Isabel had disappeared into the kitchen with the tray of dishes to be washed. I poured the marquis a glass of wine, which he lifted up.
“Mon Dieu, you must hear my news,” he said. “His Excellency has appointed me to lead a battalion and hunt the British.”
Bellingham lifted his glass. “Huzzah! May you thrash them soundly!”
The entire company toasted the sentiment, and I was kept busy refilling their glasses.
“Which companies are you leading?” asked the fellow who so loved the biscuits.
“All of Poor’s brigade, McLane’s men, and the Oneidas; some two thousand fellows in all.” He could not help but grin. “I can tell you I am most honored by His Excellency’s faith in me.”
Missus Greene said something quickly in French that made the marquis blush.
“No, madame,” he answered. “It is not the same as leading the entire army. That is the privilege of General Washington alone. My forces tomorrow will provide only a prelude of what is to come.”
“Tomorrow!” Missus Greene fluttered her fan.
“Oui.” He sipped his wine. “That is why I come so late to your lovely dinner and why I must leave so soon.”
I took my place by the door, hoping that no one could see that I was shaking.
Tomorrow is our last chance to run. Our only chance.
CHAPTER LIX
Sunday, May 17 –Monday, May 18, 1778
OH! THINK WHAT ANXIOUS MOMENTS PASS BETWEEN THE BIRTH OF PLOTS, AND THEIR LAST FATAL PERIODS, OH! ‘TIS A DREADFUL INTERVAL OF TIME, FILLED UP WITH HORROR ALL, AND BIG WITH DEATH! –JOSEPH ADDISON, CATO, ACT I, SCENE 3, PERFORMED AT VALLEY FORGE
THE MARQUIS DE LAFAYETTE LEFT early along with the officers’ wives, but more fellows arrived to continue the party long after Missus Greene had retired. Hannah’s husband, Isaac, came from headquarters with the wagon to take her home. She was a kind soul and had prepared much more food than required for the dinner party when she realized how Isabel had been struggling in the kitchen.
I moved back and forth between kitchen and dining room, helping Isabel with the washing up and tending to the needs of the gentlemen deep in conversation about the best way to unseat the British from Philadelphia. Just when I was on the brink of screaming at them, a contagion of yawning passed from one fellow to the next. The visitors asked me to bring their horses around to the front door.
Once they’d departed and the gentlemen of Moore Hall had gone up the stairs, I finally had a chance to speak with Isabel and plan our escape. But I did not even get the first word out of my mouth before Bellingham walked in.
I jumped to my feet. “Sir? Is something the matter? Do you require me?”
He yawned. “Not me and not you. Missus Greene is restless in her sleep and says she feels ill. I think she just misses her husband. She would like Isabel to sit with her.”
“Now?” Isabel asked.
“For the night,” Bellingham added. “You may move your pallet to her chamber. Make her up a pot of tea with whatever herbs one uses for calming.”
“Yes, sir.” Isabel swung the kettle over the fire.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, tho’ there was nothing to thank him for.
He gave an absent nod but did not leave, preferring to watch Isabel take down a clean teapot from the shelf and walk to the larder for the tea. “Fetch her pallet, will you?”
I did not want to leave her alone in a room with him, but I had little choice. I ran up the two flights of stairs, not worrying about the sound of my heavy footsteps disturbing the sleep of anyone. If he had ill intent in mind, I might prevent it by causing a ruckus. I grabbed her pallet and blankets and thudded back down the stairs. Isabel must have been working as fast as me, for as I came down the attic steps, she and Bellingham were coming down the hall.
I took it upon myself to knock loudly on Missus Greene’s door. “Isabel is here, ma’am.”
I followed Isabel into the chamber, laid out the pallet as slow as I could, then bowed and departed. Bellingham had gone into his chamber by then, to my relief.
I waited a bit in the dark kitchen, hoping that Isabel would be able to sneak out and we could escape in the night. We could make our way close to camp and hide in the woods near the bridge, then work our way into the crowd that was sure to gather to see off Lafayette’s troops.
When she did not creep down the stairs, I realized I had to prepare for the both of us. My first task was to examine the key we’d cast. I took a candle out to my sleeping shed and uncovered the pail from its hiding place behind the woodpile. After removing the brick and the top layer of sand, I held the lead piece in the light. For that was all it was–a thin puddle of lead with sand stuck to it. In no way did it resemble a key.
CHAPTER LX
Monday, May 18, 1778
WE FLEW, WE SEPARATED, BUT A YOUNG MAN, WHOM I HAD BECOME ATTACHED TO, SAID HE WOULD NOT LEAVE ME, LET THE CONSEQUENCE BE WHAT IT WOULD. . . . WE HAD GOT WITHIN ABOUT TWO MILES OF HOME, THINKING OURSELVES OUT OF DANGER, BEGAN TO TALK, WHEN IN AN INSTANT WE FOUND OURSELVES SURROUNDED. –STORY OF A KIDNAPPED AFRICAN GIRL TOLD TO BOYRERE AU BRINCH (JEFFERY BRACE), WHO WAS KIDNAPPED FROM MALI AT AGE SIXTEEN AND ENLISTED BY HIS MASTER TO SERVE AS A PATRIOT SOLDIER FOR FIVE YEARS
I WORKED THROUGH THE NIGHT TO clean the dining room, prepare for breakfast, and steal the food we’d need for our journey. When I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, I laid my head on the kitchen table and slept for a few hours. Isabel was taken aback to find me there in the morning.
“What–”
I put my finger to my lips and pulled her into the larder with me. Even there, behind a closed door, I whispered.
“We don’t have much time,” I said.
“What about the key?” she asked.
“It’s, uh . . .”
Her face fell. “It didn’t work, did it?”
I grasped her arm tighter. “We have no choice. We have to leave.”
“But how?”
“You have to write two notes. Make the first one look like it came from headquarters requesting the presence of Bellingham and the other gentlemen. Tell them to arrive before eight o’clock.”
“But I’ve not written anything in ages; he’s sure to notice my script.”
“I’ll spill tea so that it is difficult to read. I’ll say that the messenger told me what it contained.”
“What’s the second note for?”
“To tell them about Gideon. That he gave news of the army and Congress to the British.”
“Why do you care?” she asked. “It doesn’t matter who wins the war.”
“I think it does. Write the note, please. We’ll leave it out so they can find it after we’re gone. We should wait a bit after they depart; they are forever forgetting things.”
She nodded. “Then what?”
“Then we follow the river toward camp and wait for our luck to turn.”
Many girls (and lads) would have been overcome by fear at that moment and blubbered or backed out of the plan. Not Isabel. The reverse side of her pigheaded stubbornness was unshakable courage that was worthy of a general.
“If our luck does not turn for the good on its own,” she said, “we’ll make it turn.”
The early part of my scheme unfolded better than I had hoped. Bellingham and the others had already been inclined to join in the farewell to Lafayette’s troops, so the note Isabel penned–dripping with tea and suitably smudged–was well received. But Missus Greene declined to join them, for she was still feeling poorly. She asked if Isabel might stay with her and Bellingham agreed. We had gotten rid of one obstacle, and it was replaced with another.
I brought the horses to the front of Moore Hall and handed Mister Bellingham his gloves.
“Would you care to accompany us?” he asked me. “To witness the troops leaving.”
No instant falsehood appeared in my mind. I covered my hesitation by petting the horse’s nose. “If it’s all the same, sir,” I finally said, “I�
��ve had my fill of watching soldiers.”
Bellingham stopped in the middle of putting on his gloves. “I find that hard to believe.”
I dropped my gaze to the ground. “In truth, sir, I have been neglectful of mucking out the barn. I wouldn’t want General Greene to find it in its current state.”
He looked for a moment as if he was going to question me further. If he did, I’d lead him on a tour of the rather odiferous stalls.
“Very well.” He gave the glove a tug, gathered the reins in his hands, and mounted the horse. “You must become more diligent about your chores, Curzon. Caring for the horses is every bit as important as caring for the gentlemen who ride them.”
“Yes, sir.” I bowed as he rode off with his companions.
We went about our regular duties for an agonizing half hour, Isabel washing up and me making a halfhearted effort in the barn. When I could stand it no longer, I hung up the shovel and went into the house. Isabel had just finished preparing a breakfast tray for Missus Greene–a full teapot and a delicate cup and saucer, the leftover biscuits, a wedge of sharp cheese, and a pot of blackberry preserves. It also held a dusty bottle of cordial and a large wineglass.
“I’ll try to get her to drink the whole thing,” Isabel said. “Then mebbe she’ll sleep.”
I did not think it likely, but it didn’t matter either way. Even if Missus Greene noticed we had fled, there was no horse for her to ride to camp upon, and it was unlikely she’d walk that distance.
When Isabel went in to care for Missus Greene, I entered Bellingham’s bedchamber and stole the paper money from his traveling chest and the two gold coins hidden in a folio of old letters. He called the coins his “emergency treasure trove.” If any situation was an emergency, this was it. I was tempted to rummage through his belongings and steal more clothes, but the thought of wearing something that had been on his form was sickening. I dropped the note about Gideon’s betrayal on the center of the bed, closed the door behind me, and hurried down to my sleeping shed.
It took only a few moments to remove the clothing that had been tailored for me in York. Bellingham would describe my waistcoat, coat, and breeches in the runaway advertisement. We would carry them with us and burn them the first chance we had. The stockings and shirt were less remarkable, so these I placed in an old potato sack, along with my blanket. I dressed myself in the tattered shirt, breeches, and the coat that I’d been wearing the day I walked into Moore Hall for the first time.
Into the kitchen I went. My mind raced down the list of actions I’d thought about all night, ticking them off one after the next like they were drill commands. Clothes changed. Money secured. House in good order (this was necessary because it might help delay the search for us). Gentlemen departed. Food–
My thoughts were cut short as Isabel hurried into the kitchen and closed the door that led to the hall.
“Laudanum!” She grinned.
I could not speak.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I didn’t force a sleeping potion on her. She had already taken it, quite a big dose, to relieve her headache. She’ll sleep the day away! What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”
I pointed, still speechless. Isabel wore breeches. I’d never before seen how breeches allowed one to gaze upon the entire length of leg of the wearer, as well as a good eyeful of that person’s rump. When boys or men wore breeches, I’d not taken notice of this. But with the breeches upon Isabel, it was all I could think of.
She looked down on her legs. “My mother would thrash me if she ever saw me like this. Truth be told, it is an odd sensation. But I like this jacket.”
“You should be more covered than that.”
“I don’t want to be. It’s nice to walk like this. Odd, but nice.”
“I think you should put your skirt back on and–”
“Shhh!” Isabel froze. “Did you hear that?”
I listened, but there was nothing. “The sun is warming up the house, that’s all,” I said. “If not your skirt, then a long greatcoat.”
“No,” Isabel said, relaxing from her fright. “Wearing a coat on a day as warm as this will draw more attention to me.”
I sighed. “We don’t have time to argue. Let’s just go.”
Another loud creak came from the hall, but it was not the wooden sigh of the house. The door to the hall swung open. Bellingham stood there.
He pointed his pistol at Isabel.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said.
CHAPTER LXI
Monday, May 18, 1778
THAT WE ARE THE CREATURES OF THAT GOD, WHO MADE OF ONE BLOOD, AND KINDRED, ALL THE NATIONS OF THE EARTH. . . WE CAN NEVER BE CONVINCED THAT WE WERE MADE TO BE SLAVES. . . . IS IT CONSISTENT WITH THE PRESENT CLAIMS OF THE UNITED STATES TO HOLD SO MANY THOUSANDS. . . IN PERPETUAL SLAVERY? CAN HUMAN NATURE ENDURE THE SHOCKING IDEA?
—PETITION OF PRINCE AND PRIME, SLAVES WHO REQUESTED CONNECTICUT TO OUTLAW SLAVERY IN 1779
IT IS TRUE WHAT THEY SAY: WHEN YOU find yourself in circumstances that are too horrible to behold, like on a battlefield or in a kitchen with a man holding a gun, time changes and you notice the strangest of things. His boots were muddy. He was breathing hard. He must have tied up his horse down the road, then run the rest of the way so we would not be alerted. Bellingham was not at all accustomed to running.
“I knew you’d try this,” he said. “I saw how you reacted when you heard she was sold. And this morning?” Sweat trickled down the side of his face. His eyes burned like those of a hungry wolf. “You turned down the chance to go to headquarters and watch the troops. That was very unlike you, Curzon.”
His hands shook a bit from the weight of the barrel.
Bellingham was not at all accustomed to guns, either.
“Isabel, you are going to find me some rope and then you are going to sit in a chair with your hands folded in your lap,” he ordered.
“No, she’s not.” I stepped toward him.
“Stay right there,” Bellingham warned.
I took another step. “I don’t want to.” A third step and I was only four paces away from him, close enough to make him nervous. He pointed the pistol at my belly, as I had hoped.
“Run, Isabel,” I said. “Ride his horse until it drops.”
She fled out the kitchen door without a word.
“How noble,” sneered Bellingham. “Stupid, but noble. Do you think I won’t be able to track her down? I did before, several times. She’s not very good at hiding herself.”
His hand shook even more. It had a pinkish hue, like the rest of his skin, hands that had never seen the sun. Had never chopped wood or manned a bellows or loaded a wagon.
I stepped closer.
“That’s far enough,” he said. “Put your hands above your head.”
I did. Slowly. Everything was slow, but loud: the sound of my heartbeat in my ears, Bellingham’s ragged breathing, the clock in the parlor ticking away the minutes. Was she far enough away yet? Could I risk it?
“Mister Bellingham, sir,” I said, slowly. “If I may.”
“Are you coming to your senses? Ready to beg my forgiveness?” He chuckled and smiled broadly, showing all of his teeth.
I stared; there were no black specks on his lips or between his teeth. His tobacco-colored breeches were spotless too, except for a few drops of mud near the knee, likely from when he dismounted in a hurry. The sleeves of his coat were still as clean as when I’d brushed them, and the cuffs of his shirt were bright.
“Actually, no. I wondered what you thought of the taste but realized you didn’t have the chance, did you?”
“What taste?” He frowned. “Have you lost your wits, boy?”
I took one more step and tapped on my front tooth. “Your teeth are very clean.”
“I said that’s far enough!” he roared, not making any sense of my words. “I will shoot you, Curzon, I swear.”
The pinkness of his hands and the cleanliness of his breeches and
his cuffs and his teeth all bespoke one thing to me: He had not ripped open a gunpowder cartridge. He had not loaded the pistol. But I could have been wrong, which is why I prayed Isabel was on that horse and galloping away. I took one more step and reached for the gun.
He pulled the trigger. The flint hit the empty firing pan.
Click.
Time sped up to normal and then ran ahead of itself. I grabbed at the gun. He pulled it backward and we were both off balance, crashing against the door frame and then spinning across the kitchen floor and onto the table. I released the gun and punched his head, which hurt more than I imagined it would. He cursed and tried to hit me with the gun, but I leaned away just in time, and instead the heavy pistol gouged the table. I shoved him at the same time that he pulled, and we regained our feet, grappling with each other. We staggered and crashed against the shelves, sending crockery and boxes to the floor.
Something hit me square on the head. The room tilted and the air burned and I had the sudden urge to puke. My legs gave out and I fell.
Bellingham stood over me, breathing hard. “That was a mistake, boy.”
The gun had disappeared. In his right hand he held a knife.
Somebody gave a shout, and a door slammed against a wall. Bellingham didn’t have time to turn around before the broad side of a shovel blade cracked against his head. His eyes rolled up and he fell to the ground with a grunt.
Isabel stood over him, holding the shovel like an axe.
“Did I—”
I crouched by the still form. “He’s still breathing.”
“Want me to hit him again?”
I tugged at Bellingham’s neck cloth. “I have a better idea.” I fished out the cord that Bellingham wore around his neck, used the knife on the floor to slice it, and stood up, holding the key.
“Hurry,” Isabel said.
The key fit perfectly. I twisted it and the lock opened. I took it out, then, gently, opened the iron collar and freed Isabel.
Forge (Seeds of America) Page 20