18

“LADIES,” CALLED THE lieutenant cheerfully as he and his servant stamped their boots and rubbed hands together, “I wish you a good evening. It’s pleasing to have a fire.” Snow was on his shoulders.

Both Mother and I had risen when they came in, and she dutifully replied to the lieutenant’s greeting. Full of unease, I kept my eyes upon the ground but could not avoid peeking up at him. He was gazing only at Mother. Is he keeping himself from looking at me?

He must have sensed our mood, for he said, “Is something amiss?”

“Mr. Calderwood would like to speak to you in the morning.”

“I shall wait upon him. But, ladies, I have some wretched news. Wretched for me, at least.”

I looked up, startled.

“I’ve been transferred to Staten Island. That’s where most of the green-coated Hessian troops are. With my knowledge of German, I’m needed there. In short, I must be leaving your house.”

My release of tension upon hearing this news was followed by pain and regret. Was the removal his choice? Was it because he had learned about William? In an instant, I told myself he had real affection for me, and that this was his way of removing himself from our painful situation. That he was being considerate. Next moment I was sure he was merely removing himself from any connection with rebels. Forcing myself to look at him, I smiled warmly the way all women are taught to do.

When John André glanced in my direction, I tried to read his eyes. He turned away, so I chose to think that had been his way of assuring me we had a secret and it was safe. It was so like the books I’d read: true affection always has obstacles to overcome.

Mother made a short speech about how sorry she was to hear his news.

André thanked her and said he was required to say that no doubt another officer would come and take his place. The housing shortage remained acute.

“Will you be leaving soon?” Mother asked.

“Very soon. I won’t go without speaking to Mr. Calderwood. And I give you my pledge, if there is anything I can do for you, you need only ask.”

As he spoke these precise words, André glanced at me, which I chose to interpret as an offer to help William.

He made a chivalrous bow and bade us a good night. Just as he went up the steps, he paused to look to me again. Significantly, I thought.

Which is why, though in fact he said nothing, I had bravado enough to call, “Lieutenant, is there anything that has made you regret your staying here?”

That wonderful smile. “I assure you, Miss Calderwood, nothing. Quite the contrary.” That said, he bowed toward me, and then he and his servant were up the steps and out of sight.

As soon as he was gone, Mother turned to me. “There,” she said with enthusiasm. “He’s pledged to help William.”

I could only nod my agreement and turn away, so she would not see the tears of gratitude welling in my eyes. If John André did that, I would forgive him anything.

“It’s time for bed,” she said. “Will you bank the fire?” She left the room, tactfully giving me time to compose myself. Ah, she knew me well.

Grateful for her consideration, I knelt to work the coals into a smoldering heap so that they would remain until morning. In my state, I hardly knew what to do with the emotions I had for John André. No wonder that I made a metaphor of what I was doing: I would bank my fires of affection for John André, and wait for such day and time that I could allow them to burst into flame again.

I retrieved my blue ribbon and poem from their hiding place, a tin box in which I kept old flower petals, flowers he had once brought. I meant to throw all into the fire. Instead, after gazing at each item, I returned them to the box.

Moreover, I promised myself that starting the next day I would do everything in my power to assist my brother. As for John André, I would put aside—for now—any affection I had for him. If there is such a thing as pleasurable regret, I had it.

Ah, I blush to tell it so! But I have promised you honesty, Dear Reader, and I shall hold to it.