Revolution in Time (Out of Time #10)

by Monique Martin

  Paine narrowed his eyes, not wanting to give too much away if this turned out to be some sort of set-up. “Yes.”

  “There are changes coming,” Simon continued. “I should like to help the wind blow in the right direction. And from what I hear, you would as well.”

  “My politics are no secret. I speak freely in public quite frequently. Too frequently, if you ask some.”

  “Here your ideas are seeds cast upon stone,” Elizabeth said. “They can’t take root.”

  Paine looked between Simon and Elizabeth. “What are you suggesting?”

  “A more fertile soil, perhaps?”

  “America? Working for you?” Paine might have little formal advanced education, but he was no rube.

  “Possibly. I would, of course, like to become better acquainted before any formal offer was tendered.”

  Paine nodded but then frowned. “Why?”

  Simon was confused. “Why you?”

  Paine shook his head. “Why you?”

  She and Simon had discussed this many times in preparation for just this moment.

  “I am not by birth, or even by marriage, an American, but by choice. What is coercive here is intolerable there. And the inequities go far beyond a tax on tea.”

  Paine looked moderately impressed, but he wasn’t yet convinced.

  “You can continue to speak here at meetings and dinners,” Simon went on, “and reach a dozen minds, if they are open enough to hear you. But through a newspaper, in America, you could reach tens of thousands and help shape what is to come.”

  Paine almost smiled. “Are you sure you don’t write?”

  Simon laughed and then sobered. “If you would just give us a few days of your time. I will happily pay you for them. We can talk. See if there is an amenable arrangement to be made.”

  They knew Paine had virtually no money. He was not only without a job or prospects but recently bankrupt. Passing up an offer like this would be nearly impossible. It played to both his vanity and his stomach.

  “An advance, perhaps?” Simon took out a twenty-pound note. He held it between them. “We can meet tomorrow. Talk.”

  Paine eyed the bill hungrily, but warily.

  “If you ultimately do not accept, the money is yours either way.”

  Paine nodded and took the bill, quickly folding it into his pocket. “Tomorrow then. Noble’s. Half-past ten?”

  “Very good.”

  Paine was still clearly skeptical, but also curious. Hopefully, he was curious enough to show up.

  “Then I shall wish you a good evening, sir,” Paine said and gave Elizabeth a perfunctory nod.

  They watched him walk down the path.

  “What’s Noble’s?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  She looked at him in surprise.

  He shrugged. “We had him on the hook; I didn’t want to ruin it.”

  “Shouldn’t we follow him?”

  Simon frowned. “If he catches us, he would never trust us again.”

  “It’s a risk.” If Phillips found Paine before they did ….

  “The whole damn thing is a risk,” Simon said with a sigh. “But I suppose you’re right. Are you feeling up to it?”

  “I am full of ham and ready to go.”

  Simon laughed and took her arm.

  They’d gotten better, stealthier, at following people and managed to keep after Paine without his knowing. They followed him to a sad looking boarding house in Covent Garden. They waited and watched for nearly half an hour, but no one else went in or out. By the time they made it back to their rooms at Charing Cross it was nearly midnight.

  Elizabeth took off her gown and unpinned her stomacher—a triangular chest panel that filled the opening at the front her dress. Then she took off her fancy schmancy “for show” silk petticoat and the few underneath until she got to her pockets—a sort of ancient fanny pack-meets-money belt contraption that allowed women to carry things. Her skirt and petticoats had clever slits in them that let her put things in and take things out. She pulled out Franklin’s card and smiled again at the memory before putting it on the dresser and tossing the pockets aside.

  Then she took off her pannier and walked over to Simon. It was a perfect commentary that women here couldn’t even dress or undress themselves without help.

  Simon finished taking off his shirt. She hid her smile. It reminded her of Seinfeld’s puffy shirt. He tossed it aside.

  “I don’t see why you decided to wear one of these,” he said as he unlaced her corset.

  “Support. My belly isn’t the only thing that’s getting bigger.”

  He chuckled and slipped his arms around her waist. He pulled her back against him and kissed her shoulder. “So I’ve noticed.”

  “So I see,” she said with a sigh.

  She rested her head against his chest for a moment before he eased her around and kissed her. “You are more beautiful every day.”

  She smiled and then moved away to finish undressing. “Wait until I’m as big as a house.”

  She took out the handkerchief she’d stuffed in her bosom then pulled the loosened corset over her head and tossed it aside. She managed to find one that was shorter than the others. Happily, it gave her the support she needed for the dress styles without the gut squishage. She gave her ribs a good rub and scratch. Forget the revolution; this was what freedom felt like.

  “I sort of hate history right now,” she said.

  He arched a curious eyebrow.

  She sat down to take off her shoes and stockings.

  “Women really got the fuzzy end of the lollipop. My clothes are a prison. If I had a home, it would be, too. I’m not allowed to join in the fun at the coffeehouse or the other kind of fun at the tavern. I’m either looked at with scorn or ignored completely.” She raised her fist weakly in the air. “Yay, women.”

  He chuckled again. “I’m sure it’s frustrating. Just think, you only have to wait another century or two.”

  She made a face, changed her dayshift for a nightshift, and climbed into bed.

  Simon took off his breeches and reluctantly pulled on his long nightshirt.

  “I really do hate these things,” he grumbled as he turned down the gas lamp, leaving only the bedside candle burning.

  “All you need is the floppy cap and you’re full-on A Christmas Carol.”

  He made a sour face and got into bed. “I am feeling a little Scrooge-ish, if I’m honest.”

  Elizabeth propped herself up on one elbow. “Why? Things are going pretty well, aren’t they?”

  “Yes. But I don’t want to be here. I don’t want you to be here.”

  She started to repeat things that had already been said when he held up his hand. “I know, I know. We must. But I don’t have to like it.”

  She played with the placard of his shirt briefly then patted it down. “I know you’re worried about what might happen, about what has happened. Part of you is always looking ahead and part always looking back.”

  His frown deepened. “And?”

  “I want all of you here, now. I don’t mean you shouldn’t worry at all—it’s all pretty worrisome—but when you’re halfway in the past and halfway in the future you’re not here, not really. And I don’t want to miss a moment with you.”

  He sat up then and she joined him.

  “I love every one of them,” she continued. “Talking, going for walks, making love. I want to savor every moment we have together. I don’t want to be cheated out of one more second with you.”

  He was silent for a moment then swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head and touched his cheek. “I know this is hard for you. I’m scared, too. But, it’s kind of amazing, isn’t it? We met Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Paine today.” She looked down at her stomach. “And Charlotte will be here soon. In spite of everything, I’d say we’re pretty lucky.”

  Simon’s jaw worked as he controlled his emotions. “Very.”

&nb
sp; She leaned in and kissed him.

  “Now, take off that silly nightshirt and make love to your horny wife.”

  He threw back his head and laughed as he pulled her into his arms. His laughter subsided and he kissed her again.

  “Whatever you say, madam.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  DECEMBER 25, 1776 - BUCKS County, Pennsylvania

  Christmas morning was cold and snowy. Overnight, the rain turned to snow and blanketed the frozen ground. After morning mess, Jack and Teddy were handed grease buckets. Each and every axle of the eighteen pieces of remaining artillery had to be tended to. Others cleaned the guns and checked each piece of equipment as Hamilton inspected the men’s work. Even General Knox came by to make sure “his guns” were properly cared for.

  Jack smeared another handful of grease onto the axle, oddly grateful for the duty as the grease kept his hands from freezing and falling off. The temperature had been dropping all day, and the snow was getting heavier.

  It was early afternoon by the time Hamilton was happy with their work. He was a hard-nosed and driven commander, especially for someone who was barely twenty-one years old.

  Jack had seen plenty like him, though. The ones who wanted to get ahead, move up in the ranks. But Hamilton was fair and seemed to genuinely care about his men. For their part, they respected him. Even though he was young and relatively inexperienced, he was bright and had used his men well in the battles of Long Island and New York City. They trusted and respected him, even if they didn’t like him very much.

  Once they had the Hamilton seal of approval, the men began to head back to their tents to warm up before evening parade. Jack wiped his hands as best he could on a piece of dirty cloth, but the ends of it were frozen stiff.

  He slapped it against one of the carriage wheels to break the ice off. It didn’t help. He’d need soap and water if he was ever going to pick something up without it slipping through his hands.

  “All right?” he asked as Teddy stood up from his crouch.

  He’d expected one of Teddy’s little smiles, but instead, he frowned and looked past Jack’s shoulder.

  “I think that’s him,” he said.

  Jack turned around. Several men were walking down the road back to camp. “Where?”

  As they passed, Jack saw another man walk down the road in the other direction. When he looked over his shoulder, Jack recognized him. Burgess, the man they were here to stop.

  He and Teddy waited until he’d turned back and then followed. They kept their distance, content to follow him for now. They were too far away to do much else.

  Jack’s heart beat a little faster as a rush of adrenaline shot through him. Finally, they were getting somewhere. But where, exactly? “Where’s he going?”

  Teddy shook his head and they followed along quietly as the snow began to fall more heavily. The road was disappearing beneath their feet. Only the fence posts and the fading ruts gave it shape.

  Burgess stepped off the road and hurried his step as he headed toward one of the out buildings of a nearby farm the army had commandeered. Two men stood guard at the doorway to a squat looking stone building at the top of a small knoll.

  “What is that?”

  “I saw them taking barrels—”

  Instantly, Jack knew. “The magazine. That’s the powder magazine.”

  He quickened his step and Teddy struggled to keep pace. “That’s where they store the gunpowder. All of it.”

  If Burgess got to it, one spark and the whole thing would explode and with it any chance of the army’s success.

  Burgess had something in his hands. A gun? A torch? Jack couldn’t tell from here.

  He started running toward Burgess. The snow made the hill slippery and his feet kept skidding out from beneath him. He nearly fell but braced himself with one hand and kept on running.

  “Hey!”

  Burgess ignored him and continued toward the powder magazine. The guards chatted amiably, completely unaware of the danger.

  “Stop him!” Jack yelled as he ran up the hill to catch up.

  The guards looked up then and Burgess turned. His pale blue eyes stood out against his dark skin as he glared at Jack. He looked almost inhuman.

  “Don’t let him near—”

  But just as Jack was about to warn them again, the drums and fife sounded, and four men arrived from the backside of the hill.

  “Stop him!” Jack called out again.

  There were too many men now, and they were too aware of Burgess, thanks to Jack. Two of the new arrivals started down the hill to see what the matter was. Burgess must have thought better of his plan at that point and turned away. He ducked into a small copse of trees to the left and disappeared.

  Jack started to give chase, but the officers had seen him.

  “You there! What are you doing?” one of them asked.

  “I was—”

  “Didn’t you hear the call? Evening parade. Back to your regiment.”

  Jack gritted his teeth. He’d been close, but not close enough.

  “What are you waiting for?” the officer barked.

  Teddy arrived at Jack’s side then, huffing and puffing from his run up the hill.

  “Well?” the officer demanded.

  “Sorry, sir,” Jack said, quickly and took Teddy’s arm as they turned back toward camp.

  They double-timed it to avoid any further questions.

  “I almost had him,” Jack grumbled as they made their way back to camp, the fife and drum corps urging them along.

  “At least you stopped him,” Teddy said.

  “For now.”

  ~~~

  At evening parade each man was given a new flint, some ammunition and told tonight they would be asked for a great sacrifice. No one knew what it was except for the officers, who weren’t telling, and Jack and Teddy, who couldn’t.

  The men were given orders to march quietly and when they reached their destination details would be provided. It was the same as it had been for them for months, living on faith alone.

  Quiet grumblings marched with them through the snow. For most of the men, their enlistments were up in less than a week, on New Year’s Day. A risky battle now for a cause that seemed all but lost was a hard sell. But the officers did their part and kept the men mostly quiet and moving.

  Even with the help of some of the horses, the artillery was difficult to move in the snow as it became colder and slicker. The Delaware River was already showing ice. Jack knew Washington feared it would freeze over soon, allowing the British and Hessians to march across. And then that would be that.

  Washington had one last hope—attacking a Hessian garrison at Trenton, New Jersey. There were roughly 1,500 Hessians compared to the near 4,000 US soldiers, but the Germans were some of the best in all of Europe. They hired on as mercenaries for the British and were formidable, especially against an ill-trained, ill-equipped and ready-to-muster-out army of farmers and lawyers.

  Washington knew the only way an attack would work was if the enemy were caught completely by surprise. His plan was for the army to break into three groups, crossing the river at different junctures, and for each to arrive at the Hessian garrison before dawn. Sadly, Jack knew, only one would make it across the river.

  “The best-laid plans of mice and men,” he said under his breath as they arrived at the crossing. Night had fallen. They were already behind schedule.

  The basics of the plan were explained to the men. The idea of crossing the Delaware in the dead of night in the middle of a coming nor’easter seemed insane, and Jack could feel the ripples of uncertainty travel through the company.

  “It’s impossible,” one of the men said. “Look at that ice.”

  He was right. The river was already getting thick with jagged shards of ice. Bringing an army across under the best of circumstances was difficult; this looked nearly impossible.

  And then, as if summoned by the need, General Washington appeared. Tall and imposin
g on his pale gray horse, he was everything Jack had imagined. He rode up and down the columns of men, his dark blue cape fluttering behind him.

  The little boy inside Jack shook with excitement. This was a hero, a real honest to God hero. But the man in him knew that heroes had feet of clay and fears and doubts. He couldn’t imagine the weight of the burden Washington held as he risked everything on one last roll of the dice, and all of his men’s lives in the bargain.

  Despite having the weight of the world on his shoulders, Washington sat straight in his saddle as he rode the lines telling the men to stay sharp. Hamilton made sure to be seen as Washington made his rounds.

  The work of ferrying nearly 2,500 soldiers and their equipment across the freezing river fell to Colonel Glover of Marblehead, Massachusetts, and his sailors. Glover’s loud, bellowing voice cut through the wind as he barked orders and took control.

  Hamilton sneezed into his handkerchief and pulled his cloak more tightly about his shoulders as they waited their turn. Artillery and horses would be the last to cross.

  Next to him, Teddy shivered and shifted his weight from foot to foot in a vain effort to keep warm. He gave Jack his usual smile, but it wavered around the edges. Jack could see the fear in his eyes.

  “So,” Jack said quietly, “how is it you know how to fire a cannon?”

  Teddy’s face brightened. “Harvard. One summer, a symphony was performing Tchaikovsky on campus, the 1812 Overture?”

  Jack nodded and had a feeling where this was going.

  “A group of us from the physics department thought it would be better with real cannons.” His smile grew. “It was, and the provost’s beard grew back much thicker than before.”

  Jack laughed and was about to ask him for more details when Hamilton shushed them.

  “This is a surprise attack, gentleman. Let us not ruin it with flapping tongues.”

  Jack frowned but kept quiet. They were in no danger of being loud enough for the British to hear, but when the boss told you to shut it, you shut it. It was, however, a reminder of why Jack was glad he wasn’t in the military anymore. He loved his work with the OSS, but the rest of it, the regiments and rules and bossy pants bosses, he could definitely do without.