Book Read Free

The Turning of Anne Merrick

Page 33

by Christine Blevins


  A stocky black man dressed in powdered wig, feathered tricorn, and Continental blue and buff stepped into David’s office. “The General kindly asks to see you and yo’ sistuh in the dining hall, presently.”

  “My sister?” David repeated, pushing up to a stand.

  Billy nodded. “Yessuh. General’s order.”

  “Wonderful.” David limped around the table donning hat and muffler, staring daggers at Anne, and gave her a little shove toward the door. “G’won. Now we’re in for it.”

  Anne shoved him back. “I didn’t do anything!”

  “You came up here and caused a rumpus, didn’t you?”

  Billy chuckled, and led them down the stairs and out the back door to the new annex cabin everyone had taken to calling the “dining hall.” Bigger than the standard cabin, the dining hall boasted two windows cut into the log walls on either side of the doorway, fitted with leaded panes of crown glass. It was hard to make out anything through the blurry, frosted panes but the fuzzy bright spots of light from lanterns and candles.

  Mounted on brass hinges, the door swung open easily, and Anne stepped onto a plank floor to find Sally sitting on a chair beside the door. She looked up from twisting her mittens in a knot. Her face was as white as a floured piecrust and she answered the unasked question, “We dinna ken why we were summoned.”

  Jack and Titus stood beside Sally, and Jack whispered, “What’s this about, David?”

  David shrugged, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

  “I expect we’ll find out soon enough.” Titus waggled his brow in the direction of General Washington sitting at the end of a long dining table in a pool of light, methodically adding his signature to sheet after sheet of paper. Without glancing up from his task the General said, “I’ll be with you and your party in a moment, Captain Peabody.”

  “Yes, sir.” David stepped forward, doffing his tricorn with a sweep and, tucking it under his arm, he stood at ease with hands clasped behind his back.

  The fire snapped and hissed, burning in a huge fireplace backed with cast-iron plates. Anne shuffled over to stand beside Jack, and unwound her muffler.

  The General was positioned close to the fire, the varnished table he worked at surrounded with ten padded chairs. A large matching sideboard took up the wall to the left of the hearth, where Billy was busy ladling hot cider spiced with cloves and cinnamon from a steaming kettle into a crockery pitcher.

  Washington set down his quill and stood up, gesturing for them all to come forward. Anne was surprised to see he was taller than Jack and Titus, who were always among the tallest in a crowd. Though she’d seen the General before on horseback and about the camp, his stature was even more imposing within the confines of four walls, and a bit intimidating.

  The General came out from behind the table to greet them, shaking hands first with Jack and Titus. “Mr. Hampton, Mr. Gilmore—good to see you both well and working hard for our cause. The shipment from Wilmington was much appreciated.” Washington turned and greeted Anne and Sally with a bow. “Mrs. Merrick, Miss Tucker, your facility so aptly demonstrated when entrenched amongst the enemy has proven most beneficial to your country.”

  Washington moved to the free end of the table, calling David to sit with him on one side, and indicating for the rest to take seats opposite. Lacing the fingers of his large hands, he announced, “I will go straight to the heart of the matter. I must call upon you all to once again enter into dangerous service.”

  Sally groaned, and Anne felt as if a toad had landed in her belly. Beneath the table, Jack took her by the hand.

  “We are at a decided disadvantage, operating with so little intelligence, our army is not best prepared to face the British in campaign. Your country needs you, and I ask you all to go and ply your considerable skills in Philadelphia—setting up an operation similar to the one that served so well in New York.”

  Anne kept her eyes focused on the beautifully beveled edge of the table, afraid to speak the answer that leapt to her lips. No. No, no, no…

  For what seemed the longest time, not a one of them uttered a word, until Sally very softly said, “I’ve never been to Philadelphia.”

  Anne looked up. “I don’t know if we would realize any success, General. Philadelphia is much bigger than New York—and New York was home.” Anne looked to Jack, shaking her head. “We don’t know a soul there…”

  “The Quaker’s in Philadelphia.” Jack shrugged. “He could help us.”

  “Mrs. Loring is there, Anne,” David added. “You could reestablish your ties with Howe’s mistress…”

  “And running a coffeehouse, you’ll be making social connections,” Washington said.

  Anne blinked, overwhelmed by the whole proposition. “You mean for us to open a coffeehouse?”

  The General nodded. “I will be making funds available to set up the entire operation.”

  Sally worried, “B-but what’s to become of our young lads?”

  “And Pink?” Anne added. “You don’t want to leave Pink behind, do you, Titus?”

  “I don’t see why she shouldn’t come with.” Titus folded his arms. “She’d be a help.”

  “Captain Peabody will be in charge, and I’m sure all accommodations can be made to satisfy the operation needs.” Sensing her resistance, Washington added, “I expect the assignment will be a short one, Mrs. Merrick, three or four months at most, until we retake the city.”

  Jack squeezed her hand. “That’s not so bad…”

  “Like old times, Annie, na?” Sally leaned in to bump shoulders.

  Anne nodded, fighting back her tears.

  Billy set down a tray bearing the pitcher of hot cider, eight punch cups, and a cut crystal decanter half-full of amber-hued liquid. Washington poured a good amount of spirits into the pitcher. “Whiskey from my plantation at Mount Vernon—warms the belly and the brain,” he said, flashing a rare smile. “We have a fine distillery there, do we not, Billy?”

  “Very fine,” Billy agreed, taking the pitcher to pour out eight cupfuls of hot punch.

  The General held up his cup. “Can we drink on our new venture?”

  Jack, Titus, and David were quick to take up their cups and stand. Sally joined them

  Anne heaved a sigh and rose to her feet. Reaching across the table to tap Washington’s cup, she said, “I expect to see you, very soon, General, in Philadelphia.”

  Part Three

  PHILADELPHIA

  On our brow while we laurel-crowned liberty wear,

  What Englishmen ought, we Americans dare!

  Though tempests and terrors around us we see

  Bribes nor fears can prevail o’er hearts that are FREE.

  Hearts of oak we are still;

  For we’re sons of those men

  Who always are ready—

  Steady, boys, steady—

  To fight for their freedom again and again.

  HEARTS OF OAK, Author Unknown

  FIFTEEN

  The larger we make the circle, the more we shall harmonize, and the stronger we shall be.

  THOMAS PAINE, The American Crisis

  IN BRITISH-OCCUPIED PHILADELPHIA

  NO. 177, ON THE EAST SIDE OF SECOND STREET

  Walter Darragh followed the golden arc cast by the beeswax taper in the candle dish he carried, wandering down the hallway in nightshirt and cap, his felt slippers whooshing along on the waxed floorboards. He called out quietly, “Lydia?”

  With no answer forthcoming he moved on, turning the doorknob to his eldest son Daniel’s empty bedchamber. In mobcap, chemise, and woolen night jacket, his wife sat on the floor in the moonlit room, crouched like a tree toad, scratching away with a graphite pencil on a loose sheet of paper.

  Walter whispered, “Wife…”

  Lydia looked up, her pretty face framed by the ruffled edge of her mobcap. With blue eyes wide, she pressed the tip of her index finger to her lips. “Shhh…”

  “Enough.” Walter took a step into the room
. “I’d have thee come to bed.”

  Whispering, “Will thee hush?” the tiny woman tugged off her mobcap and curled down to lie with ear pressed to the floorboards. Lydia’s hair, plaited in a single braid for sleep, slithered over her shoulder like a viper on the hunt.

  From the floor below Walter could hear the squawk and scrape of chairs being pushed back from their family dining table, and the accompanying deep rumble of male voices. He near leapt from his skin, and Lydia bolted upright at the sudden loud knock on their door.

  Folding her page, she stuffed it and the pencil under the mobcap pulled back onto her head, and waved her husband off. “Go! See what they want.”

  Walter unbolted the lock and swung the door open to a British officer standing on the landing.

  “We’re finished for the night, Mr. Darragh…” The Captain fit his tricorn on his head. “It seems Lieutenant Croker’s taken off with my keys—would it be too much of a bother for you to douse the lights, and lock the door behind us?”

  “No bother, Captain Lockhart.” Walter could feel his wife’s little hand rest light between his shoulder blades as she drew beside him, yawning and rubbing feigned sleep from her eyes.

  The Captain swept his hat off. “Sorry to have disturbed you, Mrs. Darragh. I know the hour is very late.”

  “Not to worry, Captain—I was meaning to have a word with thee by and by…” Lydia Darragh clutched her night jacket closed with the flat of her fist pressed over heart. “I was thinking about having Polly wax the floors… The boots are taking a toll. Do you think thee’ll be using our room again on the morrow?”

  “We will.” Lockhart nodded his head in the affirmative. “I’m afraid General Howe has called a council meeting for the afternoon.”

  “Very well.” Lydia smiled. “The waxing will wait for another day, then.”

  Walter bid Captain Lockhart good night. He waited in the doorway until he heard the downstairs door click shut before turning to his wife.

  “Lydia, I find thy eavesdropping unsavory, and now I hear thy tongue speaking words unplain.”

  “Walter…” Lydia Darragh smiled. Rising up on tiptoes, she pulled him down to meet her soft kiss, and she whispered in his ear, “Go lock the door, husband, then hurry thee back to warm my bed… Are these words plain enough?”

  THE WHITE SWAN INN ON FRONT STREET NEAR THE FERRY SLIP

  With a laundry basket full of clean linen propped on her hip, Bede Seaborn was just about to give a customary tap before resorting to her keys, when the chamber door flew open on its own accord. With his tricorn slapped haphazard on the back of his head, waistcoat unbuttoned, buckling on his cross belt, Major Nicholas Sutherland came near to bowling Mrs. Seaborn over. Barking, “See to the muddle in my chamber,” over his shoulder, he thundered down the stairs.

  Of the six Redcoat officers quartered at her inn, Major Sutherland was not only the most callous of the lot, but also the one most prone to having a lie-in and leaving his chamber in an awful mess.

  “And a good day t’ you, Major Sutherland…” the innkeeper cheerfully called, then added a muttered, “… you lazy-arsed bastard.” Stepping over the threshold to find her chambermaid slipping into her chemise and frantically gathering up the rest of her clothes from the mess on the floor, Bede sighed. “Oh, Nell…”

  The girl stood upright. Doe eyes wide and blinking, she stuttered, “I—I was just about bringing in the water jug, Mrs. Seaborn, but the Major…”

  “Have you not a bit of mother’s wit?” Bede shook her head. “The man’s a rogue through and through. He’ll leave you with naught but a babe in your belly and a broken heart…”

  “He’s not like that.” Nell plucked at a pinchbeck locket pinned to the blue ribbon tied around her neck. “See? He gave me this. He cares for me. I know he does.”

  Bede set her basket down beside the bed and said, “Very nice, but you know the devil always baits his hook with all manner of pretties when he goes fishing.”

  Defiance straightened Nell’s spine and colored her cheeks a bright pink. With complete conviction she said, “I love him.” Snatching up her things, the girl rushed out into the hall, bare feet pounding up the stairs to the garret.

  Bede heaved a sad sigh, and muttered, “There are none so deaf as those who will not hear.”

  Swinging the door shut, the innkeeper whisked the heavy draperies from the window and took in the clear blue sky over the shimmering Delaware. Winter is getting ready to turn the corner to spring. On a day like this her husband would have cajoled her into a walk along the river, or a picnic on the wharf, and it was on days like this she missed her Rob the most. A great one for spring, he was.

  Humming a cheery tune, Bede stripped the bedclothes from the bed. She rolled the mattress up, and gave the bedcords a good tightening. After plumping the pillows, she stuffed them into starched pillow slips, and snapped crisp, clean sheets over the mattress.

  Sweeping the ashes from the stove, she set the ash bin outside the door for Nell to collect. After tossing the contents of the washbasin out onto the street, Bede stood for a moment and considered the mess left on the washstand.

  “Careless…” Bede grumbled. “Heedless, they are, these Redcoats.”

  The Major’s shaving kit was left to flounder in a sudsy mess. Bede hung the leather strop on the hook provided, fit the lid onto the silver lather bowl, and rescued the ivory-handled razor from a puddle, folding it shut. Whipping out the scrap of old flannel she had tucked under her apron strings, she wiped up the washstand and the puddle on the floor, then turned with arms akimbo to contemplate the chaos of the Major’s campaign chest.

  “You’d think a whirlwind’d come through here…”

  The doors of the chest hung open. All manner of contents spilled forth from the extended and near-empty drawers, as the majority of the Major’s clothing lay on the floorboards in a jumble. Bede dove in, humming along to the tune playing in her head as she set about pairing up stockings and gaiters. She folded shirts, neck stocks, and monogrammed handkerchiefs, all the while intently eyeing the papers the Major had left scattered on top of his chest.

  Once the gear was all properly stowed, Bede gathered the Major’s papers, methodically reviewing and piling all but one of the pages into a single stack centered on the polished mahogany. She dropped this segregated page to the very bottom of her laundry basket, and plopped the soiled bedclothes on top. All smiles, Mrs. Seaborn scooped up her basket and bustled out the door, almost trampling young Nell, who’d come to collect the ash bin.

  “My soul and senses, Nell! You’re like to give me apoplexy, sneaking up on a body thataway.” She hoisted her basket onto her hip. “I’m off to run errands. Once you finish the rest of the rooms, see to putting a shine on Major Sutherland’s windows.”

  “Yes’m,” Nell agreed with a smile and a slight curtsy.

  “Good girl.” Bede was glad to see there was to be no bad blood between them. Trotting down the stairs, she heard Nell singing the words to the catchy little tune Bede’d been humming all morning—

  A fox may steal your hens, sir,

  A whore your health and pence, sir,

  Your daughter may rob your chest, sir,

  Your wife may steal your rest, sir,

  A thief your goods and plate.

  THE CUP AND BOOK COFFEEHOUSE ON CHESTNUT NEAR THIRD

  Anne drew the key ring from the pocket of her new day dress, calling out, “I’m opening up!”

  “We’re ready!” Sally answered, bustling through the open back door burdened with two steaming coffee urns. Pink scurried from the kitchen house as well, carrying a tray piled high with scones, sweet biscuits, and loaves of gingerbread baked fresh that morning. Sally set the heavy urns on the grate in the huge fireplace centered on the long wall. Pink arranged her tray on one of the sideboards at the back of the room, and went out to fetch the rest.

  The doorbell jangled continuously, and chairs scraped on the floorboards as the breakfast crowd came in to t
ake their seats, the tables closest to the hearth being the first to fill. Wearing matching blue turbans and striped aprons, Sally and Pink bounced from table to table, serving hot drinks and the sweet bites to go with. Anne noted with much satisfaction the numerous Redcoats filling the chairs in her establishment. Open for business for less than a month, the Cup and Book was a great success.

  She snatched up a few newspapers and went to collect a plate of cookies from the sideboard, where she and Sally met in a whisper.

  “These Redcoats swarm to your sweets like bees unhived.”

  “Aye.” Sally grinned. “And where there’re bees, there’s honey.”

  Armed with a pretty plate of cookies, Anne reconnoitered the room, touching a shoulder here, giving a nod there. “Good morning, Captain Avery—Lieutenant Silk. Please try one of Pink’s mackeroons, gratis,” she said, placing a cookie on each officer’s plate. “Baked fresh this morning and light as a feather…” She tapped a shoulder adorned with fringed gold epaulet, offering the copy of the London Gazette tucked under her arm. “I was saving this for you, Colonel. The latest news come in on the packet docked yestereve.”

  Anne paid a higher rent for the narrow two-story building on Chestnut Street, the location so perfect for their requirements, she deemed it was worth the extra cost. In the heart of the city, the storefront had belonged to a Patriot silversmith, who’d quit the city when the British occupied. There were only three tiny bedchambers and a small parlor up the stairs, but Anne saw this as a bonus, eliminating all possibility of being forced to quarter any of the twenty-three thousand Redcoat soldiers and sundry wives and children occupying the city—something she was desperate to avoid at all cost. The kitchenhouse came with a fully equipped cook hearth and an oven where Sally and Pink could work their magic. Best of all, there was a deep well in the garden providing excellent clean water, fewer than ten paces from the kitchen door.

  Once the lease was secured, Anne saw to furnishing and supplying the business. What seemed such an obstacle amid the privation at the encampment in Valley Forge proved not to pose a problem in the occupied city. Philadelphian docks and warehouses burgeoned with trade goods, and she was able to procure with ease the finest coffee and cocoa berries. Black bohea and sugar of all types were plentiful. Establishing good relationships with reliable miller, milkman, egg man, and butter woman at market stalls on High Street was made simple when orders were paid for in advance with Spanish silver supplied by General Washington.

 

‹ Prev