… I hope I shall always possess firmness and virtue enough to maintain (what I consider the most enviable of all titles) the character of an honest man.
—GEORGE WASHINGTON
The coach was conveying them to the Yonkers manor—Mary sat next to Frederick, Susannah nestled close to Beverley.
“About the town with a Southern officer,” Frederick said in a teasing manner.
Mary wanted to pay no attention to him.
“The Delanceys tell me there was quite a scene in front of the New Exchange.”
She tried to take her mind off her discontent with Frederick’s prying by thinking of George. Her feelings for him were becoming inexpressible.
“How is it that you conduct yourself in such manner?” her brother continued. “I appreciate being informed.”
A deep sigh came from her lips. “Frederick, the colonel traveled five hundred miles on horseback to be here. The least I could do was accept an invitation from him.”
Her brother turned to Susannah and Beverley, “The Delanceys believe him to be phlegmatic in his address.”
Susannah sat up straight, with hands folded. “I believe his countenance is marked by caution and watchfulness.”
Mary copied her sister’s seated position. “The faculty of concealing one’s own sentiments is a requisite of a statesman, is it not?”
“It is a common feature in commanders of the military,” Susannah backed her.
Beverley affirmed with a nod and added, “He is an honest man. To this, I can attest.”
“Are you certain?” asked Frederick.
“If I may offer an example from our childhood, one involving a sorrel beloved by his mother, but of a fierce nature, which resisted any attempt to be reined.”
“His mother’s horse?” inquired Frederick.
“What is she like?” Susannah leaned on her true. “His mother.”
“Compared to my own parents, of her, I was a thirteen times more fearful.”
“How else would we expect her to be?” Mary felt the need to defend the woman.
“She is a lady who demands discipline and morality from her children,” said Beverley.
“I hear she is a beautiful woman,” Mary noted.
“And what of the horse?” prodded Frederick.
“It was believed there was not a person who could ride this furor of an animal. Of course, George was of a different opinion. Upon his request, my brother, John, and I assisted in trapping the animal into a closed space and pushing a bit into its mouth. With that, Washington sprung upon its back and tore off into the fields. The power of George’s strength could tame even its grandsires. He held on to the wild steed with all his might. The conflict went on for longer than our comfort could have imagined. We soon regretted taking any part in this enterprise, for the struggle between man and horse became near terrifying as the horse used all of its energy in one forceful effort that resulted in a violent plunge to the ground.”
“What of George?” Mary burst out.
“Unharmed and without even a bruise,” Beverley told them.
“And the horse?” Mary was completely engrossed in every detail.
“Died right there before us.”
The sisters gasped.
“George was devastated,” Beverley asserted. “Never again did he treat a horse with less than extreme tenderness and care.”
Mary adored how he named each one of his horses. So this was why.
“What tale did you tell to his mother?” Frederick leaned back.
“We planned out several stratagems.”
“I would suspect.” Frederick folded his arms.
“Though George had little interest in our lie making. At breakfast the next morn, Mrs. Washington asked us if we had seen her favorite steed. When there was no answer, she asked it again. George replied, ‘Your sorrel is dead.’”
Mary leaned forward, truly fascinated. Strong and brave and honest. This man was gaining possession of every part of her heart.
“A look of shock appeared upon his mother’s face. ‘Dead!’ she snapped. ‘How could this be?’ George went on to tell her the whole story, how the horse had been beyond controllable, how he had asked us to aid him, and how in his fight for mastery of the horse, the sorrel fell to the ground in a violent fit and died right there.”
Susannah brought her hands to the sides of her cheeks. “And what was the mother’s reaction?”
“She turned red as a beet. After a minute’s time, she spoke, saying she regretted losing her favorite horse but rejoiced in knowing her son always spoke the truth. My brother and I can attest to this: George Washington cannot tell a lie.”
“Hmm. I wonder whether I should test this theory,” countered Frederick.
Mary rolled her eyes. The last thing she needed was for Frederick to interrogate George.
Frederick shifted his eyes to look out the window. “It’s unfortunate that his military position requires him to journey to Boston.”
“George is leaving us?” Mary’s heart dropped like a lump of lead. “When?”
He kept his focus outdoors. “The Delanceys tell me the colonel received a letter, requiring him to leave for New England on the twenty-third.”
“Of this month?” She felt a queasiness well up.
“Yes, Polly.”
“Beverley, is not his birthday the day prior, on the twenty-second?” asked Susannah. “Is this not true, my true?”
“The twenty-second, yes. Well, this is according to the Gregorian calendar. His authentic date of birth, I believe, is on the tenth or the eleventh.”
“This calls for a celebration, Frederick.” Susannah’s eyes lit up. “A ball.”
“Another ball?” Frederick turned to look at her. “It would not be appropriate on the heels of the other.”
“There must be dancing on his final night, Frederick,” chimed Susannah.
“I cannot approve.”
“We could invite a select group for a small private affair of kind entertainment without the show of ceremony,” Susannah suggested.
Mary tried to hold back the thrill that raced through her, knowing George might be in the manor once more. Would he kiss her hand again? Might she feel his lips upon her own? It was almost too much. She had to get a yes from Frederick. She just had to. She knew just what to say.
“And, Frederick, we could send an invitation to Mrs. Rutgers.” Mary knew Frederick had grown fond of the woman. She saw his eyes linger as his dance with Elizabeth ended the night of the ball. “Elizabeth.”
Was that redness she saw flash on Frederick’s cheeks? She knew an affirmative answer was coming.
“Very well.”