“Your modesty becomes you, Mistress,” he said—and he looked her straight in the eyes. “I have seen your handiwork. In addition, having heard your contributions to our deliberations this evening, I am confident that you understand the full significance of the work to be carried out.” His gaze flicked briefly to the sketch before Lynch.
“The symbolism of a flag proclaims those virtues upon which our hopes are founded. To craft such a flag is a sacred trust. No military officer under my command could boast a commission of more significance, no matter what his rank. It is my earnest hope that you will accept this commission, for which your unique qualities have prepared you so well.”
“Well said, General, well said,” Franklin responded briskly, looking very pleased, though Arabella could hardly believe what she had just heard. “Will you do it, Mistress Wallace?”
She glanced down at her notes, hoping her relief was not too obvious. The private meaning behind the General’s words could not be clearer. By asking her to ‘craft’ his first battle flag, he seemed also to be affirming that he accepted what had been done in this room only days before.
“I shall be honored, gentlemen,” she said. “For this first one, ’tis a simple enough task to alter an existing red ensign for our purposes. We need only apply white stripes upon the red.” She cocked her head wistfully. “For that matter, if it comes to that, converting to the later version, with the new constellation, is simply a matter of removing the two crosses from the old union and adding the stars to the blue that’s left.”
Lynch chuckled. “ ’Tis clear that Mistress Wallace has the entire matter well in hand—and that we have a ready source of flags for our new union.”
“Aye,” Harrison said, “but the question remains whether a new flag can be ready by the New Year.”
“Of course,” Arabella replied. “White cloth is easy enough to procure—though it may be necessary to enlist help with the sewing from among other ladies of my acquaintance.”
“Just so long as you are circumspect in your choice of helpers,” Franklin said over his spectacles. A droll smile curved at his lips as he glanced at Harrison and Lynch to explain. “In the past Mistress Wallace has been wont to entertain the wives of British officers to tea. Sometimes they confide the most fascinating details about their husbands’ military activities—as the General has cause to appreciate.” He shifted his gaze to Washington. “I trust you do agree, General, that no advance knowledge of our intent should reach the British until they see the new flag fly above Prospect Hill?”
“Precisely my thought,” Washington said. “And I know that we may count upon Mistress Wallace’s utter discretion.”
“Good, then,” Harrison said, pushing back his chair as Arabella breathed a silent sigh of relief. “That’s decided. We have our design, and Mistress Wallace shall produce the first flag for these United Colonies, to be flown on the first of the New Year. Thomas, I believe we’ve imposed on the lady’s hospitality long enough. I, for one, am eager to seek out our colleagues at the Bull and Bush and test a few reactions. You may rely upon our discretion, Dr. Franklin, General.”
Within a few minutes the two were gone into the night, but Franklin and the General stayed for nearly an hour more, deeply immersed in further converse with the Professor. Simon stayed as well, since he was to escort the General back to his headquarters, but he made himself as unobtrusive as possible, saying nothing. This was Saint-Germain’s time with the two patriot leaders, laying the subtle groundwork for the future, and it was obvious that the seeds being sown were falling on fertile ground.
No word passed between him and Simon when the General finally announced that he must go, but a glance was sufficient, as Simon brought the General’s hat, cloak, and sword and then headed outside to bring around the horses. The Professor rose to bid the visitors farewell, but he remained in the library as Arabella escorted Franklin and the General to the door and saw them off. Franklin started out on foot, with cheery reassurances that he did not mind walking alone, but Washington and Simon walked their horses beside him for some distance, still talking, before they spurred off for headquarters.
Arabella watched from the doorway until they had disappeared from sight, then returned to the library. Andrew had sat down again in her absence—still the Professor, surveying her with that compelling gaze—but the flesh that was Andrew looked suddenly very tired.
“I believe we may count this evening a success,” the Professor told her, just barely managing a faint smile. “Dr. Franklin played his part to perfection, and the General rose to the occasion equally well. Now that we have provided a potent rallying point in the new flag, we shall see whether Washington meets his next challenge as successfully. That is partly in Simon’s hands.”
As she looked at him in question, not entirely certain what he meant, he laid his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.
“I must end this now,” he whispered. “The link stretches over a vast distance, farther than I have ever worked before, and your beau-père is unaccustomed to such use. You need not worry that I shall do this again without warning, or without his active cooperation. I thank you for your cooperation and assistance. Au revoir for now, ma petite.”
So saying, he drew a long, deep breath and let it out with a slight shudder. A breathy little gasp, and it was definitely Andrew opening his eyes, momentarily a little dazed and disoriented. He raised a hand to his forehead as he blinked at her, only gradually able to focus his good eye in recognition.
“Arabella,” he murmured.
With a little sob she knelt beside his chair and took one hand in hers, pressing it to her lips.
“Is it really you, Beau-père?” she murmured. “Do you remember what happened?”
Andrew blinked at her again and lifted his gaze above her head, focusing on something beyond that only he could see.
“Of course I remember. I’m fine, my dear—a little tired is all. The others all have gone?”
At her distracted nod he smiled a little and stroked her hair gently with his free hand.
“Good. I’m very tired. I must sleep very soon. A most intriguing evening, was it not? And Washington—what a canny fellow! I had hoped he would come around, where you are concerned. And now you’re to make his first proper battle flag. ’Tis a great honor, ’Bella.”
“Is that all you can say?” she asked, almost indignantly.
He managed a weary laugh at that, but his obvious fatigue only underlined the cost of the night’s work. He staggered a little as he stood, clearly favoring his game leg; and though he assured her he could manage alone, Arabella helped him up the stairs anyway. He dismissed her quite firmly at the door to his room.
Outside another door, another Wallace was not to be so dismissed.
“Please come into my office for a moment before you retire, Major,” the General said when he and Simon had returned to Vassall House and were heading up the stairs.
Simon said nothing as he followed the General into the room and closed the door softly behind them. The request had almost the tone of a command, though this was not unexpected, given the tenor of the discussion they had just left.
The private meeting with the Professor had set the seal on the night’s work by revealing a glimpse of the Master Tracing Board. Through Andrew, the Master had offered a compelling vision of American destiny, predicting the coming of the Novus Ordo Seclorum, a new order for the New World, predicated on enlightenment and universal brotherhood and the establishment of human rights and liberty—philosophic ideals long nurtured and perpetuated by individuals and esoteric fraternities engaged in the Great Work, of which Freemasonry was a prime example. A nation founded upon such principles might one day take its rightful place among all the governments of the world and serve as inspiration and example for those to come. Those fated to assist at the birth of such a nation would be her guardians, her champions, her defenders.
Washington had listened avidly, for the Master’s w
ords clearly touched on hopes only beginning to take conscious shape. He could not but have further questions. And if he asked the right ones …
As the General set his candle on the desk and walked to the window to pull aside the curtain and gaze distractedly at the snow falling in the yard below, Simon came to stand beside him. At this hour, and on this subject, they must keep their voices low. By the light of the single candle it was just possible to make out the General’s features as he turned slightly in Simon’s direction.
“This—‘Professor,’ ” he said. “I cannot recall having heard a surname. What do you know of him?”
Coolly Simon kept his gaze focused on the questioning face.
“He is a friend of my father’s, as he said, sir,” he said truthfully. “He is a very learned man. I have known him for some time.”
Washington nodded, apparently unaware that Simon had not volunteered the Professor’s surname, saying nothing as he turned to gaze out at the snow again. Then:
“Either you, or your house—or perhaps even your wife—seem to have a very odd effect on me sometimes, Major,” he said quietly. “Tonight I remembered more of the dream. The setting continues to be a very formal, proper Lodge—with the exception of your wife’s presence—but this time I saw the face of the man seated in the Master’s chair. He was your Professor.” As he snapped his head around to gauge Simon’s reaction, the younger man only smiled.
“That does not surprise me, sir.”
Clearly astonished, Washington blinked at him in bewilderment for several seconds, then groped behind him for the chair behind the desk and sat down, never taking his eyes from Simon.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“A poor widow’s son.”
“And what else?” Washington insisted.
Drawing his intention from the Master’s own instructions, Simon bent to set both hands lightly on the ends of Washington’s chair arms, leaning down so that their faces were no more than a foot apart.
“I am a tool in the hands of The Great Architect of the Universe, directed by His Master of the Works, whom you now have seen,” he said softly. “I am a pale reflection of what you may become, if you rise to that high destiny which is written in the stars for you. The dream you were given is the key. Remember all its parts, match all the elements, reflect the inner in the outer and the outer in the inner, and potentials shall become potencies, the victor’s crown yours in fact.”
“I—don’t understand,” Washington murmured, a little dazed looking, but not alarmed.
“Then why does the dream continue to haunt you, General?” Simon persisted. “Counting tonight, you now have mentioned it to me three times. Its details elude you, but you sense the importance of remembering. By its form, cloaked in the symbolism of the Craft, you suspect a spiritual significance beyond the literal meaning—and you are correct! For what is required is nothing less than the quest for enlightenment, the refinement of the human spirit that shall make you worthy to take up the sword of the champion, and eventually to wear the laurel crown of victory!”
The General had listened spellbound as Simon spoke, his expression shifting from dazed to uneasy. Now, though Simon still loomed above him, he at last managed to wrench his gaze away.
“I fear you may have placed far too much meaning on my talk of dreams, Major,” he said. “The symbolism of the dream perhaps describes an ideal, even a secret longing on my part—and I cannot explain why that dream is peopled with those associated with your family—but dreams and ideals will not buy powder and muskets and food for my army. I must not let myself be swayed from the practical concerns that are my duty as Commander in Chief.”
As the General at last dared to look at Simon again, the younger man slowly straightened, nodding.
“Was it ‘practical concerns’ that you called me in to discuss, sir, at this hour?” he asked softly.
Washington blinked and stared hard at him.
“No,” he whispered, barely breathing the word.
“Then I shall speak plainly and to the point, sir, for the hour is late, and we cannot predict when a guard or another of your aides might interrupt this discussion, curious as to why a light burns so late in the General’s office.” Simon crouched down beside the chair to lean closer to his listener.
“Beyond a general wish to see this present struggle favorably resolved against the British, be assured that I have no ‘practical concern’ beyond being a loyal officer and easing the burden of command for you. It is not for me to influence the decisions which are and of right ought to be yours, or to compel or coerce you in any way. Should you come to regard me as a friend as well as a subordinate, I will deem it as a sacred trust; but I shall be content merely to serve in whatever capacity you think appropriate.” He smiled. “This assumes, of course, that after tonight you do not decide that I have gone quite mad, and that you no longer wish me on your staff—in which case, I shall dutifully, if regretfully, offer my resignation.
“As for the dream—” He allowed himself a shrug and a faint sigh. “I have said what I may, at this time. I shall only add that you need not search alone for the dream’s deeper meaning. If you will have me, my charge is to serve you as catalyst and guide, drawing and urging you toward that inner fulfillment which best serves the Great Work.”
For a long time the General simply stared at him. Simon could almost hear the questions whirling through the other man’s mind—the fears, the doubts, the uncertainties.
“You are—oddly convincing, Major,” he said at last, very quietly. “Suppose that I were to accept that everything you say is true.”
“If you believe that it is, you have only to take my hand,” Simon said, lifting his right hand between them, never taking his eyes from Washington’s. “If you do, I shall give you my holy bond, as one Master Mason to another, that I have but one ambition in this life: to faithfully execute the plans laid out upon the Tracing Board of The Great Architect—and assist you to read and execute those plans as well. Remembering the dream is the key, and the path to the victor’s crown.”
“I—see,” the General said slowly, after a stunned pause. “And what—bond would you expect of me in return?”
“Your confidence. Your trust. And so that nothing may distract you from your Work, I would require that you put this conversation from your mind, once our hands have parted.”
“Would that it were that easy, Major. I cannot forget what I have heard.”
“And I do not ask you to forget it—merely to set it aside until need recalls it at the proper time.”
With an audible swallow Washington flicked his gaze briefly from Simon’s face. “I almost believe you have the power to make that possible,” he whispered.
“If I did, would you permit it?”
Washington blinked, confusion and a little fear stirring behind the gray-blue eyes.
“Do you have that power?”
“Rest assured that I shall do nothing without your consent, sir.”
“That does not answer my question.”
“I may give you no other,” Simon said quietly.
“And how … if I should refuse your offer?” the General asked, after a long pause.
Simon shrugged, smiling and still holding out his hand. “If you refuse, then I cannot help you.”
“And if I should call a guard, right now?”
“Then this conversation has never taken place. No one will believe it has taken place, your credibility will be vastly undermined if you try to insist that it has, and this offer will not be made again.”
For a long moment Washington simply stared at him, weighing his fears. Then he slowly lifted his right hand, though he stopped short of touching Simon’s.
“You aren’t some kind of sorcerer, are you?”
“No, sir, I am not.”
Very cautiously, Washington drew a long, deep breath and let it out.
“Somehow, I believe you,” he said—and clasped his hand to Simon’s.
<
br /> Chapter Fourteen
In the run-up to the new year Washington made no further reference to his late-night conversation with Simon. Arabella worked diligently and alone on the General’s new flag, though all of the Wallaces, including little James, had put in a few stitches before Simon delivered it to headquarters on the afternoon of December 31.
That night the General and Mrs. Washington attended services at nearby Christ Church, only just reopened after use as a barracks earlier in the year. Many of the General’s staff officers and their families were also in the congregation that night, joined in prayer for the survival of the beleaguered colonies. The bells tolled in the new year, but there was no other music to intrude on the solemnity of the occasion, for the church’s organ pipes had been melted down for bullets.
More festive ceremonial attended the military spectacle of the following day, intended as a celebration of the formal establishment of the Continental Army. To the music of fife and drum, and witnessed by many of the citizens of Cambridge, Washington marshaled much of the American Army at Prospect Hill for New Year’s parade and inspection and the presentation of the new standard. Andrew took Arabella and the children to watch from their carriage as the flag was rigged to a tall pine-tree liberty pole especially prepared for the occasion. The Commander in Chief hoisted the new flag aloft with his own hands, as hats were doffed in salute and hundreds of throats shouted heartfelt huzzahs. Thirteen cannons roared their approval.
The event was noted even from the British emplacements guarding Boston, where British officers turned their spyglasses on the flag first with puzzlement and then with evident approval.
“Well, there’s a rebel rag I haven’t seen before,” a British colonel remarked to several of his officers as he scanned his glass over the distant scene. “Strange—those red and white stripes make it very like the flag of the English East India Company.”
“Perhaps it’s a sign of submission, then,” said one of his captains. “They will have read the King’s speech by now. They cannot have failed to grasp the consequences if they do not submit.”
Two Crowns for America Page 18
