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“CHRISTMAS DAY AT NIGHT, one hour before day, is the time fixed for our attempt on Trenton. For Heaven’s sake, keep this to yourself, as the discovery of it may prove fatal to us.” . . . General George Washington, December 23, 1776, in a dispatch to General Reed in Philadelphia.
The following day being the eve of Christmas, it did not surprise Betsy when Sarah rapped at her door quite early.
“I simply had to know if you are safe,” Sarah said. “I am so glad you are home.”
“Do come in out of the cold, Sarah.”
Betsy closed the door behind her sister and the girls hurried into the parlor where Betsy had been seated before a crackling fire sipping rather weak tea. Although the beverage was more steaming hot water than tea, she offered her sister a cup, thinking that to hold the heated mug in her hands would warm them. It was frightfully cold that day; the howling wind blowing so hard it caused all the windowpanes in the house to rattle. Ice crystals had formed on every pane of glass and it was not yet ten of the clock in the morning.
“I am certain it will snow before the day is out,” Betsy said, settling herself on the sofa beside Sarah.
“I am grateful the worst of the foul weather held off until you returned,” Sarah said. “Is Joanna well? Is her husband safe? Does she know where his regiment is?”
Smiling, Betsy relayed news of her sister-in-law and her trip, without mentioning a word of what had transpired after she returned to the Pennsylvania side of the river yesterday afternoon.
“I rode nearly the whole way home yesterday in freezing rain.”
“You rode?”
Pausing, Betsy quickly fabricated a small falsehood. “Soon after it began to sprinkle, I was fortunate enough to come upon another traveler also headed this way and gladly accepted the offer of a ride in the bed of his wagon. I arrived home drenched to the bone.”
“Oh, my. I hope you did not take a chill. How do you feel today?”
“Quite well, thank you.” Betsy took a sip of tea. “I sat by the fire all last evening to dry my hair. My clothes are still draped over chairs in the kitchen drying. Did you and George go to the rebel camp yesterday?”
Sarah nodded. “Uncle Abel took us in his cart. Mother and a number of other Quaker women had prepared a good many dishes for the men to enjoy over the next several days, it being Christmas.” She looked down, her blue eyes troubled. “I am so thankful to have been able to see William again. But, he said that since the weather is turning nasty it would be best if we did not come again for a while.” Her chin trembled. “I hope that does not mean . . .” Her tone grew anxious. “I-I suppose if the army means to launch an attack upon Trenton before Christmas, it will have to be . . . today, or . . . tonight.”
Betsy’s brow furrowed. “Surely the rebels would not attack tomorrow, on Christmas Day.”
“I pray they will not attack at all!”
Betsy reached to pat her sister’s hand. “The Lord has kept William safe thus far.”
Sarah sniffed back worried tears. “Surely neither army will fight in such foul weather.”
Betsy recalled the maps she had seen spread out on the makeshift desk inside General Washington’s tent. Had she interrupted the officers discussing strategy for their proposed attack? Given that all boats of a size in the vicinity had been destroyed she still could not fathom how General Washington meant to transport the troops across the Delaware River especially if a blinding snowstorm ensued, an event that now seemed imminent. In all likelihood, ice floes were already forming on the river. Did the troops make their crossing last night? Perhaps they were even now on their way to Trenton. Or, were they already there and fighting? When a shudder rippled through her, she offered up a silent prayer for a quick end to the battle, and for William and Joanna’s safety.
She and Sarah talked a bit longer and when the gunmetal gray sky grew even grayer, Sarah decided it best to return home before snow, or sleet, began to fall. “Has Joseph returned home?” she asked Betsy as they walked back through the house.
“I don’t know. I have not spoken with Aunt Ashburn since I went for the cart the day I left for Trenton. I am certain he’ll come to see me the minute he returns to town.”
“I do hope it will be soon. I feel dreadful that you’re alone today, Betsy, on Christmas Eve. I can hardly bear to think of you alone tomorrow, on Christmas Day.”
“I shall be fine. Promise me you’ll set aside your worries and enjoy a pleasant day with our family.”
Sarah embraced her sister. “It isn’t right that Mother and Father continue to shun thee, Betsy.”
“Don’t fret, Sarah. I expect Joseph will come home today, and if not, then surely tomorrow.”
* * *
BUT, JOSEPH DID NOT come. By late afternoon on Christmas Day, Betsy had all but given up hope that she’d see him that day. Fluffy white snow now blanketed the entire city and this morning, the snow had turned to ice. Wind gusts whipped mounds of snow into whirling funnels. Were Betsy to open her front door today, piles of snow would cascade into the foyer. The winter storm had become an all-out blizzard, reminding Betsy of that horrible day nearly a twelvemonth ago when John set out to take his turn at guard duty.
As dusk fell on that holy day, Betsy stood alone gazing from the front window, her eyes blanched as she strained to peer through the ice crystals on the windowpane for Joseph. Staring out over the wintry landscape she imagined his shadowy form taking shape out of the foggy whiteness. She remembered that bleak winter afternoon last January when she had stood at this very window, anxiously watching John’s huddled form disappear into the thick falling snow. Unbidden tears sprang to her eyes and although she tried, she could not dislodge those heart-wrenching memories from mind.
Turning from the window, she hurried back through the gloomy darkness into the parlor. Grasping the poker that stood propped against the hearth, Betsy attempted to shove around what remained of the few smoldering logs in the fire until she had created a nest of sorts, then, she carefully dropped a fresh log onto the glowing embers. Watching sparks leap upward, her thoughts turned to the hundreds of young men encamped not far from here in the frozen woods. To imagine those skeletal, vacant-eyed men finding warmth on a day such as this was not possible. Even if the men sat crowded together inside their tents in a futile attempt to escape the howling wind and the snow and ice and stay warm by huddling close to one another, she knew they would not succeed. She prayed the troops were not on the march today; every last man hungry and poorly clad as they tramped through knee-high snow on their way to, or from, the ferry on the New Jersey shore.
She also wondered if François had returned to Philadelphia, or had General Washington detained him? Reaching for a warm woolen shawl, Betsy wrapped it about her shoulders and curled her legs up beneath her body on the sofa. Of a sudden, it occurred to her that other than the howling wind and now the hiss of ice hitting the windowpanes, she’d heard virtually no sounds at all today. Not even a dog barking. Truth was, she had also not laid eyes upon a single soul since yesterday morning when Sarah came to see her. So far as she knew the houses on both sides of her stood empty, the occupants having packed up and departed some weeks ago, taking what they could with them and hiding the rest in cellars or holes they managed to dig in the ground before it froze so hard no tool could penetrate the earth. With so few citizens remaining in Philadelphia the city had become a virtual ghost town. The world seemed so silent today that if she did not know better, she’d think she was the only person alive in it.
Why did being alone on Christmas Day feel so lonely?
It was not that she missed having gifts to open or exclaim over. Even as a child, Griscom family members had not exchanged gifts at Christmastide. Their strict Quaker upbringing did not hold with that. Thinking back on her childhood, she did recall that upon a few Christmases her mother had presented the girls with new white caps, sans frills, of course, for Quakers did not hold with that either. A sigh escaped her as she stared into the flickering flames. No, what she truly missed on this lonesome Christmas Day was . . . family. Laughter. Good things to eat, sugary treats for the little ones and a sumptuous dinner of hot meat and vegetable compotes and afterward, perhaps mincemeat pie, or sweet pumpkin bread.
Until the time Betsy was six, she’d had a good many little brothers and sisters, and of course, older sisters. Now, except for Rachel and George, all the younger ones had perished, most before reaching the age of three. When she was a little girl, Betsy used to pretend her mother’s new babies were dolls. Now, she wondered how her mother had held up each year bringing yet another new babe into the world; then, in a few short years forced to watch her precious little ones sicken and die. Now that Betsy knew how it felt to lose someone she loved, she did not want to ever feel such heartache again. To love another person was often painful in itself; but to lose the one you loved, and for no good purpose, was unbearable.
Fresh tears sprang to her eyes. This time she did not attempt to halt them, but gave in to the gnawing self-pity that threatened to strangle her. At length, becoming aware of cold air eddying about the room, she slipped onto the floor and held her palms up before the fire in an effort to warm them.
Would this wretched day never end?
The hours were not merely dragging by; they were crawling.
It felt as if everyone else in the world were surrounded by loved ones and . . . she had no one. When tears of self-pity again pooled in Betsy’s eyes, this time she angrily brushed them aside.
Where was Joseph?
She pulled herself to her feet and hurried back through the house to peer from the front window yet again. Had he returned to Philadelphia and just not come to see her today, or . . . had the blizzard detained him somewhere along the road?
Dear Lord, please, do not let Joseph freeze to death in his haste to return home. And, please God, do not let our troops freeze to death in the woods.
Thank goodness, she and her sister, and others in the city had managed to get some warm clothing to some of the men encamped amongst the tall trees. Unfortunately, the women hadn’t been able to clothe all of them. Or feed all of them. Hundreds of the men still had little to nothing to eat, and most still had no shoes.
How in God’s name would our brave soldiers summon the strength to march barefoot over frozen ground or manage to fight once they reached Trenton . . . if they reached Trenton?
She rubbed a spot on the frosty windowpane and attempted to peer through it. Because no agitated crier had galloped through the streets of Philadelphia calling out the news of a rebel attack upon Trenton, Betsy assumed the surprise attack had not yet taken place. Dear Lord, please do not let the men attempt to fight in this weather! Anyone with half an eye could see that it was far too cold out-of-doors today for man or beast. The general and his advisors may have wished above all things to attack Trenton before Christmas, they may have gathered around their maps and charts and meticulously planned their attack, but as the day wore on and the weather grew more treacherous, Betsy became more and more convinced that no surprise attack upon anyone would take place today. For General Washington to even consider crossing the Delaware River on a night such as this was unthinkable.