“I know. We lost that one.” Olivia smiled. “Daddy would talk about that time as though remembering old friends.”
“I guess to him they were,” Sandy said kindly. “We owe who and what we are to those who came before. Now, please, let me help you with anything, anything at all.”
—
As the group left, they walked toward the parking lot, where Olivia had also parked. Her car—well, her mother’s car—was on the second level, so they entered the stairwell. It was always dark, a source of complaint, but Olivia was glad because she burst into tears.
“I am so stupid.”
At the second-floor landing, Susan put her arms around the slender woman. “You’ve had a terrible shock and you’ve lost one of the mainstays of your life. A girl only gets one father.”
“I don’t know what possessed me. I…” The group entered the garage’s second level.
Harry, ever logical, said, “We shouldn’t have told you where Frank lives, so to speak. Curiosity would drive any of us to take a peek.”
“Forty years. Why would I want to look at him? I guess I couldn’t believe he’d fallen so low.” She wiped away the tears with a handkerchief supplied by Susan, always ready for flat tires, tears, headaches, anything and everything.
“Everything is a jumble when someone you love dies.” Harry knelt down to pet Tucker and then Owen. “At least it was for me when Mom and Dad died.”
Olivia stood up straighter. “Here I was acting as though I’m the only person to ever lose a father, and I had mine so much longer than you had yours, Harry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Susan said, “Nothing is wrong with you. It’s just right now, and for the next few months, it’s best not to make major decisions.”
When Olivia looked puzzled, Harry succinctly said, “Diminished judgment.”
“Yes.” Olivia walked to her car. She pushed the unlock button on her key ring but didn’t open the car door. “I can’t sleep. I keep turning over in my mind who would want to harm my father, the kindest of men. I even rummaged through his desk at home, the file cabinets, looked through his checkbook. I was sure I’d find a clue, but no. His piles of research were, as they always were, neat stacks all over his desk and some on the floor.”
“Did he use a computer?” Harry wondered.
“Daddy? He did. He was slow. Of course he had all those research assistants at UVA. All he had to do was tell them to look up something, or send a message to a colleague who used email. Dad was hands-on. Even if one of his ‘kids,’ as he called them, handed him research papers, if he could, he’d drive to examine the original sources. He was fanatical about that.”
Although seeing that Olivia was more composed, Susan suggested, just in case, “How about if I drive you home? Harry can follow. Good plan, I think.”
Olivia hesitated for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I think it is.” She scanned both of their faces. “Please don’t say anything to Mother or Rennie. No reason to upset them over my mistake. My curiosity got the better of me.”
“Of course not.” Susan took the keys from Olivia’s hand and slid behind the wheel as Olivia walked to the passenger door.
Five minutes later and two levels up, Harry opened the truck door. A little creak reminded her: Time for more grease. She lifted the dogs onto the bench seat, swung herself up, and then followed Susan and Olivia home.
“I wonder if Frank is even strong enough to kill someone,” she mused aloud.
“Best not to find out,” warned Tucker, still angry at the man.
December 25, 1779
Snow squalls swirled through the camp, promising heavier snows soon. From each barracks, a tendril of smoke attempted to escape from the log fireplaces—only to be flattened by the low pressure. Brick would have been far better for the fireplaces, but logs, charred, cost nothing. Central Virginia’s red clay made excellent bricks, but brick, practical and beautiful as it was, proved expensive. An all-brick home shouted Money! Many lovely clapboard homes splurged on brick fireplaces. However, not the primitive log barracks now housing the British prisoners. And worse, from time to time, a downdraft pushed the smoke back into the rectangular interiors.
Sergeant Edward Thimble’s thatching of the roof helped keep in the warmth. When the needles died on the cross-laid firs, and the rain, sleet, and snow filtered inside, accentuating the gloom, the sergeant was suddenly much in demand to thatch other barracks. The commandant of the prison camp secured extra funds from the colony’s legislature for straw. His appeal was met with grumblings from the governor of Virginia about how wickedly the colonists who were imprisoned by the British were being treated. Many rebel prisoners were held in the holds of ships anchored in the harbors of coastal cities occupied by the British. And for helping the Continental soldiers, many civilians were also suffering in miserable conditions. The accepted rules on the treatment of prisoners of war were ignored by the British, although the standards were known throughout the Western world. As far as the Crown was concerned, these rebellious people were criminals at best, traitors at worst. Since they were not recognized as soldiers, they could not be exchanged, and were subject to deplorable conditions. Many died of disease. The terms of surrender at Saratoga had now been emphatically denied by the Crown, creating uncertainty for all.
In contrast, the Continental commanders behaved with decency toward their captives.
General Washington was distressed by the suffering of men he considered patriots, men he considered under his care, but his entreaties and letters to Britain’s General Howe and others were ignored. Clearly, the king and his ministers meant to teach the upstarts a painful lesson. And so they did. They also hardened the colonists’ resolve.
The war that the British had thought to win quickly dragged on and on.
As the small number of captives from Captain Alexander Fraser’s regiment sat around the fire, smoking clay pipes, they wondered how long they would be imprisoned. Edward Thimble groaned, “I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of women I have seen since I was brought here!”
“Oh, Edward, ’tis not that bad!” Samuel teased. “The sutlers’ wives come along, and some have daughters.”
“Not enough. I’m tired of looking at your ugly faces.” Then Edward laughed and quickly glanced at Charles West. “Not yours, Lieutenant!”
At that moment, they heard the men in the next barracks singing, men from the Braunschweiger Regiment. “They keep their customs,” Edward remarked of the Hessians.
Charles simply noted, “As do we.”
Sam lowered his voice, although no one other than his mates was near enough to hear him. “When spring comes, we have got to put ourselves forward to work on the farms. Better than being cooped up here.”
Thomas counseled, “Do your job for the family that takes you. Who’s to say, Samuel, they won’t have a beautiful daughter! Falling in love with a woman isn’t a crime now, is it?”
A silence followed this observation, then Sam piped up: “With my face?”
They laughed. Thomas said, “ ’Tis different for you, isn’t it, Sir?”
Charles nodded. “As an officer, I do not know if I would be allowed to go out for farm work. But I would not mind. Along the way on our long march here, Americans could have spit on us, thrown rocks, but they did not.”
“They wanted our money,” Edward caustically observed.
“And why not?” Thomas challenged him. “There’s no harm in making a shilling, now, is there? If we marched on London, people would sell food for a price. People have to make out as best they can, and ’tis no crime to feed a man.”