But One Life

by Wyn Estelle Owens

  She hoped so, at least.

  Ginny turned at the sound of footsteps to see Mr. Mulligan enter from the back. He smiled. “My servant says you have an order for me?”

  Ginny smiled and stepped up to the counter. “Yes. 3 cotton handkerchiefs, 5 silk, and 5 linen. How soon do you think I can get them?”

  Mr. Mulligan raised an eyebrow and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. “How soon do you need them, miss—”

  “Snow. Jane Snow, Mr. Mulligan,” Ginny said. “As soon as possible. If I don’t get them soon, it will be too late to get them to my friend. Do you understand the urgency, sir? My friend is very dear to me, and I despair at the thought of his departure.”

  Mr. Mulligan nodded calmly, but his eyes were narrowed slightly. “Of course, Miss Snow. I will complete your order with all due speed. In fact, why don’t you follow me into the back where I can show you examples?”

  “Thank you, I think I shall.” She followed him calmly into the recesses behind the shop and into a little room with only one high window. Ginny glanced about for intruders before reaching into her basket and withdrawing an apple. She had carefully preserved as many as she could from the orchard, packing them in straw and snow in a makeshift cellar the boys had dug behind the cabin, along with the meager harvest from the boy’s attempt at tending Miss Anna’s old garden.

  “Will you accept this, sir? A token of my esteem.”

  Martha was returning from fetching her newly-repaired hand-mirror from the silversmith when something flashed in the corner of her eye. She curiously glanced into the tailor shop and froze.

  Disappearing into a room at the back of the shop was none other than her stepdaughter.

  Martha stumbled back and nearly fell, barely regaining her balance. What in… how on earth did…

  The miserable servant. Martha’s jaw clenched. I should never have trusted a family servant to do this job. But what is she doing here?

  She glanced around. The street was empty save for herself, so she slipped into the alley at the side of the store. When she reached the high window that let light into the shop’s back room, she reached into her basket, withdrawing her hand-mirror. She held it up, angling it so it reflected what was occurring inside the back room and watched carefully.

  The girl glanced about before taking an apple from her basket, setting it on the worktable before her. Lifting it up, the owner turned it over carefully. Martha narrowed her eyes in confusion.

  Picking up a penknife and sliding it carefully into the bottom, he cut out a circle and removed a piece. Then he reached inside and pulled out a piece of paper.

  Martha sucked in her breath. The girl, her own stepdaughter, was a spy. And for the rebels, no doubt. The little traitorous swine.

  Just as Marth was about to step back onto the street, the girl opened the shop’s front door. Panicking, Martha ducked back into the alley just as the girl emerged, flipping her cloak’s hood over her head as she glanced about. She saw nothing, however, and set off with a sigh of relief.

  Waiting until the girl was gone, Martha stepped out of the alley and cautiously crept away. What should I do? she thought. My stepdaughter (who was supposed to be dead) is a rebel spy. If I inform the authorities, I’ll look like a fool. Perhaps they’ll even suspect me in the matter of her disappearance.

  There was only one way Martha could think of that would get her out of this mess on the right side. Capture Ginny herself and turn her over to His Majesty’s soldiers.

  But how?

  Martha’s pace slowed as she thought. Knowing her stepdaughter, she would be hiding in the woods like a savage. But since Ginny was currently in the city, she must have passed one of the checkpoints. Martha would ask the soldier which checkpoint Ginny used, then she could wait and follow the girl to her hiding place.

  And then?

  Martha smiled.

  Chapter The Seventh

  Tuesday, January 12th, 1779

  Ginny was sweeping when Asher burst into the cabin and blurted, “Ginny, there’s an old lady outside.”

  Ginny’s eyebrows rose. “Odd. We’re pretty far from the road.” She put the broom in its corner and went to the door.

  There sat a little old lady sitting down on a stump, her skirt and shawl dirty and her once-white mobcap grey and worn. Ginny pursed her lips in concern and bustled over, crouching down in front of her. “Mistress, are you well?”

  The voice of the old woman was cracked and worn with long use. “Well enough, miss. Tell me, is this where Miss Snow lives?”

  Ginny stood up slowly and backed up one step. “Who wishes to know?”

  The woman’s voice held a hint of amusement. “A friend in freedom, miss. He asked me to give you this.”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a bright red apple. Ginny tensed but said calmly, “That’s quite a lovely apple, mistress. Did he say where he got it?”

  The old woman let out a rusty chuckle. “I think you know, miss. Will you take it?”

  Ginny knew she was treading on dangerous ground. It might be trap… but Ethan had not shown up for their last meeting. Perhaps he was unable to come and was using this woman to deliver his message to Ginny. She reached out and took the apple from the old woman’s gloved hand.

  The woman smiled, stood up, and shuffled off slowly. Ginny waited until she was gone before turning the apple over. There was a message within, sure enough. She put it in her apron pocket and went inside, borrowing Benjamin’s old knife to open the apple. Inside was a piece of paper, wrapped around an even smaller piece.

  Odd that he didn’t use wax to seal it this time, Ginny thought, but candles could be expensive. She put the mutilated apple on the table, and sat down to read.

  It’s become difficult to contact you. I have a very urgent message from General Washington that can’t be written. If you would go to your family’s barn at 12 o’clock tomorrow night (being Wednesday the 13th), I will be waiting.

  Your friend.

  Ginny bit her lip. Had something happened to Ethan? She stood, tossing the paper into the fireplace before starting to pace. She didn’t want to go home, but going to the barn at night was much less risky than sneaking into the house in town. If she was careful, it was doable.

  Besides, Ethan needed her. Was there really any choice?

  Wednesday, January 13th, 1779

  The winter’s night was dark, the sky beribboned with thin clouds and the slivered crescent moon shining fitfully. Ginny stepped cautiously out from the trees and sneaked across the clearing to the barn’s back door. It swung open with a tiny creak, and Ginny slipped inside, shutting the door behind her. “My friend…. Are you here?”

  The next moment there was a flare of yellow light in the darkness. Ginny gasped and flung up her hands to cover her eyes. She blinked a couple times and lowered her hands slowly.

  “What are you doing here, Mother-in-law?” she asked quietly.

  Mother-in-law arched an eyebrow. “Something I think I should be asking you. I thought that you had regrettably passed.”

  Ginny shrugged. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, then.”

  Martha took a step nearer. Ginny backed up reflexively, her body tensed to run.

  “And just as I discovered that you yet lived, I discovered that you were spying for the rebels! Spying! Of all things!” Martha spat as she circled closer. “To think that my name should be associated with a dishonorable, base-born rebel spy!”

  “I’m serving my country. I see nothing dishonorable in that,” Ginny said coldly, taking one more step back. “I do see quite a bit of dishonor in trying to murder your husband’s only child, though.”

  Martha snarled and leapt forward, but Ginny was waiting. She grabbed Martha’s arm and shoulder and spun, pushing her hard against the wall. Martha screamed and kicked back viciously, but Ginny refused to let go. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Mother-in-law. You will let me go and tell no-one what happened here.”

  Martha’s free hand dar
ted up and yanked a comb out of her elegant coiffure. The next moment there was a sharp pain in Ginny’s hand as Martha stabbed down, and Ginny let go with a yelp. Martha tugged free, grabbed the lantern off its hook, and spun. It slammed into Ginny’s head.

  The girl let out a whimper, staggered, and collapsed.

  “There was a battle," Captain Phillips said, twirling his glass and staring moodily down at the polished wood of the dining table. Ginny and Martha gasped.

  "Was it those horrible French again?" asked Martha.

  He shook his head. "If only. No, the battle was between American militia men and British troops in Lexington and Concord, near Boston, just a week ago."

  "Oh my!" Ginny said, putting a hand to her mouth.

  Martha sniffed delicately. "Well, I hope His Majesty's troops taught those unruly rebels a lesson."

  Captain Phillips took a quick drink to hide his smile. "Actually, the battle is accounted an American victory."

  Ginny clapped her hands. "Huzzah! Maybe we'll actually manage to gain our independence!"

  Martha rose from the table, glaring. "If you were my daughter, I would not tolerate such talk." Then she swept out of the room like a frigid blast of winter wind.

  An uneasy silence settled over the table. Ginny poked at her dinner. “Papa?”

  “Yes, Ginny-girl?” he replied, looking up from his plate.

  “What side are you on?”

  The Captain smiled and stood, holding out a hand to Ginny. “Come, let me show you something.”

  Ginny took her father’s hand and followed him to the window. “Look outside. What do you see?”

  Ginny looked and smiled. Beyond, the orchard gleamed golden in the setting sun, against a background of rolling hills and the distant mountains.

  Captain Phillips sighed and said, “This land is a wild and beautiful land, and your mother belonged to it. But me?” He grinned. “I was young and eager, and I loved this land. I made the land mine, and the land made me part of it. I belong here. I’m American.”

  “All this is to say?” Ginny asked with a smile. Her father reached over and tweaked her nose.

  “Cheeky girl.”

  Ginny laughed. Her father held her closer, and his voice became quiet. “I don’t agree with all the actions taken in the name of freedom, but I do know one thing: when I was young I fought for America’s freedom from the French. If it comes to war between America and Britain… I fight for America.” He put his hand under her chin and turned Ginny’s head to look out the window. “I hope that someday, we will be able to stand at these windows and think, this is my land, and this is a free land. I’m an American, and America is free.”

  Ginny smiled and said, “I can’t wait until that day comes.”

  Her father laughed and laid his head on hers. “Neither can I, Ginny-girl. Neither can I.”

  When Ginny came to, the first thing she noticed was that it was hard for her to breathe. The next was that her head hurt and she was confused, as was seeming to become a habit. She blinked a few times before the candlelight softened to a degree that didn’t wreak chaos on her already aching head, and she noticed she wasn’t in the barn anymore. In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken, she was sitting on the floor of her old bedroom.

  She tried to lift her hands to her head, but then she noticed the biting pain in her wrists. She glanced down to see her wrists were bound together with hair ribbons of saffron, red, and blue.

  “I wouldn’t have used my hair ribbons, but they were the only thing on hand,” said an unhappily familiar voice from behind her, and in a flash she remembered.

  She had been tricked. Ginny had stupidly fallen headlong into Mother-in-law’s trap, and everyone knew what happened to spies that were incompetent enough to be captured.

  Ginny gulped, feeling her throat tightening in morbid anticipation. “What did you do?” she said, her voice thin and breathless. Why couldn’t she breathe?

  Martha strolled slowly into view, appearing rather pleased with herself. “I knocked you out with the lantern. Oh, and I tightened the strings of your corset.”

  Ginny wheezed. “What?”

  The lady smirked. “I’ve found that few things are more restricting than a tight corset. If you untie yourself, you wouldn’t be able to run very swiftly, I’m afraid.”

  Ginny scowled. “Why are you doing this?”

  Martha lifted an eyebrow. “I thought it would be obvious—I’m serving my king.”

  “No. Why did you try to have me killed?” Ginny demanded.

  “Oh, that.” Martha’s hands clenched. “Your father left me only a miserable sum when he died.”

  “So?” Ginny asked. “You had plenty of money from your first husband.”

  Martha dismissed this with a wave of her hand and a dark look in her pale, cold eyes. “It wasn’t enough.”

  She looked down at Ginny and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “His Majesty’s soldiers will arrive in the morning. Good night.”

  She swept out, leaving Ginny numb and cold. This is all my fault. What will become of the children now? I do hope Ethan remembers his promise to take care of them.

  Ethan…

  Tears pricked the back of her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. At least I managed to do some good. General Washington will be safe. The war will survive, and maybe one day, the children will enjoy a free country all their own. I just wish I could have been there to see it.

  She slumped against the wall, then suddenly sat up. The British haven’t come yet. Maybe I can’t escape, but I should at least try.

  She began to chew at the hair ribbons on her wrists.

  Chapter The Eighth

  Thursday, January 14th, 1779

  Benjamin didn’t sleep that night. Ginny had told them she wouldn’t be back until very late, but the sun had risen two hours ago, and she wasn’t home yet.

  If anything’s happened to her because of Captain Ethan… Ben thought darkly. At that moment, a shadow fell across the doorway.

  “Hello, boys. Is Miss Ginny here?” Captain Ethan said, leaning into the cabin with a cheerful smile on his face.

  Ben’s eyes went wide, and he shot to his feet. “What’s that supposed to mean? Isn’t she with you?”

  “Noooo… should she be?” the captain asked.

  Ben glared angrily and folded his arms. “Cause you told her to, don’t you remember?”

  Ethan’s eyebrows shot up. “But I didn’t se—” A look of horror swept across his face, and he reached out and grabbed Ben’s arm. “Who said I told her to meet me?”

  Ben blinked. “Ginny did.”

  Ephraim leaned outside, holding onto the doorpost and swinging back and forth slowly. “There was an old, old lady, like as old as Noah’s Ark, and she gave Ginny a special apple, like the ones she gives you.”

  “When was this?” Ethan demanded.

  “Can you let go?” Ben responded with a glare.

  He did so sheepishly, then turned to Ephraim and leaned forward, taking an effort to speak gently. “When was this, Ephraim?”

  “Two days ago, on the twelfth,” Ephraim responded promptly. “Is Ginny in trouble?”

  “I don’t know,” Ethan said heavily. He spun back to Ben. “How long ago did she leave?”

  Ben bit his lip. “Late last night.”

  Ethan’s face tightened.

  “That’s not good, is it?” Asher asked, poking his head around the corner.

  Ethan shook his head, slowly. “No, I don’t think so. Ephraim, tell me everything you remember.”

  Ephraim took his hand and led him to the stump, chattering all the way.

  “Did you see her face?” Ethan asked.

  “No, Captain Ethan, sir,” the boy said, shaking his head. Then he tugged on Ethan’s hand. “You’ll find Ginny and keep her safe, right, Captain Ethan, sir?”

  “I don’t know,” Ethan said, but he smiled down at Ephraim. “But I promise you, I will try as hard as I can.”

  Ephraim nodded solemnly.
“Good.”

  Ethan paced around the stump, looking at it closely. Ben folded his arms impatiently. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be going to help Ginny?”

  “She would have burned the message ‘I’ sent her,” Ethan said absently, “So there’s no way to know where she went. I might guess, but if I’m wrong, it could cost Ginny her life.” He stopped and gravely met Ben’s eyes. “But the lady was here. She might have dropped a clue we could use.”

  Ben pressed his lips together, looking away. “…I can go get the others. Ginny says many hands make light work, and faster, too.”

  A ghost of a smile crossed Ethan’s face. “Thank you, Ben. I can use seven more pairs of sharp eyes.”

  Soon there was a passel of figures crowded around the stump and combing the clearing and path. Ethan looked and looked until it felt his eyes were burning from urgency, but the snow yielded nothing. He sank down on the stump and let his head fall into his hands with a groan. He closed his eyes and felt the inescapable burden of failure settle heavily on his shoulders.

  “Oooh! Pwetty!” a sweet voice chirped.

  Ethan’s head shot up. “Who said that?”

  “Judah?” Ben said. “What’ve you found?”

  “Pwetty fing!” Judah described helpfully.

  Ethan leapt to his feet and circled the stump to where Judah sat, playing with something shiny. He crouched down in front of the boy, one hand outstretched. “May I see that, please, Judah?”

  Judah nodded happily and held it out. It was a small silver locket shaped like a heart on a broken length of red ribbon. On the back was engraved the words, “For little Guinevere, with love, from Mama and Papa.”

  All the hope that had begun to swell in his heart drained away, leaving him feeling weak and empty. He sat down heavily and stared at the little pendant, opening it and staring at the two miniatures encased inside.