Ashes

by Laurie Halse Anderson

  The smells of cinnamon, rising bread, and roasting meats were a vast improvement over the stench of dirty breeches and lye that hung in the laundry. The speed of the work was much faster, but ’twas a welcome relief to be away from the sharp-tongued nattering of Kate and Elspeth. Miss Marrow gave me leave to eat all of the ham and brown bread, and drink all of the cider, that I wanted, long as I kept working whilst I ate. Thus properly victualed for the first time in months, I felt strong enough to cook for the entire army.

  By midday the front room was crowded with gentlemen and officers shouting in excitement and demanding meat pies and ale. Miss Marrow gave me a clean apron to pin atop my skirt and thrust a heavy serving tray into my hands.

  “The mister will show you who gets what. Don’t say nothing to nobody, and hurry back.”

  The rest of the afternoon I fair ran between the front room and the kitchen, serving the gentlemen, clearing away their dirty plates and mugs, and taking care of the washing up, while Miss Marrow continued to cook up the parade of dishes that would be served at the officers’ feast. The men were so excitable about the prospect of battling the British in the days ahead that they paid me no mind, long as the food and drink kept coming. To my frustration, all the talk was about the newly arrived troops, mostly arguments about how many soldiers were there. For all the shouting and huzzahing, no one said anything that helped me understand better if Williamsburg was a safe place for us, or if we should flee as soon as darkness fell.

  Late in the day the front room emptied as the gentlemen hastened to the encampment to be a part of the ceremonies honoring His Excellency George Washington. Miss Marrow and I both jumped out of our shoes at the monstrous sound of twenty-one cannon blasts. Mister Hallahan hurried in to tell us ’twas just a salute for the great general and his French friends, not an attack by the redcoats. Shortly after that, a fine wagon pulled up to the front door. We packed the food into crates and boxes, which were carried out to the wagon by handsome French soldiers. Several crates of wine were also loaded into the wagon.

  After it drove away, Miss Marrow filled a plate with two slices of peach pie and set it on the kitchen table in front of me, saying simply, “You done good work. Thank you.”

  She ate in the front room with only Mister Hallahan for company. In truth, I felt bad on her account. First time all day she’d been able to sit herself down and take a bit of ease, and she had to listen to the pompous twit boast about the money and good fortune the war had brought to his establishment. Seemed to me he was sweet on her, though he had a wife at home busy with five children, according to Kate and Elspeth. I peeked through the door and saw Miss Marrow hastily eating her well-deserved meal, whilst the mister held forth about how he much preferred to work for the French, as they paid in coin where the Patriots paid mostly in promises. The poor woman was so bedraggled, she could scarce keep her eyes open, much less pretend to be interested in what he was saying.

  I knocked and entered the front room.

  “Pardon, miss,” I said. “But I’ve finished with the washing up. Is there anything more you’d like me to do?”

  Before Miss Marrow could answer, Mister Hallahan turned and looked me over. I gave a shudder, feeling as if a goose had walked across my grave.

  “Who did my mother hire you from, girl?” he asked.

  “She hired me on my own account, sir,” I said, chiding myself for not waiting until he’d gone. “I’m freeborn, sir.”

  “She has papers, the missus told me,” Miss Marrow added.

  Hallahan sipped his mug. “She helped you in the kitchen, as well as serving out here?”

  “Couldn’t have done it without her,” Miss Marrow said. “Go on back to the laundry, Isabel. And thank you again.”

  * * *

  I found Widow Hallahan snoozing by the fire, a basket of buttons and a shirt in her lap, and no sign of Kate or Elspeth anywhere. I cleared my throat loudly. The old woman blinked the sleep from her eyes and sucked at her teeth.

  “Done already?” she asked, as if I’d been gone a few moments instead of the entire day.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “The French fellows came for it all in a big wagon. Mister Hallahan seems most pleased.” I looked around the laundry. The fires under the washing kettles had gone out, but the ashes and cinders had not been removed. “Where are Kate and Elspeth?”

  “Ugh.” She shook her head. “Making cow eyes at the soldier boys, of course. Why are lasses so bedazzled by a uniform, can you tell me that? More Frenchies, I hear, in addition to our boys. You know what that means, don’t you? More white uniforms to clean. Why do the Frenchies stick their lads in white uniforms? Do they not know that the business of war is filled with mud, blood, and dung?”

  She stood and put her hand to her back. “Least our boys wear sensible togs, them that has uniforms. We can take some pride in that, we can.” She yawned. “Your sister went off too.”

  “Beg pardon?” Fear stabbed at me. “Ruth isn’t out delivering with Aberdeen?”

  “Nay, the boy brought her back early. Said the whole camp’s a hullabaloo what with all the new folks a’coming and a’going, and His Excellency parading about, and redcoats hiding behind every bush–”

  “Ruth left,” I interrupted her. “You let her wander off on her own?”

  “Work for the day was done, not my place to tell the girl to stay or to go.” She studied me hard. “Some reason you don’t want her out there? Somebody looking for her, mayhaps?”

  I grabbed my hat and scarf from the peg by the door and dashed outside without answering.

  CHAPTER XXI

  Friday, September 14, 1781

  HIS EXCELLENCY GENL. WASHINGTON ARRIVED IN CAMP THIS AFTERNOON IN CONSEQUENCE OF WHICH 21 CANNON WERE DISCHARGED FROM THE AMERICAN PARK, THE WHOLE ARMY PARADED AND PAID HIM THE HONORS DUE TO HIS RANK.

  –DIARY OF EBENEZER WILD, FIRST MASSACHUSETTS REGIMENT

  I MOVED THROUGH THE CROWDED streets as fast as I could without breaking into a run. She’s gone to watch the parade, I tried to convince myself. She’ll want to see the fine horses that the officers ride upon.

  Scarier possibilities galloped into my brainpan. What if she’s been kidnapped, what if she’s lost, what if she’s hurt?! . . .

  I stopped thinking and simply prayed: Please keep her safe, please keep her safe, please keep her safe, the words matching the hasty beat of my boots on the cobblestones.

  The army was now so large, it spilled over Williamsburg from end to end and miles beyond. I had to slow down as I reached the thick crowd of townsfolk who had come out to gawp at the new arrivals. The sun was sinking into the low-hanging, dark clouds to the west. The wind snapped the regimental flags with a sound like distant musket fire. Sergeants shouted orders to their men. There were thousands and thousands of soldiers, spread over miles of camp. I needed help.

  I needed Curzon.

  I pulled away from the crowd of townspeople and hurried into the middle of the encampment. Lanterns were being lit; pork and beef were roasting over fires. Fiddles and pipes played. Men and boys laughed and sang and called to one another as sparks from hundreds of campfires rose into the darkening sky. I followed the sharp smell of charcoal burning on a forge, seeking the regimental blacksmiths. None of them had seen a lad matching Curzon’s description. Or hired one.

  I couldn’t find her. Or him, and he had lied about working at a forge.

  Panic clawed its way up my throat. I wanted to scream Ruth’s name over and over again, but that would bring unwelcome attention that could harm us all. Shouting for Curzon would do me no better. Should I seek out Aberdeen? Should I go back to the laundry? Should I inquire with a Continental officer, or would I have better luck if I spoke with a French gentleman?

  What if I never see her again?

  Suddenly I heard the loud braying of an irritated donkey. A familiar, annoying donkey whose noise seemed to my ears like the trumpeting of a host of angels.

  Thomas Boon!

  I turned
my head to locate the source of the noise, then followed it past four rows of tents to a clearing that had become a small village of its own, with sutlers selling their wares whilst soldiers ate, conversated, and played at cards and dice. At the far edge of the clearing Thomas Boon had his ears laid back and was showing his teeth at a tall soldier dressed in Continental dark blue. The man laughed loudly, grinning, as did Curzon, who slapped the fellow on the back.

  The most momentous shock came from the sight of my sister. Ruth was sitting in the donkey cart and laughing with the two as I had not heard her laugh since she was seven years old. Whatever the cause of the mirth, she laughed hard enough to clutch her belly and wipe a laugh-tear from her eye.

  I hurried over. “What possessed you to run off like that?” I asked Ruth. “You scared me to death! Don’t you know how dangerous–”

  “Hold up there.” Curzon touched my elbow. “She didn’t run off. I stopped at the laundry just as she returned from her delivery. Told the old lady with the pipe to tell you we’d be with the First Massachusetts Regiment, near the sutlers.”

  “You swear you told her that?”

  He gave me a look of frustration. “Have I ever lied to you?”

  I arched an eyebrow in reply.

  “About anything important, that is,” he added. “Ruth has been with me the whole time. She didn’t run off. You want to holler at someone, then holler at the old woman, though she’ll probably throw you out on the street if you do.”

  “Apologies,” I said to Ruth. “I didn’t mean to shout at you.” I reached for the lead rope, feeling confuddled and out of sorts. “We need to go back.”

  “Wait, wait,” Curzon said. “There’s no rush, no danger. Don’t you remember Ebenezer?”

  “Good evening to you, Miss Gardener.” The tall soldier bowed. “Is it still Miss Gardener? Or have you become a married lady?”

  I gave him a quick study. His sleeves stopped short of his wrists, and his coat was not big enough to be buttoned over his broad chest. His freckled face was smudged with dirt, as were his hands. He looked like a thousand other soldiers I’d seen, except he was a full head taller than most. But when he flashed a gap-toothed grin, I knew him in an instant: Ebenezer Woodruff, Curzon’s friend from the battlefields of Saratoga, who’d helped us escape Valley Forge.

  “Good evening, Mister Woodruff.” I inclined my head a bit, unsure of what else to do.

  “He’s Sergeant Woodruff now,” Curzon said with a grin of his own.

  “Sergeant,” I said politely. “Congratulations.”

  “’Tis a delight to find you here”–Ebenezer gave the hint of a second bow–“and to make the acquaintance of Miss Ruth. Seems you have many adventures to tell.”

  His courtly manner surprised me. The Eben Woodruff I remembered was a rough-cut and bumbling farm boy, though stouthearted and loyal. Didn’t seem possible he could grow up into a sergeant.

  “This is not the best time nor place to tell about them,” I said.

  “Indeed,” Eben said. “Mayhaps I could come round some eve. We could go for a stroll.” His eyes darted to Curzon. “All of us, of course.”

  I had the oddest sensation that he was trying to be charming to me. The notion so flustered me, I could not think clear for a moment.

  “Have you heard how General Washington fooled the British into thinking he was about to attack New York?” Curzon asked me with delight. “Ebenezer and the rest of the northern army have been racing down here to meet up with the French. ’Tis the best strategic maneuver ever!”

  He looked more like his old self than he had in months–alert but at ease, a half smile on his mouth. Despite his bad experience with the army, he was always in the highest of spirits when it was close by.

  The note of longing in his voice pierced through me. It didn’t matter if he worked for a regimental blacksmith, or drove a supply wagon, or armed himself with a shovel and worked as a laborer; the dream proclaimed by the bigwigs in Philadelphia of a nation built on freedoms excited his mind like nothing else. Curzon had paid his debt to me. It was clearer than ever that this was where he wanted to be.

  The encampment seemed darker, as if the fires were all burning low. I shook once with a chill, feeling very alone even though I was surrounded by thousands of souls. I forced a false, polite smile. “I’m afraid that’s a tale best saved for another time. We need to get back to the laundry.”

  “No, we don’t,” Curzon argued.

  “You don’t,” I corrected, “but Ruth and I do. Get back in the cart, sister.”

  Ruth crossed her arms over her chest and sulked.

  “I’d be honored to escort you,” Ebenezer offered.

  “Not necessary, you rogue,” Curzon said. “I’ll see them safely out of the camp. You should see if there’s any supper left.”

  “There’s never enough supper.” Ebenezer smiled ruefully. “I was mistaken when I told you that eating was the best part of soldiering, wasn’t I? In any case, good evening to you all. Stop by later, old friend, and I’ll tell you more about . . .” He glanced at me and seemed to temper his words. “About what we discussed earlier.”

  * * *

  Curzon was a regular Mister Ramblemouth as we made our way back through the town, nattering on about all the news he’d learned from Ebenezer: the army’s lightning-quick march from New York, the defeat of the British in West Florida by the troops of the Spanish king, and tales of their old friends from Valley Forge. As we passed the market, he turned and caught me staring at him.

  “Why the glum face?” he asked. “Aren’t you excited?”

  I waited until we’d walked clear of a thick knot of people before I answered. “Why should I be excited?”

  “His Excellency has come to town!” he replied, as if the answer were an obvious one. “The better part of our army is here, ready to fight shoulder to shoulder with the French, who care even less for the British than we do. I can taste the victory, I tell you.”

  “You hammer horseshoes,” I said, “or rather, you would be if you were, in fact, working for a blacksmith. You lied about that, didn’t you?”

  “There are many ways to help the cause of freedom,” he began, puffed up and putting on air as if he were a statesman or other sort of fool.

  “A pox on your ridiculous notions,” I said.

  Ruth slapped the reins to make Thomas Boon walk. She began humming a fife song that had been played near Eben’s campfire. Curzon and I walked the next block without speaking.

  We used to argue endlessly about the Revolution. He was a firm believer in the Patriot cause. He loved to prattle on about the Declaration of Independence and how the United States of America promised to be a new sort of nation. I was forever reminding him that we’d been enslaved by both Patriots and Loyalists, and that neither side was talking about freedom for people who looked like us. Things had grown so heated that we’d had to agree not to discuss it.

  “What if I said I was thinking of enlisting again?” he asked.

  And now the conflict had cracked open in our laps once more, stinking like a rotted egg.

  I stopped. “I’d say you were an addlepated fool.”

  He acted as if he hadn’t heard me. “If we can defeat Cornwallis, it could well mean the end to the war. Now that the French are openly helping us, King George fears he’ll lose his islands in the Caribbean, as well as America. General Washington needs all the skilled soldiers he can get.” He threw back his shoulders. “Like me.”

  I snorted. “Where was the good general when the army handed you over to Bellingham? Did His Excellency intervene because of your fine soldiering skills? Of course not. He owns hundreds of slaves himself. The Patriots fight only to be free of British taxes. They don’t care a whit for your freedom, nor mine.”

  “That’s changing,” he argued.

  “Balderdash,” I replied.

  Ruth’s gaze went back and forth from my face to Curzon’s as we argued. Her hum changed to a loud whistle.

>   “Did you not see how many sons of Africa are soldiers in uniform back there?” He pointed back toward the encampment. “Black men make up a goodly portion of it, as many as one in five or one in four by some counts. In fact, your beloved Rhode Island has a regiment with fellows earning their freedom by fighting as Continental soldiers.”

  “‘Earning,’” I pointed out. “Not ‘earned,’ which means by the end of the war, if they survive, some varmint judge could well clap them back into chains. We’d be better off running to the British.”

  My words shocked him like a slap to the face. “Have you lost your senses?”

  “Actions speak louder than words,” I said. “The redcoats don’t promise a soldier’s uniform or battlefield glory, they just put fugitive slaves to work. But they work in freedom and can leave whenever they wish.”

  “The blasted British want to enslave our entire country!” Curzon yelled.

  His voice was so loud that heads turned. A small group of soldiers clustered at a tavern door shouted a hearty “Huzzah!” and lifted their mugs in approval of his sentiments.

  “You are a muzzy-headed blatherskite,” I muttered.

  “And you’re a vexatious cabbagehead,” he replied.

  “Stop fighting,” Ruth said. “I don’t like it.”

  Neither did I, though I was not prepared to say it aloud, not when Curzon was afloat on his patriotical fantasies of war.

  We walked in silence until the sign of the Gray Boar Tavern came into view. Curzon halted the donkey just beyond the reach of the light that spilled out of the windows. “I have something to say.”

  I put my shoulders back and tried to present myself in a calm manner, ready for his apology, prepared to ask forgiveness for my own sharp tongue and to have a proper confab about how we could get away from this danger-soaked place.

  “I’m listening,” I said in a gracious tone.

  Curzon removed his cap. “I enlisted three days ago.”

  I was so stunned, I could not speak for a moment. The distance that had been growing between us suddenly became a separation. He had torn the cloth of our friendship in two.