The Rebel's Return (13 page)

“So that’s why you came home with me that day!” Phoebe cried, not sure whether to feel admiration for his cleverness or indignation at his duplicity.

Nicholas grinned again, a bit sheepishly this time. “I know you thought I wanted to court Alice, but in reality I was trying to find out what she knew about his activities.”

“I don’t believe she knew anything,” Phoebe inserted.

He nodded, running the towel over the pitcher she handed him. “I came to the same conclusion myself after a number of visits. But then my commander suggested another way to make use of the connection, by spreading false information about the army to the enemy.”

“That letter you dropped last August—” Phoebe remembered, “that was really intended for Edmund all along?”

Nicholas rubbed his newly shaved chin, his eyes twinkling. “Did he take the bait then? I never did find out what happened with that. Aye, the letter was full of all sorts of nonsense about the generals’ plans, written out in Lord Stirling’s own handwriting. The second letter I left out on your father’s desk, just within Edmund’s reach.”

“Nicholas Teasdale!” In her distraction Phoebe dropped one pewter bowl against another with a clatter. “I never imagined you could be so sly and deceitful!”

“Why Phoebe, you should know me better than that!” Nicholas laughed. “But he outwitted me this last time. I was so anxious to get that final letter to you, I forgot it might fall into the wrong hands. Fortunately, I didn’t include much real intelligence.”

“I will never believe a word you say again,” Phoebe declared, quite thunderstruck by the revelations of the last few minutes.

Nicholas was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke his tone was different, odd for him, almost shy and hesitant. He set down the bowl in his hands and reached for another. “You can believe everything in that letter, for I certainly meant every word I wrote, although perhaps I’ve squandered my credibility with you. I want to be a different person than I used to be, or perhaps I should say, I
am
a different person, if you will give me a chance to prove it.”

“You needn’t prove anything to me, Nicholas,” Phoebe said, uncertain where the conversation was leading or how she should respond. “God knows your heart, and his opinion is the only one that matters.”

“Aye, he
does
know my heart, but your opinion matters too, Phoebe. Perhaps my intentions toward you were not completely honorable when we first became acquainted. I can’t change that now, of course; I can only hope to redeem myself by showing I won’t try to take advantage of you again.”

Remembering his glibness the night he kissed her, Phoebe was struck by the difference in his tone, his diffidence and humility. She was humbled by the fact that he seemed to care for her good opinion, but hesitated to presume too much, as his mother had done, and felt herself floundering for an answer. She dipped another bowl into the murky dishwater.

“I have forgiven you for that, Nicholas. I will always consider you a good friend.”

“Aye,” he agreed, “I think you are the first real woman friend that I have ever had. ’Tis a strange experience, actually.”

Phoebe smiled weakly and tried to feel very happy that she and Nicholas were good friends. It was all she had ever expected, after all. She handed him the last bowl and opened the back door to dispose of the dishwater. When she returned to the kitchen, Nicholas was putting on his coat.

“I need to return to the army,” he told her. “I have been away too long.”

“Aye. I hope Lord Stirling will not be angry with you.”

Nicholas grinned. “I am in good favor with him because of my adventures in New Jersey. He gives me a great deal of freedom now. But I don’t want to abuse it.”

“Of course not.” She hesitated. “Do you think you will go into battle again soon?”

“I do not know. But I have to be available for whatever he needs me for.”

Phoebe followed him to the front door, a yearning in her heart that she ached to show him. “Please be very careful, Nicholas.”

His hand was on the latch, but he turned around to give her another smile. “As careful as I can be in the middle of a war. And you be careful, too, Phoebe.”

For a moment she had no idea what he could be talking about. “Me?”

“Aye, in resisting the advances of brave Miles Quincy.”

“Oh, him!” Embarrassed, Phoebe shook her head with a gesture of dismissal. “Never fear. He’s always a perfect gentleman.”

“Aye, I’m sure he is, and you may tell him that you have a gallant brother who is ready to defend your honor if he ever forgets himself.”

Phoebe managed another weak smile. “Do you mean George?”

“George, and myself as well. Two gallant brothers.”

Phoebe bit her lip. “Of course. I’ll tell him so.”

Nicholas’s face grew more serious. “Please pray for me.”

“I always do.”

He opened the door and with a blast of winter cold, was gone.

Phoebe closed the door behind him and retreated to her bedroom, curled up on her bed, and laid her face against the cool pillowcase. It had been wonderful to see Nicholas again, to see him reunited with his family, and to hear of the army’s splendid victory. The way he had confided in her had warmed her. And most importantly, how wonderful to know he had made peace with God! But then he had dampened his final good-bye with the comment about being her brother. Was that really the way he saw her? He had kissed her back in the summer, but that clearly had meant nothing to him, as he was willing to admit now. He was a Christian now, and she could only assume that along with his dissolute habits he had also discarded any romantic interest he might once have had in her—or Alice, for that matter. Only she now realized his interest in Alice had been primarily to learn about Edmund’s activities. So maybe he had never really been interested in either of them—except as a brother.

She lay on the bed on her back, staring at the rafters.
It could be worse. At least we are friends. A brother is not such a bad thing to have. And Lord, thank you for whatever role I’ve been able to play in bringing Nicholas back to You and his family.
She felt one tear roll down the side of her face and into the quilt, and she quickly wiped it away.

She heard her mother’s footsteps approaching the stairs and then her mother’s voice. “Phoebe! Are you up there? Hurry on down and help with this washing!”

With a sigh, Phoebe pushed herself off the bed and moved to do her mother’s bidding.

Chapter Eleven

During the first week of January, word trickled into Philadelphia of a second victory over the enemy. Washington’s men had confronted the British at Princeton and scattered them. The Fuller family heard nothing from either George or Nicholas during these days, but they were heartened by the reassurance that the colonists had won the most recent battles. Sarah, in particular, resigned herself to the conviction that George intended to enlist for another year and would not be safely home as she longed to see him. Indeed, the two recent victories, as minor as they were, seemed to breathe new life into the rebel cause. People stopped saying the rebellion was finished, and a new spirit of patriotism invaded the city.

But Phoebe soon found that in the midst of this change of fortune not everyone was happy. One day Alice received a note from Edmund’s mother, asking her to come to call. When she returned from the visit she retreated to her bedroom and closed the door. In the hall beneath where the other women were working, they could hear her restless footsteps pacing the floor.

“What do you suppose is the matter with your sister?” Sarah looked up from the pewter she was polishing.

Phoebe shook her head. “I have no idea. Didn’t she just come from the Ingrams? Do you suppose something is wrong with the family?”

Sarah frowned. After a moment of waiting for her daughter to reappear, she put down her polishing rag and went toward the stairs. Phoebe heard her knock on the bedroom door, and a moment later heard muted voices from the bedroom above. An uneasy feeling settled between Phoebe’s heart and her stomach.

A moment later her mother’s voice reached her. “Phoebe! Come here, please.”

Sally looked up from her sampler to give her sister a glance of concern. Phoebe set down the candlesticks she was cleaning and started up the stairs, her mind heavy with foreboding.

She found her mother and sister standing together by the bed. Tear streaks marked Alice’s face, while her mother looked stern.

“Phoebe,” Sarah said, “what have you done?”

Phoebe looked from one to the other. “I don’t know. What has happened? What’s wrong?”

Alice wiped her wet cheeks angrily with the back of her hand. “This is all your fault! All because of your needless meddling! All because of what you did on Christmas day! Do you know what’s happened? Edmund’s mother told me Edmund has had to leave town! That he has been questioned by the Council on Public Safety and was afraid he might be arrested, and so he is trying to get to New York where he will be out of harm’s way. And ’tis all your fault! Tell me the truth: You went to Mr. Kirby and told him Edmund is a spy, didn’t you?”

It took Phoebe a moment to find her voice. “I told him I thought Edmund might be a spy. That some of his behavior had seemed suspicious to me. And—and—”  Should she mention Nicholas’s information? There was no point in keeping it secret now. “And Nicholas told me when he was here last that he had suspected Edmund all along. That he was here last summer trying to locate a spying ring in the city, and he knew Edmund had been part of it. So what I said to Mr. Kirby was right, after all.”

Alice’s mouth fell open at this statement, but Sarah scarcely seemed to hear it. “Phoebe, of all the mischief you have created in your life, this is the worst yet! How can I get it into your head that you have no business getting involved with all this political nonsense? All that is for men to worry about, not young girls without the sense God gave a fly! Here your sister might have had a brilliant future as a lawyer’s wife, a
gentleman’s
wife, and you’ve completely ruined it for her! You’ve ruined Edmund’s future in this town by spreading stories about him. He might have been arrested, and it would be all your fault! Now we can only hope he makes it safely to New York, traveling as he is between two armies. Either way, Alice might never be able to see him again.”

Phoebe knew no loyalty to any political cause could console her mother for the loss of Alice’s bright future. She was sorry for Alice, sorry for her mother, and even sorry for Edmund, but she could not repent her actions. She glanced back and forth from her mother to her sister. “What about George?” she managed. “He is with Washington you know, and Edmund’s actions could have put him in danger. That battle at Trenton—Nicholas told me the Hessians were warned, and Edmund might have been the one to do it. What if George had been killed because the rebels walked into a trap?”

The image gave her mother a moment’s pause, but she dismissed the possibility with a shake of her head. “Oh, Phoebe, don’t be so dramatic. George is in danger because he insisted on joining the army instead of staying at home and helping his father the way he should have, but nothing Edmund did could have made it worse. If Edmund was a real threat to anyone, the men of the town would have discovered it without any help from you. Do you really think they need your help to run this war? Of course not! To tell the truth, it would have been a relief to me if this war had ended last month and your brother could have come home where he belongs. Now it will just drag on and on.”

Seeing that her best argument had failed, Phoebe said nothing. Alice dropped down on the edge of the bed and wiped her tears with her handkerchief. Sarah gave Alice a compassionate and Phoebe a stern one.

“I think you owe your sister an apology. Not that anything can undo the mischief you have caused this time.”

“I’m sorry, Alice,” Phoebe began in a humble tone, and then she stopped.
What am I apologizing for? Did I really do wrong to report Edmund?
She tried to qualify her words. “I’m sorry you are so unhappy. I didn’t mean to hurt Edmund. But I didn’t want Edmund to put George and Nicholas in danger, or the other men in the army.”

Alice blew her nose and pushed her hair back out of her face. “I hope this is a lesson to you, Phoebe. I hope you’ve learned how damaging your interference can be.”

Phoebe escaped to the hall and her candlesticks, shamed and humbled. Sally glanced up from her sampler with one frightened, sympathetic look. Phoebe picked up her polishing cloth and began to scrub blindly, biting her lower lip.
I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, Lord, truly I didn’t. But I have to say, if I were in the same situation again, I would act the same way. If I was wrong, please show me—but I don’t believe I was.

She tried to keep out of the way for the rest of the day, hoping her mother’s anger would expire before she could provoke her again. But when suppertime came the air in the kitchen was frigid. Sarah ignored Phoebe completely, and only spoke to her other children in a tense tone which escaped no one. Alice ate silently, her soulful blue eyes full of sorrow. Sally spilled the salt on the boardcloth and earned a sharp rebuke from her mother.

“What are you angry about, Mother?” Kit asked in an innocent voice, glancing around at his brothers and sisters.

Sarah was busy brushing the salt off the table. “Never mind. I can’t discuss it. I don’t know how I came to deserve such difficult children.”

Phoebe winced at the implication of her mother’s words. She glanced up and met her father’s gaze from his seat at the head of the table. He gave her one sympathetic smile. Did he know the source of her mother’s anger? Was it possible he didn’t blame her the way her mother and sister did? Her spirits lifted a little.

After the supper dishes had been cleared and washed and put away, the rest of the family repaired to the parlor to sew and work and read, but Phoebe lingered in the kitchen with her knitting. She had already knitted a wool scarf for George and hoped Nicholas would be able to deliver it the next time he showed up at their door—if he ever came again. Now she was making a similar scarf for Nicholas, hoping it would be a suitable gift. She had not yet gotten up the courage to tell her mother the scarf was destined for Nicholas, knowing full well what her mother’s reaction would be. She had nothing against Nicholas, but felt that Phoebe’s attraction to him was both hopeless and unwise, and was keeping her from fully appreciating her luck with Miles Quincy. After all, a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush, or so her mother believed. So Phoebe had dual motives for keeping out of the way tonight.

She bent closer to the light from the single candle on the table, counted stitches and wondered what Nicholas would say when she presented the scarf to him. She would try to be as offhand as possible and had been planning her words for several days now. “You’re like a brother to me, Nicholas, and I wanted to make a scarf for you as well.” Would he believe her? She wasn’t sure.

She looked up when the door opened and her father entered.

“You’re all alone in here,” he remarked with a quiet smile. “Why don’t you join us in the parlor?”

Phoebe sighed and shook her head. “I think Mother might be happier if I stay out of sight.”

Her father approached the table and sat on the bench across from her. “She told me why she is angry with you.”

Phoebe looked up. “She did? She told you about Edmund?”

He sighed. “Aye. She is so disappointed for Alice’s sake. It would have been a splendid match for Alice.”

Phoebe watched her father’s face in the flickering candlelight. “I understand why she and Alice are disappointed. But Papa, can you really believe I did wrong? Don’t you understand that I couldn’t let Edmund continue to spy against the rebel army? He was coming into our house, taking letters he believed had military information in them. All this while George is fighting for independence! How could I say nothing and let him continue?”

Her father was silent a moment, and Phoebe began to fear that he blamed her as well. Finally he spoke. “You are so different from your mother and Alice both, Phoebe. You have convictions that are bigger than your own family and your own circumstances. You have imagination; you are able to see the larger picture. Sometimes the price you have to pay is the anger of people who can’t understand why you are taking the stand you are. People like your mother. I want you to obey your mother, of course, but you have to follow your conscience first.”

Phoebe felt a flood of relief that at least one person in the family understood and sympathized. “Thank you, Papa.” She groped for the words to express her heart. “I wish you could explain all this to Mother. I wish you could explain why I acted the way I did. I hate having her so angry at me.”

“She wouldn’t understand.” A brief silence fell between them, and he smiled at her again. “Be strong, Phoebe. You will be a better woman all your life for this experience.”

*     *     *

After Edmund’s escape, Phoebe wondered if she was likely to see Miles Quincy again. If Miles was only courting her because of Edmund’s encouragement, he might lose interest when Edmund was no longer on hand to hearten him, since Phoebe believed she herself had given him as little encouragement as she could without being discourteous. Besides, she had no idea if Miles was aware of the role she had played in Edmund’s problems. If he knew about that, he was very unlikely to ever call on her again.

Her hopes were dashed in the middle of January when he appeared at the door on a Sunday afternoon. Her mother called her down from her bedroom and left the two of them alone in the parlor with a pleased smile. Phoebe pasted a smile on her own face and determined to hide her dismay. She was used to him now and always planned a few topics of conversation in order to survive the hour without too much agony, but it was always work, never pleasure. Surely a courtship—even a very proper one—should be more enjoyable than this.

He seemed in comparatively high spirits and when he took her hand he actually kissed it. He had never done that before and she was not especially pleased, but she managed a smile as she withdrew her hand quickly. She led him to the settee.

“Tell me all your news. How is your mother? Is she in good health?”

That question usually provided about ten minutes of conversation, for Miles would tell her about his mother’s health in detail and she simply had to nod and ask questions at appropriate points.

“My mother is doing well,” he said, somewhat to her surprise. “This cold weather does not agree with her, of course, and she always ails a bit during the winter. But she is better this winter than in many years past. Last winter she had pneumonia. I believe I told you about her pneumonia. She was in bed all winter with it, and we really feared for her life.”

“Aye, I remember you mentioning that.”

“She had a servant to care for her, but she didn’t like the servant and wanted me to be with her all the time. I tried, you understand, but it was hard for me to care for my mother through that and also attend to my studies. I very much feared she would get the pneumonia again this year, with all the cold weather we’ve been having. But her health is really remarkably good this year. She is able to get out of bed and supervise the servants, which is a great help to me, you understand.”

“Aye,” Phoebe said. “I’m sure it is a great blessing that her health is so good.”

He cleared his throat and wet his lips several times, and Phoebe began to wonder why he seemed so nervous and flustered. “I mentioned to my mother that I was coming to visit you, and she has a great desire to meet you.”

“Oh!” Phoebe was momentarily speechless, taken aback. “That’s very kind of her.”

“I’ve told her a great deal about you, you understand. I’ve told her what a sweet, good-natured, pleasant, pretty young lady you are—” he almost stuttered on the last words, “and she said, ‘Miles, I would certainly like to meet that young lady.’”