by Jerri Hines
“No, I haven’t felt that way since I laid my Emily within the ground. After the news of William, I clung to the hope of the child, but she too was called away. I have endured, Mr…, Peter, but not lived,” her voice trailed off.
“I disagree with you. I have seen you with the small one.”
She chose not to continue the course of the conversation for the pain lay still within her. She diverted it into another direction. “Don’t you have any family of your own?”
“No, I never felt the push. Too busy. I have a sister in Baltimore who has quite a brood. I do get to see her occasionally. Her husband serves within the Continental army.”
Hours passed and Lanson soon lost track. He sat thinking of the defensive he could use. Lydia leaned against him. It had been a long time since he had held a woman.
A sound, a small noise, disturbed the quiet. Again it came. A scratching noise from the door, a meek voice called to those within. “Mistress Corbett? Mistress Corbett?”
“Mary! Mary, thank God,” Lydia cried. “Can you get us out?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. They done gone, but I ain’t for sure how long. It’s locked. They sent eve’body away. One man don gone an’ took your horse, Mister. They told me to stay with Billy.
“One said, ‘Nothin’ to worry ‘bout. She’s a dumb black wench.’ I said to myself, I did. I show ‘em, I will. As soon as ‘em left, I locked Mistress Catherine’s door. She’s lyin down ‘cause I don’t want her out bothering Mister Billy, you know. But now I don’t know what to do. I don’t.”
“Is there a key anywhere?” Lanson questioned through the door.
“Ain’t no key, Mister. I sorry.”
“Wait, Mary. Think. Get something to break the doorknob off. Go. We don’t have much time. Please, you can do this,” Lydia said quickly.
“I’ll try, Mistress Corbett. I’ll try.”
They heard her footsteps tamper off in the distance.
“Can she do it?” Lanson asked. He stood so close to her as to fall from the first step.
“She’ll have to. Won’t she?” Lydia responded.
The wait seemed an eternity. Neither left the door, afraid they did they would miss the opportunity for escape. A commotion arose from outside the door, but neither could make out the scene. A scream emerged. The next moment emergence of footsteps once more, they both sighed a sign of relief upon hearing Mary’s voice.
“Thin’ I found that key.”
Almost knocking Lydia down the stairs, Mary unlocked and opened the door in one motion. Lanson caught hold of Lydia, pulling her into him. In front of them Mary stood with an iron frying pan.
“All I could find, Mistress. I came running back and almost ran into that man,” she pointed to a motionless body lying on the floor. “Without thinkin’, Mistress, I swung that pan as hard as I could on top of his head. I yelled loud! Don’t know if I scared him a fright or I hit him hard ‘nough, but he had that key in his pocket.”
Lydia hugged her. “God bless you.”
“Done good, Mistress?”
“None could have done better,” Lydia responded.
Lanson had already rounded them both, eyeing the body of one of Stephen’s man spread out cold. The table had been knocked over with a vase of fresh roses from the garden, crashed upon the floor.
Lydia followed behind Lanson. She gave him a quick smile. Lanson swiftly removed the fellow’s pistol and retrieved his own knife. Rope lay to the side of him.
“Looks as though he was coming to finish the job,” Lanson said. “The others had to have heard the noise. Let’s make tracks. Where is the small one?”
Both the women pointed upward. Climbing the stairs quickly, banging from a bedroom door could be heard. In front of the door, a chair positioned under the knob kept the occupant within.
“Help me! Save me! They’ll kill me!”
Each looked at each other. Lydia nodded to Lanson to head for William’s door, ignoring Catherine’s pleas. Lydia rushed into William’s nursery, materializing with the boy. As the women rushed forward, Lanson’s arm sprang forth, stopping them in their advance. “The back stairs.”
Immediately changing directions, a clamor could be heard. Unhappy voices. No prodding needed, they hurried forth. Well out the back before they heard they emerge into the back yard. Dusk had fallen and the night wouldn’t be long behind. The Delaware River didn’t lie far from their position, but Lanson motioned for them to double back to the road.
“There’s a house not a mile down the road, if I’m not mistaken.”
Lydia nodded aware of the house. He halted Lydia momentarily and grabbed little William.
“I have him. Run. Run,” he yelled close behind the two women, directing. “Stay to the woods beside the road.”
Only once did they have to stop and hide, but the rider rode past without incident. When they approached the farmhouse, Lanson motioned for all to stop. Handing the baby back to Lydia, he said, “I’ll go see if they will help. If I don’t return, stay on the road as we have just done. Get into Philadelphia.”
Minutes later, Lanson returned. “Come.” They had help.
* * * *
Days later, Lanson was still sorting through the details. Fortune smiled down upon them on their approach to the farm belonging to Jeremiah Mercer, practicing Quakers, who didn’t believe in war, but willingly helped those in need. The father and one son readily returned with Lanson to the house; the other son departed for Philadelphia for help, alerting the neighbors along the way. The house had been vacated by the time of their return.
“My guess, they would leave by boat down at the river. Probably up to Trenton,” Jeremiah said.
Lanson nodded in agreement. A couple of more neighbors showed to lend a hand. Lanson said, “Can you go and see if there is any evidence of them having departed at the river bank? I’ll search the house.”
The clouds had departed, giving way to the shine of a full moon lighting their path. Lanson had barely begun his search, having started with the study littered with papers flung around the room. His eyes caught sight of a light. Looking out the window, he saw the men returning back. Within Jeremiah’s arms he held a wet lifeless body; her hair flowed down, as did her gown. They had brought Catherine home one last time.
Stunned, Lanson grieved. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. Guilt surfaced once more. I’m getting too old for this. He should have figured out a way to have taken her with them when they escaped.
“We wouldn’t have made it if you had tried,” Lydia stated straight forth which he would find was her manner.
“I don’t know what I’m to tell Jonathan.”
Lydia studied Lanson for a moment. “To tell Jonathan anything but the truth would be wrong.”
* * * *
Wrecking roads and bridges, toppling trees over trails, destroying foodstuffs, Jonathan watched General Schuyler make General Burgoyne’s march a logistical nightmare. Jonathan knew well why he was here, and wasn’t happy with it. General Schuyler suffered greatly from gout and pleurisy. He had heard of Jonathan’s work in the field of battle. He would be satisfied with no other. Jonathan hated every minute he had served under the commander since early June.
Schuyler may have liked Jonathan, but he liked few others. Schuyler couldn’t abide the spirited New England soldiery and his nature in general was contentious. Unlike Jonathan’s previous service, he was among the demoralized troops whom bitterly disliked their commander. He couldn’t abide the constant bickering with everyone.
In truth, though, Jonathan was disturbed mainly with his family. He had this nagging feeling, and no matter how hard he tried to dismiss it, he couldn’t. Catherine wasn’t well. Since the baby had been born, she hadn’t let him touch her. She had developed a dreadful fear of having another child. She couldn’t bear such, she said, but would hold tight to Jonathan, afraid to let go.
Even being a physician, Jonathan was at a loss, so helpless. He loved her more than life itself and
wanted above all to make her happy. He kept thinking or hoping if he did this for her or that, it would bring back the woman he loved. At one time he had even thought of sending her to her mother’s in England.
But with the appearance of Lydia, some of his worry allayed. Lydia, God bless her, was such a stabilizing factor. The worry concerning his son eased. There had seemed an instant bond between the two: the motherless child and the childless mother. Jonathan had been under no illusions that Catherine could mother a child at the moment.
Catherine had ceased writing since his return to the front. His only communication line would be the letters he received from Lydia. She wrote in vivid detail news of his son and at the end included love from Catherine.
Upon another dark and dreary evening, a summons came from General Schuyler. Reluctantly, he answered. Another attack of gout, Jonathan thought. He trudged down wearily to the General’s headquarters. All seemed deserted with only his standard guards around. He entered in to find General Schuyler at his table alone with a bottle of claret in one hand and a glass in the other.
“Have a seat, Doctor. I’m extremely sorry to have called you down. There is another glass behind you,” General Schuyler pointed to the table.
Jonathan shook his head. “No, thank you, General.”
“It’s not a question, Doctor. Take one. You’ll need it.” His tone somber and serious, Jonathan accepted and took the seat in which the General indicated.
“Life is hell, wouldn’t you say, Doctor? Every time you stumble and fall, you get back up and then as you think you are stable, someone trips you, causing you to fall once more,” General Schuyler rambled. Jonathan stared at the older man as he drank down the glass in front of him. Schuyler poured him another one.
“They’re replacing me, Doctor. Not that it’s a shock. Congress never could abide a Yorker in this position, but I think about what I have laid out for them. It’s all set. General Gates is taking command, but they’re sending him more troops. Believe they foresee a bigger battle brewing. Ah, it’s probably for the better. I’m my own worst enemy at times, I know. My temper. Never could keep it in check.”
His manner changed. He stared at Jonathan. “I regret I have one last duty to perform. As I’m still at this moment commander, it’s my painful duty to inform you of sorrowful news I received today.”
Jonathan’s heart stopped. Before the words were uttered, he knew. General Schuyler’s words seemed as in slow motion uttered forth. “I regret to inform you of the death of your wife. On the night of July 22, she went on an unfortunate walk with her brother, fell into the Delaware and drowned, along with her brother who tried to save her.”
“No. No,” Jonathan voiced, not wanting to believe.
“I wish it wasn’t true. I really do. I understand you have a young one. They said he was being well taken care of.” From within his uniform pocket he withdrew letters. He handed them to Jonathan, who accepted them and withdrew back to his tent. He had only a desire to be left alone.
My dearest brother, Jonathan,
It’s with a heavy heart and much regret and sorrow I write this letter. I’m confident you’ll have heard the sad news before you have opened this, but I feel it only proper to inform you of the circumstances of her death. Catherine’s death is felt by all, but before I go further, Brother, I want you to understand that no matter what the circumstances and what she had done, she loved you. This is important that you understand this.
Since the birth of William, Catherine was not herself. I believe that she wasn’t of sound mind at times, Jonathan. I say that as to explain the reason she did such, not to excuse. Mr. Peter Lanson arrived a few days hence to take us back to Williamsburg. They had received word that indicated that Gannon was preparing to move Catherine into New York with him along with William.
When Mr. Lanson informed Catherine, she went into hysterics, not wishing to leave. Her father would take care of her, she said, and in the same breath she confessed to informing him that Hannah was the one that discovered the truth. A spy in essence. She talked of her father’s plans of punishing Hannah. As you can well understand, this information put Hannah in immediate danger. She has since disappeared, but is constantly in our prayers. Mr. Lanson, he has hope she is alive and I cling to that. I refuse to believe any other option.
Stephen showed up at the house with two of his associates. One of the servants had overheard our conversation and had sent at once for Stephen. He held Mr. Lanson and myself captive in the cellar and if not for our brave Mary, we ourselves would have surely perished. Mr. Lanson took little William, Mary, and myself out to safety. We wouldn’t have reached safety if we had tried to take Catherine, for she would have fought us. As soon as we were in a safe place, he forthwith returned to Catherine.
The house emptied upon his return. The rest of the story came from the men within the boat at the time of the two trying to escape. Catherine, they said, was as if in a fog. Speaking incoherent of you, her father, the baby, but when they entered the boat no more than a simple row boat, she was calm. As they reached far into the middle of the river it was as if she was answering someone calling to her. Stephen called for her to sit for he felt she was going to turn over the boat.
She responded. “I don’t believe Jonathan would want me to leave William. No, I can’t leave William. He wouldn’t like that. I don’t want Jonathan mad with me.”
Stephen crawled to her side to make her sit, for she was acting as if she was going to walk across the water, as if she was in a different place. She tried to stand several times and when Steven let go momentarily to get a better grip, she fell backwards into the water. Her gown bore her down. The boat tried to back up to her, but wasn’t fast enough and to his credit Stephen jumped in to try to save his sister, but in the process, he, too, drowned.
She held on to him and wouldn’t let him help her. The Quakers who were helping us and had followed the trail down to the Delaware were too late to save them, but helped retrieve the bodies. The story that was told was that Catherine accidentally fell into the water and Stephen drowned trying to save her.
William and I are safe at Dr. Jenkin’s home at the moment, but by the time you receive this we’ll have moved once again. His sources have informed him that upon receiving the news, Gannon has cursed the lot of us, including, I’m afraid, little William. Gannon, distraught, is striking back in the manner he is accustomed to. I pray, he never gets his hands upon Hannah.
Mr. Lanson assures me that finding Hannah is of the highest priority. I believe he has also written you, but he is taking leave of his position until little William and myself are settled. He has told me that we have suffered enough. He promised you he would look after your family. He promises to help with Hannah, also.
Rest assured little William is safe. Understandably confused, but he’s such a wonderful happy baby. He’s now walking and can say a few words. I, in honesty, can say I believe he must favor you for he seems to be into everything such as you and Hannah were when you were small.
I promise you I will guard him with my life. Our Mary, God bless her, is with me and she feels the same. Rest upon God’s faith in your loss. My heart is with you,
Your loving sister, Lydia
* * * *
Officially, upon the 19 of August, Major General Horatio Gates took command of the Northern Patriot Army. The British had already started to flounder, and with the daily the reinforcements the Americans received, Burgoyne became increasingly isolated.
Colonel Daniel Morgan, whom had been paroled in New Jersey after his capture in Canada, and his elite rifle corps., General Benjamin Lincoln, General Benedict Arnold, General Israel Putnam’s New York Highlanders, which included Jonathan’s friend, John Glover, arrived. Glover hunted Jonathan down shortly after his arrival.
Glover expressed his condolences and sympathies. Jonathan shut him down as if a cover surrounded him.
“There is nothing to be said. There’s work to be done,” Jonathan replied.
Glover studied his friend. A definite change had occurred within him. Glover had heard he had worked endlessly since the news, never stopping. Which, from Glover’s point of view wasn’t the worst to do in the circumstances, but it was his attitude which bothered Glover. But in reality there were sad tales all around. No one would escape the effects of the war in one way or another. The price was high and it kept going up.
Chapter Ten
Marcus gained confidence with each day that passed. For almost two months since that day, a change had occurred; Hannah was no longer battling him. As if a weight had been lifted from her, she placed her trust in him. Her color returned slowly, and over the days that followed he had to admonish her quite often to stay in bed as her strength recovered. At last, he felt she was completely his, body and soul.
Not that he would fully trust she wouldn’t change her mind. Not until he had her safely in England. He still had work to complete before they left. Although General Howe’s army had been victorious at Brandywine into Philadelphia and now occupied the city, Marcus had expressed his concerns about the move. He had long felt the necessity to reinforce Burgoyne, but his opinion had fallen on deaf ears, as had other’s attempts to convince Howe.
Communications with Burgoyne had been difficult at best. And the news that had filtered in from Burgoyne worried him. He had made short trips back and forth from Philadelphia as he would have another this morning. Then hopefully on his return leave with Hannah to his homeland.
He finished with his dress and walked back over to the bedside. Hannah propped up with pillows, reached for his hand. “Do you have to go?”
Marcus laughed and sat beside her. “Last trip. I have promised you one more mission.”
He placed his hand lovingly upon her stomach, which over the last few days began to show signs of a life growing inside. “Then on to England. I’ll have to report my findings and then I promise you, I’ll resign my commission. No more games. I’m done. I have every intention to be there when my son is born in my homeland.”