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THE STORM RAGED ALL night and only began to let up the following morning. Upon awakening, Betsy wondered if Joseph and his men had become drenched whilst digging Paul Trumbell’s grave, or had they managed to complete the task before the hard rain began to fall? After dressing, she wrapped her cloak about herself and hurried out to the newsstand for a copy of the Pennsylvania Packet. Soon after returning home, Sarah rapped at her door.
Shaking raindrops from her cloak, she followed Betsy into the parlor where a warm fire crackled in the hearth. “I’m so very grateful to you and Joseph for finding Rachel. Our parents are also deeply indebted to you.”
“I’m grateful that Joseph persevered,” Betsy said. “Would you like some tea, Sarah? I’ve just poured myself a cup.”
“Indeed, I would. Thank you.” Sarah settled herself onto a wing chair whilst Betsy fetched the teapot. “I confess I still feel quite distressed to have had no word from William.”
Betsy handed her sister a cup of the steaming brew. “I was just reading in the morning paper that General Sullivan, who you recall was captured by the British last month on Long Island, arrived in Philadelphia a few days ago to meet with the Continental Congress. The committee that our statesmen appointed is now in New York meeting with General Howe to negotiate the terms of the peace treaty. I believe the war is nearly over, Sarah,” she declared.
“Oh.” Sarah brightened. “Surely that means William will be returning home soon. That is if . . .” her smile faltered, “if . . . he is still alive.”
“Do not lose faith, Sarah. We found Rachel alive. I am certain William is, as well.”
“I pray you are right, Sister.”
The girls fell to discussing other news and eventually the conversation returned to Rachel.
“She said she never did know why she was kidnapped,” Sarah remarked. “She said that the large man, whose name she never learned, was surly and uncommunicative, that the morning after he tied her up in the barn, François came and assured her that he would not allow the man to
harm her. She said that every day someone, either the man who took her or another one, brought her food and untied one hand so she might feed herself.”
“Given all that Rachel endured, it’s understandable she is still confused and frightened by the experience.”
“What do you and Joseph make of it? Rachel said you told her François wanted to keep her alive because he was threatening you for some reason.”
Betsy set down her teacup. She had feared Sarah would probe for answers to questions she still did not wish to answer. Without revealing any of the particulars regarding François’s threat, Betsy confirmed only that he was indeed threatening her and that it was vastly important that neither Sarah nor Rachel ever see him again. “François must not be presented with the opportunity to harm either you or Rachel,” Betsy concluded firmly.
“Our parents have declared that Rachel will never, ever be allowed to leave the house alone again and most certainly not after dark. She is forbidden to walk to my home, or to any of her girlfriend’s homes. Our parents mean to keep a close watch on their youngest daughter now.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
“Rachel has proven far more rebellious than you or I ever were. Oh, did I tell you?” Sarah smiled. “Hannah is soon to marry. Which means our father now has only one more daughter to marry off.”
“I knew Hannah had a beau but I did not know their romance had progressed so far.” Betsy smiled. “I do hope her marriage will not fuel Rachel’s dream of marrying François.”
Sarah sighed. “I fear she does still fancy herself in love with him.”
Betsy squirmed. Quite clearly, not all danger from François Dubeau was behind them.
* * *
THAT EVENING, BETSY grew anxious awaiting Joseph’s arrival. She’d spent several hours that afternoon preparing a delicious meal of pastry pies filled with shredded mutton, potatoes, carrots, and leeks, and had seasoned the mixture with the tasty spices Joseph brought her. She had also considered preparing a pot of green peas, but after reading an account in the morning paper that a plot to kill General Washington had been uncovered when two chickens fell over dead after eating green peas that Washington had merely pushed around on his plate, she decided against it.
Still the delicious aroma of what she had prepared wafted up from the kitchen as she drew two fine china plates from the cupboard and arranged everything just so on the table in the parlor. She regretted having no flowers to brighten the table and instead settled on a painted blue and white figurine depicting a couple dancing the minuet. She and John had received the whimsical statuette as a gift when they married.
When Joseph finally arrived, Betsy greeted him with a barrage of questions concerning his previous night’s adventure.
Shrugging out of his heavy woolen coat, Joseph said, “We decided it would take far too long to dig a hole large enough to bury Trumbell, so . . . we merely dragged him into the barn and set fire to it.”
“Oh, my.” Betsy grimaced.
“Blaze shot right to the sky. We watched until the roof caved in, then we fled. I didn’t worry about the fire spreading to the woods, since by then rain had already begun to douse the flames.”
“So.” Betsy sighed. “It’s done.” She paused. “We’ve committed a crime, Joseph,” she murmured with sad finality.
He drew her into his arms. “It couldn’t be helped, love. We’ve no way of knowing whether or not Rachel would have survived her captor.”
“I’m loath to admit it, but I daresay it was due to François’s intervention that we found Rachel alive. Trumbell would have killed her straightaway, thinking he was doing away with me. As I’ve said before, I’m certain Trumbell killed Toby. Although, I haven’t proof and I don’t know why he did.”
“Something to do with spying, no doubt.”
Betsy rested her head on Joseph’s shoulder. “I’ve worried about you all day, Joseph.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Well, it smells as if you managed to put aside your worry long enough to prepare a delicious dinner.”
Betsy smiled as the two took seats at the table and settled down to enjoy the tasty meal. It felt as if she’d prepared a special dinner for her husband, who’d returned home to her at the end of a long day. She’d even put on one of the lovely dresses Joseph had brought her and noticed that he was more finely turned out tonight than usual in an ivory damask shirt, dark blue knee breeches, ivory hose and buckled shoes instead of the rugged boots he typically wore.
“You look lovely in that pretty frock,” Joseph said later when she came up from the kitchen bearing a tray laden with spiced apple tarts and cups of steaming hot coffee.
“Thank you, sir. You look quite handsome yourself tonight.”
“I’ve not had much of an opportunity to wear my new finery,” Joseph said with a self-conscious grin.
Later, after he’d nudged the fire to a blaze and they were settled side-by-side on the sofa, Betsy snuggled closer to him.
“Sarah conveyed my parent’s gratitude to us for rescuing Rachel.”
“I’m glad you insisted we go out there last night. If my men and I had trekked further into the woods yesterday morning, we might have found her a good deal sooner.”
“But Trumbell might not have been on the premises then,” Betsy pointed out. “And now he is safely gone from our lives.” After a pause, she said, “You mustn’t feel guilty for what you did, Joseph. When one takes into account Paul Trumbell’s many transgressions, Toby’s vile murder, crimes committed against the Patriots, kidnapping Rachel and breaking into my home . . . twice, I daresay he deserved . . .”
“Justice for the giant was, indeed, a long time coming,” Joseph agreed. “To be honest, I don’t feel the least bit guilty about taking his life. By the time I jumped him, he had already pulled his knife. I was merely defending myself.”
“You were defending all three of us. He would have killed you and me; then felt compelled to slay Rachel to ensure she’d not speak of our deaths to anyone.”
Joseph heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately, Trumbell is not the first man I’ve killed. In my line of work, I rather expect he’ll not be the last.”
Thinking further on the troubling experience, both fell silent. Presently Betsy said, “I wonder what François thought when he discovered the barn burned to the ground. Did he think Rachel had also burned to death?”
“Perhaps he thought Trumbell set the fire in blatant disregard of his orders.”
“François’s threat is all that hangs over our heads now.”
“Which may come to nothing,” Joseph said. “Newspapers today were full of stories regarding the meeting of our delegates with the British generals in New York.”
Betsy looked up. “Do you think it means the war is truly over?”
Joseph’s head shook. “I still cannot fathom our troops giving up so easily.”
Betsy stared into the fire. “But wouldn’t it be wonderful if the war could end with no further bloodshed?”
“In all likelihood, love, I just don’t see that happening.”
A few evenings later, in the hope of learning the truth about the current state of the war, Betsy attended a Fighting Quaker meeting and was astonished by what she heard from the group’s leader that night.