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SARAH CAME TO SEE BETSY one afternoon, declaring she’d received a letter from her husband telling her that he was quartered in New York City with Henry Knox’s regiment. The sight of the British officer’s red coats in Betsy’s parlor gave Sarah pause but after Betsy explained how they came to be there, Sarah expressed her delight that Captain Ashburn had called again.
Sewing on the scarlet ball gown, Betsy told her sister about her new commission and mentioned that Miss Olsen would be arriving within the hour for her first fitting. When Sarah offered to help, Betsy assured her that all that remained was to baste together the side seams of the bodice, so Sarah began to read aloud parts of her husband’s letter.
“William says the troops are in a quandary wondering from which direction the British will strike and that British warships continue to come. ‘I counted eight ships one day, ten the next and twenty-five only yesterday. Commander Knox saw a swarm of them this morning and said as best he could make out, there are now upwards of one hundred British warships in New York harbor. We are so close to them that at times we can hear the soldiers on board talking. One evening last week, after the Watch had called out the hour and declared all was well, we heard a British soldier on board ship reply that by this time tomorrow evening that would not be the case. I don’t believe a single one of us slept a wink that night. Commander Knox says that for a certainty the British fleet has absolute control of the waterways.’ ”
“Oh, dear,” Betsy murmured. “That sounds quite distressing.”
“William says that General Lee maintains that whoever commands the sea, commands the town. William says the troops are busy digging trenches and building mud embankments to protect themselves from an enemy attack, which they daily expect. ‘Both Staten Island and Long Island are Loyalist strongholds. In addition to scores of British soldiers in the city, armed Loyalists hide in the swamps of Long Island and attack us without provocation. With so many Loyalists abroad, the potential for conspiracy and sabotage is all too real; so no one is to be trusted.’ ”
Betsy’s brow furrowed. Apparently spies lurked everywhere. She hadn’t said a word to Sarah about François’s plan that she spy on the Loyalist ladies who came to her shop and she had no intention of doing so.
“William says frightened rebels are deserting in droves, most stealing away during the night, taking their muskets and as much gunpowder as they can carry. One man lugged home a cannon ball which he meant to give to his mother to grind mustard seed.”
“Why, I cannot imagine!” Betsy looked askance.
“He says many of the deserting soldiers simply change sides, that the rebels are so hungry, they willingly trade information for food. ‘We survive on half a cup of rice a day and a thimbleful of vinegar.’ Oh, Betsy, I weep every time I read those words. If only I could get food to my poor, dear husband.”
“I, as well, feel heartsick for our fighting men.”
Sniffing back tears, Sarah resumed reading. “‘Scores have perished from dysentery. I read in the New York Post that General John Tomson, who was sent north to set things straight in Canada, has succumbed to smallpox.’” Sarah paused. “I truly fear for my husband’s life now, and not just from the fighting. If only he would come home.”
“William would never desert his regiment.” Betsy continued to sew, her needle flying in and out of the scarlet silk with speed and accuracy. “He is too fine a man to act in so cowardly a fashion.”
“I suppose it is encouraging that despite a lack of food, he continues to thrive.” Sarah’s gaze scanned down the page. “He says that even after the rebel troops had positioned one hundred cannon about the city, they had to station patrols to guard them as the Loyalists, who’ve been promised cash rewards for doing so, sneak up at night and either sabotage the guns by packing mud into the mouths, or they steal them.”
Betsy looked up. John, indeed, had the right of it when he declared how important it was to guard both day and night the muskets and ammunition stored in the Dock Street warehouse.
“William says that when Commander Knox realized there was an acute shortage of artillerymen, he elevated William to command those that remained. So,” Sarah sighed, “at least, my husband is no longer digging trenches . . . with no food in his belly.” The pages of the letter fell to her lap. “I will be so glad when this dreadful war is over.”
“We all pray for an end to it.”
“Are you certain I can do nothing to help you, Betsy?”
“Umm . . .” That her Loyalist client would soon be arriving suddenly dawned upon Betsy. “I daresay it would be a good idea to put away your letter, Sarah, and please say nothing of it when the ladies arrive. After all, they are Loyalists.”
Sarah sat up straighter. “Oh, I hadn’t realized. Your Miss Olsen is the enemy.”
* * *
“WHY, IT’S LOVELY, MRS. Ross! You look beautiful, Anne!”
“I do look beautiful.” Miss Olsen preened before the looking glass.
From the corner of her eye, Betsy caught sight of Sarah standing in the doorway, her pale lips a thin line of disapproval as she looked on.
“Scarlet quite becomes you, my dear. I’ll wager your captain will propose the minute he sees you in that gown!” Mrs. Dearborn reached to tug at the neckline. “Can we not make it a tad bit lower?”
Betsy withdrew a pin from the pincushion strapped to her wrist. Tiny scissors hung from a chatelaine on the bodice of her frock. “Indeed, we can, but . . . are you certain?”
“You are certain you want your captain to take notice of you, are you not, Anne?”
“Well, I-I suppose just a tad bit lower wouldn’t hurt, would it?”
“Absolutely not!” her aunt exclaimed.
After Betsy had turned down the neckline and pinned it, Mrs. Dearborn, talking non-stop all the while, helped her niece carefully remove the unfinished garment. Handing it to Betsy, she assisted her niece into her own clothing. “When you are presentable, dear, I am sure Mrs. Ross will offer us a nice cup of tea and you can read your letter. You do have English tea; do you not, Mrs. Ross? But, of course, you do.” She directed a conspiratorial look at Betsy. “Only our Patriot counterparts are obliged to brew their tea from bitter-tasting raspberry leaves.”
Betsy darted a rueful look at her sister. “Sarah, dear, would you put on the kettle, please?”
A quarter hour later, all four women were seated below stairs in Betsy’s parlor, each sipping precious black tea from Betsy’s precious china teacups.
“Now, then,” Mrs. Dearborn said after taking only a small sip of her tea, then setting the cup aside. “You must read your letter, Anne. To be sure Mrs. Ross and her sister are as hungry as your uncle and I were for news from our brave young men.”
Betsy noted Sarah’s hard gaze trained upon the older woman.
Miss Olsen pulled several folded up sheets of paper from her reticule. “‘My very dear Anne.’ Oh.” Her lashes fluttering, she looked down. “I-I suppose I needn’t read all of it.”
“Skip to the part about the war, dear. Unless a woman has a son, or husband, at the front, which I assume neither Mrs. Ross, nor her sister do, we’ve no other way to receive first-hand news from our soldiers.” She cast a gaze at the sister’s simple gray gowns. “I daresay you Quakers have the right of it. To refuse to fight is the only sensible choice. If you cannot discern which parts to read, dear, I shall have no trouble. There are no sweet words meant for me.” Laughing, she fairly snatched the letter from the hands of her timid niece.
“ ‘We enjoy very comfortable accommodations here in New York City and are surrounded by generous folk who supply us with plenty to eat and lavishly entertain us.’ ” Mrs. Dearborn glanced up. “I understand concerts and plays have not been left off in New York City, more’s the pity for us.” She turned back to the letter. “ ‘We are actually experiencing greater luxury here than we have since the onset of the hostilities with fresh meat aplenty, milk, eggs, butter, the plumpest vegetables and the sweetest pastries.’ ”
Betsy’s heart plummeted. Casting an anxious look at her sister, she noted moisture already flooding Sarah’s pale blue eyes.
“‘News of the Patriot’s Declaration of Independence greatly amused us and served only to underscore the impertinence of these poor misguided people. Their leader, the rebel farmer, is too languid by half and takes action only when he deems it necessary to defend himself which clearly tells us he is far too cowardly to launch a frontal attack; therefore we are persuaded that to squash the Yankee psalm-singers will be little more than child’s play.’ ” Mrs. Dearborn laughed. “Your captain is such a clever fellow, Anne.” She resumed reading. “ ‘Hardly a day passes without a score of Patriot deserters turning up to entertain us with their tales of woe. The boys attempt to gain our trust with snippets of information but there is no believing the deluded wretches. We reward them with a bit of food, and then either shoot them or . . .’ ”
Betsy heard Sarah’s squeak of alarm and squirmed when her sister suddenly fled the room.
“ ‘. . . transport them to a prison hulk where in less than a fortnight they die of disease or starvation. It is said that our troops outnumber the combined population of the two largest cities on the continent, New York and Philadelphia. The rebel army don’t have a clue that above seventeen thousand German soldiers are now on their way to these shores, which means that we will surely have done with this bothersome rebellion before winter sets in. I think of you every day, my dearest darlin. . .’ ” Mrs. Dearborn handed the pages back to her niece. “The remainder of the missive is meant only for you, my dear.”
Betsy exhaled the tight breath she’d been holding. “Thank you for . . . sharing your letter with us, Miss Olsen.”
Mrs. Dearborn gathered up her things. “When shall we come again, Mrs. Ross? Anne leaves for New York in a fortnight.”
Betsy rose to accompany the ladies back through the house. In the corridor, she caught a glimpse of Sarah hovering in the shadows. The women departed after agreeing upon a date in which Miss Olsen could return for her final fitting and Betsy hurried back to the parlor, expecting to find Sarah weeping uncontrollably. Instead, she found her sister pacing back and forth before the hearth.
“We must get word to William at once! I am certain he does not know that seventeen thousand German soldiers are headed this way. It is our duty to alert the men, Betsy.” Her eyes were wild. “If Miss Olson can travel to New York City, then, why cannot I?”
“Sarah, I own that the news about the German soldiers is distressing, but I hardly think it advisable that you rush off to New York to warn the Patriot army that the Germans are coming.”
“You and I could both go! George could go with us. Father might even agree to come along. And we shall take food!” she added fervently.
“Do sit down, Sarah. Oh, my, after all that, Mrs. Dearborn hardly touched her tea.”
“Give it to me!” Sarah cried. She snatched up the cup and flung the contents through the opened window. “There. If it were not one of your precious china teacups, I’d toss it out as well. How you can be civil to that horrid woman, Betsy, I do not know.”
“Do sit down, Sarah, you seem quite overset.”
“That seventeen thousand German soldiers are on their way to kill my husband does indeed overset me! I can neither sit still, nor can I be silent.”
“Very well, then. I shall endeavor to get word to . . . to Joseph,” Betsy offered, wondering if she should not, instead, get word to François. Surely this was precisely the sort of information he would want to pass along to the Secret Committee of Correspondence.
Sarah turned a wide-eyed look on her sister. “Perhaps Joseph would agree to come along. You must ask him.”
“Well, I-I . . . perhaps, there is another way, Sarah.”
“What do you mean another way?”
“Perhaps there is another way to warn the rebel army that the Germans are coming.”
* * *
IT TOOK THE REST OF that day and into the evening before Betsy managed to calm her sister and she did so only by promising to appeal to Joseph for help. But, bright and early the next morning, before Betsy had determined how to reach Joseph when she hadn’t the least notion where he was at the moment, Sarah appeared on her doorstep with another plan in mind.
“You must read this!” Sarah instructed, hurrying after Betsy back downstairs where she’d been eating her breakfast. The minute Betsy sat down, Sarah thrust a folded up newspaper beneath her nose.
“What is it?” Betsy glanced at the paper whilst chewing up the oatmeal in her mouth.
“On my way home last evening, I stopped at the newsstand and purchased copies of every single Philadelphia and New York newspaper I could find. I sat up long into the night pouring through the news pages, and only this morning discovered this in the New York Post. I am persuaded it is the very solution to our problem.”
Squinting at the tiny print, Betsy read aloud: “ ‘IF the YOUTH who left LEXINGTON with the rebel army above one year ago can remember that he ever had a Mother, be informed he will soon be deprived of that blessing except he immediately writes particulars, or personally appears before her.’ ”
“Not that,” Sarah cried. “There!” A finger tapped lower down in the column of print.“ ‘YANKEE DODDLE to REDCOATS – SURRENDER or DIE!’ ”
Still not taking her sister’s meaning, Betsy gazed up at her agitated sister.
“We must place an advertisement in the Post!” Sarah exclaimed. “William said in his letter that he read the New York Post. We can tell him, and every other Patriot soldier, that the German soldiers are coming!”
“Oh-h-h.” Betsy fully understood her sister’s urgency in wanting to warn her husband of this fresh and imminent danger. If she had known of the peril John faced on that horrible day last January, she would have done everything in her power to warn him.
“I haven’t a clue how to go about placing an advertisement in the newspaper,” Sarah added. “Do you suppose the New York Post has an agent here?”
“Perhaps Dr. Franklin could help,” Betsy suggested. “He publishes a newspaper.”
Sarah’s countenance brightened. “We must go to him at once, Betsy. Do make haste!”
* * *
ENTERING DR. FRANKLIN’S noisy newspaper shop that morning the girls spotted him removing printed pages from the rack of one of the clacking presses. Before the ladies told him the nature of their visit, Franklin took the precaution of ushering them into his private office and closing the door. Betsy was grateful when the kindly gentleman exhibited no signs of bemusement when Sarah outlined what Betsy realized must seem an unconventional solution to their problem.
“To place an advertisement in the newspaper is, indeed, a unique method of distributing information of this sort,” Franklin remarked, “but I suppose it is as good a way as any.”
“Then you will help us?” Sarah asked anxiously.
“Indeed, I will help you, Mrs. Donaldson.” Franklin nodded. “But I beg your leave to allow me to decide how best to handle the matter.”
“But, my husband and the entire rebel army are unaware that seventeen thousand German soldiers mean to raise arms against them. Does this mean that we are also now at war with Germany?”
“On the contrary, Mrs. Donaldson. We have no grievance with Germany; nor they with us. The British have merely hired Hessian soldiers to assist them in their fight.”
Betsy had said little since they arrived. As Sarah frantically laid out her plan, it had occurred to Betsy that given Franklin’s knowledge of covert activity, he no doubt knew exactly how, and to whom, to pass along this important information. She touched her sister’s elbow. “We really should allow Dr. Franklin to resume his work, Sarah.”
“But . . . you will . . . when shall I expect to read the advertisement in the Post, sir? Quite soon, I hope. The men must be warned at once, sir; at once!”
Franklin smiled. “Would it put your mind at ease, Mrs. Donaldson, if I told you that General Washington himself will be made privy to this information before the day is out?”
“Oh, yes, sir! I am vastly relieved, sir. I confess I did not sleep a wink last night.”
Franklin looked past Sarah to Betsy. “Take your sister home, Mrs. Ross, and see that she gets a nap. I daresay some warm milk is in order.” He ushered them to the door. “I am grateful to you ladies for your diligence. I am certain General Washington will be quite pleased, as well.”
* * *
“I AM PERSUADED WE DID the right thing, Betsy,” Sarah declared as the two walked back down High Street that hot summer morning.
“Indeed, we did,” Betsy agreed, thinking that because they’d told Dr. Franklin, there was now no need for her to get word to François, which, she had to admit, was in itself rather a relief.