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EARLY THE FOLLOWING morning, a rap at the door drew Betsy from the parlor. Pushing open the door as far as the mountain of snow pressed against it would allow, she peered around the edge and spotted a bundled-up Sarah attempting to brush snow from the landing with her hands.
“Sarah, it is far too cold for you to be out-of-doors!” Betsy peeked around the doorjamb.
“I’ve brought food.” A thick woolen scarf wrapped nearly to her ears muffled Sarah’s reply.
Betsy spotted a cloth-covered platter resting on the icy flagway.
“Do stop shoveling snow with your hands. Your gloves will be soaked clean through. I shall get the broom.”
Some minutes later, after the two had managed to brush aside sufficient snow from the threshold to enter the house, both girls were seated in the parlor, warming themselves before a crackling fire. Sarah’s wet cloak, muffler and gloves were spread out on the hearth to dry. She’d put the pewter platter containing generous portions of the Christmas dinner the Griscom family had enjoyed the previous day on the table in the corner.
“Was everyone there for dinner?” Betsy asked, eager for news of her siblings and other family members who might have been present at the Griscom home.
“A good many, yes. Rachel and George, of course, and Deborah and Everard. Susannah and Ephraim, and Hannah and Grif, plus a good many little ones. Did I tell you Hannah and Grif have taken a house next door to Susannah?”
“How nice for them. Is everyone well?”
Sarah nodded. “All are fine, although Deborah was sniffling and Everard talked incessantly about how gloomy his textile cleaning business has become these days. Otherwise everyone was in good spirits. There was an abundance of lighthearted chatter and laughter.”
“It sounds as if you all had a merry time,” Betsy murmured wistfully. “I recall how jolly Christmases used to be when we were children and all of us were home together.”
“Yes,” Sarah agreed. “We were quite happy then.” After a pause, she said, “Uncle Abel paid us a call last evening.”
“Oh? I take it he is well. And his sons?”
“All well.” Sarah nodded.
“Did he bring news of the war?” Betsy lowered her voice as though fearful that someone might be listening. “Has the attack on Trenton taken place? Uncle Abel’s informants generally keep him abreast of what is afoot.”
“He said nothing of it.”
“Well, apparently General Washington saw the folly of attempting to cross the Delaware River during a blizzard and . . . ”
“All the men agreed that neither army will engage in battle before spring,” Sarah interjected. “Both Father and Uncle Abel said we have nothing to fear on that score.”
“That is quite good news. I am glad to hear it.”
“However . . .” Sarah said, “as I was helping Mother and Hannah in the kitchen, I . . . overheard the men discussing . . . other war news.”
“Oh? Do tell me what was said.”
Sarah’s gaze grew shuttered. “Uncle Abel said that . . . two men in the rebel camp had been hanged.”
Betsy drew back. “But, why? Of what crimes could our men have been found guilty of?”
Sarah’s tone was so low Betsy had to strain to hear. “It was determined that they were . . . spies.”
“Oh-h.” Betsy sucked in her breath. “Did . . . Uncle Abel mention either man’s . . . name?”
“No.” Sarah pinned her sister with a stern look. “It occurred to me that perhaps you might know the name of at least . . . one of the men.”
“Why, no, I do not,” Betsy replied breezily. “I’ve heard nothing of it. Of course, I’ve not spoken to a soul since you were here the other day.” A nervous little laugh escaped her.
One of Sarah’s pale brows lifted. “Uncle Abel said that . . . one of the spies was a Frenchman, that he was a ruthless man who had no scruples about killing anyone who blocked his path.”
Betsy’s heart drummed in her ears. So, at last, François had been hanged for his many crimes. The thought froze in her mind.
“Are you certain you know nothing of this, Betsy? Uncle Abel said that a woman had brought the Frenchman to General Washington’s attention.” Sarah’s tone became gentle. “Perhaps you have not told me everything about your sojourn to Trenton, Betsy.”
“Does Rachel know?”
Because Betsy could see no benefit in telling Sarah the sordid details, she continued to deny any knowledge of the Frenchman’s hanging, and in minutes deftly steered the conversation to other matters, namely, the tribulations both girls had endured the past year and those over which they had, with God’s help, managed to triumph.
“I am persuaded the New Year of 1777 will be brighter,” Betsy said, unable to conceal the lilt in her tone. To be rid of someone bent upon killing her meant that the New Year would, indeed, be brighter for her. “I have every confidence the war will end soon, perhaps very soon, and William will come marching home, safe and well, and all in a piece.”
Sarah managed a shaky smile. “I do hope you are right, Betsy. I cannot help but worry for him; and for all our fighting men.” At length, Sarah cast a long gaze toward one of the frosty windows in the parlor. “I see it has begun again to snow. I expect I should return home before the snow turns to sleet, again.” She knelt to retrieve her still-damp cloak, scarf and gloves. “Promise you will get word to me when Joseph returns home and most especially if he brings fresh news of the war.”
“I will, Sarah.” Betsy embraced her sister. “Thank you for coming today; your presence has cheered me.” A self-conscious laugh escaped her. “I confess my holiday has been . . . somewhat lonely.”
“And yet,” Sarah cast a sidelong look at her, “you seem to have borne it well.”
“I am certain I will see Joseph today.”
* * *
AS THE LONG HOURS DRAGGED by, Betsy’s certainty about seeing Joseph that day began to wane. However, just before dusk a rap at the door sent her spirits soaring. This time she did find Joseph on the doorstep stamping clumps of brown snow from the soles of his sturdy boots.
“You are home at last!”
Smiling broadly, the burly seaman, his blond hair ruffled from the wind, scooped a beaming Betsy into his arms and twirled her around. “I’ve missed ye’, love.”
“I am so glad you are home, Joseph; do, come in. I’ve just put my supper on the table. There’s plenty for both of us.”
Arm-in-arm they hurried through the house to the parlor where Joseph shrugged out of his snow-sodden coat and drawing up a chair, draped the wet garment over the back of it. Across the room, Betsy set another plate and fork on the table.
“Sarah brought samplings of our family’s Christmas dinner to me this morning. The roast venison and vegetables smell delicious. Are you hungry?”
“I haven’t had a decent meal in days.”
As they ate, Betsy listened raptly as Joseph relayed news of his travels. “Turns out I’m not the only privateer who was bent on saving his ship. Three more vessels sailed downriver with me. We all dropped anchor near one another.”
“And then you all walked back to Philadelphia?”
“I walked for a ways, then I bought a sway-backed nag off a fellow I met at an inn. Turned out that nag sure didn’t like tramping through snow.” He laughed. “I daresay I’d have made faster progress on foot. But no one would buy her off me so I had no choice but to keep plodding along on her back.”
“Did you stop to see Aunt Ashburn before you came here?” Betsy handed him the platter of flatbread she had baked that afternoon.
“Briefly.” After taking a piece of bread, he set the platter down. “I wanted her to know I was safe, plus I had . . . other news to impart.”
“What other news, Joseph?” Betsy’s eyes widened. “Has something dreadful happened?” Had the attack taken place after all? She had not yet told Joseph anything about her trip to Trenton . . . or of François’s death.
A broad grin split his face. “On the contrary, this news is good.”
Of a sudden, whoops and shouts coming from outdoors startled them.
“What could that be?” Betsy cried.
Scrapping back their chairs, they both ran through the house and out onto the snow-covered flagway.
“Washington has taken Trenton!” shouted a man, waving his arms as he attempted to run down the ice-encrusted street.
“Trenton has fallen!” another man called from nearby Third Street.
Men, women and children began to spill from houses further up and down the street, each taking up the jubilant call.
“The rebels have taken Trenton!”
“The war is over!”
A look of wonder on her face, Betsy gazed up at Joseph. “Is it true? The war is over? And we have won?”
Joseph shook his blond head. “Let us go back inside, love, before you catch a chill.”
Seated once again at the table in the parlor, Joseph’s demeanor sobered. “It is true that General Washington and the rebel army did cross the Delaware River in the dead of night . . .”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“But, how?” Betsy exclaimed. “Washington had no boats and surely the river was frozen solid!”
“Apparently the army managed to secret away a sufficient number of Durham boats, you know the sort, deep-bottomed, generally used only for freight, but sturdy enough to haul dozens of men and apparently, even cannon and horses. At any rate, under cover of darkness, General Washington and his entire army of twenty-four hundred men did make it across the Delaware River and . . .”
“And launched a surprise attack upon Trenton,” Betsy breathlessly completed the sentence.
Joseph’s brow furrowed. “You knew of the army’s plan?”
“Yes.” Betsy nodded. “Do go on.”
Joseph shook his head. “You amaze me, lass. Evidently the attack went well. Colonel Rall was killed . . .”
“Oh-h-h. He seemed such a nice man.”
“You were acquainted with Colonel Rall?” Joseph sputtered.
“Do go on, please,” Betsy urged.
“Well, the way I heard it our army captured above nine hundred Hessian soldiers and we lost only two men. They said a couple of our boys were wounded during the battle, but judging from the look of the troops I saw just a bit ago, I daresay half a dozen more won’t last the night. Some are so weak and exhausted they can barely stand, let alone walk. Although I must say, all our boys were wearing good sturdy boots.”
“But where did they get . . .?”
“Hessians were barefoot.” Joseph chuckled. “And the German soldiers also wore no coats. Our boys were wearin’ ‘em, turned inside out, of course.”
Betsy laughed.
“Seems our boys also got away with I don’t-know-how-many cannon, drums, weapons and who-knows-what-else.”
“You heard all of this just now on the wharf?” Betsy marveled. “Before you arrived here?”
“Actually I learned of it an hour or so ago. Ran into some of the army re-crossing the Delaware a few miles downstream; mainly our boys bringing prisoners across. I believe some of ‘em must have helped themselves to the enemy’s rum. A couple were falling down drunk; but laughin’ and shoutin’ at the top of their lungs over their victory.” His eyes twinkled. “Anyhow, despite my nag draggin’ her feet, I arrived here a good bit ahead of the men. Aunt Ashburn was pleased to hear the news. Two of her housekeeper’s sons are garrisoned here.”
Betsy handed Joseph the platter containing the last scrap of bread and pushed aside her own empty plate. “Did the soldiers say exactly when our army attacked?”
“Sometime this morning.”
“And it has taken all day for word to reach us?”
“Well, after the smoke cleared and the Hessians surrendered, our troops had to round up the prisoners, seize their weapons and strip ‘em, then put on their new boots and coats, rest a spell, perhaps eat a bite while General Washington and the rest of his staff conferred. Then once they decided what to do, the entire company had to reassemble and begin the long trek back. Plus the river is still full of ice floes. I expect that slowed the army’s progress both going and coming across the river.”
“Of a certainty,” Betsy murmured.
“The bad news is . . .”
Betsy sucked in her breath. “There is also bad news?”
He nodded. “A bit ago, I heard that Cornwallis is already headed south bringing eight thousand fresh British soldiers this way.”
“Oh-h-h.” Betsy’s shoulders sagged. “That means there will be more fighting across the river. How on earth will our little army push back eight thousand soldiers? And if we lose the next battle,” she fretted, “the British will surely take Philadelphia.”
Joseph reached to pat her hand. “Don’t take on so, love. I’m home now. I’ll protect you.”
Both the tenderness in his voice and the heartfelt expression on his face lifted Betsy’s spirits. “You don’t plan to leave again soon, then?”
His gaze warm, Joseph shook his blond head. “Perhaps not until spring. And perhaps not even then if . . . well, perhaps, not even then.”
Betsy let out the breath she’d been holding. These past weeks had been filled with one peril after another. “I am so glad you are home now, Joseph.”
His tone was gentle. “As am I, Betsy.” He pushed back his chair. “Let us go sit by the fire.”
Betsy smiled. “I’d like that.”
Joseph placed another log onto the fire and after prodding it till it burst into flames, he settled himself next to Betsy on the sofa. “Now, I want to know how, and when, you met Colonel Rall.”
Betsy inhaled an uneven breath. Now was as good a time as any to relay her news. “Whilst you were away,” she began, “I . . . took a little trip. I had learned that John’s sister Joanna was visiting nearby, so I took a ferry across the Delaware River and went to see her . . . in Trenton.”
His brows snapped together. “You were in Trenton? When?” he demanded. “Trenton has been overrun with Hessians since . . . well, since a good long while.”
“As you can see, Joseph, I am quite safe. Joanna and I had a nice visit. And on the way back, I . . . had an escort. Although, he . . . did not return the entire way with me back to Philadelphia.”
“He?”
After a pause, she said, “François.”
“François escorted you to Trenton?”
“I did not say that. I encountered François . . . in Trenton.”
Joseph turned to face her. “You are not making a great deal of sense, Betsy.”
She looked down. A part of her had not yet absorbed the finality of François’s death, or . . . the part she played in it. But, swallowing her reticence, she pressed on and in minutes, had relayed the entire story to Joseph, leaving out nothing.
Wagging his head, he muttered, “So, the frog is dead. Good riddance to him, I say.”
“Oh, Joseph.” Betsy reached for her shawl and draped it around her shoulders. “I cannot help but feel somewhat guilty. François’s death is due entirely to me.”
“Absolutely untrue,” Joseph declared firmly. “The man’s despicable actions led to his death. Washington would not hang a man based on the testimony of a single person, and certainly not that of a woman. If your Uncle Abel knew of Dubeau’s crimes, then it’s a certainty Washington knew of them as well.”
“But he said he was not acquainted with him, that he did not know the names of any of his spies.”
“That may be, but I’ll wager he knew of him. Or one of his subordinates did. You merely sought justice and brought the lout to it. Despite the danger you placed yourself in, Betsy, you performed a great service for our country.”
A relieved smile replaced the anxiety on Betsy’s pretty face. “I did, didn’t I?” She wound an arm through Joseph’s and snuggled closer.
“Most assuredly.”
“Still,” Betsy murmured, “François must have had . . . some good qualities. Minette will surely miss her brother. As will Rachel.”
“Your sister is well rid of the ruffian.”
They both fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts as they gazed into the red and orange flames of the fire. The hiss from the burning logs blended with the soft patter of snowflakes against the windowpanes. For the first time in weeks, Betsy began to feel relaxed and warm. Joseph’s presence was, indeed, reassuring. She rested her head against his shoulder.
Both his fresh outdoorsy scent and his nearness comforted her. Over the past year, she had come to rely more and more upon this strong, self-assured man. Now, with John’s death fully avenged, perhaps it was time to look to the future. John wanted her to be happy. Both his sister and Sarah had reminded her of that. Both had assured her that John did not want, or expect, her to go on alone. With her year long trial now behind her, she was free at last to focus on the future. She smiled when Joseph’s arm dropped from the back of the sofa to settle around her shoulders.
“You have accomplished all you set out to do, Betsy. You have been very brave.”
She turned to gaze up into his warm hazel eyes. “I have, haven’t I?” The slight tremor in her voice betrayed the emotion building within her. “John’s death has truly been avenged,” she said softly. “And Toby’s.”
Joseph drew her closer to him. “So,” he gazed down into her glittering blue eyes. “I assume François’s death will mark the end of your spying career. Spying is far too dangerous for a woman.”
Betsy hedged. “But you must admit it can be quite thrilling. Except for the night you and I rescued Rachel, I don’t believe I was ever in any real danger.”
Joseph scowled. “You just said the Frenchman nearly pushed you from the ferryboat!”
“True . . .” She paused to consider. Were François not already dead, she supposed he would still be intent upon killing her, but she chose not to think about that now. “I cannot tell you how . . . useful I felt relaying important information about the Hessians to General Washington. He, and his advisors, actually listened to me, Joseph. They hung onto my every word. It was all quite thrilling.”
“Betsy.” The one word spoke volumes.
“Spying is no more dangerous than what you do,” she protested. “You flirt with danger every day that you spend bobbing about on the high seas.”
“I’m a man. To flirt with danger is my lot in life. I won’t always be around to get you out of whatever scrape you get yourself into.”
Taking no small umbrage at that, Betsy sat up straighter. “I have managed to get myself out of a good many scrapes on my own, sir.”
“Nonetheless, you are a woman, and by all that is right you should have a man by your side and a couple of little ones playing at your feet.”
A smile softened Betsy’s lips. “What exactly are you suggesting, Captain Ashburn?”
“Firstly, I’m asking for your word that you will abandon this dastardly spy business.” When she did not answer, he pressed, “Do I have it?”
Betsy coyly replied, “I cannot say for certain if I shall give up spying, or not. As you pointed out, the war is not yet over. We do not know what will happen next. Until the war is truly over and done with, I expect General Washington will continue to need reliable intelligence. Anything is possible.”
“Very well, then, if anything is possible; is it possible?” Of a sudden, his voice grew raspy. “That you would consider . . . becoming my wife?”
Betsy’s smile widened. At length, her blue eyes began to twinkle and she said, “For the nonce, sir, the best I can do is give you my word that I will think seriously upon . . . both matters.”
“Come here you little minx.” He drew her into his arms and settled his hungry lips upon hers.
Betsy snuggled closer to her swarthy seaman. To be sure she would give Joseph Ashburn’s proposal of marriage a great deal of thought. She would be foolish not to. But because she was not yet ready to give up her own hard-fought freedom, she could not say for certain if she was ready yet to abandon spying. She may be a mere woman, but she had General Washington’s ear. The great man now trusted her . . . as did many of Philadelphia’s Loyalists now. Indeed, she concluded sagely, at this juncture, anything was possible.
* * *
ON THE FOLLOWING DAY Philadelphia newspapers joyfully reported news of the Patriot victory at the Battle of Trenton on December 26, 1776. Said General George Washington: “This is a glorious day for our country. Our thanks must be to God, and these brave, young Americans who fought for our independence.”