Hannah of Fairfield

Ben was dressed in his new suit of clothes. And everything fit just right. The breeches, the shirt, the stockings. He had new leather shoes made last winter. And Father’s blue checked vest on top of his shirt.

Jonathan stared at him, blinking in the morning sun. “You look—” He stopped, trying to think of the right word.

That was the right word, Hannah thought. Tall and strong, his cheeks scrubbed pink, he looked like he could win a war all by himself.

Mother fussed with his shirt. “Maybe we should have made the sleeves a little longer,” she said. “You are still growing, you know.”

Ben smiled at her. And at Rebecca and Hannah too. “The shirt is perfect,” he said. “And so is everything else. Thank you all for working so hard.”

Hannah hadn’t told him about the little H she had stitched inside his collar. And she wouldn‘t, she decided. Maybe he would find it himself one day, and think of her.

“We will send more shirts,” Mother told him. “And soon we will be starting to spin wool. The first thing we will make is a winter coat for you.”

More spinning. Hannah would be helping, she knew. Maybe she would never like this kind of women’s work as Mother did, or be able to spin as fine a thread as Rebecca. But she would be happy to be making a winter coat for Ben.

Right now there was one more thing she could do for him. Help to cook his favorite dinner.

Since breakfast Mother had had the big iron pot going. Into the bubbling water she had put corned beef and salt pork. She was making a boiled dinner.

Hannah was in charge of the vegetables. She brought them up from the root cellar, and cut them in chunks. Then she sat watching the clock in the corner. Mother was very particular about when each one went into the pot.

When the clock struck eleven, she put in the carrots and turnips.

Hannah stirred the pot until everything was bubbling. In the meantime Mother and Rebecca had made a pudding and slid it into the oven to bake. Wonderful smells mixed together in the kitchen.

“Ahhh!” Ben sniffed loudly as he came in from the barn. The last time he would do that, Hannah thought. For how long? “It smells like a feast,” he said.

And a feast it was. The biggest one since last Thanksgiving Day. Mother heaped the steaming meat onto a platter, with the vegetables all around it. There was bread and fresh-churned butter. Apple butter and pickles. Cider and sassafras tea. Around the table went the platter, again and again.

Father and Ben had three helpings each. Jemmy tried to keep up, but finally he had to put down his fork. “I feel like Mr. Spooner’s hog,” he said.

Mr. Spooner kept a hog that was the fattest in the county, everyone said.

“There is still bird’s nest pudding to come,” Mother told him.

Rebecca dished out the pudding, made of apples in a sweet custard.

“Why is it called bird’s nest pudding?” Jonathan wanted to know.

“See the currants in the center of each apple?” Hannah answered. “The apple is the nest and the currants are baby birds.”

Hannah too felt as stuffed as Mr. Spooner’s hog when the feast was finally over. Ben pushed back his chair and looked down the table at Mother.

“I don’t know when I’ll have another meal like this,” he said.

Mother’s eyes filled up with tears. Even Father had his handkerchief out, blowing his nose.

Jonathan looked at Ben with his big, serious eyes. “You can just come home,” he said, “and we’ll make you another one. Won’t we, Hannah?”

Time rushed by so fast after that. Soon Daniel would be coming. Mother hurried to pack a supper for Ben to take with him. Jonathan begged for one last ride on Ben’s back.

“Giddyap, horse!” he cried as they galloped around the house.

Then Ben disappeared upstairs. When he came down, he was holding something behind his back.

“This is for you,” he said, handing Jemmy a small, carved wooden boat.

“It’s just like the ships in the Connecticut navy!” Jemmy exclaimed.

For Jonathan there was a finely carved little horse. Of course, Hannah thought. This was what Ben had been whittling on the last few evenings.

“Smoke!” she cried. It had just the look of her lamb, from the sweet face down to the funny little tail. She would keep it always. “Oh, Ben, thank you!”

And then, suddenly, Daniel was there, all dressed up and carrying his father’s musket. Daniel wasn’t nearly as tall as Ben. The gun barrel was almost as long as he was tall. He seemed hardly able to carry it. But his freckly face looked determined. Just like Ben.

Father handed him the musket, newly oiled and shining. “Take good care of it, Son. And of yourself.” That was all he said. But his hand tightly gripping Ben’s seemed to be saying more. Father and Ben had made their peace, Hannah could see.

Ben hugged Mother, then Rebecca, and the rest of them in turn. He lifted the gun onto his shoulder. For a moment he stood in the doorway, looking at them. It was as if he were trying to memorize their faces.

“Write to us,” said Mother, her voice almost a whisper.

Then he turned. With Daniel beside him, he marched off down the road in the spring sunshine. Off to be a soldier in General Washington’s army.

Hannah stood by the front gate, watching him go. She felt as if her heart was breaking into tiny pieces.

Ben looked back, flashing her that special grin. “You do that, Goosey!”

Once more he turned and waved. Hannah watched him, growing smaller and smaller in the distance. And then the road curved and Ben was gone.