The Rebel's Return

by Susan Foy

  * * *

  “Do you really think Edmund Ingram is passing information to the British?” Mr. Kirby asked fifteen minutes later after Phoebe had explained her fears to him.

  “I don’t know,” Phoebe said, “and I would hate to accuse someone falsely. But it is so strange the way he lied to my sister about going home when he was really going to that tavern. And it is even stranger the way letters keep disappearing when he is visiting, and always letters connected with the army. Oh, Mr. Kirby, I am so frightened that news of Washington’s plans will reach the British, and the army will be captured and it will be all my fault.”

  Mr. Kirby mused for a moment in silence, turning all this information over in his mind. “I will share your worries with the Council of Public Safety, and they will decide whether Ingram is actually a threat,” he said finally. “As for this particular battle your friend mentioned in the letter, without knowing his contacts it may be impossible to stop him. Sometimes, Phoebe, there is nothing we can do but pray.”

  “Then I will certainly do that, and most fervently,” Phoebe said.

  Chapter Ten

  In spite of the warmth of the new Franklin stove, the air was chilly between the Fuller sisters the next day. Alice awoke and dressed in silence, then avoided Phoebe during their morning activities, and Phoebe, finding her sister so uncommunicative, decided against relating her conversation with Mr. Kirby. She knew Alice would not be pleased to hear that her sister’s suspicions were being reported to the Council of Public Safety. Phoebe answered her mother’s inquiries about her disappearance the night before as vaguely as possible. No reason to alarm her mother unnecessarily, especially since she felt sure her mother would agree with Alice.

  Late in the afternoon when Alice and her mother left to visit a sick church member and carry a kettle of soup to the family, Phoebe chose to stay at home. She was a bit surprised that as yet Alice had not told her mother about their altercation, and guessed Alice herself was not completely convinced of Edmund’s innocence, or she would have enlisted her mother’s support. Either way, there was nothing she could do now but pray.

  She took advantage of her mother’s absence to carry a book into the parlor, but for once found it impossible to lose herself in the story. Her mind kept returning to the events of the day before, to Nicholas’s letter, and to the battle the dying army would be fighting, perhaps at that very moment.

  Did I do wrong, Lord? she asked for the tenth time that day. I don’t want to hurt Edmund, of course, but I also don’t want Edmund to hurt the army. How confusing loyalty can be in such a situation! Lord, please protect the army as they go into battle, and if it is your will, don’t let our cause for independence be completely destroyed. And please protect Nicholas and George. And oh, Lord, I am so thankful that Nicholas knows you now and has found peace with you, even if he is killed. But please, please don’t let him be killed!

  She tried not to think beyond that. She was, of course, highly gratified that Nicholas had chosen to share his experience with her, but she couldn’t and wouldn’t read any more into it. For Nicholas’s sake, not her own, she was happy he knew the Lord.

  She heard a clatter on the street in front of the house, and rose to look out of the front window. An unfamiliar carriage was stopped in front of the Fuller house. She heard a knock on the door and Martha’s footsteps as she hurried to open it.

  A moment later the parlor door opened and Lavinia Teasdale entered, followed by her mother and sister Charlotte.

  “Lavinia!” Phoebe cried, surprised beyond words. She ran to embrace her friend, and was doubly surprised to receive a second embrace from Mrs. Teasdale. “How wonderful of you to come and call!”

  “We are in town for Christmas, visiting my grandparents,” Lavinia explained. “I told my mother we could not leave without seeing you once again.”

  Phoebe bade them all be seated, and called to Martha to bring some coffee and cakes. As she took the guests’ cloaks, she admired their lovely silk gowns in violet, turquoise, and yellow, and wished she were wearing something equally fine. The Teasdales were certainly doing well for themselves, and she recalled Alice’s opinion that Nicholas was beyond their reach. For the next five minutes the four women exchanged the happy chatter of old friends reunited after a long separation.

  “I am so sorry my mother and Alice are gone right now,” Phoebe said as she explained their errand. “I certainly expect them to return soon.”

  “I am glad you are at home,” Lavinia returned. “You are the one we most wanted to see.”

  Mrs. Teasdale hesitated a moment, and Phoebe suddenly realized that to her, this visit was more than just a call on an old acquaintance. “Phoebe, have you actually seen Nicholas lately?” Her eyes, pleading, were fixed on the girl’s face.

  “I saw him one week ago, and I received a letter from him just yesterday.” Phoebe clasped her hands together and proceeded to relate from memory the details of the letter. His mother’s face grew brighter as she spoke, and by the end the lady was blinking back tears.

  “Oh, I am so thankful!” Mrs. Teasdale wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. “It is what I have longed to hear. If only he might be reconciled with his father, I would have nothing to wish for, but I suppose that will be impossible before we leave.”

  Phoebe glanced at Lavinia with a question in her eyes. Lavinia said hesitantly, “You see, we will be leaving for England in the next few weeks. We are waiting for my father to conclude his business here, and then we will stay in England until this rebellion is over.”

  “Then I won’t see you again,” Phoebe said slowly.

  “Nay, but you must write to us.” Mrs. Teasdale leaned toward her. “Oh, Phoebe, you are a good girl, and I know you must be a wholesome influence on Nicholas. If you could kindly look out for him while we are gone, I would be so terribly grateful.”

  Phoebe patted the weeping woman’s hand. “I will do whatever I can,” she said sincerely. “I love him too.”

  The words slipped out of her mouth before she had a chance to weigh them, and instantly she could have bitten her tongue. But Nicholas’s mother did not appear shocked or disapproving.

  “I am happy to hear it.” She squeezed the girl’s hand. “And I hope he loves you too. I believe he must, to have written you such a letter, although he may not realize it himself.”

  For a moment the four of them sat in silence as Mrs. Teasdale wiped her eyes and the two sisters exchanged glances. As Phoebe tried to swallow her embarrassment at her faux pas she caught a glimpse of a horse and rider passing by in the street just outside the window. Something about the size and color of the horse, or perhaps the figure of the rider, made her suddenly rise and move to the passage outside the parlor, opening the front door just in time to see Nicholas swing down from Syllabub and stumble toward the house. He did not even pause or greet her on the threshold, but fell into the passage and caught her in his arms, his own shaking as he clutched her.

  “Oh, Phoebe,” he gasped, “I have been to hell and back, and it was cold, not hot like they say. I have never been so cold in my life.”

  He was certainly cold in her arms, his coat filthy and caked with snow and mud, his face covered with several days’ growth of stubble. Phoebe was so startled by both his words and his embrace that it was a moment before she could find her voice to stammer, “Nicholas—where have you been?”

  He straightened then and partially released her, and when she was able to look in his face she saw, in spite of his shivering exhaustion, that his eyes were dancing with excitement.

  “We’ve been to Trenton!” he exclaimed, “and oh, Phoebe, it was marvelous! We captured the entire Hessian command!”

  For a moment Phoebe was sure he was joking. “Impossible!” she cried. “What are you talking about?”

  Nicholas hugged her again, and this time nearly lifted her off her feet. “’Tis true!” he laughed, “and it was beautiful! We surprised the Hessians in the morning, when they had just gone back to
bed after roll call, and Colonel Rall had even sent in the sentries because of the cold! The timing was perfect, simply perfect, beyond what any general could have planned, and could only have been the work of divine Providence.” He stopped suddenly, and Phoebe felt his arms go limp. She turned and saw that his mother was standing in the parlor door. Nicholas had just seen her.

  “Mother,” he whispered, and then he was in her arms and she was crying against his shoulder.

  “Mother, Mother, don’t cry,” he managed, although his own voice to Phoebe sounded suspiciously choked.

  “God is so good,” she sobbed. “I prayed I would be able to see you once more before we left, but I truly didn’t believe it would be possible.”

  Phoebe swallowed hard at the sight of them together and then slipped back into the parlor to leave them alone. Lavinia and Charlotte had run to the front door behind their mother and Phoebe could hear them all talking at once. But two minutes later Nicholas entered the parlor with his mother and sisters still clinging to him. They found seats and talked hard, making up for eighteen months in their brief visit. Lavinia and Charlotte related the news of all their friends and relatives, everything important that had occurred in the last year and a half, and then Nicholas shared his experiences in the army, dwelling in particular detail on the victory that very day in Trenton. Nearly an hour passed as they talked, and when Phoebe glanced out the window she was surprised to find the eastern sky had faded to dusk.

  “I always believed it was wrong for King George to send mercenaries to wage war against his own subjects,” his mother sighed when Nicholas had finished relating his story. “Oh, this war is so dreadful. But my dear, it heartens me to see you so fine and manly and honest and well-grown. I believe this last year has been the making of you, for all its difficulties.” And then, without changing her tone in the least, she added, “Now if you promise you will marry Phoebe when you can find the time, I will not ask any more.”

  Phoebe started and felt her face grow hot in horrified embarrassment, but when she met Nicholas’s gaze across his mother’s head, she saw that he was laughing.

  “Phoebe might have something to say to the matter, Mother,” he returned with a grin. “Why, the last I heard she was being courted by a charming, personable young fellow named Miles Quincy. Perhaps I should carry her off to our country estate and hold her prisoner there until she accepts me.”

  Mrs. Teasdale glanced uncertainly from the young lady’s scarlet countenance to her irrepressible son. “Nonsense!” she exclaimed. “You can certainly charm her with no difficulty.”

  “Not always,” Nicholas replied with a twinkle. Phoebe remembered the hot day in August that they had spent together at the fair, and felt her face grow warmer.

  The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Alice and her mother, returning from their visit. After exchanging pleasantries with her old friend, Mrs. Teasdale reluctantly told her children it was time to depart. She embraced her son, shedding tears once more before taking leave. Phoebe slipped away to the kitchen to help put the evening meal on the table.

  Ten minutes later supper was ready, but when the family gathered around the table Nicholas was missing. Phoebe called his name, and then, finding him nowhere below, climbed the stairs to her brothers’ bedroom and peeked through the door that stood ajar.

  Nicholas was sprawled out on George’s bed, still fully dressed, and fast asleep.

  * * *

  “I reckon no one will call to replace Washington now,” Phoebe said.

  Nicholas had slept through the entire night, much to his chagrin, and was spending a few moments alone with Phoebe after breakfast before heading back to rejoin his commander. Her mother, with a question in her raised eyebrows, had left them alone in the kitchen washing dishes while she and Alice started the rest of the daily housework.

  “Aye, I’m sure of it. Washington has certainly redeemed himself this time, and this victory should silence most of his critics. Especially now that Charles Lee had been captured. Lee was a bit of a fool, and Washington has shown his genius.”

  “What do you really think, Nicholas?” Phoebe looked up from the pewter bowl she was scrubbing. “Was it Washington’s genius, or simply brilliant luck?”

  “Or God’s providence,” Nicholas returned with a smile. “I’m sure there was a bit of all of those in that victory. ’Twas a bold, daring plan, and no one but Washington would have found the ingenuity to try it, or have inspired his men to follow him. And his use of the artillery was certainly brilliant. But luck was on our side as well. Everything seemed to go wrong at the time—the crossing took longer than we expected, and we reached Trenton much later than planned, but even in the timing we were fortunate, for the soldiers had already gone back to bed. And did I tell you the oddest thing of all? The Hessians were completely surprised, and yet we found a note in Colonel Rall’s pocket, after he died, warning of the attack.”

  Phoebe suddenly recalled the letter from Nicholas which had mysteriously disappeared on Christmas Day. “The Hessians were warned?” she asked slowly.

  “Aye, but for some odd reason they did not taking the warning seriously. Perhaps the colonel forgot to read the letter, or perhaps he thought the weather was too bad for an attack or did not expect it the day after Christmas.”

  “I know how they might have been warned,” Phoebe said slowly, and she proceeded to relate the incident with Edmund and the vanishing letter. She expected Nicholas to be shocked, horrified, or even angry, but to her surprise when she glanced up at him she saw him wearing an amused smile.

  “So Ingram got his hands on that letter of mine, did he?” he chuckled. “Well, I give him credit; I never imagined he was so clever. Every other time I practically had to place the letter in his hands.”

  Phoebe dropped the clean knives back in the dirty dish water as she turned to stare at him. “Are you saying you knew Edmund was giving information to the British? How did you know? And you gave him letters?”

  Nicholas was laughing softly, and he glanced down at Phoebe as if uncertain how much to say. “Do you remember that day that I met you at the State House in July?” He lowered his voice. “I was here on a special assignment, to learn as much as I could about the enemy spy system in Philadelphia. I was pretty sure Edmund Ingram was involved somehow, and that day when you told me he was courting Alice, I thought I had the perfect opportunity to find out more.”

  “So that’s why you came home with me that day!” Phoebe cried, not sure whether to feel admiration for his cleverness or indignation at his duplicity.

  Nicholas grinned again, a bit sheepishly this time. “I know you thought I wanted to court Alice, but in reality I was trying to find out what she knew about his activities.”

  “I don’t believe she knew anything,” Phoebe inserted.

  He nodded, running the towel over the pitcher she handed him. “I came to the same conclusion myself after a number of visits. But then my commander suggested another way to make use of the connection, by spreading false information about the army to the enemy.”

  “That letter you dropped last August—” Phoebe remembered, “that was really intended for Edmund all along?”

  Nicholas rubbed his newly shaved chin, his eyes twinkling. “Did he take the bait then? I never did find out what happened with that. Aye, the letter was full of all sorts of nonsense about the generals’ plans, written out in Lord Stirling’s own handwriting. The second letter I left out on your father’s desk, just within Edmund’s reach.”

  “Nicholas Teasdale!” In her distraction Phoebe dropped one pewter bowl against another with a clatter. “I never imagined you could be so sly and deceitful!”

  “Why Phoebe, you should know me better than that!” Nicholas laughed. “But he outwitted me this last time. I was so anxious to get that final letter to you, I forgot it might fall into the wrong hands. Fortunately, I didn’t include much real intelligence.”

  “I will never believe a word you say again,” Phoe
be declared, quite thunderstruck by the revelations of the last few minutes.

  Nicholas was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke his tone was different, odd for him, almost shy and hesitant. He set down the bowl in his hands and reached for another. “You can believe everything in that letter, for I certainly meant every word I wrote, although perhaps I’ve squandered my credibility with you. I want to be a different person than I used to be, or perhaps I should say, I am a different person, if you will give me a chance to prove it.”

  “You needn’t prove anything to me, Nicholas,” Phoebe said, uncertain where the conversation was leading or how she should respond. “God knows your heart, and his opinion is the only one that matters.”

  “Aye, he does know my heart, but your opinion matters too, Phoebe. Perhaps my intentions toward you were not completely honorable when we first became acquainted. I can’t change that now, of course; I can only hope to redeem myself by showing I won’t try to take advantage of you again.”

  Remembering his glibness the night he kissed her, Phoebe was struck by the difference in his tone, his diffidence and humility. She was humbled by the fact that he seemed to care for her good opinion, but hesitated to presume too much, as his mother had done, and felt herself floundering for an answer. She dipped another bowl into the murky dishwater.

  “I have forgiven you for that, Nicholas. I will always consider you a good friend.”

  “Aye,” he agreed, “I think you are the first real woman friend that I have ever had. ’Tis a strange experience, actually.”

  Phoebe smiled weakly and tried to feel very happy that she and Nicholas were good friends. It was all she had ever expected, after all. She handed him the last bowl and opened the back door to dispose of the dishwater. When she returned to the kitchen, Nicholas was putting on his coat.