Ring of Secrets (48 page)

Ben chuckled. “I always did excel at debate, so long as there were no ladies present. And I suspect you would have too, had you been a fellow at Yale.”

Her gaze went serious, intense. “No more secrets. Not from each other.”

“Agreed.”

She nodded, settled against his side again, and took another sip of her coffee. For a long moment only the pop of fire, the settling wood, and the next quiet snore from Freeman disturbed the silence of the night. Winter hummed out a breath. “Would you really have taken up the colors?”

He breathed a soft laugh. “Do I seem an unlikely soldier? I confess I had a few moments of doubt as to whether I would be an asset or a liability to my country, but I fully intended to follow my friends into the army, yes. Until I got a letter from Archie saying he had bought a commission.”

The same feeling settled over him now that had four years ago—the realization that he was the only one in his family who believed so firmly in America's right to be free. That they would never see eye to eye.

And that he could never risk meeting Archie on a battlefield. Never.

“I'm glad you did not. Who knows if we ever would have met had you done so.”

“A possibility I cannot bear to entertain.” He held her close, considering yet again how the Lord had arranged his every step. “We ought to get some sleep. We still have half a day of travel before we reach the army and many prayers for safety to offer up.”

Winter straightened and poured out the dregs from her cup. “I will never tire of hearing you talk of praying, Bennet Lane.”

“Don't be so sure. When I get excited about a topic, I can drone on about it endlessly.”

She grinned and leaned over to kiss him, soft and sweet. “Drone away, my love. Drone all you like.”

“I will remind you that you said so one cold winter night when I have been talking for hours already about some minuscule philosophical point whose importance you cannot fathom.” Smiling, he stood, stretched, and took the three steps to his bedding.

“If it becomes unbearable, I will return the torture by lapsing into talk of hats and dresses and shoes.”

He chuckled and settled upon his hard, cold blanket. “Which would be as tortuous for you as for me.”

“How fortunate, then, that I enjoy minuscule philosophical points.” She took her place opposite the fire. “Good night, Bennet. I love you.”

“And I you.”

Freeman shifted and groaned. “Will you two please go to sleep?”

They exchanged one last smile over the orange flames before settling in. Ben sighed as he tried to find a comfortable position on the unforgiving ground, and he turned his thoughts toward the galaxies above him and the hand that had shaped them.

Creator, yes. One of such artistry and comprehension that Bennet could never hope to appreciate the full depths. So many things shone now to be grateful for. All that had brought them here. The safe travel they had been given straight through British territory, thanks to Fairchild's passes.

But one of the greatest challenges lay before them tomorrow.

Father above, let them believe us.

Winter could only stare at the sea of blue with tears in her eyes. Not a red coat in sight. Nay, just the deep, beautiful color of home. Her people. And somewhere out there, she hoped, Father.

Their wagon rumbled into the Patriot camp near Passaic Falls, New Jersey, and headed for the tent they had been told belonged to Tallmadge.
She twisted her handkerchief between her fingers.
Let him believe us, Lord my God. Let him be here, and let him recognize the truth in our words.

Winter caught a few curious glances sweeping over her, but no one said anything as they drew to a halt and Bennet helped her down. Freeman set the brake on the wagon, and they moved together to the open flap of the tent. Inside a cluster of men bent over a table strewn with maps, and another sat at a field desk, quill in hand.

Tallmadge. She didn't know how she was so sure, but it must be him. He had pale skin, with features surprisingly delicate until he cocked his head and so displayed a prominent nose. Handsome, without question, as she had heard him rumored to be. And a demeanor that put her at ease, though he had not so much as looked up at them. Something calm and sure. Something straight from heaven.

Of course. Robbie had mentioned once that Tallmadge was a man of deep faith.

She stepped forward and drew in a long breath. Bennet had tried to convince her that he ought to handle this, but she had insisted. She was, after all, the one who had been involved in it so long. “Excuse me, Colonel Tallmadge.”

Tallmadge jolted and looked up, no doubt surprised to hear a female voice. A second later he surged to his feet. “Good day, miss. Sir. May I help you?”

“I hope so, yes.” She moved forward, flanked by both Freeman and Bennet. Her throat closed as she neared his desk and spotted a familiar envelope upon it, one bearing her script. The seal was broken. Clasping her hands to keep them from shaking, she darted a glance at the other soldiers. “May we beg a private audience with you, Colonel? I have a matter to discuss of a very sensitive nature.”

Tallmadge's brows knit. “May I ask who begs such an audience?”

She dipped a polite curtsy. “Miss Winter Reeves of Long Island, sir, daughter of Colonel Hezekiah Reeves.”

“Reeves, you say.” Tallmadge looked beyond her and nodded to the soldiers. “Certainly I will grant an audience to the daughter of Colonel Reeves, though I wonder why you seek me rather than him.”

“Oh, I hope to find him next.” Winter motioned to Bennet. “This is my betrothed, Mr. Bennet Lane of New Haven.”

“New Haven—Yale, perhaps?” Tallmadge brightened as he smiled at Bennet. “I went there myself.”

Bennet inclined his head. “I am aware, sir. You were a couple years ahead of me, I believe, but I was acquainted with Nathan Hale, who I understand was a particular friend of yours.”

“Yes. Yes, he was.” Tallmadge's voice went quiet. As the other men filed out, he motioned them to a few chairs. “How may I assist you today?”

Winter checked to make sure the others had all gone and caught Freeman's fortifying nod as she looked back to Tallmadge. Another deep breath was in order. “I must speak with you about the latest Culper letter, sir.”

Tallmadge only blinked, though she thought she detected a twitch in his fingers. “I am very sorry, Miss Reeves, but I am unaware of what you reference.”

Of course he would say so. She leaned forward. “Sir, are you aware that we Reeves are from Oyster Bay, neighbors with the Townsends?”

Tallmadge's brows lifted, and his finger twitched again. Then he folded his hands in his lap when he sat, out of her view. “I cannot say as I recall from where your father hails, no. But should your acquaintance with said family have special meaning to me?”

“You know well it does.” She kept her voice calm, she hoped, though she wanted to shout at him to abandon the pretense. She had had enough of pretense. “What you probably do not know is that I have spent these last two years in the City of the New York with my grandparents, where I was in regular communication with Robbie Townsend. And where I learned of the Culpers.”

He gave her a tight, empty smile. “And who are the Culpers? Friends of the Townsends?”

Her eyes slid shut long enough for her heart to cry to the Lord. “Please, Colonel. I know he never mentioned me. He swore he would not, did not, for my protection, but it was I who gave him the news of the paper stolen from the mint in Philadelphia. I who, more recently, let him know that the British were aware of Rochambeau's arrival in Rhode Island. I who foolishly sent that letter on your desk when Robbie fled to Long Island to avoid General Arnold.”

Tallmadge folded his arms and blinked. “I apologize, miss, but we seem to be speaking different languages.”

How exasperating! What must she do, recite verbatim the words she had penned? She hoped not, for with all that had happened since, she could hardly recall the exact words she had used. But otherwise, how could she convince him she was on his side and not merely a spy who had learned too much?

Bennet made a motion that caught her eyes. His lips hinted at a grin as he splayed both hands over his chest, right hand above his left, moved them out. Then put his palms together and opened them as if they were pages.
Interesting book.

What in the world…? She followed his gaze toward Tallmadge's desk. Papers abounded, but only one book sat upon it. The code book.

Father above, send Your whisper. Be my truth and buckler.

She looked again at the letter. “I pray you have not sent the information in that letter to seven-one-one, Mr.
Bolton.
For it was fed to me by General Arnold, who recognized my father in me and suspected that I was involved in the Culper Ring. If seven-one-one goes in search of the three-seven-one supposedly captured and taken to the one-nine-two on seven-two-eight, he will be ambushed.”

Tallmadge cleared his throat and reached for the letter. “Who supposedly captured this three-seven-one?”

A bit of calm edged out the desperation. “Whaleboaters. You haven't that in the code, and it isn't pronounceable in the coded alphabet, but it would be spelled out
y-b-e—
”

“All right, all right.” He held up a hand, contemplation thinning his lips. “You obviously know much. The question is, are you an enemy who knows
too
much or a friend of whom I have been unaware?”

Running footsteps interrupted before she could form an answer, and Winter spun on her seat as a tall form entered, one with a face more lined, hair more gray, but so blessedly familiar. Father's eyes went wide. “Freeman? Winter!”

She flew from her chair and threw herself into his arms, tears tangling with laughter in her throat when he caught her and spun her in a circle as he had done when she was a child. “Father! Oh, how I missed you. I prayed for you every day. Every single day.”

“And I for you, Winnie girl.” He put her down and framed her face
in his hands. His green eyes gleamed, and his smile shone brighter than the sun. “Look at you. All grown up and so beautiful. You are the very image of your mother.”

“Am I?” Her smile wobbled. “General Arnold thought rather that I looked like you.”

Sobriety dimmed his eyes. “Is that why you are here? I wanted to think you safe in the city. I told myself you were well cared for with the Hamptons. I tried to write you but received a curt note from your grandfather saying no letters would be shared with you.” He sucked in a breath and shook his head. “I am so sorry I was not there, Winnie, when your mother died. By the time I received word of it, you were already gone.”

She could only manage a tremulous smile that she prayed had some encouragement in it, and a soft “I know.”

Tallmadge cleared his throat and stepped out from behind his desk. Bennet and Freeman had risen as well. The colonel motioned toward her. “This obviously
is
your daughter, then, Reeves? And can you verify that your family is familiar with the Townsends of Oyster Bay?”

“Acquainted?” Father grinned and tucked her into his side. “Of course we are. My Winnie played with the Townsend girls since they were in their cradles, and young Robert was the one who let her know I was still alive and well while they were both in the city.”

'Twas relief, if she weren't mistaken, that overtook Tallmadge's eyes. “Well, then. I am sorry to have doubted your word, Miss Reeves.”

“You need not apologize, sir. 'Tis a wise man who doubts such things.”

Father cocked a brow. “I have missed something.”

“Nothing to worry about, Hez.” Freeman stepped forward, his smile bright and sure. “Just news we brought with us from New York.”

Father released her to clap his friend in an embrace. Winter smiled over it, but more so over the fact that Tallmadge slid over to his desk, picked up her letter, and ripped it in two. Then he ripped it again and again, until it was nothing but shreds. Once finished, he held up the paper he had been writing upon when they came in and repeated the process—presumably his letter to Washington.