Chapter 7
Cornmeal mush bubbled in the pot hanging over the fire. Bacon sizzled in the frying pan. Breakfast was almost ready.
But everything was so quiet. Hannah looked at Rebecca, busy slicing bread for toast. What was she thinking? She glanced over at Mother, stirring the kettle of mush so it wouldn’t burn. She had hardly said a word this morning.
What had Father decided about Ben? Hannah was longing to ask, but she knew she couldn’t. She had to wait for Father.
Tock-tock went the tall clock in the corner. Tock-tock. Tock-tock. Sometimes time flew by so fast. Like the dart of a hummingbird in Mother’s garden. And other times it crawled along so slowly that you could feel every single second.
Hannah went to get milk from the buttery next to the kitchen.
“What a morning!”
The door burst open, and Ben came stamping in from the barn. His shoes were muddy, and water streamed down his face. A cold, wet wind blew in with him. It was a stormy day, more like March than early May.
Father was just behind him. Quickly he closed the door. But it was opened again a minute later by Jemmy and Jonathan. They had been out scattering corn for the geese and chickens.
“You didn’t throw it to them,” Jonathan complained. “You just left it in a pile. How will they find it?”
“Those geese will find food wherever it is,” Jemmy retorted.
Even Jemmy seemed quieter than usual today. Mother spread out all the wet clothes to dry near the fire. The smell of bacon mixed with damp wool as they sat down to eat.
Mother dished out bowls of hot cornmeal mush, and Rebecca passed the bacon. Spoons clinked against dishes. Tock-tock went the clock. Still no one spoke. They were all waiting, Hannah knew. Waiting for Father.
She stole a look at the end of the table. Father was eating just as slowly as he always did. He poured more molasses on his mush, and sprinkled maple sugar on top. He took a second piece of toast. He wiped his bowl with the crust. And then, finally, Father set down his spoon.
“Ben,” he said, looking down the long table.
“Yes, sir.” Ben sat soldier-straight in his chair. He seemed to be holding his breath.
“I have prayed long and hard on this matter. It is not easy to send a son off to war. Especially one so young.” His voice caught, and he stopped. When he went on, his voice was steady. “But I know this war is just. Britain cannot rule us any longer. Her soldiers cannot be allowed to burn our towns. We must become a free nation. So I have decided that it is right for you to join the army.”
“Oh, Father!” Ben cried joyfully. He started to jump up.
Father lifted his hand. “Wait,” he said. “There is something else I want you to know. You recall that I had an older brother. The one you were named after.”
Father had had three older brothers. Ben was the one who had died, Hannah remembered. Father never talked about him.
“My brother Ben was two years older than I was,” Father went on. “We did everything together. We slept in the same bed, got up to feed the animals, and plowed the fields.
“Well, when my brother was eighteen, he took it into his head to go fight the French. He wanted to be a hero. So one day he ran off. Didn’t even say good-bye, he was so afraid my father would stop him. After he left, we had one letter from him, and that was all. Six months later he was dead. He died out west somewhere, killed by Indians. My mother never got over that, Ben. She talked about him every day. And she read that letter over and over until it crumbled into dust in her hands. So you see, I hate war.”
Hannah looked over at Mother. Her eyes were brimming with tears.
“That is why it has been so hard for me to give you my blessing,” Father said. “Do you understand?”
Ben started to speak, but no words came out. He nodded.
“Well you have my blessing now.”
Mother was crying quietly. Ben reached over to squeeze her hand.
It was Jemmy who broke the silence.
“When do you leave?” he asked eagerly. “Will you get into a battle right away? Are you taking Father’s musket?”
Ben looked up. “Daniel is leaving in two days’ time,” he said. “I don’t know about battles. Or Father’s musket.”
“You may take the musket,” Father said. “It is my gift.”
For the first time in weeks he and Ben smiled at each other.
“Two days’ time,” repeated Mother. “Oh, my. So soon?” She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. Then suddenly she sat up straight. “You will need clothes. You have no summer shirts or stockings. And your breeches have been mended so many times.” She shook her head. “We cannot send you marching off in rags.”
“What can we do?” asked Hannah. There was no time to spin and weave and sew all that clothing.
“We will make Ben a suit of clothes fit for a soldier,” Mother said.
“In just two days’ time?” Rebecca looked doubtful too.
Mother stood up. Small as she was, she looked ready to lead an army.
“We can do it,” she said.
