yous have no right—”
“Upstairs is empty,” the sergeant called as he and the others clattered down the steps.
“We need to search the barn?” Guy’s eyes were sharp as bayonets, boring holes into the quaking farmer.
“There’s no one here, I tell yous. They went to see her family, they—”
Guy sprinted for his horse, the soldiers at his heels.
CHAPTER 15
They had left in plenty of time to catch the ferry and so could breakfast on Mrs. Wyckoff’s bread and fruit near a brook along the road. Nathan tore pieces from the loaf, fetched water, sliced a peach. All the while, he joked and whistled to soothe Ally’s fears that the Redcoats would catch them yet.
His heart burst with the goodness of life. Not only was he hours away from marrying Ally, but under his foot lay everything the Continental Army needed to triumph, except men and ammunition. And even the ammunition might rest beneath his sole: he had discovered a cache of weapons, lightly guarded, and had also learned when shipments of munitions would arrive from two artillery officers at the fair.
He was even glad for their close call yesterday, now that it was behind them. Things had been going too well, and that had disquieted him. But he had survived the requisite brush with capture, the spell was broken, and he breathed more freely.