I was ready to fall asleep before the sun set. I carefully pushed the coals to the back of the fireplace and covered them with ashes. I drew a final bucket of water, washed the dishes, and set them on the table. I never did understand why Mother made me dry the dishes. I left them on the table. They would be dry by morning.
After I dumped the wash water at the base of the cherry tree, I dragged up the stairs, ready to fall into bed. Grandfather had already collapsed on his covers, snoring loud enough to shake the stars from the sky. The noise was unbearable. If I stayed, I'd get no sleep at all. I carried my blankets downstairs to the front room and made a soft pallet on the floor.
"If I leave the shutters open, do you promise you won't run off in the night?" I asked Silas.
The cat turned in a circle on the blanket and closed his eyes.
"Very well then. The shutters stay open. We'll both sleep better for it."
I sat next to Silas. It had been a good day, all things
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considered. I had managed rather well on my own. I opened Grandfather's Bible. This is what it would be like when I had my own shop, or when I traveled abroad. I would always read before sleeping. One day, I'd be so rich I would have a library full of novels to choose from. But I would always end the evening with a Bible passage.
I turned to Psalm 4:8. "I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety."
My eyes drooped-enough for one night. I blew out the candle and snuggled on my pillow, asleep before the wick had cooled.
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CHAPTER NINETEEN
September 26th, 1793
Shafts of death fly closer and closer to us every day.
-Dr. Benjamin Rush Letter, 1793
1 dreamt of roast beef, sliced pink and dripping with juice. A roast beef bigger than a horse, set on a giant platter that took up the entire front room, surrounded by steaming potatoes and parsnips, and loaves of fresh bread. I had a bowl of butter all to myself, and my very own pitcher of cold apple cider. The smell of mincemeat pie floated in from the kitchen.
I lifted the first bite to my mouth when a noise snapped me awake.
A footstep. A heavy footstep by the window. Silas scrambled off the blanket and ran across the floor.
"What was that?" a strange voice asked.
The room was silent. I held my breath.
"Probably a rat," a second voice answered. "Hurry up, get in there."
Another footstep landed by the window. I turned toward the noise and saw a thin man in the moonlight. He was nearly as tall as the door, but I couldn't see his face. He glanced around the room. His eye did not catch me in the shadows.
A second man entered through the window, shorter than the first.
"There's no one here," the tall one said with more confidence in his voice. "You worry too much."
I closed my eyes. am still dreaming, I thought. These men are not here. I opened my eyes again. The tall one opened one of the cupboards built into the wall by the hearth. The short one peered outside.
"I saw what I saw, and I saw smoke coming out of the chimney today," the short one said. "I don't know why I follow you. We should have gone to Fourth Street. Nobody down there." He tapped the back of a chair nervously.
"You worry too much. Look at this fireplace; there's been no light here for weeks. Come away from that window and help me. They don't serve whiskey here, but they have plenty of pewter, and silver hidden somewhere, no doubt. Check the drawers over there," he said as he pointed to the chest behind me.
My stomach flipped. What should I do? If I screamed, Grandfather might wake, and they could
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attack us both. The front door was locked and I didn't have the key. I could try to slip out the window and run for help, but who could I run to? Would anyone bother with a trifling robbery when there was death at every door?
The short man took a few steps in my direction, then stopped. He turned his back to me.
"It's too dark over here. I need a candle."
I slipped out of the blankets and into the corner. I needed to get them out of the house. If I could sneak out the window, I might try to scare them off.
The tall one swore.
"You don't need a candle. Shut up and do what you're told."
I froze against the wall as the short one approached, grumbling under his breath. The window was just beyond my left hand, and the chest of drawers was on the other side of the window. The short one stood three feet away. I tried not to breathe.
"Look at this," the short one said as he held up a chess figurine.
Grandfather had won that chess set in a card game with a ship's captain from Siam. He taught me to play chess before I learned how to read. I simmered as the thief rubbed the queen with his dirty fingers.
"It's not worth nothing hereabouts," he said, "but I bet it would fetch a handsome sum in New York." He opened a sack tied to his belt and put the chess piece in.
My hands balled into fists as he collected the rest of
140 the chess pieces. King, bishop, knight, pawn, all smudged with his fingers, polluted by his breath. How dare he! My jaw tightened. Why were they here, standing in my front room, stealing the hard work of my family? I wanted to drop him into a sack and boot it out the door.
The tall thief lifted Grandfather's sword from the mantle. "Go to New York if you wish, but I know a gentleman in Wilmington who will pay a pretty price for this."
"That's not worth a Continental," the short one laughed. "I could get a better price for my old stockings. Every old man in America drags his rusty sword around and claims he ran it through a hundred British. It's a piece of junk."
I glared at him from my hiding place. Grandfather did kill British soldiers with that sword. He told me so himself. Steady on, Mattie. Crawl out the window as soon as he looks away.
The tall one pulled the sword from the scabbard and slashed it through the air.
"Maybe I won't sell it, then. It could be a handy weapon." He tested the blade with his thumb. "Still sharp, and I don't see a bit of rust. I could become a highwayman." He advanced across the floor toward his partner, waving the sword. "What ho, there, my good man? I have come to relieve you of your purse."
"Give over. Let's fill our bags and leave. You can play at the tavern."
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The tall one would not relent. He pressed ahead, continuing to brandish the sword back and forth wildly. The tip of the blade swept by my face. He shuffled forward another foot and waved his arm again, the sword level with my neck.
"No!" I screamed as I ducked. As soon as the sword passed over me, I ran for the kitchen, colliding with the tall man and knocking him down.
"It's a ghost!" the short man cried.
"It's a girl, you fool," the tall one growled as he jumped to his feet. "Get her!"
I ran through the kitchen to the back door and fumbled with the bolt. The thieves' footsteps thudded on the oak floor. Open, open, open!
The bolt slid back. I pushed down the latch and opened the door. I crossed the porch in two steps and ran across the warm earth toward the gate. My foot came down hard on a sharp rock. I cried out, but kept running. The gate was only a few more steps. Faster! Faster!
Two bony hands curled around my shoulders like the claws of a panther and yanked me backward. I hit the ground so hard it knocked the breath out of me. The tall man picked me up and carried me back into the house, where the short man was finishing his search through the chest of drawers.
"You should have let her go," the short one said. "What good is she to us?"
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"This haint here will tell us where they've hidden all their silver. I'm sure they have a strongbox as well," the tall man said as he tied my wrists together in front of me.
I spat at him.
Smack! The tall man slapped me across the face, jerking my head backward.
"Don't hit her," the short man pr
otested.
"I'll do what I please," the tall man said as he wiped his face on his sleeve. "Now, missy, the silver and the strongbox. Where are they?"
"We've already been robbed. They took everything. You're too late," I said.
"See? We're too late. Let's go." The short man pulled on his partner's sleeve.
"Shove off," the tall man shouted. "What if she's lying? You think she's going to hand over all her money because we ask her nicely? She needs to be convinced." He drew back his arm to hit me again.
Thump.
"What was that noise?" the tall man demanded.
"What noise?" asked the short man.
"I just heard a noise. Upstairs." He looked at the ceiling.
I shouldn't have screamed. Grandfather must have heard me and gotten out of bed. I needed to get these men out of the house.
"Who's up there? I thought you were alone," said the tall man.
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"It's just my cat." I tried to keep the fear from my voice. "Everyone else has died of yellow fever," I lied.
"Saints preserve us, more fever victims," groaned the short man. "Let's go now. This wench is probably feverpoisoned too. She don't look too good."
The tall man hesitated. "She's hiding something," he said. He drew back suddenly and hit me in the face again.
My head rang and lights danced before my eyes.
"Where's the money?" the man demanded. "Tell me where the money is."
"Get away from my granddaughter!"
Grandfather stood in the doorway in his nightshirt, his rifle aimed at the heart of the man who had hit me.
"Oh, Lord," said the short man. He put one leg out the window. "I'm going to Fourth Street. The houses are empty and the cupboards are full."
"He's not going to shoot," said my attacker. "Look at him-he can barely stand. His knees are knocking together. One puff and he'll blow over, isn't that right, old man? Now tell me where you've hidden the money or I'll have to hurt this little girl here."
"I'll count to three," said Grandfather.
He wasn't fooling around. Grandfather never fooled around when he counted to three. The few times he had whipped me had been when he counted to three and I didn't listen.
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"One."
The short robber scrambled out the window without another word.
"Two." Grandfather swayed to one side. He was breathing heavily. Too heavily.
"No, Grandfather," I pleaded. "Put the gun down."
He licked his lips and stared down the barrel.
"Three."
Everything happened at once. The gun fired just as the tall man leapt to the side. The blast knocked Grandfather against the door frame. The tall man jumped on Grandfather and punched him in the face. I kicked at the tall man until he hit me with the back of his hand and sent me sprawling.
I struggled to my feet. Grandfather's sword still lay on the floor where the robber had dropped it. I picked up the sword, holding it with two hands. Grandfather had taught me a bit about swordplay along with his other army lessons.
"Let go of him!" I shouted.
The man ignored me. His hands were around Grandfather's throat. Grandfather weakly hit back at the man, but it had no effect. The man struck Grandfather's head against the floor. Grandfather's eyelids fluttered, then closed.
"Nooo!" I screamed. I swung the sword and gashed the thief's shoulder. He howled and rolled to the side, grasping at the bloody wound.
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"You cut me," he said in disbelief. "The wench cut me with the sword."
"Get out of my house, before I cut out your heart." I raised the sword and ran at him.
He lurched to the window and crawled through it. I followed, screaming the kinds of words that would have raised every hair on my mother's head. I chased the man for a block before I realized that Grandfather was out of danger. But he needed me back home, not standing in the street in the dead of night brandishing a bloody sword like a pirate.
He was sitting up when I returned. "Don't move, I'll help you." I dropped the sword to the floor and struggled free of the bonds that held my hands together.
He looked at me with a slow smile. "Always knew you had it in you," he said hoarsely. "You're a fighter, no doubt about that."
"Hush, don't say a word," I cautioned. I grabbed my bedding and made a pillow for his head. "I'll get you some water."
"No," he insisted. He grabbed my shift. "Stay." The moonlight quivered as thin clouds scuttled across the sky. I could smell the stench of the intruders and the soap Grandfather had used to wash his face before he went to sleep. His eyes started to close, but he forced them open. He fumbled for my hand.
"I'm sorry, Mattie," he panted. "I'm leaving you alone."
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I shook my head mutely. No. No. This would not happen. No. Please God. Anything but this.
He nodded once. "My time. Too early. So sorry."
I covered my mouth to hold in the scream and rocked back and forth. After all he had been through, to die like this. Don't die. I couldn't hold the words back. "Don't die, Grandfather. Please don't die. I love you. Please, please. Oh dear God, please don't die."
My face was wet, my tears splashing onto his cheeks.
"Strong," he whispered. "Beautiful. Clever. My sweet Mattie." His eyes closed.
I bent down to kiss his forehead. I thought I heard his last words.
"Love you."
Dead? Grandfather couldn't be dead. My grandfathercandy-giving, wood-chopping, tobacco-smelling grandfather. Who carried me through Philadelphia like a princess. Who knew every politician, printer, carpenter, and captain. Who fed stray dogs. Who curbed Mother's tongue. Who carved me a doll's cradle. Who dried my tears.
Dead.
I held my breath and waited for the earth to stop spinning. The sun need not rise again. There was no reason for the rivers to flow. Birds would never sing.
The sound came straight from my heart, as sharp as the point of a sword. I shrieked to the heavens and pounded the floor with rage. "Nonono! Don't take him! Nonono!"
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I picked up the sword and attacked a chair as if it were Death itself. When the chair was a pile of firewood and the sword dull, I fell to my knees by the side of my grandfather's body.
Dead. Growing cold.
I straightened his arms and legs so he might lay with dignity. What should I do next? There was no one to ask. I felt like a baby girl just learning to walk, only the ground under my feet was shaking and I had no one to hold on to.
Silas padded in and rubbed himself along Grandfather's hand. He lay down beside me. I took a shaky breath and looked at the face that had loved me so much. The light was gone from his eyes, blown out. I gently closed his eyelids with my fingertips. I was not afraid to touch him. There were other things to do. Think now. I tried to remember the funerals I'd seen. I dimly remembered seeing an elderly woman's body during a wake when I was younger. There was a bandage round her jaw to keep her mouth closed.
I pulled myself from the floor and marched to the clothespress. I took out a few of our finest napkins and a linen tablecloth. A small package thumped to the floor, but I didn't bother to examine it. I used the napkins to bind up Grandfather's jaw.
I hesitated before moving him onto the tablecloth. Would he want to be buried in his nightshirt? A smile skirted across my face before I could stop it. I thought I
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heard him chuckle, but his body was as still as ever. He once told me that death is the eternal sleep. What could be more fitting than his nightshirt? Might be more comfortable than forcing him to wear tight clothing for eternity. He'd understand.
I covered him with the tablecloth, but it sent an icy chill through me. I was supposed to cover his face. That's what people would expect. But I couldn't force myself to do it. He had such a kind face. I folded the tablecloth down below his chin. It looked like he was asleep.
&nb
sp; An owl hooted outside. I wondered where King George was, if he knew that Grandfather was gone. Maybe that's why King George had left us, to prepare a place for this old soldier. I sniffed and wiped a tear from my face. Silly to cry about a dead parrot, I told myself.
The first tear gave way to another, and then another. I passed the night kneeling by the side of the finest man I had ever known, praying that the morning would not come.
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CHAPTER TWENTY
September 27th, l£93
Doctors raving and disputing, death's pale army still recruitin.
-Philip Freneau
Pestilence: Written During the Prevalence of a Yellow Fever, 1793
Bring out your dead!" What was that?
"Bring out your dead!" The hoarse voice echoed off the cobblestones and brick houses.
I opened the shutters a crack and peered out. A man dressed in rags pushed a large cart that already contained two corpses-a child and young woman, their skin tinted a pale yellow. The cart was not heavy, but the man walked slowly, as if he were pushing the weight of the world. My hands shook against the window frame. A cold wind from my nightmare blew through my mind. I had to remember something.
"Bring out your dead."
Grandfather. I whirled. His body still lay on the floor. My stomach clenched. I ran outside and threw up what little was in my stomach on the side of the road. It wasn't a nightmare. It truly happened, all of it. The sour taste burned my mouth, and my hands would not stop shaking.
There could be no running from this. Hiding from death was not like hiding from Mother when she wanted me to scrub kettles, or ignoring Silas when he begged for food. I was the only one left.
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