by Ted Bell
The guards took Nick, not to the main house of course, but to a small outbuilding connected to the mansion by a covered walkway.
“What’s this?” Nick asked the guards as they approached the door.
“The kitchen house. We don’t have a proper surgery here, so we leave any stitching needs to be done to Mum Bitt.”
“Mum Bitt?” Nick said as the guard pulled the door open for him.
“Mum’s the General and Mrs. Washington’s cook. Nobody in Virginia can stitch up a stuffed turkey better’n Mum. Hey, Mum, we got a young gobbler here needs your ministrations of needle and thread!”
A large black woman turned from the great kettle she was stirring and looked at Nick. There was a lot of hubbub in the busy two-roomed kitchen, much chattering and laughter from all the Negro slave women working at various tasks. No one paid much attention to the arrival of two guards and someone with a bloody wound. It must have been something that happened all the time.
“What’s wrong wid dat po’ chile?” Mum Bitt said.
Nick smiled at her and held up his bloody left arm.
“Lawsy me, chile, you ’bout to bleed to death,” Mum said, going over to him, “look at you, shakin’ like a leaf on a tree! You got the fever?”
“Yes, ma’am, I believe I do.”
“Sit y’self right down here at the table and let me take a look at that arm. You two soldier boys get your noses out of my pots and on back to your posts now before Miz Washington comes in here and finds you malingerin’ in my kitchen stead of standin’ sentry out there where you belong.”
“Yes’m,” the young guard said and headed for the door. “He gives you any trouble, Mum, just holler.”
“He ain’t gone give me no trouble. Look at him. This poor boy’s burnin’ up with the fever and bleedin’ like a stuck pig. Now, git, both of you.”
After the door banged shut behind the two sentries, the cook bustled over to a chest and retrieved a black leather case from one of the drawers. Nick, who was in a slight state of shock, noticed for the first time that the kitchen was chock full of people preparing all kinds of food. Game, fowl, a roast pig, cakes and pies of every description.
“What’s your name, sweet honey chile?”
“Nicholas McIver, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending his hand and shaking hers.
He’d seen many African men and women working in the wheat fields on his approach to Mount Vernon. But Mum Bitt was the first African woman Nick had ever met. He knew from his history books that there’d once been thousands of African slaves working as personal servants in England. But the practice had been banned in 1772.
Nick felt it was cruel and morally wrong for one man to own another. He knew America, too, would one day abolish the abhorrent practice of chattel slavery. But it would be a century in coming. And it would come at a cost that would tear the young country apart, brother fighting brother, countless dead on countless battlefields, their blood soaking half a continent.
Mum Bitt carefully pulled the blanket from around Nick’s shoulders and then removed his scarlet British Army jacket and bloody shirt.
“You know whose house this is, boy?”
“Yes, ma’am. General Washington’s.”
“That’s correct, and the General, why, he doesn’t look too kindly on English soldiers in this house. You’re lucky he ain’t arrived home yet.”
“The General is coming here?”
“He certainly is! That’s why the whole house is so full of joy. It’s been nigh on six years since we laid an eye upon that blessed soul. Greatest man who ever lived. But he don’t like your King George much, nor any man in your scarlet-coated army.”
“I’m not a Loyalist nor an English soldier, ma’am. I’m a deserter. I left my regiment to defect to the American army.”
“You did, huh. Ain’t that something. Look at your arm, chile! Looks like somebody hacked a big chunk out of you. What happened?”
“An Indian got me with his tomahawk, that’s all.”
“Indian got you, huh? You get him back?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.”
“Ouch!”
Now, honey-chile, you best be still and bite down on this old musket ball. Use your back teeth. I won’t lie to you—this is going to hurt like the devil hisself.”
“Yes, ma’am . . .”
Nick flinched and bit down on the lead ball when the needle first pierced his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to make a sound as she stitched him up with catgut.
“Go on and cry if you want. I know it hurts. Can’t hep it. It’ll be over in a minute and you—”
Suddenly the entire kitchen staff went silent as a beautifully dressed woman in blue silk with a blue bonnet atop her white curls swept into the kitchen. She was not tall, perhaps five feet, with a gently rounded figure, and she had beautiful porcelain skin, plump rosy cheeks, and a twinkle in her wide-set brown eyes. She seemed almost doll-like as she dashed about the kitchen, flitting from one station to another, lifting lids off kettles and sniffing pies and pastries fresh from the oven. Then she plucked a bright red tomato from a basket, took a delicate bite, and pronounced it perfectly ripe.
“Whatever on earth happened to this poor child?” she asked, catching sight of Nick. She came over to the table where he sat grimacing in pain and gently placed a comforting hand on his cheek.
“Indian got him, Miz Washington. With a tomahawk, ain’t that so, Nicholas?”
“Yes, ma’am, most definitely a tomahawk.”
Mrs. Washington bent from the waist to inspect Nick’s nearly sutured wound and said, “Mercy, this poor child looks like death itself, Mum Bitt. Bring him to me upstairs when you’ve finished stitching him up, and I’ll put a poultice on that wound.”
Nick smiled at the word. Another poultice.
He ought to be in bed, Miz Washington. You felt his face. He’s burnin’ up with the fever.”
“Just bring him to me. I’ll take care of him. How is the great welcome feast coming along? Will we be ready for the General’s arrival tomorrow? He’s riding all the way from Baltimore, and I imagine he’ll be famished.”
“Feast don’t look like much yet, Miz Washington, but when Mum Bitt gets through with it, the general is going to think he’s gone to heaven itself.”
Martha Washington put her tiny hands on her hips and said, “Mount Vernon is his heaven, Mum Bitt. His heaven and earth. And, good Lord, won’t we all be thrilled to see him home again at last! After all these years!”
Everyone in the kitchen shouted, somewhat in unison, “Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord!”
The General is certainly a beloved figure around this house, Nick thought. It was a good sign. Maybe he would listen.
37
“DON’T EVER BETRAY MY TRUST, NICHOLAS!”
When Nick awoke next morning he had no idea where he was. He felt like Mr. Washington Irving’s Rip Van Winkle, the man who’d been asleep for twenty years. Beyond the window beside his bed, he saw the great lawn sloping down to the wide blue river flowing past it. It all started to come back. That was the Potomac. This was General George Washington’s home, Mount Vernon. And the lovely little lady sitting sweetly at his bedside was the general’s wife, Martha, who, he had learned, was always called Patsy by her husband.
She’d been sitting right there when he’d fallen asleep, after carefully spooning hot tea into his mouth because his hands were trembling so badly with the fever. Had she remained there all this time?
“Good afternoon, Master McIver,” she said, smiling and patting his hand. “Nice to have you among the living once more.”
“Afternoon?” Nick said, sitting up in bed and turning toward the window. “But, madam, the sun is rising.”
“It is setting, Nicholas. You’ve been asleep for more than twenty-four hours.”
Nick rubbed both eyes with his knuckles and yawned deeply. “That can’t be! I never sleep for—”
/> Mrs. Washington put a cool hand on Nick’s forehead. “You had a terrible fever, Nicholas. But it broke around midday. I think you’re going to be fine now. You must be terribly thirsty. And hungry, too.”
“Oh, but I am, ma’am, indeed, a good bit of both.”
“I’ll have something brought up from the kitchen house. I think you should remain right here in this bed until at least tomorrow. Get some rest. The General will be here in the morning, the good Lord willing,” she added, excitement shining in her eyes. “A courier informed me he’s getting close to home at last!”
“Will it be possible for me to meet him?”
“I should certainly think so. You’re a guest in his house, after all.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful. He’s one of my great heroes, ma’am, even though I’m, well, you know, English.”
“He’s been through a terrible trial in this war. I was with him and General de Lafayette at Valley Forge three years ago. Mercy, I don’t know how any of us survived that coldest and grimmest of winters. Many of our poor troops had no blankets or tents, little food, and many didn’t even have shoes! But the General has survived this long war, and I’ve no doubt he’ll see us to victory over our tyrannical oppressors.”
“Yes, ma’am, I, too, am quite sure he will. In fact, I’m quite certain of it.”
Nick smiled briefly—he couldn’t help himself.
She eyed him very carefully. “Nicholas, I understand you came to us from Yorktown.”
“I did, ma’am.”
“In service to His Royal Majesty, King George, judging by the bright scarlet color of your coat when you arrived with the sentries. What regiment?”
“Drummer, Mrs. Washington. Second Light Infantry, 82nd Regiment, under the command of Major Thomas Armstrong now serving at Yorktown.”
“A drummer boy. You’re not going to beat a poor patriot senseless with drumsticks, are you, Nicholas?”
She favored him with a smile and Nick returned it. “Never, ma’am. I couldn’t be more grateful to you for taking me in and . . . providing such powerfully good care for me.”
“We Americans aren’t quite the savages your king and countrymen perceive us to be. We pride ourselves on our kindness and hospitality to strangers. Now, what, pray, is a young English drummer boy doing walking miles through cold rain from Yorktown to Mount Vernon, of all places? Over a hundred miles! Have you been sent by Lord Cornwallis to spy upon us, Nick? Stranger things have happened in this war. The General trusts no one. Not since Benedict Arnold. “You’ve heard of him? That despicable traitor?”
“Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. I’m no spy. I’ve only come to help. Help General Washington, I mean.”
“Help? Help him how?”
“It’s rather a complicated story, I’m afraid, and—long.”
“Lucy?” Mrs. Washington called out, and a strikingly pretty young African girl in a long white smock appeared in the doorway. “Yes’m, Miz Washington?” she replied.
“Please go out to the kitchen house, will you, and tell Mum Bitt that our young English patient has finally awakened from the dead and is positively ravenous. Perhaps some vegetable broth or chicken soup? And some nice hot tea for us both?”
“Yes’m. I’ll be back quick as I can,” Lucy said, and in the blink of an eye, she’d disappeared.
“Thank you, Lucy,” she called out, and then, turning to Nick, she pulled her chair closer to his bedside and smiled at him.
“I wonder, Nicholas. How do such men as Arnold live with themselves? Traitors. Liars. How do they ever stand before God?”
“I—I’m sure I don’t know, ma’am. I’m sorry.”
“Well. No matter, child. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you to consider such ponderous questions.”
“Yes. I suppose I do.”
“Now, Nicholas, I do so love a good story. Pray, tell me yours,” she said.
Nick paused a moment, taking a deep breath before he launched into his tale. He often worried about how easily fabricating falsehoods came to him now; and, to be honest, he was not at all proud of this newfound ability to do so. He had to keep reminding himself that he was, in fact, a spy. On the Nazis, and now on his own countrymen.
And spying meant lying. There was just no getting around that.
One thought consoled him as he looked into Mrs. Washington’s kindly brown eyes. He was here to help her husband win what was widely thought to be an unwinnable war. If he didn’t intercede on behalf of the colonists, the American war for independence from the Crown was lost.
He looked General Washington’s wife in the eye and began his tale.
“I come from a small island in the English Channel called Greybeard Island, ma’am. I lived there with my mum and dad. He was the lighthouse keeper, and the Greybeard Light itself was our home. There being no schoolhouse on the island, I was home-schooled by Mum. She was a great lover of history, literature, and heroes, and taught me to share her feeling of kinship with the past. Then, soon after the current war broke out, my mum died of the scarlet fever.”
“I’m terribly sorry, Nicholas. My sympathies.”
“Thank you kindly, ma’am. She was a fine person, a wonderful mother, and I loved her very much. Father, as well, was lost without her. We barely spoke for six months. One day, when the mourning time was over, he told me we would be sailing soon for London. He’d decided that we’d both join the British Army. He was a crack shot and would enlist as an infantryman. Because of my age, I was to be a drummer. Because of my beliefs, I didn’t want to go to war against the colonists, but as my father was determined, I had little choice. And so we did.”
“You believed in our glorious cause?”
“I did and do, as do many of my countrymen, though they remain silent. History, as I learned, is filled to overflowing with tyrants but not nearly so many as those yearning to be free. My mother and I would never admit this to Father, of course, but the more we followed the events of this war in the news journals from London, the more we came to admire brave men like General Washington, who would risk everything in the cause of freedom and democracy. Such thoughts were treasonous on our part, of course, but it was our little secret.”
“So, you and your father sailed for America together?”
“We did. He made sure I was always attached to his regiment. Because of his battlefield skills and bravery, he was quickly promoted to lieutenant major, and he kept me at his side as much as he was able. As Father was second to Major Armstrong, our commander at Yorktown directly under Lord Cornwallis, I spent much time in their august company. Keeping my eyes and ears open, I was able to gather a lot of valuable information, as you might guess.”
“Military secrets?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nick said, reaching beneath his bed for the leather tube he’d hidden there. “There are charts and documents here that are vital to the General’s success. That’s why I walked from Yorktown to Mount Vernon. In hopes of getting all I knew into the General’s hands.”
“Did you tell your father you were deserting? Stealing military secrets and defecting to the Colonists’ cause?”
“I wasn’t able. He was killed, ma’am, in a mortar attack on the fort two weeks ago today.”
“I’m so terribly sorry, Nicholas, for your grievous losses. You’re all alone in the world now, aren’t you, child?”
“Yes, ma’am. But I’ll see my mum in heaven someday. And Father died a hero, defending his most cherished beliefs. When my time comes, I only hope it will be in the same fashion as my father.”
“You’re a very brave young man, Nicholas McIver.”
“I thank you for that compliment, ma’am. But I don’t think I’ve earned it yet. Words count for naught.”
At that moment Lucy suddenly appeared with a silver tray, and the room was filled with wonderful aromas. Nick had never been so hungry in his life.
“Thank you, Lucy,” Mrs. Washington said, as she put the tray on the table beside Nick’s bed.
/> “Yes, thank you so much,” Nick added, smiling at the pretty Lucy as she silently withdrew.
Mrs. Washington stood, sipping her tea and watching Nick devour the steaming vegetable broth.
“I’ve a great deal left to do before my dear husband’s arrival, Nicholas, so I shall leave you in peace and go about my preparations.”
“Thank you for all you’ve done, ma’am.”
She nodded, crossed the room to the door, paused, and looked back at him. “Nicholas?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I’ve a special place in my heart for children that have been sorely tested by the almighty. It’s good to have a child under this old roof again. I had four children of my own. I lost three of them when they were very young. Only my son, Jacky, survived. He’s a grown man now and married. It’s a terrible, terrible thing when a mother loses a child, her children, you must understand that.”
“I’m sorry for what you’ve suffered, Mrs. Washington.”
“I trust you, Nicholas McIver. You seem a good boy, with a keen mind and a brave spirit. I shall introduce you to my husband tomorrow when I find it suits him. Tell him what you will, share your secrets. But I shall tell you one thing, and you should think well upon it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t ever betray my trust.”
She closed the door before he could reply, and he was left alone with his thoughts.
38
“THE GENERAL IS HOME AT LAST!”
Next morning Nick was up bright and early, his whole being tingling with excitement. Beyond his upstairs window, the sun shone benevolently in a cloudless sky, scattering gold coins on the river. He was surprised to find his white breeches, stockings, and tunic all cleaned, neatly pressed, and folded on the chair beside his bed. His scarlet British Army coat had somehow disappeared, which was probably all to the good. Redcoats, be they human or uniform, weren’t exactly welcome in the great General Washington’s home. And, Nick knew, the famous man was returning to Mount Vernon this very day.
