The Traitor's Wife

by Allison Pataki

  And then, the square erupted in noise, and Clara instinctively brought her fingers to her ears.

  The clock struck midnight, and the square around them roared with a din the likes of which Clara had never heard. All around her, servants and gentlemen alike were cheering and hugging, banging pots and pans in between kisses and well wishes.

  “Happy 1779!

  “Long live the colonies!

  “To liberty!

  “God Bless George Washington!

  “And Benjamin Franklin!

  “To France!”

  The square was full of midnight revelers, and swelling in size every minute. Many in the crowd held candles or lanterns aloft, and the faint light from the wicks illuminated the flakes of snow as they fell, cloaking the city in an ethereal glow. Somehow, in the mayhem of hugs and cheers and song, Clara had lost Cal. She pushed back against the jostling crowd, looking for him.

  “Cal?” She called out to him, but her voice was a feeble cry against the torrent of noise. Wine bottles and mugs of ale were being passed around as the crowd broke out into sporadic verses of “The Liberty Song.”

  Some even yelled prayers in honor of their local military commander, whom Clara knew to be in the crowd, somewhere, with Peggy.

  As she listened to the bells, and watched the laughter and hugs of strangers, Clara felt oppressed by sadness. Cal was leaving. This new year would be a year with him gone. Removed entirely from her life. And it would be the first year of her life that she would live entirely without Oma’s presence. She had no idea what the future with Miss Peggy held for her, and she could not help but feel desperate when she thought about how little control she had over the events unfolding around her. These thoughts hung heavy on her and suddenly, amid the crowds and cheer of the square, Clara felt lonelier than she ever had in her life.

  “Happy New Year, girl.” Mrs. Quigley appeared, taking ahold of Clara to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “Happy New Year to you as well, Mrs. Quigley.”

  “Clara, what is this? Don’t cry, my girl.” Mrs. Quigley pulled her in for another hug. “There, there. You’ve got much to give thanks for, Clara, my dear. None of this sadness.” As the old woman pulled away, she whispered, “Your grandmother would be proud if she could see you tonight.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Clara sniffled. “But I do hope she is looking down on me,” Clara answered, managing a feeble smile as she choked back further tears.

  “Aye, that she is, my dear.”

  “Happy New Year, Clara Bell.” Mr. Quigley joined them, giving Clara a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “Same to you, Mr. Quigley.”

  “We are glad to have you with us,” Mr. Quigley replied, allowing the hint of a smile to curl his lips.

  “And I am grateful in return, sir.”

  “Let us offer a prayer for our general, and his men down in Middlebrook, New Jersey. May they survive the winter, and live to win the war in the New Year.”

  Clara looked through the crowds, frantic to find Caleb, but all she saw around her were the faces of happy strangers. Meanwhile, the church bells kept ringing, chiming out a merry chorus while the crowd sang out in unison the refrain of “The Liberty Song.”

  In Freedom we’re born and in Freedom we’ll live.

  Our purses are ready. Steady, friends, steady;

  Not as slaves, but as Freemen our money we’ll give.

  And then, through the masses, there emerged a familiar face. Then a second familiar face.

  “Clara.” Peggy was weaving her way through the mob, pulling a limping Arnold and his silver-topped cane behind her. “Clara, there you are!” Peggy wore a hooded cape of scarlet, the wisps of blond hair peeking out from under the cape and ringing her face like a snow-laced crown.

  “Miss Peggy, General Arnold, Happy New Year.” Clara offered a smile as her mistress and Arnold approached. But Peggy didn’t want a smile, she wanted a hug, and she pulled Clara to her.

  “Oh Clara, I am so happy.” Peggy’s laughter glittered like the snowflakes, mingling in the air with the chiming of the church bells. “Oh, Clara, isn’t it wonderful? Benedict and I are getting married!”

  THOUGH CLARA had dressed Peggy Shippen every day for a year, wedding tradition dictated that the bride’s mother and sister dress her on her wedding day. Betsy had returned home for her sister’s wedding. That morning, Clara made herself useful in the bedchamber, serving them breakfast on trays and running errands when they needed the curling iron reheated or fresh vials of rosewater poured.

  Peggy had woken early that morning. It was early April and the days were not yet long, so it was dark when Peggy called her mother and sister to her bedroom. Clara answered their summons and brought up trays of tea and toast while the ladies shook off their grogginess.

  “Clara, is it ready?” Peggy was the only one who had risen fresh-faced and brimming with energy. “Show me the gown.”

  “Yes, Miss Peggy.” Clara ran to her own room and fetched the white lace gown she had been tasked with preparing for the day.

  “It looks just as it did when I wore it,” Mrs. Shippen noted, running her hands along the bottom of the skirt to fluff it. “What a blessing that you are my exact size.”

  “I suppose,” Peggy said, tight-jawed. She had wanted a new gown, but her father had told her he could afford either a new dress or wine for the wedding feast. Peggy, reluctantly agreeing that her mother’s old gown had been flattering to her figure, had opted for the wine.

  “I would have happily worn it, Mother,” Betsy interjected as she unfastened the long line of buttons down the back of her sister’s gown.

  “Elizabeth, we tried to squeeze you into it and it did not fit,” Mrs. Shippen replied with a sigh. “I wasn’t going to have you tear it in two at your wedding supper.” Betsy frowned and handed the gown to her mother, who finished unfastening the remaining buttons.

  “You could have had it, Bets,” Peggy said. “I longed for a new gown.”

  “Now is not the time for extravagance, Margaret,” Mrs. Shippen answered.

  “It’s not so terribly plain, I suppose, thanks to the lace trim Clara added around the sleeves and collar.” Peggy looked to her maid, smiling. “Once I add the pearls that Benny gave me, I shall look quite nice, I hope.”

  Mrs Shippen ignored the remark and began tying her daughter’s stays. “You aren’t going into your marriage with many linens, Margaret.”

  “Yes, Peg, your trousseau is lacking,” Betsy agreed. “I sewed for months before marrying Neddy.”

  “Why would I stitch away for months to sew all my household linens? Benny will just buy us the tablecloths and sheets we need,” Peggy said. Clara saw her mother and sister exchange anxious glances. “Mark my words, ladies, today will be the last day of my life that I will have to do without.”

  Mrs. Shippen creased her forehead as she looked at her younger daughter. “I fear I didn’t teach you enough of Mr. Benjamin Franklin’s messages on the value of frugality.”

  “Oh, Mother,” Peggy sighed. “Mr. Franklin again? I’m sick of Poor Richard’s Almanack and those tiresome sayings.”

  “Men are always very generous during the courtship, but they appreciate a wife who can manage a household on a budget.” Mrs. Shippen ignored her daughter’s protests.

  “I run my house on our budget each month, Mother,” Betsy said.

  Clara, who was holding the gown ready for when the corset was laced, saw that Peggy clenched her teeth but held her tongue.

  “You’ll have to watch yourself, Peg, especially with all the money he must be spending on fixing up Mount Pleasant,” Betsy mumbled. “That must cost a fortune.”

  “Quite true. Margaret”—Mrs. Shippen’s brow knit as she looked at her younger daughter—“I wonder how, on an army salary, he afforded that mansion.”

  Peggy shrugged. “Nothing wrong with an army man doing a bit of business on the side. He’s a savvy businessman.”

  “What sort
of business?” Mrs. Shippen reached to Clara for the gown. Clara wondered, had Mrs. Shippen really not heard the rumors around town about Major General Arnold’s black market trades? She herself, a maid, had heard hints of the accusation at the spice trader, the butcher, the tea merchant.

  Peggy was eager to change topics. “How should I know, Mother? Arnold does not like me to trouble myself with concerns over money,” Peggy answered. “As long as it’s there, I don’t care how he comes by it.”

  Mrs. Shippen and Betsy exchanged a troubled look before helping Peggy into the gown. Peggy waved her maid forward. “Clara?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Are my flowers ready?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Peggy had asked Clara to weave a crown of white flowers, a springtime version of the headdress she had so loved at Christmas, garnished with snowdrops, Dutch crocuses, and hints of pink cherry blossom. Clara had also fashioned a bouquet for the bride to carry with her during the wedding ceremony.

  “Clara, you are truly skilled.” Peggy placed the wreath atop her head and tucked her blond hair, pulled back in curls, under the flowers. “Well?” Peggy turned around, spinning in a circle for her mother, sister, and Clara. “What do you think?”

  Since Mrs. Shippen and Betsy seemed intent on reserving any praise, Clara weighed in. “General Arnold will feel like the luckiest man in Philadelphia when he sees you.”

  Peggy beamed, crossing the room and taking Clara’s hand in hers. Leaning forward, she kissed Clara on the cheek, and the sweet smell of her fragrant crown filled Clara’s nose. “Oh Clara, thank you for making my wedding day special.”

  THE COURTSHIP had been lavish—the responsibility of the besotted Benedict Arnold—but the wedding was a simple ceremony and feast hosted by the Shippens.

  As Clara had predicted, the groom was bashful to the point of speechlessness for most of the day, doing nothing but look on fawningly at his bride as she chatted with her guests. Arnold looked very dignified, Clara decided, in his full military jacket and jeweled cane. He beamed with pride whenever his young wife was present, and it gave him a kind, handsome appearance.

  There were few guests for the evening feast—just the Shippen family, with Uncle William Shippen, who had traveled to town for the wedding, and a small number of guests. Peggy had invited Joseph Stansbury, Meg Chew, Becky Redman, and a very shy Christianne Amile. Since Benedict Arnold had no surviving parents and the rest of his family was up north in Connecticut, he had just Major Franks attending on his side. He’d arranged to have a military band of fifes and drums to serenade his bride, and Peggy clapped and delighted in the music as she ate.

  Hannah cooked, assisted by Mrs. Quigley and Brigitte, while Mr. Quigley and Clara loaded the candlelit table with platters of food and bubbling Champagne. The food was simple but savory: mutton with mint jelly, roasted vegetables, ham, potatoes, and bread with black currant preserves. For dessert there was a fruit and nut cake accompanied by cherry cobbler and gooseberry tart.

  Benedict Arnold spoke before the dessert, toasting his bride and telling her family that he’d loved her since the moment he first met her at the Penn mansion. While Arnold extolled his bride’s beauty and virtue, Peggy blushed, and her laughter was as bubbly and intoxicating as the Champagne.

  After the family had finished eating, Arnold loaded his bride into a carriage and drove her off, accompanied by the full military escort, to an inn for their honeymoon night.

  “Goodbye, Clara!” Peggy kissed her maid before she took Major Franks’s outstretched hand and hopped into the carriage. “Clara, I love him so much,” she sighed. “How did I get so lucky?” As Clara listened to these words, the image of Cal’s face burst across her mind. How terribly she missed him since he’d enlisted. But when she began to cry, Miss Peggy assumed they were tears of joy on her own behalf.

  IT WASN’T until the guests had left and the servants had retreated to the kitchen to enjoy their own supper that Clara had a moment to think. And when she did, her thoughts inevitably turned to Cal. He’d left shortly after New Year’s Day. It had been a quick goodbye in a crowded kitchen. There was so much Clara would have loved to tell him, but with the eyes of everyone on her, she’d merely urged him to take care of himself and stay safe.

  The past few months had been a blur of stitching Miss Peggy’s bridal gown, packing up her lady’s bedroom, arranging a feast and a party. But now, with Miss Peggy happily married, and Clara taking a moment to pause, her mind was flooded. She felt Cal’s absence like an ache in her bones.

  “Hello, Clara? Where has your mind wandered off to?”

  Clara blinked, seeing once more the crowded kitchen before her, the table set for supper. “Oh, I apologize, Mr. Quigley.”

  “Daydreaming again?” Mrs. Quigley, still dressed in her wedding attire, served Clara a slice of cold mutton.

  “I suppose I was,” Clara said, accepting the full plate from the old woman. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “I was saying—a toast to your mistress, now happily married.” Mr. Quigley raised his glass toward Clara from where he sat at the head of the table.

  “Indeed.” Clara nodded, lifting her glass. “And to the groom.”

  “I’ll drink to that. Poor Benedict Arnold is finally victorious in his latest siege.” Hannah chuckled.

  “She’s done all right for herself as well,” Mrs. Quigley said, taking her seat beside her husband.

  “Indeed.” Clara nodded.

  “Your life will really change now, don’t you think?” Mr. Quigley said, as all the servants began to eat. “Moving out of this home, going with Miss Peggy to set up her own household. I’m still shocked that she managed to convince the judge that she should take you with her.”

  “We all know that she can be very persuasive,” Hannah said.

  “Poor Miss Betsy didn’t get to bring you to help set up her home,” Mrs. Quigley said.

  Clara nodded. “But Miss Betsy seems happy enough. Mr. Burd is very good to her.”

  The other servants agreed.

  “And I suppose it’s good for you that you get to go with the Arnolds. You might be managing the house someday.” Mrs. Quigley smiled, a look of encouragement.

  “Perhaps, ma’am.” Clara nodded. Was that what she longed for—running another’s household? The idea contained some enticement, to be sure; managing the household of a lady such as Mrs. Margaret Arnold was certainly a respectable station for an orphan who had started out on a remote farm.

  “How long do you suppose it will be before the Arnolds take up residence at Mount Pleasant?” Mr. Quigley paused his eating to take a sip of cider.

  Clara thought carefully before saying, “I wonder at that, myself, sir. General Arnold keeps telling Miss Peggy it’s not ready for them.”

  Clara had heard the gossip in town—how General Arnold had taken out a seventy-thousand-dollar mortgage to buy the large home as a wedding gift for his bride, but now could not afford to furnish it.

  “Well, they are fortunate to have the judge offering his cottage out back,” Mrs. Quigley interjected. “It’s no Mount Pleasant, but it’ll do for now. I’m sure they can stay there as long as they like.”

  “Or as long as they need,” Hannah said. Clara saw the look that passed between the butler and his wife, and she suspected that she was not the only person at the table to have heard the rumors of General Arnold’s financial woes.

  THE TABLE had barely been cleared from their small wedding feast before the trouble began for Arnold and Peggy.

  It was a warm afternoon in late April. Peggy was taking her tea in the small parlor of the Shippens’ cottage, exchanging post-wedding gossip with Joseph Stansbury. Arnold walked in on the chatting duo, leaning heavily on his cane. Clara opened the door for her new master and watched him limp in, noting that his silver-topped cane, once so lustrous, needed a polish and shine.

  “Oh, hello, my darling.” Peggy rose from her chair and gave Arnold a quick kiss on his cheek. “Stansbury and I are j
ust having some tea and catching up on the latest news.”

  “Your wife is catching me up on her life since becoming a married woman, General,” Stansbury added.

  “Ah, well, let’s hope she’s not telling you too much, at least not about the wedding night!” Arnold rejoined good-naturedly.

  “Of course not, my love.” Peggy played the role of blushing bride. “Would you care to join us, Benny?”

  “I’m afraid I cannot. Peggy my love—” Arnold paused. “Mr. Stansbury.” Arnold nodded to the china merchant. “My dear wife, might I be so rude as to demand a minute of your time?”

  “Yes, of course. Sit. What is it?” Peggy cocked her head, sitting back down in her chair. Arnold shifted his weight, looking at Stansbury.

  “Oh!” Peggy understood. “Stansbury, do you mind giving me a minute alone with my husband?”

  “Course not.” The merchant rose, kissing Peggy’s hand. “It’s his right, I suppose.”

  “You’re a dear, Stansbury.” Peggy smiled back at the merchant. “It won’t be long. We still haven’t even gotten to what everyone wore to the wedding.”

  “Oh my, did you notice how plain Meg Chew looked?” Stansbury put his long, spindly fingers to his mouth in mock horror and Peggy erupted in laughter.

  “Shoo, shoo.” Peggy waved her friend away. Once Stansbury had gone, Peggy looked back to her husband. “Benny, what is it? You have me very nervous.”

  Arnold fidgeted opposite her, lowering himself in the chair just vacated by the china merchant.

  “It’s about Mount Pleasant, Peg.” He looked at her as if to gauge her reaction.

  “Yes, what about it? When can we move? Before it gets too hot—well before July or August, I should hope. This tiny cottage will not do well in the heat.”