WHEN I GOT HOME from my ride that day, nobody scolded because I had missed breakfast.
Pa had received news that British General John Burgoyne was coming through a hundred miles of howling wilderness to attack America from Canada.
I don't know if he got to write the letter that day to John. But I wrote mine.
I told of the wedding, of how we'd soon be living in the Governor's Mansion. How I hated it already. I spoke little of the wedding, however. I did say I was sorry, and that Pa had never known he, John, was taken with Dorothea.
"I think her spoiled and deceitful for not having told him sooner herself, John," I wrote. "And being such, you should be glad to be rid of her."
I told him about his horses and how well they were doing. And how they'd be ready to be raced when he came home again.
***
IT TOOK ME AWHILE to ponder the why of it. I suppose my letter got there before Pa's. So that by the time Pa untangled himself from worrying about Saratoga and wrote his, John never opened Pa's letter.
We never found out until months later that John did not open it, until it was returned to Pa from General Washington.
With a note from the general himself.
Although I was not at Saratoga, I have been informed that your son, artillery Captain John Henry, distinguished himself there on the battlefield with great valor. However, after the battle, which was such a victory for us, was finished, young Captain Henry snapped his sword to pieces, flung it to the ground and went raving mad, according to reports, as he walked amongst the American dead and dying, lingering long over the bodies of those he had known so well.
The boy's ill state of health ever since obliged him to quit the service about three months past. I therefore extend to you my sincere concern and best wishes and return to you his letter.
***
PA SENT BARLEY with money and clothing to bring John home. John was then in New Jersey.
***
IT WAS CLEAR to me. My letter had gotten to him. By the time Pa's came, he knew everything. So he crumbled it up and put it in his pocket and went to war.
The war I could have kept him from, if I had told Ra the truth about him. Instead of keeping it to myself.
As I'd kept to myself the secret Mama had told me. That he was the one to inherit the sickness of the mind.
I did it to protect John. Now I wonder if not telling made things worse for him.
When do you keep a secret and when do you tell a lie? When do you go too far to protect those you love? When is lying to keep them safe wrong?
I know now. Leastwise I think I do.