The Rebel's Return (12 page)

Alice’s face darkened. “Don’t be absurd, Phoebe. Why would Edmund care about a letter from Nicholas?”

“It came from the army! He probably thought it contained military information.”

A sudden look of fear crossed Alice’s face, and when she spoke her voice was sharp with anger.  “What are you saying, Phoebe? Edmund is no spy! He cares nothing about politics!”

“How do you know, Alice? I saw him at the State House last July, when they were reading the Declaration! And you’ve heard the things he’s said, about how foolish we are to try to fight the King’s army.”

“And so? You were there that day as well, but you are no spy!”

Phoebe suddenly snatched her cloak from its peg on the wall. “I have to find him. I have to stop him.”

Alice grabbed her arm, and Phoebe had never seen her sister look so angry or so afraid. “Are you mad, Phoebe? Do you know how much trouble you can cause by making wild accusations? Let me talk to Edmund first. There’s probably some simple explanation for all this. Edmund wouldn’t do anything so foolish or dangerous.”

Phoebe hesitated, for she had never opposed Alice in her life. But something, instinct or intuition, told her that this time she was right and Alice was wrong.

“I have to go.” She shook off her sister’s hand and dashed out the door.

There was no sign of Edmund on the street. How much time had he gained on her? Five, ten minutes? No more than that. Where should she go first to look for him? She had no idea. She knew where he lived, and there was always a possibility that he had gone home, just as he had told Alice. It was the only place she could think of to look.

She started down the street at a trot, the iciness of the winter air striking her face and freezing her breath as she ran. She tasted snow in the air and smelled it in the low-hanging clouds. In her haste she had forgotten her hood and mittens, and she dug her hands into her pockets for warmth.  She needed to formulate a plan before she arrived at Edmund’s house. Could she just walk up to him and say, “Edmund, my letter is missing. Did you take it?” Edmund would surely never admit to such a theft. She would feel foolish asking the question. On the other hand, such a move would at least make him aware she suspected him. Perhaps he would hesitate to pass the letter on to anyone if he knew he had aroused suspicion.

She reached the house before deciding for sure on a plan. Slowing her pace, she approached the door, her heart pounding, as possible approaches swirled through her mind. What could she possibly say? “Edmund, I know you’re a spy, and I’ll report you if you don’t return my letter to me”? She would never be able to say such a thing. She felt a thickness in her throat made it impossible to swallow.

She knocked on the door and a moment later heard footsteps within. Edmund’s mother, a rail-thin woman in a checkered apron, her graying hair tucked under her mobcap, opened the door.

“Phoebe!” The woman held the door open for her. “Come in! What are you doing here?”

“Good day, Mrs. Ingram.” Phoebe stepped into the hall and glanced around, trying to breathe normally. “I’m looking for Edmund.”

“Edmund? Goodness, child, Edmund isn’t here. Isn’t he at your house? He told me Alice had invited him for Christmas dinner. That she wanted him to meet your relatives who were coming to visit.”

Phoebe nodded, still panting. “Aye, he was there. But he left a few minutes ago. He said you were having company, and wanted him to come home early.”

Mrs. Ingram shook her head, her expression puzzled. “Why would Edmund say something like that? We don’t have any company here today. I assumed he would be spending the whole evening at your house.”

Phoebe felt her heart plummet.  For a moment she was speechless with dismay.

“I don’t know where to look for him now,” she said finally.

“Goodness, I don’t know either. Why would Edmund make up a story like that? All I can imagine is he wanted to meet some other friends and was afraid your sister would disapprove. He may be at a tavern with his good friend, Harry Hastings.”

Phoebe took a deep breath, trying to think. “Do you know what tavern he usually visits?”

The woman frowned. “Let me think. There is one called the Blue Bell, but I don’t know exactly where it is located. I’m sorry, Phoebe. Is this a crisis? Has something happened to Alice, or your parents?”

“Nay.” Phoebe managed a smile. “’Tis nothing like that. My family is well. I wanted to ask Edmund a question, but I’m sure I’ll have another opportunity the next time he comes to call.”

“I’ll tell Edmund you were looking for him.” Mrs. Ingram clearly wanted to be helpful.

“You needn’t trouble yourself. I’ll talk to him later.” Phoebe was already opening the door. “Thank you.”

Out on the street she looked right and left. Which direction was the Blue Bell tavern? There were so many taverns in Philadelphia. Was it near Market Street? She started in that direction, praying it was the one she remembered. The wind bit into her face and whistled in her ears. Frantically she scanned each tavern sign she passed, ignoring the curious glances and snide remarks from some young men who had imbibed too much Christmas cheer.

Finally, after walking the cobbled streets for what seemed like several miles, she spotted a tavern with a picture of a blue bell hanging in front, and she opened the door. Warmth enveloped her and the scent of roast pork and ale met her nostrils. Inside the door she paused to catch her breath and let her eyes adjust to the gloom. Her eyes scanned the faces at the tables.

“Welcome, mistress. Are you looking for someone perhaps?”

Phoebe looked up to see a tall balding man who appeared to be the tavern owner.

“I was wondering—” she paused to catch her breath, “does a man named Edmund Ingram ever come to this tavern?”

“Aye, Ingram, certainly he does. I know him well. Several times a week at least.”

Phoebe nodded eagerly, turning once again to search the faces. “Is he here now, by any chance?”

“He was here, I believe,” the man told her. “Perhaps an hour ago, but he didn’t stay.”

Phoebe’s heart fell. “He—he didn’t say where he was going, did he?”

She saw a slight, knowing smile at the corners of the man’s mouth, and suddenly blushed at the situation she found herself in. But it didn’t matter what this man thought of her. Nothing mattered but finding Edmund and her letter.

“Nay, I fear not.”

Dejected, Phoebe turned to the door. Once on the street, she started slowly for home. She had no idea where Edmund might have gone. Probably it didn’t matter now anyway. Edmund had had ample time to read her letter and pass whatever information it contained to whomever he wanted.

She was halfway home, passing the street that led to the Kirby home, when another idea struck her. She turned and headed to the Kirbys’.

*     *     *

“Do you really think Edmund Ingram is passing information to the British?” Mr. Kirby asked fifteen minutes later after Phoebe had explained her fears to him.

“I don’t know,” Phoebe said, “and I would hate to accuse someone falsely. But it is so strange the way he lied to my sister about going home when he was really going to that tavern. And it is even stranger the way letters keep disappearing when he is visiting, and always letters connected with the army. Oh, Mr. Kirby, I am so frightened that news of Washington’s plans will reach the British, and the army will be captured and it will be all my fault.”

Mr. Kirby mused for a moment in silence, turning all this information over in his mind. “I will share your worries with the Council of Public Safety, and they will decide whether Ingram is actually a threat,” he said finally. “As for this particular battle your friend mentioned in the letter, without knowing his contacts it may be impossible to stop him. Sometimes, Phoebe, there is nothing we can do but pray.”

“Then I will certainly do that, and most fervently,” Phoebe said.

Chapter Ten

In spite of the warmth of the new Franklin stove, the air was chilly between the Fuller sisters the next day. Alice awoke and dressed in silence, then avoided Phoebe during their morning activities, and Phoebe, finding her sister so uncommunicative, decided against relating her conversation with Mr. Kirby. She knew Alice would not be pleased to hear that her sister’s suspicions were being reported to the Council of Public Safety. Phoebe answered her mother’s inquiries about her disappearance the night before as vaguely as possible. No reason to alarm her mother unnecessarily, especially since she felt sure her mother would agree with Alice.

Late in the afternoon when Alice and her mother left to visit a sick church member and carry a kettle of soup to the family, Phoebe chose to stay at home. She was a bit surprised that as yet Alice had not told her mother about their altercation, and guessed Alice herself was not completely convinced of Edmund’s innocence, or she would have enlisted her mother’s support. Either way, there was nothing she could do now but pray.

She took advantage of her mother’s absence to carry a book into the parlor, but for once found it impossible to lose herself in the story. Her mind kept returning to the events of the day before, to Nicholas’s letter, and to the battle the dying army would be fighting, perhaps at that very moment.

Did I do wrong, Lord?
she asked for the tenth time that day.
I don’t want to hurt Edmund, of course, but I also don’t want Edmund to hurt the army. How confusing loyalty can be in such a situation! Lord, please protect the army as they go into battle, and if it is your will, don’t let our cause for independence be completely destroyed. And please protect Nicholas and George. And oh, Lord, I am so thankful that Nicholas knows you now and has found peace with you, even if he is killed. But please, please don’t let him be killed!

She tried not to think beyond that. She was, of course, highly gratified that Nicholas had chosen to share his experience with her, but she couldn’t and wouldn’t read any more into it. For Nicholas’s sake, not her own, she was happy he knew the Lord.

She heard a clatter on the street in front of the house, and rose to look out of the front window. An unfamiliar carriage was stopped in front of the Fuller house. She heard a knock on the door and Martha’s footsteps as she hurried to open it.

A moment later the parlor door opened and Lavinia Teasdale entered, followed by her mother and sister Charlotte.

“Lavinia!” Phoebe cried, surprised beyond words. She ran to embrace her friend, and was doubly surprised to receive a second embrace from Mrs. Teasdale. “How wonderful of you to come and call!”

“We are in town for Christmas, visiting my grandparents,” Lavinia explained. “I told my mother we could not leave without seeing you once again.”

Phoebe bade them all be seated, and called to Martha to bring some coffee and cakes. As she took the guests’ cloaks, she admired their lovely silk gowns in violet, turquoise, and yellow, and wished she were wearing something equally fine. The Teasdales were certainly doing well for themselves, and she recalled Alice’s opinion that Nicholas was beyond their reach.  For the next five minutes the four women exchanged the happy chatter of old friends reunited after a long separation.

“I am so sorry my mother and Alice are gone right now,” Phoebe said as she explained their errand. “I certainly expect them to return soon.”

“I am glad
you
are at home,” Lavinia returned. “You are the one we most wanted to see.”

Mrs. Teasdale hesitated a moment, and Phoebe suddenly realized that to her, this visit was more than just a call on an old acquaintance. “Phoebe, have you actually seen Nicholas lately?” Her eyes, pleading, were fixed on the girl’s face.

“I saw him one week ago, and I received a letter from him just yesterday.” Phoebe clasped her hands together and proceeded to relate from memory the details of the letter. His mother’s face grew brighter as she spoke, and by the end the lady was blinking back tears.

“Oh, I am so thankful!” Mrs. Teasdale wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. “It is what I have longed to hear. If only he might be reconciled with his father, I would have nothing to wish for, but I suppose that will be impossible before we leave.”

Phoebe glanced at Lavinia with a question in her eyes. Lavinia said hesitantly, “You see, we will be leaving for England in the next few weeks. We are waiting for my father to conclude his business here, and then we will stay in England until this rebellion is over.”

“Then I won’t see you again,” Phoebe said slowly.

“Nay, but you must write to us.” Mrs. Teasdale leaned toward her. “Oh, Phoebe, you are a good girl, and I know you must be a wholesome influence on Nicholas. If you could kindly look out for him while we are gone, I would be so terribly grateful.”

Phoebe patted the weeping woman’s hand. “I will do whatever I can,” she said sincerely. “I love him too.”

The words slipped out of her mouth before she had a chance to weigh them, and instantly she could have bitten her tongue. But Nicholas’s mother did not appear shocked or disapproving.

“I am happy to hear it.” She squeezed the girl’s hand. “And I hope he loves you too. I believe he must, to have written you such a letter, although he may not realize it himself.”

For a moment the four of them sat in silence as Mrs. Teasdale wiped her eyes and the two sisters exchanged glances. As Phoebe tried to swallow her embarrassment at her faux pas she caught a glimpse of a horse and rider passing by in the street just outside the window. Something about the size and color of the horse, or perhaps the figure of the rider, made her suddenly rise and move to the passage outside the parlor, opening the front door just in time to see Nicholas swing down from Syllabub and stumble toward the house. He did not even pause or greet her on the threshold, but fell into the passage and caught her in his arms, his own shaking as he clutched her.

“Oh, Phoebe,” he gasped, “I have been to hell and back, and it was cold, not hot like they say. I have never been so cold in my life.”

He was certainly cold in her arms, his coat filthy and caked with snow and mud, his face covered with several days’ growth of stubble. Phoebe was so startled by both his words and his embrace that it was a moment before she could find her voice to stammer, “Nicholas—where have you been?”

He straightened then and partially released her, and when she was able to look in his face she saw, in spite of his shivering exhaustion, that his eyes were dancing with excitement.

“We’ve been to Trenton!” he exclaimed, “and oh, Phoebe, it was marvelous! We captured the entire Hessian command!”

For a moment Phoebe was sure he was joking. “Impossible!” she cried. “What are you talking about?”

Nicholas hugged her again, and this time nearly lifted her off her feet. “’Tis true!” he laughed, “and it was beautiful! We surprised the Hessians in the morning, when they had just gone back to bed after roll call, and Colonel Rall had even sent in the sentries because of the cold! The timing was perfect, simply perfect, beyond what any general could have planned, and could only have been the work of divine Providence.”               He stopped suddenly, and Phoebe felt his arms go limp. She turned and saw that his mother was standing in the parlor door. Nicholas had just seen her.

“Mother,” he whispered, and then he was in her arms and she was crying against his shoulder.

“Mother, Mother, don’t cry,” he managed, although his own voice to Phoebe sounded suspiciously choked.

“God is so good,” she sobbed. “I prayed I would be able to see you once more before we left, but I truly didn’t believe it would be possible.”

Phoebe swallowed hard at the sight of them together and then slipped back into the parlor to leave them alone. Lavinia and Charlotte had run to the front door behind their mother and Phoebe could hear them all talking at once. But two minutes later Nicholas entered the parlor with his mother and sisters still clinging to him. They found seats and talked hard, making up for eighteen months in their brief visit. Lavinia and Charlotte related the news of all their friends and relatives, everything important that had occurred in the last year and a half, and then Nicholas shared his experiences in the army, dwelling in particular detail on the victory that very day in Trenton. Nearly an hour passed as they talked, and when Phoebe glanced out the window she was surprised to find the eastern sky had faded to dusk.

“I always believed it was wrong for King George to send mercenaries to wage war against his own subjects,” his mother sighed when Nicholas had finished relating his story. “Oh, this war is so dreadful. But my dear, it heartens me to see you so fine and manly and honest and well-grown. I believe this last year has been the making of you, for all its difficulties.” And then, without changing her tone in the least, she added, “Now if you promise you will marry Phoebe when you can find the time, I will not ask any more.”

Phoebe started and felt her face grow hot in horrified embarrassment, but when she met Nicholas’s gaze across his mother’s head, she saw that he was laughing.

“Phoebe might have something to say to the matter, Mother,” he returned with a grin. “Why, the last I heard she was being courted by a charming, personable young fellow named Miles Quincy. Perhaps I should carry her off to our country estate and hold her prisoner there until she accepts me.”

Mrs. Teasdale glanced uncertainly from the young lady’s scarlet countenance to her irrepressible son. “Nonsense!” she exclaimed. “You can certainly charm her with no difficulty.”

“Not always,” Nicholas replied with a twinkle. Phoebe remembered the hot day in August that they had spent together at the fair, and felt her face grow warmer.

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Alice and her mother, returning from their visit. After exchanging pleasantries with her old friend, Mrs. Teasdale reluctantly told her children it was time to depart. She embraced her son, shedding tears once more before taking leave. Phoebe slipped away to the kitchen to help put the evening meal on the table.

Ten minutes later supper was ready, but when the family gathered around the table Nicholas was missing. Phoebe called his name, and then, finding him nowhere below, climbed the stairs to her brothers’ bedroom and peeked through the door that stood ajar.

Nicholas was sprawled out on George’s bed, still fully dressed, and fast asleep.

*     *     *

“I reckon no one will call to replace Washington now,” Phoebe said.

Nicholas had slept through the entire night, much to his chagrin, and was spending a few moments alone with Phoebe after breakfast before heading back to rejoin his commander. Her mother, with a question in her raised eyebrows, had left them alone in the kitchen washing dishes while she and Alice started the rest of the daily housework.

“Aye, I’m sure of it. Washington has certainly redeemed himself this time, and this victory should silence most of his critics. Especially now that Charles Lee had been captured. Lee was a bit of a fool, and Washington has shown his genius.”

“What do you really think, Nicholas?” Phoebe looked up from the pewter bowl she was scrubbing. “Was it Washington’s genius, or simply brilliant luck?”

“Or God’s providence,” Nicholas returned with a smile. “I’m sure there was a bit of all of those in that victory. ’Twas a bold, daring plan, and no one but Washington would have found the ingenuity to try it, or have inspired his men to follow him. And his use of the artillery was certainly brilliant. But luck was on our side as well. Everything seemed to go wrong at the time—the crossing took longer than we expected, and we reached Trenton much later than planned, but even in the timing we were fortunate, for the soldiers had already gone back to bed. And did I tell you the oddest thing of all? The Hessians were completely surprised, and yet we found a note in Colonel Rall’s pocket, after he died, warning of the attack.”

Phoebe suddenly recalled the letter from Nicholas which had mysteriously disappeared on Christmas Day. “The Hessians were warned?” she asked slowly.

“Aye, but for some odd reason they did not taking the warning seriously. Perhaps the colonel forgot to read the letter, or perhaps he thought the weather was too bad for an attack or did not expect it the day after Christmas.”

“I know how they
might
have been warned,” Phoebe said slowly, and she proceeded to relate the incident with Edmund and the vanishing letter. She expected Nicholas to be shocked, horrified, or even angry, but to her surprise when she glanced up at him she saw him wearing an amused smile.

“So Ingram got his hands on that letter of mine, did he?” he chuckled. “Well, I give him credit; I never imagined he was so clever. Every other time I practically had to place the letter in his hands.”

Phoebe dropped the clean knives back in the dirty dish water as she turned to stare at him. “Are you saying you
knew
Edmund was giving information to the British? How did you know? And you
gave
him letters?”

Nicholas was laughing softly, and he glanced down at Phoebe as if uncertain how much to say.  “Do you remember that day that I met you at the State House in July?”  He lowered his voice. “I was here on a special assignment, to learn as much as I could about the enemy spy system in Philadelphia. I was pretty sure Edmund Ingram was involved somehow, and that day when you told me he was courting Alice, I thought I had the perfect opportunity to find out more.”