The Traitor's Wife: A Novel (27 page)

“A crown,” Peggy gasped in delight when she saw the head wreath Clara had fashioned. It was what she and Oma had always made at Christmastime; she’d collected several bows of pine needles and threaded cranberries, baby’s breath flowers, and pine cones into a woven wreath. It was nothing fancy, but it was fragrant with the aroma of winter pine and looked beautiful on top of Peggy’s blond curls. “Look at me, I look like quite the Christmas spirit!” Peggy clapped in delight as she eyed herself in the mirror. “Oh, I love it, Clara.”

“I’m afraid it’s nothing compared to my new gown.” Clara looked once more at her dress.

“But you made it with your own hands, and that makes it special,” Peggy answered.

“Still, I fear I will never be able to thank you sufficiently for my new dress.”

“You don’t have to thank me. Benny offered it to me first, but you know what I said? I said, this dress will look delightful on Clara.”

Had happiness truly changed her mistress? Clara felt guilt as she recalled the nasty thoughts she had allowed herself to hold against Miss Peggy. And then she remembered, with a sense of dread, that the judge had prevented Arnold’s suit for marriage. Perhaps all of Peggy’s joy would be dashed after all. But did Peggy not know yet?

“So, how is the general doing?” Clara proceeded cautiously forward.

“Oh, he’s splendid.” Peggy turned back to the mirror and adjusted her head wreath.

“Any . . . any news with him?” Clara asked warily.

“Well, I turned him down again,” Peggy said nonchalantly, as if she were commenting on the weather. “Well, not me exactly. But Papa did.”

“You—you know about that?” Clara’s mouth fell open in shock. “So it’s true? Your father said no to General Arnold when he asked for your hand in marriage?”

“He did,” Peggy answered, swiveling her head so that she might see her new wreath from various angles.

“And you . . . you aren’t upset about that?” She certainly did not appear to be.

“Ha!” Peggy tittered. “Papa only told Arnold no because I told him to, Clara.”

Clara attempted to understand her mistress’s logic, but found this latest development baffling. “Miss Peggy, such a move hardly seems wise. I thought you had hoped to marry the general?”

“Clara, if I sought your opinion, I’d ask for it.” Peggy turned and stared her maid straight in the eyes with what felt like a warning. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Peggy, it’s just that I don’t understand. When you were apart for a month, you were crying every day, talking about how much you loved him and how you could not believe you might have lost him.”

“Yes, and look what happened. I reject him once, he teaches himself to walk.” A look of smug satisfaction crossed Peggy’s face. “I reject him again, what do you think he’ll do for me this time?”

C
HRISTMAS DINNER
at the Shippen home lifted Clara’s spirits. The servants’ quarters were abuzz with the news that General Washington had swept through Philadelphia two days prior, on a top-secret
errand to meet with the Congress and discuss the coming spring military campaign. Caleb insisted that he’d seen the general riding in his carriage up Market Street.

“You did not see him any more than you saw King George himself.” Hannah scoffed, slapping Caleb’s hand aside as he tried to pick a piece of the crispy ham from the platter where it sizzled, waiting to be served to the Shippen family.

“Did too, honest,” Caleb insisted.

“Where was he going?” Clara asked, chuckling as she watched Caleb try once more to pilfer a piece of the crispy meat.

“To Joseph Reed’s home. He was calling on the governor and his wife.”

“Ha! Well, don’t tell Miss Peggy that the Reeds had a visit from Washington and she didn’t,” Clara warned him.

“It is strange that he didn’t visit Benedict Arnold, seeing how he is the military commander and all,” Caleb agreed, removing his hand just in time to avoid Hannah’s swift slap. “I wonder if it bothered Arnold.”

Clara, knowing how touchy her mistress’s beau could get, was certain that it had.

“What did he look like?” Mr. Quigley quizzed Caleb, clearly intrigued and yet trying not to forfeit his customary formality.

“He was with Martha,” Caleb answered.

“That’s Mrs. Washington to you,” Mrs. Quigley said, hoisting a platter of squash and potatoes from the table before exiting the kitchen.

“Yes, Auntie, I do apologize,” Caleb called after the woman’s departing figure. He turned back to Clara. “He was with Mrs. Washington.”

“And what was she like?” Clara asked, her head tilting to one side. “Pretty?”

Cal shrugged his shoulders. “Not as pretty as Miss Peggy, that’s for certain.” For a reason she did not fully understand, Clara felt jealous to hear him speak this way of another woman’s beauty, even though she herself knew her mistress was attractive. Cal continued: “Mrs. Washington is a little lady. Plump.”

“What did she wear?” Hannah joined in.

“Do you think I noticed what she was wearing?” Caleb smirked.

“Yes, I do,” Clara answered.

“Fine, but only because she was with the general.” Caleb crossed his arms.

“Of course.” Clara laughed.

“She was dressed plainly in a maroon gown and linen head cap. But he—well, there was nothing plain about him.” Now Caleb’s voice was thick with admiration as he recalled the scene. “The general was dressed like we always see him in the papers—the blue military uniform with the gold epaulets. He must have taken up half the carriage. He waved to the crowds in the streets. He saw me, I swear it.”

“You know he fought off the entire French Army back at Fort Necessity in the French War?” Hannah said aloud to the kitchen, adjusting the stewed apple where it rested in the roasted pig’s mouth.

“When he crossed the Delaware on Christmas Eve two years back, the river was frozen, but it melted when he put his boat into the water,” Caleb answered her with another volley of Washington lore.

“All right, all right. That’s enough of that.” Mrs. Quigley reentered the kitchen, her stern expression warning them that even though it was Christmas, they were not off duty just yet. “The Shippens are ready for their Christmas dinner.”

T
HE FAMILY
took their main meal at midday and then retired for naps, so the servants could dine together in the late afternoon. Peggy was snoring in her bed in time for Clara to join the other servants at the kitchen table. The feast that Hannah prepared was unlike any Clara had ever eaten; no salt fish was served at this meal. Hannah had loaded plates with fresh bread, butter, gooseberry jam, fish stew, smoked herring, meat pies, roasted potatoes seasoned with mushrooms and rosemary, and the leftovers of the ham and goose, which the family had already enjoyed at dinner. Mr. Quigley even allowed the servants to break from the usual cider and open bottles of wine for the occasion.

“Hannah, you’ve outdone yourself once more.” Mr. Quigley called the servants to the kitchen table, where they congregated around the spread. The old cook was beaming, her rosy cheeks matching the color of her fiery hair.

Clara had woven Christmas wreaths for each of the women in the kitchen, so she, Hannah, Mrs. Quigley, and even Brigitte came to the table looking like a “band of woodland fairies,” as Caleb said. For the men, she’d crafted pine bough neckties, which Caleb and Mr. Quigley wore good-naturedly, even though they complained that the pine boughs would drop into their stew.

“Help me put this on,” Caleb asked her as the other servants took their seats. She obliged, reaching for his collar to tuck the necktie around his neck. With him this close to her, Clara breathed in his scent. The pine mingled with the familiar fragrance of Caleb’s clothing, a mixture of wood-fire smoke and the stables. She looked up into his eyes, just inches from hers, and she felt her entire body growing warm.

“Merry Christmas, Clara Bell.” He smiled at her.

“Merry Christmas, Cal,” she answered, trying not to sound timid.

“Did you make a Christmas wish?”

“Oh, just that we win this war soon,” Clara answered.

“Mine was of a more personal nature,” Caleb said. When she didn’t prompt him, he continued. “It’s about someone . . . someone else besides me.”

Petrified of crossing some line she did not yet understand, Clara finished tying Caleb’s tie and turned for the stove. Her hands shaky, she busied herself with helping Hannah deliver the final dishes to the table.

Mrs. Quigley had shown a moment of rare recklessness and allowed them to festoon the kitchen with fresh white candles, so that the room was filled with a twinkling, amber glow as they sat down to dine.

Mr. Quigley led the servants in a prayer of thanksgiving for the feast, and he added a wish that the war might end with all in the Shippen household safely delivered, before he raised his glass in a toast.

“My friends.” The old man, usually so stern and formal, looked around the table now with a paternal softness. “What a blessing it is to sup on such a spread while many around us are forced to go without. Please join me in a toast to our cook.” Mr. Quigley turned his gaze to the opposite end of the table, where Hannah sat, lips pursed in a bashful smile. “To Hannah, the endlessly resourceful master of the kitchen.”

“Aye, aye!” The kitchen erupted in unanimous chorus.

“Thank you, sir.” Hannah blinked, looking bashfully to her sister.

“And of course, to General George Washington!” Mr. Quigley continued.

“To freedom!” Mrs. Quigley added, her cheeks flushed with the drink and merriment.

“To America!” Caleb answered his aunt, his eyes fixed intently on Clara, “and the pursuit of happiness!” When he winked at Clara, she felt her stomach flutter with a mixture of fear and excitement.

A
S DINNER
ended, Hannah, who was feeling merry after several glasses of wine and much praise over her Christmas cooking, went outside and clipped a sprig of mistletoe, which she hung over the pantry doorway. This prompted teasing from Caleb and Hannah, who insisted that Mr. and Mrs. Quigley exchange a kiss. The couple refused, instead offering refills of drink to their companions around the table. The wine was finished even before the plates had been licked and scraped clean.

“All right now, I declare that Brigitte ought to get a day off from her duty of scrubbing dishes,” Mrs. Quigley announced, rising to carry the emptied plates to the washbasin.

“I agree,” piped up Hannah. So all the servants, jolly from the abundance of savory food and the wine bottles they’d drained, decided to split up the task, working together to scrub the dishes and platters while Caleb strummed out Christmas carols on his guitar.