Halestorm

by Becky Akers

  “No, madam,” Washington said quickly.

  “Then can I see him? I’m worried about his health, sir.”

  Again, he hesitated; again, her heart lurched. Finally, he said, “He’s not here. He’s…gone to Long Island.”

  “Long Island? Whatever for? For his health?”

  “There are lots of beaches there, madam, cool ones with healing breezes.”

  Washington’s face swam before her, melted and reformed into the Deacon’s implacable features. Both of them separating her from Nathan, both inventing any excuse. She wondered wildly whether the Deacon were across the hall. Perhaps the conference she had interrupted was his pleading with Washington to keep her from her beloved. Then she recognized that for lunacy and attended to what His Excellency was saying.

  “—can help you find suitable rooms. I daresay you’ll want to leave here quickly, our arrangements aren’t what ladies are used to.”

  “When will Captain Hale be back, sir?”

  The twinkle returned. “I see the captain chooses his young ladies wisely. I can’t say with any certainty. He left about a week ago yesterday, and I hope we’ll see him in a couple of more days, fully recovered.”

  She nodded, a plan taking shape. “Could I see his, ah, quarters, sir? It’d mean a lot to me, and mayhap I could leave him a letter.” She avoided his eyes, heart pounding lest he divine her intentions.

  As Washington continued silent, she peeked at him sideways. He was regarding her gravely but did not speak until she looked him in the face again. “An army camp’s hardly the place for a young lady, madam. But if you insist....Let me repeat Captain Hale’s best served by patient waiting, either here or someplace you’d be more comfortable.”

  She murmured, “Of course” with wide-eyed innocence.

  Washington went to the door, calling, “Thomas!” The lieutenant reappeared, and Washington said, “The lady wants to visit Captain Hale’s quarters. He’s with the Rangers. Please accompany her and see she’s got paper and ink if she wants to leave him a message.”

  Thomas saluted and offered his arm.

  “Good day, madam.” His Excellency twinkled at her once more and was gone.

  As they walked, the lieutenant chatted amiably, but Alice was too disappointed to carry her end of the conversation. She had thought that when she found the army, her search would end, not begin.

  They seemed to trudge forever through a landscape denuded of every tree, bush, flower, and blade of grass. In their stead sprouted piles of refuse, rags pretending to be tents, and stacks of arms, rusted and dull. The men who sauntered and sprawled through this either saluted her escort or leered at her. Some called ribaldries, but a look from the lieutenant hushed them. Alice clung to his arm. Though lean and elegant, it seemed a bulwark of protection.

  “It’s bad right now,” he said. “We evacuated New York City three or four days ago, and we haven’t had time to do much more than throw down our packs and dig in, case the Regulars head up this way.”

  “Dear God, you don’t think—”

  “Oh, don’t worry, ma’am. New York’s five miles or more to the south, and Billy Howe’ll sit there a good long while before he comes after us.”

  They came to a clean though hastily built cabin. Alice instantly knew it for Nathan’s, saw that his magic had kissed it. In a place lacking trees, it was built of saplings. With defeat looming, it stood proud. Instead of hopelessness, it spoke of home and decency.

  “You want to step inside and write your letter, I’ll wait out here,” Thomas said.

  Within, Alice saw two beds and realized that Asher must live here as well. Perhaps he knew where Nathan was. There stood Nathan’s trunk, covered in deerskin and brass tacks. She raised the lid and felt a wave of longing for him so intense that tears prickled her eyes.

  She sighed as she searched his belongings. She had hoped to find a clue to his whereabouts, but he had left no orders, no maps. In addition to some clothes, the trunk held his Bible, a stack of letters, and a diary, bound in red leather. She paged through the diary, watching for the lieutenant lest he catch her snooping. But she learned nothing beyond Nathan’s visitors for the days on which he had made notations, letters he had written or received, news that had arrived in camp, the weather. The latest entry dated to the previous month, before he had taken sick, and described the Redcoats’ landing on Long Island.

  She replaced the diary. Then her glance rested on a chilling sight. In a corner, at the foot of one bed, leaned Nathan’s musket, with his powder horn and sword hanging above. She gaped, panic mounting. Why would he have gone to the shore without his weapons? Why would he have left behind the arms that could save his life if he clashed with Redcoats?

  “Ma’am?” The lieutenant stuck his head in the door. “I have to see Captain Clarkson for about half an hour. Can I come back for you then, or you ready to leave now?”

  “Ah, no, half an hour’d be fine, Lieutenant.” She breathed a prayer of thanks as the officer withdrew. Thirty precious minutes to poke around and try to figure out where Nathan was. She opened the trunk again and picked up the bundle of letters.

  She had read only the first two, and gleaned nothing, when someone else interrupted her.

  “Alice! Alice Ad—Ripley! I don’t believe it. What’re you doing here?”

  Asher Wright stood in the doorway, grinning until the corners of his mouth nearly touched his ears. She jumped off the bed and ran to take his rough hands in hers.

  “Oh, Asher, I’ve never been so glad to see anyone. Where’s Nathan?”

  “He ain’t here, Alice. Didn’t they tell you?”

  “Yes, I know he’s not here, but—”

  “I told him not to go, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “Go where, Asher?”

  “Out to Long Island, to teach school.”

  “To teach school? But I thought—” She shut her mouth with a snap to stand thinking, trying but failing to puzzle things out, to reconcile General Washington’s healing breezes with Asher’s schoolteaching. Finally, she asked, “You sure, Asher? He’s teaching school on Long Island?”

  “Yes’m. Don’t make sense to me neither. I never knowed Nathan to run out on his duty afore. Maybe that fever unsettled his brain. But he says to me one day last week, he says, ‘Asher, I’m going away for a while, and I want you to watch over my things while I’m gone.’ So that’s what I been doing, Alice.” He peered at her anxiously. “You won’t tell him I know he’s a-teaching, will you? I only know that because I listened to him and Captain Hull talking, but I wasn’t supposed to.”

  “No, Asher, I won’t tell.” This was so unlike Nathan. She agreed with Asher: the fever must have addled his mind. Her worries for his health returned. “He’s still sick, then, isn’t he?”

  “Well, he’s still some weak, I guess, but he’s a lot better’n he was. Least, his body is, but I don’t know about his head.”

  “You live here with him, Asher? Are you a captain, too?” She had already seen stranger things in this army than that half-witted Asher should have a command.

  “Lord, no, Alice. I’m just aide to Nath—Captain Hale, same as I always was. It’s my job to keep the place clean and guard his things ’til he comes back.”

  “From Long Island?”

  “Yes’m, from Long Island, from schoolteaching. Say, Alice, you come all the way down here by yourself?” He stared in wonder.

  She gave him the news from home until Lieutenant Thomas appeared. Then she returned the writing desk he had lent her, explaining that a letter was unnecessary since Asher would tell Captain Hale of her visit. Asher bobbed his head. “Oh, yes’m, I’ll tell him you was here, for certain sure.”

  She bid Asher goodbye and stepped outside the hut on the lieutenant’s arm. “Now, sir, could you tell me how to get out of camp? I need to stop in New York City—providing ’tis safe with all the Redcoats there? I—I have some relatives—an aunt I, ah, want to call on.”

  “You shou
ldn’t have any trouble, ma’am. But if I’s you, I wouldn’t announce my allegiance to America, nor that you’re friendly with a captain in our army.” He grinned, and she smiled in turn, anxious to be on her way.

  An hour’s ride south brought her within sight of the occupied city. A scarlet river flowed through each street as more of the king’s officers than she had ever envisioned darted from party to party or stood flirting with the belles of New York. She had little trouble crossing the lines. Though the sentries scrutinized all gentlemen and studied whatever papers anyone, male or female, presented, they asked only her name and destination.

  The ordinaries overflowed with boisterous troops and the floozies any army attracts, but she found a smaller, quieter one on a back street. More of a tea room than a tavern, it drew no soldiers.

  It was late, and Alice decided that if the proprietor were helpful and prone to tending his own business, she would stay the night. The owner turned out to be both. She was one of those people so preoccupied with her own problems that she had no curiosity left for anyone else’s. She had fallen on hard times with the war, she complained to Alice. The taverns were going great guns, but other businesses were suffering. At least the Redcoats had left her alone thus far, unlike a coffeehouse further north they’d demolished when two colonels lost to a couple of majors at whist. Usually, she did not host guests overnight, but if Alice wanted to sleep on the settle before the fire, why, she was welcome to do so. A few more pence would buy her breakfast tomorrow.

  Alice handed over some coins, then sank down at a table while her hostess fetched a pot of chocolate, some bread and jam, and a chicken roasted that noon.

  She inquired about Long Island and blinked back grateful tears when the woman said, “Why, you’re nearly there, dearie. ’Tis just across the river. Look, you can see it out the window. First town you come to, that’s Brooklyn, but you got to look sharp because the British landed swarms of men about, oh, I’d say, three weeks, maybe a month ago. There ain’t a Continental left out there.”

  “How big is it?”

  “Long Island? Oh, dearie, it’s a pretty big place, probably fifty miles long, maybe more’n that, maybe a hundred. ’Course, you might have trouble getting over there. Some days, Redcoats won’t let anyone cross the river who ain’t in uniform. Then, other times, it don’t seem to matter. You looking for someplace particular? My late husband’s uncle, he’s got a bookshop two streets over that sells maps. They’re pretty dear, but you tell him you’re staying with me, he’ll let you take a look for free. He stays open till six ever’ evening.”

  The next morning, her spirits restored after breakfast at the widow’s table, Alice mounted Nellie and cantered to the ferry running between New York and Long Island. The map she had bought from the bookseller crackled in her bundle of clothes. She lifted her face to the morning sun. I’m coming, Nathan.

  But the sentry, a coarse fellow straining the seams of his uniform, ogled her and kept her from boarding. “Only soldiers this morning, honey. Them’s my orders. You wanna leave the city, you gots to get a pass.”

  “But I got into New York without a pass.”

  “Blimey, honey, don’t matter to me how you got here. I’m telling you, you ain’t getting on this ferry without a pass. Least not today. Today, it’s only soldiers and them what has passes. Try again tomorrow. Might be back to normal by then.”

  “But there’s a lady on there already.” Alice pointed to a woman in a knot of British officers at the front of the ferry, and the sentry nodded complacently.

  “Yeah, that’s the wife of the colonel standing there beside her, honey. If ’tis all right with you, I’ll let her ride, whether she’s got a pass or no.”

  Alice sighed. “How do I get a pass, then?”

  She could see an indecency working its way up the man’s throat. Before it spilled forth, an incredulous voice hailed her. “Alice? Alice Ripley?”

  With a start, she turned to see Guy Daggett on the ground, tricorn in hand, smiling up at her brilliantly. “It’s been far too long, Mrs. Ripley. What brings you to New York?”

  Alice gawked, too amazed to speak. She had not seen him since last winter, when he tried to force her, and as the memory swept her, she reddened. But Guy seemed to have forgotten the whole thing. He bowed as charmingly as he had in the Huntingtons’ parlor four years ago, helped her dismount, and fluttered solicitously when she admitted to being alone. She was discreet at first, and guarded. But his sympathy and tender arm about her made her wariness seem churlish. And it was good to see someone from Coventry. The uncertainties of the last week, her worries over Nathan, her bewilderment at the conflicting stories of General Washington and Asher, all freed her tongue. Guy shook his head and clucked satisfyingly as she poured out her concerns, and she ignored the voice inside that warned against trusting him.

  While they talked, Guy drew her down the street to his room. It was more office than home, with papers and ink-stained quills everywhere. Still, she hesitated at the door, afraid to be alone with him in his bedchamber. Guy looked shamefaced and apologized for his ardor so smoothly that he persuaded her. Then, too, his attempt on her had been partly her fault, she reasoned, remembering the kisses she had let him steal, the pleasure his caresses had awakened. She was eager to excuse him, a friend from home, in this hard and alien place.

  He cleared a chair and offered her a dish of tea, to her astonishment. “Oh, where’d you get it?” she asked. She closed her eyes in ecstasy at the first swallow. It was so long since she’d tasted tea. After the Bostonians heaved chests of it into their harbor three years before, the Deacon had allowed none of “that Loyalist brew” past his portal.

  She talked herself hoarse, then sipped her tea and stared into space.

  Guy drained his cup, trying to hide his trembling hands.

  He had seldom been as surprised as this morning, when he hastened to the ferry for his trip to Brooklyn and saw Alice Ripley, whom he had supposed in Connecticut, arguing with the sentry. He realized instantly that her presence in New York must be connected with her brother, and all his hopes for revenge resurrected. He watched, absorbing this turn of events, lust for vengeance superseding his lust for Alice.

  He was especially busy this Friday morning—the anniversary of the king’s coronation day was Sunday, when His Majesty’s ships that were anchored around York Island would fire salutes, and orders for extra powder had swamped him—yet he waited for the right moment to approach as Alice sat her horse in the sun.

  And Fate had rewarded him beyond all imagining for such patience! So Nathan Hale was on Long Island, behind British lines, and up to something since his commander and his attendant’s stories disagreed. Did he hope to sabotage some part of the king’s army? Was he fomenting rebellion among the farmers? If so, Guy wished him luck. Those Dutch farmers were interested in the one thing the rebels most lacked: gold. They gave lip service to the king and probably did prefer his regiments to the Continental rabble, but Guy had learned in his dealings with them that cold coin counted for more than all his assurances of the government’s gratitude. Still, since the main force of His Majesty’s troops had landed on York Island a few days ago, security and readiness on Long Island were low.

  Actually, it little mattered what Hale was doing, so long as Guy caught him at it. He wondered idly how much they were paying him and was pouring more tea when a second thought blinded him. That imbecile, Asher Wright, had said Hale was gone to teach school. How did he know such a thing? Asher was a poor hand at thinking. He must have seen Hale dressed in homespun before he left. Guy’s hand shook until he nearly scalded himself. It stretched the point to call the rebels’ rags uniforms, but if Hale had shed those rags to go behind the lines...! As he had before, when hearing that Nathan had seduced a student, Guy shuddered with pleasure.

  He must find Hale and turn him over to the government.

  Guy lost himself in fantasies of that moment: Hale cringing and begging mercy, General Howe slapping Guy’s
shoulder as he recommended his appointment at court, Alice spurning her brother and pleading for a second chance. He imagined the king’s gratitude as he knighted him for his service to the Empire.

  In one fell swoop, Guy saw his way to fame, fortune, and revenge on Nathan Hale.

  “Alice, I can take you over to Long Island.” He savored her dazzling smile, though it was at the prospect of reunion with Hale. One day she would turn that look on him.

  “How?”

  “I go back and forth all the time.” He shrugged. “I’ve got a pass.”

  The red was creeping over her again, and he saw she was remembering his enthusiasm in the snowy woods. He was grateful for that: it ought to keep her from wondering why a man of Patriot sympathies held a pass from the Redcoats.

  She began to shake her head, and he said, “Alice, I wronged you greatly last winter. I hope you can forgive me. Let me make it up to you now, all right?”

  She studied him.

  “If you like,” he added casually, “I’ll even help you find your brother. I’m surprised he’s out there, now that we’re—ah, with the Redcoats occup—um, invading there. He could be in danger.”

  “That’s what I thought! But General Washington—”

  “We oughta find him. Sounds like his fever broke his mind, but that won’t matter to British Regulars, they find him first. I can help you. I know Long Island well. My, ah, business takes me over there a lot.”

  “But you—I thought you hated Nathan.”

  “Oh, come, Alice, not enough to see him captured, especially when he’s touched. And he’s working for—for liberty, isn’t he?” Guy had never been able to put the awe into his voice that Patriots did when babbling about liberty. They made it sound like the Holy Grail and mother’s love combined, whereas laughter lurked in Guy’s tones, no matter how he tried for reverence. He was sure Alice heard his derision, for she shot a look at him as he hurried on. “Been thinking of enlisting myself, truth to tell. This last week, what with the Redcoats here, and—and—our, um, boys sick and wounded and dying, well, I ought to do my part for—for freedom, seems like. Withal, I care for you, and I want to show you how sorry I am. Let me help you. I’ll be the perfect gentleman, I promise.”