by Jerri Hines
“Not tonight. If you hurry back, maybe I’ll throw together some firecakes for supper.”
“Funny guy,” Jonathan shot back at him. Firecakes seemed to be the source of nutrition for most in camp. They had it most nights.
Jonathan hurried his steps, calling out to the lieutenant before he entered the hut. “Lieutenant. A moment only!”
Lieutenant Phil Smithson paused. “Dr. Corbett, what can I do for you?”
“Wanted to report a death in your unit. A Private Israel Baden. Out on patrol. Froze to death.”
Lieutenant Smithson frowned deeply. “Damn! If it’s not a fever, it’s the cold!” He blew air out of his mouth, fogging the area around him. “A good kid. I thought I told him to stay in yesterday.”
Jonathan studied the officer. Lieutenant Smithson was Gabriel’s next in command. Gabriel surrounded himself with competent personnel and Smithson was no different. A fine officer from Jonathan’s observation. Unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same about his former friend. Jonathan learned the hard way Gabriel survived on other people’s abilities, much like a parasite.
“I understand he had family. I wanted to write…”
“No need. I will handle the letter. He was my man. Thank you,” Lieutenant Smithson said. He opened the door to his hut wide, hesitating slightly. “Do you want to come in? I have some brandy. Might warm you up a tad. I was hoping it would me.”
“Wish I could. I have to go find…”
“No, I think you should,” Lieutenant Smithson advised thoughtfully. He looked back over his shoulder and beckoned Jonathan. “As a matter of fact, I have wanted to talk with you. Come on in before we get interrupted.”
Flames flickered to a growing fire, not sufficiently warming the room, but the brandy took the chill out of the air for Jonathan. He eyed the lieutenant in silence over the top of his glass and drank the entire contents. Placing his glass down, he cleared his throat.
“So, Lieutenant, do you have a complaint I can help you with? Although I have to warn you, I don’t have much to treat anyone with as of late.”
Lieutenant Smithson shook his head. “Fewer complaints than most. No, it concerns you that I asked you in.” He walked to the small window. Staring out into the darkness, he sighed as if he carried a weight on his back. He turned back to Jonathan. “I waver only because if the major knows I have talked with you…You know him.”
“I know Major Witherspoon quite well. Too well, some might say,” Jonathan answered him candidly. His curiosity peaked. “I believe I have made known my feelings for the major on numerous occasions.”
A wave of abhorrence swept through Jonathan, thinking of his nemesis. The two grew up side by side, the best of friends, but Gabriel had ambitions, ambitions that drove a wedge between the two men. What Gabriel had done to him compared little with what he had done to Hannah, his beloved sister! What kind of man deserts his fiancée to further his career! In all, Jonathan could never forgive Gabriel tricking Hannah into staying in New York to play a dangerous game, one that almost cost Hannah her life. Moreover, Gabriel had been rewarded with a promotion and a wealthy bride.
Lieutenant Smithson seemed to be in deep thought. He pursed his lips and chose his words carefully. “Saying that, it is my hope this conversation stays between the two of us.”
“You have my word,” Jonathan pledged.
“Have you met the new inspector-general, Baron von Steuben?”
Jonathan nodded. Baron Friedrich Wilhelm Ludolf Gerhard Augustin von Steuben had been brought in to train the troops, a big and formidable man who spoke only broken English. Jonathan had little dealings with him, but what he heard he liked. The dominant man had a daunting task before him to whip this bunch of misfits into well-trained troops.
“I have seen him. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him face to face. I have been extremely busy the last few days.”
“I suppose you have been, but…” Lieutenant Smithson paused. “He has begun training musket drills and marching. He wants the units to be well-trained, efficient. Pressure is on all the officers to produce high quality units. In the midst of these discussions, Major Witherspoon has requested your transfer into our unit.”
The room fell into silence. Jonathan stared at the lieutenant in complete and utter shock. “My God, what for? He knows I can’t abide the sight of him. I would never…” He stopped and reached for the decanter and poured himself another drink, downing the whole of the glass. Lieutenant Smithson stepped over and poured himself another.
“If you know him well, you will understand he has his reasons. I have begun to understand him better and better with each passing day. Let us say, you aren’t the only one to have endured the misfortune of being his acquaintance.”
“It makes no sense. He knows I would never agree…”
“Come now, Doctor. He will arrange it so you can’t refuse without harming yourself in the process. He has already laid out the foundation with General Washington. I have heard him myself telling numerous tales of your youth.”
“It would be foolish on his part.”
“To further himself. For a reason unbeknownst to the major, you are high on the general’s list. He highly regards your family. The general has made that abundantly clear many times. With all the major’s faults, he is extremely observant. Your leave at Christmas didn’t go unnoticed.”
“I had just lost my wife, my…” Jonathan broke in and then he stopped. He couldn’t go into the whole of the story. Too many lives depended on secrecy.
“As have many men that serve have concerns at their homes, but it is none of my affair. I thought only to warn you of the possibility. You might be able to pose your position before the rearrangements. Afterwards, as you know, it will be difficult. I know you mostly by reputation, but I don’t think the arrangements that the major is trying to fix will be beneficial to you. I, myself, am trying to maneuver my own transfer.”
Jonathan swirled the empty glass in his hand. He looked up at the lieutenant. “I’m not certain why you volunteered the information, but you have my undying gratitude.”
Far to the northeast, a reddish tinge surfaced over the horizon. In the hush glow of the morning sky, Jonathan stepped down off the open wagon. Frozen from the long trek up to the hospital, he shivered in the dawn wind. Gritty-eyed, he frowned and pushed through the door to the large three-story building, which lay ten miles northeast from camp at Yellow Springs.
Poor conditions at camp caused an overwhelming amount of sick men. The cold didn’t allow for baths and poor hygiene caused even more problems. Moreover, there weren't enough medical supplies to care for all the sick men. The burden of caring for his patients weighed heavily on Jonathan, but this morn, his concern lay in a different direction. Lieutenant Smithson’s words resonated within him.
Only one thing rang clear in his mind: he could never serve under Gabriel. No. He would kill him first! Without question, he believed Lieutenant Smithson. Jonathan knew Gabriel better than anyone. Gabriel never wasted an opportunity to better his position. He swore this was one plan Gabriel would not be able to maneuver him into accepting.
Jonathan climbed the stairs to the second floor where two large wards were revealed. The beds were filled with soldiers with one ailment or another. A hoarse rasping came from a young soldier whose cot was near the door. A sudden painful coughing fit seized the lad, who looked as if he had barely passed puberty. Recognizing the lad as being admitted yesterday, Jonathan approached the patient.
One touch told Jonathan a fever raged within the fledgling soldier. Pneumonia. The lad struggled to breathe. Too weak to raise his head, he managed a lame smile for Jonathan.
Jonathan learned long ago not to show his emotions. He contained a sigh and returned the smile. Wishing desperately he had something to make the youth comfortable, he caught sight of a gentile mature lady strolling up to his side.
A warm smile greeted Jonathan and his patient. “Dr. Corbett, so nice to see you this early mo
rn. I hope you don’t mind if I sit and read to the private.”
“I believe it will be most welcome, Mrs. Washington,” Jonathan greeted General Washington’s wife, Martha Washington. The distinguished older woman had joined her husband at the Potts’ house only a couple of weeks ago. She had let her presence be known as she was now in the hospital. The one thing that remained constant was the Washingtons. Even through the hardships of the winter, General Washington remained high in the hearts of the soldiers, vocally and physically supporting his men the best he could—and the soldiers realized that fact.
“I won’t leave him,” she said simply when Jonathan pulled a chair up for her to sit upon.
Jonathan nodded in acknowledgement. The lady understood well the lad hadn’t much longer upon this earth. He withdrew back to the corridor. Nothing left for him to do; it wasn’t in his hands now. So much wasn’t within his control.
Climbing another flight of stairs, Jonathan sauntered down the corridor toward Dr. Jenkins’ small office. The door was open. He found the doctor clutching to the side of his desk, grimacing sharply. The tiny-boned man with a distinct pointed chin winced as he eased into his chair. He gripped his leg and propped it up on a footstool.
Jonathan cleared his throat. “Dr. Jenkins, I was told you were looking for me.”
The elderly man raised his head. The kindly tired eyes twinkled on recognizing Jonathan. “Come in. Come in. You look like hell. Boy, you got to start taking care of yourself.”
“You’re talking to me?” Jonathan eyed his mentor and looked down at the man’s leg. “Giving you trouble again?”
“No more, no less.” Dr. Jenkins shrugged. He gestured with his hand for Jonathan to close the door. “This damn gout. Flares up at the worst of times.”
In silence, Jonathan complied. He watched in confusion while Dr. Jenkins searched through a large stack of papers. An old and dear family friend of his father’s, Jonathan had stayed with Dr. Jenkins and his wife while he finished his education in Philadelphia. And, Jonathan thought, he could never repay Dr. Jenkins for his care of his family during that dark period of time…the time when his entire world exploded around him.
Briefly his mind wandered back to the time before the call for independence. The whole of the life he had known before the war was only a memory—the peaceful existence in Williamsburg where his father own a silversmith store. Fervor for the cause surged strongly within him and his family, standing solidly behind the Patriot stance. His father and brother cruelly paid the ultimate sacrifice for their conviction for that cause, having been hanged as spies at the beginning of the hostilities—betrayed by Jonathan’s father-in-law, Joseph Gannon.
Hatred oozed from his being on the thought of Gannon, who betrayed the whole of the network. Responsible for more than just his father’s and brother’s death, he had the blood of Rodger Morse and Delibes on his hands. But Joseph Gannon had also paid for his betrayal, but not by his hands. Jonathan regretted that. He wanted to have been the one to drain the life out of the man, the man that had destroyed his family.
His blood boiled on the thought of that man. In truth, though, Gannon’s treasonous behavior wasn’t what sent Jonathan’s life spiraling out of control. It had been Catherine, Gannon’s daughter, his wife…Oh, God he had loved her, worshipped her and she…she had informed her father that Hannah had been the one to discover his treachery that led to his downfall. The information almost cost Hannah her life: Hannah, who so bravely spied on the British in the most deadly of circumstances.
Caught in service with the Continental Army, Jonathan asked Dr. Jenkins to look after his small family. Unfaltering in his efforts, Dr. Jenkins had seen to the disturbed Catherine and little William’s welfare. When Gannon made a move to withdraw Catherine and little William, Dr. Jenkins had done all in his power to care for Jonathan’s family. Thank the good Lord! Dr. Jenkins informed Peter Lanson, who at the time worked with the network. Catherine lost her life in a tragic drowning, but his son, William, had been spared through the efforts of his sister-in-law, Lydia, Lanson, and Dr. Jenkins. Without them all, he wouldn’t have his son.
Lydia tried to convey to Jonathan that Catherine was deranged, confused, but nothing changed the fact Catherine betrayed him. He had given her everything and she… He hated her, vowing never to allow himself to feel for another in that way—ever.
Looking up from rummaging through the papers, Dr. Jenkins handed Jonathan a letter. “Wanted to tell you before I left. Received a letter from Daniel Morse. I have to get down to Charles Town. I will be leaving shortly. There’s so much going on here with the General wanting documentation on each soldier, the smallpox inoculations…”
Jonathan held his hand up to halt Dr. Jenkins’ words. “You’re not thinking of going down there. You’re in no shape.”
“The general said the same thing,” Dr. Jenkins acknowledged. “Wasn’t happy with my decision, but I have no choice. Somebody’s got to go. The gout will pass. I told General Washington if it was the smallpox inoculations, the whole of the inoculations have been under way here for a time, as you are well aware. I offered to do the same down South.”
“Then what of Mrs. Jenkins? She is already pushed out of her home with the British occupation of Philadelphia. You’re going to leave her alone?”
“She wants me to go. It was her idea,” Dr. Jenkins murmured, grimacing again when he straightened himself in the chair.
“I’m confused.”
“Read the letter. It’s Rebekah …the Morse children,” Dr. Jenkins sighed heavily. “We were never fortunate enough to have children and Ettie has always had a soft spot for Rebekah. I suppose she isn’t a child now, but Ettie is concerned about her.”
Jonathan held the letter up and gazed at its direction. Odd. Daniel’s words rambled, but in the contents one thing was clear: his concern for his sister.
His eyes narrowed and gazed over at Dr. Jenkins. “This means what?”
Dr. Jenkins set his jaw and anguish swept across his face. Wearily he shook his head, bracing himself back in his chair. He pointed to another letter on his desk, crinkled and worn from use. “I wrote the uncle, Adam Reed. I’ve had little contact with the man for the last year. My contact has been sparse, not only due to the war. Rebekah’s letters have been infrequent. I haven’t heard from her in months. To be honest, with all going on around us, I failed to connect the lack of communication with a possible issue until Daniel’s letter.
“Reed wrote me back and told me Rebekah was his concern, not mine, and would greatly appreciate it if I would not bother his family in the future. There is no need to have further contact with Ettie or me! He has simply dismissed me. Dismissed me!” Dr. Jenkins half snarled, half cried. “She never wanted to go to begin with. She herself struggled to accept her father’s murder and never recovered from her mother’s death.
“I told myself we respected Rodger’s wishes. He wanted to send his children to Priscilla’s family after her death. Priscilla was close to her sister, Helen, before she married Rodger. Rodger said Helen wrote when Priscilla was so ill expressing her wish to help. He didn’t want anyone burdened with caring for six children. He wanted them to stay together, but we would have loved to have kept Rebekah. From the moment she arrived…her letters don’t seem right. She felt guilty after Sara passed away. Seemed like the whole of the world lay on her shoulders.”
Jonathan was at a loss for words. With all the turmoil surrounding everyone, Dr. Jenkins’ response seemed illogical. “You are willing to travel down to Charles Town because this Reed doesn’t want you to send letters to his wards? Wait. Wait until the tide of the war turns. You are in no shape.”
“There is more to this, Jonathan. Daniel would never have written without cause. I owe it to Rodger as I owed it to your father.”
His abrupt reply resonated within Jonathan. The words hit home. Would he have his son now if the response to William had been questioned? Any hesitation…
Dr. Jenkins heaved a sigh
. “I’m an old man, Jonathan. I know it may seem foolish, but relieve me of one worry. While I’m gone, look in on Ettie. I need to know…”
The elderly man’s words wavered with emotion. Jonathan studied the man with a solicitous look in his eyes. He pondered the situation silently. He rose and crossed the room to his mentor.
“I owe Rodger Morse also. As I do many others,” Jonathan said. Dear Lord, have I gone mad? he wondered before he uttered his next words. Whatever the reasons, the words spewed out and once said, he would not retract them. “What if I volunteer?”
January, 1778
Charles Town, South Carolina
Chapter Two
The day before her eighteenth birthday, Rebekah Morse found herself standing outside the grand white Georgian dwelling in which she lived on King Street. The smell of the great fire which left most of the harbor area in smoking ruins still clung in the air, leaving the city encased in a brown haze.
Fortunately, none of the handsome residences along King Street suffered any damage. Rebekah studied the house for a moment before she closed the wrought iron gate. Far grander than her Philadelphia home, she now laid her head down in a house where elegance graced every wall. Satin curtains hung over the windows, Dutch linens covered the dining table set with imported china, and silver goblets were filled with the richest of wines.
Three years had passed since fate dictated she leave Philadelphia and all she had ever known. Her life had changed; she had changed. Three years! An eternity. Many lives had been altered by the turmoil that had led to the war with the British, a war that had taken her beloved father’s life. Three years since she made the promise to keep her family together…
Never could she have imagined when she left Philadelphia the life she would encounter in Charles Town, her mother’s home. A miserable place in her mind! No matter the strange weather to endure from boisterous winds and heavy rains to the sweltering heat of the summer, it was nothing compared with the raging sickness that seemed endemic of this area. Aunt Helen assured her when all survived the first sickly months that all would be fine.