The rebel camp at Valley Forge was worse than Sarah had expected. The crude log shelters seemed more suited for animals than men, hardly decent shelter against the bitter winter weather. All along the winding road scarecrow soldiers turned from their meager campfires to point and stare as the wagon rolled past.
Sarah's throat tightened with emotion as she saw the rusty streaks in the dirty snow. Unconsciously, she slid closer to Forest, taking comfort in his unwavering strength. "The snow," she murmured, so that only he could hear and not the Virginians. "The red streaks . . ." Her voice broke, and she dashed away a tear with the back of a sleet-covered mitten.
"Aye," Forest answered huskily. " 'Tis as the post rider told me. 'You can trail the marches of Washington's army by the blood from their feet in the snow,' he said. Their shoes are gone, you see . . . rotted by the wet and worn out by the walking."
Sarah drew in a long, shuddering breath. Her hands curled into tight fists as she witnessed the shrunken faces of boys old beyond their years. "Why do they stay?" she asked, only half aloud.
"For that dream we talked of," Forest replied. "A few have quit and gone home to their farms, but most stay, living on fire-cake and water, sleeping in huts a Tidewater planter would be ashamed to stable his horses in." He pointed toward a canvas-wrapped body beside the road. "Some will never leave Valley Forge. They die here with empty bellies . . . far from their families."
"It's senseless," Sarah protested. "Better for Washington to have sent them home and called them up again in the spring."
"Ha!" Judas cried from his seat on the coffin. "Little chance o' thet. Send these boy-oes home an' you'll see the last o' them. If winter don't kill us, I doubt Georgie's troops kin do it. Boars what live in the woods in winter get tough an' mean, ma'am. Tough an' mean! Soldiers what lives through this winter won't be whipped by men born o' women!"
A soldier came out of one of the huts, straightened, and called a greeting. Sarah noticed that he wore the same type of round hat as their Virginian escorts.
The man riding Sarah's dapple-gray returned the shout. "We got guns in the wagon!" he called.
"This here's our company," Judas explained. "Headquarters is up the road a piece. Our cap'n 'ill be shore glad to see these firearms yer totin'."
Forest looked at Sarah and grinned. "You have Mistress Turner to thank for the guns. She should have all the credit."
Sarah's eyes widened. "The delivery was your idea, Forest," she said with a gasp. "I give the credit all into your hands."
"What the lady is trying to say," Forest explained, "is that she lied to you. We've no guns in the wagon, other than my own."
Judas's face reddened. "What?"
"Sorry," Forest said. "No guns. But if you and your companions will continue on with us to headquarters, I think I can promise you a reward."
Will Dorset began to swear.
"Hold your tongue, soldier," Forest ordered. "I spoke the truth when I told you I was a lieutenant in this army. Unless you want to face charges for insubordination . . ."
"No, sir," Dorset replied sullenly. "If you be who you say you are, I'll be still."
Just then two officers on horseback came galloping down the road toward them. Sarah glanced at Forest and gave a sigh of relief when she saw him grin.
"Captain!" Forest called. "You're a sight for sore eyes."
Peregrine Harris reined in his horse and surveyed the wagon and occupants. "Lieutenant." He nodded to Forest. His olive-skinned face hardened. "You men belong to Johnson's company, don't you?"
Dorset snapped a salute. "Yes, sir."
"He's looking for you. Dismissed."
The four Virginians made a hasty retreat.
Captain Harris turned to the slender, ruddy-faced officer beside him. "You know Forest, don't you, Tench?"
The horseman smiled. "I should. We went to school together." He nodded to Forest. "Glad to see you still in one piece." Turning his attention to Sarah, he gave her an even warmer smile. "I don't believe I've had the honor of meeting the lady. Madam." He touched his hat in respect.
"Unless I miss my guess, this is Mistress Turner," Harris said dryly.
"Mistress Turner," Forest said formally, "may I present Captain Tench Tilghman, secretary and aide-de-camp to General Washington, and my superior officer, Captain Peregrine Harris. Captain Tilghman, Captain Harris . . . Mistress Sarah Turner of King's Landing, on the Misakaak."
"How do you do, mistress." Captain Tilghman continued to regard Sarah warmly as his magnificent bay mare arched her neck and danced nervously on the icy road.
Sarah noticed that the aide-de-camp's hair and eyes were nearly the same shade as Forest's. In fact, they were very close in height and build, although Forest's nose and jawline were more sharply chiseled. Captain Tilghman's freckled face was not a handsome one, but it was genuinely honest and kind.
She smiled back at Captain Tilghman and nodded graciously. "Captain Tilghman." If Forest believed she was intimidated by these high-born gentlemen, he would soon learn differently, Sarah thought.
"Mistress Turner"—Captain Harris inclined his head slightly—"I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I've long wished to meet the beautiful Loyalist lady who has caused such havoc with my best agent." Harris's amused gaze lingered on the coffin in the back of the wagon. "I hope that the deceased is no one near and dear to you."
Forest grimaced. "It's not quite what it looks like, Captain."
Tilghman's mare rolled her eyes and snorted. He tightened his grip on the reins and kept his seat effortlessly as the animal pawed the ground and tried to spit out her bit. The dapple-gray stretched out his long neck and nipped Tilghman's bay mare sharply on her right shoulder. The mare emitted a shrill shriek, reared and pawed the air, and slid back on her hindquarters until she struck a small tree.
Captain Tilghman kept his good humor as he urged the mare back onto her feet, calmed her, and moved her back toward the wagon, keeping a safe distance from the dapple-gray.
Forest chuckled. "I don't know why you put up with that good-for-nothing horse, Tench. She's going to break your neck yet." He glanced at the dapple-gray, standing patiently, head down, eyes nearly closed. 'I'll trade you this good gelding for her, if you throw in my silver captain's fringe."
"Your commission's already come through," Harris said dryly. "Not that it can't be canceled. And you'll have no luck parting Cousin Tench from that harebrained mare; the General wanted him to send her to Howe as a Christmas gift."
"That would work," Forest replied innocently.
"Agatha is a fine animal," Tilghman insisted as he fought to keep the mare from rearing again. "She's just a little high-spirited." Agatha whipped her head around and nipped her rider's leg. Tilghman swatted her nose, and the mare squealed and rolled her eyes wickedly until only the whites showed. "She just needs a firm hand," Tilghman managed to say.
"The hand should be holding a musket," Forest quipped. "I'll bet it wouldn't take much for some of these soldiers to put her on a spit and roast her for dinner."
"Perhaps what we have in the wagon would be more suitable for dinner than Captain Tilghman's mare," Sarah suggested.
"The lady has a strange sense of humor," Harris observed. "Cousin Tench, if you would be so kind as to escort Mistress Turner to Mistress Biddle's quarters. I'd like to find out why Captain Irons has left his post and brought a coffin, which I presume is occupied, and the wife of an acknowledged enemy to our winter encampment." He looked at Sarah. "Mistress Biddle is the wife of Colonel Clement Biddle, head of our forage department. I assure you, she will make you quite comfortable."
Sarah's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Am I to consider myself a prisoner, or a guest, Captain?"
"An honored guest," Captain Tilghman assured her. "We don't make war on ladies, madam."
"Before you haul Mistress Turner off, I think you'd better take a look at what we've got in the coffin," Forest suggested. "In fact, I'm sure Colonel Biddle would be interested." He climbed down from
the wagon seat and walked around to the back. "Lid's nailed down," he said. "We'll need something to pry it open."
Captain Tilghman grinned. "Maybe we'd better drive this wagon up to headquarters," he said. "The Marquis had a toothache this morning, and he could use some cheering up."
Harris nodded. "Drive it on up, Irons. It will be a shorter walk for the lady to Mistress Biddle's from there anyway."
"Whatever you say, Captain."
Sarah kept silent as Forest drove a half-mile to an area where several large tents had been erected. There, she was introduced to several more officers, including three more aides-de-camp to General Washington. Among them was a tall, thin boy with a long nose, holding a folded cloth to the side of his cheek.
Captain Tilghman identified the sufferer as his friend, the Marquis de Lafayette of France.
Sarah murmured something suitable in reply to the Marquis's muffled greeting. This may be a French nobleman, she thought, but he looks for all the world like a boy who needs his mother.
"Mistress Turner," Forest called. Someone had produced a hatchet, and he used it to pry up the corner of the coffin lid. "Gentlemen," he said to the assembled onlookers, "this largess is the result of the lady's good sense. She provided the contents and the wit to get it here." Dramatically, he wrenched off the lid and pulled away the pig's covering to the cheers and laughter of the men. "Gentlemen," he said. "I give you John Hogg, a new recruit for the cause, fresh from the Eastern Shore."
~~~
Later that afternoon, Sarah sat in the parlor of Mistress Biddle's quarters with her hostess and the colonel, repeating the story of the Hessian officer who had detained them. "I was terrified that he would open the coffin and find the pig," Sarah admitted when they were able to stop laughing.
Sarah's initial shyness at appearing on Mistress Biddle's doorstep had been dispelled by the woman's warm welcome.
"There are few enough of us ladies here at Valley Forge," Mrs. Biddle explained. "Mistress Washington, Lady Stirling and her daughter, Lady Kitty Alexander, Mistress Brown. We've all chattered away until we know each other's tales by heart. You'll be a breath of fresh air, my dear."
"I would not impose upon your hospitality," Sarah said. This woman was far beyond her social class and they both knew it. "I could . . . "
"Nonsense," Colonel Biddle said as he rose to his feet. "You have done us a great service. There are none but common women camped with the troops. Washerwomen and such." His eyebrows twitched to show that they all knew what profession such persons followed. "Captain Tilghman has requested that we share what we have with you while you are here. Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I must see to the disposition of the coffin's contents."
"Sir, I'm afraid I must ask another favor of you." Sarah picked up her basket and showed the colonel a pair of shoes. "These were sent by the mother of Abner Freeman, and I promised to deliver them. She thought her son was here at Valley Forge, but she didn't know his company."
"Where is he from?"
"Not far from Head of Elk."
"If you will allow me, mistress," the colonel said gallantly. "I will send my aide to find him and see that he receives the shoes."
"There is a message too." Sarah handed him the shoes. "If it would be possible for me to speak with him personally . . ."
"To be sure," Colonel Biddle replied.
"Mistress Freeman also sent a fine wheel of cheese for General Washington, but I'm afraid it was a casualty of war."
"Too bad," Mistress Biddle said. "The General loves good cheese."
"Be certain that Mistress Turner agrees to accompany us to supper tonight," the colonel said. "I'm certain Tench and Captain Irons will be there. I understand the General intends to award Irons his second shoulder strap and silver braid himself this afternoon. Your friend is a very courageous man, you know. He saved the lives of two of the General's aides at the Battle of Long Island."
"Tench Tilghman is a favorite of my husband's," Mistress Biddle said. "Tench can do no wrong as far as we are concerned."
"The General has often said much the same," the colonel reminded his wife.
"And Tench has nothing but good to say of Captain Irons. They went to school together, did you know that? Captain Irons serves under Tench's cousin, Captain Peregrine Harris." Mistress Biddle draped a long cloak around the colonel's shoulders. "It's raining out, dear. Try to keep your head dry," she warned. "I'll not have you sick too."
"Until tonight, ladies," he said.
When he was gone, Mistress Biddle offered Sarah another cup of herb tea. "It's not very good," she apologized, "but my husband will drink nothing else, unless it contains alcohol."
"It's fine," Sarah assured her. "This is the first time I've been warm in days, but I don't think I should go to the supper tonight. It's kind of you to ask me, but I have nothing suitable to wear."
"Nonsense. You are near to Mistress Brown's size. I'll borrow something from her."
Sarah stiffened and stared into her hostess's eyes. "Mistress Biddle, please," she began. "I am no lady. I am but an innkeeper's daughter. I have no place among—"
"Poof," Mistress Biddle replied. "You are a brave woman, and no more out of place here than any of us. My family was horrified that I followed the colonel to war." She smiled and patted Sarah's hand. "If we win this war, many things will change in this new country, and not the least will be the lessening of the distance between classes."
"I don't know what to say," Sarah admitted. "Thank you, but—"
"No buts. I will find a beautiful gown for you, and you will liven up the evening of all the young gentlemen. While I go to Mistress Brown's quarters, you can bathe and rest. I'll have my maid show you to our guest room."
Thoughts of a bath and the opportunity to wash her hair were more than Sarah could resist after the days of travel. "All right," she agreed, "but if I embarrass you in front of your friends tonight, you have only yourself to blame."
Mistress Biddle chuckled. "Somehow, I doubt that very much, and I think you do too."
Sarah hoped with all her heart that Mistress Biddle was right.
~~~
Two hours later, Sarah looked at the satin gown spread out on the bed and shivered. The color of the gown was scarlet, as deep and rich a shade as the ribbons in her basket. The black satin slippers, the lace petticoats, and the silk stockings were finer garments than she had ever touched, but it was the scarlet dress that took her breath away.
"Oh, I couldn't possibly wear that," Sarah had protested when Mistress Biddle returned with the beautiful gown.
"Poof! The color will be far better on you than Nancy Brown, and she's considered quite the belle. Captain Tilghman—Tench—said to tell you that Captain Irons will come by to escort you to Lady Stirling's. Tench saw the dress in my arms, and he said it is your color. He's right of course. He said your Captain Irons is quite smitten with you."
Sarah blushed. "He isn't my Captain Irons," she lied. "We are just . . . just . . . "
"Friends?" Mistress Biddle laughed. "Of course you are. The colonel and I are the best of friends, too. I will send Dorcus, my maid, to do your hair and help you dress. You want to look your loveliest for your friend, Captain Irons." Still chuckling, her hostess left Sarah alone in the room with the lovely garments.
For a long time Sarah sat on the edge of the bed, running her brush through her newly washed, unbound hair. She missed Joshua terribly, and she was uneasy in this foreign world of officers and great ladies. Even Forest was different now—no longer a common soldier, as she had thought when they'd left King's Landing, but a captain.
Her good sense returned with a jolt. General Washington can make an officer of a boat builder, she thought, but if Lord Howe launches a full-scale attack from Philadelphia, this rebel army will tumble like a house of cards.
She tossed the brush down upon the lovely multicolored quilt and flung herself across the bed. Rolling onto her back, she put her hands under her head and stared up at the whitewashe
d ceiling. Slowly, a smile spread across her face. They were mad—they were all quite mad—generals, ladies, and farmers turned rebels. The madness was in the air; she drew it in with every breath.
The faces of the common soldiers flashed across her mind as she remembered fragments of what they had said about the rebellion. "A free man oughta have rights . . . " "Soldiers what lives through this winter won't be whipped by men born o' women."
Men born of women. Martha had said much the same thing the day the two of them had argued at the tavern. "We won't quit and we won't back down," Martha had insisted. "We've cast off a bad mother and learned to do fer ourselves."
"A dream," Sarah murmured into the empty room. "It's nothing more than a dream, and they'll likely all die from it."
Freedom starts with a dream. Forest's words.
Sarah drew a long, shuddering breath and sat up. In Bedlam, the wisest thing was to pretend to be as mad as the maddest. What harm could it do to put on the beautiful gown and play at being the captain's lady for this one night? All too soon they would be returning to King's Landing, and she would lose Forest forever.
She sat up and reached for a red silk stocking, fitting it carefully over her foot and up her leg. The garter was milk-white silk, so fine that Sarah's rough fingertips caught on a thread. Letters were stitched in blue against the creamy ribbon. She held it up to the window to catch the last of the afternoon light.
The first letter was L. Sarah caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she tried to figure out the word. It was writing, not printing, and that was harder to read. The second letter had a dot over it; that was an i. Li. "La," she murmured. The next one could be another l or a b. It was hopeless. With a dejected sigh, she tied the garter just above her knee.
There was a light tap at the door. "Dorcus, madam." The door opened and a round-cheeked girl poked her head in. "I've come to dress you."
Sarah nodded and waved the girl in. For better or worse, there was no going back now. She was off to spend an evening dining in Bedlam.
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