In the west the sky was still dark, and the houses and shops loomed against it in unnatural shapes. But in the east the sun was streaking the sky with red.
Like blood, I thought. I shivered and pulled my blanket coat around me. All up and down our street Dan’s men were assembling to go off to war on that cold January morning. Some brought their womenfolk with them.
The Moores were there. I saw Raymond in the distance, and he sighted me immediately and came over and took off his hat. He had a fine new musket, and with his cartridge box and canteen and powder horn, he looked like a soldier. Lanterns flickered in the morning cold and families huddled with their men for the last time. Horses and men alike breathed spurts of white breath. Dan and his officers were everywhere, checking off names and inspecting equipment. Some children whimpered in their mothers’ arms, and a few dogs mingled with the crowd, wagging their tails at the excitement.
Lucy stood next to me holding a lantern and a small bundle. Cornelius held the reins of Dan’s horse, Gulliver. How many times I, on Bleu, and Dan, on Gulliver, had ridden over to the Moores’. Now Gulliver was going off to war. I couldn’t bear thinking on it.
“I would speak with thee, Jemima.” Raymond Moore took my arm and led me away from the lantern light. “Thee will look after Betsy while I am gone?” He peered down earnestly into my face, his eyes filled with unspoken longings.
“I’ll look after her, Raymond. And oh, I’ll miss you. And I am proud of you for … for going against everyone and joining up.”
“Jemima …” He almost croaked my name. Then he looked about wildly to see who was watching, pulled me farther into the morning dark, took me by the shoulders, and kissed me.
I was too surprised to resist, and then, after I got through being surprised, I didn’t want to resist anymore. The last thing in the world that I wanted to do was resist, as a matter of fact. It was very nice in his arms and I wished it would never end. But it did. He pulled back, confused and embarrassed.
“I hope I haven’t offended thee.”
“You could never offend me, Raymond.”
“Jemima, remember thy promise to write.”
He was moving away. I knew in my heart that I would never forget the way he stood looking at me in the middle of the confusion that day. “I’ll write, Raymond.”
Dan was shouting commands and the men, about fifty of them, fell into some sort of order. They would rendezvous with another twenty-five or so along the way to Princeton. I saw Dan go to Mother and Father and Betsy and say goodbye. Then he murmured some words to David, shook Cornelius’s hand, and hugged Lucy, who gave him the bundle. He was in full dress, wearing epaulets on his shoulders, a sword and pistols, and a cocked hat. He looked very capable and dashing.
“Jemima.” He was looking down at me.
I couldn’t bear any more goodbyes. “Dan, I don’t want you to go.”
“None of us wants to go. But it’s our duty. Will you look after Mother and Betsy?”
“Goodness, if one more person asks me to look after Betsy …”
“I saw you with Raymond.” He smiled. “Is that what he was doing? Asking you to look after Betsy?”
I blushed. “Dan, could you really kill people?”
“I don’t think about killing.”
“But you will if you have to?”
“I’ll do what I must. As you will. Don’t worry about killing. War is mostly marching and encampments and drilling and boredom. Jem, listen to me. Grandfather Emerson knows about Mother and the letters.”
“What?”
“He mentioned it to me. Mother confided in him. You know those two have always gotten along. It’s all right. There’s no better Patriot than he.”
“I’m glad he knows.”
“Yes. You can confide in him, if you must. But no one else. And don’t mention it to Mother. Let her keep her secret. And one more thing. Be kind to John Reid.”
“How can you think of him at a time like this?”
“Because he’s a dear friend. More dear than you could know. And although you two are always fighting, he holds you in high esteem.”
“I won’t argue with you because you’re leaving.”
“Then don’t. Trust me. Things are not always what they seem with people. Goodbye for now, Jem. I’ll write.” He embraced me. His hold was fierce, his face cold, and, pulling away, he brushed my face with his hand. He walked to his horse, which Cornelius still held, mounted, gave an order, and then they were all moving down the street. They would pick up their two musicians in Penny Town, so there was no music now, just their steady rhythmic shuffling and the creak of their wagons as they marched off into the mist.
The houses hovered over us protectively. A cock crowed, a dog barked, and the lanterns added an eerie light to the awful, silent scene. I stood rooted as they marched past the red frame house of Sam Bellerjeau, Dr. Bellvidere’s stable, Ethan Downing’s house, and Benjamin Smith’s, then past Third Street and Thomas Tindall’s fine house of brick.
This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be, I thought. It was all too desolate, too final. I had never thought that anything could be as empty and final as seeing them march off like that. I’d gone several times with Father to see our militia drill. It had always been under blue skies. The drums had been drumming to quicken the blood. And the fifes had been playing saucy tunes. There had been a gaiety and excitement about it.
There was no gaiety and excitement now. There ought to be more to it, I decided. All around me people were leaving, going back home. “Come along, Jem,” Father said.
But I stood there until I felt a hand on my arm. “Come on in,” Lucy said. “We be havin’ fresh-baked bread and strawberry preserves for breakfast.”
In the kitchen I sat numbly, shivering, still in my blanket-coat, while my family ate. Mother had gone upstairs. David and Father ate in silence and left to do their respective chores. Cornelius went about his work out in the barn.
“He be all right,” Lucy said. “Dan’l is one smart boy.”
“It’s all wrong, Lucy. A person shouldn’t go off to war like that. There ought to be more to it.”
“What more is there?”
“I don’t know. Drums. I think there should be drums.”
“Drums on the battlefield. Time enough for drums. Eat now.”
I ate. The morning light came through the windows. I never knew that a person’s soul had such depths as I felt, sitting there. And I still thought there ought to be more.