Lydia glanced over at Mother and saw her lips pursed tightly together. Hunger must be a powerful motivator. Lydia tried to feel empathy for the men, but it was difficult to muster.
She reached for a piece of toast, eyeing the open doorway. Were the rest of his men in the hallway or waiting outside while the three officers ate?
“Will you be staying with us?” Hannah asked in the midst of clattering forks and knives.
“Aye,” the major replied.
Mother sipped her tea slowly and then set down her cup. “And how long should we expect your company this time?”
“Until we secure Virginia.”
Lydia dipped the knife into the jam and spread it on the burnt toast. Nathan said to be casual but intent in her delivery of his message. If it would lure these men away from Caswell Hall, she was even happier to deliver it.
Her eyes focused on the toast as she spoke. “When will you leave for New York?”
Major Reed shook his head. “We have no desire to return to New York.”
She chewed a bite of toast and swallowed. “I thought you might be defending it with the others.”
He chuckled as he lifted a piece of bacon, as if she were a young girl needing to be amused. “We have already secured New York.”
“Oh, what a relief.” Her breath slipped from her lips. “I’d heard there was to be an attack.”
“There is no attack.” Then he leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What exactly are you referring to?”
She gave the slightest of shrugs as she sat back in her chair. The less interested she seemed in the affair, probably the better. “I thought the Americans were preparing to invade the city.”
All the men turned toward her.
“Where did you hear such a thing?” Father demanded.
She took another bite of her toast before she replied. “At church on Sunday.”
Captain Moore leaned forward. “The Americans have already tried and failed to take the city.”
“That is exactly what one of the men said, but then another said they hadn’t tried before with the French.”
The major searched her face. “Who said this?”
“Well, I am not quite certain.” She sipped her water, making him wait. “There were some of the town’s shop owners.”
Major Reed pressed her. “Do you remember no one in particular?”
“I did not know it would be of any importance.” She tapped her fingers against the water glass. “There was one man—”
Chairs creaked as the men leaned closer. “Who was it?” Captain Moore demanded.
“I believe Dr. Cooper was among them.”
The major sat back in his chair.
“There have been other rumors about New York,” an officer said.
Major Reed glared at him. “Hush.”
Her glass clinked against the table. “Perhaps I heard wrong.”
“What else did they say?” Major Reed asked, his voice a steely calm.
She glanced up at the carvings on the plaster ceiling, pretending to think again.
“Something about the Americans attacking by land and then the French—”
“What about the French?”
“Why, they were going to attack by sea.”
He swore.
She shrugged again. “I thought you knew.”
Father pushed back his plate. “’Tis only a rumor.”
“Aye,” she agreed.
Major Reed’s chair scraped across the floor as he stood. “We must be going.”
Mother set down her fork. “So soon?”
Lydia took a big bite of her toast to hide her smile.
“I fear so,” the major said.
“But what about the purchase of slaves—?” Father started.
Major Reed motioned for his men to follow. “That will have to wait.”
Their footsteps echoed back into the dining room as they stomped across the hall and then outside.
Hannah threw her napkin onto the table. “They are leaving.”
Lydia didn’t hide her smile this time. “I believe they are.”
“Father,” Hannah insisted, “you must hurry after them.”
Mother patted her hand. “They will return soon enough.”
Hannah turned toward Lydia. “Why did you have to say that about New York?”
“I did not realize it was pertinent.”
Father stood. “You must stay out of the affairs of this war, Lydia.”
“I was only repeating a rumor.” A rumor she had heard from Nathan, but still, a rumor. It seemed to her that the major had heard it from others as well.
“What you hear in town must stay there. I do not want our family involved.”
Mother sighed. “We are already involved.”
“It seems I was helping them.” She paused. “And helping us as well.”
Her father might never understand her desire to protect all of them.
She glanced over at Mother and saw the slightest of smiles mirrored on her face. At least one of her parents was pleased with her.
Father glanced at Lady Caswell. “You cannot approve of this.”
“I approve of the soldiers going to New York.”
“But they must win the colony of Virginia to win the war.”
Mother stood up. “I no longer care who wins this war, Charles. I only want the madness to end.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The leaves in Williamsburg were melding into the golden colors of fall, the pleasant chill of autumn a respite from the summer’s heat. Nathan rubbed his hands together as he walked up Duke of Gloucester Street, toward the brick home of George Wythe, the esteemed professor of law at the College of William & Mary.
A messenger had brought word that his uncle and Comte de Rochambeau—the leader of the French army—would arrive today. There had been no resistance as the Americans and French marched south toward Virginia. The deceptive seeds about the opposition in New York had rooted firmly, and much of the British army traveled north by ship and land to defend the city. The remaining British soldiers camped near the town of York under General Cornwallis.
General Washington and Comte de Rochambeau would have stayed at the home of James Madison, the president of the College of William & Mary, but before the redcoats left Williamsburg, they burned Madison’s home. The Wythe house would accommodate the generals well enough, though. Both George Wythe and his wife were ardent supporters of freedom. Only the trusted servants and a few key officers would be allowed access to the generals here.
Nathan stood outside the front door of the Wythe home as the whistle of fifes and the steady beat of drums preceded the magnificent horses carrying the generals. The corps of fife and drums marched down the long street and onto the Palace Green that stretched across the front of the Wythe house, the lawn reaching up to the old Governor’s Palace.
Governor Jefferson had never wanted war. He went into hiding after the British invaded Richmond, but there would be no hiding the arrival of Washington and Rochambeau. Not when thousands of infantrymen accompanied them.
Nathan and Mr. Wythe stepped out to greet the generals. Nathan scanned the crowd of men behind the generals until he found Seth—Captain Hammond—in the third row of the brigade. Did his friend have news of Sarah and Grayson?
Nathan’s anticipation at seeing his friend was dampened by the realization that Seth was now just a few miles from the woman he planned to marry.
He wished he could tell Seth about Lydia and how she had rescued him. He wished he could tell him that she risked her life to help their army. When Seth returned to her, perhaps Lydia herself would tell him.
Captain Hammond had succeeded as an officer, and he would be a successful planter like his father. Nathan should be pleased for him and for Lydia, but any pleasure he felt was insincere.
After welcoming the generals, Nathan escorted Washington and Rochambeau up the steps and into a private chamber, where they would be well-pr
otected while they conducted their planning and business. Washington surveyed the chamber and turned to him. “You have done a fine job, Nathan.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“If your father were still alive, he would be quite proud as well.”
Nathan hoped so.
Washington sat in a plush chair beside an antique writing table, and Rochambeau sat across from him. The French general wore a blue dress coat with a silver medallion stitched on it. His face was thin, and yet—just like Washington—his presence commanded attention and conveyed importance.
“We have business we must conduct,” Washington said.
“Yes, sir,” Nathan said, stepping toward the door.
“This involves you, Nathan.” Washington tapped on the table. “What can you tell us of this town they call York?”
Sarah Porter slipped a shilling to a man at the docks in Newport News. “I am looking for your silversmith.”
The man scrutinized her. “What do you want with the silversmith?”
“That would be my business and his.”
“He works only with the finest of clientele.”
“Aye, that is good,” Sarah said, reciting her carefully rehearsed words. “I work only with the finest of smiths.”
He eyed her again and then pointed toward a door.
Hunger was a powerful deterrent to a soldier who was supposed to fight. Even with the French helping them and the British army scattered, the Patriots still didn’t have enough troops to fight the men in York. But if she and Grayson could help keep the American soldiers fed, perhaps they would have the strength to defeat their enemy.
Sarah waited only a few minutes before being escorted to the back room. The man known as “the silversmith” was a freed Negro, a short man who looked as unlikely as she to be a conduit to supply the Patriots. But Grayson and his men were unable to come into Newport News unnoticed, and she blended in well with the women, as she had done outside York.
Her head reeled for a moment, and she caught herself on a post. Ever since she’d escorted Grayson and his men off that dreadful ship, her body had seemed to war against her. She couldn’t tell her new husband about her spells of weariness or the persistent thirst she seemed unable to quench. There was too much for him to concern himself with at present, and his own health was still recovering.
She pushed a list across the table to the silversmith. “My husband is looking to obtain flour, coffee, and ammunition.”
The man’s eyes widened as he read her list. “Two hundred pounds of coffee?”
“He said you had plenty to share.”
“Aye. I suppose if you have enough money to spend, we have enough to share.”
“If we keep our men fed well, they will fight well for all of us.”
She paid the man half the money before slipping out the door. The rest they would pay when the supplies were delivered.
Grayson met her back at their fortress of trees and branches, and she fell into his arms.
“I was so worried about you,” he said.
“You needn’t have worried.” She smiled. “Our friend will have the supplies waiting for us at an abandoned homestead a half mile north of here.”
“Good work, Mrs. Porter,” he said, and then he kissed her.
How grateful she was to have this man she loved as her husband.
Between the supplies still hidden in the cave, the supplies Nathan said he’d already hidden on Hammond Plantation, and now these new supplies, the colonists might be able to finish this war.
Nathan stepped into R. Charlton’s Coffeehouse, near the old Capitol. The main room was crowded with patrons speculating on the strategy of the soldiers, and he heard the hope in their voices. American soldiers camped outside town, and when they’d arrived, townspeople had rushed out to bring food and clothing. With the appearance of Washington, many were swayed again to the cause of independence.
Rochambeau and his fleet of ships meant they had a greater chance of winning Virginia, but even though they’d sent reinforcements up to New York, General Cornwallis and his army remained strong.
Nathan stepped into a back room and sat at a round table by a window. A man wearing a white apron set a porcelain cup before him and filled it with steaming black coffee. Nathan lifted the drink and inhaled the dark aroma before he sipped it.
They must defeat the British before the entire colony swam in the color of red.
He took another sip and listened to two men shouting on the other side of the wall. He couldn’t see the Wythe house from this window, but he knew Washington and Rochambeau were there, discussing the future with several key officers. They’d been consulting for two days now.
When his uncle had first begun talking about war back in 1776, Nathan knew there would be battles. He just never realized how much waiting and planning would take place between them. After a lifetime of working as a planter, planning was ingrained in Washington. Everything was being assembled together. The supplies and ships. The men. The strategy.
Many of the Patriots demanded immediate action from General Washington, but Nathan’s uncle was never persuaded by passion, no matter how deep, and he was rarely swayed by immediacy. His contemplative process annoyed many who were akin to action, but in his thoughtfulness, Washington made choices that saved lives.
Nathan was grateful for his uncle’s deliberate decision making, but he also knew they must act soon before more British troops arrived. A Loyalist from Williamsburg would surely have alerted Cornwallis of the army’s arrival, and they would be preparing to fight at York.
Nathan untied the ribbon that had loosened at the back of his neck and retied it.
Did Lydia know that the Patriots occupied Williamsburg? The time for procuring information from her was past, and Nathan had no other work at the moment. His uncle had already sent scouts up north to report on the progress of the British troops. When they reached New York and learned the British still firmly held the city, they would surely march back south.
When the British troops began to march south again, the Patriots had no time to delay. They must take York before it was too late.
A group of women huddled together outside the back window of the shop, and he recognized Mrs. Pendell among them. He looked away.
Mrs. Pendell had known the Washington family when she was a child living near his uncle’s home at Mount Vernon. Since the beginning of the war, she had managed to get them the information they needed as well as deliver information to men such as Dr. Cooper and even George Wythe and James Madison.
When the war was over, it would be fascinating to learn the different roles people secretly played. After choosing sides for so long, how would they all come together to form a unified country?
Someone pulled out the chair across from him. Seth reached for his hand, and Nathan shook it. No matter what happened, Seth would always be his friend.
“It has been much too long,” Nathan said as his friend sat.
Seth placed his musket against the wall. “It is good to see you.”
“You made it back home.”
Seth glanced out the window. “Aye, but it no longer feels like home to me.”
“I fear it will be difficult for many of us to find homes when this conflict is done.” Nathan pointed toward his cup. “Would you like some coffee?”
Seth nodded, and Nathan motioned for the keeper.
Seth took a long sip of his coffee. “It shan’t be long now before we fight, shall it?”
“I do not believe so.”
“Has the French fleet arrived?” Seth whispered.
“Yes. But we need more than just ships. We also need more supplies.”
“If we wait too long, I fear winter will be upon us again.”
Nathan nodded. None of the soldiers wanted to relive the deplorable winter they’d spent in Valley Forge.
“I received permission to go home today, as long as I return by the morrow.”
Nathan’s heart began to race.
Would he return to Hammond Plantation, or would he visit Lydia?
Nathan set his cup down. “Have you heard from your sister?”
“My aunt wrote to say that she is thriving in Philadelphia.”
Nathan looked down at the coffee. Should he tell Seth about Sarah’s involvement in the attempted rescue of Porter and his men? He decided against it. Without news of her success, Seth would only worry.
“Surely there is someone here you would like to see.” Nathan paused. “A woman, perhaps?”
He was fishing, but he desperately wanted to know whether this man still cared for Lydia.
“The woman I plan to marry resides up north.”
Nathan fought back his urge to smile. He had refused to let himself hope that Seth’s intentions toward Lydia had changed, but it was as he initially suspected. Seth loved the daughter of Colonel Fielder.
“Has the colonel granted you his permission?”
Seth grinned. “He has. The moment we win this war.”
Would Lydia be devastated at the news, or relieved? He prayed for the latter.
At one time, Grayson had thought marriage would confine him to the mundane life of a planter, but the fears of his youth melted away as Sarah worked alongside him to prepare for the arrival of the troops. Her courage shone as she secured important supplies in places he was not welcomed and slept in obscure places he would never have imagined a woman to sleep. She was still weak from her gallant rescue, but she continually assured him that she felt fine.
No one knew how long the battle would last in York. Zadock and Elisha and the rest of his men had emptied their newly acquired boat of its supplies at the Hammond plantation, where Grayson and Sarah now stayed. They hid the supplies with the others that Nathan had rescued from the shipyards, and then the crew left to retrieve one final shipment from near Richmond. They would wait until the war began before delivering them to York.
Sarah sleeping beside him, Grayson rolled over on the mattress he’d concocted from straw. The British had destroyed her house, but the barn and other flank buildings remained. He wished he could take her to one of the grand homes in Williamsburg, but instead he’d built a fire in the washhouse, and the room made for a cozy home during the cool autumn nights.
The Courier of Caswell Hall (American tapestries) Page 24