Hannah of Fairfield

It was just a few days later when Ben came banging through the kitchen doorway.

“Where is Father?” he asked. His cheeks were red and he was breathing hard, as if he had been running.

Ben struggled to speak. “I was clamming,” he said, “with Daniel. We looked out in the water and saw them just offshore.”

Hannah’s heart suddenly began to pound. Would the British land? Were they going to attack Fairfield? Or would they march on to Danbury?

Messengers soon raced along the roads, spreading the news. Yes, the enemy had landed just west of town. Two thousand of them, it was said. And General Silliman had called out the militia. Soldiers began to gather on the green. Hannah saw William Wakefield, Daniel’s older brother, go marching off. But where were the soldiers marching to? No one knew.

Father sat calmly at the table, eating his favorite supper of clam chowder and young dandelion greens.

“We must not panic,” he said. “Most likely Danbury is the target, not Fairfield, as that is where our army’s supplies are stored. Still, we cannot be sure. We will have to wait to learn more.”

Ben had not eaten a single bite of supper. He kept going to the door, looking out and listening. He would sit down, then jump up again.

“Let me find out the latest news,” he pleaded with Father. “I will walk down the road just to the tavern. I can take the musket for safety.”

Father pushed his soup bowl away. For a moment he stared hard at both boys. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and firm. “No one is leaving this house tonight,” he said.

It was a long, restless night. The whole house seemed to be holding its breath, waiting and listening. Father and Ben sat by the fire all night long. Hannah felt as if she would never fall asleep. A dozen times or more she sat straight up in bed, sure she had heard them. The marching feet. The tat-tat of drums. But it was all inside her head.

“They marched on toward Danbury,” he said. His thin, freckled face was pale, as if he had not slept much either. “Our soldiers are going after them. But they outnumber us, four or five to one.”

He and Ben looked at each other. Hannah could guess what that look meant. They wished they were among the soldiers going after them.

Father saw the look too, and frowned. “There is nothing we can do now,” he said firmly. “Daniel, you best get home. And Ben, we need to finish planting that north field today.”

Ben’s eyes locked with Father’s. He did not say a word, but some kind of struggle seemed to be going on. For a long minute no one spoke. Then Ben jumped up and ran from the room, knocking over a chair as he went.

It was strange, Hannah thought. They knew fighting was going on nearby. Men might be dying. She remembered Daniel’s older brother, William, quiet and hardworking and kind, marching off down the road. What if he never came back?

But in Fairfield everything seemed so normal. Smoke and the other lambs bounced around the barnyard on their springy little legs. Baby geese were hatching. And there was a new batch of fuzzy kittens in the hayloft.

The chores went on too. Long ago Father had fenced in a square patch behind the house. This was where Mother grew her vegetables. Carrots, onions, cabbage, potatoes. Beets, squash, turnips, pumpkins. And the herbs: parsley, sage, mint, chamomile. And others whose names Hannah couldn’t remember.

“I’ll help you dig,” she offered that first morning. Hannah hoped Mother had forgotten about wanting her to spin. She hadn’t said anything about it lately. Hannah liked working in the garden so much better.

It felt good to sink her shovel into the soft, black earth. And Hannah especially liked dropping in the seeds saved from last fall’s harvest.

“I think I will plant some feverfew this year,” Mother said as they stopped at the end of a row to rest. “And perhaps some tansy.”

“Your grandmother always had feverfew in her garden,” Mother said. “She brewed it into a tea for headache and fever. And tansy was her cure for a baby’s colic. She grew so many herbs for cures. And she gathered wild plants too. I used to go along with her when she picked them. Her simples, she called them. She wrote them all down in a book. Someday I’ll show it to you.”

Hannah thought of all the wild green things growing in the yard, the fields, the woods. It was amazing to think that each one had a name. And each might be a cure for something.

“Some of your grandmother’s cures were unusual,” Mother said, smiling. “I remember one time she was called to the home of the young minister and his wife. This was just a few years back. ‘Granny Hannah,’ they called her then. She was past seventy. A baby had been born too soon, and the doctor didn’t think he could save him. ‘But see what Granny Hannah can do,’ he said.

“Well, your grandmother bathed the tiny thing in warm goose oil. Then she wrapped him in blankets and set him in a box next to the fire. All night long she sat with him, dipping a feather in milk and dripping it into the baby’s mouth. And that baby came through. Some in the church said it was a miracle.”

Granny Hannah. Hannah liked that name. And now she had another picture in her head. Of her grandmother sitting next to the fire, dripping milk into the mouth of a newborn baby with a feather. Why, that was almost like feeding a newborn lamb with a rag, she thought.

No word of the British came all that day. Or most of the next. But late in the afternoon Daniel stopped by again.

“Have you heard?” he asked breathlessly. “They say Danbury’s been burned. All our supplies destroyed, and houses and barns set afire.”

And more news came the third day. There was fighting in Ridgefield, another town nearby. The Patriot forces had set up a roadblock and attacked the British as they marched back to their ships.

“This is madness!” Father exclaimed when he heard it. “We have only about six hundred men to their two thousand.”

“But we have General Arnold leading our forces,” argued Ben. “Along with General Silliman and General Wooster.”

General Benedict Arnold was known for his bravery, Hannah knew. He had captured Fort Ticonderoga in New York two years ago. He was Ben’s hero.

Hannah was helping Mother plant seeds in the garden when they heard the gunfire. At first she thought it was thunder.

“It’s coming from Ridgefield way,” Mother said. “The fighting must still be going on over there.”

Hannah stood still, a handful of pumpkin seeds in her fist. How strange it felt to be putting seeds into the ground while men were shooting at each other so close by. She should be doing something else. But what?

Mother touched her arm. “It is a terrible thing to think about. I know it is. But the living must go on living.” Seeds in her hand, she knelt down again.

After a minute Hannah knelt too, and began dropping pumpkin seeds into the warm, dark earth.

In the end the news was just what Father had feared. There were too many of the British. After a short, fierce battle, they ran over the roadblock at Ridgefield. Then, still chased by the Patriots, they marched back to their ships and sailed away.

“Thirty-six houses and barns set afire in Danbury,” Father told the family the next night. “Barrels of food, grain, medicines, tents—all destroyed.”

“William says more houses and a mill were burned in Ridgefield,” Ben added. William had come limping home, safe but so tired that he slept for two days.

“We gave them a good fight, though.” Ben stopped his whittling, his eyes bright. “Our boys held off the British for fifteen minutes at Ridgefield. And General Arnold showed his bravery. His horse was shot out from under him. ‘You are my prisoner!’ shouted an enemy soldier. ‘Not yet,’ answered General Arnold, and he shot him dead. William saw it with his own eyes.”

Hannah saw Ben pick up his knife, then put it down. His jaw was clenched tight.

“We will get back at the British for this,” he said. “More men are joining the army every day. Daniel is going.” He took a deep breath. “Father,” he said, “I must go too.”

Father stared at Ben. For a long moment neither of them spoke. The firelight danced on their serious faces. It was just the same as before, Hannah thought. No, this time something felt different.

Father answered just as quietly. “I will need to pray about it,” he said.