The game, whether well or ill played hitherto, seems now to be verging fast …
—GEORGE WASHINGTON
YONKERS-ON-HUDSON
Mary nearly burst into an uproar. She stormed into Frederick’s library. “They stole him!” She shut the door hard, turned to her brother, and waxed impassioned. “Right off the street!” Frederick quickly shifted his eyes to the left. She hadn’t realized they were in the company of Beverley. “My apologies, Beverley.”
“Polly, I know what you’re here to discuss,” said Frederick. “I have been told that the dressmaker’s husband willingly signed the contract to serve.”
“Leaving a tavern at midnight is not a time to sign up for Britain’s army. J. E. Sherwood has a wife, a son, and a daughter who is not well. He must be allowed to return home. Rosie is alone.”
“I cannot assert myself into every predicament your townspeople find themselves in,” her brother declared. “Influence ceases to exist if not used prudently.”
“They have nowhere else to turn, Frederick.”
“Beverley, what do we know of this situation?”
“Lord Loudoun has assigned a recruiting captain who has lugged many a man right off the street. The colony is a paradise for recruiters. A captain offers ale, flashes gold before their eyes, and can twist a nay into an affirmation from any chub.”
“Frederick, please. Mr. Sherwood is a good, hardworking man.”
Beverley continued. “Not only here, in the colonies of Maryland and Pennsylvania, they’ve even signed up indentured servants to enlist, offering them freedom after their service. The same for slaves in the South. Of course, the masters, they see these recruiting officers as thieves. However, those seeking freedom have signed up in plentiful numbers. They’ve made the best soldiers in America, from what I understand.”
“And Frederick?”
“Yes, Polly.”
“Rosie fears British soldiers will move into her home on order of Lord Loudoun. They’ve taken over homes in New York City.”
“’Tis true,” Beverley said. “Loudoun is demanding colonials quarter the troops under the Mutiny Act.”
“An Act of England—extended to America?” asked Frederick.
“Aye. Lord Loudoun has used one enacted in Scotland to allow for troops to be housed in private homes. And one separately enacted in England, forcing the allowance of incidentals.”
“Thirty companies have arrived in the last month.” Frederick’s brow furrowed. “I never considered where they would be sheltered.”
“And there is no legal redress!” Mary added.
“Calls have been made elsewhere for the Crown to put an end to quartering any man in America—but to no avail. We should negotiate to prevent their use of the manor and of the church. They’ve turned churches into hospitals elsewhere in the colonies.”
“Our St. John’s?” Frederick looked anxious. “They would not dare. And the manor?”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Frederick rose from his seat, stepped to the window, pushed aside the curtain, and peered out. “Polly, I believe now is the time to allow a visit.”
“A visit? What does one have to do with the other? The visit already occurred.”
“A chance meeting at the entryway will not do. Captain Morris lives in Lord Loudoun’s mansion and is an aide to him. How can we ask for help if you still haven’t thanked him? This has gone on too long.”
“Frederick, a visit is not necessary. Since the last visit, this captain has been near me every time I leave this place.”
“And you’ve spoken not a word to him.”
“You say he is one of my two guards now; however, there must be gossip, for he follows too close. He even came inside the manor one morning while I was breakfasting!”
“This captain in His Majesty’s Army is a well-respected one. Polly, I expect you to keep your pledge.”
“I have not affirmed anything.” She turned her back to Frederick.
“One for the other.”
HER HEAD ACHED with a dull throbbing that did not stop its constant beat for the two days since she agreed to a visit from the kneeler. Today Mary was attempting to create a French dessert. Being surrounded by sweetness helped take her mind off of the day’s miserable task.
Mary watched as Temperance carefully removed a lovely ring from her finger, a gift from François, and placed it into a box on the shelf above her. It was a posy ring, the kind with a secret inscription hidden inside, that it may touch the skin. She adored the inscription inside Temperance’s ring: Retrouvons-nous à minuit. Mary knew the translation: “Let us meet at midnight.” Mary’s eyes shifted to her own hands. There was no posy ring. She couldn’t even imagine the feeling of receiving such a ring. Mary often imagined what romance would be like. Find a love that makes you feel free. She believed she had found this in George. And yet she waited still for his return.
“We have not time for silliness, François.” Temperance laughed at his serenade over his pot. “Please tell him, Miss Polly.” Temperance gave her hands over to a full-force kneading in a bowl of dough.
“Ma chère petite amie. I sing to my pot for to awaken the flavors. And I suggest le pain you are making will need a half pound of butter.”
“More butter! The French style is excessive.” Temperance rolled her eyes.
Mary should have been entertaining the guests, but this was, for certain, more enjoyable.
“François,” Mary asked, “have the clove gilliflowers been steeping for long enough in the lemon’s juice?” Mary wanted to create a perfect marbling effect on the fruit wafers she made from his instruction. François suggested taking the pulp from plums, putting it through a hair sieve, adding three ounces of that to six ounces of fine sugar. Both were heated on the fire until almost boiling. Mary poured the mixture onto glass and let it almost dry.
“Parfait,” he said.
With his help, she added the coloring from the steeped cloves, which gently maneuvered through the wafers to add the red effect.
“Miss Polly, we are fond of you in the kitchen, but should you not be attending the garden party?” asked Temperance. “François will take the dessert wafers out to you when they are ready.”
TODAY WAS THE day she was to thank Captain Morris for his gallantry those months ago. “One for the other,” as Frederick had put it. This would bring J.E. home to Rosie and Lulu and Jeffrey. Mary had no choice, though it seemed too long after that Christmas Eve banquet. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen the man. Not only did he follow her as a guard nearly every day, he sent a new species of flower to the manor each morning with a note explaining its origin and a note requesting an interview. Genu. She thought of how Eva got down on her knees as she said the name.
Mary, of course, never responded to Morris. Her heart was fixed. But would George come back for her? Not receiving any word from him was sowing doubt as to whether he would return for her. Sixteen months passed. She reminded herself he was fighting a war.
Mary walked out to see the battledore feathers flying in an utterly confused fashion. Three women—Bernadette Clara Belle, Emily Joyce, and Elle Cole—stood in a circle, playing with the paddles on the velvety lawn near the slope that led to the water.
Before she could reach them, she was stopped by the sprightly captain.
“Miss Philipse, if I may,” Captain Morris said. “Might there be a day we could ride together?”
Mary looked at him, hoping silence would imply indifference.
“I could ask the other guard to hold back.”
She didn’t answer.
“If, in fact, you cared to ride alone, I would be sure to give you that space.”
She didn’t want him to be kind to her. She wanted to dislike him. But not having the guards would give her a chance to finally ride fast without stopping or riding sidesaddle. It would finally give her freedom. So, she turned to the answer she and Susannah had conjured up for any request from Captain Morris. “Apply to my brother, for he, and only he, will provide you with a response.”
He smiled wide and buckled, falling an inch short of having his knees touch the lawn. “Alas, the spark of hopeful attention I so desperately desire!”
“Polly, join us!” called out Bernadette, who was wearing a dress too low at the top for such a game and the same feather in her high hair.
’Twas true that Mary was not fond of these ladies, but she felt thankful now for an excuse to move away from him. She had good reason for inviting the belles.
“And Captain Morris, thank you for your assistance the night of the banquet,” she said quickly with a small smile. She walked toward the ladies. She didn’t look back.
Play stopped as Mary came into the circle.
“He’s handsome, Polly, and magnetic!” Bernadette offered the captain a flirtatious smile and wave. “Don’t you agree, Emily?”
Emily gave a wink to the other officers near Morris. “I will need a moment to admire the dapper fellows before us.”
“Is it true none of them has presented a ring as of yet?” Elle asked.
Bernadette, Emily, and Elle giggled. Mary was having difficulty masking her distaste.
“If any of these men asked, I would give them my hand,” Bernadette said, “immediately.”
“Solely your hand?” Emily lifted her bosom higher.
Bernadette shifted her dress lower at the top.
Mary was miffed. “Ladies, would you consider joining hands with a man who does not possess the whole heart?”
Elle appeared surprised by the question. “With any of these men, certainly, except for Captain Morris, of course. He has his eyes on someone else.”
“Should not the state of marriage be accepted with only the most honest intentions?” Mary wasn’t sure why she was even debating the topic.
“If you find a man willing, you should immediately seize the opportunity, Miss Polly,” said Bernadette with a smirk. “Act up quickly to the nuptial vows, especially true for one who is past the age of prudence.”
Mary could have fired back a retort. In truth, she knew Bernadette was right.
Mary needed to end the discussion. “Let us play.”
With wooden paddles in hand, the four of them, three of them giddy, played the game. Back and forth they went, with one winning, then the other. Bernadette was in a frenzy, trying to hit each feathered birdie. Mary couldn’t have cared less who was winning, but Bernadette was playing as if a laurel-wreath crown were at stake. They played in a round-robin style, two against two, then Elle versus Emily, and finally, Bernadette versus Mary. Bernadette’s eyes narrowed; her face became stern, more serious than Mary thought it capable. Mary found this quite amusing. The birdie flew back and forth in the air and back again.
The officers began to cheer as the match went on longer than Mary would have expected. Bernadette’s hair flew high in the air, left to right. Bernadette was quick, but Mary was strong, so strong that she at last hit the birdie hard, too hard; it went high, so high and far, they had to look up at it.
Hair fanning behind her, Bernadette raced for the birdie. She was headed for the slope. Mary ran after her, shouting, “No, Bernadette! No!”
She wouldn’t listen.
“Please, leave it be!”
She didn’t stop.
“You’re too close.” Mary rushed after her. “Bernadette, no!”
But Bernadette kept going and leaped. Her hair unwound from the mass atop her head. The feather came loose and launched into the air.
“Be careful of the rocks!” Mary yelled.
Bernadette hit the birdie. A shout of triumph emerged from her smiling lips. The grin was quickly wiped away. Her body hit the ground with such force they felt the ground shake. She tumbled and tumbled down the hill. She neared the edge, the one that led to the water, off the stubby cliff.
Mary screamed louder and picked up her pace. “Please, no!”
Her heart screamed out: Mama says it’s dangerous.