Tim and the Broken Bones

Fouth in the Tim Euston Series

Roddy Thorleifson

(2019)

To see what they wore and what things looked like, check “Chapter Illustrations”

Characters, in order of appearance.

Tim Euston (age 17)
Solly Jarvis (9) son of Beatrice and Ben
Bubble Jarvis (4) son of Beatrice and Ben
Martin Maynes (28) militia sergeant, farmer
Betty-May Maynes(nee Adgate) (21) Martin’s wife.
Sammy (30) Servant. Tilly’s husband.
Pete (28) Martin’s friend. Militia private
Tillie (24) Cook. Wife of Sammy
Ben Jarvis (30) Beatrice’s husband, James’s cousin.
Abby Euston (36) Tim’s mother
Dan Eliot (18) Tim’s friend
Jane Jarvis (nee Maynes) (18) Wife of James
Beatrice Jarvis (nee Maynes) (28) Wife of Ben
James Jarvis (26) Husband of Jane
Sadie Euston (15) Tim’s sister
Hortense (17) girl-of-all-work
Matthew Euston (46) private, clerk, Tim’s illegitimate father Pincock (24) militia private

Chapter 1

September 19, 1777. 

North of Albany, New York 

“Defend yourself!” ordered Solly as he waved his stick in the air. “Or see your shirt go bloody red as your coat!” 

“Bold words, my little friend,” sneered Tim, who had cut each of them a willow stick to use as a sword. With a malicious smile he whipped his sword around to get it on the other side of Solly’s and push it aside. This allowed Tim to move in, step on Solly’s toe, and knock him to the ground. Tim had spent the summer practicing his swordsmanship and was now more than capable of taking on a ten-year-old boy.

“You big pig!” said Solly as he jumped back on his feet and waved his stick back and forth making a swooshing sound. He was in too good a mood to mind being pushed down. It was an honor to get to play with a seventeen-year-old, and in the distance they could hear the rumble of cannon fire. The Northern Department of the Continental Army, commanded by General Horatio Gates, was only fourteen miles away. His headquarters was on the Bemis Heights, on the wooded northern frontier. The troops had been digging in for the past ten days. Soldiers with picks and shovels had been excavating trenches and building up ramparts to hold back a British attack. Tim knew that neither side could waste gunpowder, so the firing of cannons meant somebody, most likely the British, were on the move.

“It is time,” said Tim, imitating an upper-class accent, “to teach you a lesson, my little friend.” He darted forward, faked a thrust, and pulled back quickly to avoid Solly’s sword. Then he stepped to the side, reached around and smacked the boy on the upper side of his thigh.

“Ow! You big stink!” Solly shouted as he tried to do the same. Tim parried his slash and was able to press the base of his sword against Solly’s while stepping on his toe to push him down again. This time, as Solly lay on the ground, Tim pressed the tip of his sword against his chest, and with smile said, “Ah-ha! I’ve bested you, you proud little rebel. And we’ll soon do as much against your ragtag army!”

“No you won’t!” giggled Bubble, Solly’s four-year-old brother, as he came up from behind to whack Tim on his backside.

“Ah! I’m... I am wounded!” whimpered Tim as he staggered and fell. “Call the surgeon!” He dropped his sword and waved his hand pathetically in the air. “My life’s blood is flowing from me! My only regret is that I have but one life to give to King and gentry… and whoever else is rich enough to buy his way into power and influence.”

“Surrender!” shouted Bubble, jumping up to poke Tim in the side. “You are my prisoner!”

“Careful!” demanded Tim, now serious. His left arm was in a sling.

“Easy now!” snapped a man close by, who was cutting wheat with a scythe. Solly and Bubble froze. They had been happy to see their Uncle Martin when they had arrived at his farm two days before, but now they were wide-eyed with fear. Martin Maynes was a big man whose voice had a similar effect on grown men. He was a sergeant in the militia and his friends felt he deserved to be voted captain.

“We’re falling behind!” said Tim to the boys as he brushed off his clothes. They were supposed to be helping Martin harvest the wheat. With his good arm, Tim could rake it up with a wooden pitchfork. Solly and Bubble – their full names were Solomon and Zerubbabel – would then scoop it up. When they had enough for a sheaf, Solly could tie it if Tim pinched the cord while he completed the knot. They were in a partly cleared field where branches and trunks of the old forest had been pulled together into rows to be burned.

 “And what does that jackass want now?” muttered Martin, half to himself. Tim could only just hear him. He looked over his shoulder to see who the jackass was, but no one was about.

“How did you hurt your arm?” asked Solly, while giving Tim’s sleeve a tug. 

“It went under the wheel of a wagon,” sighed Tim as he went back to work with the pitchfork. “I’d gone to join up and fight. And here I am now, crippled before I had a chance to be wounded. A year ago I tried to join but they told me I was too young and too short. And then all the past spring and summer I was being advised to wait for a better offer – an ensign’s commission. Now, when I was only wanting to join up and be a private, I went and broke my arm.”

“You’re stupid!” joked Bubble.

“Did you really save a colonel’s daughter?” asked Solly.

“Well, I guess so,” said Tim with a shrug. “We’ll never know. The wagon might never have run over her. The horses had been scared by barking dogs. I just saw a runaway wagon and a little girl so I thought I ought to grab her.”

“Did her mother really push you under the wagon?”

“No, she was just thinking like me and running for the girl. I had her safe in my hands but she couldn’t stop, and she knocked us both over. Then my arm went under the wheel. It didn’t even hurt – not right away. But it sure can hurt now if I bump it into something. I didn’t know it was broken until the surgeon told me so. It was…”

“Get it all!” Solly ordered his brother with a gesture to the wheat he had missed.

“I’m getting it!” insisted Bubble.

“No! There’s some there!”

“That’s yours!”

“Quiet down,” said Tim. “We can all gather up after each other.” He had said this a few times already. With a broken arm, he was not useful for much more than minding children. “And if we hurry we’ll be able to catch up to your uncle.”

“My mom,” said Solly, “she says you’re a hero for saving the colonel’s daughter.” 

“If your mother says so then it must be true,” said Tim as he watched Martin disappear behind the trees on the north side of the field. There were farms all along the valley, but it was still mostly woodland and swamp with fields only here and there.

“Where’s Uncle...”

“Shush!” ordered Tim. He thought he could hear voices. It sounded like men arguing, and it came from the same direction Martin had gone.

“There’s cannon fire again,” said Solly with a grin.

“It’s a long ways off,” said Tim. “They say that you can sometimes hear it eighty miles away, and sometimes only for a few miles. It depends on the weather.”

“Where’s Uncle Martin gone to?” asked Solly.

“I don’t know.”

“Is he going to go and fight?”

“Maybe soon, but not today,” said Tim as he kept watching, “not without saying good-bye.” 

After Tim had broken his arm, Martin, who had still been with his militia unit, had told Tim he could stay on his farm. It was a good day’s walk to the south. Tim had been travelling with his mother and sister. Betty-May, Martin’s young wife, had welcomed all three of them. They pitched their tent in the south pasture, about two hundred and fifty paces from the house, joining a small tent village occupied by families who had been driven from their homes by the enemy’s advance. Betty-May told then that the whole region had been evacuated in August, right down to the Mohawk River. The Maynes farm had served as an army outpost and had been spared destruction by enemy raiders. The arrival of American reinforcements had scared the raiders back north. Farmers were now returning to harvest their crops, and to try to find their cattle. Betty-May was glad to have them. The more people close by, the less frightened she was. 

Martin was good-natured and cheerful but he often seemed, at the same time, to be on the brink of anger. Tim could hardly blame him. Everyone was dreading the battle that was sure to come soon – even those who looked forward to it. Two days after Tim and his family had arrived on the Maynes farm, Martin had come back home to help prepare for evacuation if the invaders got close. Civilians had been ordered to destroy any food or fodder that could not be carried with them. If the enemy managed to advance, there should be as little as possible left behind for them to feed either themselves or their horses. To accomplish this, most would have to be burned or dumped in the millpond, and that would take a lot of time and effort. Martin’s superiors must have thought his wife could not be counted on to destroy it all. Not after so much work had gone into producing it.

“Do you think the regulars are almost here?” asked Solly.

“No no, they’re far away,” said Tim, without turning his head. Regulars were soldiers who had enlisted for a long term, and in the British Army that meant for life, or until they were discharged after a war was over. 

“Do you think...”

“Shush!” Again, Tim had heard voices spoken in anger. It was a half-shout half-whisper, as if they wanted to be quiet but could hardly contain themselves.

“We were evacuated!” bragged Solly.

“Were you?” said Tim quietly. 

“Me and Mom had to...”

“Shush!” The voices had started again. Tim recalled that, before he left the field, Martin had said, “What does that jackass want now?” It had sounded like he was talking about someone he knew. But he had lived here all of his life and knew a lot of people. Again there were voices. Then a single gunshot rang out. It sounded like it might be a small carbine or maybe a pistol. 

“Who’s shootin’?” asked Solly. Tim held up his hand to signal them to remain quiet.

“Who’s shootin’?” repeated Bubble as he came up beside his brother. Tim was still listening, but all had gone quiet except for the cawing of crows, the hiss of a light wind in tall trees and again the sound of distant cannon fire.

In late June of 1777 a massive British force invaded upstate New York by way of the Saint Laurence River and Lake Champlain. By mid-September they were within thirty miles of Albany, the temporary capital of independent New York State. A shortage of wagons and horses, rough terrain, and the efforts of retreating Americans had been limiting British progress to a mile or two a day. The goal of its commander, General John Burgoyne, was to take control of the Hudson River. It was deep and wide, and once rebel forces were driven off, tidal currents could bring British ships all the way up to Albany. With the river under British control the country would be cut in two. Troop morale and civilian support would plummet. The Continental Congress in Philadelphia would surely be forced into peace talks that would put an end to the independence that had been declared fourteen months before.

General Burgoyne, age fifty-five, had been assured that most inhabitants of the region were loyal to the King, but had been cowed into silence by fanatical rebels. The success of the invasion would require the assistance of these loyalists: their willingness to provide information, to sell provisions, and to volunteer to fight for King and Empire.

Major General Horatio Gates, age fifty, had arrived on August 19 to take command of America’s Northern Army. He believed that if his forces were protected by earthwork fortifications (a trench with the dirt piled to one side) the attackers could be held off at a high cost to men and ammunition. He replaced General Schuyler who had retreated to just north of the Mohawk River, well south of Burgoyne’s main camp. With reinforcements, Gates had moved back north to a high plateau called the Bemis Heights, and by mid-September he was dug in and almost ready. 

On the nineteenth day of that month, Burgoyne had gathered his forces, abandoning the series of forts that protected his supply lines to Canada. He had only enough supplies to last four weeks and now had to rout the enemy and gain a new source of supplies, from New York City and from the loyalists who might eventually make themselves known. This victory would have to be achieved in country that was largely covered by forest. If Burgoyne failed and ran out of food, his hungry soldiers would surely mutiny.

Major General Benedict Arnold commanded the left wing of the American forces, and he thought the British could circle around their camp on the Bemis Heights, break through the weaker west side, and drive them toward the Hudson River, forcing a mass surrender.

Gates was a cautious sort who carefully considered all it took to keep an army fed, sheltered and intact. Arnold was a daring battlefield commander whose bravery and vision could inspire courage and determination in the face of enemy fire. But military success had a lot to do with luck, and either approach could save the new nation or put an end to it. Burgoyne was a lot like Arnold, and his courage and charisma could get the best out of his red-coated soldiers. They were well armed and well trained, and posed a serious threat to the Hudson Valley and to the Revolution.

Chapter 2

Fired and then just left behind.

“TIM! ” called Sammy from the edge of the field where Martin had gone. Sammy was Martin’s hired man. “Tim, could you come help?” he said, giving them a timid wave. He looked back and forth, as if scared to be seen. He came forward a few steps, looked about again and then continued, at first walking, then running. “We... I need your help. Just for a... it’s only...” He stopped and looked from Tim to the boys. “Maybe… maybe you boys should run home now,” he said, pointing toward the house. “We’re... we’re to be busy now. We’ve work to do. You take your little brother now and you go home, you hear?”

“You do what you’re told,” said Tim, who could see that Sammy was wet with sweat.

“What’s the matter?” asked Solly.

“You take your little brother back to the house now,” insisted Sammy, waving his hands like he was pushing something. “You’ll be needed to help with supper, won’t you? We’re... we’re finished with the work out here for now so... so be quick now!”

“Go along boys!” demanded Tim. With a resentful expression, Solly took Bubble’s hand and led him off, looking back every few steps.

“It’s... it’s the master,” whispered Sammy when they were far enough away. “Master Martin… he’s… he’s in a bad way. He’s... he’s hurt bad and... I found him that way, so... so would you come help if… if you please?”

Tim followed him across the field. Gaps had been opened in the rows of debris, allowing them to make it through without having to do any climbing or jumping. In the woods, they entered a patch of dense undergrowth, forcing them to duck, weave and step carefully to avoid tripping. The low growth cleared where old trees stood tall, casting their long shadows across the forest floor. They found Martin by the path down to the mill. He was on his hands and knees, like he was looking for a lost object. Up close Tim saw blood covering the side of his head and all over his sleeve as if he had been wiping it away as it ran into his eyes. His shoes were gone, making Tim wonder if he had been robbed.

“I… I found him just like this,” stammered Sammy as he waved his hands. “I’d... I’d heard voices and... and then a pistol shot! Or... or some sort of a gunshot... I don’t know! Then I came here and… and he’s in a bad way, and... his pocket’s gone! His shoes too! And those were good shoes! A new pair of soles on them! And … and then I tried to help him up but… he’d just shooed me off. But... we’ve got to get him home though, for he’s in a bad way!”

“Of course,” said Tim, who had spotted something on the ground only a few feet away. He knelt down and picked up a small pistol. It smelled of freshly burned gunpowder, and it looked very familiar. In Martin’s house Tim had a wooden traveling chest full of valuables. This pistol looked like one of the pair that was supposed to be locked inside.

“We’d best bring it back,” said Sammy, gesturing to the weapon. “Likely that’s what... well... maybe...”

“Of course,” said Tim as he put the pistol into his own pocket – a leather pouch that hung from his belt. It was small enough to wiggle it in. “Here, you take hold,” he said as he put his hand under Martin’s arm, trying to avoid getting blood on his sleeve. 

As they lifted him, Martin struggled to get loose, saying, “Who’s... who’s that?”

“It’s just me, Tim Euston,” he replied, louder than necessary. “We’re going to get you back to the house now.”

“Easy now!” ordered Martin as they helped him to his feet. “Pete!” he shouted, swaying from side to side. “Careful now!”

“Pete ain’t here, sir,” said Sammy, loudly and clearly. “It’s just me and Master Euston – just Tim. Just the two of us.” He had started out calling Tim “Master Euston,” as would be fitting for a servant speaking to a guest of the family, but Tim had insisted on a more informal address. Sammy served in the militia, though only doing pick and shovel work. He had been sent home to help prepare for the evacuation a day after Tim had arrived. Then Martin returned the following day for the same purpose. That had started Tim wondering. Sammy’s wife Tillie, the cook, along with the hired girl, should have been enough to help Betty-May with all preparations. And too, they had himself, his mother and sister, and all the evacuees. Why send Sammy, and then Martin? It made no sense!

“Where’s Pete?” asked Martin as he looked about, again rubbing his eyes to clear them of blood. Now that he was up it was running down his neck. A cut to the scalp always bled a lot. “Where… Ben?”

“It’s just... just Tim and me,” stammered Sammy with a smirk on his face. “Pete… he’s up on the Bemis Heights with the Army. And Ben’s likely down a-working on the mill. And maybe Pete’s getting in on the fighting. You think? Do you think, maybe?”

What,is the matter with Sammy? wondered Tim. He sounds like he finds the situation amusing. And Sammy had been keeping his eyes down – sounding like a man with something to hide. Was he the jackass Martin had referred to? Had Sammy fired the shot? But why would he do such a thing? And there were the voices. And Sammy’s was not one of them. There must have been someone else over there. Had Sammy led his employer into an ambush? 

“Take care now,” said Sammy as Martin stumbled again. He was a big man and the two of them could barely keep him off the ground.

“Jackasses!” muttered Martin, who was struggling to get back on his feet. “Pete! In the name of… can you… where…”

“We… we’re just… we’re just gettin’ up to the house,” said Sammy. Martin struggled, cursing the men named Pete and Ben, as if he had heard nothing that Sammy or Tim had said.

It was only about two hundred paces to the house but by the time they were near it, Tim was sweating as much as Sammy. Martin had stumbled again and now, just short of the door, his strength gave out and they could only drag him. 

“Let him down,” said Tim, who was worried about his splinted arm. It was aching badly. Martin’s stumbling and struggling had jostled him about. 

Martin had only been on the ground for a moment when he made another effort to crawl, again talking to Pete and Ben as if he were dreaming and talking in his sleep.

“Martin?” came a voice from behind them. It was his wife, Betty-May, who had arrived in time to see her husband begin to make jerking motions. They were like the movements made by an animal that had just been slaughtered for butchering. “Martin?” she asked again as she knelt to touch him. “What’s happened to him,” she asked, looking up at Sammy and then to Tim. 

“He’s been shot, looks like,” Tim replied.

“No!” she whispered, shaking her head. Tim felt a pain in his chest as he looked at the expression on her face. She pulled her hand away from Martin, waved it slightly and then started making squeaking sounds that developed into sobs.

Abby, Tim’s mother, who had been working in the kitchen, came out to help but there was little that could be done. She put one hand on Martin’s head and another on Betty-May’s shoulder and said, “Oh dear.”

Between sobs, Betty-May was breathing rapidly and sounding frantic. Tim reached to touch her arm, not knowing what else to do. He just watched her as she looked back and forth. Though eight months pregnant she was a beauty.

Other women came out of the house, whispering questions to each other, their faces filled with horror. Martin’s movements were obviously those of a man in the throes of death. 

Tim backed away. Questions raced through his head. Why had the pistol been fired and then left behind? Was it a robbery gone wrong, or was this a planned killing? Why would anyone want Martin Maynes dead? Who was “that jackass”? And who had been arguing and cursing?

Chapter 3

Ask him to keep quiet.

“Come now dear,” said Abby, as she tugged gently on Betty-May’s arm. “We’ve got to carry him into the house now.” With assistance from the other women Betty-May was pulled away. 

“We’ll get you something to drink,” whispered another woman, who had a soothing compound. It was an expensive concoction she had bought from an apothecary in Albany. 

The others stayed by Martin while he continued to twitch. They would pull their eyes away, then look back again. Evacuees in the south pasture had heard Betty-May’s sobbing and were coming around both sides of the house. A white-haired man who walked with a cane pointed to a ladder and suggested they use it as a stretcher. They could carry the body into the house without making it look like they were lugging a sack. It was leaning against the house and was made of long sticks bound together with wooden nails and strips of bark. The old man gave orders in a solemn voice. They loaded Martin and carried him into the middle of the front room. Others had made a low table with stools and planks. While the body was being lifted on, the old man went to stop the clock that sat on the chest of drawers. This would allow the spirit of the deceased to move on to an existence without time. Abby whispered to him that it was broken so there was no need. Shutters were then closed to prevent the departed spirit from re-entering the corpse, and candles were lit as a reminder of his living faith and the promise of redemption. 

After the body was stripped and washed, the widow found a woolen sheet for a shroud to wrap it for the burial. A wake would last three days, so long as there was no evacuation. This would provide enough time for friends and family to come and give Martin a last kiss, as well as to ensure that he was truly dead before being buried. It would be a mournful time but not a lonely one. Friends and neighbors would attend, and if they could, they would bring food or flowers. It was too late for lilies that could symbolize the purity of the repentant, but asters or gentian were still in bloom. Someone would likely bring a branch of yew or boxwood for the door to remind visitors of the life eternal promised to believers. Likely everyone would bring a candle, to allow the two or three who stayed up through the night to play cards to pass the time. Burning candles would also help limit noxious odors. 

But preparations for the wake had hardly begun when they heard the dogs barking. A wagon was coming along the lane, carrying a load of wounded soldiers who waved as they sang a marching song.

“ ’Tis news of great victory!” shouted a young man who held onto the edge of the box of the wagon in a posture that showed he was struggling against weakness and pain. 

“Victory is ours!” called the old man who led the team of tired-looking horses that pulled the wagon. It would have taken at least six hours to make the trip from the front line.

“Hallelujah, for he hath blessed us with victory!” shouted another who had just got up from where he lay, showing where blood had soaked through the bandages around his head.

Huzzas, hoorays and patriotic slogans rose up from all sides as more people came out of the house, barn and tents in the pasture. They had been hearing the cannon fire, off and on for the whole day. Everyone had been anxious – some almost frantic – and now their thoughts could turn to the blessed news of victory. In no time the house was empty, except for a lonely corpse, its eyes pressed closed by the weight of copper coins.

“The enemy was on the move at dawn,” called the young man who had been the first to relay the news. He held both hands up to quiet the crowd so all could hear a carefully summarized version of events. “And their intentions were soon made clear,” he said in a softer voice but still loud enough to be heard all the way to the barn, “for their best units were sent out to greet us – grenadiers and light infantry. They were venturing deep into the woodland. They were sent to circle around to the west side of our fortifications upon the Bemis Heights. All knew it was our weakest side – the side where ramparts were still short and trenches still shallow. But that mattered not, for the fighting men of our militias and of our Northern Army – our Continental Army – they came out to meet them and to do battle. And battle they did,” the young man said, each phrase sounding even more like the words of a preacher in a church or a lawyer in a crowded courthouse. “They battled with as much courage and discipline as the soldiers of ancient times – of Caesar and Hannibal! And all through the heat of the afternoon the invaders sent their best against us – wave after wave – and bravely we stood to receive each charge! Then, when they fell back to reload, we, in turn, would charge to drive them back! And like this we held firm, and by this hour we have surely prevailed. There have been no riders coming along to warn of enemy advance. Bloodied and beaten our foe must be! We’ve won the battle and the cannons have fallen quiet. Yea, with despair on their faces they must now contemplate how little was gained, and at what great an expense! Indeed, we have seen on this day that the time is over when our colonial boys will turn and run. And we now know that the time is here when the soldiers of our land can stand and defeat any line of fancy-dressed redcoats. So... let us all raise up our hands and shout out a hip hip hooray for our victory!”

After the shouting was over the young man called upon an older soldier to say a prayer of thanks. Everybody bowed their heads. Even the little children who were pulled to their mother’s side and their heads pushed down. After the “Amen,” the talking resumed and everyone was smiling, laughing and wiping away tears of relief.

“What a day this has been,” said the white-haired man to Tim. “First we see a man die right in front of our eyes, and then we find ourselves all drunk with joy upon the hearing of such good news – and still we don’t know whether we stand next to the killer.”

“No we don’t,” said Tim as his smile faded.

“But I can’t blame myself or anyone else, for we’ve been tormented by our fears, haven’t we – the thoughts of enemy attackers overtaking us – stripping our women and taking our scalps. And think of those from up north. For months now they’ve had it all hanging over their heads.”

The British invaders had been held back by bad roads, heavy rains and now a battlefield reversal. But no one was convinced they could be held back forever. All knew that the further the invaders from England came south, the less wild was the country and the more likely they could pick up speed. Their commander, General John Burgoyne, could decide at any time to make a push against a rebel army that was neither as well trained nor as well equipped. But this news – this remarkable news – that had been delivered with such eloquence by so young a soldier, meant they all could stay where they were for at least one more night. It meant they would not be rushing around, carrying what little could be taken, burning what had to be left, and spending a long and exhausting night walking south to escape an angry and vengeful enemy.

“Dan Eliot,” said Tim to the young soldier who had delivered the speech. “What fine oratory you can display when you take a mind to it. Has the Army taught you so much so fast?” Four days before, Dan had arrived at the outskirts of the Bemis Heights encampment with Tim and his family. He had been sworn in as a soldier but, like most privates, he was still in his ordinary clothes. Money was scarce for the American Army and he might not get a uniform for months. “And what are you doing back so soon?” asked Tim.

“I’m wounded!” Dan bragged. “Wounded in battle! Imagine that! A battle-scarred veteran, I am!”

“How’d you get in on the fighting?”

“I showed them what I had to offer,” Dan replied, sounding like he still could not believe his luck. “I told my sergeant that basic training would not be necessary, because I was already better trained than any. He challenged me to demonstrate the drills and I did all he asked for. He posed questions that would have stumped many a man who’d been marching for months, and I answered near to every one of them.” Like many in the army and militia, Dan had learned about soldiering by studying the manuals written for British officers. As well, he and Tim had sought out the wisdom of veterans of the fighting against the French and Indians that had ended fourteen years before. 

“Did you truly drive them back?” asked a young woman named Jane who had come up and taken hold of Tim’s arm. She was the younger of Martin’s two sisters, and they had arrived with the boys two days before. They had been evacuated from their homes to the north and they had heard about Dan from both Tim and Martin. She had been wiping away tears over the loss of her brother but now she could not keep herself from smiling.

“Off the field and into the woods, we did,” said Dan. “I have not exaggerated by one word. ’Twas a victory, pure and simple. With a little luck it might have been a rout.”

“This is our friend Dan Eliot,” said Tim.

“I had assumed as much,” said Jane, “from what my brother told me. But why are you back here? You’ve not been wounded too, have you?”

“I fear I have,” said Dan, sounding like he was apologizing. “It’s nothing though, cracked ribs only. I told the surgeon I was well, but… when he poked them I let a little yelp slip out and… well, he then ordered me onto the wagon with the rest of them. I begged him to let me stay and fight but he just turned away. And then a sergeant ordered me to climb on. I had to obey. I’m a soldier now – pledged to obey all lawful orders, so... I’d no choice.”

“Of course you’d no choice,” scolded Jane. “A broken rib hurts awfully.”

“Three broken ribs, actually,” said Dan with a modest shrug.

“Three!” gasped Jane. “Why you poor poor man! You should be sitting down!”

“No no, and they’re just cracked. He said I’ll just have to take it easy and they’ll heal themselves.”

“Of course, you’ll take it easy!” said Betty-May who had come to listen. Even she could not help but be buoyed up by the news. Her eyes were red from crying but Tim felt that it only made her more beautiful. “You should come inside and sit yourself down and have yourself a drink of something, both of you.”

“Oh, come now,” said Dan. “We’ve a wagonload of men far worse off than me and likely more wagons to come. You’re to have a hospital here. Martin offered it. Yes, a good and godly man he is for sure, and all will hear that…” He hesitated when he saw Betty-May’s lips start to quiver before she could cover them with her hands. Jane dropped Tim’s arm, took hold of Betty-May’s, whispered, “Come along now,” and lead her back into the house.

“What is it?” Dan asked Tim.

“It’s Martin, he’s dead,” he replied quietly, pulling Dan aside to tell him about it. “And the wound that killed him is likely the graze of a pistol ball, and... the pistol looks to be one of yours.”

“Mine?”

“It sure looks like it,” said Tim with a nervous glance to the side. People around them were still telling stories and asking questions. Likely no one else could hear him. “I’ve not looked yet,” he said quietly. “There’s been no time. There was all the preparations for the wake, and then you arrived.”

“There’s time now,” said Dan as he took off his hat and scratched his curly blonde hair. He was not a fat man but had the sort of pudgy cheeks that made him attractive in a boyish, almost comical way. They went inside the Maynes farmhouse and could hear women’s voices in the kitchen. The house had a large front room with a door to a bedroom for the master and mistress. The main structure had been built onto a shanty that was now the kitchen and pantry at the back. They did not see Jane and Betty-May in the kitchen so they must have gone into the bedroom. Once in the storage room, Tim looked up to where he could see his traveling chest, on the top shelf. It was not big – about one and a half feet by two, and a foot deep.

“This is the one that I found right next to where Martin was crawling on the ground,” said Tim as he pulled the pistol out of his pocket. “It’d just been fired. It smelled of powder. It was north of here, beyond the new field, by the path going down to the mill. It was in a bit of a clearing.” He dug deeper into his pocket and separated a key from some coins. Dan lifted the chest down and Tim opened it slowly, as if in fear of what it might contain. It was mostly clothing and tools but on top was a small wooden box with hinges and a hasp. After a pause, he opened it. It was empty. Pistols, powder, balls and flints were gone. Tim and Dan stood there, staring at the box.

“I should have kept them with me,” muttered Dan in a frustrated voice. He knew that with wartime prices the set of pistols could likely sell for five pounds. He had spent the previous summer and fall at sea as an able seaman, and had only saved ten pounds. “I should have sold them as soon as I got them, for whatever I could get!”

“But who could have foreseen this?” said Tim as he put the empty box back, relocked the chest and put up in its place. They turned and went back to the kitchen.

“What’s wrong,” asked Abby, Tim’s mother, who met them coming out. 

Tim explained it all to her, and then said, “Maybe Sammy’s not thought to tell anybody about it. Maybe I could ask him to keep quiet about it and...”

“No you won’t!” said Abby. “Even if he hasn’t, and even if he would agree to keep a secret, he might still let it slip out. And then you’d have to admit you’d withheld evidence.” 

“I suppose,” said Tim with a shrug. “I’d have told them already but… I didn’t want to start talking about that... what with Betty-May and all else. But how’s it going to look? People know we’ve got pistols. Dan’s been trying to sell them. I was the one with the key. And it’s only Sammy’s word that...”

“The little boys were there with you the whole time, weren’t they?” asked Abby. “No one will doubt their word. And there’s more than one who might have got into your chest. It wouldn’t be a hard lock to pick, not for a man who knew how. Or a woman.”

“I suppose not.”

“Tell the brothers-in-law about it right now,” said Abby with a gesture toward two men whose voices came from the front room. They had arrived the day before with the other evacuees and were at work on the new mill. It was a project they had started before being called back for active service in their militia unit. Martin already had a sawmill, and he had hired them to build a gristmill, next to it, that would use water from the same pond. “Go,” said Abby, giving Tim a gentle push.

“Yes, I should,” said Tim and he went to them, looking like a boy who expected a scolding. As soon as he came through the door Ben, the older brother-in-law, turned to give him a look. Tim knew what their first question would be. How had Dan’s pistol become involved in what appeared to be the deliberate killing of an honest man?

Chapter 4

We have to suspect everyone.

“Ah, Tim,” said Ben quietly, “it is truly most unfortunate that fate has placed you here, to be forced to witness so woeful and untimely an event.” Ben had changed into his Sunday best and, for a small farmer, he seemed unusually comfortable in elegant clothing. In a green coat, brown breeches and a modest piece of lace at his throat he looked like a merchant from the city.

“Well,” said Tim with a shrug, “I am aiming to join the Army, so I’ll have to get used to a lot worse.”

“So true, so true, but enough with gloom and doom. Everyone’s been talking about how you’re a hero already – the savior of a little child. And the daughter of a colonel, no less.”

“Yes, well…”

 “Is that not the best kind of hero to be?” said Jane’s husband, James. “You’ll be so admired by all the young maidens, and by their mothers too.” His suit of clothes was even better tailored than Ben’s. At twenty-two, he was eight years younger than Ben, but several inches taller.

“She might have been safe without me,” said Tim, with a humble shrug, “and… here I am now, useless for soldiering.”

“Oh, but better a broken arm than a missing arm,” chuckled Ben. But then in a voice that said the time for small talk was over, he asked, “Who do you suppose held the pistol in her… in his hand?” 

“I’ve no idea,” Tim replied after a hesitation, wondering why Ben had started to say ‘in her’, when it was surely only a man who would do such a thing. “We… we found Martin alone and on his hands and knees.”

“You and Sammy.”

“He found him wounded when he was coming up from the mill. He sent the boys back and took me to him. There was a pistol there on the ground and… it’s likely one of the pair that I’ve been keeping in my chest, here in the pantry. Keeping them for my friend Dan Eliot, here.”

“And it was locked too,” said Dan. “Though it’s not that good a lock – a padlock only.”

“It was then,” said Ben with a nod, as if talking to himself. “Sammy mentioned that you’d found a pistol. And that it smelled of just being fired.”

“It did,” said Tim, while wondering why Ben had started by saying “It was then.” 

“Sammy says he’d… heard the shot.”

“Yes,” said Tim, “and we did too, out in the field. I’d wondered whether it was a pistol, though it might have been a carbine too. I didn’t think it was a musket. Though it’s not that easy to tell, is it?”

“No, it wouldn’t be. Not with it echoing through tall trees.”

“And they’d been… been...” Tim stammered. He realized that when Ben had started with, “It was then,” he could have been intending to say, “It was one of the pair then.” Ben had likely heard that Dan had been trying to sell a pair of pistols. But, Tim asked himself, how could he have suspected that they’d been here, locked away, when Dan was off at camp? Have Dan or my mother or my sister mentioned them?Have I talked about them myself? I can’t ask him, for I’d sound like I was suspecting him of having picked my lock.

“They’d been what?” asked Ben, startling Tim out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“You were talking about the pistols.”

“Oh! Yes. They’d been here in the pantry, in my chest on the top shelf. I’d not shown them to anyone but...” 

“It was likely a tory,” said Ben with a nod. “The enemy within – one of our own neighbors, plotting with the redcoats. There’s been enough of them around the countryside. We’ve driven them out – the incorrigibles – but there’ll always those who kept their thoughts to themselves. And now, with Burgoyne so near, they’ll be looking to gain an advantage.”

“But there were the voices,” said Tim. “There were words spoken in anger. Sammy told you that, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but tories can argue,” said Ben with a patient smile. “And they don’t wear a blue ribbon on their hats, do they? It could have been a man who’s thinking Burgoyne will surely break through, and is wanting to gain a debt of gratitude from the conquering power. It could have been a man that Martin has known for many a year. A neighbor – a friend.”

“A brother-in-law,” joked James. “Or…” he said, pointing to Tim, “perhaps a newcomer from New Jersey? Oh… but no, that can’t be. We can all provide a solid alibi, as a lawyer would say it, can’t we? You’ve got Sammy to vouch for you and we’ve got each other. Yes, there’s any number who could have gotten into your chest. Betty-May’s let everybody keep their valuables in there and they’ve been coming and going whenever they’ve wanted something. There’s… what, eight families out camping there with you? And I suspect I could pick that lock with a bent wire.”

 “Could you!” asked Ben, with a look of mock suspicion. “Well well, James. You’re our prime suspect then, aren’t you?”

“What a thing to say!” said James as he pressed his hand to his heart. “Shoot the messenger, will you?”

“My goodness gracious, that must be it!” said Ben as he stepped back pointing at James, pretending to be shocked. “You shot the poor man because he was a messenger.” Ben then glanced around to see if Betty-May had come into the room. Fortunately, she had not. “But no, you couldn’t have. You were with me the whole time.”

“No, not the whole time,” said James, with his head tilted back and his eyes half closed. “I’d gone to cut another brace, hadn’t I, to brace the rafter? And you could have snuck off and did the deed while I was hard at work, hacking at a branch with my trusty hatchet. Admit it, my cousin, you could have. We neither of us can prove an alibi, no more than my lovely Jane, or our dearest Betty-May, or her sturdy servant Sammy. And Tim, here, has none but children to vouch for him and, though they’re the essence of innocence, they are naught but children. And too, they were carelessly at play. There may be two of them but they add up to half the testimony we’d need – and at best.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be making light of all this,” chuckled Ben with a look to Tim and Dan. “It’s not the time for battlefield humor.”

“No,” Tim agreed. “But you’re right about the padlock and all who’ve been in and out of the pantry. It’s been four days now that we’ve been here. There’s a number who could have been into it. Those pistols could have been stolen, sold and resold, couldn’t they? And too, a secret tory from among the refugees could have left it there deliberately, just to throw us off the track. And isn’t it odd that it was left behind, where we’d found him? A pistol’s worth plenty. I’d have to chop wood for a whole winter to save up enough for a set like that – saving every penny I could. And too, isn’t it odd that the thief didn’t take the box they’d come in?”

“No, not at all,” said James, “for he’d have to hide it under his clothing, wouldn’t he, to get it out of the house.”

“Or her clothing,” said Tim. “And it’s odd too that Martin’s pocket and shoes were gone and the pistol left behind. Though, I suppose me and Sammy could have scared them off.”

“Them?” asked Ben.

 “It sort of sounded like there was more than two who were arguing,” said Tim as he shook his head. “It was just loud whispers, really, so it’s hard to tell. And before he’d gone off, Martin had said ‘What does that Jackass want’. And that makes it sound like it was a man. But I didn’t see anybody. I had my mind on the boys. I couldn’t make out a word except for curse words, and that doesn’t tell anything.”

“Curse words?” asked James.

“Well… words spoken in anger for sure, at least.”

“That’s what Sammy told us too,” said Ben as he turned toward Jane, who had come in from the kitchen. Behind her they could see Betty-May saying something to the cook.

“Sammy told you everything?” asked Jane in an impatient voice. She had changed into darker and more somber clothing and looked as elegant as her husband.

“Poor Sammy,” sighed Ben. “He told us as much as he could, and that wasn’t much. It was likely a tory and…”

“We hope it was a tory,” muttered Jane. “And we’re hoping Sammy told all he could.”

“I can’t imagine Sammy withholding information,” said Ben with a smile. “He’s Sammy, after all. And you, did you see anyone about?”

“Not out that way,” said Jane with a glance to Tim that made him wonder if she suspected him. “I’d been in the kitchen, then out to the garden and back. Betty-May had gone to ask you how soon you wanted supper. I hadn’t noticed her back until Sammy, and Tim here, were coming back with Martin. He’d blood all over him and was stumbling like he was drunk. That’s when I saw her back again. It was only later that she said she’d heard someone arguing or cursing. And we’d all heard the shot.”

“So you’ve no ideas at all then?” asked James, again smiling.

“It was a tory, no doubt,” she said, cooly. “Though they say that most of… of that sort of thing… is committed by someone near and dear… by a family member.”

“Yes, they do,” agreed Ben, “but…”

“But,” said Jane, now sounding angry, “if we ever want to know who did it we’ll have to do more than say it was probably a tory, won’t we?”

“Of course,” nodded Ben, who looked like he was worried that too much was being said.

“And that means,” said Jane, loud enough to be heard across the room, “that even the new widow shouldn’t be ruled out.” She then turned to see who might have heard her. Betty-May stood at the kitchen door, her eyes wide with shock. For a moment she seemed to be fighting for breath and then turned to rush out the back door.

“Well well,” sighed Ben as he shook his head. 

Jane turned around with a dramatic gesture, whispering, “Well, it’s true! We have to suspect everyone, don’t we? Isn’t that what the judges always say?” 

“It is,” replied Ben, “but not every suspect is a perpetrator. Now I think you’d best go beg your sister-in-law’s forgiveness and say that only sorrow could have driven you to say such a thing. Sorrow that has driven you to the brink of madness.”

“Why…”

“Do it now!” demanded James, in a tone intended to remind her that she was his wife and subject to his orders. “She’s family and that means we’re all obliged to remain on good terms – us in particular. Now you go beg like… like you’ve never begged before!” 

“Yes husband,” she replied, “as you wish.” She turned and went into the kitchen, asking where Betty-May had gone.

“I didn’t marry her for the profundity of her judgment,” joked James. After a long pause he sighed and said, “Who’s that I hear?” He turned to go out by the front door. 

Ben shook his head, waited a moment, and said, “Our magistrate lives not far from here, but he’s not been well. He’s a substitute for a heartier fellow who’s now active with the militia. I’ll report to him first thing in the morning. No doubt he’ll say that the official investigation will come under military authority, Martin being active with the militia, and this being an Army hospital. Hopefully they can spare someone sooner, rather than later. Everything will have to be visible and above reproach, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well! Perhaps we ought to go out and offer to help with the wounded.” 

Tim followed Ben, saying nothing but still wondering what sort of hatred could have inspired Jane to say such a thing to Betty-May – to someone in so vulnerable a condition. 

Would pioneers on the edge of the wilderness be familiar with the language of lawyers and judges – words like alibi, suspect and perpetrator? Yes, they would. With few sources of news and entertainment, the courts, held at Albany, would have been heavily attended. What people heard from judges and lawyers would be popular topics of conversation, and legal jargon worked its way into everyday speech.

What would eighteenth century cursing be like? Offensive language at this time usually involved the taking of the name of the Lord in vain (the third commandment). “In vain” means for no suitable purpose, such as prayer or religious ritual. An example is “God” in “May God damn thee to hell,” when the speaker does not actually have God on his mind. Cursing in public was illegal and could result in a fine equaling a day’s pay. This had led to legal substitutes like gad, darn or heck. Sexual vulgarities came into style gradually over the following century, possibly in defiance of the growing rigor of the moral reform movement. They only gained popularity among educated men during the First World War.

Chapter 5

It hardly hurt at all.

“It’s what Jane said that probably brought on her pains but… it was that on top of all else too,” said Sadie, Tim’s little sister. They looked alike, with sandy blonde hair that was almost always tied back. Hers hidden under a cap. They would often strike similar poses, and moved their hands the same way while talking, especially when excited. “The poor babe will be a month early, if it comes. That’s what the midwife thinks. She’s here with the evacuees, and it’s a lucky thing too, because the midwife from hereabouts has already gone south. She says it’ll be a small one, and that that’ll be better for a first, and especially for a mother with her slim hips. But still… it’ll be Jane’s fault if both she or the babe end up dead.”

“James sent her out to beg her forgiveness,” said Tim. “Right away, he did. Though I don’t think it could have helped much. You should have seen the look on Betty-May’s face when she heard her say it.”

“Yea, the words had still been spoken,” said Dan, sounding like a preacher again. The three of them were coming up from the barn, which was quickly being transformed into a hospital. What they had seen had left them shaken. They had wanted to help but the surgeon said they had enough. Another wagon full of wounded had just been unloaded. Half could walk and the rest were carried. Some had not survived the ride and were being placed under sheets by the fence. From inside the barn, they heard a wounded man cursing his pain as he was helped off a stretcher and onto a bed of straw. From the house, every few minutes, they would hear Betty-May cry out in pain. This had been going on for over an hour. Martin’s big mastiff was at the end of his rope, waiting for them as they came to the house.

“Oh, you poor beast,” said Sadie as she went over to give him a pat. “You look more troubled than any of us.” He was normally as stern as any guard dog, but now he leaned his cheek against her leg as if in need of reassurance. Sadie had been giving him scraps since she had arrived and he had grown fond of her.

“Did you see Jane while she was begging?” asked Tim as he crouched to help reassure the dog. The other mastiff saw this and tried to come over. They were tied at either end of the house to keep their ropes from getting wound round each other.

“No,” replied Sadie, “I was trying to help with the wounded. But Mom saw them and she said Jane was pleading and crying as well as any woman could, but.... Well, it can’t help but help, I suppose.”

“Hopefully, she sounded like she meant it.”

“Betty-Mae might forgive her,” said Dan, who had gone over to the other dog and was rubbing him behind his ear. “On a day like this, with cannon fire and her brother dead and the wounded arriving by the wagonload – and that on top of being amongst the evacuees and knowing her husband will soon be heading back up to the front, and this time to fight maybe? That ought to be enough to drive any woman crazy. Just seeing all these wounded coming in with their bloody dressings would be enough for some. And half of them being prisoners with bags tied over their heads. It ain’t no place for a woman.”

“No place for a dog either,” said Sadie as she looked into its big brown eyes, “but… Betty-May can forgive all she wants but she can’t forget, can she?”

“I suppose not,” replied Dan. “But likely she’ll go back and forth, forgiving her one day and then hating her the next. A fellow told me she’s a moody sort to start with. And too, she must know that the enemy will maybe drive us back, and the thought of giving birth on a wagon must weigh upon her. And any woman will fear death in childbirth, and will be thinking of her place in the hereafter. That means she’ll likely feel obliged to forgive. At least temporarily.”

“The enemy will ‘maybe’ drive you back?” asked Sadie. “I thought you’d driven them back.”

“We had, but they could still make another try at it. Maybe they were just ‘probing our defenses’, as they say. But if they do break through, our side will be sending riders well ahead, crying out the news. We’ll know within minutes, and that’ll give us hours to get moving and keeping ahead of them. An army doesn’t travel any faster than its slowest ox-driven wagon, does it? Not even that – maybe ten miles a day at best. But… I suppose they could send raiders ahead, and...”

“How’d you get your ribs broken?” interrupted Sadie. She did not want to hear any more speculation about an enemy breakthrough. 

“Oh, it didn’t take much,” said Dan with a modest shrug. “This morning before dawn we were called out – our company. I was in with trained and battle-ready soldiers. I’d been telling the boys about how we’d hired that old fellow to drill us and about how we’d studied the manuals and peppered each other with questions ‘till we knew it all backwards and forwards. And then I just persuaded the sergeant. So we were lined up and marched out to where we could stand in the shade of some big trees. For hours we waited but even with the shade we were sweatin’. Once it started we could hear all the shouting and shooting but we didn’t know what was what or who was shooting at who. What a time that was! You want to drive a man crazy, then that’s the way to do it!”

“Did they keep you standing in rows?”

“No no no, they let us sit, and you could lie down if you wanted, just so long as we all stayed close to our sergeant. And he was always having to let somebody take a trip into the underbrush, and more than once or twice for some. Then all of the sudden an officer in a fancy uniform rides up – sword in the air. Looking fine as anything, he was. He was calling for volunteers to assist General Poor. And you should have heard him. It sent shivers up my spine. Well, I didn’t know what was happening but everybody started volunteering so I had my hand up too and… well, nobody told me I couldn’t go. I was handed a spear and then we got lined up in ranks and files and we were ready to march. But then, all of the sudden, a corporal came and trades me a musket for my spear. Imagine that! Four days in the Army and I’m already carrying a musket into battle! But like I said, I wasn’t complaining! So then we marched out, me with my musket. And then we stopped and we waited. And then we marched again, and then we were told to stop and wait again. Then finally a man tells me what’s happening. He said the man who’d rode up was none other than General Benedict Arnold.”

“Benedict Arnold!” gasped Tim, as his eyes grew wide. Everybody in the country had heard of the exploits of the man they called “America’s Hannibal.” Stories were told of his courage and charisma in the attack on Quebec, in the capture of Fort Ticonderoga, and in the previous summer’s effort to stop the British on Lake Champlain. It had made him the most admired fighting general in the land.

“Yea, ‘twas none other than the great man himself,” said Dan with a grin. “And the fellow I was talking to said he wondered whether Arnold truly had authority to do it – to ask for volunteers. Word was, he and old Granny Gates weren’t getting along, what with Arnold being too willing to speak his mind. That’s his great weakness, they say – speaking his mind with no care as to what anybody thinks. The fellow said he wouldn’t be surprised if Gates hadn’t never given him permission to do any such thing, because it wouldn’t be like him to do so. But since Gates wouldn’t know about it until later, then… well. It’s the conditions faced in the field that matters most, isn’t it? And too, the fellow said that I likely got given a musket because I looked more eager than scared. Ha! Isn’t that the limit? The courage of a fool, I suppose you’d call it. But they don’t call me ‘Dan Idiot’ because of my sober and steady ways, do they?”

“No, they certainly do not,” agreed Sadie.

“But still,” continued Dan, “it was a sound decision because when we were marched out onto the field before the enemy, I was walking tall and brave – as much as any man there. And when our major – a man named Hull – William Hull – when he got us formed up on a little rise at the south end of the field – when he formed us into a line. Well, then the redcoats started for us at a walk. No sense in them running. It’d just tire them out. They say that when two lines of soldiers fire at each other, most all of them will still be left standing. Soldiers in battle aren’t famous for their aiming ability. They’re all too scared to shoot straight. The officers will always be telling them to aim low, but they’ll still yank on the trigger and the ball will go high. So they’ll keep the line at a walk so they’ll still be fresh for the hand-to-hand fighting that comes after the balls are all fired. And that won’t be a fine display of skill either, for you’ll be too scared to remember the tricks of how to fight with a bayonet or even how to wrestle. All you’re training will be forgotten and you’ll all be fighting like a bunch of… what?”

“A bunch of boys,” chuckled Tim.

“Indeed,” said Dan with a smile. “So anyways, the redcoats were coming for us, stepping over the logs and stumps. Then, when they’re maybe fifty paces away, we got the order to fire. Well, I point at the line and I go to pull the trigger – and then nothing happens! My finger’s frozen in place! But then I make a big effort and finally it fires.”

“Did you hit anybody?”

“Everybody else had already fired and all I could see was smoke, so who knows? I’d aimed in the right direction though. But then we got told to fix bayonets and I’m a-fumbling around like… well. But I gets it in place just as we’re getting the order to charge, and didn’t that just send a tickle up my spine to hear it! I charged along with the rest of them, but the field was… it was a cornfield but there were still stumps and logs left from clearing it. So we were having to try to see them through the smoke, and we were having to climb over logs and stumps with balls whistling by! You ever heard a ball fly right past your head? A ball that was meant for you? Well! It gives you a feeling in your guts like you never felt before! But we were charging as best we could and didn’t we just chase them back to the woods where they came from! And then we get the call to come back. We weren’t turning to run, we were just retreating to reform our lines and to reload – a strategic retreat, they call it,” he explained to Sadie. 

“Yes, I know that,” she said, annoyed by his tone. He was aware she had read the same manuals as he and Tim.

“So then we were going back, and I still had my musket in hand, and I was going to be ready to charge again, once I’d reloaded and… well… when on my way back somebody grabs hold of my ankle and brings me down. And then before I could get up, another soldier – one of our own – he stumbles on top of me! All of a great fat man’s weight came down on his knee, smashing into my ribs. Well! Above all the noise of battle I heard the three cracks. Or I could feel them. It was a bit of both, but I can tell you it makes your flesh crawl to hear the sound of it.”

“Could you get up?” asked Sadie.

“Oh sure, it hardly hurt at all. It didn’t hurt at all! It felt sort of strange but I still got right back up and was about to continue on when the big fellow tells me to help me with him – the redcoat who’d grabbed my ankle. And he grabbed his too! That’s why he tripped and fell on me. We each took an arm and hooked them over a shoulder to drag him along, though he was cussing and squirming all the way – trying to hop along on his good leg. We practically had to carry him. But I didn’t mind the effort, for I was glad to have him for a prisoner. And he kept on struggling to make it harder for us. Feisty little cuss, he was! And not that little either. I suppose his broke leg must have hurt. It was flopping around like a dog’s ear. He’s here with us, out in the barn – he came back on the same wagon. He’ll likely not live though. His leg bone is all smashed by a ball and they’ll surely have to cut it off and odds are he’ll die.”

“You were both on the same wagon?” asked Tim.

“That was after the surgeon poked me in the back and found the broken ribs, so though I was too wounded to fight, I was still told to carry a prisoner. And a smart-alec, too. First we’d took him to the hospital to get the leg off. Then I got another man to help and we got a stretcher and we put him on the wagon. Then I hopped on myself. He told me he’d put a tourniquet on himself. He said he’d been so vexed, just lying there with his leg ready to fall off! He said he’d grabbed onto my foot to get revenge. And he said that I was just lucky he’d lost his knife because he would’ve finished me off! Laughed at me while he said it too! A fine way for a prisoner of war to act, isn’t it? Cocky as a bantam rooster, he was!”

“Like you, then?” joked Tim.

“And,” continued Dan, ignoring him, “he said it’d suit him fine to be a prisoner of war because the State of New York is offering the prisoners more land than they’re offering their own soldiers. We told him that wasn’t true but he said that Burgoyne’s got so many spies they know our business better than we do! You couldn’t shut him up! Leg cut off and still he’s a-talking – all the way here he was yapping like a lap dog. Go out to the barn now and I bet you’ll still hear him!”

“Oh, I know who you’re talking about!” laughed Sadie.

“Black hair? Dimple in his chin deep as the crack of his butt end?”

“Oh, but handsome though!” she said to Tim, just to annoy Dan. “All the women are coming out to take a look at him!”

“They are not!” sneered Dan.

“How would you know?” Sadie asked Dan. “You haven’t stopped talking long enough to look around.”

“I have… you… you don’t…”

“He’d been still outside,” said Sadie to Tim with her hand held up to half cover her mouth, as if to prevent Dan from hearing. “He told me he’s from the border country of Scotland. He’s been in with the regulars since he was thirteen and he used to be a drummer boy, and that meant he was the whipper-man too – and a hangman! He said he’d be ordered to do the whipping and that he was liable to be whipped himself if he refused – whipped even if he didn’t lay them on hard enough! He said sometimes a man will die of the whipping! He says that by all his whipping and hanging he’s killed so many redcoats that the State of New York is sure to give him a square mile of good land out west.”

“What’s he going to do with land?” muttered Dan, “when he’s a-walking on a peg leg?”

“He says he’ll go out to German Flatts and marry a big strong Fraulein, and she and her mother will drive the oxen while he’s back at the house doing the cooking.”

“That’s if he doesn’t still die,” said Dan.

“Tim!” said Sadie as her eyes opened wide. “Maybe me and Mom ought to get him before somebody else does! Peg-leg or not, I’ll never do better than a square mile of prime bottom land!”

“She’s right,” said Tim to Dan.

“Well then,” snorted Dan while shaking his head, “you’d better get him quick while he’s still single.”

What Sadie said about the duties of a drummer-boy is factual. General Benedict Arnold (age thirty-six) actually did ride up to a picket guard of the 8th Massachusetts and call for volunteers. His status as a hero, especially to New Englanders, is not exaggerated. The fighting Dan refers to is the First Battle of Freeman’s Farm, where the British failed in their objective and were quickly running out of supplies. Major William Hull (age twenty-four) led his men in several efforts to retake the field and drive the British back, and by dusk half of his three hundred volunteers were wounded or dead.

Chapter 6

Don’t you go telling anybody.

“How many women have you got in there now?” asked Dan when he saw Abby coming out of the house.

“Oh, a dozen maybe. But that’s not many at all for a birthing,” she said as she continued toward the barn, carrying a small cauldron full of hot soup. One of the evacuees had butchered a goat and it was being stewed up with carrots, onions and potatoes.

“And you’re all crowded around to stare at her private parts?”

“No!” Abby laughed. “That’s left to the midwife and to the girl she’s training. But the rest of us are there for the very important task of lending support to the poor thing. And it is a great support too – it’s a reassurance for a woman to know she’ll always have friends who will help when she and her children are in need. You can’t always depend on family, can you? It’s a great comfort and a birthing is when a woman needs it most, for when you’re in labor you can go from joy to sorrow in a minute. It’s like if… if you were on your deathbed, you wouldn’t want to die alone, would you? If you were…”

“I wouldn’t?” said Dan. “I’d want to do my grunting and gurgling while surrounded by a flock of vultures?”

“Oh! Don’t be such a… And that’s not the only reason we come together. We all want to be there for it’s… it’s just such a… a tonic to be there to witness the… I don’t know. It’s a time of great importance. It reminds us of why we’ve all been put on this earth. It’s the celebration of the renewal of life.”

“It’s a religious devotion then? Here, let me carry this,” Dan said as he pointed to the cauldron. 

“We do do a lot of praying,” she said as she sat it on the ground and handed him the rag she was using to protect herself from the hot metal.

“Well you ought to, with a corpse sitting there right in the middle of the room.”

“No it’s not! It’s out in the barn with you men,” she said pointing. “Didn’t you see them carrying it across? The coins kept sliding off his eyes, poor fellow. The midwife insisted that he be taken out. And there were some who were… well… they didn’t think it proper respect for the dead to send his earthly remains out to a barn. But she said it’s not a barn anymore, now that it’s a hospital. And too, she said you can’t mix a wake and a birthing, for who knows what otherworldly influence might threaten the poor babe. And then she asked them whether a barn hadn’t been good enough for the birth of our Lord Jesus. So they sat there for a while to ponder this and then one of them said we should take Betty-May out to the barn, and send the hospital into the house because a barn’s too good for the soldiers but just right for a birthing. And then the midwife said that anyways, it wouldn’t be proper respect for Martin to be kept in with us – not in a room full of women talking and laughing. And not with poor Betty-May in her torment. And too, a birthing’s not a time for… moping and crying and… well, they don’t mix. It’s to be a time of joy, isn’t it?”

“If it’s so joyful,” asked Dan as they came to a stop when close to the barn, “then why did you volunteer to carry the soup out to the barn? Did they force the task upon you?”

“No, I’d just had enough of listening to women. It’s not easy to have a birthing on the day the babe’s father was killed, and while there’s soldiers dying outside the door, and while there’s a battle that’s just been fought a half-day’s walk away. It’s enough to unsettle the mind. And besides, I’ve got to make myself look useful, don’t I? A toothless old woman like me ought to be…”

“Oh come now,” laughed Dan as he placed a tender hand on her arm, “don’t go calling yourself old. You’re thirty-six, only. You should be looking to find yourself a man. At your age you could still start yourself another family. Another two babes you could bear, easy.”

“Oh, could I!”

“Ten, if the two of you set your mind to it.”

“Well! Maybe that’s what’s luring me out here. I’ll comfort the suffering and by doing so I’ll show what a good nurse I can be, and how valuable I’d be to a rich old man who’s starting to fail. Are there any smartly-dressed old officers in there?”

“There’s the chaplain but I think he said he’s got a wife. He didn’t say she was healthy though, so who knows? I wouldn’t imagine any others have money, though. But maybe one of them has a father but lacks a mother. Or an uncle without an aunt.”

“You never know then,” sighed Abby. “Maybe I could hook me a big fish. And for the short term I might find work for me and my poor daughter.” She said this as they stepped back to allow two men past. They were carrying a body out of the barn and toward the graveyard. The corpse had been stripped of its clothing and wrapped in cloth. The clothing would go to another soldier. The militias were well enough dressed but many of the Continental troops had been is service for a long time and were down to rags. 

Earlier that day, soldiers had been in the new field, digging a long deep pit. A major in the militia was by it now, ensuring each body was treated with dignity, and reciting a funeral prayer for each. Wounded men still capable of walking stood by him with solemn faces, saying the more familiar parts with him.

“What news, Pete?” called Dan to the driver, a while later when the next wagon came down the lane. He was too restless to lie on a bed of straw in the barn, not with all the groaning and cursing, and especially the rattling gasps of men who were close to death. 

“They’re all the way back to where they started the day,” the private replied with pride in his voice. He had been with Martin on the day Tim and the others were invited to go to his farm. “These are all redcoats we’ve got on this load. The rest of them ran off leaving their dead and wounded behind.”

“And they’re all the way back where they started? Well well! Are they saying whether it was a serious effort to break out? Or whether they just taking a poke at us to see how loud we’d squeal?”

“Well,” said Pete with a smile, “a fellow I know says he overheard a couple of officers talking, and they said that they’d come at us in good numbers and… well, you were there. You know how good a go at it they were making. And… well, we’ve got their dead and wounded right here for evidence, don’t we? And deserters too.”

“We’ve got a lot to brag about, then.”

“Oh I’d say so,” nodded Pete. “A lot to be proud of. So then, they’ve talked Martin into providing for a hospital? Above all else. Have they got him helping with sawing off legs too?” 

“You didn’t hear? Martin’s dead.”

“Dead?” 

“He was found dead, by Tim and Sammy, just this afternoon, up that way a bit and into the woods. Looks like somebody shot him in the head with a pistol. Grazed him actually, but grazed him hard enough to kill. He didn’t last a half hour, they say.”

“Well!” said Pete, looking shocked. “Well, bless me! Who did it?”

“Nobody knows. A tory likely. But worse, for me at least, is that he was shot with a pistol that belonged to me.”

“The ones you’re trying to sell?” asked Pete, who had now forgotten about his load of prisoners. Another man took the rope and led the wagon to the barn.

“Was trying. A fine pair of pocket pistols, they were,” said Dan as they took themselves off to the side. “I’d won them in a card game a while back. They’d likely been stolen from a redcoat officer, down in the city.” He explained of where they’d been kept, and of where one had been found. “I guess I’m lucky, for if I’d arrived earlier I’d be under suspicion.”

“Well! Well bless my soul! This far from the front lines and a man’s still not safe.”

“But think of it. He’s lying out in a barn for three days, while dead soldiers are going straight to the grave as soon as the surgeon gives the nod.”

“Well…”

“And I’m wondering about something else,” said Dan quietly, after taking a look around to make sure no one else could overhear. “What do you know about his brothers-in-law?”

“James and Ben? Well… they’re first cousins and both have name of Jarvis. “They don’t look alike, though.” 

“No they don’t, but they look like their wives though, don’t they? James is all handsome and looking like gentry, just like Jane. And Ben’s looking like his Beatrice – both homely sorts. Folks will tease them about it.” 

 “But why are the two of them both here? Why are they working on the mill down in the gully? That puts them not two hundred paces from where Martin had been shot, and still they say they heard nothing.”

“They didn’t?”

“And each has only got the other to vouch for him. You suppose one of them might be the killer?”

“Well, I… no,” replied Pete. “I couldn’t see either of them killing him. No, I just…”

“And what are they doing here, anyway?”

“They were sent down to help with the hospital, and with the evacuation. They know the farm. They know the mistress… the widow… Betty-May.”

“But why them as well as Martin?” asked Dan with his finger pointed. “How many men do you need to help? They’ve got the evacuees here. They’ve got the wounded like me, who can still help out. And there’s Betty-May and Sammy and Tillie and the girl. How much help would she need?”

“But there’s the hospital here now, isn’t there? Martin had offered it before he came home. They need enough men to make sure it’s well provisioned. I don’t know. But I can’t see either of them out to kill his own kinfolk.”

“What about Sammy?”

“Oh, no, not Sammy. He’s timid as a mouse.”

“And how about Jane, or Betty-May? What are they like? Are they mild on the outside and murderous on the inside?”

“Oh no no no. Well… they say the both of them are… subject to moods as they call it. But still, they’re good people. I can’t see either going right out and… killing somebody.”

“Are they just subject to moods, or are they full-blown crazy?” asked Dan, after stopping to think. “Could they maybe be hearing voices?”

“Well… both of them… well… Well, let’s put in this way,” Pete said quietly. “It’s a good thing one’s so fine to look at, and the other’s so good a cook, for they’re… well, let’s just say they’re prone to moods.”

“How prone?”

“Now don’t you go telling anybody I’ve said this,” said Pete as he looked about. “This is second-hand gossip, and maybe I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Maybe it needs to be said. I don’t want poor Tim being blamed for it. And when there’s a killing it’s so often family that does the killing, isn’t it? And when it does happen, nobody will say they knew it was coming, will they? They’ll tell about how saintly the man was, and how they all they loved each other so much, and how they were all so true to the cause, and such strong supporters of their church.”

“Well… you have to say that. About the dead one, anyway. But still, maybe a killing will happen in a family of half-crazed drunkards but... but these were good people. Well… good enough.”

Chapter 7

The courage of a cornered cat.

“What’s the matter with you?” asked Sadie when she saw her brother by the barn door. Though the sky was dark, the light from the barn shone bright enough for her to see his expression. Inside, several lamps were burning for the surgeons.

“They’re all saying it was a great victory,” said Tim, his good hand in the air and his head shaking. 

“But that’s what we hope for, isn’t it?” she asked, with the deadpan humor she often used on him when she felt he was in need of it.

“Well! If it wasn’t for this broken arm, I’d have been there with Dan when Arnold came for volunteers, and I’d have…”

“And you might now be lying in that pit over there,” she said pointing. They could see where two lanterns were hanging from sticks while men continued digging. Two would swing picks and then climb out to rest while two others went to work with shovels. “Doesn’t being still alive ease your…”

“And there’s more militia coming in every day. There’s thousands coming in! They’ve got wagons going every which way, trying to find food enough for them all. We’ve got them surrounded by so many riflemen that they’ll likely never be able to advance or retreat anywhere and… and Burgoyne likely knows it too. He’ll have scouts going out looking, won’t he? They’re saying our men are shouting invitations across the lines for his scouts to come take the tour! I wouldn’t be surprised if Gates is having prisoners shown around, and then letting them escape back to tell the unhappy news. Today might have been the last battle to be fought. If Burgoyne and his whole Army are captured then… then the war might be over and… by the time I join up, there’ll just be… drill and guard duty and… I might never get to fight in a real battle, ever!”

“Some say it’s a risky pastime.”

“I might never even get to be sworn in! If the war’s over then they’ll not be wanting new recruits, will they?”

“There’ll always be another war,” sighed Sadie.

“A little war, and maybe in ten years, or maybe twenty. A war for… the securing of access to trade or… or to help out an ally who has a claim on some island. It’ll never be another war for a great cause – not for the liberty of our nation. There’s precious little glory in chasing pirates or helping two tribes of Indians fight a third. Is there?”

“They say Burgoyne might be getting help up from New York City. We can only hope.”

“Oh! Don’t say that!”

“Tim! You saved the life of a colonel’s daughter. Doesn’t that make you hero enough? When you’re that sort of a hero then at least women won’t fear you.”

“Fear me?”

“Old Liz Whiting said that after the last war was over, then the men who did the real fighting were feared. Not by her, she said, but by plenty of others. She said that the officers even advised them never to tell their stories of battle and raiding because it’ll just make women fear them – and a good many men too. She said that the heroes of the battles were the men who best learned how to kill, and got the best opportunities to practice their… skills.”

“Just because a man fights in a battle doesn’t mean he’ll be a murderer when he’s back home.”

“Maybe you and I know that,” Sadie said slowly, as if Tim was a slow learner, “but that won’t stop people from being afraid – women in particular.”

“Well… that’s just stupid!”

“Remember when Elijah Warren got drunk and beat his cousin to death. And he said afterward that he’d gone to sleep and had a nightmare, and that he thought he was fighting a French Indian.” Warren had been a neighbor when they were small. When Sadie was ten, she and Tim had gone to the Boston Common to watch him get hanged.

“You think I’m going to be another Elijah Warren? He was a crazy drunkard!”

“They say he started out a fine Christian man who wanted to defend his homeland. They say he never started drinking rum until the war. He always would dream of being back in the woods and being chased by Frenchmen and Indians – all painted up with war paint.”

“But that’s just him. There’s lots of heroes from the war who get respect.”

“From the boys they get respect. And the women respect them too, but half the time we’re still scared of them. And anyway, you should be praying that the war’s over and that there’ll be no more killing, and no more burning people’s houses, and shooting their cows.”

“I do pray for it to be over! I’d just like a chance, before it’s over, to march into battle for my King… for my country.”

“Tim Euston, did I hear you say ‘for my King’?”

“I was thinking about the last war.”

“You’d better be careful with what you say or they’ll be figuring you for a tory and you won’t be wearing a uniform until they’ve chased you all the way to Canada.”

“Everybody who knows me knows I’m a patriot good and true!”

“But everybody who knows you is a long ways away. Your friends from Boston haven’t seen you in nearly four years. And besides, you’re likely fretting for nothing. Some say the war will likely go on and on, until even you’re sick and tired of it. And too, the colonel whose daughter you saved told you to come straight to him when you’re fit and ready to join up. He might even make you an ensign and…”

“Oh, I don’t… I just…” stammered Tim. He looked away and sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. How’s Betty-May doing?”

“The pains keep coming. The midwife says she’s doing alright. It takes time.”

“I haven’t heard a peep out of her for an hour now.”

“Maybe she’s not as scared as she was,” said Sadie. “Some women don’t do any shouting at all. They say Indian women never do, and they say that it isn’t because they hurt any less. It just isn’t seen by them as fitting. They say the Indians live in dread of each other’s disapproval. They’re worse than the Methodists for fearing each other’s judgment – and especially during time of war. And they say that, no matter what your color, what makes a woman want to holler is more fear than pain. That’s what a midwife told me. She said it’s the same as with a man who’s getting a whipping. Some can’t help but holler like a hound, and some would rather bite off their tongue than let out a whimper. You remember old Jack Hooper? She said he claimed he stood for five hundred lashes and never made a peep. The proudest day of his life, she said it was.”

“Jack Hooper’s as crazy as Elijah Warren was. But this is a first birthing for Betty-May. She’s reason to be scared.”

“Yes and she might die, though she probably won’t. It’s like being a soldier at war, isn’t it? Except that we have to pay a dowry for the privilege of risking our lives, and you soldiers get paid a seventy-three and a third dollar signing bonus. All before you’ve done any work. I’ve never once earned a dollar for a whole day’s work.”

“Neither have I. And anyway, that’s the New Jersey bonus. It’s only fifty-three and a third for a Massachusetts regiment.”

“That makes all the difference then,” said Sadie as she looked away.

“There you are, Tim,” said Beatrice as she came to them pulling Solly and Bubble along with her. She was Ben Jarvis’s wife and mother to the boys. The moon was past full but still offering enough light for them to make their way around the yard. “Can these sleepy little fellows spend the night with you in your tent? They’d so like to and… well they can’t sleep in the house, can they?”

Tim looked at them. They had solemn, almost resentful looks on their faces, but when he said, “Oh, sure they can,” their faces lit up and they rushed to grab hold of his free hand. Tim scooped Bubble up to hold him on his hip.

“You suppose it was really so great a victory as they’re saying?” asked Beatrice. She had heard of other victories that had turned out to be less than what was first reported.

“Everybody’s saying the same,” replied Tim. “They attacked and we stood and fought and they’re back where they started, and that make’s it a great victory. Martin’s friend Pete says so, and he wouldn’t have left until late in the day. He said we stood and faced their charge, again and again.”

“Well, that’s good, then. Maybe it’ll all be over before they need my husband back.”

“Yes, we’ll pray for that,” said Tim with a look at Sadie that asked her to keep quiet about his dreams of glory.

“Now you boys are going straight to sleep!” said Beatrice with a severe look at Solly. “And Tim, you give them a good whipping if they don’t.”

“I’ll hold them down for Sadie.”

“And I’ll whip them real good,” said Sadie with a grin in her voice. “I already cut me a stick and I carved their names into it.”

“Well, good for you, girl,” laughed Beatrice as she turned back toward the house with Sadie following. “We’re going to be up till dawn likely,” she said over her shoulder. “And we’ve got to start on tomorrow’s breakfast so it can stew through the night. Breakfast for seven dozen, it is. And maybe more if they keep coming. It’s hotter than a hen-house in there.”

“Did she really carve my name on it?” asked Solly after they watched Sadie go through the door.

“I suspect she did,” teased Tim. “Half-crazed in the head, she is. And if she ever comes after you, you’d better run like you’ve never run before.”

“I will,” said Solly, but sounding like he did not entirely believe him. “Did Dan really shoot a redcoat?”

“Well, he said he shot into a cloud of smoke where the redcoats were standing. There’s at least one chance in a hundred that he hit somebody.”

“I think he probably hit one. He’s in the 8th Massachusetts, you know. That’s Brooks’ regiment. They recruit out of where you come from.”

“Don’t you know a lot,” said Tim as he lifted Bubble higher onto his shoulder. He was falling asleep and his head kept sliding off. Beatrice had said he ‘slept like the dead’.”

“Colonel Brooks is the one whose little girl you saved, so he owes you a favor then, doesn’t he?”

“Maybe I saved her, maybe I didn’t. All I know for sure is that his wife was able to knock me over like I was a little girl, myself.”

“No she didn’t! And Dan says the colonel will maybe want you for ensign, for you’re so well-schooled and you’ve studied the manual of arms so much you’ve got it memorized. He says you know more about tactics and strategies than a lot of lieutenants and captains.”

“There’s a lot that you can’t learn from books,” said Tim as they walked slowly toward the tents, careful not to trip on an unseen obstacle. Fortunately, somebody still had a fire going and that gave enough light to guide them to the right tent without waking anyone up. “And too, there’s a lot of men of quality who are wanting to be the next ensign chosen. All that I want is to join up as a private soldier and serve like a patriot.”

“I can join up in another seven years. And I could maybe be a drummer boy in only five.”

“You?” teased Tim. “Come now boy, you couldn’t beat a big army drum. You’re so short it’d be dragging on the ground!”

“I’m growing!”

“But some boys stop growing when they’re only nine,” said Tim in a kindly voice.

“I won’t!” Solly almost shouted. “I’ll join the 12th Militia, just like my dad. Or maybe the 2nd New York, if the war’s still on. It might not last much longer, though.”

“We can only hope.”

“Why’d you and Dan want to join the 8th Massachusetts?”

“Because that’s where we come from originally, and when we were going up to the Bemis Heights we found old friends who were already in it. They took us to their sergeant and vouched for our loyalty.”

“If you’re from Massachusetts, then why’d Mom say that you’ve come from New Jersey?”

“Because that’s where we’d ended up. We were going to join up down there but we changed our minds. They say it’s best to be in with your own people. You’ll get along better with your fellow soldiers when you’re one of them already. If you’re from away they’ll use you as the butt of their jokes and they’ll play pranks on you.”

“Why’d your sister and your mother come with you?”

“They wanted to come. I’m all they got, I suppose.”

“Your dad’s dead? Was he killed fighting?”

“No, not that I’ve heard anyway. I don’t know if he’s dead or if he...” 

“You don’t know if your dad’s dead?” asked Solly, sounding like he understood Tim to say that he had not seemed dead the last time he had talked to him.

“He lives in Boston. We’ve not been back there for… four years almost.”

“Why not?”

“Well…” sighed Tim, who was wondering where to start or whether he ought to be telling so shameful a story to an impressionable child.

“Weren’t they never married?” asked Solly.

“Well… ah…”

“You’re a bastard then? And your sister is too? Was your mother a ‘kept woman’?”

“My, you do know a lot for a little boy.”

“I’m not little. And my Auntie Rebecca in Albany is a ‘kept woman’ with a bastard boy named Johnny. She calls him Johnnycake and we call him Cake. He don’t mind. He’s the same age as Bubble. Mom and my Auntie Jane talk about her. They say she’s a fool and that she’s ruined her life. They don’t know that we listen to them. Bubble don’t know what they’re talking about but I do. There ain’t much I don’t know.”

“You know all about it then,” said Tim with a smile. “My mother was a fool, just like your Auntie Rebecca. But I’m lucky she’s a fool though, aren’t I, for otherwise I wouldn’t be here. My dad said that he’d marry my mom as soon as his wife died, but she never obliged us. She was sickly but she just kept on living. Mom would tell people that somebody else was the father but everybody knew. We didn’t even know ourselves until we were old enough to keep quiet about it. And my father figured he couldn’t be around us much for fear of raising suspicions, and that’d cost him business. He was a ship’s chandler. That means he sold the things that a shipmaster would need for a voyage. We were in and out of Boston and then four years ago he moved us to New York City. Then after about a year, he wrote to say he was broke and that he couldn’t send us any more money until he ‘got himself on his feet’. And then we found work. I was apprenticed to a carpenter, though I never learned much carpentry. I was a woodcutter, mostly. But we were doing alright until… until we had to move.”

“You couldn’t go back to your dad in Boston?”

“Well,” said Tim with a shrug, “we were going to go join up and fight, and New Jersey was just across the Hudson River and we knew a fellow there who’d vouch for our honesty and patriotism, and help get us into a good unit. Having a good sergeant makes a difference. But we found reasons to put it off.”

“Why couldn’t you go to your dad in Boston?”

“It’d been three years and he hadn’t sent us a letter. We didn’t know if he… wanted us. He could have been dead for all we knew and... well, we never asked anybody.”

“Oh,” said Solly, sounding sad.

“But we’ve done alright,” said Tim, trying to sound cheerful. “We’ve done better than a lot of people.”

“My dad has to go away sometimes,” said Solly. “He has to fight with the militia, though they haven’t ever actually fought anybody. Not yet. He says they’ve been cutting down trees to block the road, and throwing boulders into the waterways to block their boats. We’ve been digging ditches and building dams to bring water up onto the road to flood it so their army wagons will get stuck. He says sometimes there’ll be a big pond over where the road is and when Burgoyne shows up with all his wagons, he can pull the dam down and drain the road but it’ll still be all soaked with water and the ruts go so deep they can’t hardly move. Dad says the deserters are saying they’ve mostly just got two-wheeled carts that go back and forth, hauling a bit at a time. Burgoyne’s hardly managing more than a mile or two a day. And it’s all summer he’s been doing that, and they’re going to starve because they’re losing control of their supply lines back to Canada. Dad says their horses will get lazy when they’re eating nothing but grass, and then they’ll all start to starve and hungry soldiers will desert and mutiny. Dad says it ain’t gonna last much longer because with all our militia coming in from all over, they’ll soon be surrounded and trapped.”

“They might be already,” sighed Tim.

“And Dad said this was likely their last chance to break out and push us back, and they couldn’t do it. And he says they sent their best at us – grenadiers and light infantry. They’re the best and still we held them back!”

“Yes, it sounds like we did,” said Tim with a shrug, “but you never know. Burgoyne could attack again in a day or two and he’s got the courage of a cornered rat now, doesn’t he? And too, he could be getting help from down in New York City. King George might have sent more men and they could be rowing up the river right now.”

“I hope not.”

“Well… and I hope not too. It would be a blessing if war would end and peace would return.”

“Yeah, I want to go back home,” said Solly. “We were evacuated. I helped. We even tried to burn our wheat but it wouldn’t burn. It’s so late this year. We had to load up a little wagon and tie it to a cow and come here. We didn’t burn the house or the cowshed, but we burnt a lot. Bubble had to ride but I walked the whole distance. We were driving all our cattle but Mom and Auntie Jane got talking to a man from the Army and she sold all but one. Mom said they paid us with paper. We kept just one cow to pull the wagon. She didn’t like pulling it at first but she got used to it. She’s here now. She’s still giving milk and Mom says that’s a wonder. She says that’ll be good for the wounded. She says our cow will maybe save a soldier’s life – maybe a few of them.”

“That’s a good cow.”

“Before we left, Mom made a torch with oil and a rag wrapped round a stick. She let me to try burn the wheat but it wouldn’t burn. Then the torch went out.”

“Well, at least you tried.”

“And then, after we got here, my dad and my Uncle James came here too, to help get ready for to evacuate and to get ready for a hospital. But then you and Sammy and all the others had almost got everything done already.”

“Not quite,” said Tim. “There’s still wheat, and some apples in trees, and not all the roots have been dug.”

“But Dad says that with so much help – with all the evacuees here – their time is better spent in getting the new mill built and ready for next spring, for if the war’s still on they’ll need flour to make bread for the soldiers. It’s going to be a gristmill. The old one’s a sawmill. My grandpa got a millwright to build it. He helped too, but not much because of his war wounds. Uncle Martin already has the millstones and all the workings for the new one. They got to give it four walls and a roof and figure out how to put it all together. That’s what my dad says. He says there’s no sense in him and Uncle James digging roots when we’ve got so many evacuees here to do the digging. He says it’s best we get the mill ready for Aunt Bet. That’s what we call my Auntie Betty-May. She says it’s too long.”

“And I suppose your father’s right,” said Tim, half talking to himself. “And I suspect he’d want us all to get some sleep now, so we could be up and ready to help out tomorrow morning. Don’t you think so?”

“He probably would,” said Solly, who suddenly sounded tired. He was not able to finish his prayers before he was asleep. 

But Tim could not fall asleep. Where,he wondered, had Ben and James been at the time of the murder? They said they’d been at the mill, working. But they only have each other. Not even that because James had been away for a while, cutting a branch. There had been a man arguing with Martin, and maybe two men. Would he call one of his own brothers-in-law a jackass? And if one of them is a killer then… why?

Lieutenant Colonel John Brooks (age twenty-five) was in the 8th Massachusetts Continental Regiment. He had a daughter named Lucy who would have been around the age of two and might have been with her mother at Bemis Heights.

Chapter 8

You may as well be a man.

After the third time Bubble elbowed his broken arm, Tim decided to sleep outside. It was not much better. His feet and ears were sore with the cold and his arm still throbbed. Distant thunder sounded like cannons, and when it rumbled he began to rouse, wondering whether Burgoyne had overrun the heights and was on his way south. Each time, Tim was fully awake before he realized that that would be impossible. A raiding party would occasionally be sent out on a moonlit night, but this was a dark and foggy night.

The quiet was broken by crows, and Tim could see the first light of dawn through the mist. He could still hear the others inside the tent, breathing loudly. They lay spoon style, facing the same direction. He could remember hearing Sadie rousing everyone, halfway through the night, to get them rolled over and facing the other direction. Bubble would not wake up. Solly had told her to just pull him over because he would never wake up, and that he had once flipped him eighteen times before he woke up.

Tim then remembered Betty-May and wondered whether she had survived the night. He got himself up and looked around. No one from the other tents was out. The air was cool and moist. A cow bellowed from somewhere beyond the house.

A guard with his rifle was posted in front of the barn. He said all had been quiet since he had started his two-hour watch. The squeak of a door hinge took Tim’s attention back to the house. He walked toward it and met Tillie, the cook, and Hortense, the girl-of-all-work, who carried empty milk pails on yokes. The cattle were outside, tied to a hedge.

“How is she?” asked Tim.

“Oh, she’s fine and sound asleep,” said Tillie. “It’s a boy, small as a puppy, but he’s seeming healthy enough and he’s got a good color to him. They got him to nurse a bit and then everyone rolled out their beds and old Clara Barnes said a prayer – the longest prayer I ever heard. But every one of them is now a-snoring away. Listen and you can hear them through the window. But the cows are calling too, so I’d best be on my way before they start to wake everybody up. I’ll get blamed if they do.” 

Tim started back to the tent. He had not realized how worried he had been until he had felt his scalp relax. He would still be too restless to sleep. He wished he had something useful to do. His arm ached. There was never a good position to keep it in while sleeping, and it hurt every morning. What a state to be in, he told himself, at a time when all brave young men are needed.Or when I wish I was needed. With so many militia and evacuees, I’m just an extra burden – eating food that could be going to soldiers. And I’m doing next to nothing in exchange – nothing except minding children. I’m good enough for that.

When Tim got back, there was still no one out. He looked at the common fire pit. Two large pieces of oak had kept each other smoldering through the night. The women would appreciate having a good bed of embers ready for breakfast. There were twigs and branches piled close by. He got shavings out of a tin canister that had sat close by the fire, keeping the contents thoroughly dry. He sprinkled them on an ember and blew until they lit. The smell of smoke and the cracking of green pinewood drew others from their tents, sleepy eyed and wondering how the young mistress had fared. They asked about the wounded, marveled at the victory of the day before, and speculated on the enemy’s next move.

Breakfast out in the pasture was much like the stew that was cooking in such large quantities in the house. It boiled in two cauldrons. With so much in the garden that might have to be destroyed, everyone felt obliged to gorge themselves on it, and start putting on fat for winter. They would be needing it. Wartime disruption and destruction often caused shortages of food, and that led to disease and death.

After a big bowlful, Tim went back to the tent to lie down. The morning sun was already warm. Solly had questions but when halfway through answering one about military tactics, Tim fell asleep. Though Bubble and other little ones were running around and shouting, Tim managed a long nap.

Later that morning, Sadie went to help Hortense. She knew a few of the arts of making butter and cheese and could teach her something. The dairy had been forced out of the barn by the hospital, and the equipment was in a tent, close by the cattle. The Maynes cows did not appreciate either the change of location or the arrival of strange cows. Hortense had been ordered to sleep under their noses to keep them calm. It helped, so long as she stayed there, but the night was cold and she had snuck back into the house. The cattle had resented being abandoned. The day before, Hortense had shown Sadie where she had been kicked. “But I kicked her back good, so I don’t think she’ll be trying that again.” 

Hortense was back in the house and Sadie had just finished churning the butter when she noticed Jane talking to her husband, under the apple trees below the garden. Between them were overgrown gooseberries, allowing her to approach them without being noticed. James Jarvis leaned against a branch in a tense posture and with furrowed brows. But even when slouching he’s still manly and self-assured,Sadie thought. By remaining very still she could hear most of what was said.

“He’s got good color,” grumbled Jane, who stood with her arms folded. “Small but healthy. And the mother’s looking well enough too – everybody’s saying so.”

“Well, good for the two of them,” James sighed.

“And the little darling will get it all, won’t he?”

“The babe? Yes, that’s what Martin’s will says… or so Ben tells me. He’s not seen it but Martin’s told him what’s in it. And it’s Ben who’s named guardian, were both of them to die. But now that Martin’s dead she could name someone else.”

“And if she remarries, it’d be her husband who’ll be responsible for the child and his… heritage. Won’t it be?”

“I suppose so,” said James with a shrug. “I don’t know. I could ask the preacher.”

“It would be best to know.”

“Yes, it certainly would.”

“And for now, it’ll be her,” said Jane, as if to herself. “She’ll have rule over all, won’t she, right up until he’s twenty-one.”

“Or twenty-four. I’m not sure. The more lawyers a man can afford to hire the more complicated his affairs will be. Lawyers have powers to see complexity where others see only simplicity. Ben will likely talk to one in Albany.” The big town at the height of navigable waters had several whig lawyers who had been driven upstream from the city by the invasion of the year before.

“What he should do,” said Jane as she pressed her thumb against her chin, “is sound like he’s thinking of launching an action. Then the man might be willing to offer advice for free, to try lure him into a costly process.”

“Perhaps. But… well… she could choose to keep the farm, or she could choose to sell out, so long as she believes she’s doing it for the babe’s benefit. Or at least so long as she appears to be doing it for his benefit. You know how old widow Harran has been keeping an inn – for years now – buying and selling – hiring and firing. Once you’re a widow with property you may as well be a man.”

“But… Betty-May’s rather young to be managing a farm.

“She is,” said James, sounding disgusted. “And she doesn’t always act her age either, does she?”

“No, she does not. You’d think she was thirteen to hear her sometimes… whining one minute and giggling the next.”

“Lucky for her that she’s so lovely to look at,” said James. “You beauties can get away with so much. And Betty-May charms the women as effectively as she does the men. She’ll have everybody on her side. And you have at times been as smitten by her as the rest.”

“I have not!”

“I suppose she’ll likely be feeling a need for a husband before long. And she’ll need one sooner if we don’t pitch in and help keep the farm and mills going.”

“But,” said Jane quietly, after looking back toward the house, “what if she was to be charged and convicted?” Sadie could only make out these last few words by reading Jane’s lips.

“Well, that would change everything. Even if she weren’t hanged, she’d still lose everything. You’re not to profit from you own wrong, as they say. And even if she wasn’t convicted, there’s other laws. She could be declared unfit to raise the child.”

“And then the child would go to Ben.”

“Yes, and… but she won’t be charged if she’s not almost certain to be convicted. They’ll not lay charges without solid evidence. It’s not like she’s a known scoundrel, is it?”

“No, she’d not be called that,” said Jane, sounding as if she felt Betty-May could be called something worse. “But, in the absence of a weighty fact, she could be brought down by the weight of a hundred whispers.”

 After this, Jane and James turned away to start back toward the house and Sadie could hear no more. She returned to her work, wondering about what had just been said. The two of them had seemed so angry – especially Jane. Is she just upset about the death of her brother?she wondered. But likely not, because Beatrice had said that Martin was twenty-eight and Jane only eighteen. Likely they’d not have been in the same house for long and had never grown close.After turning seven, most boys were moved in with a neighbor or a relative, where he could be more easily persuaded to put in a proper day’s work. The same parent who spoiled the little boy would have a hard time cracking the whip over him. Not without an actual whip. And, thought Sadie, Martin seemed so much of a… a man’s man. He’s not at all the sort of brother who would be close to a sister. And it was very likely that Martin did not think much of James Jarvis.

Sadie wondered about these issues while she washed the buckets and crocks. She had a put a large pot of water on the outdoor fire to give them a final rinse, to wash away the butter fat. It was while the steam was still rising, looking like smoke in the bright morning sunshine, that it started to fall together. Betty-May could never manage the farm on her own. She would surely have to rent out the land and she would very likely rent it to neighbors. But her brothers-in-law could rent or sell their own small farms and move here, renting the land and buildings and managing the mills. And if Betty-May was convicted of murder, or manslaughter, then Ben would have custody of the child, and then he would manage farm himself, on the child’s behalf. It was a big farm on fertile soil with the biggest barn around.He could do well by managing the boy’s affairs,Sadie told herself as she shook her head with disgust, and what benefited Ben would surely benefit James and Jane, their being his only close relatives in the region.

The “young mistress”? At this time “master” and “mistress” referred to people who were in charge of a household with live-in servants. These titles were almost always abbreviated to Mr. and Mrs. In different times and different regions Mr. was pronounced Master, Miester, Mister or Muster. Servants and slaves would have addressed their master as Sir or Sire, and their mistress as Ma’am, Mem, or Marm. Beginning in the next century she was often referred to as Missus. Later, Miss was applied to an unmarried women. The woman who led a married man astray was said to be the “mistress of his heart,” implying she had rule over his emotions. In modern times, she would just be called his mistress. 

Once a girl married, she moved up a notch in a highly regimented social hierarchy (though less so in the northern states.) The more money and servants the family had, the higher her status rose. She would get more respect but would be under constant pressure to act maturely and to set a good example.

Chapter 9

If such an injustice can prevail.

Later that morning, Tim found Sadie at work in the garden digging carrots. Tim got a shovel from the side of the house and went out to help. It was a good one, well-carved from oak and its steel blade had been sharpened. The soil was moist enough to make it easy to loosen so he could manage well enough with only one arm. They stopped when Tillie came out with a basket.

“First you save the colonel’s daughter,” she teased, “and now you’re saving our carrots from enemy capture.”

“Just trying to be useful,” said Tim with a smile.

“And you’re looking tired, girl,” she said to Sadie. “Were little boys a-wiggling and squirming as they dreamed?”

“They were!” said Sadie with no smile.

“And I can blame the shorter one for a sore arm,” said Tim. “Is Betty-May still sleeping?” 

“Last I saw her,” replied Tillie.

“What did the women have to say last night?” 

“Oh plenty! Like a henhouse in there, it was. But it’s always so at a birthing though, ain’t it? Get’s women excited.”

“But… I mean about the battle,” he suggested, trying to sound indifferent, “and about the killing of poor Martin.”

“Oh, well… not a lot about that. Talk was about… mommas and babes – stories of this birthing and that – the ones that went well, of course. And a lot of prayer and the like. The usual talk. There would be a few words of condolence when folks first arrived and then a bit about how the war might be over at last. All hopeful talk, though. With poor Betty-May in the room we didn’t want to hear about enemy attack.”

“No, I’d suppose not…” said Tim with a casual shrug. “Any speculation about who might have wanted to kill him?”

“Well, tories, of course,” sighed Tillie as she put down the basket. “We’re always blaming everything on tories. Everybody will have an opinion, for sure, won’t they? And everybody’s been scared of suspected tories all along, right since the start of it. Around here everybody’s pointing fingers.”

“It’s the same everywhere,” said Sadie. “Its suspicions of us aiding the rebels that drove the three of us out of where we lived for three years. It was at Yonkers town, upon the neutral ground. They were almost all tories down there, after the patriots had been driven out. And folks got suspicious of us.”

“And for good reason, in our case,” chuckled Tim.

“Tim was a spy,” whispered Sadie. “Washington has to have them. Without good intelligence he’d run into too many surprises.”

“And right under the noses of redcoats? asked Tillie as she shook her head, pretending she disapproved. “You’re lucky you didn’t end up a-swinging from a rope.”

“But Tim wants to be a hero,” Sadie whispered to Tillie with her hand to her mouth as if trying to prevent him from hearing. “And I had to help him to save him from his own recklessness.”

“A risk taker, and a hero?” Tillie asked Tim, as she reached out and patted his broken arm. “Then you’ve got your wish granted, for you’re a hero now. And I know that because I’ve heard what women have been saying about you behind your back. And it’s all good.”

“I’m a hero for women maybe,” said Tim with a shrug as he went back to his digging. Once he had the carrots loosened the others could pull them out, rub the dirt off with their fingers, and stack them for loading into baskets.

“Only a hero for women, you say?” teased Tillie. “But isn’t that what you’re all aiming for? Why else does a boy go a-soldering if it isn’t to win himself a pretty maiden?”

“We maidens do love our soldiers,” said Sadie. “And Martin! Wasn’t he a sight to behold in his uniform?” 

“Oh, he was,” said Tillie quietly, “And he paid the tailor a lot to make it so, and then he hardly ever wore it. Though he did wear it to go to meeting, and… he did go to meeting more often after he had it. Some said they married each other for their looks, though his farm would have been reason enough by itself.”

“It’s big?” asked Sadie.

“Oh yes yes, near two square miles of good land. Though it’s still mostly woods. Martin Maynes was a good catch, he was.”

“How long have they been married?” asked Sadie.

“Six months only.”

“Oh? So Betty-May was…”

“Yes, and some think she got herself with child, just to entrap him. Though there’ll always be that sort of talk, won’t there? And what was worse,” Tillie said with a glance back to see if anyone had come out of the house, “she was Betty-May Adgate. Now the Adgates are good as any others hereabouts, but the two old women never got along and… well... the daughters had inherited their opinions. And too, Martin’s first wife had died not too long before, and some figure Betty-May was taking advantage of his grief. Now it wasn’t seeming like that to everybody but… well, there were words spoken. Some of the Mayneses don’t think the Adgates to be… true to their word. But there’s others who’ve been saying that it served them right that the blue-eyed boy of the Maynes family had gone and married the prettiest of the Adgate girls, for it’ll force them all to do some thinking – to question their pride and pretention, as the preacher would say. But…”

“But some are still proud?” suggested Sadie.

“For a while they seemed to be willing to forgive and forget,” said Tillie quietly, “but now, the war and all, has got everybody looking for somebody to get mad at. And now we’re seeing Mistress Jane a-starting back at it again, aren’t we? Though she did beg forgiveness. Begged for it real good she did, a-sobbing away. I was listening in. And the mistress told her that she forgave her too, for everyone knows that poor Jane is subject to moods.”

“Well,” sighed Sadie, “we’ll just have to hope that Betty-May can hold to her forgiveness.”

“We will that,” agreed Tillie as she bent down to pick up of a pile of carrots and put them in the basket “But time will tell, for she’s subject to moods too. Well! I’ve told you a lot, haven’t I? And I should be back in the house before I’m tempted to tell more. Hotter than Hades in there! I’m going to build a fire outside and do all the cooking and washing out here. Get somebody to put up four posts and a roof. With all the men they’re a-bringing in, I’ll be stewing all day and night. They’re going to butcher a steer. The boys are already digging a pit.” 

Tillie said this as she started toward the door. At the same time, Dan was on his way over with a shovel he had borrowed from an evacuee, and walking with a stiffness that made him look like an old man.

“Oh dear, in pain are you, you poor boy?” called Tillie. “Now don’t you let them talk you into doing too much,” she said, wagging her finger at Sadie and Tim.

 They went back to work and Abby came out to see why the three of them looked so serious. Sadie told her about what Tillie had said, and then all three about what Jane and James had said in the apple orchard. 

“I can’t believe that Betty-May could be guilty,” said Tim. “You were there,” he to Sadie and Abby. “You saw the way she acted when she saw him in his death throws. All her shuddering and… squeaking. You can’t fake that.”

“It may seem strange to us that they’d suspect her,” said Abby, her brow furrowed and her fingers on her forehead, “but we’ve not been here long, though. Have we?”

“It seems more than strange,” muttered Tim as he kicked at a clod of earth.

“Well,” said Sadie, “were someone to play the devil’s advocate…”

“Oh Sadie,” groaned Tim.

“Listen! Maybe after moving in with him, Betty-May found out that he was… cruel… and distrusting, too. A lot of men are.”

“A lot of women are, too.”

“And maybe,” continued Sadie, “he started to resent being entrapped in a marriage by an Adgate woman who had seduced him and got herself with child.”

“Sadie…”

“And when he got home, did she seem particularly happy to see him? Did they seem like a pair of… newlyweds? We don’t know what sort a husband he was, do we? What makes for a good drill sergeant doesn’t always make for a good husband. He might have been a demanding, fault-finding tyrant.”

“We don’t know that,” said Tim.

“No, we don’t know,” agreed Sadie. “We’ve no way of knowing, so we shouldn’t be making any assumptions, one way or the other. A woman has killed her husband before. Maybe a lot of them have. How will we ever know how many men have died at the hand of an angry wife. They say a little poison a day can make it look like he’s just losing his health. And then he’ll shrivel up and die and she’ll be free of him.”

“Remind me not to marry her!” joked Dan, with a look to Tim.

“But this wasn’t a poisoning, was it?” asked Tim. “And the sort of woman who does kill her husband doesn’t do it by shooting him in the head, does she? Shooting a man out in the woods just isn’t the womanly thing to do.”

“If she did shoot him,” said Sadie, “then she succeeded in throwing us off the track because everybody will be looking for a man, which is what we’re doing.”

 “You aren’t saying…”

“Maybe the Adgates are as vile as the Mayneses say they are. And maybe their fears have come to pass.”

“Do you really…”

“And had she done something on an impulse, without forethought, but at the same time driven by months of anger…”

“Sadie!”

“Tim, you don’t seem to realize how much anger a woman is capable of. And they say Betty-May’s a moody sort.”

“You’ve been reading too many books.”

“Yea Brother, ‘tis a dangerous thing to teach a girl to read.”

“I wasn’t saying that…”

“She’s right,” sighed Abby. “We know little about either the Mayneses or the Adgates. And you can’t measure the quality of the character of either a man or a woman by a comment here and a look there.”

“Listen to your mother,” said Sadie with her fists on her hips. “You start making judgments based on a look in a person’s eye and the tone in their voice and… well… people will start saying that you think like a woman.”

“I don’t… you don’t…” stammered Tim.

“Oh don’t worry, Brother. No one will accuse you of thinking like a woman.”

“I will,” joked Dan. “But truly, I hope you aren’t thinking that Jane could be right. How could so sweet a thing as Betty-May Maynes be… How could she kill and then lie so persuasively? It just can’t be. She’s just too…”

“Too pretty?” asked Sadie. “Are the two of you so taken by a pretty face that you’re blinded to what might lay behind it?”

“Now that you mention it,” said Dan, “she is pleasant to look at.”

“Oh!” huffed Sadie. “Don’t tell me that you haven’t been a-grunting and a-panting.”

“Well now,” said Tim as he raised his eyebrows, “could it be that you’re jealous of her looks?”

“Oh! Don’t be so stupid!”

“Wait,” said Dan as he wagged his finger, “some would say that Jane Jarvis is as pretty as Betty-May Maynes. Why haven’t we been just as charmed by her?”

“Well,” replied Sadie, “she hasn’t been flirting like Betty-May has been with…”

“Betty-May never flirted with me,” said Dan.

“She hasn’t had the chance yet,” said Sadie. “But you should have seen the way she gushed over Tim, the guardian angel of all the little children. It was almost embarrassing to be in the same room with the two of them.”

“It was Martin who was heaping the more praise on me,” said Tim in his own defense, “so I hope you don’t think he was flirting too.”

“Oh dear, I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“But truly” said Abby to Tim, “we know so little about any of them. And I hope you aren’t thinking of getting mixed up in a family feud when…”

“I wasn’t going to!” insisted Tim. “But… but what if what Jane said is more than the ill considered remark of a foolish girl who’s upset about the loss of a brother and… and what if they do try to accuse Betty-May? What if they try to convince others? It wouldn’t be the first time somebody’s been wrongly accused. And they say it’s when people are grieving that they’re most likely to start thinking foolish thoughts about who’s to blame for what. Isn’t that what the judge said at the sessions last year? And we’ve heard a preacher teach of that sort of thing too, and more than once.”

“Yes yes, but remember that we are guests here,” said Abby as she looked back to the house, worried that someone might overhear them.

“Sure, we’ve got to be careful what we say,” said Dan in a hushed voice. “But were we to see a family feud threaten to lead to a false accusation and maybe a false conviction, it would be our duty to…” 

“Indeed yes, it would be exactly that,” said Tim, as he straightened his back and started to speak in a lawyer’s voice. “It would be our duty to stand up for the right that each one of us has to live without fear of being made the victim of a false accusation. It is our duty to speak the truth and to protect the innocent, and we all must stand by these duties. We must stand by them because if such an injustice can prevail, then can we truly say that we are founding a new nation upon the principles of liberty and justice?”

“That may be true,” said Abby after a short silence, “but still, we’ve not got enough evidence to come out and say anything – no more than they do. We simply don’t know enough. Where were Jane and James when it took place? Or Betty-May or Ben? Surely someone will be sent here to ask those sorts of questions, and… well, they’re not the questions we’ve got the right to ask, are they?”

Chapter 10

Too in love with her face.

“It was like she’d… guilt all over her face,” whispered Hortense to Ben, with deep sincerity on a fresh young face. She was the family’s girl-of-all-work and was only seventeen. Her parents lived three miles south. “But I’m not saying she did it. I can’t believe she’d have anything to do with it. I just can’t understand why I’d see such a look on her. I suppose it could just be her being so afraid. Somebody was out there shooting, after all. But… there’s soldiers here and they could have been shooting at something for practice.”

“Why were you down the path?” asked Ben.

“I wasn’t. I’d just gone out to get some onions, only enough for supper, and then I saw her coming out of the woods. She walked straight past me, like she didn’t even notice me standing there. It was so strange, the look on her, but that’s all I can say about it. But don’t think I’m accusing her of being… the killer for… she loved him so. Everybody knows that. And surely she’s not the sort who could do such a thing. You can tell that by looking at her.”

“Yes, of course,” said Ben as he held up his hand to signal her to stop. “And it was good for you to come and tell me, but I don’t think you should tell anyone else. Not unless I say otherwise. You haven’t, have you?”

“No no no, I wouldn’t want to be starting rumors that would grow in the retelling.”

“Good girl. And I’ll not go telling anyone what you’ve said either, so you needn’t fear any retribution.” 

“I do thank thee, sir. I’ve been in such a state of nerves, ever since! Truly I’ve been at two heads about whether to tell anyone, for… Well, just as you say. I’d feared retribution. But worse, I fear her being falsely blamed, for she’s as good and godly as any. But… but I felt I needed to tell somebody, and with Martin gone it’s… it’s like you’re the man of the house. But I had to tell someone, for it seems like there’s more here than meets the eye.”

“You’re a good girl for doing so,” said Ben with a fatherly smile. They were close to the house and Hortense looked nervously toward the door. 

It was obvious to Abby that they had not known she was following them so closely. She had come out of the woods with a bucket full of chestnuts and had come up just behind them. Her first reaction was to feel pity for the girl, for being exposed to so tragic an event. But,she wondered, what did she mean by ‘guilt all over her face’?

“Well, now that the babe is born and we’ve the wounded all settled in,” said Ben to Betty-May, later when he found her outside, “and now that you’ve had a good long rest, I think we ought to get everyone together. Old Will, our Justice of the Peace, has appointed me to investigate the tragic event, until the matter is taken over by someone from the Army, or the Committee, or whoever will be responsible. In the state our county is in these days… well. I suspect it would try a legal mind to determine proper jurisdiction and process. But for now, we need us all to come together and say who was where at the time of poor Martin’s death, and we need to hear who saw what, for otherwise…”

“But why? What for?” asked Betty-May.

“For otherwise rumors will arise.” 

“What rumors?” she asked, suddenly on the brink of tears. Her eyes had been droopy and she smelled of alcohol.

“It was surely an enemy scout or a vengeful tory, and Martin will certainly receive full honors as a soldier who died bravely for his country, but some will wonder whether it might be a… less simple affair.”

“Who would think such a thing?”

“Fools. Sadly, that is what always happens. We can expect no less because…”

“Yes, I suppose we can’t. And I suppose I can imagine who would say…”

“No no, you surely can not,” he said emphatically, while taking hold of her hand. “And we will gain nothing from that sort of speculation. It would lower us to their level, wouldn’t it?”

“Well…” she sobbed.

“Betty-May, I fear I’ve spoken to you about it too soon after the birth,” Ben said, sounding deeply compassionate.

“No, no you didn’t. I… I know there are those who malign me behind my back. There always has been. I’ve ignored it in the past and I’ll ignore it now. You’re right. It would lower us to their level.”

“Good girl. Now you aren’t too tired, are you?”

“No no no. It’s the medicine that’s got me like this. The midwife sold me a bottle of soothing compound and said I’m to drink enough to ensure I’ll sleep soundly. And I’m so glad she had it! I don’t know what I’d have done without it! It’s all been so awful! And the medicine’s worked so well. They’ve just had to wake me to nurse the baby, and I’ll be asleep again while the poor thing’s at work. It’s her secret recipe, made with herbs she’s grown in her garden, along with what she can get in Albany. But it’s expensive though, what with war. The prices are awful.”

“Indeed, but we must pay what we need to pay,” sighed Ben.

“And all the vile rumors. And now, after so terrible a thing has happened,” she said slowly, as if she was ready for another nap. She was dressed and walking about after deciding she needed to return to her duties. The baby was asleep in a cradle in the kitchen. Children had been coming and going, looking at his little hands and feet and asking questions. 

“Now surely there will be someone coming in to do a more formal inquiry,” said Ben. “An officer in the Army it’ll be, most likely, it being time of war and Martin being a soldier – we’re being a hospital, and this surely being an enemy operation of some kind.”

“Of course,” nodded Betty-May, again wiping away tears. “I’d known all along it might happen – him being so bold and daring.”

“He was greatly valued by his fellow militiamen,” said Ben with a nod, “and it is likely that high regard that made him a target. He was sure to rise in the ranks. Everybody said so.”

“Everybody was saying that?”

“Except for those who envied him and resented his talents. Now, since we’re all concerned about your health and since many will think it’d likely be too much for you, were we all to get together to tell all we know. Well, there are some who will think it’d be too great a strain upon you in your delicate condition.”

“No,” she said with a determined expression. “I’m doing well enough. It must be done.” 

“We need to be sure that you feel yourself up to it, so you’ll need to tell us when we should get together and… and to tell us why as well. And you need to say it in your own words in front of others. It’s to reassure those who will accuse me of pushing. My dear wife, for example.”

“Yes yes, the burdens borne by a husband. You’re right. I’ll have to say that, especially to Beatrice. I’ll say it was my own decision.”

“Good girl,” said Ben as they turned to go back to the house. “I’ll leave it to you then. But I think it would be best to do it soon, for you never know when James and I might be called back and...”

“Then I’ll call everyone together right away.”

“You’re completely sure?”

“Yes yes, for I’m curious myself,” she said as they stopped before going in the door. “I mean, we all know it’s surely a tory or an enemy scout but we’ve got to hear each other saying all that can be said. Go find James, would you? And Tim and the others.”

“And perhaps a few of the evacuees, or the wounded too, for impartial witnesses.”

“Of course. We don’t want to seem like we’re keeping secrets within the family, do we?” she said as she opened the door.

“It is good of you all,” said Ben, once the front room was crowded with somber faces, “to take time from your many labors and come help us clear the air. As we all know, incomplete knowledge can lead to rumors and rumors can lead to… unfortunate conclusions.” He went on to give the reasons he had offered to Betty-May and then chose himself for the first witness. “So we can all be clear on what’s being said, I’ve taken the military approach and started by making a map.” He pointed to a bed sheet he had nailed onto the wall. With charred sticks from the fire he had drawn a map that showed the farm. “Now, this X marks the spot where Sammy found poor Martin. It’s close by the path leading down to the mill, and it’s about two hundred paces away from the house, here. At the time of the event, I was here at the mill,” he said pointing to a square drawn next to lines that indicated the stream and the millpond. “Now the mill here, is only two hundred paces away from the X, but I heard nothing at all, not even the shot that others heard. But it’s at the bottom of a wooded ravine, and either James or myself might have been hammering or chopping at the moment the shot sounded. And that, I fear, is all I can offer. Now James, would you come and tell us what you saw and heard?”

“I too have little to offer, I fear,” said James as he came forward from where he had been sitting by his wife. “I was at the mill, working with you,” he said, pointing to the mill site on the map, “except for the time when I’d gone a short ways into the woods to chop myself a branch to brace the rafter. I was chopping and not long after, you were hammering.” James returned to where he had been and placed his hand on Jane’s shoulder. She put her hand on his and smiled at him, as if in gratitude.

“Jane, why don’t you be next?” said Ben, his voice syrupy with gentleness.

“I fear I’ve little more to add,” she said with an apologetic smile as she got up and stepped toward the map. “I’d been in the house, getting things ready for supper, and I’d gone out to look for some pepper root for the stew. I’d noticed some a while back and I wanted to look again before a killing frost, because then I’d never find it. Then I heard the shot and wondered who it could be. But truly, I didn’t give it much thought. I’d heard that Dan had been hoping to sell a pair of pistols and thought maybe Tim was showing that they worked.”

“Who’d told you about them?” asked Ben.

“That’s what I can’t remember. I think I’d overheard it. With you men always talking about guns and raids and battles and… well, I always try to put it out of my head. And then I gave up my search, not having found any, and I came back, telling myself the stew would be fine without it.”

“Thank you so much. Now Hortense,” said Ben with a look to where she stood at the door to the kitchen, “would you come forward and tell what you saw?”

“Yes sir, if it please ye,” she said with old-fashioned formality. She started almost in a whisper but quickly built to a strong clear voice. “I’d been at work in the house and I’d just made a couple of trips out to the garden. It was first for carrots and then for… onions, I think it was. I thought I could put them in vinegar and we’d all have something raw to nibble on along with the stew. I’d heard the shot too, but thought little of it, and then I saw Mistress Betty-May coming back with… well, with worry all over her face. But I’d not given that much thought either – her being heavy with child. I’d just thought she’d been frightened by the sound of the shot. And I fear I can tell no more than that. Once the master had been brought back, I was as shocked as anyone.”

“Thank you girl,” said Ben, again with a smile. “Now Abby, would you be next?”

“I was in the kitchen the whole time,” she said, “along with Sadie and Tillie.” 

“And the two of you saw or heard nothing?” asked Ben. They both shook their heads.

“And Beatrice too,” said Tillie quietly, looking down, then up and then down again.

“The first I thought that something was not right,” offered Beatrice, “was when Betty-May came back sooner than expected, saying somebody’s shooting out in the woods. It looked like she was upset but she got herself busy with something and said no more. Then Hortense came in, saying that Sammy was all in a sweat about something.”

“Did she?” asked Ben as he looked back to her.

“That’s right,” agreed Hortense. “It was the second time that I’d gone out when I saw him looking like that. But he’s often looking upset when he’d got a scolding, for… the master, he’ll often… vent his anger. Sammy was coming toward the house, and then he turned and went back. But it was the mistress I had my mind on, her being… upset.”

“Yeah… yeah… th…that’s right,” stammered Sammy after Ben ordered him up to the front. “I’d heard the arguing too,” he said with his eyes lowered and his hands in motion. “I’d been going down to the mill with a half-keg of nails that a neighbor had brought but… but I didn’t know who was arguing, for it was like a loud whispering. And then I heard the pistol shot so I went there to see what was what, and… there he was, on his hands and knees, like he was looking for something. Then when I saw the blood I tried to help but he refused and… and he fought me off and… so I’d started for the house, to get Mistress Betty-May but… but I didn’t know what to do, for I needed help to bring him back, didn’t I? And what could the mistress do? And then I remembered that Tim was in the new field with the boys, and I reckoned he could help, even with his arm, and… and I went for him. But still… I… I…” 

“That’s fine,” said Ben, now sounding compassionate. “Nobody’s doubting your word.” He next turned to Tim, who told all he had seen and heard, adding nothing to their understanding of what had happened. Finally, and with great tenderness, he asked Betty-May. 

Between silences where she would repress a sob, she told of feeling restless and of wanting to go to the mill to see how work was progressing, and to ask when they wanted supper. “I heard the arguing and… I’d first thought it was Martin and someone he knew, maybe Ben or James, but… right away I realized that it must be someone else. I started toward them, then I heard the shot, and… and then I came back to the house. But… then when I heard Martin’s voice, I went out and saw him with… Tim and Sammy.” After saying this she started to breathe rapidly.

“I suppose that will be enough for now,” said Ben as Jane and Beatrice helped Betty-May into the bedroom. “Well, we now know enough, I’m sure, to quiet any rumors,” he said loudly to speak over the wailing that came from behind the shut door. “We know enough to conclude that it was surely the work of an enemy scout, or the wickedness of a tory who was acting in connivance with them. And truly it can be said that Martin Maynes was willing to give his all for the sake of his country and for liberty, and it was in the furtherance of that glorious cause that he was taken from us by enemy action. Yes, and we can always remember his heroism and his sacrifice for the cause he held so dear.”

“We know nothing more than before,” said Tim to Dan, once they were outside and far enough away.

“All that had been said before?” asked Dan as he walked in the way forced on him by the growing sensitivity of his ribs. It had been torture for him to get up that morning, and the pain had only gone away gradually after he had walked around. He went about with great caution in fear of being bumped into.

“Almost all. Just as much, except… except that Sammy said he had gone toward the house, and then had come back to find me in the new field. But when I first saw him, he hadn’t been coming from the house. He was coming from the woods. It was directly from where we found Martin. And that was the same direction that Martin had been looking when he’d said, ‘what does that jackass want now’?”

“Well… maybe he’d started out for the house and then felt he shouldn’t leave Martin alone and then changed his mind again and went for you.”

“Probably,” shrugged Tim. “And he was rattled by it all. We all were. But still it is a… an inconsistency.”

“Betty-May said that at first she’d thought that Martin was arguing with Ben or James. Was that new?”

“It was new to me. And I don’t know that she’s said anything to anybody. She was with the women all the time and they wouldn’t have been wanting to upset her. She’d gone into labor soon after. But she’d been expecting Ben and James to be out there, somewhere in that direction. It’s normal enough to hear what you’re expecting to hear when you can’t hear something clearly. My mother does it all the time.”

“I suppose,” said Dan. “But… the worst thing… the most damning thing, is how they sounded. Betty-May and Sammy sounded… rattled. And they sounded so reluctant to speak. But Hortense was calm as… a pond at sunset. She’d seemed so sure of herself, and that’s odd for a girl of seventeen – a servant too. How is it going to sound for a jury if it goes to court and they hear what we heard today?”

“But I doubt that it will.”

“Why won’t it? A man’s dead and his kinfolk want justice and his neighbors don’t want to be wondering whether there’s a murderer lurking about. It likely will go to court and likely poor Sammy will swing from a rope for a crime he didn’t commit. Likely they’ll drag him into a room and question him by the hour and keep on telling him that he’s the killer and after two days and nights of it he’ll be falling asleep. Then they’ll start walking him around the room to keep him awake and after another day of that he’ll be repeating whatever they’ve been telling him. They’ll keep saying that he’s Betty-May’s accomplice until he doesn’t know what to think and then he’ll start to confess to whatever they’ve been telling him. And then on court day they’ll read the ‘testimony’ to the jury, and they’ll convict him. And then everybody will go home relieved that the culprit is caught and that they’re all safe again.”

“Do you really think they’d do that?” asked Tim as he shook his head.

“It’s happened before.”

“Maybe to a good-for-nothing or a known thief or a lunatic. But everybody seems so willing to think Martin was killed by a tory and that he died for his commitment to the cause of liberty. If his own servant is hanged, it won’t be a hero’s death, will it?”

“You’ve a point there,” said Dan with a shrug. 

“But you’re probably right. They’ll extract a confession from Sammy and… but then maybe it’ll only be him that hangs.”

“But what if he turns out to be smarter and meaner than we think, and he realizes that his life could be spared by his making things up – by making it look bad for Betty-May Adgate. With her in-laws willing to believe her guilty – some of them – then what? And what if half the county has opinions about the Adgates. With Sammy lying to save his life and the Maynes cousins wanting to believe it’s true because they want their hands on the farm – what then? Together they could cook up a story that makes it look real bad for her. Not deliberately, but they’ll keep talking and that’ll get it all fitting together. We know there’s a lot of money at play in the long run.”

“People have killed for a lot less,” said Tim as he stared at the ground.

“But this isn’t killing. It’s just believing that somebody’s guilty, and keeping their eyes open for damning evidence, and closed to facts. Sammy’s testimony, on top of Hortense’s, could be more than enough. And… and maybe she is guilty and we’re just too in love with her pretty face to believe it could be true.”

“Maybe,” said Tim with a sigh as he turned, paused, turned again and then kicked at some dried horse manure, sending pieces flying.

Chapter 11

Ready to kill again

“Now we know what it’s like to be old and feeble,” grumbled Dan as he took hold of the leaves of a beet to pull it out of the ground and shake off the dirt. Again Tim was using the shovel with one hand. Though Dan had two hands to work with, each time he moved he would feel his broken ribs. They were making slow progress but at least people could see them making an effort, and that meant no one could call them lazy. Soon, some kindly woman would come out and tell them that they both deserved a break.

“You boys shouldn’t be out here a-working like this,” said Tillie as she came out of the back door with a basket under her arm.

“I’ve not found sitting and waiting for them to heal to be a more satisfying way to pass the time,” said Dan. “And eventually I have to stand up and that’ll be when it’ll hurt the most.”

“You’ve not tried my special remedy then,” she said with a smile. “It’s my own mix. It’s not as good as that soothing compound that kept the mistress asleep for twelve hours, but it don’t cost as much either. In fact, for a pair of heroes like you, it ain’t going to cost you nothing.”

“We’d appreciate it,” said Tim. He suspected that the secret recipe contained boiled willow bark, and while it would alleviate his pain, it would upset his stomach so bad he would prefer the pain.

“Are you managing to keep the soldiers fed?” asked Dan. There were now close to eighty wounded in the barn and they were wedged in as tightly as any who were spooning in the tents. Since most were British prisoners, there was also a company of militia to guard them and to protect the farm from an enemy raid, though that was hardly likely.

“They take as much as we can give and they’re cooking up more of their own. The mistress will do well by it. She’s getting paid for it all, even if they’re digging half of it themselves. Paying for it with Continentals though, but if you spend them fast enough, they’re as good as hard coin. She can likely use it to pay off the cost of the millstone and all that came with it, and that’ll hold its value. And she’s not even having to get out of bed to do all this, what with so many here to help her out. And especially Mr. Ben, for he’s a sharp trader, he is.”

“How do you suppose she’ll manage once he’s gone?” asked Tim. “Do you suppose she’ll have to sell out?”

“Or find a husband. We’ll have to see, won’t we? There’s a widow west of here who’s kept a farm going but she ain’t as young as Betty-May. I wouldn’t say the girl couldn’t do it though, with hired help. It’s more a question of what she’ll want to do, isn’t it? For baby or no, a pretty thing like her, she’ll catch the eyes of bachelors and widowers alike, won’t she? But I don’t need to tell that to a pair of young bachelors like you, do I?”

“She is a sight to please the eye,” agreed Dan. “And too she’s proven her ability to produce a boy.”

“I’d suppose her girl-of-all-work has been attracting attention too,” said Tim, who wanted to learn more about the girl who might pose a threat to her mistress’ life.

“Yes, Hortense is a pretty one too,” said Tillie quietly, “and good child bearers run in her family. But she won’t be coming with a fine farm for a dowry.”

“Her father doesn’t own any property?”

“No no no, he rents a small plot. They get by, is all. Her mother’s a good enough worker,” said Tillie in a tone that suggested her father was not.

“But a pretty face can make up for a lot,” said Tim, “and she seemed smart and steady, the way she was speaking out before a roomful of her elders. A smart girl like her might get a man who already has his farm.”

“Yes, smart and pretty she is,” said Tillie with an edge to her voice that said she could tell more about Hortense that would not make her sound like as good of a catch.

“We’re surrounded by beauties on all sides,” chuckled Dan. “Betty-May, Hortense, Jane, Sadie, and most of all, the woman who made Sammy so proud a husband.”

“Oh, hardly!” said Tillie with a giggle. “Compared to them I’m an old grey mare!”

“Don’t believe me then!” said Dan, pretending to be offended. “I’m only repeating what others have said behind your back.”

“He’s right,” nodded Tim. “And with all you beauties going about, there’s likely to be soldiers getting themselves wounded deliberately, just so they can come feast their eyes upon you.”

“Oh yes yes yes,” said Dan with a nod. “You’ve all been heating young blood ‘till it’s near to the boil. The captain might soon be asking the five of you to wear veils, to relieve the torment you’re causing to the men.”

“The four of them,” said Tillie as she tried not to smile. “And that still might be at least three too many. Too many beauties prancing about can lead to trouble – and not just because some boys might fight over them. It’s too because a pretty face can make for a proud woman, and then she’ll be inspired to make demands and… and it’s worse for those who are prone to moods, isn’t it?”

“So,” teased Dan, “you admit you’ve been demanding too much from your poor Sammy?”

“Oh stop it!”

“But,” said Tim quietly, as if sharing a secret, “young Hortense looks to be a girl who will know how much she can bargain for.”

“Oh, she will,” nodded Tillie. “Yea, the man who takes her in marriage will learn that soon enough. She’ll never give without getting, one way or another.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Tim as he stepped closer. “And her mistress hasn’t been meeting her price either, has she? And the girl’s been expecting extra payment due for extra services received.”

“Oh yes, the girl’s been holding out for more, she has,” said Tillie with a shake of her head. “It’s like she sees it as compensation for having been wronged. Though who knows how she seen it, for how does a person put themselves in the place of one who’s heart is possessed of a demon?”

“A demon?”

“Oh I don’t know. Crazed in the head, you could say – crazed with envy and suspicion and greed. And she’s been getting worse too. In a sulk, she been, lately, from a whipping – a well-deserved whipping too. A whipping given her by her mistress, just before you folk got here.”

“Betty-May gave her a whipping?” asked Dan with sincere doubt in his voice.

“Yea, indeed she did, and it was a good one too. I was proud of her to see her do it. That Hortense is a mean-spirited little cuss, who was always spoilt rotten by her older sisters and by her good-for-nothing father and now…”

“When she was in front of all of us,” said Tim quietly, “ Hortense said that she saw Betty-May coming back with ‘worry all over her face.’ But my mother says that earlier, when it was just Hortense talking to Ben, she’d said ‘guilt all over her face’.”

“Did she?”

“Might it be,” asked Tim, “that Hortense is wanting to even a score against Betty-May?”

“Well…” said Tillie as she looked to the side, seeming reluctant to say something that needed to be said.

“Betty-May gave her a whipping?” asked Dan again, as if he could not imagine it.

“Oh, and a good whipping it was too,” said Tillie with raised eyebrows. “When we came in the door and we saw her a-perched up on that bed, dressed in her mistress’ Sunday best, and there a-looking like a queen upon her throne. Well! Betty-May was so vexed! And a woman with child can have herself a temper too, and you boys will learn that someday if you don’t know about it already. A babe in a belly can bring joy and sorrow – pity and fury – it can bring it all out. And the poor woman was tired and scared and all else, what with the enemy a-coming and her husband gone and her never having been a strong one in the first place. And then the sight of that Hortense – it was the last straw. And she lit into her like... well. But I suppose I was egging her on though, wasn’t I? While she was giving the girl a good tongue-lashing, I went and got her the cane and put it in her hand. Well, that Hortense just ordered her to put it down. Ordered her mistress! The woman was speechless! But Hortense wasn’t. As she pulled off the clothes, right down to her shift, she was a-scolding her mistress! She wagged her finger in her face! Well! That was the limit! The mistress slapped her finger aside. But Hortense then slapped her in the face. And then Betty-May hit her one with the cane. But then Hortense grabbed the cane and they were a-fighting over it.”

“Fighting?” said Tim in an astonished voice. He had once seen a man hang for beating his master.

“Indeed she did! It was then that I grabbed hold of the little weasel and got her in a good headlock and then I got her bent over the bench. The mistress had the cane back and I yells ‘let her have it, for she’s the devil in her and there’s only one way to get him out!’ Well, after the mistress had given her a couple of whacks and, what with the girl a-cursing like a sailor, and what with me urging her on… well! The poor woman, she started into whipping on her with all her might and... Well! ‘Twas like she was letting loose every devil inside her own self – all her fear and anger. And I tell you, it was as good a whipping as you’d see at camp full of soldiers – red stripes halfway down her legs. ‘Twas like a grown man had whipped her with a rope. But didn’t she deserved it? And hasn’t she been deserving it for a good long while now? She’s been a vexation to me since the day she came here, and I’ve been a-wanting to beat the devil out of her for so long. No, I wasn’t sorry to see her so, for she was deserving of it as much as any willful brat that’s ever been. Think of it! Wearing her mistress’ Sunday best and drinking her wine! If ever a child deserved her stripes it was that Hortense. Had the mistress took her down to Albany and sworn out a complaint, she’d have suffered worse than she got here. And she knows it too, for I told her!”

“She could have hanged for it,” said Tim as he shook his head.

“Sure she could have. And now she’s… well, she now looks to be bent on revenge, doesn’t she? Yea, she’s bound up in wickedness and always will be. In for a bad end, that one, for sure she is. I pity the man who marries her.”

“Though,” joked Dan, “he’ll be no worse off than most husbands.”

“You just stop it!” said Tillie with a smirk.

“For we won’t all be as lucky as your Sammy, will we?” continued Dan. “I’m told he got himself the most gentle and patient woman this side of…”

“Stop it!” she laughed.

“It will be a fortunate man who gets this farm,” said Tim as he looked toward the barn. “You can tell just by looking at the tall trees that the earth is fertile.”

“Oh it is,” said Tillie, who wanted to move on to a different topic. “There’s a lot of good land in this part of the country.”

“I suppose that’s why Ben and James are so willing to help out,” said Tim. “For it would be such a shame if the little boy didn’t get to farm it when he comes of age.”

“Little Marty?” asked Tillie. “That’s what she’s decided to have him christened. Martin Maynes the second.”

“How’s the little fellow doing?” asked Tim.

“Little is right. But still he seems healthy. Though you can never tell, can you? Not this soon.”

“Same with the mother, I’ve been told,” said Tim. “Mom told me that sometimes the day after, they’ll seem fine as anything and then they’ll just up and die. Or her innards could start to fester and she’d die in torment. I suppose they could both still die.”

“We all could,” said Dan.

“Now what Ben’s told me,” lied Tim, “is that were Betty-May to die, the land would go to Marty, but Ben, being husband to Martin’s eldest sister, would be responsible for the boy and his property. He said that was Martin’s declared wish.”

“Was it?” asked Tillie. “Well, I’m not surprised if it is. They were as close as any. Martin’s only kin, besides his sisters, are cousins, and the nearest to here are two days away. The old folk are all gone, except for an uncle who’s gone soft in the head.”

“And,” sighed Tim, “I suppose that means that poor James will suffer the frustrations of so many a younger brother.”

“Poor James is right,” chuckled Dan, “but more so for being married to the beautiful Jane Maynes.”

“Yes,” nodded Tim. “Ben’s told us a couple of stories about her.”

“It’s like you’ve been saying,” said Dan to Tillie, “a pretty face can make for a proud woman, and that can inspire her to make demands.”

“Oh yes yes,” agreed Tillie, “and she’s a pretty girl indeed, and the worse off for it, truth be told.”

“She’s wanting what she feels she deserves,” said Tim. “That’s what Ben said. And it’s all the worse with her… being prone to moods – her hot little temper.”

“Ah, but there you’re wrong,” said Tillie, “for there’s nothing little about her hot temper. Yea, a fretful babe Jane was and will always be. And that’s what her own momma used to say. And she’s the worse off for being cursed with beauty. And now she’s got poor James always in a state of nerves. And if her poor mother was still alive then she’d be fretting for him too. Jane’s always been wanting to buy this and to buy that. And now she’s always pushing him to go out and get more. There’s those who’ve wondered why she didn’t marry a rich old man, for that would have given her what she truly wanted.”

“But she wasn’t brought up wealthy though, was she?” asked Tim.

“Not wealthy but still better off than most. Her father was an officer in the Army. He’d come over from England as a lieutenant and he was wounded at Monongahela back in ’55. The ball went deep in him and he always felt the pain from it. And some say that’s what turned him into a lazy drunkard. But he had his pension and the money from selling his commission, and that gave him enough to buy land when it was still cheap, and to have the stream dammed and to have that sawmill built on it. He can cut planks a few weeks every spring – for quite a few weeks. And sometimes in the summer there’ll be enough rain to fill the pond again. And it’s hard money that you get for planks too, and every new farm will need enough planks to put the floors on a house and a barn, won’t they?”

“But Martin was from his mother’s first husband though, wasn’t he?” asked Tim.

“Yes, but the old man wanted a son. He took to him right away and he adopted him as his own and treated him well. They used to be always going hunting and fishing and he’d train the boy in the military arts, like he figured war was soon to come. Martin was a drummer boy for the militia at the age of fourteen. And oh, did he look nice in his uniform too. But… was there ever a man who didn’t look good in a uniform? Then, as soon as the old man died, Martin was declaring himself a patriot. A rebel against the King, he was from the start, in spite of his father’s dying wish. And with all the training Martin had got, he was right away called upon to help with the drilling of the other men, marching them up and down the green, teaching the drills and all the military arts. He was good at it.”

“So,” asked Tim, “the old man was the natural father of Beatrice and Jane but it was the adopted son who got the farm?”

“The girls got money, for something’s been paying for the clothes they wear, and it ain’t their husbands’ crops. But he must have spent a lot on the mill and the dam. Some wonder whether it’s paid for itself yet. But if it hasn’t, it surely will, so long as the redcoats don’t come along and burn it down.”

“But the poor girls would have hated seeing Martin with so much fertile land,” said Tim quietly.

“And the son-in-laws too,” said Tillie with a smile.

“Were Ben and James for the patriot cause too,” asked Tim, “right from the start?”

“Soon enough, but not right away,” she replied, sounding like she was making an effort to defend them. “They were born in England, coming here as small boys, and that, along with their slow conversion to the cause of liberty, caused some to wonder. But you shouldn’t be surprised to hear that because half the country around here was the same or worse. By now, all the unrepentant tories are long gone, across to Canada, mostly. But it isn’t just tories we’ve had around here. Rife with fence-sitters, we were, and surely still are. Sunshine patriots as they call them.”

“But didn’t they swear their allegiance after the proclamation came out last winter?” asked Dan.

“A man can always change his mind, or say he did it out fear for what might happen to his family. We all know that if the King wins and our liberties are lost, they’ll never hang every man who swore an oath and took up arms. They want taxpayers, not corpses.”

“Well…”

“So there’s a lot of folks who are wondering who to trust, and a lot of rumors going around.”

“But,” said Tim as he shook his head, “so often it’s so unfair. I knew men back home who were late in their conversion but turned out to be as committed to the cause as any. But still they were eyed with suspicion – called spies and tories.”

“And it’s a shame, sometimes,” sighed Tillie. “And with shallow roots in the New World, as they say, it can make things difficult. They’ll likely stay as privates, digging ditches and cutting wood, even though they’ve both got schooling and could do more. Though… sometimes the fence-sitters do go over to the enemy and sometimes they do turn out to be spies.”

“Yesterday,” said Tim, “just before Martin went into the woods, I heard him say ‘and what does that jackass want now?’ Who do you suppose he’d be calling a jackass? Would he call one of his neighbors a jackass?”

“I’ve wondered about that myself,” said Tillie, shaking her head, “ever since you first said it. And I think it could easily have been a neighbor, and too it could have been anybody in the militia, and it could be my Sammy even! And it could even have been Ben or James. Seems he’d call every man a jackass at one time or another. It was his favorite word.”

“So it tells us nothing,” said Tim, as he wondered about the tone in Tillie’s voice. It sounded like she was saying one thing because she was reluctant to say another.

“No it don’t,” agreed Tillie as she bent down to gather up the beets Dan had stacked for her. “Now you boys don’t go working yourselves too hard and tiring yourselves out, or you’ll make your wounds the more likely to cause you problems.”

“We won’t,” said Tim.

“Just call us in for a mug of cider,” said Dan, “when you feel we’ve been at it long enough.”

“I will do that,” said Tillie as she went back to the house.

“So… what do we know now?” asked Tim, after she went in the door.

“That Hortense has a grudge to bear.”

“And so do his sisters.

“And their husbands too.”

“We can’t even narrow down the suspects, can we?”

“Nope,” sighed Dan as he went back to pulling beets, “but still we all know that most murders are committed by a member of the family.”

“Except in time of war and the killer’s a neighbor who’s sworn an oath to the King, and then… well, I guess then it’s not a murder, is it? It’s just a fatality – a lawful act.”

“But,” said Dan as he whacked a handful of beets against the ground to knock off the dirt, “there still might be a murderer amongst us, and he could be almost anybody, and he could hear that we’ve been asking around, and he might be ready to kill again. For our own sakes we maybe ought to be leaving the questions to Ben, or to whoever the militia sends out. After all, we aren’t in a fit condition to defend ourselves, are we? I suspect an old woman could wrestle me to the ground.”

Could you get away with the severe caning of your servant? Yes. The head of the household, or the second command if her husband was away, had legal authority to impose physical punishment for the defiant behavior or the wrongful acts of slaves, minors or bound servants. Children would usually be caned with a three-foot stick no thicker than a man’s thumb. Adults were usually whipped with a rope; a man on his bare back, a woman through her shift (a light sleeveless dress worn under other clothing). Punishment had to be reasonable and morally justifiable, and a parent or employer could face charges for the abuse of his or her authority. Parents usually sent their child to work in another household, and would very rarely object to corporal punishment. They were more likely to be concerned if they felt the child was being spoiled.

Caning and whipping were often called for by courts of law. Though theft of twelve pence (a half-day’s pay for an unskilled man) could be punished by hanging, it usually was not. A theft could be reduced to a misdemeanor by valuing the goods stolen at a lesser amount. If a justice of the peace sentenced a minor to a caning, his or her parent was often given the option of imposing it, though the constable would watch to see that it was adequate. A man who committed a slander, like calling a reputable merchant a thief, might get to choose between ten “stripes” and a ten-shilling fine (well over a week’s pay for an unskilled man). A severe offence, like a soldier striking an officer, might earn him five hundred strokes of the cat o’nine tails, a whip made of nine ropes. Some died from only a few lashes, while others managed to withstand hundreds. Trevelyan, in English Social History, tells of an eighteenth century soldier who suffered at least thirty thousand over sixteen years, “yet the man is hearty and well and in no ways concerned.”

Chapter 12

It’s got to look natural.

“It was a bayonet, right here. Right through my ham,” said the lieutenant as if it was an amusing story about a harmless event. “And he’d have stabbed me through the gut had he not been distracted by one of his fellows who’s fallen flat on his face beside us.” This good-humored storyteller had marched with the 4th New York Regiment under Colonel Livingston. Lieutenants led platoons into battle and that meant they were singled out for attention. “I already had a nasty little nick right here,” he said as he lifted his arm to show the brownish stain that covered half of his shirt. It had been rinsed out, but the stain had already set. New stains had formed where the wound was draining through the dressing. “A sniper’s ball, and I hardly felt it. I’d thought I’d got a hornet up my sleeve and that it’d stung me. I was distracted by all that was going on – balls flying every which way! I’d just scratched it, I think. I didn’t know it was more than that until a fellow asked me what all the blood was about. I’d been lucky for most of the day, but toward suppertime it seemed to run out. First I was hungrier than you could imagine, and then all this – two blessed wounds! They say I’m out for the season!”

“Was our victory as great as they’re saying?” asked Tim.

“It’s in the long term that we’ll find out how great it was,” said the lieutenant with a modest shrug. “But our boys did stand and fight. We’ll have that to brag about. We did drive them to a standstill. But they weren’t making it easy for us – took us all day.”

“So,” said Dan with a grin, “Gentleman Johnny will know what he’s up against now. It’s an army of hardened veterans that he faces.”

“Yea, he will know that much, at least,” sighed the lieutenant, “but it’s not just fighting and surviving to fight again that’s made our boys brave. It’s all the training that we’ve found time to do. Last year we had a lot of boys who’d not been trained for long enough. Sure they’d drilled with the militia but that still didn’t add up to much. It’s hundreds of hours of drill that makes a recruit into a soldier, and there just wasn’t enough of them that’d had enough of it. And too, we didn’t have as many officers who knew how to drill them properly.”

“Blind obedience drilled into their heads by endless repetition,” said Beatrice. She had come out to see where her two boys had gone and had found the men sitting on a bench in the shade of the house. One of the refugees had built them out of planks from the mill.

“Well now,” said the lieutenant with a smile, “drill is not just repetition ‘till they’ll follow orders without thinking, as the Quakers like to tell us. There’s care of equipment, and there’s wrestling, and there’s tactics. And we march them up and down the green for more than just for show. It’s to get them used to acting as a team under the direction of an officer. You can’t show them once only, because there’s a part of a man’s mind that doesn’t just listen to evidence, and doesn’t just respond to a well-reasoned argument. There’s a part that only listens to long experience, and that’s the only part that seems to be still working once the balls start to fly.”

“And whenever somebody’s on the verge of panic,” said Dan with a smile.

“That’s what it is, boy. I was told a story by a fellow about a bare-tipped swordfight he’s seen once, back in England. It was two masters of the fine art of swordplay – excellent instructors of long experience. With blunted tips they could show themselves to be as capable a pair of swordsmen as you could find anywhere in the land. But when one of them felt the other had insulted him, and challenged him to a duel upon a field of honor, and when they met on a frosty morning, and the grim reaper was a-watching from the sidelines, then things were different. The fellow who told me said they fought like a pair of beginners. It was bad technique and one missed opportunity after another. And… well, it was sad to watch, he said.”

“How’d it end?”

“It was a scratch to a hand from a sloppy parry that drew the first blood and ended the fight. They both came away with their honor intact but not their reputation, for they must have known how poorly they fought. But what it showed was just what they say you always see when hearts are a-pounding and lives are at stake. Men forget what they’ve learned and rely on what they know best, which usually isn’t much. But… with a lot of training, then every soldier will grow accustomed to seeing himself and his fellow soldiers acting together, when ordered.”

“It comes to be second nature,” said Tim.

“Exactly that. When balls are flying and the enemy’s bayonets can be seen coming, he’ll still listen to his officer, and he’ll stick by his comrades in arms and they’ll act as a team. He’s then all the more likely to believe that he can rely upon his fellow soldiers, and that he can rely upon the wisdom of his commanders. Then they’ll all be the more likely to do on the battlefield what they’ve learned in training.”

“They’re there to protect him,” said Tim.

“Indeed. But when a soldier gets the feeling that he’s on his own, then he’ll act on his own, and often as not that means dropping his weapon and turning to run. But once well drilled, then a squad led by a brave sergeant will be a brave squad, and a platoon that’s led by a brave lieutenant will be a brave platoon. You can’t just tell them, you’ve got to show them, and keep showing them until they believe it deep down. Then they’ll still believe it when it comes time to panic.”

“So will you be able to keep the redcoats where they are?” asked Beatrice. She was sounding frustrated and resentful but the lieutenant pretended not to notice. He’d heard it before. An anxious civilian would seem ungrateful one day, and then too grateful the next.

“We managed to do it yesterday,” said the lieutenant as he took off his tricorn hat and tucked it under his wounded arm to scratch his head. “So, we’ll likely do it again. And if we don’t, and if the enemy breaks through tomorrow, then you’ll still get plenty of warning. Their advance guard could walk twenty-five miles in a day, but Burgoyne won’t want them to. An army has to have its wagons following close behind or it’ll soon find itself hungry and out of ammunition. They’ll do well to advance ten miles in a day and they’ll likely only manage five, even if they’ve got us on the run. The first wagon would get to their new camp before noon but the last wagon won’t even start out until almost suppertime.”

“But,” asked Dan, “couldn’t they send out raiders who could make a fast attack and then gallop back to safety?”

“Now, don’t go frightening the poor woman,” chuckled the lieutenant. “Sure raiders could come up close to us, but when they hear our boys sounding the alarm, and they see us with our weapons, taking our positions, then they’d think it over and go choose another farm. And besides, their boys here are wounded. Not many could run away.”

“Is it true,” asked Beatrice, “that Clinton’s coming up from the city to open up another front?” British General Henry Clinton was in New York City, which had fallen into British hands the year before. He was thought to have less than seven thousand soldiers to defend the hundred miles from Long Island to New Jersey, but at any time ships could have appeared on the horizon carrying thousands more. He could send a large army up the Hudson River and force the Americans to split their forces, giving Burgoyne the ability to advance.

“Not that I’ve heard tell of,” said the lieutenant. “And we’ve got fortresses overlooking the river too, and cannons ready to blast holes in his hulls. That’ll slow him down. And if he does come, we’ll all know about it days in advance of his arrival.”

“Well, I hope so,” she said, shaking her head. Tim noticed she had gone pale thinking about it. They could hear children running about in the woods and Beatrice recognized Solly’s battle cry above the rest. After she had gone, the lieutenant stopped smiling.

“Sure, we held them back, for a while, but… our forces are hardly invincible. We’ve just got to think back a year ago to recollect that. And we’re better trained now, but only the half of us that have been around for a while, if that. And all these militia that keep coming up the road every day, they’re not a lot better than the ones who came out to fight a year ago. And if Burgoyne were to sweep us off the heights, he’d be onto a better road than he’s seen since last spring up in Canada. And if Arnold persuaded Gates to try to crush Burgoyne in one great battle, well… who knows? The battle could go against us and turn into a rout. And we’ve been routed before – haven’t we? And more than once. If Burgoyne made it onto the road and if we were in disarray, then what? He could advance ten miles in a single day, easy.”

“But like you said,” shrugged Dan, “he’d not want to race ahead of his supplies.”

“Well,” sighed the lieutenant, “I don’t know how slow his supplies would be. Men can carry a couple of day’s rations in their knapsack. But… I do know one thing. I’m due for another nap. These war wounds can sap a man’s vitality, can’t they?”

He left Tim and Dan sitting in silence, watching the chickens peck at the dirt. Another wagon arrived but this one was empty. The horses looked like they needed a rest. It was likely going from farm to farm, gathering provisions to take back to the Heights.

“So,” said Dan, “we could be packing up and getting on the move within a couple of days… if things don’t go well.” They watched the activity around the wagon. Sacks had been filled with roots and apples, and were being loaded on. Someone gave a piece of paper to Tillie, likely a promissory note to pass along to Betty-May.

“We’re lucky we talked to Tillie, aren’t we?” said Tim. “We were ready to let that Hortense convince us that… well… I’m sure now that Betty-May didn’t do it.”

“And that means that if we want to protect her from a false charge, we’ll have to do it within the next day or two.”

“Why?”

“Because,” said Dan as he got up very slowly, wincing at the pain, “within a day or two we might be on the road headed south, in retreat. And then we won’t be able to ask the questions we want to ask, and get the answers we want to hear, because we won’t be able to take a person aside and get them to say the things they hadn’t intended to say.”

“And the two of us won’t be together, either. You’ll be with the wounded from your regiment and we’ll likely be headed to Betty-May’s relatives.”

“Likely… probably. You know, it’ll be all but impossible to help her to… to protect her from rumors without… finding the real killer.”

“You’d think,” said Tim in a discouraged voice, “that if someone had seen something, that they’d by now have come forward. I don’t see that we’re ever likely to find the real killer. And everybody might be right about it being some tory who’s long gone.”

“Indeed.”

“But we could at least raise suspicions about somebody else, to draw attention away from her.”

“Sammy?”

“Well… or Ben or James. The two of them were close by and James said he’d been away in the woods a little while. And too, they’ve had plenty of opportunities to get into my traveling chest. And they’re men too, and shooting somebody in the head is a manly way of solving a problem.”

“Sure, but it still could have been Jane, acting alone,” said Dan with a shrug.

“Oh, I doubt that.”

“Or Betty-May!”

“You didn’t see her when we carried him back to the house,” said Tim as he stood up. “She wasn’t playacting.”

“Well… then Sammy’s our best bet. But, I’d hate to see an innocent man hang just because we’d done too good a job at protecting a pretty woman.”

“I keep wondering whether they all know,” said Tim with a sigh as he sat back down. “They just seem… ”

“They all know what?” asked Dan. “You think they’re all in on it?”

“Not all of them, but a few of them. What they say… it just doesn’t ring true, does it? They seem like they’re hiding something.”

“Well…”

“I’d like to try talking to Jane,” said Tim as he pulled his arm out of the sling to stretch it out and alleviate pains in his joints. He had been warned not to keep it in the sling too much, for fear that his shoulder could seize up. “Jane and all the women – they’ve been acting like I’m some kind of a big hero. And the looks Jane’s given me… well, she highly impressed.”

“Now we know she’s crazy!”

“She might be interested in getting to know me better.”

“You’ve always been a charmer,” teased Dan.

“And then Martin told them all about my self-taught knowledge of military drill and tactics. He said he’d heard me debating tactics with one of the sergeants, and he said I sounded like I was an officer already.”

“You’ve done a lot of book learning.”

“Exactly! It’s been nothing but a lot of book learning! You need a lot more than reading the histories and memorizing the manuals to be an officer. But he had those women all thinking me to be a general in training. And Jane was looking at me like… like a hungry boy looks at a fresh baked pie.”

“Was she?” asked Dan with a grin.

“She was.”

“And you’re thinking of cutting her a slice.”

“I’m just thinking,” sighed Tim as he sat down, “that she’d likely be willing to talk to me. And if she and me were to get talking about this and that, then I could lead her along and maybe get her to say something she hadn’t wanted to say – like you and I did with Tillie, just now.”

“Oh, and you did well, my boy,” said Dan with raised eyebrows. “I found myself thinking you could prosper as a gentleman’s tailor, if you could flatter the dandies as well as you charm a women.”

“Oh, but I’ll never be half the sweet talker you are, Dan Eliot. The way you…”

“We’re both a pair of sweet talkers, aren’t we, when we feel inspiration upon us. I suspect you could likely coax a few indiscrete words out of Jane, and at the same time I could be applying my charms to her sister. Beatrice has been sounding like she’s willing to give Betty-May the benefit of the doubt. And even if she knows nothing, if I could persuade her to sympathize with Betty-May, that’d pitch one Jarvis against another. The two sisters would cancel each other out.”

“Well…”

“Little Solly likes me,” said Dan. “There’s no boys his age with the evacuees, and he’s been having to play with the little ones. I could show him how to make things. That’d make me sort of a friend of the family. Then, when I found her alone, I could strike up a conversation. I could tell her about how Solly’s a bright boy, and then I could talk about the burdens laid upon mothers at such a time as this. She’d be grateful for a sympathetic ear and she’d tell me of all her sorrows. And then I could move on to more sensitive matters.”

“But we’ll have to be careful not to raise their husbands’ suspicions,” said Tim. “It’s got to look natural.”

“It will look natural, and the more so with me. And we shouldn’t be too cautious about going about it because we might only have two days to do justice for poor Betty-May – two days before Gentleman Johnny Burgoyne breaks through and we’re all on the run.”

What did the lieutenant mean when he said they’ve been routed before? In the summer of 1776, those who called themselves patriots, or whigs, had reason to feel confident. They had seized the fortress of Ticonderoga, they had driven the British out of Boston, and they had forced back a naval attack on Charleston, North Carolina. But then came the Battle of Long Island.

It was fought on August 27, 1776, and was the first of several losses for the inexperienced American Army. The invaders had occupied Staten Island in July, and in late August they had crossed over to Long Island. The year before at Bunker Hill, Major General William Howe had seen what the rebels were capable of doing and was no longer burdened by overconfidence. His forces outnumbered the Americans two to one but still he was cautious. Good luck allowed him to get his men around American lines during the night and launch an attack on both sides. The defenders could only make a rapid retreat to fortifications on the Brooklyn Heights. It was a decisive victory with hundreds of Americans killed and over one thousand taken prisoner, compared to a few dozen British killed or missing.

Nineteen days later, the British invaded Manhattan Island, and again the defenders were driven back in disarray. The Americans retreated north, but battles were small and few men were lost, until November 16, when Fort Washington was attacked from all sides. It had been built on the highest hill at the north end of Manhattan Island and was believed capable of halting the British advance and protecting the Hudson River. Again, inexperienced soldiers panicked and twenty-eight hundred were taken prisoner – one-fifth of Washington’s forces.

The British gained control of almost all of New Jersey and its commander felt the rebels were all but defeated. He decided he could retire his men into winter quarters and negotiate a peace. Tories were elated and many patriots were wondering whether their effort to establish their independence had been a mistake. Hope was revived on Christmas Day. Washington took twenty-four hundred men across the icy Delaware to attack a garrison at Trenton. He surprised them and captured nine hundred prisoners with all their weapons. This spectacular loss, along with partisan (guerrilla) tactics through the winter, forced the British back to a small region in the northeast of the state. But these were always surprise attacks. Many still doubted the willingness of American soldiers to stand and fight on an open field of battle.

Chapter 13

Your own wanton pleasure.

Tim went back to work in the garden. It had occurred to him that, so long as he kept going back there, Jane would likely come out to make sure he was not overdoing himself. Fortunately, not many of the evacuees had been showing themselves eager to get the digging done, so there was often an opportunity to talk without being overheard. He was not there long before his mother came out, asking how he was feeling. He quickly explained his plan. She smiled and went back inside.

“That Tim,” Abby sighed while looking out the window when Jane was the only one close by.

“What is it now?”

“He keeps thinking he has to make himself look useful. I’m just scared he’ll wear himself out, and then come time that we all have to evacuate he’ll be overtired.”

“He will,” Jane agreed, leaning over to look out the same window. It had a cheesecloth screen to keep out the flies but she could see well enough so long as she put her nose to it.

“He won’t listen to me, the fool,” sighed Abby. “Why don’t you take a mug of cider out to him and try to persuade him to have himself a sit-down in the shade. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

“I can try,” she said, taking another look at him, “but he looks like a man who makes his own decisions.”

“Just make it seem like it’s his own.”

“You look thirsty,” said Jane as she came to Tim with a mug of cider. “Here, come drink this down while it’s still cool. Then you’ll be able to go back to your digging with your blood refreshed.”

“I could use a sit-down in the shade,” said Tim with an apologetic smile as he took off his hat to wipe his brow with his sleeve. “I’m feeling lightheaded.”

“Oh you fool! Come here,” she ordered, taking the shovel from him and leading him over to the bench. No one else was nearby.

“Still making stew by the bucket-full?” asked Tim.

“You wouldn’t think that wounded could be so hungry. I’ve been spending the whole day cutting up the last of that goat they brought us.”

“Oh, I love goat. You know you’ve eaten something when you’ve eaten goat.”

“I hate goat,” said Jane as she smiled.

“All the better for me,” laughed Tim. “I suppose you prefer the breast of a young chicken?”

“I’m sure I’m not the only one,” she said with a sidelong glance. “And… well I don’t mind a sweet ham either.”

“I like that too, with a spicy jelly on top,” he said as he sat and took a sip. The September nights had cooled the root cellar and the cider was the way Tim liked it.

“Does it hurt?” Jane asked, and gave his splint a poke.

“When I bump it. And it’s overnight when it hurts the most.”

“And you’re all squeezed into that one little tent.”

“That’s not the problem. It’s letting it lie still for a long while. But it’s worst when Bubble elbows it. He must spend half the night dreaming of fistfights.”

“So much pain, and only for the life of a little girl,” she joked.

“They tell me that’s made me popular with the women. If it hadn’t happened I should have planned it.”

“I won’t tell anyone you said that,” she whispered while leaning closer.

“A lot has happened in three days,” he said, looking out toward the barn. They could hear someone shouting in anger. Likely some poor soldier, overcome with his pain, who was venting his torment on someone who had accidently stepped on him.

“I hate it here,” said Jane. “I almost wish Burgoyne would make his breakthrough so we’d be forced to go to Albany.”

“How could you say such a thing?” asked Tim, pretending to be shocked.

“Well! It’s all too much here! First we’re run from the enemy, then my brother’s killed and now… now they’re forcing me to eat goat.”

“Who do you suppose killed him?” asked Tim, feeling he might as well be blunt because coming to the issue too carefully might only raise her suspicions.

“My brother or the goat?” joked Jane. “Sammy did them both, likely. He was there, or very close by. He’s always getting a scolding from Martin for one thing or another. And it was usually for something that didn’t warrant such a scolding. Martin always did like to shout. Mom says he cried as much as any babe in history and he’s never let up. And Sammy… his type aren’t… capable of fully controlling themselves, are they?”

“For sure, some aren’t.”

“You saw the way he was this morning – stammering like that and not able to look one person in the eye. A good stern questioning would have the truth out of him. And I don’t know what’s taking the officers so long to send someone out. It is a murder, after all!”

“A fatality only, if it’s an enemy scout. So long as they’ve both been sworn into a lawful army.”

“Well, whatever it is, there ought to have been somebody out here right away to do a proper investigation.”

“Ben was deputized by a justice of the peace.”

“We deserve better than Ben.”

“It’s Sammy’s great good fortune that everyone’s busy with battle,” said Tim as he pulled his arm out of the sling to stretch it.

“Should you be doing that?”

“It’s good for it, so long as I don’t bump it or try lifting something. That’s what the surgeon said. He said it set easily. You know, Sammy’s stammering and the way he was acting this morning, it might just be fear. For he knows he’s the most likely suspect. He might fear being made a scapegoat for the sin of another.”

“Perhaps.”

“And when it happened, Betty-May was out and by herself too,” said Tim with a shrug. “It’s so often that it’s family who commits a murder, though I suppose…”

“I fear that could well be,” she whispered with an ominous expression and her hand on his arm. “For as they say, love often lies in bed with hatred. And there’s some of the Adgate clan who would dare to do near anything.”

“Adgate?”

“You’ve not heard of the Adgates?”

“Oh, I have,” chuckled Tim. “I’ve only been here five days and already I’ve heard about the Adgates.”

“Now don’t believe all you’ve heard. Some of them are good as gold but… some are… crazed in the head, some say. Possessed of a demon spirit and too proud to admit its presence and to… humbly petition divine succor.”

“And poor Martin was still grieving for his first wife, wasn’t he?”

“Oh, he was, poor thing. And it’d not been a year yet,” said Jane as she held her hand to her brow in a tragic gesture. “It was far too soon after, most said. Maybe he could know what he wanted but… likely he could not. I should have stood up and said as much but… now I must forever… hold my peace.”

“I know the feeling,” said Tim with a sad smile, as he put his hand on her shoulder, just for a moment.

“There’s nothing that can be done now,” she said, looking up at him with a thankful expression.

“I suppose poor stupid Sammy would obey her command, no matter what. You suppose he could every defy his mistress?”

“Never,” huffed Jane. “He feared Martin but he adores her.”

“Adores her?”

“Worships her! She’s far too kind to the both of them – him and Tillie. And they both know it. But… there’s many who adore Betty-May Adgate. And you should understand why, since you adore her yourself.”

“I… well…”

“Oh, don’t you lie to me, Tim Euston,” she said with a teasing smile. “I saw the look in your eyes when she was praising you for your ‘heroism’. You adore her and so do half the men hereabouts. And that includes Sammy.”

“Well… I don’t… well, there’s a lot to be said for having yourself a faithful servant.”

“There is, but it doesn’t always do you a service, in the long run. If a mistress has given her adoring servant reason to adore her, then that just shows that she’s spoilt him. And that means he’ll start thinking that he can get away with anything.”

“Yes, but… still,” said Tim after a pause to think about it, “even if Martin had been cruel to both of them, and just because she might have wanted out of the marriage – by any means – she still might not have known that she had the power to get Sammy to… do it. Just because they both have a… motive to kill… they still might both be innocent. Betty-May seems a simple girl.”

“Oh no,” said Jane with a smile. “It’s an act she puts on. She’s no dullard and she’s no coward either. And neither are any of the Adgates. What’s wrong with them is the hardness of their hearts and not the softness of their heads. And Sammy’s no dullard either, though he might put on a fine show of it.”

“You think so?”

“Oh of course! You can tell by the look of the two of them that they… harbor dark and daring motives.”

“I suppose,” said Tim as he suppressed a smile. What she said about them could be said with greater justice about herself and her husband.

Not far away, on the other side of the house, Beatrice was telling Dan that poor Betty-May might be ‘moody’ but she was surely no murderess.

“That’s what I’ve been thinking too,” said Dan. “How could she commit a crime of any sort?”

“Ah, but she has that influence on all men, doesn’t she? A face that can make a fool out of any man.”

“Well,” said Dan with a half-smile.

“But at any rate, the ‘jackass’ who shot Martin must have been a secret tory. And he could easily be from among those who are camping out there in the pasture. Just because they’re refugees doesn’t mean they can’t be tories. What better disguise could you choose?”

“That could well be,” said Dan with a shrug.

“And likely the killer can’t help but be a tory because he was born to family of fools. Who knows what makes a man a tory? You can’t tell a good man from bad by the color of his hair, can you? He could be that fellow there,” she said, pointing to a man who was walking across the yard. “It could be any one of them.”

“For all you know it could be me,” joked Dan.

“No, because you were up at the front getting yourself wounded. But still, think of the sort of a man who’d be a tory in the first place. He doesn’t truly believe that God placed George upon the throne of England to work his divine will. And he doesn’t truly believe that a family that’s rich today has earned the right to stay so forevermore. A tory is just a man who wants things to stay the same because he thinks that if they change they’ll likely get worse. And that’ll likely mean the worse for him, as well. It’s a man who doesn’t believe in any cause other than his own self-interest.”

“At least not in the cause of liberty.”

“I can tell you what a tory is,” said Beatrice as she pointed a finger at his nose. “He’s a man who’s weighed the odds and who’s decided who’s likely to come out on top. He’s put his money on the King and his generals because he thinks they’ll win out in the end. I’ve heard one of them say as much, before they ran off to Canada, and I’ve heard it more than once. And what would stop a man like that from spying and committing acts of sabotage and picking off an easy target?”

“Not a lot.”

“Not a lot, indeed! I’m sure there’s many a tory who’d go for that cowardly sort of warfare. And Martin was a valued sergeant in our militia, and he’d have been welcomed in the Army too – as a lieutenant, likely. You know, it was only politics that denied him a higher rank in our militia. You can ask anybody from these parts.”

“I’ve heard that said, already.”

“And you’ll keep on hearing it. The boys liked him. And he was a good shot with a rifle.”

“Beatrice is all but certain it’s a tory,” said Dan later, as he and Tim leaned on the rail fence that enclosed a large pigpen, not far from the barn.

“And Jane thinks she knows too, only she says it’s surely Sammy and Betty-May. So certain that… well... her blood is hot, as they say.”

“But was it her certainty that warmed her blood?” asked Dan. “Or was it sitting so close to the ‘hero of Bemis Heights’?”

“It was warmed by something. And I suspect she’s not the only one to think me a hero. You should have heard the way Martin talked.”

“He was in love with you, too?”

“He was likely just teasing, but the women and the children didn’t take it that way. They think anybody who saves the life of a child is…”

“Oh, of course they would. And don’t discourage them. Yes, Tim Euston, you’re going to have to settle down hereabouts, for with your great reputation you’ll have your choice of young maidens to marry. And young widows too.”

“But aren’t you a hero too, Dan Eliot? Didn’t you march into battle the day after you were sworn in, and didn’t you charge into the heat of it, and aren’t you now a battle-scarred veteran – and a veteran of the glorious battle where we stood our ground and showed Burgoyne that he could be stopped?”

“I suppose I am.”

“Small wonder we’ve be exciting female passions,” said Tim with a grin.

“Small wonder, indeed.”

“How could they resist you? You or me either?”

“Indeed, how could they, poor things,” agreed Dan with a modest shrug.

“With an ounce of sense is how!” snapped Sadie, who had come up behind them. “If only they knew what a pair of braggarts you two are.”

“Well… I…” stammered Tim.

“And talking so about married women!”

“But not them alone…” Dan started.

“If they didn’t tell you what you were hoping to find out, then it was probably because you were too busy trying to get something else out of them!”

“No,” protested Tim. “I just…”

“And here you’re stupid enough to let me walk right up behind you and hear you boasting!”

“But…”

“Or maybe you didn’t find out what you wanted because they’re needing so badly to conceal someone’s guilt! But the two of you wouldn’t know that, would you, because you were too busy whispering sweet words in their ears!”

“But…”

“You should be ashamed of yourselves – the both of you! Here we’ve been called upon by our duty to uphold justice and to save an innocent woman from being falsely accused. And what do the two of you do instead? You plot and scheme about how you could gain some… sordid advantage for your own wanton pleasure!”

“Well…” whimpered Tim, but he did not get a chance to speak before she wheeled around and went back to the house.

Chapter 14

He’s cool-headed enough.

“You look so tired, you poor girl,” said James Jarvis. He was on his way from the mill to the house. “They’ve got you doing too much.”

“Too much?” asked Sadie. “And what about you? Is Ben working you this late?”

“No no no. And I’d be a-bed and asleep already were it not for the sound of cannons still ringing in my ears. And worse, the thought that a murderer might walk among us, and too…”

“And the wounded!”

“Yes, well we’re out of earshot down at the mill,” he said as he turned to follow Sadie toward the tents. “Have they been moaning and groaning all the day?”

“More bickering and shouting at each other. There’s too many in there, and I’m sure they’re as tormented by idleness as they are by their wounds.”

“Dreary company for each other, I’m sure. And I doubt that spacing them further apart would ease their suffering, nor would it help to give them something to keep busy with. What they need is the same soothing compound that pacified Betty-May. But there’ll never be enough of that.”

“Not for the poor there won’t be.” As she said this, Sadie wondered about the rum she could smell on James’s breath. Everyone had been asked to donate their spirits to the hospital. “Tim and I have been in there singing for them. And I play my violin and there’s a fellow there who can play Tim’s. Not as good as Tim, though. But we pacified them for a while.”

“I suspect you did more than pacify them,” said James in a soft voice. “You and your brother sing like angels. Everybody’s saying so.”

“And too, there’s a fellow there who’s been leading them in prayer,” said Sadie as she slowed her pace and went toward the split rail fence that enclosed a paddock. The cattle had been driven inside for the night to protect them from thieves.

“Things were worse for the wounded a year ago,” said James as they looked at the horse who came over, hoping for a treat. “But now we all know better and the militias are bringing provisions with them. We’ve all been learning about the meeting of military necessities. We learn it the hard way, but we learn it.”

“That’s more bad news for Gentleman Johnny then, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” chuckled James, “it’s been a long hot summer for him. Though the prisoners say he dines in high fashion every night, and wears fine clothes and sips fine wines. He’s even got a small orchestra to help soothe his spirits.”

“For his sake, I hope that they played well last night.”

“Ha! Yes indeed. And with all this bad news for Johnny, we’ll maybe soon be hearing that the war is over,” said James as he leaned his arm on the rail and looked into her eyes. Sadie had turned toward the orange light of the setting sun to offer him a better view of her face.

“What will you and Jane be doing once the war’s over? You’ve a farm, don’t you?”

“Yes, but not a large one. But still, we’ve more land to clear than time has allowed us. I’ve a small field planted to wheat and another to oats. It grows between fallen logs. Most of it’s still wooded over. I’ve just got to keep at it and soon enough we’ll live in comfort.”

“This is a nice property,” said Sadie as she looked toward the new field. “It’s fertile soil here, isn’t it?”

“It is. And it’s a good crop they’ve brought in for her.” Evacuees and militia had finished the cutting and drying, and they were at work at winnowing and bagging today. “Yes, little Marty will have a lot to show for himself by the time he goes a-courting.”

“Betty-May will keep the farm?”

“I hope so,” said James as he moved closer. “We’ll keep on helping her and she can rent out the fields for a share of the crop. It shouldn’t be too hard to find someone from close by. And she can do the same with the mill too. The mills, I should say. Rent them out for a share of the proceeds. She’ll have more than one offer, for sure.”

“Tillie told me that Martin sawed planks by the hundreds this past spring.”

“If not thousands. He had a crew cutting and hauling the best trees all through the winter – oxen hauling them to the mill – hired men stacking them. But there’s not as much here as you’d think, though. Most of these old trees are full of rot – only good to provide a hollow logs to house families of skunks, once they fall. But there’s still a good many that are solid wood right through. He can cut as many planks in a day as two men could cut in a week – and cut them well into summer. Minus time spent repairing breakdowns, of course. That’s the miller’s primary calling, the repairing of a broken-down mill.”

“How did he learn the miller’s trade?” asked Sadie as she moved closer, as if to hear him better.

“His father hired an old miller to work with them. It was the same fellow who’d built the mill. He still lives down close to Albany. He’s been teaching us the trade too, me and Ben. At least when we all can spare the time to get together. He charges a lot, but it’s a valuable skill.”

“You’ve a good stream on your farm?”

“No, not a good one. But still, I could hire myself out to operate another man’s mill, or to help to keep up with repairs. And of course we’re building one here, aren’t we? And if we succeed in getting it working, then surely our fame will spread. There’s money in the building of mills, though not as much as in the owning of a good millpond.”

“Little Marty will prosper then?” she asked with a smile.

“He’s a lucky little boy, and all thanks to a grandfather he never knew. He was an ensign in the King’s 44th Regiment of Foot, and when he sold his commission he had enough to buy all this land and build the dam and mill. It was just wilderness then but he could see that the ravine was wide enough and deep enough to make for a nice-sized pond. And what’s more, the stream is fed from marshland that can be diked and dammed to limit the flow of water. That means he’ll be able to hold back enough to keep the wheels turning for months. He might someday saw thousands more planks than his father ever did. And too, he could grind a lot of grain. And bark too – the bark of the oak – for the tanners. Grind it by the ton, he could. And it’s only a few miles by wagon to get below the last set of rapids on the Hudson River. From there it runs wide and gentle, giving access to unlimited markets.”

“You’ll be building one mill after another then,” said Sadie with a smile. “It won’t just be Betty-May who will have to rent out her fields. It’ll be the two of you as well, for your talents will be called for – all along the valley.”

“Yea, perhaps they will,” he said with a modest shrug. “But there will be other to compete against. We’ll have to build them faster and better.”

“It is a land that is pregnant with potential,” said Sadie as she turned to look toward the house. There she saw Jane standing outside, talking to another woman – one of the evacuees. But Jane was looking toward the two of them and her eyes were dark with anger.

“The water is worth far more than the cropland,” said Sadie to Tim. She had gone to the tent and, with a stern look, she had led him away from the fire.

“Water?” he asked as he got his arm out to stretch it.

“The stream – the millpond,” she said as if it was obvious. She quickly told him all that James had said.

“Well, I don’t know. Dams are famous for their leaks, and mills for their breakdowns. It’s not a job for… a woman with babe in arm. Betty-May will have to contract out everything except the garden and a milk cow.”

“And she will, and a miller will pay her a good share of all he cuts and grinds. The same with the fields. She’ll do very well. And were she to die, and Ben was guardian of the child, he could offer generous terms to himself, on behalf of the boy. And likely to James too – surely Beatrice would see to it that he did well by James, for her sister’s sake. There’s money to be made for the both of them – a lot of money. And if she’s found guilty and sentenced to hang, then she won’t be able to choose one of her own brothers as guardian for Marty. You can’t profit from your own wrong.”

“No,” said Tim as he considered it.

“This explains all the emotion that I heard coming out of Jane and James. And too, it might explain why Martin is dead. Maybe one of his brothers-in-law have been plotting to get his hands on the land and the mills – plotting a murder that takes place when Betty-May can’t provide an alibi.”

“But… then why didn’t they just come up with a story of finding her with the smoking gun in her hand and accuse her and get it over with?”

“Maybe they didn’t want to make it so obvious that they’d raise suspicions,” whispered Sadie, whose face looked sinister in the dim light. “They’d still have a lovely set of lips denying all guilt while tears rolled down a lovely set of cheeks. Maybe they were counting on Sammy being beaten into a false confession – or a false accusation rather. That way neither Ben nor James would have to put a hand on a Bible and lie before a judge and jury.”

“But that would condemn him and not her,” said Tim.

“But Sammy probably wouldn’t confess to committing the murder himself, not if he values his life. He’d surely blame the one person who can’t prove an alibi.”

“There’s two. He could still blame me.”

“But he wouldn’t,” said Sadie as she poked his chest with her finger, “because he’d likely realize that James or Ben would say they remember something that can support his false statement. And they’ve likely told him so already. Not directly, but clearly enough for him to understand.”

“Likely, but… are you saying we should go tell her that Ben or James might have murdered her husband for their land? The thought of it would be so awful – she’d refuse to contemplate it.”

“You’re probably right,” sighed Sadie. “She’d never believe us. It’d be too much.”

“With them close by, working on the mill and selling her grain and roots, she’s surely thinking of them as her… guardian angels. And too, they might actually be innocent. It isn’t just moody women who’ve been driven half-crazy by all that’s been happening. Maybe it’s our own heads too that are rattled by the sound of cannons. If we were to go tell all this to Betty-May, what’s she likely to think?”

“Yes. She’d think that we’re the crazy ones.”

“And with good reason.”

“She’s in a fragile state,” said Sadie as she pressed her fist to her chin. “And surely she’s not in her right mind – not with all that’s happened. And she never was, according to some.”

“And neither is poor Sammy. He could turn on me, I suppose, no matter what the brothers might have said. I was there with him, wasn’t I? When they come to beat a confession out of Sammy he might name both me and Betty-May. They could get themselves three scapegoats for the price of one beating.”

“Maybe we’re doing too much supposing,” said Sadie as she held her hand to her forehead, as if in pain.

“I… I think we are… maybe. And we don’t dare tell any of this to anybody, for fear of making ourselves enemies. We’re strangers here. I might be highly thought of for saving a colonel’s daughter, but I don’t know how far that’ll take me.”

“But,” said Sadie as she brought her eyes back to Tim’s, “it can still explain what I heard out of the mouths of Jane and James. We’re likely on the right track.”

“Likely. And for sure men have killed for a lot less.”

“And women too.”

“And it’s more likely to be Ben, I’d think,” said Tim as he tucked his arm back into its sling. “For though he seems more mature than James, that could just mean he’s cool-headed enough to commit a cold and calculated murder.”

Chapter 15

We can’t accuse anybody.

“Good day to thee, my maiden fair,” said an officer on horseback later that day. He had just ridden up the lane. “Is this, at last, the property of Sergeant Martin Maynes?”

“It is,” replied Sadie, who was on her way from the tent to the house “But I fear you’ve come too late. He’s been dead two days now.”

“Ah yes yes yes, and so I have been told. I knew him briefly but still I mourn his loss. And ‘tis that tragedy which has brought me thus. I am Major John Tennant of the 12th Regiment of the Albany County Militia, and I am here to conduct the official inquiry.”

“Oh good! I mean… it’s good to have you here. It’ll help settle things.”

“Settle things?”

“I just mean it will… quiet the rumors.”

“Ah yes, of course,” he said with a smile as he got off his horse. “Yes, there must be rumors, and I’m sure we’ll get things out in the open. And with statements taken under oath we can assume all are telling the truth and nothing but. And to start, I must go pay my respects to the Widow Maynes. She’s still here, I hope?”

“She’ll be in the house. The poor thing gave birth to a child only yesterday morning, and that was a month early.”

“So I’ve heard, so I’ve heard,” said Tennant as he handed the reins of his horse to a soldier who had come from the barn. “Would you be so kind,” he said to Sadie, “as to take me to her, if that would be possible. But if she’s sleeping, I can wait. I dare not demand more of her than she can comfortably manage.”

“I will convey your wishes,” said Sadie with a curtsey. She had been speaking very correctly and had been happy to find an opportunity to show how well she could put on the airs of a woman of quality. She turned to see others coming from the house and gaping at the man’s uniform – cut from fine fabric and freshly dyed. With poise and grace, Sadie made introductions as if they were all of wealth and breeding.

“Our comrades in arms from the New England states,” said Tennant as he sat by the table, holding a cup of coffee, “have kept on coming in ever more impressive numbers. We now outnumber our enemy by thousands, though they still pose a dire threat. We assume nothing and are ever vigilant.”

“We’ve heard a lot about our victory of two days ago,” said Ben from across the table, “but it still sounds too good to be true.”

“Private Jarvis, I can assure you that it is all quite true. Prisoners are telling us that the forces we faced included Fraser’s 24th and Lindsay’s 53rd – elite troops, all. The best that Burgoyne could offer and still they were held at bay. And I can tell you, a large part of the credit has to go to the man who led them into the thick of it – led them fearlessly. We are indeed fortunate to have a man like Arnold, for he has a rare talent for the inspiring of men to fight with courage and valor.”

“So does our generals,” said Solly, as he stepped forward.

“Solomon,” said his father, with a tone that told him he was to be seen but not heard.

“No no, let him speak,” laughed Tennant, “Yes, my boy, we’ve produced some excellent generals in our State of New York, but still we must give credit where credit is due. Think of when he and Ethan Allen captured Fort Ticonderoga. They had neither the men nor the cannons to capture any sort of a fortress but all they needed was Arnold’s gift of guile.”

“They sure did!” grinned Solly. “They walked right through the gate, and before the dirty redcoats knew what was what, they were prisoners.”

“Indeed they were and deserving of their reward.”

“Subterfuge,” said Solly. “That’s what my dad calls it.”

“Your father’s right again, my boy. Subterfuge it was and Arnold used the slyest of subterfuge. He did then, and didn’t he do as much again just this past August, when he stopped the redcoats from coming at us from the west and opening a second front.

“My dad says he didn’t have enough solders or weapons! But he didn’t need them!”

“That’s enough, son,” said Ben quietly.

“My dad says the redcoats were coming with their red-skinned allies and that Arnold was outnumbered!”

“Were they?” gasped Tennant.

“But they couldn’t know for sure how many we had. Then, when some enemy scouts were captured, they had with them a tory from hereabouts, who was crazed in the head. And the Indians knew him, and knew was crazed. And Arnold knew the Indians were fool enough to think that a lunatic to had powers to know what can’t be known and to see what can’t be seen. And dad says that’s no more foolish than what we think when we go pay a gypsy to tell us our fortune.”

“He’s right again,” said Tennant with a nod.

“And Arnold told him that if he didn’t do as he was told, he’d be hanged for a spy. Well, he wasn’t so crazy that he didn’t know that his life’s worth more than his loyalty to King George. So he went to the Indians and he told them that a great force of rebels was on its way. Well, the Indians hadn’t been too happy with how their invasion had been going, anyway,”

“So his story was the proverbial last straw?” asked Tenant.

“It was! They rolled up their blankets and went back home and they left the British on their own. So they tucked their tails between their legs and they make tracks back to where they’d come from.”

“And all because of a nice bit of subterfuge dreamed up by the brilliant Benedict Arnold. Ingenuity at its finest, was it not?”

“It was!” said Solly with a grin. “And he did as much out at Danbury, in Connecticut!”

“He did, didn’t he?” said Tennant with a glance to Ben, who was looking uncomfortable.

“It was just last spring!” said Solly, “and Arnold was home to visit his folks – just home for a rest., he was. But when he heard that the enemy had just come ashore, not far away, he didn’t need a rest anymore! He rounded up the militia and he found the enemy and he chased them back to their ships. My dad says that two horses were shot out from under him but still he didn’t quit.”

“My goodness!” chuckled Tennant. “The man fears nothing!”

“He sure doesn’t,” laughed Solly.

“And you are quite the storyteller, young man.”

“My dad’s been teaching me how to tell them good, and…”

“Betty-May, you’re up,” said Ben. She had come out of the bedroom during the story. “I hope you’re feeling better?”

“I couldn’t miss out on hearing so stirring an account as that,” she said to Solly with a drowsy smile.

“May I introduce Colonel Tennant, of the…”

“Yes I’ve been told. And I am so glad you could make it out so soon. I think you’d best begin the official inquiry right away, before I need another nap.”

“I could do that,” Tennant said after taking a bow, “but there is no need to rush. With New England militia arriving by the hour, our General Gates is hard-pressed to find duties for them all to discharge. Good numbers of them are now, as we speak, creeping through the forest and circling around the enemy to block the path of their retreat. Were Burgoyne to try, he’d likely make no better time going back than he made coming down. It’s been seventy-seven days since he came ashore at Ticonderoga and he’s covered barely more than a hundred miles. But though he’s surely running out of supplies, we cannot claim to be oversupplied, ourselves. There’s a limit to how many men we can keep provisioned for such endeavors. And what that means is that you,” he said to Ben,” and your brother-in-law, should remain here to ensure that all is ready for evacuation, if necessary. And too, to help with the locating of provisions, and of course to assist with the defense of a hospital that’s as much a prisoner-of-war camp. There’s plenty to be done here,” he said, turning back to Betty-May, “and that means that if you need a nap, I can hold off the inquiry until you awake refreshed.”

“No no, I might look like I need one but that’s just all the good medicine I’ve been given,” said Betty-May as she sat down in the chair offered to her by Ben. “But I would like us to have our luncheon first. Would you enjoy a lovely goat stew?”

The inquiry was a repetition of Ben’s, only Sammy was less anxious and Betty-May was able to give her account without breaking down. Major Tennant was invited to stay the night and everyone else returned to their work.

Tim and Dan went to the garden to talk while they dug carrots but they had little to tell each other until Tillie came out. “What I’m a-wondering,” she whispered, “is whether the brothers-in-law are still here because there’s some that didn’t feel sure that they can be trusted.”

“Just because they weren’t born here?” asked Tim as he leaned on a shovel.

“Not just for that. It’s because they’re a pair with a lot of opinions, and not always the right ones. Now, I don’t suspect them myself but there’s those who wonder whether they’ll turn tory as soon as it suits their convenience. Sometimes Ben and James ask too many questions. And they’ll question the things that everybody else has already agreed on, long ago. And they’ll be too careless with the concerns of others, and at the same time they’ll be too touchy, themselves – too likely to take offence and too prone to anger. And you know what that makes them sound like, don’t you?”

“Too many opinions, too likely to take offence and too prone to anger,” said Dan. “Sounds like the cousins have what it takes to be a general. Don’t they? It sounds like you’re describing the great Benedict Arnold.”

“Yes yes,” chuckled Tillie, “but what I was thinking of was too much like a pair of women. But it amounts to the same thing because too many generals are acting like women. A week don’t go by that we’re hearing about some general who’s hopping mad because he didn’t get this posting or that honor. We’ve got a preacher here who reads all the pamphlets and papers, and hears all the rumors, and then tells us all about them from the pulpit. Some say he rushes through the religion so he can get going on the gossip. But it keeps the meetinghouse full, though.”

“It isn’t just the generals,” said Dan.

“No it ain’t! It goes down the chain of command right to the bottom, it does. There’s a great flap now about the captain of our local militia company. Too sickly he is, and I’ve said so from the start, just by the look of him. He’s the one that Ben and James serve under, and the poor fellow’s in need of going home for a long rest. He’s now finally saying he’s stepping aside, and at long last. They say he’s been spending half his time snoozing in his tent, saying he’s needing to relieve a headache. And they’ve been saying he’ll get out of bed looking pale as a ghost. Too many demands on him, some say – too many coming to him and complaining about this and begging for that.”

“That can wear any man down,” said Dan.

“Ah, but though it might wear a man down,” laughed Tillie, “it don’t mean that there ain’t plenty who are ready to take his place and suffer his trials. For after all, if you’re promoted to captain for one day only, then folk will call you ‘captain’ for the rest of your life, and you can strut about like a turkey gobbler until they plant you in a fancy box. So finding a man to take the job ain’t the problem. The problem is which one to vote for. Yea, and for sure that’s a problem, for it means that every man considers it his business to have a say in who ought to be chosen. And every one of them that’s got a wife has a woman who thinks it’s her business too. And though only a pair of lowly privates, Ben and James Jarvis have as many opinions as any pair of officers’ wives. Always talking, they are, and they don’t care who’s listening.”

“And this makes them` untrustworthy?” asked Dan.

“Well,” said Tillie as she turned to start back to the house, “what it makes them is unpopular. And nowadays, unpopular means untrustworthy, don’t it? The two of them are shooting off their mouths about who ought to be the next captain, and you mix that in with their country of birth, and the slowness of their conversion to the cause, and what’ve you got? You’ve got reason for doubts.”

“You certainly do,” said Tim, with a look of concern.

“But don’t you go a-worrying about it,” laughed Tillie with a pat on his shoulder. “That ain’t none of your concern so don’t let it fret you.”

“You know what I’m wondering,” said Tim, as they watched Tillie go back to the house. “I’m wondering whether the same can be said about us – us being from far away. And a pair of New Englanders, too. What we’ll be able to report will be none of our business. Our asking questions will be a suspicious activity. So it might not matter what we get out of any of the… Jarvises that lack proof of an alibi.”

“Ben and James?”

“And Jane too. She could be the murderer. She’s got no alibi.”

“And they do say she’s prone to moods,” said Dan quietly after checking to see whether anybody was close. Remember Anne Devon, back in Boston, who hardly ever came out of the house? They’d say that if you were from away, and had only come for a visit, and had sat down and talked to her, that you’d think her sound as anybody. But then on a bad day she’d be hearing voices and talking back to them. And they say she was always taking things the wrong way and then demanding an apology.”

“Yes,” sighed Tim. “Mom said they kept wasting money on every sort of medicine, and they tried the laying on of hands, and they tried prayer teams.”

“And everything worked for a while but then she’d be worse again.”

“Her grandmother once found her down by the duck pond, lying on the ground, naked as the day she was born. But… I don’t think Jane or Betty-May are crazed as Anne Devon.”

“We don’t know that, though, do we?” said Dan. “We should go down to the duck pond more often.”

“What we’ll need to do,” said Tim, ignoring his humor, “is to get one of the Jarvises-without-alibis saying more than they ought to, and when some solid citizen from hereabouts is listening. We have to have a witness who’s well trusted and who’ll be believed when he tells it to a local jury.

“But how could we manage that? And too, we might be wrong assuming that any one of them’s guilty. We still don’t know anything for sure,” said Dan as he turned to see Sadie coming toward them. Dan told her about what Tillie had said and about what he and Tim had concluded.

“Well, I don’t know,” she sighed as she crossed her arms.

“I’m starting to wonder whether we should risk asking anything. For they’ll surely talk to their husbands, and that’ll surely raise the risk of at least one of them suspecting that they’re under suspicion.”

“Surely they know they’re under suspicion,” said Tim.

“No, not necessarily. Not by us,” said Dan. “There’s too much going on: cannon’s blasting, wounded shouting, women crying out in labor, a man being murdered. It’s a wonder any of us can think straight. I laid awake last night – for hours it seemed. We can’t assume that anybody’s right in the head, and that includes us.”

“But you’ve never been right in the head,” said Sadie with a gentle pat on his shoulder.

“But if Ben or James,” continued Dan, “do come to suspect that we newcomers sympathize with Betty-May, then all they’ll have to do is go to a local militia officer and claim that he’d overheard me or you saying that the elimination of one of their best sergeants could be well worth the effort – worth a sack of English silver. They could, couldn’t they?”

“They could,” shrugged Tim.

“And hard evidence of wrongdoing wouldn’t be needed to ruin our hopes for advancing in the Army. Once under suspicion I could spend the rest of the war at the end of a shovel.”

“You could.”

“And even worse, if a Jarvis was the murderer, we could be facing the wrath of a man who has it in himself to do more than just spread false rumors.”

“We could,” sighed Tim. “But we can’t just pack up and leave, can we? Once we’re gone, the Jarvises-without-alibis would have an easy time raising suspicions. Betty-May will be at their mercy, and they could say she was plotting with us. Her husband’s two days dead already and we haven’t seen any of her Adgate kin come out to pay their respects. I asked about it and it’s because any of them who aren’t serving with the militia have been evacuated. They’re staying with cousins, well beyond Albany. And her dearest friends are all gone too. If we leave, she’ll have nobody willing to defend her. And it’s over the next few days that she’ll need us most. Won’t it be? The major seems honest and impartial but things might change. Before he writes up his report he might hear one of the Jarvises offer some new information.”

“But it’s dangerous for us to stay here,” said Sadie. “We’ve already been asking questions. And just like I was able to listen in on James and Jane, maybe one of them has overheard us. They might fear us already.”

“But he was killed with your pistol,” said Tim to Dan, “and it was stored in my traveling chest. Danger or not, we have to stay here until we expose the killer. If we go that’ll make them think we’re fleeing the law. We’ve got to stay, for our own self-interest, if nothing else.”

“But how,” asked Dan, “can we persuade any one of them to part with their knowledge? We tried and we got nothing.”

“And,” said Sadie, “that’s assuming they’ve any knowledge to part with in the first place. Maybe it actually was a tory who did it, and who’s now long gone. And if nobody here is guilty and they hear of our suspicions, then at the very least, they’ll be highly offended. Won’t they be? How would you feel if you were wrongfully accused of murder? And even if we do ask questions and get answers, then we still can’t accuse anybody. Not without hard evidence. And where is that going to come from? Unless some reluctant witness comes forward, then what?”

At this time, members of county militias still elected their captains. Usually, members were men in fit condition, from age sixteen to sixty, excepting those with essential trades or professions. The tradition had started in Plymouth Colony in 1620, where all public officials were elected. The Pilgrims were one of many congregations who were called separatists because they were outside of the Church of England, the official church that was headed by the King. He appointed bishops, who in turn appointed priests. English separatists were radical protestants who strongly rejected the authority of any bishop. With no bishop to obey, the men of the congregation elected their minister. When separatist groups banded together, their association was ruled by a system of elected committees.

Chapter 16

‘Tis many a man’s downfall.

Days passed while the two armies remained where they were, their camps six miles apart and separated by dense forest. The British were at Sword’s Farm, seven miles south of Saratoga (now called Schuylerville). The Americans were still on the Bemis Heights. Scouts could see their enemies peering over ramparts that grew higher as men labored with picks and shovels. Sharpshooters fired shots. A few were hit, sometimes a scout, sometimes a sentinel and often a fellow sniper. A thrill ran through the American camp when word came that its forces had recaptured the fortress of Ticonderoga. Many were shocked when they heard that General Gates had removed Benedict Arnold from his command, and given him permission to take any complaints to Philadelphia. Everyone knew another attack had to come and either side could launch the first strike. All listened for the cannon fire that would announce a major action.

Things were quiet on the Maynes farm. Only once did a wagonload of men come to the hospital, and only one of them had a wound from a military action. A young man thrown from a horse had landed on a rail fence. A militia corporal had been hit in the head when a pick came loose from its handle and flew through the air. Three had been hit by the upper branches of a falling tree. Two older men had thrown out their backs from too much digging. Likely the worst injury was the sniper who had fallen from the tree he was climbing to get a shot at an enemy picket. These newly arrived patients did not even offset the number who were taken out to the grave.

After the three days of the wake, Martin Maynes was carried to where his mother and father had been buried, west of the house and under a large oak. Fieldstones marked the spots but no names were carved into a headstone. Births, deaths and other important dates were written inside the cover of the family Bible, and as well in the county records. With so many people already gone or afraid to travel, there were few who came to the graveside funeral. Together they sang hymns. A friend of the family delivered an uplifting sermon with a detailed account of Martin’s military activities. Major Tennant had come back and was asked to say a prayer. His calm and solemn voice helped reassure everyone that the affair was closed. The only reasonable explanation was the cowardly act of a tory, and Tennant asked for renewed vigilance to ensure such a thing would not happen again. All were quiet as the body in its sheet was lowered into the grave. The widow looked lovely with her sleeping baby in her arms. Her eyes were droopy, her breath smelled of soothing compound and no tears could be seen on her cheeks.

Everyone tried to look composed and courageous but they could not mask the anxiety that had been growing over the summer. Many suffered insomnia, headaches, stomach upset or fits of anger. But at the same time a lot of work was getting done and children seemed happy as they ran about, yelling and shrieking.

Dan and Tim had organized a small unit of cadets, aged three to nine. Every morning they drilled them for as long as they could before their recruits grew tired of it and said they wanted to play something else. Both continued to charm the Jarvis wives, though there was little occasion for anything more than smiles and small talk. No progress was made in the effort to find an explanation for the shooting. The Jarvises-without-alibis said nothing to suggest any weakening of their suspicions of Betty-May and Sammy.

. . . . .

A commissary clerk arrived with a large wagon and two helpers. His coat and hat were nicely brushed but the look in his eyes said he was deeply troubled. He walked along the lane, leading the team, and brought it up to the house where women were sitting on benches with needles and threads, taking advantage of the light. One was Sadie, who looked up from her sewing to see the face of Matthew Euston. Her father was an older version of Tim and looked every one of his forty-six years.

“Sadie?” he asked, sounding unsure of who he was looking at.

“Yes,” she replied in an icy tone.

“I hadn’t thought I’d see you here.”

“Oh?”

“Tim’s here too?”

“Yes.”

“Well…”

“You’re in the Army,” she said, after a long pause.

“The 8th Massachusetts. Sent out to gather up provisions and… and to pay for it with paper.”

“We’ve still some to sell. You got empty sacks?”

“Oh yes, plenty of them. They’ve been bringing them in from out east. I heard Tim saved the life of our colonel’s little girl.”

“You’ve come to see him, then.”

“I hope to – to see you both,” he said with a forced smile.

“I’m here too,” said Abby from behind.

He turned around slowly, smiled again and said, “Well! Well! It’s good to see you too.”

Abby said nothing.

“I’ve… I’ve been keeping well enough,” Matthew said, and he alternated between looking at her and looking at the ground before him. “My… my wife, she… ah… passed on, and… ah… well… God bless her soul. It was twenty-four years we were… were…”

The others were completely silent as they watched. Two men were coming from the barn and stopped to wonder about the looks on women’s faces.

“I… I heard about Tim saving Colonel Brooks’ daughter,” he said, turning to the others with a brief grin. “‘Twas quite a feat they… they say.”

“You’re a private?” asked Abby. It was odd that a middle-aged merchant with long experience would have so low a rank. When they could be persuaded to join at all, a merchant would usually get an officer’s commission.

“Yes, well… I’d… after I’d sent you off to New York, I… I was drinking a lot and… well, I’d forget things and… Well, I couldn’t keep up with my debts and then… well, I was forced into… into bankruptcy. Of course, it was my own fault for… well, I was imprisoned for a while… for debt. And… well, when none of my kinfolk stepped forward to help me out I… well... I was allowed to… to join up. It’s for seven years or ‘till the end of the war. Not a bad arrangement for me. All they got was my signing bonus and… everything I owned that I couldn’t carry on my back. Of course… well, there’ll be no going back to Boston though, will there? And… so… how’s it been for you three?”

“You want to know, do you?” Abby asked with an accusing tone.

“Well… I’ve often wondered.”

“I sent you letters…” she said, her voice shaking with emotion.

“I… and… I meant to… to write… and…”

“For three years – three and a half years – we’ve been taking whatever work we could find. We’ve relied on the charity of strangers.”

“Yes… well… ‘twas a shameful way I’ve behaved, I know that, and…”

“A shameful way indeed,” said Abby as the sadness in her voice started building into anger. “And a shameful way I behaved too – listening to your promises – taking your money. Bringing your bastard children into the world! A shameful way to behave, indeed. So shameful that you had to send us far away and leave us to our own devices – to scrub the floors of strangers, while you went on living with the wife that you lied to and… living with your shame. And I don’t doubt that it helped push her into an early grave. Yea, ‘tis a shameful way we’ve both behaved, hasn’t it been? I could have followed the path of righteousness, and instead I chose a path paved with lies and sin. And you, for leading me astray – a girl of eighteen! What forgiveness do you deserve?”

“Yes… well…” said Matthew, quietly. He remained in this pose for a long moment, his head hung down, and then turned to walk away, at first slowly and then faster. His helpers watched, wondering what to do. They then pulled the team and wagon around to follow him along the lane to the road.

Abby, her face firm as a stone, turned the other direction and walked around the house, through the garden and continued along the path that went toward the mill and from there on to the neighbors’.

Later in the afternoon Matthew Euston returned, and this time the wagon carried a number of sacks, likely filled with apples or potatoes; a purchase from another farmer. He avoided the house and went to the barn to ask who, besides the Widow Maynes herself, might be responsible for selling farm produce. A boy was sent running to get Ben. He came back immediately and they talked prices for a few minutes. Then, with help from Sammy and a few others, they filled sacks with a variety of fruit and roots and loaded them on to fill the wagon. When Matthew was away from the others, Sadie came over to him.

“How long were you in jail?” she asked.

“Oh, not long. I was in at night and out to find work, each day. The debtors wanted to get paid and… since I’d no one willing to loan me money, they knew I’d… well. I wouldn’t make any money in jail, would I?”

“How are you going to pay them off?”

“Oh… well,” said Matthew, looking deeply ashamed, “the debtors agreed to forgive the debts on the condition that I serve in the Army. Of course, it won’t be seen as any sort of full forgiveness so… that’s why I won’t be going back to Boston. I’ll start anew, away and off upon the frontier somewhere. There’s a lot of bankrupts out there, I’m told. It’s not seen as so much of a… mark on a man.”

“Oh,” she said sadly, and not seeming to want to talk about it. Bankruptcy was a shameful thing.

“You’ve been working in houses then?”

“We’ve done alright,” she said with a shrug. “Our masters and mistresses have been kind. Tim and I kept up with our reading and writing and our playing.”

“Oh, I’m glad.”

“Tim was apprenticed to a carpenter, but with the war there wasn’t much building. He spent most all his time cutting firewood.”

“Oh well…”

“He’s been wanting to join the Army, but things keep stopping him. At first he was too short and too young. We were living on a neutral ground, in a town called Yonkers. Then we were up in the highlands in New Jersey. A captain there coaxed him into holding out for a commission because of… well, Tim’s been studying and memorizing the officers’ manuals. But that came to nothing.”

“Holding out for a commission?” asked Matthew with a furrowed brow.

“Yes, it was foolish to think that…”

“But he’s of no family of wealth and stature.”

“Well,” sighed Sadie, “there’s some who think that it’s the measure of the man that should count, not the measure of his relatives.”

“But he’s never been to college.”

“No, but he reads and writes enough to sound like he has been,” said Sadie and she told of Tim’s study of military manuals, his taking of notes, and his memorization while he worked.

“I’m so pleased to…”

“Though, for all Tim’s studying and all his deep thinking, he’s forever forgetting what he’s doing. And when he was helping with carpentry he’d kept getting his counts and measurements wrong. They called him ‘Tim Useless.’ So maybe he’ll be no good for the Army – except for playing his fiddle. Who knows? But still… he knows a lot from his studying.”

“But nothing came of it?”

“No, and now we’re here. He’d gone up to the Bemis Heights to get sworn in and that’s when he went and broke his arm.”

“I heard.”

“He must be about here somewhere,” she said, looking back.

“Well… maybe he doesn’t… I can’t expect him to forgive me, can I?”

“There’s many who’ve done worse than you.”

“Fortunately for me,” Matthew joked.

“Well… yes. And… at least we know you’re well now,” she said as she looked down.

“Well enough. I’ve… I try not to get drunk anymore. That was my greatest downfall.”

“Yea, ‘tis many a man’s downfall,” Sadie said, trying to sound like the sort of preacher who was forever remonstrating on the sin of drunkenness.

“It certainly was my downfall.”

“You’re headed back to the Bemis Heights now?”

“I’m under orders to seek out provisions and have them prepared for pickup. It’s quite a task, feeding so many thousands of soldiers.”

“I’m sure.”

“I’m going to send the wagon back and pitch my tent here, if the mistress will allow me.”

“Pitch your tent?” asked Sadie, as if she did not believe him. “Well… I’m sure she’ll welcome you. She’s welcomed everybody else. I’ll go ask her so you don’t have to… disturb her. She’s likely taking her nap and then she’ll be nursing the babe. And… there are some things that you should know,” she said as she motioned him to come further away from the wagon. She explained all that had been happening and described her, Tim and Abby’s suspicions regarding the killing.

“Well,” said Matthew with a shake of his head.

Sadie then advised him to put his tent on far side of the barn, well away from the others. That way he could avoid crossing paths with Abby. She then went to convey his request for permission. This was a formality. The farm was still an army hospital and the Army could go wherever military necessity dictated.

While helping to prepare more stew, Sadie wondered about his presence on the Maynes farm. Other commissary clerks were coming and going, buying provisions, but they would always return to the camp with their goods. Why, she wondered, was he remaining on a farm after buying out most of what was ready to go? Shouldn’t he oversee the shipment back? It would hardly matter that he thought he had a bastard son here. Is it possible that Matthew Euston’s presence serves some other purpose?

Chapter 17

A lovely sight, isn’t it?

“Have you talked to him?” asked Dan.

“Yeah,” replied Tim. “I didn’t want to look like I was sulking about us being sent off and abandoned so I made myself go wish him a good day and ask after his health.”

“How is it?”

“What?”

“His health.”

“It’s good, he says. He says he’s not getting drunk anymore.”

“That’s all?”

“It’s all I asked. It’s all he told.”

“Sadie says he’s bankrupt.”

“I know. She told me.”

“So at least now you know why he stopped sending you money.”

Tim let out an angry sigh. “It’s more than that! He never told us he was broke. He never asked if we were managing to get by. He knew though. For a long time Mom was sending letters. Each of us would write one and they’d go together. Sure it cost a lot but even bankrupt he could have sent one back.”

“Hurt pride can make a man stupid,” said Dan with a shrug.

“And what’s he doing pitching a tent here? He’s a commissary clerk and they got militia coming in by the thousands. He should busier than he’s ever been.”

“There’s a lot you and I don’t know about the provisioning of an army.”

“Well, it still seems strange.”

“Maybe he’s hoping to reconcile with your mother.”

“She could do better than him,” Tim snorted as he looked away. “And anyways, that doesn’t explain it. It wouldn’t be him who decides where he billets himself. He’s a private only. It’s his sergeant and his lieutenant and his captain who decide that. And why should any of them be interested in his… reconciliations. And it’s not even every sergeant that gets to bring his wife along. They’ve already got enough women following the Army.”

“They do.”

“Remember what Tillie said? Ben and James are likely getting to stay here and work on the mill because they’re not trusted to be up at the front.”

“You’re thinking maybe she’s right?” asked Dan.

“Why not? Maybe they are secret tories and maybe they aren’t but… some around here are suspicious. Likely everybody’s suspicious. And maybe Matthew Euston’s here to watch them. And while he’s at it he could go around buying things, just to make himself look busy.”

“You know…” said Dan, as he stopped to think, “we could tell that to their wives.”

“Tell their wives?”

“Sure,” he said as his eyes widened. “We could warn them.”

“You’re right,” said Tim as a smile started to grow on his lips. “We could say we’re willing to help keep an eye on Matthew Euston, the spy. We could say they’ve got to warn their husbands.”

“Then we’ll be on their side and…”

“And they’ll want to help us, maybe. They’ll take us into their confidence.”

“We could say that the locals have been suspecting them of assisting the enemy,” said Dan, “and thinking that they’re earning British silver for now, and the goodwill of a future royal governor. Preferential treatment when their projects need approval – or maybe even a land grant – land confiscated from a rebel traitor to the King – like Martin Maynes.”

“And we could talk about the high regard that the men had for Martin, and of how the major is saying that he isn’t going to just stand by and leave his death unexplained.”

“So long as we can convince them,” said Dan as he pointed his finger, “that their husbands risk being arrested – either justly or falsely – they’ll want to do something or say something to help us. And once they’re talking, they’ll say more than they planned.”

“And once one of them has started to talk, then she’d be more likely to confess all to authorities. And once the Jarvis wives are a-sitting in an Albany jailhouse and they’re presented with what they’ve said to us already, then they’ll burst into tears and tell all. Won’t they?”

“Well… more than likely,” said Dan. “So! This’ll do it then. You and Sammy and Betty-May will be safe.” But then his smile faded and he added, “So long as one of the Jarvises actually is guilty.”

“I suppose,” sighed Tim. “It might actually have been a tory.”

. . . . .

They sat by the house for an hour. The day was getting hot. Someone in the barn was shouting again. People came and went, sometimes stopping to talk. Both Tim and Dan tried to act like they were in no mood for conversation and would point out that there was still work to be done in the garden. Finally Jane came out of the house, going in the direction of the mill. Tim rose to follow. Dan distracted the man who had stopped to chat.

“Jane!” whispered Tim, once they were into the woods.

“What is it?” she asked, at first startled and then smiling when she realized who it was.

“I’ve been wondering about… about my father, Matthew Euston.”

“What?” she asked, hoping to get a juicy bit of gossip she could share with others.

“What do you suppose he’s doing here, pitching a tent? I mean, he says he’s here to organize provisions and get them ready for pickup and, I suppose, to settle on prices and all… but… why’s he need to be here? Why’s he not traveling around with a wagon? Sure, maybe he’s wanting to win back my mom, now that he’s not… not got a wife and… well, now he’s not too good for her.”

“Oh Tim!”

“We may as well be honest about it. She’s not from a family of any rank and she’s always just been some sort of house servant and… but now he’s not a Boston merchant anymore. He’s just a private.”

“Your mother is a fine woman.”

“Oh, I know that but, just being fine doesn’t always...well… I suppose maybe she’ll think he’s now not good enough for her. But still, he abandoned us, didn’t he? But… but that’s not what I’m wondering about. I’ve been told that there are some who wonder about Ben and James. About them not having deep roots here, and about their not being as quick as some to come over to the cause of liberty, and about James being so willing to… to play the devil’s advocate – to look at both sides of an issue and sometimes to take the tory side, for the sake of argument.”

“My, you have heard a lot,” said Jane in a disapproving tone.

“I know I shouldn’t listen to gossip but… maybe Matthew Euston’s been sent here to keep an eye on them and… to ask around about them. And you know that when times are like they are now, you don’t always need proof to ruin a man’s reputation – or worse.”

“Yes,” sighed Jane, sounding as if she was tired of hearing about it. “I was wondering that too. I’d not be surprised if more than a few were wondering that.”

“I was just thinking that you ought to warn them, in case they haven’t thought about it. Tell them they’ve got to start talking like they’re bound and determined patriots. I got no reason to doubt that they are but… I’ve heard talk. And they’ve maybe got to stop being so clever and witty. Now… I know I’m often no better but… well, maybe for now, with war and revolution, it’s just not the time for it. And it maybe hasn’t been for two years now.”

“Yes,” she said, as if she had known and had been trying to put it out of her mind. “Yes, I’ve wondered that too. We’ve been warned before and I’ve talked to James about it. But he doesn’t listen. Or he doesn’t seem to. It’s like he can’t say anything without his… wit.”

“Well, what can…”

“Tim,” she interrupted. “I… we can’t talk here. Sammy or Betty-May might see us and then… Or whoever else might be behind it if they aren’t. I want… I think…”

“Where can we talk?” asked Tim.

“You go off the path, like you’re looking to pick some nuts, and I’ll go up the north path, like I’m going to the neighbors – the Farthingale’s – to borrow something. After a little while you follow after me. I’ll watch for you.”

. . . . .

Deep in autumn foliage they stopped by the pond, far enough away from the mill to ensure privacy. The reds, yellows and greens reflected off of water that lay completely still. They sat down on a fallen log.

After hearing Tim retell his suspicions, Jane told him what she feared the most. “Sure, it might be a tory, but… so often… well… my brother was a hard man. He was born to be a sergeant and… to boss men around. He’s never happier than when he’s out with the boys and making… cruel jokes. And… what I suspect is that he’s been hard on Sammy and… well, I wonder if he’s been any kinder to Betty-May. I don’t know that he’s been beating either of them but… it wouldn’t surprise me if he has been. But… I suppose when you’re like him you don’t have to beat someone for them to fear you. He was a man who could… take command. But that sort of person can be a burden too. While some will worship him there’ll be some who hate him.”

“But that doesn’t mean they’d kill him.”

“Well… it does happen. And a woman can go crazy with anger. You’ve not had a wife, have you? And your mother and sister are so… mild.”

“They’re not that mild,” said Tim.

“Women get convicted for murder too, sometimes. You’ve heard about it often enough. And likely more would be found out were it not so easy to poison a man and get away with it. But if she did kill him… then it’s odd that she wouldn’t poison him. You use two or three different poisons and you keep at it a little at a time and his health will start to fail and then the next time a fever’s going around it’ll finish him off.”

“Poison would be the womanly way,” agreed Tim with a completely serious expression.

“And with her having the farm and being so pretty, she’d easily find another husband.”

“She could.”

“And if she and Sammy had got to talking while Martin was away... Women need to talk, and when it’s about wanting your husband to die then… you can’t just talk to anybody, can you? And too, Sammy might be in love with her. Everybody falls in love with her! And you know why they do, don’t you? I’ve seen the way you look at her – just like the rest of them. She’s broken more hearts than any girl this side of Albany. With her looks and with the way she’ll give people the impression that she thinks them special. There’s some that… can’t stop themselves.”

“No,” agreed Tim.

“It must have driven poor Martin insane with jealousy.”

“Maybe it did,” said Tim, but he was wondering about the anger and envy he could hear in Jane’s voice. He realized that a hatred of Betty-May could have been years in the making, and that it might have been truly infuriating to see the popular Betty-May Adgate suddenly married to the half-brother who had already received the larger part of her father’s estate. He stood up from the log, looked at the reflection of leaves on the still water, and sat back down. “Who’s going to get the mill? Little Marty, I suppose. And that’d mean his mother for the next twenty-one years.”

“Likely. Who knows?” Jane said, standing up. “Only a lawyer could know that for sure.”

“And two lawyers would disagree,” joked Tim.

“They would.”

“And if it went to law, the two lawyers could take home a large part of the estate.”

“Indeed they could,” she said, sitting back down, this time closer to Tim. She sighed and leaned her forehead on her hand.

“Has your land got any potential for waterpower?” asked Tim.

“None at all,” she said, lifting her head back up. “Most farms don’t.”

“But Betty-May can’t tend a mill while raising a child. It’d take a man to keep it going, wouldn’t it? Somebody who could haul around timbers and get them into place for sawing. Who’s going to do that?”

“I don’t know,” she said with exasperation in her voice, while standing back up. “Everybody’s talking about mills these days, what with so many good streams coming out of the highlands. I’m sick of hearing about it!”

“She’s got brothers who could help her, doesn’t she?” Tim said as he got up and stepped toward her.

Jane turned away with a huff, muttering, “We’ll see about that.” But then she turned back. “You know Tim, I’m wondering whether you’d be better off forgetting about the Army and settling yourself hereabouts. You could do your soldiering with the militia. They’re the ones doing most of the real fighting, too. Aren’t they? For the real fight is against our own tories, isn’t it? And the war’s likely over now anyways. If Clinton comes up the Hudson with a relief force, then the country will be cut in half and most will give up hope for any sort of liberty. And if he doesn’t and Burgoyne is forced to surrender, then the Parliament in England will surely decide that enough money’s been spent on a lost cause. And people are always saying that this part of the country is where a man can make something of himself. And too, it’s where your sister could find herself a good man, and maybe your mother could too. She’s only thirty-six.”

“She is,” said Tim with a shrug of his shoulder, as if he had not considered this option.

“You could work for a farmer and learn the tricks of the trade, couldn’t you? And you could work for one that’s got a mill, and learn the miller’s trade too. Every miller’s a farmer too, you know. You could work for Ben or James. They know both and there’s easily work enough for an extra hand. You might have to wait ‘till they get paid before you’ll be paid but… they’d be good for it. They always pay their debts.”

“Yes, I know,” Tim sighed, looking in the direction of the mill. “But that’s only if they can keep the mill out of the hands of Betty-May’s brothers, isn’t it?”

“That’ll be for Betty-May to decide.”

“You know,” said Tim with deep sincerity in his voice, “you’re not the only one who’s been wondering about Betty-May and Sammy. When Martin was on the ground, and we knew he was dying, and when Betty-May first came out – you weren’t there, were you? It was a great show of sorrow she put on, but right away I was wondering whether it might be… playacting. It was just too much! I know that’s a cruel thing to say, and I don’t want you to repeat a word of this but… it didn’t… ‘ring true’, as they say. I couldn’t help but wonder about it. It seemed so much like an act. I was forced to ask myself whether she could be the killer herself, with Sammy’s help.”

“Oh Tim, I don’t want to think of it! I… I’ll wonder the same and then I’ll hate myself for it! And too, I can’t stop myself from thinking about… poor Ben. He’s always been a… well…. he’ll hold a grudge forever. And too, he’s the kind who will so often feel he’s been dealt with unfairly.”

“He does seem it,” said Tim with a nod.

“And since he and James have come back, Ben’s been… strange. His brow’s been more wrinkled than ever and… but surely that’s only because he regrets leaving his fellows behind at the front – just at the time when they might need him most. Surely Ben’s a good and godly man whose service to the militia and the cause of liberty is… well, surely it’s second only to his devotion to his family. Oh, I don’t know!” she said, fighting back tears. “Oh Tim,” she said as she took hold of his arm, “your being here… You’ve been so kind and… all that you’ve been doing to help, it does more than you know. I know you can’t do much with that arm but… still you’ve… strength. You’re fearless and that does so much to calm our fears. It’s been awful, living here – hearing every day about an Army… coming for us. You can’t know what it’s like being a woman and… always wondering what might happen, were they to overtake us – were we to be captured. I try so hard to put it out of my head but… and the nightmares! I dream of my home in flames and of going back to find it laying in ashes. And too, it’s so painful now to… to see a newborn in the arms of… that woman! Poor James. We’ve been trying for so long to conceive a child. You don’t know what it’s like for a wife when she can’t… And the Maynes women have always been good childbearers. I… I don’ t know. James has two uncles who’ve been forced to adopt.”

As she said this Jane pressed her forehead against his shoulder and wept quietly. Tim could not help but think of a way he could help her with that sort of a problem. Her emotion, her flushed cheeks, her little fists – they were making her all the more luscious a sight to gaze upon. Even when crying she inspired thoughts. He put his good hand on her shoulder, as if to console her. She stopped in mid-sob and looked up at him with an expression of gratitude. Mischief then sparkled in her dark eyes and she moved closer.

“A lovely sight, isn’t it?” they heard her husband say, just as Tim was lifting his hand to touch her cheek.

At this time the cost of sending a letter could either be borne by the sender, or the receiver if he chose to accept it. A letter from New York to Boston cost as much as a half-day of semi-skilled labor.

Chapter 18

Beast-like behavior.

Tim realized too late that they had backed away from each other too quickly, but when he turned, he saw that James was looking the other way, gesturing toward the pond.

“What a pleasant sight,” he said, almost shouting. “And in such bright autumn sunshine – all so bold and joyful. Yes, you can have your close-cropped French gardens, for ‘tis God’s own splendor that I call beauty. Indeed yes, and ‘tis all the more lovely if you know how much water lies stagnant upon the boggy woodlands above, waiting to be channeled and gated and sent downstream to drive a second wheel. Maybe even a third, when the water’s high. And that’s not just in spring. A good heavy rain in midsummer would be enough to refill this pond. We know that because it’s happened before, and more than once.”

“I… I would never have looked at a millpond,” said Tim, “and thought of all that.” He was not fooled though, and Jane was not either. James’s tone and expression told them that he knew what had almost happened, and Tim’s voice communicated the degree of his embarrassment. “But I… I must say, I… I will often look at a stand of young timber and estimate the number of cords of firewood. I was a woodcutter, you know, for three long years.”

“Yes, I know what you are,” James responded in a leaden tone that told them he was not thinking of woodcutting.

“Well… well, I’m supposed to be out looking for… to pick some bittersweet. My mother wants some for a… a woman in the camp. She’s got the gout, and rheumatiz too, poor thing. Mom’ll boil up in a fine effusion and she’ll mix in this and that. And then she’ll offer it up with such faith and hope – it’ll do the woman good no matter what she puts in it.”

James nodded and turned his eyes back to the pond. Tim wished them a good afternoon and crept away quietly. Jane stood where she was, her back straight and her arms folded, daring her husband to make his accusation. He looked at her and then looked away, shaking his head.

“How’s the work coming, my husband?” she asked as she started toward the mill. “Your progress is impressive, I’m told. I heard a carpenter praise your carpentry.”

“What was all that about?” he asked when he caught up to her.

“I’ve good news, my dove,” she said, stopping to turn around. “Good news indeed. Tim Euston might soon bring us great good fortune.”

“For us?”

“For us, my love, for he’s been wondering about Betty-May and Sammy. Since the day Martin died he says, he’s been wondering – since the moment his beautiful young wife came upon the sight of him in his death throes. Tim says that she put on a performance that was less then entirely convincing. Poor playacting, he said it seemed to be. And he says that from that day on, he’s been wondering about her and Sammy.”

“That’s the first I’ve heard of that,” whispered James while looking around to see if anyone was listening. Jane had been talking loud enough to be heard halfway to the mill. “And you told me yourself that he’s in love with Betty-May.”

“He was, but now he realizes that his admiration has been misplaced. A man can fall in and out of love with remarkable speed, as well you know. And… if I can read a man right,” said Jane, finally in a low voice, “then Tim Euston can likely be persuaded to help get her charged and convicted, or at least declared unfit. And he might be especially willing if he thinks that I might be his reward for good behavior.”

“You! You… you cannot be serious! How do you plan on giving him that sort of an impression without… What sort of a reputation do you want for yourself?”

“Oh, a reputation for being well-dressed to start with. Well-housed too, and well-fed – able to offer some kind of hospitality to friends and relatives who come to call. That would be a nice reputation to have.”

“What good will any of that be,” asked James with a sneer in his voice, “if you can’t raise your face for shame?”

“What are you saying, husband? What sort of beast-like behavior do you suppose went on back there? Are you saying that I’ll raise my skirt for any woodcutter who comes to town putting on airs of quality?”

“You don’t have to do that much to get yourself a reputation. All that’s necessary is to leave the impression that you’re willing to… to risk scandal.”

“Is this James Jarvis I’m listening to? Or are you the preacher’s wife in disguise?”

“You’re a fool to even give the impression that you might ever consider committing such a sin.”

“And you, James Jarvis, are a fool to think we can afford to let petty fears stand in the way of us and… and the children I hope we might some day have!” At this James turned away, but she continued. “If we want what we deserve, then we are going to have to take advantage of opportunities when they present themselves.”

. . . . .

From where he hid behind some bushes Tim could tell how angry they were at each other, but could not make out what they were saying. He could see and hear enough to know that Jane was not a woman who could be bent to the will of a husband. And what, he wondered, was that look I saw in her eyes? Surely I could have kissed her – and likely more.

He kept watching until they were out of sight, and then got up to go back to the farmyard. Again he wondered about what he had heard. It was not much but it might be a lot. Jane had said that Ben had been in a strange mood, and his brow had been more wrinkled than ever. Could Ben Jarvis be the killer? He surely had much to gain – more than James, because he was first in line, being the eldest. And he seemed to have the courage it would take to do more than grumble about his wife’s small inheritance. And what of Jane’s reaction, Tim asked himself, after I said that I wondered about Betty-May and Sammy. Her eyes lit up like sparks. And what about when she was expressing her gratitude? It couldn’t be only my calmness and my courage that would make her look at me like that. Her words can lie but a look like that… it could never tell anything but the truth. Tim nodded his head as a smile formed on his lips. They might not be the killers but they are certainly hoping to profit from the killing. And how much would Jane Jarvis be willing to offer to gain my assistance?

Chapter 19

The antagonizing of a murderer.

After Tim had rose from the bench to follow Jane down the path to the mill, Dan had gone out to where the children were playing. By then they were tiring of a game that required running around. When one asked him to tell a story, several called out their agreement. Dan’s stories were vulgar sailors’ jokes that he changed around just enough to make them into a proper morality tale, and with enough added detail to stretch them out to at least a quarter of an hour. He led the children to the shade of a tree, not far from the pigpen, and everyone crowded around.

When Beatrice could not hear shouting and screaming she came out to see whether they were up to no good. When she saw them with Dan her face broke into a smile. The story was ending with a little lesson that was easy enough for the smallest child to understand. Bubble, seeing his mother, ran to her and tried to retell the story. She could not understand much of what he was saying but she did not mind because she knew that it would not take him long to finish.

“That was a very good story,” said Beatrice, and Bubble beamed with pride.

“Indeed it was,” said Dan with a nod. “You’re to be a fine storyteller some day, my little man. Though never as good as me.”

“Yes I’ll be!” insisted Bubble.

“No you won’t!” said a girl his age and they started to argue.

“You’re so good with children,” said Beatrice, as she cupped her hand against Bubble’s head and gently pushed him aside. “You should be a schoolmaster. Then your gifts wouldn’t go wasted.”

“Ah, but ‘tis the same gift that will make me a fine drill sergeant, for is there all that much difference between men and boys?”

“Not once they’re in the Army, I don’t suppose. You could do both though – a sergeant during time of war and a schoolmaster in peacetime.”

“But who would teach the little darlings during time of war?”

“Well, a woman of course. We can do anything you can do.”

“I must confess,” said Dan, “I’ve given the idea of schoolmaster some thought. And I remain deeply undecided. The problem is that there are so many things that folks say I’m good at, though they all seem to involve talking. What should I make of that?”

“I want to be present the next time you tell them a story,” said a sleepy looking Betty-May who had come up behind Beatrice.

“We’ll have to wait until the little ones are tired from running again. And after supper too, of course. I wouldn’t want to tell a story to hungry children.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t. How are your ribs?”

“They’re quite delicious with a sweet sauce.”

“I mean ‘your’ ribs.”

“Oh, they were more sensitive every day for three days, and since they’ve been less each day. Though it’s still agony getting up from a nap. But I’ve definitely turned the corner.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“But I’m told they’ll be sensitive for months to come – years maybe.”

“Oh dear.”

“But I’ll be more than able to bear arms again next spring, once the crops are planted and it’s fighting season again. Or maybe sooner if they want me for raiding. But it’ll most likely be drill and standing guard and, of course, chopping wood. I’m well-trained at that. And too, there’s all the other small tasks needed to keep the garrison looking and smelling as it should. They tell me it’s a dismal existence for soldiers during winter. And they don’t let you go home either, not in the Army.”

“They’d never get half of them back,” said Beatrice. “You really are too good for the regulars. It’s too bad they took you.”

“Oh, but serving under a man like Washington is a dream come true,” insisted Dan. “And I’m especially fortunate to be a battle-scarred veteran already, without ever having had to dig a ditch. And too, I did it without getting myself killed.”

“Or maimed,” said Beatrice. “I only hope the war is over and you’ll…”

“Oh, don’t say that!” joked Dan. “Not when poor Tim Euston might hear you. He lives in fear of the war ending before he can stand up and face the enemy in pitched battle.”

“Where is he?” asked Betty-May. “I saw him take after Jane, down towards the mill.”

“He said he was going there to help,” said Dan. “He’s always imagining himself capable of being useful in spite of that one arm of his. And here’s Ben coming now. Ben! Where’s Tim! Down at the mill?”

“Haven’t seen him. I’m on my own down there.”

“Well, I could help you.”

“Please Dan, it’s too painful for me to see you wince every time you move.”

“I do not!”

“Yes, I know you don’t. Sure you can come help me. Getting back to work will speed a man’s healing.”

“Does it?”

“For sure it does, and especially if the man’s my servant!” laughed Ben.

“Have you and Tim drilled the boys yet today?” asked Beatrice as she and Betty-May started back to the house. “That’s always a task worth doing.”

. . . . .

The two men walked single file along the narrow trail, and when they got to the mill Dan said, “Ben, I’ve a question.”

“Oh, I fear I cannot,” joked Ben, “for truly I’ve already lent all the money I have.”

“No no, it’s not that! It’s just that… what do you make of this Matthew Euston fellow pitching his tent behind the barn?”

“Who?”

“Private Matthew Euston, commissary clerk. Tim and Sadie’s father. He didn’t even know Sadie and her mother were here. Or so he says.”

“And he’s pitched a tent?”

“He has,” said Dan with an ominous tone. “He sent the wagon back north and now he’s set to stay on here. He says he’s on orders to buy provisions and to prepare them for pickup.”

“Yes, he came to me. I sold him the rest of the roots and he’s paying for it by having a couple of boys digging under the side of the house, to make the root cellar bigger. They’ll even put in stairs and a door to outside. He says the Army wants to have storage here and there across the countryside, and room to bring barrels in and out.”

“And that isn’t strange?”

“He could oversee the work and get loads ready to go by the time his wagon’s back. It’s a half-day there and back. He accomplishes nothing while travelling. And… but still… working out on his own and buying for the Army – it’s not a job for a private.”

“So it does seem odd?”

“Well… I don’t know,” said Ben with a shrug.

“He is a bankrupt who entered the Army under duress. That means they could get the work of a sergeant for the pay of a private – half price.”

“And you can’t fault them for driving a hard bargain on the behalf of the taxpayers.”

“I suppose not.”

“But still he might be here to spy on us too, to get the sort of information Tennant couldn’t get with his official inquiry.”

“And,” said Dan quietly, “maybe you and James are his prime suspects.”

“Well… well… I don’t know. I suppose we ought to be included amongst them. So often it’s family that commits a murder. But still, it doesn’t mean we should fear an arrest – our being innocent, for one thing.”

“But… there’s something I have to tell you. Though I’ve not been here long, I’ve already heard that there’s some who figure that you and James can’t be counted on to put your country first.”

“Oh, I know about that,” chuckled Ben, “but aren’t we all looking over our shoulders these days? And for good reason too. The region was rife with tories before we persuaded most to swear their oath of abjuration and allegiance, and we chased off the ones who wouldn’t. Though, I’m sure we missed a few of the quieter sorts. And then there’s those who cheer for a different side each time they hear who won the last battle. You remember how patriotic we all became after we heard about Trenton and Princeton. And too, our taking time out to build a mill doesn’t help our reputations either. There’ll be some around here who will understand that the neighborhood needs another grist mill, but there will always be others who figure that until the war’s over the only task that’ll be worthy of a man’s labor is the starving and shooting of redcoats.”

“It’s a noble calling,” said Dan. “But I’m told too that you’re suspected because you’re too willing to consider both sides of the issue – and that’ll sometimes include the tory side.”

“Oh, that’s more James than me. He’s always liked making a debate more interesting by defending the less popular view. He used to torment his poor mother doing it. If she wrung a chicken’s neck for dinner then he’d defend its right to live in peace and tranquility.”

“Would he eat the chicken?”

“Of course, for otherwise the poor creature would have died in vain. He’s definitely the intellectual of the family.”

“Playing the devil’s advocate during time of war can be a dangerous pastime.”

“And just as bad,” said Ben with a smile, “he’ll talk of the opportunities war offers for the making of a quick profit. That’s enough by itself to get folks talking, isn’t it? And it’s a shame too, for James is as honest a patriot as you can find. And surely he’d not involve himself in the killing of any man, especially as good a man as Martin Maynes. But, there are some who would not be as willing as you or I to give poor James the benefit of the doubt.”

“No,” said Dan as he raised his eyebrows. “Ah… I mean, I’d imagine not.”

“Now it could be that Private Matthew Euston is not here to watch him alone. And maybe it’s both him together with the mysterious newcomers from New Jersey.”

“Ooo, I hadn’t thought of that,” said Dan with a smile.

“But nothing will come of it. James could hardly be a spy. He can’t keep a secret and never could. And if he was a spy, would he be so indiscreet as to play the devil’s advocate?”

“Sometimes a show of indiscretion is the best sort of disguise, since most would assume that a real spy would try not to raise suspicions.”

“Well,” laughed Ben, “maybe in a play on the big-city stage. But I can’t imagine a real spy gathering much useful information when he’s making himself look suspicious – not when everybody and their maiden aunt wonder whether he can be trusted.”

“I suppose not.”

“No, if James Jarvis is ever hanged for a spy, it’ll surely be a wrongful hanging, and poor Jane will forever curse the judges.”

“Poor thing,” said Dan as he imagined her tear filled eyes. They paused to wonder about it and then went to work. The walls were in place and covered with vertical planks. Dan could hand up a plank to Ben on a ladder. As they worked, Dan wondered about all they had heard that day. There was no smoking gun, he thought to himself, and not even a clear lead. But still, more might have been said then I realize… maybe. But if a Jarvis is involved in the murder, then I still don’t know how or why. And Ben doesn’t seem to know either.

Another thing they did not know was that Jane was only a few feet away and had listened to them while Ben, with excessive denials, hinted that common sense should lead to suspicions that James was both a traitor and a murderer.

Soon James came over, offering to help, and looking like he had eaten something that had disagreed with him. Dan said that his side was starting to throb. It was easing off by the time he got back to the house and saw Tim and Sadie in the garden. They both told Sadie about what they had heard from Jane and Ben.

“So Jane was hinting that Ben might be the killer,” said Dan. “And Ben was hinting that James was the most likely suspect. And as soon as Ben said that James ought to be suspected, he was then insisting that James had to be innocent. He was defending a man he suspected to be guilty. So that means both Ben and Jane put on the same sort of performance at the same time. I suppose that might be a coincidence, but… likely it’s not, and likely both Jane and Ben are highly convincing liars who are out to confuse us.”

“They can’t be very convincing,” said Sadie, “if we’re already suspecting them.”

“I suppose not,” said Tim with a shrug, “but maybe they only seem that way because they’re innocent as lambs and the killer is a tory.”

“And maybe Jane is right about Betty-May and Sammy,” said Sadie, sounding like she thought Tim and Dan to be fools in love.

“Do you really believe that?” asked Tim.

“I don’t believe anything,” replied Sadie. “I’m keeping an open mind and considering the facts as they arise, just like the judges always tell us to do. And I certainly hope the two of you are doing the same. But if we do have a murderer in our presence, then I hope you’re going to take care for your own lives. I’m told a man can get himself into a predicament when he goes out and antagonizes a murderer.”

Chapter 20

All who threaten us.

“Dan Eliot just came to me,” said Ben to James as he started to turn a drill, “to offer his helpful advice. Apparently there’s at least one talkative sort hereabouts who doubts our loyalty to the cause of liberty.”

“And Dan Eliot is warning us? Well, good for Dan,” laughed James.

“He must be taking a liking to us.”

“He certainly is fond of your boys.”

“He either likes us,” said Dan, “or he hopes to persuade us to take a liking to him. And why would he want that? Perhaps because once we like him we’ll help him settle into the community. Or it might be because we might make a careless remark and confirm suspicions of tory leanings. Some juicy tidbit that he can pass along to his superiors and take himself one step closer to a promotion.”

“He’s a year short of any promotion.”

“Maybe so, but he’ll still be closer.”

“Well, you can’t fault a young man for being ambitious,” said James as he watched Ben turn the drill backwards to pull it back out. “Tim Euston was just having himself a private conversation with my wife. It seems he too is trying to make himself appear to be concerned for our welfare. He gave her the same warning as Dan did, and not an hour ago. And to top that, he’s been wondering whether Betty-May might be involved in the killing of Martin.”

“Has he been?”

“So she tells me, and she’s sure he’s telling the truth and… Jane must be a good judge of an honest man for otherwise she would never have married honest James Jarvis.”

“Even a good judge can make a tragic mistake,” joked Ben.

“It does soothe the spirit though, to know that we’re being watched over and cared for, doesn’t it?”

“I feel as if warmed before a hearth.”

“But,’ said James, sounding serious, “it seems like too much of a coincidence though, doesn’t it?”

“A private under the regimental commissary arrives,” said Ben as he put the drill back in his toolbox. “He announces that he’s Tim Euston’s long lost father, and then pitches a tent. I’m sure we’re all wondering about that. I’ll bet even Solly has given it thought.”

“And Tim and Dan are suddenly trying to make friends, and we don’t know if it’s because they truly want us as friends, or whether Dan is hoping to impress his superiors by exposing us as dangerous tories. And Tim’s future superiors too, once his broken bone heals.”

“So, are you going to stop playing the devil’s advocate?”

“There’s more to consider than that,” said James as he sat down. “Martin sent Tim and his mother and sister here as soon as he broke his arm. They were here for two days before any of us got back. A lot can happen in two days. And they were here while Betty-May was without her husband. And they say the Adgate girls are particularly fond of men.”

“So our wives say.”

“The newcomers from New Jersey would surely have been invited into the house. With Tim’s mother and sister in tow he would not have posed a threat to her reputation. Everybody knows that we’re all supposed to be dumping out whatever we can’t carry south, and that would include Martin’s fine stock of wine. While Sadie played her violin and Tim sang a mournful ballad about lonesome lovers, a lonesome Betty-May might have drunk a few glasses, and got talkative. She might have told them her problems, and then moved on to her prospects. Once Tim knew the value of the millpond and the stream that feeds it then she would have had his rapt attention.”

“So, are you suspecting,” asked Ben, “that she could fall victim to a plot to win her heart and her land along with it?”

“Why shouldn’t they try? And Dan’s likely in on the plot. The wounded war hero has been hanging around the house, amusing the children while he charms the women. And Tim too – they’ve been drilling your boys along with the rest of the little brats. It’s always Tim said this and Dan said that.”

“Yes, and my wife thinks very well of them too.”

“As does Jane,” said James as his hands formed into fists. “How can any woman not adore a pair who have such a way with children? And if Dan and Tim are as smart as they are charming, then they could easily prey upon a vulnerable Betty-May as a means of getting control of a fine parcel of real estate. If she’s truly grieving then she’s in a vulnerable condition. If one of them could win her heart then he’ll have won the mills in the bargain.”

“Well well well,” said Ben as he shook his head, “such calculations I’d not even considered. With a mind like yours, my cousin, you should be writing plays for the London stage.”

“How’s the work coming along,” asked Jane, interrupting their conversation as she came through the door. The tone in her voice suggested she had overheard none of what had been said.

“As you can see,” said Ben as he turned to admire it, “it’s coming along well. Those carpenters you’ve been talking to have had reason to be impressed. Soon our neighbors will be calling us carpenters.”

“We’ll!” snorted Jane. “I sometimes wonder what they won’t be calling us. You should hear those Farthingale women talk – wondering about this one and suspicious of that one – thinking they’re surrounded by secret tories. I hear them malign men that I would never have doubted for a moment. And now I’m forced to wonder if they say the same about us, when I’m not there.”

“But they’re just frightened women,” said Ben. “Aren’t you scared too?”

“It’s one thing to be scared and it’s another to be quick to judge others. You should hear them talk! And for hardly any provocation at all! Now they aren’t saying that Tom’s a spy and Dick’s a saboteur and Harry’s an assassin. But just mentioning this and pointing out that can be enough to ruin a man. It adds up to slander, it does, for during times as these, rumors can ruin a man.”

“Yes, I suppose they can.”

“Do people talk about us like that?” Jane asked Ben. “Does either James or myself inspire the imaginations of fearful women?”

“I suppose all of us will get imaginative during times like these,” said Ben as he turned back to his work. “After all, we are a day by foot from the line of an invading army, albeit a slow moving one. I’ve heard that some wonder about me and James being slow to get active in the militia. But I honestly can’t blame them for being suspicious. Think of how many from the region actually were tories, until they were coerced into swearing the oath.”

“I suppose you’re right,” sighed Jane as she turned to James again. Without allowing Ben to see, she pointed in the direction that James was supposed to go. She walked out the door and up the path, her husband dutifully following behind.

“I was listening,” she hissed when she wheeled around to face her husband. “He didn’t have much to say, did he?”

“Well, should he have?” asked James, who was now angry at himself for having following her so automatically.

“He most certainly should have, because barely an hour ago he had a lot more to say to Tim Euston.” Jane then told him about the conversation Ben had had with Dan, and finished with “So?”

“So what?”

“First he all but accuses you, and then he makes himself sound like he’s trying far too hard to defend you. An excessive protest amounts to an admission sometimes. It amounts to an accusation! Doesn’t it? You should have heard him – your dear cousin. Why should he be so willing to say so much to a… a stranger?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said James with a weary expression.

“And I don’t know either! Surely it’s the two of us, more than any newcomer, who deserves to know what sort of filthy lies are going about. You would at least agree with that, wouldn’t you?”

“Well… of course,” said James as he began to give it more thought.

“It forces me to wonder just who our friends are. Maybe we can expect more support from strangers than we can from a brother-in-law who…”

“But we can’t assume anything,” insisted James as he held a fist against his forehead. “Maybe the newcomers are our friends, and maybe they’re spying on us for their own benefit only. It could be either. And just because Tim says something doesn’t mean he’s telling you the truth. You’ve said yourself they both adore her – maybe all of them do. She’s a pretty young widow with a newborn child. Who wouldn’t adore her? We don’t know anything and we can’t assume anything either.”

“Oh husband!” she huffed as the turned to go back to the house. “You are so timid.”

“Timid,” he hissed. “And what act of courage are you planning that would protect us from all who threaten us?”

Chapter 21

Half-spoiled brat and half-restless dreamer.

“If only you had it up and running already,” said Matthew Euston as he stood at the door of the new mill, looking up to where the men were working on rafters. “We’d have you grinding grain all the day and half-way through the night.”

“The pond is too shallow by several feet,” said James, “so you’d have to bring in a platoon to turn the wheel for us.”

“Are you building a treadmill for dry weather?”

“No no, I’m just displaying my famous wit again. Though we could use something. But to turn the stone would take a few men and that would make for expensive flour.”

“It would.”

“What we’re thinking of is a mechanism that would allow an ox to do the work when the water doesn’t flow.”

“A worker who will work for hay,” said Matthew as he came inside to admire their work. “Where did you boys learn the millwrights trade?”

“We’d be lying if we called ourselves millwrights,” said Ben with a smile. “We’re just farmers who hope to manage well enough. What little we know we learned from an old millwright and from a book. That and our own trial and error.”

“An old man, a book, and trial and error. You should be a general then, for that’s how most of our officers have learned how to wage war. And it’s only now seeming to be starting to work, after two years of trial and error.”

“The wounded up in the barn,” said James, “keep telling us that our victory up at Freeman’s Farm was as impressive as Dan Eliot first claimed it to be. I’m starting to wonder if I should start to believe him.”

“Oh, you can believe him,” said Matthew. “I was talking to one of our red-coated prisoners. He wouldn’t say much but the look on his face told me that they were both driven back and taken aback.”

“So is the war likely over then?” asked Ben.

“No one knows. I doubt if Burgoyne himself would claim to know. I’m told it will all depend upon whether the great men who rule the majority in Parliament decide that they don’t want to spend any more money. They’re saying the King is bound and determined to win us back, so long as they give him money enough to keep at it. The decision could come next month or next year or ten years from now. That’s what I’ve been told.”

“Ten years!”

“That’d be if the war is fought by the sinking of our ships and the bribing of our allies. There’s many a way to wage a war, it seems. But the old soldiers are saying it isn’t likely that they’ll be sending in any more invasion forces like Gentleman Johnny Burgoyne’s. There were some who said his adventure was doomed from the start, and if he doesn’t get help soon from down-river, then he’ll prove them right. He might soon be a prisoner along with all his Army.”

“It’s hard to imagine,” said Ben.

“I agree with you,” said Matthew with a smile. “But if we do force his surrender it’ll be heard about all the way around the world – from darkest Africa to the barrens of Siberia it’ll be news. But enough with hopeful talk. I came here to see if I could be put to work, not to draw you away from yours. I’ve nothing else to do and I’m always restless.”

“If you were a carpenter with your tool box there’d be plenty, but…”

“If you can tell a hammer from a chisel,” said James as he pointed down, “then you can finish dressing that timber. And while you’re doing it you can tell us about a commissary department in an army at war. I’d imagine it’s different from the buying and selling you used to do in Boston.”

“You’re still at work so late in the day,” said Sadie about an hour later as she stood at the door of the mill, holding a basket under her arm.

“We’ve got to work while we can,” said Ben. “At any time we could be called back to pick and shovel duty, so we want to make the most of what time they’ll give us. Our agreement with Martin was to be paid with planks. I doubt that Betty-May will soften the terms, especially since I’ll advise her not to for her own sake.”

“It’s time for you to rest your weary bones,” said Sadie as she put down the basket. “There’s a new family pitching their tent and they’ve given Betty-May a cask of strong beer to show their appreciation. That and to lighten their load, I suppose. So I told her the hard-working mill builders should get some first. And I’ve got you some salt cod too, to make sure you’re thirsty.”

“Ooo, I hope it’s so salty it burns my tongue,” said Ben to Matthew, as he started down the ladder. “That’s a kind and generous girl you’ve got there.”

“Yes, they are a fine pair that you’ve fathered,” said James after Sadie left and they were settling down to enjoy the treat.

“If they are a fine pair,” said Matthew, “then I deserve little credit. Though, I can claim to have paid for their schooling. But… I wasn’t around much. I suppose you’ve heard the story of how they came to be?”

“Tim’s version has been going around,” said Ben, “but I’m sure the story will differ depending on who’s telling it.”

“Yes, well,” said Matthew as he looked away. “It’s… it’s been close to twenty years since my wife’s health began to fail and… well… when I told Abby I could marry her soon, I thought I was telling her the truth. So… as nature followed its course, I ended up with what amounted to two wives, and… well… my trade in Boston required me to live with the one that I’d married in a Boston meetinghouse.”

“You’re not the first man to find himself in such a predicament,” said Ben. “And it would take a strong man to remain true to a barren and sickly wife.”

“I appreciate your saying so,” said Matthew. “Especially when it comes from a man like you. I’ve heard your Beatrice is a fine woman, and that makes you a lucky man. And as we all know, a lucky man is usually the first to cast a harsh judgment upon a man less lucky than himself.”

“Your Tim seems to show a lot of promise,” said James. “I’m told he’s spent so many nights studying military manuals and military histories that he can debate tactics with captains and colonels.”

“Tim is a bright boy, for sure,” said Matthew, with a hesitant tone in his voice, “but he’s sometimes too bright for his own good. I’d bet he could read your book on building mills, spend a few days working here with you and talking about it, and then fool a farmer into hiring him to build one.”

“One of those kinds,” chuckled Ben. “Well, that means that if he can keep himself out of jail, he might someday be our governor.”

“You might be right there,” said Matthew. “It’s a rare boy who could make so fine a first impression as Tim Euston. And they’ve been saying so since he was three.”

“We’re told he can play an excellent tune on his fiddle – even better than his sister, and we know how good she is. And we’ve heard him and Sadie sing in heavenly harmony while she strokes the strings. When they sang ‘Barbara Allen’, it brought a tear to my eye.”

“Yes, a boy of many gifts,” sighed Matthew as he picked up the jug to refill their cups. “But… I don’t know. He’s industrious and lazy at the same time. I truly doubt he’d take to the tedium of Army life. He’ll be happier if the Widow Maynes or someone else takes pity on him and gives him a place to pass the winter, letting his arm heal fully while he lays about reading books. I’m told he was a woodcutter for three years but I don’t see how he managed to tolerate it. Ever since he was a little thing he was always busy with some project – studying this or building that – but it always had to be what he’d just taken an interest in. And his mother did little to tame this tendency – spoiling him rotten is what she did. He started out a fretful babe, he was raised a spoiled brat, and he’s likely grown to be a serf-serving dreamer. I suspect that he’ll only be happy if he can manage to marry a wealthy woman who will go on indulging his whims. Otherwise… who knows? He could end up a confidence artist, always on the run from his creditors. I hope I’m wrong. He’s… he’s always been too much adored by a mother and sister, and he might never be content without adoration.”

“There’ll always be a demand for charming men,” said James with a smile, “to marry the wealthy widows.”

“And this is a time when he can prosper then,” joked Ben, “because the war is producing more than a few widows, and some of them wealthy. It’s the officers who are the most likely to die, isn’t it?”

“To die of a battle wound, yes,” said Matthew. “But there are plenty of lowly privates dying too, and more often from sickness and cold. You eat spoiled food, you drink bad water, you get a fever, and you sleep on bare ground. And they say that’s always the way in war. It’s bad water and bad food that are the greatest killers, for they’ll weaken a man and leave him unprepared to fight the next fever that goes around. If more was spent on the commissary department then more soldiers would survive to fight in a battle.”

“Not an officer yet,” said James, “and already lobbying for more money. I’m told you’re here to buy from the neighbors.”

“Seeing what’s available, buying what’s needed, and getting it ready for pickup.”

“Ah, but are you really here just for the sake of the Army?” teased Ben. “Or are you here to try win back the heart of the woman you sent away and abandoned?”

“Oh… well… I suppose I may as well admit it, since you probably know most of my sad story already. I do hope to win her back, and… well. I don’t know that I’m going to succeed. Tim came to wish me a good day and it was the coldest greeting I’ve received since the last time I walked into a winter’s storm. I’m wondering whether… well… It’s a shame Tim wasn’t able to join the Army because a reconciliation with his mother might progress faster with him out of the way.”

“She’s still doting on him, is she?”

“Well,” said Matthew, “unless things have changed greatly in the four years I’ve been away from them. I’m wondering whether I’ll have to win his heart back before I can win back hers.”

“But surely he’d rather not bear the title of bastard.”

“You’d think he wouldn’t,” said Matthew with a sigh.

James went back to the woodpile to split shakes. Ben waited until he was out of earshot and leaned over to Matthew to say, “Your son sounds like another man I know.”

Matthew was tapping on a chisel with a large wooden mallet. “Do you? Is he half fiddler and half military theorist?”

“No, I was thinking of half-spoiled brat and half-restless dreamer. And the man I’m thinking about is over there, splitting shakes.”

“Oh… yes… I can see it in him, now you point it out. Both of them popular with the women too, I’d imagine.”

“Oh yes, James for sure. Every woman thinks him a lovely lad.”

“But he’s married a girl with a lovely face rather than a woman with a lovely fortune. How’s that turning out for him?”

“Not well, I fear. They’re poor and she’s not happy about it. He has a small farm that’s still all wooded over with rotten old trees, and he’s got what little is left from his inheritance. I don’t know what will happen to them once he’s spent it all and has to live on what he can produce. When I think of James Jarvis and then I think of Martin Maynes – what a contrast! I’m sure there are some who would say that it’s a shame the killer of Martin hadn’t missed and got my cousin instead. They’d call it a blessing for the community and… perhaps for his poor wife too. He’s a lovely lad in many a way but… I doubt he’ll ever amount to anything.”

“Oh come now, he doesn’t seem so bad as that.”

“Ah, there you go. You too have been fooled by a first impression. He’s always getting by on his impressions. And it’s sounding like James and Tim have a lot in common. And with Jane for a wife, wanting this and wanting that… I wonder what he’d be willing to do to get it.”

Chapter 22

Who would you consider more attractive?

“What does my father have to say?” asked Sadie when she came up behind James, startling him.

“Oh! It’s you!” he laughed. “You gave me a start! Well! I… I guess with a murderer on the loose I can’t help but wonder if he might be creeping up behind me.”

“Oh forgive me. I didn’t mean…”

“Don’t worry, my dear. A little scare helps to vitalize the spirits, doesn’t it? And it helps break the tedium of a long day’s labor.”

“When your heart slows to a walk, tell me what my father was telling you.”

“Matthew? Not a lot. Talking about himself and…”

“Justifying himself, I’d suppose?” she interrupted. “Yes, I’d imagine he was. Wanting to excuse himself for all he’s done and all he hasn’t done – and make his excuses with great eloquence, I suppose. And with fat tears rolling his cheeks.”

“But it must have been hard for him,” said James in a voice that was sincere and compassionate.

“Yes… yes it must have been,” sighed Sadie as she turned away, “and… but I don’t…”

“Sadie, I cannot claim that I know how it would feel but… it has to have been painful.”

“Well… well… he was always away and… We knew he was waiting for a half-dead wife to finally die but…that hardly matters. He left us with nothing and he never even wrote to us. We never knew he was in trouble!”

“And he must feel like a fool,” shrugged James, “now that he’s here to face you.”

“Well… he deserves to feel like more than a fool. He… if… Well, would you ever do such a thing if you found yourself in such a position? He was a father to us for years – until I was eleven. And then we were sent to New York, thinking he’d be along to join us… and… we waited.”

“It must have been hard,” he said, shaking his head. “I wish I could say more.”

“Oh… oh James,” she said, grabbing hold of his wrist. “It is so kind of you to say that… I wish that… I wish…” Abruptly she turned to walk away. But instead of going toward the house she followed the path that went through woodland, past the pond and toward the neighbor’s.

James hesitated a moment and then went after her. “Sadie,” he whispered when he caught up, taking hold of her arm for a moment. “Sadie, when Matthew was talking to us, Ben asked about his… past. He didn’t say much but his face was the face of a man who truly did feel shame.”

“Was it?” asked Sadie as she looked back.

“I’m no reader of minds but we all know how bankruptcy will humiliate a man. He’s been driven from his home. His family has… his family likely has stopped speaking to him, out of embarrassment. He said he’d been a drunkard too. All this can leave a man… not in his right mind. I... I don’ t know that I could bear up to it myself… no better than he could.”

“Oh…” said Sadie, as if she had never thought of it that way.

“But… no,” insisted James, now sounding angry and his hands in fists. “Why should I defend a… scoundrel like him? What right does he have to earn your forgiveness? What sort of a man would do such a thing to…. to his only children – to their mother? It’s beyond forgiveness!”

“But how can you say that?” asked Sadie, now sounding angry at James. “Did you not tell me yourself that a bankrupt man was… How would you feel? He was shunned! Surely his family could have lent him the money he needed. But they didn’t. They left him in a debtor’s prison. They’d cast him out! He’s in the Army because he was left with no other way out.”

“But still, how can anything justify his…”

“Is it for you or I to judge?” asked Sadie while on the brink of tears. “Year after year that shrew of a wife of his was near death – or so she claimed! You or I will never know, will we? He was… We’ll never know what it’s like to be in his place. I’ll never know how good or bad I could be. And likely you neither! Imagine his having to move us from town to town, to conceal his… sin.”

“You’re right,” said James as he shook his head. “But as they say, sometimes what seems right is wrong and what seems wrong is right. Oh, but I don’t know. What does Matthew Euston deserve now? If your mother came to you now and asked you to tell her what to do, what would you tell her? Surely she won’t, of course, but if she did, what could you or I advise her to do?”

“I don’t know,” said Sadie, turning away.

“It forces me to think of my poor cousin, Ben. Ben and his… dilemma. It’s nothing like your father’s but… still it’s a hard pass he’s come to. His farm, it’s on poor land and he’s not been able to keep his wife in… the fashion to which she’s become accustomed, as they say. I don’t know that Beatrice has ever complained but still, he can’t help but feel badly about it, for her sake. He bears up bravely though. He’s a cheerful sort. But I don’t know that a weaker man could do it. A weaker man might make desperate efforts to improve his fortune – do foolish things. I’m sure there’s many a man who’s been driven to… base things, to satisfy a disappointed wife. But I doubt he has. And he wouldn’t! Surely he wouldn’t! But still, I have to wonder how it must feel for him.”

“Well,” said Sadie, almost in a sob, “I suppose my father is an example of just such a ‘weaker man’. Isn’t he? When put to the test, what did he do? He chose drunkenness and laziness… whatever it was that drove him to bankruptcy. He chose to turn his back on us. He could have admitted he was down on his luck. We’d have forgiven that. But the coward told us nothing!”

“But you got by in spite of it, didn’t you? And you and Tim are as fine and handsome a pair as could have been reared by any better sort of family. Aren’t you? Think of it. You both can read and write – and I’m told your handwriting is beautiful. And you play and sing like none other. And you know so many of the domestic arts – you can even make cheese. In spite of all your father’s failings, you’re better off than most, aren’t you?”

“Well…” said Sadie as she turned away again.

“I know that it must have been difficult,” James said, coming up behind her and putting a hand on her shoulder. “But you’ll surely prosper. You’re… you’re such a… a beauty.”

“Am I?” asked Sadie, turning to look in his eyes, as if needing to assess the honesty of his words.

“Of course you are,” he said, as he held his hand to his heart.

“No! Don’t flatter me!”

“Sadie, I only say what I feel. I can say no more,” he insisted, as he placed a compassionate arm round her shoulder. She turned to look up at him. He lifted his other hand and touched her cheek. They were about to kiss when she pulled away.

“No! No, I can’t do it – not with a married man.”

“But Sadie…” he said quietly, “sometimes what seems right is wrong, and what seems wrong is right.”

Sadie looked back longingly at him, but again turned away, saying “Not… not now.” She took off running back to the house, not looking back. She did not need to and she smiled as she went, for she was now certain that James Jarvis was a man ready and willing to betray his marital vows.

“Moreover he… commanded the people...” read Solly. Tim was helping him with his reading of the Bible. “Moreover?” he repeated. “What’s that mean?”

“Oh… ah… well, we’d say ‘and besides’ or something like that. Sometimes it sounds like it was translated by a lawyer, doesn’t it?”

“Tim?” asked Sadie quietly as she came up to them.

He saw the expression on her face and told Solly he’d have to go.

“What was it,” asked Sadie, “that Jane said to you about Ben’s brow being more wrinkled than ever?”

“Not much. Just that after she said it she was in a rush to tell me how he’s so good and godly a man, and that he probably was worried about his militia unit needing him and…”

“But you don’t believe that, do you?”

“Well… no,” said Tim with a shrug.

“And he doesn’t have to be at work on the mill either.”

“No.”

“And think about what Dan said,” whispered Sadie as she looked back. “Ben told him that there’s some who would not be as willing as him to give poor James the benefit of the doubt.”

“He did.”

“I was just talking to James, and he was saying that Ben has come to a hard pass, and that his farm was on poor land, and that he’s not been able to keep his wife in the fashion she’s become accustomed to. He said…

“James said that?”

“Yes, just now. I went to him and led him into the woods and…”

“Into the woods?” asked Tim, sounding concerned.

“Just past the mill.”

“You and him, only?”

“I couldn’t have got him to talk otherwise, and he said that…”

“You led a married man into the woods?”

“Tim, listen. He said that…”

“And how do you suppose that would look to someone who came along? You beckoning James into a secluded grove? You sharing secrets with another woman’s husband.”

“Nobody saw us!”

“How do you know that? With the eyes in the back of your head? People are always taking that path. There’s a picket guard on it. By tomorrow it could be you that everybody’s talking about.”

“I thought you said we had to take chances because we had so little time!”

“I meant me and Dan had to. There’s some tasks that just aren’t… women’s work.”

“Oh Tim, don’t be an idiot!”

“Aren’t you hoping for a good marriage some day? How’s that going to come about if you’ve got yourself… a reputation?”

“Oh! Here you’re willing to risk your life in battle and…”

“And get killed – like a lot of men are going to get killed. And for every one that dies there’ll be a girl who will never have a husband. You’ve got to think about what…”

“Tim,” she said quietly as she held up her hand and looked over his shoulder. Hortense had come out of the house, carrying a bucket of scraps to the pigs, her young form silhouetted in the remains of a scarlet sunset. “Who would you consider more attractive. Me, or Hortense over there?”

“What does…”

“Or Betty-May and Hortense? Who’s the better?”

“What does it matter? It’s reputation that counts for more than looks! You’ve got to think about what…”

“A lot of men would choose Hortense over either of us, wouldn’t they?” said Sadie, as if to herself.

“I don’t know what…”

“Betty-May is more the innocent girl – almost saintly-looking. But it’s Hortense that would please a drunken sailor’s eye, wouldn’t it be?”

“Well… well, neither you nor I are drunken sailors so it hardly matters what…”

“Oh Tim, I’ve heard enough out of you,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She walked away, leaving him red-faced and frustrated.

Chapter 23

A girl out alone?

Tim had been awake much of the night and by noon he was sleepy. He went back into the tent for a nap. He did not know how much time had passed when he was roused by a distant thudding sound coming from the north. At first he thought it was thunder and was not sure if he was still dreaming. Then in an instant he realized it had to be cannon fire. An army was on the move. Now Tim was wide awake, his heart was pounding, and he was sweating from head to foot.

It was likely the British because they had to be running out of food, and hungry soldiers were prone to desertion and mutiny. Burgoyne must think he has to do something. General Gates, by now well dug in on the Bemis Heights, likely thought himself able to wait. But, maybe Burgoyne was sending men against enemy ramparts because he knew that General Clinton was coming upriver with boatloads of reinforcements.

“So today’s the day,” said Tim to his mother, who was sitting outside the tent, mending a shirt for a soldier who had likely offered her a penny.

“Yes,” Abby sighed. “And there’s nothing we can do about it, is there? The garden’s all dug and the wagons are all half-loaded and that leaves us with nothing to do but wait for word – either a call of ‘We held them back!’ or a call to ‘Get a move on!’ ”

“They’ve wagons enough for the wounded?”

“For enough of them. The militias have been bringing wagons. And a lot of the wounded can walk. They just can’t fight.”

“And some aren’t going to last long, anyways,” said Tim as he looked toward the barn.

“Every time I go in there I tell myself to thank the Lord that you broke your arm and couldn’t fight.”

“Oh, Mom!”

“Jane is right, you should go to work for Ben and James.”

“She told you that too?”

“Sure, and she’s a smart girl. I think I misjudged her.”

“So if James dies in battle, you want me to try charming her into marriage?”

“You could maybe do better. You should be charming Betty-May. She took a liking for you right from the start, she did. And you should make a play for her before somebody else does.”

“But she could have a lot of men. Why would she want me?”

“There’s no use giving up hope before you give it a try. A girl will often make a foolish choice. Look at me and your father.”

“I suppose,” said Tim as he looked away. He stood there for a moment and then turned to go to the house. Once there, he asked Tillie about Ben and James and was told they were at work on the mill.

“They’re making you do this?” asked Sadie when she found Hortense out beside the barn, stirring a cauldron with a paddle.

“I sure didn’t ask for it,” replied Hortense, who was trying to sound strong but was only barely able to stop from crying.

“I’ve never seen anything so disgusting!” Buckets and baskets were full of filthy dressings, clothing and bedding, much of it soiled with blood, puss and excrement. “They should have one of their soldiers doing it, or at least Sammy.”

“It’s Tillie’s fault!” said Hortense as she picked up a basket and emptied its contents into the steaming water. “She offered me. And then said if I didn’t do it, I’d get another caning. She hates me!”

“Yes, I think she truly does,” said Sadie quietly into her ear.

“And the surgeon said ‘no’ to her but still she insisted. And the boys here, they’re laughing at me! They must think me a wicked thing now, for they’ll think I’m being punished for some great sin. But I haven’t done nothing!”

“Be patient,” said Sadie as she put a compassionate hand on Hortense’s shoulder. “Some might laugh but others – the better of them – will see you as a woman wronged.”

“I don’t want them feeling sorry for me either.”

“There’s nothing wrong with pity if it’s well-deserved. And don’t go pitying yourself for too long, for a girl so fine and strapping as you will surely find a good husband – a husband who can afford to give you servants of your own. It’ll soon be you who wields the cane, won’t it be?”

“Me? Well… it can’t happen too soon,” Hortense muttered, with a look toward the young men sitting on a bench by the barn door. “But what boys there are who seem to have respectable intentions are… well. They’re poor as… as my… my good-for-nothing father.”

“No, don’t say that about him. I’m sure he does his best. There’s many a man who’s stricken by poor health and is too proud to admit to his weakness. And besides, I know of one young man who’d gladly trade his barren wife for a girl who glows with the warmth of fertility.”

“Who?” asked Hortense as her eyes grew wide.

“Oh, I think you know who.”

“No I don’t! Who is it?”

“I don’t think it would be prudent for me to speak his name. Not here where we might be heard.”

“They’ll not hear you,” whispered Hortense.

“But one of them could read lips.”

“Oh! I know who it is anyways. It’s…”

“No no no, don’t try to guess. Even if you’re right I’ll just tell you you’re not.”

“Oh! Is it James?” Hortense whispered with her hand shielding her mouth.

Sadie smiled and then said, “Of course not!”

“It is! And he must know about us too. My mother – she’s born twelve babes and there’s nine still alive and healthy. Six of them boys – big strapping boys. They’re all off and soldiering now, but before they’d been doing all the fieldwork. And they ought to because they eat like hogs. And too, I’ve an aunt with eleven. And all us girls have got good wide hips so we’d all deliver them easy as a fat sow.”

“And,” said Sadie, “ I suspect all the girls from hereabouts know that too. So when they tease you, you’ve just got to remember it’s all out of envy, for they know you’ll marry better than any of them.”

“My mom’s babes were all big healthy ones. I weighed seven pounds – near eight. Well, they were all big except for the second. But still, that’s a lot, and everybody hereabouts knows it too.”

“Every mother knows how fine a wife you’ll make, for though you’ve been beaten, you’ve still been well-trained, and that’s what matters most.”

“I’m ready to be married tomorrow,” bragged Hortense. “I know enough already and I’m strong as any girl my size. And I got a hope chest full of good things, for I’ve been out and working since I was seven.”

“Well girl, good for you then. You’ll likely do better than me, and I’m a trained milkmaid. And too,” Sadie whispered as she turned her back to the barn, “I doubt you’ll have to wait long because there’s a certain wife hereabouts who, along with her accomplice, might soon hang for murder.”

“Jane and Sammy?” whispered Hortense with a mischievous look in her eyes.

“Not so loud,” whispered Sadie.

“But it is, isn’t it?”

“It’s best you not speculate, for you might be disappointed. But likely all will turn out as it should, so long as you’re patient.”

“Oh! Patient! I hate that word!”

“No no no!” scolded Sadie. “Never let a man hear you say that. You’d be better off putting a wart on your nose than letting a man hear you say that you’ll never be patient.”

“But… but… this is just between you and me.”

“Then that, my girl, is how it should stay.”

“But I know who you’re talking about anyways,” said Hortense. “And I don’t know how Jane got him to marry her ‘cause she ain’t got a patient bone in her body. And I’ve heard her call him a laggard and a fool – near since the day they were married.”

“She’s the fool then, isn’t she?”

“She is! And I can easily imagine her guilty too! Jane Jarvis is nothing but a two-faced trollop who’s flirted with every second boy from here to Albany! But… Oh, I don’t know!”

“What?”

“I don’t know that he could really have his eye on me. He’s never shown me a moment’s interest.”

“Oh, come now,” said Sadie with a smile. “You can’t expect him to parade his desires in front of everybody. What married man would ever risk raising the suspicions of… of a woman that… of a shrew like Jane who watches his every move.”

“So it is her!”

“I didn’t say that it was. I said a shrew… like Jane.”

“There ain’t nobody I know who’s half the shrew that she is.”

“But I can tell you something you don’t know,” whispered Sadie. “My brother’s told me that more than once he’s heard James talk about ‘young Hortense’.”

“What did he hear?”

“And it’s things that he wouldn’t say before your father.”

“What’s he said?”

“No, I shouldn’t tell you.”

“You have to!” insisted Hortense. “If you tell that much and nothing more…it’ll kill me!”

“Oh! Alright, I’ll tell you just this much and that is all. I don’t recall the exact words but it was sometimes said about your performance in the kitchen, and other times about your potential in the bedroom.”

“Bedroom,” she repeated, imagining a life of luxury. Betty-May Maynes was the only wife nearby who had a bedroom. Most had a bed with curtains, but it sat in the corner of the front room with the rest of the family sleeping on the floor. “But… but he and Jane don’t have a bedroom.”

“Oh, that won’t last,” said Sadie. “What is he doing at the mill right now? He’s building it. He’ll know how to build them and how to repair them. And that’ll mean he’ll be a miller and men all along the valley will be calling for his talents. And once that day comes, then what? Every day, when men come in to get their grain ground, he’ll be talking. All day he’ll be talking, and he’ll know what all the prices are, and what’s to be had and what’s not. And that means he’ll be able to buy low and sell high and soon he’ll build himself a fine fortune for his wife and all his children. And that will mean a fine house to match.”

“I could have him a babe by next summer!” bragged Hortense. “All I’d need is the chance to show him how it’s done.”

“You know,” said Sadie with a look to one side and then the other, “if you want to entrap James into marriage… If you want to get Jane and Sammy justly convicted and hanged, and if you want to get yourself pregnant with his first born, then…”

“What?”

“It’s best I not say.”

“Sadie!”

“Alright, but don’t you go telling anybody that I’ve said this!” hissed Sadie through clenched teeth. “The first condition is all but assured, for they’re obviously guilty and it’ll only take three or four days of questioning to have a confession. Less if they offer each a deal to accuse the other. The sheriff is surely just waiting for the fighting to be over before he takes the two of them back to Albany to beat it out of them. The second condition…” but Sadie then went silent, looking at Hortense through half-closed eyes.

“What!”

“The second could be accomplished as soon as James is given an opportunity to… sow his seed. Tim tells me that he’s ready and willing.”

“Well… when?” begged Hortense, almost in a sob as she jabbed the paddle into the water.

“Just let me arrange something,” whispered Sadie. “For now, you keep to your work and you make yourself look like the hardworking girl that you are.”

Sadie had no trouble persuading the officer in charge to find a man to take over the washing. As they walked back from the barn, she told Hortense that James was alone by the woodpile while Ben and Matthew were in the new mill, dressing and fitting the last of the rafters. She took Hortense to the tent, where she helped make her more presentable. While Hortense scrubbed her knuckles and filed her nails, Sadie rubbed dried rose petals onto her neck and arms.

“Now, said Sadie after having fussed and flattered Hortense into a state of serenity, “I’m going over to see Ben and Matthew, to keep them distracted. You’ll go straight over to James where he’s likely back at splitting shakes. You’ll tell him you’re on your way to the neighbor’s. You tell him you’ve been ordered to and that you’re scared to go because there’s still a murderer on the loose. You whine about how it’s so unfair for them to send a girl out alone. When he smells you he might suspect something’s up, but that won’t matter. It won’t come as a disappointment for him to imagine himself admired. All men are fools when flattered by a pretty girl. You just beg him to come along, at least until the house is in is sight. Can you do all that without looking like a pathetic little fool?”

“Of course! But why should I be scared to go there? There’s a picket guard up on the far side, past the pond.”

“Just tell him that they’re awful rude boys and that you wonder whether they’re more to be feared than the Hessians. You act like you’re a good and godly thing who’s been wronged by fools and threatened by rogues. If you think you can do it.”

“I bet I could do it better than you!”

“You know,” said Sadie with a grin, “I’d bet you could too. Once you’ve got him following you, you lead him up to the top of the pond, past where it’s all tangled, to where there’s that nice patch of Pennyroyal. You know what that looks like, don’t you?”

“Of course! I gather it for Tillie and she sells it.”

“Good. It’ll help sooth his fears, if he has sense enough to have any. Now let’s be off before the British break through and we’re all on the run.”

“James,” said Hortense in a faint voice, right behind him and making him jump.

“Oh, it’s you,” he laughed.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to…”

“Oh, worry thee not, my dear. I think we’re all a bit jumpy these days. And especially today with the sounds of battle in the distance.”

“Oh it’s awful! Just knowing that… that there’s… but… they’ve… Tillie’s sent me over to the Farthingales for molasses. All alone I’m supposed to go, and… and those soldiers there are brutes, and…”

“Out alone?” he asked, with sincere concern.

“I’ve gone there before, but not when it’s times like now, and…”

“I can hardly blame you for being scared.”

“Would you come with me?” she begged, glancing up for just a moment. “Just as far as… just until we can see the house. That’d be far enough, and… and maybe somebody there could walk me back.”

“Why of course I could,” he said, sounding like he was angry at Tillie, on her behalf. “Walk you there and back again, I will.”

“Oh James, you are so kind,” she said, taking hold of his arm with both her hands and then releasing it, as if she felt she had been too bold.

“Come along, my dear,” he said, taking her hand and placing it on his arm as if he was leading a blind person. “You seem tired. That Tillie must be working you like a slave these days.”

“But there’s so much to do! What with all the wounded and all the evacuees, we’ve so many to care for.”

“The wounded are lucky to have women of your quality.”

“Oh… I’m no great help,” she said, looking down. “I do what I can.”

“I’ve seen you at work, Hortense. You’re doing a lot. You’ll make someone a fine wife someday.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Oh come now, everybody knows you will. You’ve learned so many things over the years.”

“Tillie’s taught me a lot about dosing and curing. She knows all the plants and what all they’ll do. I truly am so fortunate. Oh! Come see what grows here,” she said as she took hold of his wrist and led him through the dense undergrowth. “It’s just over there,” she said, pointing to where the woods cleared above the pond.

“Look at this,” she whispered as she bent down to pick a stem of Pennyroyal.

“Indeed, look at it,” James said as he crouched beside her to pick a piece of his own.

“You know what it’s good for, don’t you?” she asked, as she looked up at him with a suggestive smile.

“Yes, it is so very necessary at times,” he replied, as he took her stem and held the two together.

“I’ve always known that I might need it someday.”

“Then I now know who to come to when somebody needs a cure,” he said, taking her hand to pull her back up. He kept hold of it and slipped his other hand around her neck. She looked up to him, peering into his eyes, this time holding her stare while she squeezed his hand. They were about to kiss when she pulled away.

“Oh James no, I can’t!” she moaned, following Sadie’s advice to refuse his initial attempt.

“But you must,” he whispered as he put his arm round her waist.

“No!” she hissed, squirming away. Once free she ran back along the path, taking hold of each side of her skirt as if worried she might trip on the hem, but pulling it high enough to give him a brief glimpse of her naked calves.

Pennyroyal, a member of the mint family, was often used as a medicine. Its powers were described in a widely used book, called “Every Man his own Doctor or, The Poor Planter’s Physician”, first published in 1734. On page 49 its author, John Tenant, wrote, “Now I am upon Female Infirmities, it will not be unseasonable to touch upon a common Complaint among unmarried Women, namely, The Suppression of the Courses. This don’t only disparage their Complexions but fills them besides, with sundry Disorders. For this Misfortune, you must purge with Highland Flagg, (commonly call’d Bellyach Root,) a Week before you expect to be out of Order; and repeat the same 2 Days after: The next Morning, drink a Quarter of a Pint of Pennyroyal Water, or Decoction, and as much again at Night, when you go to Bed. Continue this, 9 days running: and after Resting 3 Days, go on with it for 9 more. Ride out every fair Day, stir nimbly about your Affairs, and breath as much as possible in the open Air.”

Chapter 24

Your own kinfolk falsely accused.

The wind increased and cannon fire maintained an intermittent rumbling. Sadie was crouched low in the undergrowth close by the path, and she called to Hortense when she came up the trail.

“Oh! It went wonderfully!” bragged Hortense with bright eyes and pink cheeks. “I led him to where it’s all tangled, into where there’s the Pennyroyal. And he said such sweet things and then… he tried to kiss me! And you should have seen his face when I had my change of mind!”

“Perfect!” whispered Sadie. They kept low, in case James was coming along. “Yea, he’ll rue your loss, he will, and he’ll weep bitter tears, the poor boy. And isn’t this just what we’re wanting too – it’s too perfect. Now listen carefully. You wait here for a while, about a quarter of an hour at most. He’ll likely slouch his way back to the woodpile and go on with his splitting. While he’s at work you creep back up behind him and...”

“I made him startle, last time!”

“Good. Do that again. And before he can catch his breath, you start begging his forgiveness. Go down on one knee and grab hold of his hand – just for a moment. Then, when you’re back up, you tell him that you panicked and that you couldn’t help it. And you fight back tears while you’re doing it. Real tears. Can you do that?”

“Yeah! Lemme show you!”

“Not now. You ask him what you can do to earn back his trust, and you say that if there’s ever a next time, then you’ll try to be brave. Then you say you have to go, and you start off toward the Farthingale’s. He’ll follow. You just turn and look at him, as if you can’t make a decision. He’ll ask to walk along with you.”

“How do you know he will?”

“If he doesn’t then he’s not worth having.”

“Oh, then surely he will!”

“But,” cautioned Sadie, “don’t wait too long before you go to him – a quarter of an hour at most. He has to suffer great frustration but not too great. We don’t want him getting… resentful. A little more time and his heart will have fully awakened to its needs. And then he’ll know that he must have you.”

“Of course! Oh Sadie, you are so wise.”

“I’ve been reading novels,” Sadie whispered as she turned to go back to the farmyard.

Sadie met Jane coming out of the house with buckets of slop for the pigs. She followed her to the pen where eager young ones pushed past each other and squealed frantically. With an intense expression Sadie told her that they needed to talk.

“What is it?” Jane whispered, after dumping the pails. She wondered whether Sadie had been treated rudely by a soldier.

“It’s Hortense,” said Sadie, now with anger in her voice.

“What’s happened to her?”

“It’s what’s going to happen.”

“What?”

“They were together,” Sadie said, pointing. “There, beyond the apples.”

“Who?”

“Hortense and…” Sadie whispered, but then she looked down, pretending to be unable to continue.

“Who is it? What were they doing?”

“It… it was your James,” whispered Sadie and then she turned away again.

“James?”

“They were there, together… and…”

“My James?”

“They were… He was… wooing her. Or her him. I don’t know! They were giggling and acting the fool and he said…” Again Sadie turned away.

“What!”

“He told her that… He said that ‘once she and Sammy swing from a rope, I’ll be yours for the taking… and keeping’. ”

“What? He what? He said…” Jane could only babble. All day she had been tormented by cannon fire, and having to listen to a kitchen full of anxious women. She was rattled, and only gradually could she come to realize what Sadie was trying to say. Crouched over and breathing rapidly – her mouth and eyes wide – she grabbed hold of Sadie’s arm, as if worried she might collapse.

“I saw his face,” whispered Sadie. “I saw it just when he said it. I’m sure he was lying to her! He only wants to… to use her and cast her aside.”

“Oh, he would!”

“Poor Hortense! He doesn’t care what it will do to her. And she’s too stupid to know what’ll be in store.”

“That filthy scoundrel,” said Jane as she dug her nails into Sadie’s arm.

“But it’s maybe not too late! We can stop him!”

“How could he? She’s just a child!”

“All men are pigs!” said Sadie while taking hold of one of Jane’s fingers and pulling it back. “But we can still stop them! We can but we’ve got to go now, before it’ll be too late.”

With Sadie pulling her by the hand they started toward the bottom of the garden. Sadie then stopped, saying, “It’s just beyond there that I saw them together. I’d heard their voices – that stupid giggle of hers.”

They went further into the crab apples and Sadie stopped again. “They’ve gone off somewhere. That means they’re almost for sure headed to the far side of the pond, up past where the woods are tangled. She’d told me about it. She said it’d be a good place to take a soldier-boy. For sure it’s where she’s taken him.”

Once onto the path they moved quickly and were able to catch up, just as James and Hortense left the path to go into dense growth.

“There they come,” said Matthew as Jane and Sadie passed by. With him was Tim and a militia corporal named Pincock. They were watching from where the ground dipped to meet the pond, keeping them well hidden. Tim had guessed why Matthew had chosen him. Pincock’s word would surely be accepted in an Albany courthouse. He was a Methodist with the sort of stern expression that would always win the trust of any judge and jury, because he would actually believed that the bearing of false witness would condemn him to hellfire. Matthew had held off telling either of them about the whole plan, to reduce the risk that one might give Hortense, James or Jane a look that would raise suspicions.

“Now,” said Matthew, after Sadie and Jane had gone past, “whatever you do, don’t step on a dry stick. We’re going to go uphill to circle around, and get beyond the two young lovers. That’s in case Ben at the mill hears voices and comes to investigate.”

“Can you believe it?” asked Sadie, once she and Jane were close enough to hear laughter. “Have they no shame?”

Jane said nothing in reply and stayed very still, her face white and her hands clenched in fists – one over her mouth and the other over her heart. They could hear James’s voice but it was hushed and they could not make out any words. Hortense giggled. James spoke again, and it ended with what sounded like “Jane”. Hortense burst out laughing. Sadie and Jane crept close enough to see them.

“A proud little tart, she is,” whispered Sadie, trying to sound as angry as she could. She looked at Jane, who remained in the same pose, as if in a trance, horrified by what she saw but unable to look away.

“Oh! Stop it!” squeaked Hortense. James had tried to pull up her skirt and she was attempting to hold back his hand. “Stop it!” she whispered, as he kept trying. “No!” she giggled.

James spoke again, sounding like he was trying to amuse a baby. She gasped, as if shocked by what had just been said. He fumbled with her belt. She made protesting sounds but then her skirt fell to the ground, leaving her lower parts covered only by her shift, the sleeveless linen dress worn under woman’s clothing. It only came to her knees, and when he tried to pull it up she held his hand back, giggling. He tugged again and this time got it up. His hand ran up her thigh and for a moment the hidden watchers could see a mass of brown pubic hair that ran halfway to her navel.

“Damn her to hell!” growled Jane as she came out of her trance. She grabbed hold of a branch and broke it off. Another fit of giggling masked the snap. Jane broke off the other end to make a perfect cane, three feet long and a half-inch thick. She stood there watching, but in a pose that made Sadie think of a cat ready to pounce. Again the trance was upon her and she could only grip the cane with both hands. By this time James had unbuttoned Hortense’s vest, allowing him to run his hand up her body to her breasts.

“Stop her!” Sadie ordered in a harsh whisper. “Get her! Get her now!” and she slapped Jane’s backside as if she were a horse.

Jane took off toward them. “Whore!” she snarled.

Hortense shrieked and ducked behind James. Jane attacked her husband first, whipping him over his head. He tried to grab her hand but missed. She brought the cane against his face, laying a welt across his cheek. “Damn thee for a scoundrel!” Jane yelled. “You think you’ll be rid of me with false charge? With your lies! Damn thee for a rogue! I’ll show thee who’ll hang!”

“Jane dearest, I beg of thee!” he pleaded, with one hand now on her wrist to disable her cane, and his other holding up his breeches. When he let go to try to button up, Jane turned on Hortense who had stumbled back and fallen. She whipped her across her shoulder. Hortense got up to run, but when she reached to grab her fallen skirt she stumbled again, allowing Jane to leap on top her. They both landed hard. Jane was able to get up and sit astride her with a leg pressing against the back of Hortense’s neck, keeping her down. In this position she pulled up her shift to expose naked flesh. The recently healed marks from her last canning were still visible. With all her strength Jane struck her across her leg. Hortense tried to cry out for help but her mouth was pressed into grass and rotted leaves. Jane hit her again. Hortense shrieked. Jane landed another before Hortense managed to pull herself free.

“Stop this now!” demanded James, who had finished with his buttons. He took hold of the cane and pulled Jane off. Hortense picked up her skirt, got to her feet, and ran sobbing into the woods. James yanked the stick out of Jane’s hand and threw it down. “Please stop it!” he pleaded. “You’ve done enough!”

“No, you’ve done enough!” Jane snarled, her finger pointed and her eyes wild. “How could you do such things? With that harlot! With that… With a mere child! How could you abuse her so? How could you seduce that… poor fool? And ruin her? And destroy her reputation!”

“Jane, my love. Please!” he begged, sinking to his knees. “I don’t know why! It’s… it’s so hard! The war and the cannon fire and… and the murder! It’s all too much! I swear, only the horror of… only the dire threat of murder and mayhem could have left me victim to such… to such base urges. Forgive me! I beg of thee!”

“Forgive you? You… You jest! You deserve no forgiveness! Yours is the heart of sin and evil! You’ve preyed upon – a child! A mere child! You deserve no forgiveness!”

Tim had been the closest to the action, followed by the other two. They felt they needed to listen carefully to all that was being said to provide themselves with evidence for their testimony.

James turned away and noticed Tim, half-hidden behind leaves, and realized that his presence offered an opportunity to shift the blame off himself. James pulled a knife from the sheath that hung from his belt and said “You, Tim Euston! You’re behind all this, aren’t you? I’ll show you what happens to those who plot and scheme!”

“No,” shrieked Sadie from where she hid, thinking that if James was the murderer he might be about to kill again. “Stop it! It’s not so! Put it down!” she yelled, ensuring that others would hear her.

Matthew and Pincock, who were more accustomed to men’s false threats, felt that Tim likely faced no imminent danger. They kept low, believing they might still hear damning words spoken in haste. While Tim backed away, Jane stepped between them, facing her husband. “Put it down, thou fool! You’ve none to blame but your own vile self! ‘Tis you who seduced that child, and if war’s to blame, then thou art a coward – a craven dog who deserves no pity!”

“Stop this!” ordered Ben as he suddenly came out into the clearing. “Enough’s been said!”

“No, enough’s not been said!” responded Jane as she turned to him, her fists on her hips.

“Jane, my love,” begged James, “you must understand! Surely I’ve fallen victim to a scheme. And for sure it’s the work of that schemer, there,” he said, pointing to Tim. “He’s the one who put ideas in the girl’s head. He’s the one who put her up to it. Yes, I’m a fool and yes I’m a coward, but… but I meant no betrayal. You must forgive me, my dove, for ‘tis only you that I love and I cannot bear a life without you!”

“Let it be for now!” said Ben to Jane. “The fool was tempted by sin and now he begs forgiveness. Do what you want tomorrow but for now, just let it be.”

“And who are you,” asked Jane, “to give orders to me?”

“Ah!” groaned Ben as he turned to go. “Do what you want then! I’ve heard enough.”

Everyone remained silent. Jane and James stood motionless while Ben went toward the mill. It might have ended at this had Hortense kept herself out of sight. But Jane spotted her hiding behind the bushes. “Cower like the dog you are!” she said, pointing. “You’re the whore who tempted him! You’re the strumpet who preyed upon him!”

“I am neither whore nor strumpet!” said Hortense, standing up. “I was preyed upon by him. Is he not my elder, and am I not a child who’s fallen victim to his lies?”

“Shut your filthy mouth,” demanded Jane. “You and the rest of your kind. You…”

“My kind? And what kind is that? The innocent prey of unhappy husbands whose wives cannot do their duty? Wives who have failed as wives!”

“Keep to thy place, thou dog!”

“No, you keep to your place, thou barren waste. Maybe if you had borne him a son he’d not be seeking one elsewhere!”

“Thou vile hound!” roared Jane as she charged.

“No!” shrieked Hortense as she turned to run. Again Jane overtook her and again they were down and fighting.

“Stop this!” ordered Ben, as he ran back to the skirmish. He and James came at the women from both sides. Each had hold of the others’ hair. The men got a grip on their wrists and gradually pulled them apart, but each came away with hair in their fists.

“Let go of me!” demanded Jane as she squirmed.

“Will you leave her alone?” asked James. “Like you’ve said, she’s just a child. And we’d done nothing, anyways!”

“You!” hissed Jane, now pointing to Tim. He had not thought to get himself out of sight. “Yes, you!” she demanded. “You’re the one, aren’t you? You’re the schemer, just as he says!” Jane then turned back to James. Grabbing his arm, she said, “You want to blame the schemer? Then blame him! And then blame yourself for being his dupe! A fool for everyone’s usage! Maybe I’d have been a better wife had you have been a better husband!”

“Yes, maybe,” conceded James as he looked at Tim. He wanted to end the shouting, but then he wondered about what she had just said and took a look at Tim.

Tim stepped back, realizing that his encounter with Jane earlier that day might bear directly upon what was happening. His face betrayed his guilt. Again everyone was silent.

“Enough’s been said!” insisted Ben. “Now go back before all your shouting brings in…”

“My shouting?” gasped Jane. “What about your shouting! And her shouting!”

“Oh spare me, my Lord,” said Ben as he threw up his arms, looking heavenwards as if in search of divine guidance.

“Don’t you go a-praying!” ordered Jane. “Don’t you go a-thinking you’re more righteous than any, for you… you’d see your own cousin falsely accused! You think you can reap a reward while another bears the cost of such scandal?”

Ben turned to her with a pleading expression, whispering, “For God’s sake, hold your tongue before…” But then he went silent, as if he hoped he had said enough.

Tim could not see the expression on Ben’s face, but Matthew and Corporal Pincock had a clear view from where they were hidden.

Jane stayed silent, holding her fingertips to her mouth, seeming to have realized she had said too much.

But Ben then made it worse. Before he could compose himself and laugh it off, he looked at James with fear in his eyes and whispered, “We’ve got to stop this! Say nothing more!”

They all stood in silence.

Hortense had made it around to where Tim and Sadie stood, and by now Dan and other men were arriving from the farm, attracted by the shouting and shrieking. Women and children followed with worried expressions.

Tim looked back to Sadie and Hortense. “Let’s go over here and let them get past.” They went toward the edge of the pond. Hortense now realized she had been tricked, without any regard for the damage it would do to her reputation. Though so angry her hands shook, she followed after Sadie and Tim, keeping quiet. She knew Jane might attack her again and stayed close.

They waited until Jane and the Jarvis men had gone by, going toward the mill and the house. Tim, Sadie and Hortense followed at a distance. Evacuees and wounded soldiers asked questions. Both Tim and Sadie lied, denying they knew what had been happening or who had been shrieking.

“It’s over now,” called an old man. “Let’s take ourselves back. This is family business.” The others obeyed and followed him. There were whispers, but only from children asking questions while their parents hushed them.

When within sight of the house, Tim took Sadie and Hortense aside to wait for Matthew and Pincock. He put his hand on Hortense’s shoulder and said “Maybe you should go visit your mother for a little while.”

“Yes, I’ll have to,” she replied with a look of humiliation combined with anger.

“I could walk you there,” said Dan. “I was headed over that ways.” He had come up behind them with a look that said he resented being kept out of whatever had been going on. Enough had been said, though, to tell him that Hortense could no longer live in the Maynes house.

“That would be so kind,” said Hortense in a half-whisper, half-sob. She went to him, put her hand under his arm and pulled on it to get him started. They went back along the path by way of the Farthingale farm to avoid being seen by Jane.

“Well,” said Matthew, who had arrived with Pincock, “we heard a little and we heard a lot.”

“Indeed,” said Pincock as he nodded his head.

“Their words were, I suppose, convincing enough for us who heard them, but… well... we don’t know who specifically to condemn. And even if we did find out, in court they’d likely be just as convincing as we’d be. And a jury would side with local folk. They’d want to sweep things under a rug.”

“But we could still tell people about it,” said Tim. “We could spread the word – let it be known that the Jarvises obviously know something they’re not willing to share. That would take the blame off Betty-May, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” said Matthew after a pause. “It would be rumor enough to ruin their names around these parts. But… I’m thinking… one of them is a devil-possessed murderer, and he will now be thinking of us as a threat. He might try to stop us from talking. And it’ll most likely to be you, Tim, for you’ll be seen as the one who got it all going because of you’d been caught in a compromising situation with Jane.”

“We didn’t do anything!” insisted Tim, his face growing red again.

“You know that, but maybe the murderer doesn’t. And too, were Burgoyne to break through, and if we were all to evacuate and head south – then what? A second killing might be easy to conceal amid the confusion.”

“Well,” said Tim, “then we’ve accomplished nothing.”

“No, we’ve accomplished two things,” said Matthew. “We know for sure they’ve got something they’re trying to hide, and we know they’ve more reason than ever to try keep it hidden. Now I’m not saying we should run, but I think we ought to keep ourselves together, for our mutual protection.”

The use of thee, thou and thine had gone out of style in ordinary conversation a hundred years before, for everybody except Quakers. But it was still used for prayer, and for particularly intimate or emotional speech.

Chapter 25

There was nothing to apologize for.

Back at the mill, Ben and James were at work, trying to act like nothing had happened. When an evacuee came over to make a comment about “all the shouting,” Ben joked about the effect that cannon fire had on the sorts of women who were subject to moods. James agreed with a chuckle and commented on the effect of women’s voices on men who were prone to headaches, and then finished off with a comment about “cat fighting.”

“Looks like the cat’s a good hand with a cane,” the man said as he gave James’s cheek a poke with his finger. James looked furious for a moment, and then laughed along, saying “a dog calculates a risk when he steps between a pair of fighting cats.”

“Maybe it’s time we were headed south,” said Ben after the man had left.

“Why?”

“Before someone calculates another risk.”

“Events could have just as easily turned out well,” said James with a shrug. “If only Tim Euston hadn’t been wounded by the onslaught of a frantic woman. Then he wouldn’t have broken his arm. Then he’d have gotten himself into the Army and one of Burgoyne’s bayonets might have prevented the arrival of the worst of our problems.”

“Unless he’d survived the wound and come here anyways,” said Ben as he went back to work. “And besides, he’s not the worst of our problems.”

“It’s all how you look at it,” muttered James. “And,” he then said while standing up, “we’ll need another branch to brace this rafter, and now’s as good a time as any for me to go cut one.”

James walked at a slow and determined pace, his shoulders rounded in a nervous hunch. Instead of picking up his hatchet, he went to the pile of timbers and pulled off the top few to reveal a small wooden crate. He pried it open, took out a piece of oiled leather and unfolded it. It contained a pocket pistol, a small pouch full of quarter-ounce balls, and a leather bottle full of gunpowder. After a glance each way he quickly loaded it, tucked it in the back of his belt and pulled out his shirttail to keep it hidden. He then paused, pulled it back out, and put it into the haversack he had with him.

“But a girl in Jane’s situation would surely ache to talk to someone,” said Sadie when they were almost back at the house. “And the one she’d go to would have to be Beatrice. Jane’s no other close friends still around, and she can certainly count on her sister-in-law to keep her filthiest secrets. Surely Beatrice would not want to see a family member face a trial, guilty or not.”

“But how,” asked Tim, “will we know when or where she’ll do her talking?”

“It’ll be as soon as she can, most likely. For a girl, keeping a secret like that is like she’s bearing a sack of stones. What I’ll do is keep myself around the house and … or we could try to provide an opportunity, couldn’t we?”

After they talked it over with Matthew, Sadie went to the kitchen. Fortunately, Beatrice was going out to get a chicken for supper. She said Jane had taken herself into the bedroom with a headache. That left Tillie, Abby and Betty-May in the kitchen. Very quietly, Sadie asked them to come outside. She quickly explained what had happened. The young widow was alert, having kept herself sober that day to be ready for a rapid evacuation. Hearing about the humiliation of Hortense brought the first real smile to her lips since the loss of her husband.

“For now,” said Sadie to Tillie, “we’ll just need you to keep an eye out the window and on the bedroom door.” Turning to her mother and Betty-May, she said, “and I think it would be best if the two of you went to the neighbor’s. Creaking floorboards and a crying baby would make them hard to overhear.”

“This is all Matthew’s planning?” asked Abby.

“We’ve planned it together,” stated Sadie with an impatient stare. “He’s acting upon the orders of his superior.”

“The commissary?”

“I don’t know! Whoever concerns himself with murders!”

“Well,” sighed Abby after a pause, “we ought to be going right away then. So that we don’t have to tell anybody why.” She got Betty-May’s straw hat and helped load the baby into his basket.

“I am ever so grateful,” said a teary-eyed Betty-May, “for all you’re willing to…” She could say no more and Abby took her arm and led her out.

“When Beatrice is back,” said Sadie to Tillie, “tell her Jane’s upset about something – in an awful state of nerves. Get them into the bedroom and shut the door. When you come back, keep singing to yourself so Jane will know you’re not listening at the door. If anyone comes in, just drive them out, somehow.”

“I can do that,” said Tillie with a smile.

When Beatrice returned with the chicken, Tillie made a face and glanced toward Jane who was working at the table. She had come out of the bedroom in a foul mood and was finding fault with everything. With her kindest voice Beatrice ask what was wrong. Jane burst into tears, ran back into the bedroom and slammed the door. Beatrice sighed, followed her in, and closed the door.

Under the floorboards were Matthew and Pincock. They were in the crawlspace that they got to by way of the new work on the root cellar, laying still and praying they would not sneeze. Outside, Tim sat under a tree, telling a long and sad story to the children while remaining ready to intercept anyone who seemed to be headed for the house. Sadie was in the garden for the same purpose.

Inside, between sobbing and nose blowing, fragments of conversation could be heard. It was enough for the two men to learn that, on the day of Martin’s death, Ben and James had been arguing over whom they should support in the election for the new militia captain.

“It was the sound of battle that was doing it to them,” sobbed Jane. “They’d often argued over who should be the one elected but… it was for sure the cannon fire that got them into such a state. Especially James, I think, for he’s… high strung to start with. And too, it was the thought that at any time at all we could hear that Burgoyne had broken through. It had us all is such a state of nerves and… well, they decided that now was the time to… reconsider a few issues.”

“A battle is a horrid thing to have to listen to,” agreed Beatrice as she put her hand on Jane’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“And… and then Ben had enough of listening to James and… well… he told him so with clever words that only got James the more worked up. And it was just after more cannons had fired that they... I don’t know whether they truly realized what it was doing to them, but… I could see it. And… well… he… Ben made a comment about how I’d been… too friendly to Charles, the candidate for captain that James was favoring.”

“Oh no!”

“But you can’t blame him for… well… me and Charles… we’re just friends – but he’s such a charmer. You can’t help feeling that you’re his friend. He’s such a pleasant sort – always with a smile and a little joke and... He’s the same with all… pretty women. But… well… I suppose poor Ben was in a state and couldn’t help himself. And James was even worse, and he was right away angry and demanding an apology.”

“Oh dear,” said Beatrice as she shook her head.

“I begged them to believe that there was nothing that should trouble either of them, and that neither he nor I had meant anything… overly familiar, but….”

“That Ben! He can be such a fool.”

“But it wasn’t him alone,” insisted Jane. “He said it and… and then I just said that it might be called flirting by the sort who always hungers for fresh scandal. But then he… Ben… he took that the wrong way. I hadn’t been thinking of him in particular when I’d said it – that it’s him who hungers for it – but then he said more and then James was demanding another apology and… but Ben just told him there was nothing to apologize for and that he was only saying what needed to be said.”

“Oh, the great oaf!” huffed Beatrice.

“No no, you can’t blame him, for it was the sound of battle that was making him so… and… just think of today. It’s happening again, isn’t it? It’s surely the cannons that made poor stupid Hortense… act so foolishly.”

“Yes, I suppose it likely was.”

“And that’s when…” said Jane as her eyes went down and she pressed a fist against her mouth.

“What?”

“That’s when James went to get the pistol.”

Chapter 26

We’re together in this.

Sadie gave Tim a thumbs-up as she came out to the garden. Tim smiled, though he was right in the middle of one of the saddest parts of his story. This unnerved some of the children. He started to explain why something was funny at the same time that it was so sad, but he was unable to finish. From the direction of the mill came James. Tim got up, saying he would be back right away. Two of the older children groaned in frustration because the smile had got them wondering what sort of a macabre twist the story was about to take.

Tim walked along as calmly as he could, and when he came to James he smiled and said, “How’s the work going? Looks like you’ve lost your new helper. He’s around here somewhere, I think. Too restless to do any real work, I suppose, what with the sound of cannons fired in deadly earnest. There’d be no way I could sleep, not with all that! Could you? And still no news from the front! Why, I’m restless as a... I don’t know what. How can you keep working? Do you need some help? I can’t do much with one arm but surely I could do something. It’d do me good. Better up and at it, as they say. Still got one arm, and a good set of teeth too. That’s all it takes sometimes. I knew a man with one hand, and he got a lot done with that one hand – just had to plan things out is all. I could hold this and carry that, couldn’t I? Help with your cutting of shakes somehow?”

“Yes… yes, you could,” said James, who looked stunned by the offer. “Yes, indeed you could help,” he said as he looked back and forth, seeming to be thinking intensely. “Did you hear a voice just now?”

“No,” replied Tim as he looked about.

“Well… well then, voices in my head, I guess. And I suppose one hand is enough to hold the end of a board, isn’t it? Yes yes yes, there’s a few things you could help with,” he said as he turned to go back to the mill. 

Tim followed, wiping sweat from his brow. There was no wind at all, while the temperature had continued to rise. Again they heard cannon fire but neither could gage the effect that it was having on their judgment. James glanced back, looking like he could not believe his luck. Tim wondered about it but then realized why James would now be acting friendly. The poor fellow should be thankful that someone was being friendly to him, he thought, after his being caught with the girl-of-all-work. He likely fears being shunned for his sinning.

“Well,” said James with another glance back to Tim, “that was an amusing little incident, wasn’t it?”

“Which… oh… you mean just now. Yea, truly it was,” replied Tim as he picked up his pace. The trail was only allowing them to go single file. “The sounds of battle can do strange things to men, can’t they? And women too. And even when the battle’s a full day’s walk away.”

“We hope it’s still a full day,” said James. “There might be another retreat in progress. Right now as we speak. And, heaven forbid, there could be a full-scale rout and desperate men about to fall upon us at any moment!”

“Let’s try think of more pleasant things.”

“Yes, lets,” chuckled James. “Like… like young Hortense’s naked body.”

“Oh… ah… yes. A sight I’ll never purge from my mind.”

“You understand then how easily a man could lose a battle with temptation.”

“You’re just a man,” joked Tim.

“Yes, and barely that sometimes. And… but I suspect my dear Jane will understand, eventually. Wouldn’t you think? Boys will be boys, as they say. I’m just a man, and I’ve never claimed to be a saint.”

“Well… me neither.”

“An embarrassing little incident is all it was,” said James, whose voice shivered with nervous energy. Again the cannons were thudding and it seemed like they were closer. “No doubt I’ll be teased about it for years to come. And poor Jane too, for sure – the cane wielding scold, driving off all who might tempt her man to sin.”

“She handles a cane well – like a saber in the hand of a cavalryman.”

“Indeed, the temper of a Maynes. It’s not just her brother who has the heart of a warrior. But for sure she’ll forgive me. She must have known from the start that I’m a man whose lust for life could never be fully contained.”

“It would be a dreary and dismal world were there no forgiveness,” chuckled Tim. “We’re all called upon to forgive, aren’t we?”

“Yea,” laughed James, “if we want to go on calling ourselves Christians. Indeed, she’ll just have to hear herself called upon to witness her faith by the forgiveness of a husband who’d been led astray.” But then his voice fell silent as he saw Ben coming up the path toward them. He was obviously surprised to see the two of them together. “I’ve recruited a new helper,” said James. “Three hands are better than two, as they say.”

“Yes,” said Ben, “and I’ve lost my helper. And he was a good one too, for a merchant.”

“He was just at the barn,” said Tim, hoping to steer Ben away from the house in case Jane was still talking to Beatrice. “Helping with the wounded, I’d imagine. Helping make way for more. There’ll be more to come, we can be sure of that. The barn will be crowded. They’ll be busy lopping off arms and legs.”

“Sadly, yes,” said Ben as he stepped aside to let them pass. “I’ll take a look in there. They can likely spare him.”

By the sawmill, at the pile of cedar timbers, Tim picked up the mallet to hand to James. Instead of taking it, he turned away, saying, “Look what I found in a hollow log.” He went to his haversack and took out an object wrapped in a rag. Tim came closer. James hesitated and then unwrapped it. It was the pistol. “And it looks to be the match to the one you found close by Martin, doesn’t it? You must be glad to get it back.”

“Oh… well, I…

“Or Dan rather. But… but someone’s damaged the lock. Here,” said James as he held it closer to give Tim a look at the firing mechanism. James pointed to the hammer and then pulled the trigger. The hammer fell with a loud click, seeming to work as it should.

“Well, it…” said Tim as he glanced up and saw James staring at the pistol with an expression of frustration combined with anger. Tim then realized the weapon had been held with its barrel pointed directly at the center of his chest. Had it been loaded? he wondered. Was it in proper repair and had it simply misfired? Was this a failed attempt to kill me? Had James meant to fire a ball right through my heart at point-blank range? Tim could feel a pain in his chest as he tried to speak – to accuse James of the crime. But his words could not come. He stood there frozen, while James gaped helplessly at the pistol. Then impulsively, Tim swung the mallet that was still in his hand. James was beginning to lift his head as the blow landed. He fell back, hitting the ground with a thud. Tim stared down at him. There was a spot of blood on the side of his head. The blow had landed where the skull was thin. Such a blow could easily be lethal. James lay there, still, lifeless and not appearing to breath.

“Oh!” gasped Tim as he dropped the mallet. “James!” he whispered. “James, are you alright?” He reached down slowly, afraid to touch him. “Can you hear me? James, say something!” Just then James gave a jerk and his eyes came half-open, making him look even more dead.

Tim drew back with a start, took several quick breaths and then turned to run. He followed the north path to avoid the farm, thinking he could keep running so far away that no one could ever find him.

Then Tim slowed and stopped. He hesitated, sighed and turned back. He realized that if he ran now he would never stop running. All would believe him to be the murderer of James and he would be presumed to be the killer of Martin as well. He would forever be a wanted man – forever a fugitive from justice, wondering when someone would recognize him and alert authorities who would come for him and send him back in chains to face judgment and a hangman’s noose. For the rest of his life, every time a stranger walked toward him, he would wonder whether this was the man who meant to capture him for a reward. Every time he saw someone look at him with an unreadable expression he would wonder whether the rumors had followed him.

Tim let out a long breath, shook his head and started back. Maybe the authorities would believe his story. Maybe someone else would come forward and say that James was the killer of Martin, and that he surely intended to kill Tim Euston for having asked too many questions. And maybe someone saw what had just happened and could testify in his defense.

When back to the sawmill, Tim saw Ben, crouching to look at the body. Tim got behind a tree and peeked around. He saw Ben pull James into a sitting position while asking him a question. What’s he doing? Tim wondered. Why’d he do such a thing to a dead body? But then he saw James move. He raised himself on an elbow and reached out his hand. He’s alive! Tim told himself as he felt a thrill rise up along his spine. “I didn’t kill him,” he whispered, feeling almost as if his own life had been given back. Tim stood and was about to go forward when he saw Ben pick up the mallet. He pointed towards the mill and said, “Look!” When James turned he gave the mallet a carefully aimed swing to land it on the same spot, sending him back to the ground.

Tim cringed at the sound it made, and at the cruelty of so deliberate an act. Ben then threw down the mallet, straightened up and started back toward the house. But then he hesitated, took one last look around, and saw Tim. Ben paused for a moment and then called out, “What are you doing there?” It was not loud, but his tone had a hardness to it that was menacing.

Tim rose slowly and came out from behind the tree, angry at himself for being seen. Saying nothing he walked toward him.

“Why’d you kill him?” asked Ben without emotion.

“I didn’t! I hit him without thinking, just after he tried to shoot me! It was him who tried to kill me! He said the lock was broken, and then he pulled the trigger to show me! But it worked fine! It’d just misfired! And he looked surprised – really surprised! It was obvious! He’d meant to kill me! I’d not meant to kill him, but… but… but you did! I saw you, now! You hit him on the same spot where I hit him – and you meant to do it! You meant to kill your own cousin!”

“Quiet down!” said Ben through clenched teeth. “Well… well, I suppose we can both tell our stories and see who they believe – and look like a pair of fools while we do it. And nobody will know who to believe, will they? And it will remain that way! No one knowing! No matter which one of us they hang!”

“I… well… maybe it will,” said Tim with a shrug.

“He was a fool!” hissed Ben, sounding as if he could finally say what needed to be said. To finally say what he had believed all along – after months and years of having to suppress the truth. “I’d not meant to kill him. It was an impulsive act. But it’s just as well that I did! He was the greatest ass you could imagine! He was an embarrassment to the family – to both families! He was a burden to the woman who was fool enough to marry him. She’ll be better off as a widow than as a wife to a man who will never provide for her – never in a proper way. He’s a good-for-nothing! He’s a pretty-faced ne’er-do-well who’ll drift from one fool scheme to another. Always borrowing! Always ending up in prison for debt! And he’s likely the killer of poor Martin too! Surely he’s the killer! Who else would have done it? Here he’s got the other pistol, doesn’t he? That can hardly be a coincidence. And why would he kill him? Because Martin knew him to be the fool that he was. And he made little effort to hide it too! James despised him! And who would have been next? Here he just tried to kill you, didn’t he? Next it’d likely be me, or his wife, or who knows who? Maybe Betty-May? And if I hadn’t killed him now – if I’d let him live to kill again? What would that make me? He’d for sure try to kill you again. And then who would provide for your sister and your mother, who’ve no one else? Sooner or later, James would have found his chance and then you’d find yourself in a grave, like Martin. Think of that!”

“I… I suppose,” said Tim quietly. They stood there in silence. Again cannon fire rumbled in the distance, making them both cringe. 

“But what do we tell them?” asked Ben, sounding frightened and angry at the same time. “We tell them that we found him, right here. Will people be suspicious? Sure they’ll be, and they won’t know what to conclude. But they’ll be more likely to accept my words when I tell them that you were trying to conceal your own guilt for the killing of Martin. You’ve no proof of an alibi for that, do you? The testimony of children is all, and that’s nothing.”

“I… I suppose,” said Tim.

“Sure they’ll talk. They’ve been talking all along. They suspect me, they suspect Betty-May, they suspect James, they suspect Sammy – they even suspect Jane. And they suspect you, for you could have done the deed with Sammy’s help. I could tell them it was part of a plot. You kill the husband and then you stick around, acting as the poor widow’s protector. You, the handsome newcomer who can sing till you bring tears to her eyes. You, the injured hero who saved the life of a colonel’s sweet little daughter. And when she marries you, then all the land and water is yours. It’ll be easy to believe. Won’t it?”

“It will be.”

“But as it is though, we’re all suspects. We’re all going to be fingered and talked about. It’ll never end, will it? This is going to haunt us all our lives till our dying day! And how well will your plans for advancing in the Army go with this hanging over you? You can forget about ever being sent out scouting. And you can forget ever getting a promotion. You’ll end the war a ditch-digging private in a ragged uniform. They’ll never trust you with anything more lethal than a shovel.”

“I…I suppose they won’t,” said Tim, whose head was swimming. It was all too awful to contemplate.

“We’re together in this… predicament,” said Ben as he placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “And there’s no getting out of it, is there? We can carry him back and accuse each other and… but the testimony of a local man will always carry greater weight with a local jury, won’t it? A lot more! Here’s two local men dead and murdered and the killer still on the loose. What’ll they want to do? It’s either hang you or leave the women forever in fear – forever wondering. What do you suppose they’ll want to do? You’ll offer the easy way out. You will, won’t you? Admit it!”

“I suppose,” said Tim, realizing he truly could be convicted of murder.

“But there’s a better way. What we could do is this. I’ll tell them that you’d come over to help me, and that James went back to work on his shakes, and that we heard voices spoken in anger. And when we came over we saw a young fellow running off – fast as a deer. I’ll say we didn’t know that anything was amiss until we saw James lying there dead. And I’ll say we didn’t know what had happened until it was too late to try running after him. I’ll say that and no more. And you say less – nothing at all. You just agree and you don’t add a word. If they question us separately, you say what I said and you tell them it happened so fast that you can't be sure of anything. We’ll say he was wearing worn and faded clothes. Maybe wearing shoes and maybe not. We’ll say we didn’t understand a word that we’d heard them speak and that there was nothing more to see than the backside of him running off. We’ve got to leave it at that, because if we try adding more to make it more convincing, then we’ll start contradicting each other. And then we’ll both end up hanging. You understand?”

“Yes… yes, of course,” said Tim as he nodded his head. 

“And why should they question our words? Would they want a scandal?”

“No,” Tim sighed as he stared at the ground. Were he and Ben to tell them this story, about a stranger running away, the suspicion would be lifted off Betty-May too. She would be protected and they could all go on with their lives, free of any burden of suspicion. Tim pressed a fist against his forehead and wondered whether this could actually be the best possible outcome for all concerned – even for Jane. “Well…” he said, half to himself. “Well I… I suppose… I suppose… it’d be for the best.” 

Chapter 27

It’d be foolish not to.

“It was between one sob after another,” said Matthew to Sadie and Dan. “That and the blowing of her nose. But bit by bit, she told Beatrice everything… almost everything, I suspect. She said James had tools to pick locks and that he’d gone through Tim’s chest once already, just to see what he had – to see whether they were trying to hide something and whether they could be trusted. He’d already known about the pistols because Dan had been trying to sell them. Then on that day – the day Martin was killed – James had gone to get them. Then on his way back, he’d met Jane and Ben on the path. Ben had been coming to get him to help lift a timber. He’d thought it was all over. But no, James had the pistols and he started at it again. Demanding an apology. It was where the path goes close by the new field. James was insisting that only by fighting a duel could they satisfy the insult to the honor of his wife. Jane said she’d told him it wasn’t necessary, but James wouldn’t listen. He declared a formal challenge to Ben but he refused, telling him it would be foolish. He told James he’d been to too many plays. James called him a coward and a rogue and said he’d stained the honor of the Jarvis name by insulting his wife. Ben told him he could do more for family honor by shooting a foolish wife than he could by shooting an honest brother-in-law who had merely repeated what everyone had been saying.”

“Oh, the fool,” said Sadie as she shook her head.

“That’s what Beatrice said, too,” chuckled Matthew. “And then Jane told her that she’d begged them to ask Martin to mediate, and she’d pointed to where they could see him, through the trees, out in the new field, swinging a scythe. Maybe they’d also seen Tim and the boys, and that’s why they were keeping their voices well down. She said Ben had refused and had turned to go, but James had grabbed his arm and again demanded satisfaction. That’s when Sammy arrived. He’d heard the voices and he’d come over to see what was what. Jane says she told him to go get Martin so that he could hear each give his side and settle the dispute. Sammy went and called him over and Martin had come and listened for about one minute and had then given them all a scolding for being such fools. Well, that didn’t help any. Ben then told James that he should have inquired into the quality of Jane’s character before he married her. Jane then grabbed one of the pistols and offered to kill herself to settle it once and for all. Then Martin demanded the pistol from her.”

“Oh no!” said Sadie, who could guess what happened next.

“That’s all she could get out,” said Matthew with a sigh. “But I think we can conclude that Sammy was the ‘jackass’ and that Jane pulled the trigger, either accidently or on an impulse.”

“The poor stupid girl,” said Sadie.

“That’s what you think too?” Matthew asked Pincock.

“I’d reckon,” he replied with a shrug. 

“Two or three days of questioning will provide good confessions,” said Matthew, sounding like he did not relish the thought of Jane undergoing a severe interrogation after having suffered such a humiliation at the hands of her husband and a girl-of-all-work.

As Matthew was saying this, Tim and Ben came along the path carrying a body, using a ladder for a stretcher. One of James’s hands had slid off and dragged on the ground. They had a pair of clapboards on the ladder for extra support. Tim had a rope looped over his head to make up for his lack of two good arms. 

“What’s this?” asked Matthew as they all stood and stared.

 “It’s James. He’s dead,” said Ben, looking very sad. “And we got a look at who was surely the killer – the backside of him anyways – a-running away like a deer he was, so I’d say he was a young fellow.”

“He killed him?” asked Matthew, sounding like he could not believe it.

“That’s what it looks like,” Ben sighed, and he repeated the story he and Tim had agreed to.

“We just saw him running off,” said Tim. “There might have been another, but… who can say? That’s all we heard and all we saw.”

“Well,” said Matthew, shaking his head and seeming like he wanted to say something but was unable to find the words.

“Best get him into the house,” said Ben, again in deep despair. “I suspect Jane will take it hard, in spite of it all.” They stood in silence for a moment and then Tim and Ben continued toward the door. Everyone waited for Jane’s inevitable scream. It came almost as soon as they had passed through the door.

“Well well well,” sighed Matthew. “With this… with this and their testimony, then… what we’ll say about Jane’s confession will be… Well… it could at best get us a conviction for the involuntary manslaughter of Martin. But… likely nothing more… And likely not even that. And there will be many who will consider it to be a great wrong for us to have listened in on a private conversation with the intention of repeating it publicly. What do you say, Pincock?”

“Well…” he said, shaking his head.

“Indeed,” sighed Matthew. “Indeed it will be seen by many as best if as little as possible is said about it. No stories of suspicions of adultery or fornication.”

‘No,” agreed Dan, “it wouldn’t do anyone any good. There’s no lesson to be learned... other than care and caution with loaded firearms.” They could hear Jane sobbing and she seemed to be calling a curse onto someone. People were coming to find out what the wailing was about. Matthew held up his hands to quiet them and briefly told them about James being found dead, and about what Ben and Tim had said about a young man seen running away.

“That’s likely the same one that killed Martin,” said an officer. Others made comments in agreement. One even cracked a joke about wanting to go back to the front for safety’s sake.

Ben and Tim were coming out of the house as Sadie went in. Ben began to repeat his evidence to a crowd that was growing larger. 

 “He’s still alive!” came a shout from the house. It was Beatrice who had just come out the door. “He’s still breathing, praise the Lord! Fetch up the surgeon!” One of the surgeon’s apprentices was in the crowd and he ran back to the barn, calling the officer’s name.

“Well,” said Matthew. “Praise be! He was…” but he stopped as the surgeon and his apprentice ran past, both carrying small bags of tools. “You gave him a good looking-over, didn’t you?” Matthew asked Tim.

“There was a drop of blood on the side of his head, close by his temple. He looked dead!”

“It’ll be good,” said Ben, “to hear what the surgeon has to say. I… I suppose we shouldn’t have assumed anything. He did look dead.”

“He did,” agreed Tim. “Very dead! His eyes were half-open!”

“Well, let us say a prayer then,” said Matthew. He said a short one that included a mention of the soldiers who must be facing fierce opposition somewhere to the north. “Well! I could use a drink of water,” said Matthew, sounding like he would prefer something stronger. He started toward the barn where a cup and a bucket were available. The crowd began to break up. Dan waited and then took Tim aside. 

“What happened?” he asked, once they were far enough away to speak in private. His tone said he did not believe the story.

“Betty-May is safe now,” said Tim. “I am too – and Sammy. It’s the best possible outcome – the only good outcome. Things could have ended up so much worse for everybody.”

“Well… that’s good then,” said Dan, who was obviously waiting for the facts.

“It… well, Jane was in the bedroom with Beatrice. Matthew and Pincock – the soldier with him – he’s from around these parts. And he’s a Methodist too. The two of them had gone under the house and listened to them. And they heard her tell all to Beatrice, and she confessed… almost.”

“Almost.”

“Well, enough.” Tim then recounted the other events, and his agreement with Ben to conceal James’ attempt on his life, and Ben’s own efforts to finish off James.

“I know what happened,” said Dan. “The pistol misfired because it had an odd colored flint. I’d been thinking I should throw it out and put in a better one.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t,” joked Tim.

“So…” concluded Dan, “Martin and James… each of them was the victim of an accident… almost.”

“It was no accident that Ben hit him with the mallet. And not much of an accident that I did, too. Though… I hadn’t given it any thought before I did it. It came as quite a surprise, him trying to kill me!”

“I suppose they both deserve to hang then, for attempted murder.”

“James could come to and start telling stories,” said Tim with a dark expression. “If they start lying and accusing each other, then I could end up hanging, couldn’t I?”

“You and Ben could just stick to your story and deny all he says. What a man says after being knocked out doesn’t count for much.”

“Yes,” agreed Tim. “I guess Ben will tell Jane to tell him what to say as soon as he starts coming around. And… I guess he might not come around at all. Though with the surgeon right here, his chances are better.”

“A lucky man, we might end up calling him.”

“It could be a slow recovery. It was quite a blow. Two of them.”

“Likely so,” shrugged Dan. “But at least now he’ll have an excuse for being… a bit odd.”

“He will that.”

“So that’s it then,” said Dan after they’d taken some time to think about it all. “The mystery’s solved, for us at least. And Betty-May’s safe. But Ben’s guilty of attempted murder, though. And James too. They shouldn’t get away with it.”

“They already have,” sighed Tim as he looked down and shook his head. “It’d be my word against theirs. And I’ve just proved myself to be a liar.”

“You did,” said Dan with a nod.

“And they acted on impulse while listening to cannon fire, and after suffering through all that’s been happening. And they got wives, and there’s the children. Their getting a second chance is likely the best possible outcome.”

“I suppose,” agreed Dan as another cannon shot thudded in the distance. It was now barely audible over the wind. “Something will be said though, eventually… probably. Somebody will get talkative and word will get around. Ben will hold to his story, and the rest of the family will agree with him, but… word will get around. It won’t be easy on them. They’ll likely not be living around here for much longer.”

The battle they had been listening to took place on October 7, 1777. Burgoyne had led out a quarter of his force – seventeen hundred of his best soldiers – to make another attempt on the west side of the Bemis Heights camp. They walked through the forest, not knowing how many soldiers they faced or where they were, and stopped at the edge of a wheat field that had been carved out of an old forest. Burgoyne had been waiting for hopeful news from New York while his men built redoubts: ditches, dykes and fences of thick wooden planks. They might have been able to retreat back to Canada, but Burgoyne would not think of it.

American scouts had seen and heard them coming. Gates had sent out a force to attack them from both sides. It was much larger but less well trained and equipped. When they were spotted in the forest beyond the field the British fired on them and then attacked with bayonets. Three regiments of New Hampshire Continentals returned fire at close range and charged, driving them from the field. Redcoat soldiers, likely as unnerved by the forest as by the enemy, then found themselves attacked from the other side by elite troops who came down a hill, shouting at the tops of their lungs. Burgoyne’s best soldiers turned to run frantically back behind their redoubts, close by Freeman’s farm. 

Shortly before this had happened, Benedict Arnold had arrived on a horse and called upon several Connecticut regiments to follow him. He acted in spite of having lost his command because of his defiant attitude toward General Gates. A cheer rose from the men and the general in charge of these three regiments voiced no objection. Arnold led them in a charge up a slope against a force of Hessians who held out for a while, but then joined the retreat. 

Arnold was still not satisfied and cheered on another attack against the redoubts. Before darkness began to fall he succeeded in leading a force through a gap in the defenses to drive the enemy further back and captured their precious supplies. Here his luck finally ran out and he was severely injured in his leg. That night Burgoyne took his forces back behind the lines he had held on September 16. Though the Americans had the British outnumbered, Arnold still deserved credit for making the victory as great as it was. 

Chapter 28

Those cursed hogs!

“You hear what that Pincock’s gone and done?” asked Tillie, three days after the corporal had witnessed the incident by the millpond.

“What?” asked Sadie who was coming back from the barn with two empty buckets.

“He’s gone to Hortense’s father and he’s asked permission to come a-courting his youngest daughter.”

“And that’s Hortense?”

“None other than,” replied Tillie with a grin.

“He wants her for a wife?”

“He does. And he might do well by her. Until he went a-soldiering he’d never been more than a field hand, and until her humiliation she’d likely have imagined herself too good for him. He’s from down south where his parents are just day laborers, too. They’d come over from England as bound servants and never made anything of themselves. He sends money to them when he can. A fellow from his unit told me about him. All he ever does is work, pray and go to meeting. So he’ll consider himself fortunate to get himself a healthy young wife who knows a thing or two.”

“He doesn’t mind that he saw her out a-whoring with a married man?”

“Well,” shrugged Tillie, “maybe seeing her half-naked is what got him interested enough to be willing to overlook her shortcomings. A fine looking filly she is, though she may be a fool. And if he’s a fool too, then they’re a match. And too, he’s Methodist and… well, Jeb, her father, he told me that when he came to him, he quoted the scripture where it says ‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her’. ”

“Oh.”

“It’s hard to argue with God.”

“Well… it should be,” said Sadie with a smile.

“And Jeb said he almost had him ashamed of himself for having given her another whipping when she got home. And too, he says that Pincock doesn’t see it as lowering himself. He says he’s seeing himself as being called upon to witness his faith by saving a girl who’d been tempted by Satan.”

“Is he?” 

“He’s got it sewn all nice and neat,” said Tillie quietly. “He can glorify God by accepting as his personal ministry the reformation of a soul that might otherwise have been lost.”

 “A soul bound up in a fine young package.”

“Those Methodists know how to stack the deck, don’t they?”

“They do,” said Sadie with a smile. “Is she going to like being a Methodist?”

“Oh likely. When she hasn’t been lying, stealing or fornicating, she’s been a-praying for the Lord’s bounty.”

“That’s a start. Has he proposed to her?”

“Not yet,” replied Tillie. “Least I don’t think so. But he’s a-courting her and that’s a solemn choice for his sort. But she’ll have to have some time to get used to the idea. That’s what I advised him anyways – let her warm to the idea. I gave him a pie to take over with lots of honey in it to sweeten her up. And anyways, he’ll have to wait till his term is up, but that’s only a couple of months.”

“Not long to wait then,” said Sadie, who seemed to be thinking of something else.

“They could rent land and get by well enough. He’d bring his parents to join them. If they all worked hard enough they could save up and move out west and prosper.”

“They could. Well… good for Pincock, then,” said Sadie, now sounding almost angry as she looked over to where she could see her father coming along the lane. “Married at seventeen. Some don’t have to wait long, do they?” 

“You’re looking tired as a dog,” said Jane with a generous smile as she went to welcome Matthew back. “You’ve walked miles, haven’t you?”

“All day and on a bad road,” he said as they walked toward the barn. “But I don’t know that I’d have preferred riding on a wagon. Not on this road.”

“And the ruts will get even deeper, for we’re in for a storm likely, what with this heat. It’s like it’s July. You must need a drink. But first tell me what good news you bring?”

“No, first I want to know how poor James fares. Is he talking yet?”

“He’s mumbling, but he’s better than yesterday. He’s weak and clumsy and he slurs and drools. But the surgeon says he’s doing well and will likely make a full recovery. Though it may take months – or years.”

“Does he remember the man who attacked him?”

“No, he remembers nothing. Though he’ll have dreams and will talk about them as if he’s awake and asleep at the same time. He thinks he shot Tim. The surgeon had to drill a hole in his head.”

“Yes, I was still here when he did it.”

“Oh, and the sound it made! And wasn’t poor James making an awful fuss. Five men had to hold him down! Ben had to drag me out of the house. I was shrieking louder than James.”

“Yes, you were.”

“But I’ve recovered. The surgeon says his head will hurt for a long time.”

“Better a hole in the head than dead, I’ve always said,” sighed Matthew.

“What a day that was – right from the start! I’ve had nightmares! And the surgeon says I might have nightmares for as long as I live. What a thing to say!”

“It is. But at least he saved your husband’s life.”

“He did that, the good fellow. He says a lot of blood came out, and that the blood would have likely pressed on his brain until it killed him.”

“So you’re going to nurse him back to health, though it may take months?”

“Of course. He’s my husband.”

“Willing to forgive all and to start anew,” said Matthew with a sad smile. “He’s been blessed with a good woman.”

“He’s due it since he hasn’t had one till now,” said Jane as they started toward the house. “It’s my own fault too that he strayed, for I’ve been a foolish and ungrateful wife and I’d driven him to it. I’ve been given my due.”

“Matthew,” called Ben from the door. “What news?”

“Good news. The battle at Freeman’s farm was as great a victory as the first one. Our boys fought like Romans legions, and now Burgoyne cowers behind his ramparts and his soldiers are surely starving and on the brink of mutiny.”

“Well,” laughed Ben, “this is wonderful! Is the war over then?”

“Time will tell. That and the Parliament at Westminster, for they’re paying the bills. We won’t find out for months,” Matthew said while looking over to see Tim and Sadie, at the far side of the large pig enclosure.

“What are you sulking about,” Sadie asked Tim, who was leaning on a fence. 

“They’re saying it’s another great victory,” grumbled Tim as he stared at pigs that were lying in the shade cast by a fence of rough split rails. “And here I sat it out with a broken arm.”

“They’ll always think of you as the man who saved the colonel’s daughter,” said Sadie as she held her arms crossed and looked back toward the barn. Matthew was sitting there with a few wounded men on the benches along the wall. They were watching the clouds form in the west as the wind picked up. “And the children all adore you for your stories and for you drilling them. You’re a hero here.”

“They say the war’s likely over.”

“We can pray for more fighting,” she muttered while still looking away.

“Don’t say that!”

“Take heart boy, for they say King George is too stubborn to ever give up. It’d be too much of a humiliation. They say that if they let Burgoyne retreat back to Ticonderoga with some of his honor intact, then they’ll be more likely to get an offer to negotiate. The King can’t accept a humiliation like this. He’d then need a victory to reestablish his honor.”

“Who’s saying all this?” demanded Tim.

“Everybody is.” 

“They are not!”

“The surgeon said so. And he’s a major and a man of learning. So you’ll likely still have many an opportunity to pillage and loot.”

“Sadie!

“You don’t get everything you hope for!” she said as she turned to walk away.

“But these were great victories,” insisted Tim, as he followed after her.

“And by tomorrow we’ll be seeing the heroes carted in here to die. Why don’t you apply your great courage to the task of charming the Widow Maynes? She’d be a victory worth having. And you’re in love with her already, aren’t you?”

“No! I pity her, is all. And I don’t need your advice.”

“The surgeon says our father’s going to be promoted to sergeant, almost for sure,” said Sadie, sounding like she resented it. 

“Why shouldn’t he be a sergeant? He should have been one already. Look at what he does.”

“That’ll double his pay.”

“Well… maybe he’ll marry Mom then,” said Tim. “That should have been done already too – as soon as the old crow died. But even if he does ask, Mom might not have him. She’s done well enough without him. And what would she do? Follow the Army?”

“There’s the wife of a Hessian general following Burgoyne’s Army,” Sadie said while turning back. “And she’s a lady of fashion.”

“Well, good for her.”

“Oh! Look!” whispered Sadie, pointing toward the house. “He’s going after her! Over there! There, by the house! She’s carrying out the slops.”

“You don’t suppose?” asked Tim as he saw the way Matthew was walking, as if he dreaded what might come. Abby had not noticed him yet. She dumped water with potato peelings and apple cores over the fence and into the trough. The young pigs came running, squealing frantically and trying to push each other aside. When Abby turned around she saw Matthew and froze. They stared at each other. Matthew seemed to be speaking but neither Tim nor Sadie could tell whether she replied. Their voices were drowned out by the sounds of pigs grunting, squealing and scuffling, along with the sighs of a rising wind blowing through the treetops.

“Oh!” gasped Sadie as she grabbed Tim’s arm. “Look at him!” They watched in a paralysis of anticipation. Matthew seemed about to drop to his knees. Abby turned her back on him and leaned her hand on the split-rail fence to steady herself. The pigs, expecting more food, rose up in a chorus of squealing. Matthew’s hands were out, palms up, as if pleading. A gust of wind swept dust into his eyes.

“She’s turning him down!” said Tim.

“We don’t know that!” snapped Sadie as she hit him on the shoulder. “What will it give her anyways? Following an army wagon? Sleeping in a tent? Patching patches for pennies?”

“Look at that! He’s begging like a dog.”

“Well… good for him,” said Sadie in a broken voice. The wind had pulled her sandy-blonde hair from under her cap and she pushed it out of her eyes.

“Wait,” said Tim, his hands clenched in fists. He could see that Abby had turned around, her hand against her cheek. Again, the pigs shrieked for more slops. Tillie was coming from the house with another bucketful. She saw the two of them and stopped. The pigs were frantic.

“Look,” whispered Tim. Matthew had reached out his hand and Abby started to reach out her own, but then she hesitated and pulled it back. Tillie stood where she was, staring. “Cursed pigs!” swore Tim.

“Don’t say that!” sobbed Sadie, as she turned away, unable to watch.

“Oh! Get away, you!” muttered Tim. Lead by Solly, the little boys, their hair blown about, were coming with carrots to ease the pigs’ torment. They ran past Matthew and Abby who remained stiff as statues, and started throwing carrots over the fence. The pigs stampeded about – each carrot being attacked by two or three.

“She’s giving her consent!” groaned Tim as he grabbed Sadie’s shoulder to spin her around. “Look!” They could see Matthew straighten up and put his arms around her. Tillie’s hand went to her mouth. The pail dropped, spilling the slops on the ground. Solly threw the last few carrots into one end of the pen and then the other, forcing the pigs to run back and forth, stirring up dust that was then carried high by fresh gusts of wind. Dark clouds blackened the western horizon – thunder cracked and lightning flashed.

“Look at them,” wailed Sadie, who had the hem of her apron against her face, wiping her eyes to clear her vision. They could see Abby’s body heave with emotion as she pressed her forehead against his shoulder. Lightning flashed again and the wind drove the first droplets of rain. The boys shrieked as they ran back to the house. Tillie called out to Abby and Matthew but then gave up, running back to the house with her empty bucket. 

“Oh, the fools,” sobbed Sadie as Tim pulled her along toward the house. Matthew and Abby were still in each other’s arms as a cloudburst opened, bringing rain in sheets that fought with the dust and straw that had been swept up from the new field.

After another six days, Burgoyne had retreated seven miles north to the town of Saratoga. He was surrounded and after four more days he surrendered. Though Gates’ strategy of fighting from behind a well-defended position would likely have succeeded, the second victory at Freeman’s Farm forced the surrender. Gates had over six thousand prisoners with all their arms. 

Benedict Arnold was the hero of both battles, but this achievement was marred first by his public demands of promotions, and then by his defection to the British two years later. Had Arnold died that day, Freeman’s Farm would have been as important to American patriots as Trenton or Yorktown.

Burgoyne’s surrender inspired the French King to recognize the independence of the United States and to declare war on Great Britain. Without this, the American Revolution might have suffered the same conclusion as the Irish Rebellion that ended at Galway in 1652, and the Scottish Rebellion that ended at Culloden in 1746. George Washington might have ended his days leading an embittered guerrilla army through the cold forests of Appalachia.

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