by L. E. Waters
“What am I to do with this?” I hold the quill out toward him as my other hand fumbles to fix my buttons.
He turns slowly around and shrugs, then disappears into the woods again.
No one ever spoke of a quill method.
I look at the feather and notice that the tip of the quill holds a coiled piece of parchment. Drawing it from the quill, I unroll the small piece of paper covered with the tiniest writing I’ve ever seen. I squint and hold it close to my face to read.
Dearest Monk,
I am so clever, aren’t I? You have my permission to teach this to your spy friends. Arnold is being court marshaled on four charges; one for giving out passes to loyalist widows, for heaven’s sake! But, I see this as a wedding gift; a good turn of events since it has embittered him greatly. He has busied himself writing all his most influential friends and has even gone so far to call favors from your favorite Mr. Washington.
Is there any news from Joshua? I haven’t heard from him since my engagement.
Yours,
Síofra
I finish my business at the latrine and head back to the office where ten soldiers wait for my assistance at my desk. After I see to the last one, I pull out my decoder ring and write to her in code.
My Síofra,
I have enclosed a lovely little trinket that is not as becoming as helpful. I know you will get immense joy out of it all. I feel that it is time for you to begin to make great demands of your husband, show him your great dissatisfaction of his income. Make him feel he does not provide you with all of your wants and needs. This is necessary to force him to need some quick monetary solution to satiate his shiny new child bride. Sorry to say I have not heard from Smith since I last saw him. He seems to be out of contact. I will write you if I receive any word.
Yours,
Monk
Days later, I’m filling a dish with honey to keep the bed bugs out of my cornhusk mattress when Obadiah slinks in, bringing a waft of foul air in with him—the offensive scent of villagers rendering fat for soap outside—and hands me a letter with a nod.
Oh, Monk,
You would be so proud. I did what you said about telling him of the things I longed for, and he came home with keys to Mount Pleasant—the largest estate in Pennsylvania, overlooking the Schuylkill River! I am getting rather fond of this game and will keep feeding his lust for opulence and luxury. I brought up the idea that he might not get the recognition and reward he deserves from the patriots. That the royal army would welcome such an accomplished adversary and he shut it down quickly, saying that he suspects he will be greatly rewarded once the grateful, victorious new nation divides up their frontier land. Oh, well, I did try. Maybe it has planted a seed within him.
Please notify me as soon as Joshua makes contact again since I fear the worst when he is quiet.
~Síofra
It’s months before I see Obadiah again. He comes in while I’m sleeping, like a ghost breezing by, and leaves something on my desk. I throw my blanket off, light the dregs of my candle, and rip the letter open. Her letter has an ‘M’ in the corner, telling me I need the mask she included with her last letter. I remove the paper with the irregular cutout from the secret compartment in the back of my desk and place it on top of her letter to reveal her encrypted message, everything outside the cutout is just filler.
I notice right away that the date shows it has been delayed by weeks.
My sweet husband, I have accomplished a great feat! While feeding the chickens, the children gave the General an apple from our orchard, he was so appreciative of such kind services as he feebly lay with his sore leg up on a basket, that he asked of the man of the house. I told him of you and your connections with the West Indies. He is impressed with your product. After the initial shock of selling prices now adays, he has eagerly agreed to cut out his ‘brave boys’, and ventured in with you.
The General has dared to say if the British Army could procure good rum, they’d increase the size of the army to match all that he has now and more. Had they good spirits, he would ever hope to in the future win this war. As he walked away he said that he would consider turning my hand over for a kiss, I, of course, accepted but with great reluctance. The General still didn’t leave.
He studied me and then asked why do I know you sold such good quality.
I replied that I knew your business intimately that I trust you and your product.
He asked why does he trust you with so much and I replied, I’m good quality as well.
Dear, I am so proud that you hold on tight to your pride, that you are so wonderful.
I am assured you are uninterested in feminine charms. It was the only way to trust.
I hope I was helpful and I could convince him. Please send Joshua some sweets.
Make sure to tell your mother the news of my hard work and give your father the sweater I knitted for him and send him my love. Since injuring my hand pruning the rose bushes, this letter took me ages to write, with my hand all wrapped up in cotton. I detest this method. I cannot wait for it to heal.
Love, Síofra
I write back immediately using my mask and leave the letter on my desk. When I awake in the morning, it’s gone. Obadiah must have come looking for it while I was asleep.
Síofra, my dear, Excellent job! It seems you will turn into a merchant if I’m not to deal with him soon. The only problem now is that my prices have risen and if he finds that disagreeable, the General is worthless to us after all of this.
I am in great need of a deal at this point. In order to gain anything I have to sell large amounts of rum of value he would need to have at double my cost.
Now adays it is hard to acquire something to sell. But if anyone can do it, it is I.
Although you, my sweet, encourage and inspire a man to reach great heights.
Rich food and fancy dresses, for such heights, it is you I dream them for.
Sit tight my good girl. I will send Joshua all your sweets you have asked for.
I will pass on your love after taking a small humble dose for me. As for your pain caused by writing me, forgive me, for the difficult method. I hope you will heal so you can go back to your feather then. All yours, Monk
Chapter 13
I’m called up to Clinton’s room, where I’m surprised to see Obadiah sitting across from Clinton.
“André, Obadiah has some news for us.” Clinton searches about me. “Where is my Rosey girl?”
I pull her out of the satchel and give her over to him. “I didn’t know you could talk.” I say honestly, although Obadiah takes it with a strange grin.
The smirk cracks open to release a velvet voice. “I entered the Arnold household under the usual guise of a crockery dealer. Once their servants were excused, Mrs. Arnold and the General spoke with me in whispers in their closed parlor. Arnold was interested in laying down the terms of coming to us, and he wanted nothing in writing, which is the only reason I have sat to chat with you here.” He looks at me pointedly, with a fire in his amber eyes. “Arnold, looking terribly sorrowful with the gout in his good leg, could hardly stand, but his first term is: he must be assured that the British will not give up the war.”
Clinton nods immediately.
“Fine, I will relay that. Second: he needs to be promised suitable reward in pay.”
Clinton pushes back in his high-backed chair and gives a tight smile. “Rewarded, yes, but I cannot say in what terms as it obviously depends on services rendered.”
“Sure enough. Lastly, he thought that it might be better to join the British openly, rather than betray his patriots while acting as an American General.”
Clinton rolls his head back and snickers up at the horsehair-plastered ceiling. “I am not even considering that option.”
Obadiah stands, ending the meeting somewhat prematurely. “I will relay this information at once. Any other information for him, sir?”
I’m surprised by his respect for Clinton, since he shows me so
little.
Clinton pauses. “Tell Arnold he should encourage other generals to betray their commands as well.”
Obadiah nods, floppy hat in hand, and turns to leave.
“Obadiah.” I leap after him before he can disappear again. “Be sure to leave this for Peggy to use on the next letter I send.”
He takes the heavy dictionary in one large hand and sweeps out of the room. Clinton looks at me with his head propped up in one hand, stroking Rosey with the other. “We just might have something here.”
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I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, but footsteps behind wake me. I slowly reach for my pistol under the blanket and, once I have it in my hand, I spin around with my pistol up but feel a blast to my gut. I look back up in shock and see Obadiah at the other end of the carbine. I can barely breathe, and my whole stomach is on fire.
“Obadiah, you sold me?”
Hearing the gunshot, Honora bounds through the door and fires but misses. Obadiah runs at Honora, hitting her in the head with the butt of the gun, knocking her to the ground. Obadiah runs out the door. Honora moves toward me, and her green eyes pour into mine as I try to catch my breath. I laugh and say, “See…I knew it wasn’t you.”
She laughs slightly and peers at my wound. The look on her face tells me I only have moments left. She picks my head up, puts it in her lap, and I try to talk through my shallow breaths.
A flash transports me to another scene.
“Well, I just wanted to say,” I start losing my vision, and my voice slows. “Sorry I ever doubted you, Honora.”
Her tears hit my face as I feel myself fading. My breathing slows and then stops. The world goes dark.
I wake up with tears in my eyes.
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I watch for Obadiah for months; awake every morning to check my desk but find it empty; scan crowds for his floppy hat; sit on the latrine watching the edge of the woods. Finally, a letter is laid in my hands behind my back at a party. By the time I turn around, he’s already crossing the threshold of the manor. I dart after him and yell out right as his dark form half-submerges into the hedges, “Where have you been?”
He halts, turns quickly, and waves his hand for me to come closer for the answer. I take each hurried step closer to him as he waves me nearer. He then grabs my coat lapels and pulls me so close, his hot cheese-breath clouds my face.
“Don’t ever call out to me like that! Do you hear me?” His narrow eyes flare as he spits each word.
I try to pull away from his tight grasp, but it’s no use. I quietly ask, “Forgive me. I was just curious why you have been away so long?”
“Sorry if my having to flee the Whigs in Philadelphia has put you out any.”
My skin burns from a mix of fear and embarrassment. “Like I said, forgive me. I trust you have good reason then.”
He releases me and jumps through the hedge. I turn back and take a deep breath while wiping the spittle from my face. I’ve almost forgotten about the long awaited letter. I tear it open to see a new handwriting I don’t recognize.
Washington is headed to the Hudson, the French alliance seems to be in negotiation, and Congress has given up Charleston if attempted; they are in want of arms, ammunition, and men to defend it.
This is a sample of the intelligence I can gather on a weekly basis if the General is interested. As life and everything is at stake, I will expect some certainty. General Washington has said himself about my worth, “It is not in the power of any man to command success, but you have done more, you have deserved it.” Please respond promptly, before I change my mind.
Madam A presents you with her particular compliments.
Signed,
Mr. Gustavous
I read the letter to Clinton that night as he scrapes dirt and manure off of his stiff riding boots into his wastebasket. I fight the urge to choke in the rancid, fishy cloud that hangs in the air around the lamp.
Seeing me hold my sleeve up to my nose, Clinton says, “It is the dark oil. Down to the dregs from the Nantucket raid.”
“Well, then, what say you of his information?”
He puts down his boot and takes the other to scrape. “I have heard this same intelligence from mine own spies. No, he will need to be more useful to us before we promise anything. Where shall he best serve us then?”
I try to come up with my best answer. “The command in Charleston?”
Clinton nods slightly, deep in thought.
I decide it’s a good time to bring up something that has been bothering me. “How do you know you can trust your man Obadiah? How do you know he is not a double agent?”
“I can only tell you what he has risked for us and how discreet I have seen him be. Nevertheless, there is no way to verify who is or is not a double agent. For all I know, you could be one too.”
“I say this because if we relate that we want Arnold at a certain command, and the orders are intercepted, then not only will they know the traitor, but they will know where we are sending the majority of our army. It is imperative that we are sure of our people.”
“What do you know of your own?”
“I am sure of my people.”
“Hmmm.” He places his cleaned boots by the fire, walks over in the corner and drops his breeches.
I immediately avert my eyes. “You could have warned me, sir.”
Clinton chuckles in the corner. I hear him dress in his nightshirt and grunt as he gets into bed. When he has his bedcovers brought up, he says, “Your surety worries me more, André. You have stopped being impartial.”
He motions to his desk, and I go to pick up the quill as he continues, “I have it from my gut to say this:
We cannot disclose the movements or plans of the British Army at this time but leave it to you to think of an effective stroke. Join the army, accept command, be surprised, cut-off—these things happen in the course of maneuver, nor you be censured or suspected. A complete service of this nature, involving corps of five or six thousand men, would be rewarded with twice as many guineas.”
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I’m in a dark corner at a dance with a lovely young girl, whispering a poem I wrote for her in her shell-like ear when Obadiah sweeps by and leaves something in my coat pocket. I pull away from my enjoyment and open the letter to see the familiar unencoded handwriting.
I am to join the army in about three weeks. GA
General Clinton talks with some other officers across the room. I whisper in my girl’s ear, and she gives consent. I lift up her lace modesty piece and insert the letter down through her bosom and into her corset as she giggles. I then push her forward to deliver it to Clinton. As soon as she whispers in his ear, he turns to me and winks. With a wide grin, he happily retrieves the letter.
Chapter 14
General Clinton throws down the letter that he fished out of the girl’s corset weeks ago. “It is now five weeks, and I haven’t received any news of Arnold’s appointment!”
I know what he suspects. “I have grown familiar with his writing and style, and I assure you it is resonant of his other letters. That, and he has forbidden any more communication without promise of specific payment. Hardly sounds like an interceptor.”
Clinton pauses. “I trust your instincts, but I am still weary of you meeting with someone we are not positive is who he says he is. You could be set up for betrayal.”
“My own mother isn’t as nervous as you. “ I laugh, although he grows more serious.
“I have it in my mind to send a more experienced officer, like Philips, in to rendezvous with Arnold.”
“You cannot do that.”
“Of course I can do that.” He sits in his worn golden chair.
“Not if you are trying to use a flag of truce to meet. Philips would be violating the vow he took as a condition of his parole.” I say smiling, knowing I’ve won.
He sighs. “I don�
�t know what I would do without you, though, André. You finesse everything here.”
“Now you truly sound like Mother.” I put my hat back on. “This meeting and this war will be over so fast you will be drinking real tea in Portland Place before you can sing Yankee Doodle.”
“I hope so, André. I hope so,” he mutters as I close the door behind me.
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Obadiah appears from among the strangers around me in the street. He shakes my hand briskly, leaving a letter behind, and I watch his floppy hat drift away into the sea of people. It’s a letter from Peggy. I need to decode it with the dictionary back in my room.
Monk, my dearest,
Arnold’s court-martial convened, and he was exonerated of mistreating his militia and buying when shops were closed, but he is guilty of two counts of granting nonmilitary passes. Arnold was enraged, which flared the pain in his leg, causing him to be carried from court to his carriage. He was sentenced to receive a reprimand from Washington. Even though some would think this a bad turn, Washington has gone easy on him and but slapped him on the wrist. All this has only embittered him more and legitimized his turning sides. Immediately, Arnold has gone to Washington’s encampment, trying to vie for a worthy command. I have taken it upon myself to try to secure him command at West Point by using my best feminine abilities to persuade Congressman Livingston of New York to insist upon Arnold replacing the present commandant. And, shall I say, I have already made an impression on him. Now that the court-martial is done with, I am certain the next news I send will be good news.
Ever missing you,
Síofra
Clinton says as soon as I read it to him, “Well, that’s something to bargain for. We could cut the colonies in half at the Hudson if we took West Point.”
“Arnold won’t give it up cheap, though. He is aware of what it would mean for us. This would decide the war.” I feel it right in my hands.