“And . . . ?”
“And . . . your father and I have decided that you may go.”
Polly leaped to her feet with a cry, letting her embroidery go flying. “Oh! Oh! I must . . . I must . . . go to the mantua-maker! For a new gown!”
“That’s the best part about it. And the thing which convinced your father to accept. The gown is to be provided.”
Mother and I exchanged a look. It sounded strange in the way of customs to accept such a gift from a man to whom one was not wed.
36
Jeremiah
I sat in my bedroom Monday morning, staring at the message the egg-girl had passed me.
Army expected to leave soon. All prisoners to be placed on ships. Expand plans to include more men.
So . . . John hadn’t been lying. The British were planning to leave and they were going to place the prisoners on ships. Poor wretched souls. If jail meant risk of life, prison ships were an immediate death sentence. No one ever left them except in shrouds. Of course General Washington wanted to expand the escape plans. But the prisoners were confined to cells; it wasn’t as if we could just invite more people to come along. It wasn’t worth risking the integrity of the plan in order to include more men. At this point it was doubtful whether any would escape at all.
The more I thought about it, the more only one solution seemed possible. I could not, in good conscience, reply in the negative without at least trying, though I was not even sure, in fact, that I wanted my idea to work. If it did, then I would be risking everything I had come to hold dear.
I surprised Hannah on Saturday by meeting her in the middle of the street and walking alongside her as if we had chanced upon each other while walking in the same direction. The slave that accompanied her fell back to trail us.
She looked at me askance. “Is there something wrong?”
“I have to ask you something, and I want you to say no.”
“Do thee fear that I will say yes?”
Yes. I did fear it. But duty required me to ask in spite of my personal sentiments. “I need you to bribe the guard at the jail.”
Her eyes widened. Her face paled. “No.”
I closed my eyes in relief. Now I could say that I asked, could say that I tried. And in truth, it could not be accomplished. Though why I was worrying so much about telling the truth, I had no idea.
“Why?”
My eyes snapped open. “Why what?”
“Why do thee want me to bribe the guard?”
“We’ve heard the men are to be placed on ships. Soon. General Washington wants more of them to be able to escape. The only way to do that is to convince the guard to open up the cells. Let more men than just Robert’s escape.”
“But it’s not clear yet that any will be able to escape.”
“I know it.”
She was silent for several steps. “They’re to be placed on ships?”
“Aye.” I did not like the things I saw taking shape behind her eyes. “But—”
“And thee think the guard can be bribed.”
“It’s very dangerous. Too dangerous! Because if he can’t . . .” If he couldn’t, then he would turn Hannah over to General Howe. And if Hannah was betrayed, then it was only a matter of time before she’d tell them the whole entire truth. I knew her; she could not—would not—lie. “Forget I asked.”
“I’ll do it.” Her eyes had gone so dark that I could not see into the depths of them, and her face had nearly gone white.
Dash it all! “I told you to say no!”
“I’m saying yes.”
“You can’t say yes. I wouldn’t have asked you if I thought you’d say yes.”
“Thee asked me because thee could not bear to tell the general no. And thee knew it was the right thing to do. If thee are going to start telling the truth, thee must start with thyself.”
“Say no.”
“I can say nothing other than yes. And thee would do the same, Jeremiah. For those men, thee would do the same.”
I reached out toward her but then stopped myself. I had no right. I had no right to ask of her any of the things that I had. “I don’t want you to do it.”
“I have to.”
“God help us, Hannah, I never meant to get you killed.”
“Thee wish me to do it this day?”
I wished her to do it not at all.
“We are very nearly there.”
She was right. She was always right. I’d brought along some coin just in case. I slipped a purse into her basket along with a message. “There’s ten shillings in there. Promise him ten more.”
“And when he asks for the rest?”
“Tell him that he’ll not get it until after the escape.”
She nodded. Squared her shoulders. “I must go.” She turned and walked away, head held high. And it was all I could do not to call her back to me.
I could hardly sleep the next days for want of news. It was Monday again before I saw her walking down Walnut Street the same way she had dozens of Mondays before. As she passed by, I saw her head turn, the slightest of movements. Caught her gaze.
She stopped. And at the same time, I started toward her.
She began to walk once more.
I lengthened my stride in order to reach her. “Wait. Stop!”
A wiser man—a smarter one, in any case—wouldn’t have said anything. Wouldn’t have given any sign of notice at all. But I could not keep myself from reaching out toward her. I needed to know that she was truly well. That she hadn’t been betrayed to Howe. And there was something I needed to say to her as well.
She stopped, though she gave the impression of wanting to hop away, like some bird sitting on the thinnest of branches.
The Negro woman who always accompanied her had stopped as well. And she was giving me no little warning from her wrath-filled dark eyes.
“If it’s about thy message, I delivered it. And I secured an arrangement about the other matter.” She stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell her scents of lavender and lemon balm. And read the anxiety in her eyes. “The guard is in agreement.”
“It’s not about the message.” It was about . . . me.
“Then what is it?” She was looking past me, down the street. And then she turned and looked up it, toward the jail. “I must not be seen speaking with thee.”
“You’re right.” I took her by the elbow and pulled her toward the tavern.
“But I can’t just—!”
“The easier you come, the less people will notice.”
“I’m forbidden to—”
“Who gives a horse feather about your father and his proprieties! He’s left his son to rot in that jail, and you’re worried about disobeying him?”
She’d gone so pale I was frightened she would swoon. Apparently the slave woman was too, for she took hold of Hannah’s other elbow. “Let’s . . .” I couldn’t take her into the tavern, much as she needed a restorative of whiskey. “Help me take her around to the kitchen.”
By the time we reached it, color had begun to come back into her face. But still she leaned on me.
“Fanny!”
Bartholomew’s sister turned from the fire where she was stirring a kettle. “Mr. Jones?”
“Bring me a bottle of whiskey!”
The slave woman had pulled a stool away from the heat of the fire, but even as she pushed her down into it, Hannah was brushing her hands away, trying to stand up.
Fanny had returned. “Is it for—?” She held it out in the direction of Hannah.
I nodded, gesturing for her to serve it.
At Fanny’s approach, Hannah looked up, ceasing her struggles with the slave woman. Her eyes grew wide as she looked at Fanny and then she dropped to the floor in a dead faint.
“Was that . . . Fanny Pruitt?”
The slave woman wrung out a cloth and laid it across Hannah’s forehead. I’d had Bartholomew help me take Hannah upstairs, where we’d placed her in my bed. The boy was s
tanding, even now, over by the door, biting at his lip.
“Is it the fever?” I asked the slave woman because she was the only person who seemed to know what to do with her. Hannah had been pale before she’d fainted, but now she looked flushed. “Has it returned?”
Hannah’s eyes sought mine. “Was that Fanny?”
I nodded.
She closed her eyes. Though she made no sound, tears began to slide down her cheeks.
“You know Fanny?”
She nodded as her chin crumpled.
“But how do you know her?”
“My—” Her words broke off into a wail.
The slave woman knelt down and gathered Hannah to her chest.
“How does she know her?” The Pruitts weren’t Quakers and they hadn’t been nearly grand enough to mix with people like the Sunderlands. “Where did they meet?”
The slave woman glared at me. “Why does it matter where she know her? Don’t you know how the heart sound when it breaks?” She patted Hannah’s head as it lay against her shoulder.
“I didn’t—I mean—” I didn’t understand anything. At all.
Eventually Hannah stopped crying and the woman stopped clucking. Sometime during all the turmoil, Bartholomew had fled. I wished I could follow him. But it was my fault Hannah was here in the first place. And there was still a mystery to be solved.
Hannah sat up, used the cloth to clean away the remnants of her tears, and then pushed away from the bed. “Thank thee, Jeremiah. Thee have been very kind to me.” She nodded, not quite meeting my eyes as she walked toward the door.
Wait just a—! “But how do you know her?”
She cast a glance in my direction which promptly fell toward the floor. “My father used to employ her.”
Her father . . . used to . . . “And then, when she was discovered to be with child, he turned her out.”
Her gaze crept up to meet mine. “Yes.”
“Did you know her mother was dying?”
“No.”
“Do you know how she and her brother have survived these past months?”
“No.”
“Do you have any idea at all what it’s like to live in squalor, at the pleasure of the British Army? And be turned out of your hovel of a home simply because your mother has died? Because someone needs your house for firewood?”
“No! But I know that my brother—” She bit the end off her sentence. Seemed to swallow it.
“Your brother what?”
She didn’t want to answer me. I could tell by the fury that clouded her eyes. But finally, she did. “Fanny was the reason my brother joined the patriots. And Fanny . . .” Her chin had begun to tremble once more. “Fanny . . .” She stopped speaking. Took in a deep breath. “Fanny is the reason I supported him.”
“The same Fanny that your father deemed too dissolute to employ?”
“I would have kept her, but it wasn’t my decision to make.”
“What I can’t understand is why you’re so set on obeying a man you seem to disagree with as a matter of course.”
“What does it matter if I—! Thee just don’t—”
“Don’t even think of telling me that I don’t understand.”
“Thee don’t. I am not my father!”
“And I am not—” The man I wished I was.
The slave woman waded into the middle of our discussion and stood there, hands at her hips. “If you don’t stop all this caterfussing, I’m going to take you both by the ear! Now. You be nice.” She admonished Hannah with a shake of her finger. Then she turned to me. “And you: You be good! I going to be standing right out there. In that hall.”
Hannah gasped and started toward her. “But thee can’t—don’t go! Thee are supposed to stay with me.”
“Sometimes people gots to say things to each other that ain’t for nobody else to hear.” She speared me with a look as she said it. “So you just get on with the getting on with it so we can get on with the doing of something else. I got work to do. And you . . .” She turned and leveled a look at Hannah. “You got places to visit.”
We stared at each other, across the expanse of my room, as the slave marched out the door. And then I started to work on closing the distance between us. “For a Quaker, you sure have a lot to say.”
“It’s because thee have a lot to learn, Jeremiah!” She didn’t back away, but she didn’t move toward me either.
“I thought you people were supposed to be kindhearted and gentle-minded.”
“And I thought thee were supposed to be—”
I took one more step closer.
“I thought . . .”
“Yes?”
“I thought thee were the enemy.”
“I’m a friend. The only one you have.”
“But there’s no . . . there’s no peace when I’m with thee. Thee bring turmoil like a cloud brings rain. And I can’t think. I can’t hear. I can’t—”
“Hannah.”
“Yes?” It sounded like a sob.
“Hush. Be still.”
“I—can’t!” It was a sob. A sob of pure frustration. And she passed it on to me as she grabbed hold of my coat with one hand and wrapped her other arm about my waist.
I kissed her temple. Inhaled her heady scent of lavender and lemon balm. “You’ve the heart of a patriot inside you. You know there’s great injustice here. And isn’t your God the God of justice and mercy?”
“It feels—”
“It feels like rage. It feels like anger.”
“It feels wrong.”
I pressed her head against my good shoulder. Mostly so I wouldn’t be tempted to shake her. “It’s everyone else in that blasted Meeting of yours that’s wrong. You’re the one who’s right!”
“But how do thee know? How can thee be sure?” She pushed away from me just enough to be able to look at me.
“Because I know you.” I took up her hand. If she would only believe the truth of what I had just told her.
She didn’t want to believe me. I could see it. And I also witnessed the moment when she changed her mind. “There’s only the two of us then against the entire British army.”
“In my mind, that’s just enough.”
She smiled. A small smile that quivered as it curved across her face. It made me want to kiss her.
Kisses.
Why was it that my body remembered so many things that I longed to forget? Fingers that dug furrows through my hair. The scorch of stolen kisses. Sighs that had risen, unbidden, at my touch. There were some things a man could never forget. And it was useless to try. It just gave the memories life. So I tried to talk myself out of the scent of lavender and the feel of Hannah in particular.
She was not meant for me.
She was probably already promised to some broad-brimmed, peace-minded Friend. Someone who never raised his voice and would never think to shake sense into anyone. Someone who would probably never know just what a treasure he had married.
Which was all the better for me.
I didn’t need a woman telling me what to do. Or how to act. Or what to believe about God. I didn’t need a woman looking me straight in the eyes or poking at my arm or telling me I was wrong about nearly everything I’d ever thought was true. I didn’t need a woman. And I definitely didn’t want one touching me.
The only problem was, I didn’t believe myself.
I knew I was lying.
37
Hannah
I sat in Polly’s room on seventh day, drenching myself in the bright sunlight, feeling as if the world might one day right itself. And then Polly came clattering through the door, trailing exuberance behind her.
“It’s arrived!”
“I’m not quite certain I—”
“My costume—for the Meschianza! You really must see it.” She turned toward Jenny, her constant shadow, gesturing for help with removing her gown. “It’s a polonaise with sashes and bows and fringe and spangles!”
Jenny placed the costu
me on the bed with great care and then helped Polly from her gown. As soon as she was freed, my cousin tore the string from the package and ripped open the paper.
“Help me put it on!” She nearly flung it into the enslaved woman’s hands in her haste.
I rose and helped Jenny sort out how it was meant to be worn. We each took one side and helped Polly into it. She danced across the room and then stood looking at herself in the wall glass, twisting and turning, trying to see all parts of herself at once. “What do you think of it?”
“I can’t quite say . . .”
“I know—I don’t have the words either!”
It wasn’t that I didn’t have the words; I just didn’t want to say them. The costume was so spectacularly extravagant that it was almost indecent. At its most basic layer, it was made of white satin. But there were sashes tied up at the waist, which hung quite low and dripped with tassels, and there was fringe . . . and everything else she had promised. And the whole was topped with an incredible gauze turban of the worst taste, decorated with even more tassels and feathers and a veil which could not even begin to hope to hide it all.
That afternoon I visited the jail as was my custom, but there was a woman sitting on the guard’s lap when I arrived. She seemed in no hurry to leave it.
The guard didn’t even have the grace to be shamed. “This is my . . .”
“Cousin.” She looked at me with a brazen stare.
I set a wedge of cheese on the table. He grabbed at it and took a bite. And then he passed it to his . . . cousin . . . rather reluctantly.
“The cell?”
“Hmph?”
“I would like to be shown to the cell.”
He rose, spilling the woman from his lap. But instead of walking to the door the way he usually did, he pushed her toward me. “Why don’t you search her?”
She eyed me and then looked at him. “You want me to do what?”
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