I lay in my bed under my warm quilt but I could not sleep. The December wind howled around the house, echoing my own mournful thoughts. The clock in the upstairs hall had chimed the half hour. Nine-thirty. I had heard Mother and Father come to bed at nine and David a few minutes earlier. Downstairs, Cornelius and Lucy, our house slaves, would now be retired in the small room off the kitchen where they slept.
From the parlor, underneath my room, I heard the voices of Dan and John Reid by the fire. I hadn’t had the chance to tell Dan about Raymond Moore, who was probably at that moment making his way into our barn. Why did Dan spend so much time with a Tory?
All of the eligible men in Trenton were joining up, either with the American or the British army. All the Patriot women were using their spinning wheels to produce cloth for the army. Every Patriot family we knew had given up British goods and drinking tea. In St. Michael’s, our church, half the congregation didn’t speak to the other half because of the war, and there sat Dan, as friendly as ever with a Tory.
I put on my moccasins and wrapped myself in the heavy blanket that Grandfather Emerson, my father’s father, had brought me from Hudson Bay.
The candles were burned down in the parlor, and in the semidarkness I saw Dan and Reid before the fire. I stood, half hidden, in the shadows of the hallway. “Dan.”
He excused himself. “Jem, for heaven’s sake, why are you up and about on a night like this?”
“I must talk to you.”
“If it’s about tomorrow, you know I said you could come along.”
“Not about tomorrow.”
“What then?”
I moved farther back into the hall, lowered my voice. “Dan, it will soon be ten o’clock.”
“And did you come downstairs to tell me that?”
“No. I came to tell you that someone is waiting in the barn to see you. He wants to enlist.”
In the candlelight he searched my face. “What are you telling me? Anyone who wants to see me can come to the house.”
“If I tell you his name, you’ll know why he doesn’t dare.”
“Then will you tell me? Or do we stand here playing games?”
“It’s Raymond Moore.”
“Moore? A Quaker? Are you daft, Jem? The Moores would never allow—”
“That’s why he’s in the barn, Dan.”
He stood in silence as the enormity of what I’d said embraced him. “Raymond Moore! I’d never have guessed. He never said a word to me!”
“He came to me today in the street and begged me to get word to you. He says he’s been praying on his decision for weeks. His mind is made up, he says.”
“Well, I’m glad his mind is made up. But where does that put me? His parents will never forgive me, and I’m about to ask for Betsy’s hand.”
“He says if you won’t take him, he’ll enlist elsewhere. And that Betsy won’t blame you. If his mind is made up, mightn’t his parents feel better about it if he served with You?”
“You certainly can make things sound simple.”
“Raymond says it isn’t seemly that others should fight for his land. Things are simple to him.”
He sighed. “A good man. I’m honored he wants to sign on with me.”
“You still need men. You said so yourself.”
“I’ve seventy privates. I need six more. Since October when the Provincial Congress authorized a second battalion from this colony, it seems like half the county has knocked on our door in the middle of the night. But this is the first time I’ve had a recruit hiding in our barn like a runaway slave.”
“Will you take him, Dan?”
“I’ll talk with him first. Now go to bed.”
“Dan, there’s one more thing. Do you think Mr. Reid will tell about the musket?”
Over the rim of my candlelight he scowled at me. “He gave his word that he wouldn’t. That’s good enough for me. It should be good enough for you.”
“I don’t trust him, Dan. He’s a Tory. How did he know Fitch was making gunlocks at the mill?”
“It’s common knowledge in town. The Methodist Society is threatening to dismiss Fitch because he was doing it on the Sabbath. John is our friend, Jem. He would do nothing to hurt any of us. And you’re only making it worse for yourself by provoking him.”
“Is everything all right, Dan?” John Reid came toward us. It was not so dark that I couldn’t see the amusement in his eyes at the sight of me in my flannel nightdress and blanket.
“If you two are plotting the overthrow of George the Third, you should at least do it by the warm fire.”
“Jem was just going to bed,” Dan said firmly.
“And I was just leaving.” John put on his cloak. “Good night again, Jemima,” he said, bowing. Dan walked him to the door. “I expect you to be your usual saucy self for your lessons on Friday,” he said as he went out.