“Yeah, I know,” Harry said, “but I’m not ready to give up yet.” She thought for a moment. “Today is Mother’s Day. Did you send flowers?”
“Called. Sent flowers.” Cooper smiled. “Mom loves living in New Mexico, but it’s so far away. Most older people go to Florida, places where it’s warm. Snows in New Mexico. She’s happy, that’s what counts.”
“Does. I miss my mother. You’re lucky to still have yours.”
Cooper put her arm around Harry’s waist. “Your mother did a good job with you.”
September 1, 1781
A light rain didn’t dampen John Schuyler’s spirits. Hurrying to his quarters, he carefully packed what little gear he had in a small campaign trunk. Kept under his cot, so small his feet hung over the end, the two treasured books Catherine had given him, the paper in which they were wrapped, and the raffia all rested in the trunk, along with a letter from his mother. She had paid to have it written in a good hand. John sent his parents what he could spare when he was paid. Not often.
The second small book on good paper contained two of Shakespeare’s plays, Macbeth and Julius Caesar. Catherine had selected the dramas for him because of their military themes.
Having few possessions, he packed in twenty minutes. He pushed the trunk back under the cot, walked to Lieutenant West’s barracks. Although early evening, the air remained warm, a light breeze making all pleasant.
“Lieutenant,” Schuyler called, outside West’s barracks.
Inside and barefoot, Charles heard the familiar voice and walked from the housing, Piglet at his heels. “Captain.”
A broad grin crossed John Schuyler’s face. “I have been assigned to Lafayette. The war most definitely is in Virginia, and I leave at daylight.” He laughed. “The commandant won’t give me a horse.”
“That will be a long walk to the coast, I assume.” Charles had gained an understanding of Virginia’s geography.
John smiled. “I will hire a wagon. I am allowed to do that. Finally, free from this place. You are not the only one imprisoned here.”
“Just different sides of the fence, so to speak.”
“I am hoping to pass through large towns, and I would like to buy and send a book to Miss Ewing. Can you suggest something?”
The two discussed the contents of Aesop’s Fables and the two Shakespeare plays. The Englishman was impressed with how the captain grasped the essence of each play, even as he struggled with the language in spots. In this way, those few times when the dark-haired man could speak with Catherine, he could hold his own during literary discussions, constrained though they were. John and Catherine grew closer in mind through the readings. Charles knew how quick her mind was. Schuyler, adept at anything involving arms, was now proving adept at reading for pleasure. He had never before read for pleasure.
“I don’t know books,” he complained. “What would she like? I can’t give her more plays. She’s read them all.”
Charles said, without hesitation. “The Sonnets. Buy her the best bound volume you can afford of Shakespeare’s Sonnets.”
“Do you not think she has read everything he has written? She prizes him above all others.”
“Captain, the volume will be from you and the work is very beautiful. The Sonnets it must be.” Charles held out his hand. “May my pistol protect you. May you be well.”
“And you also.”
A mischievous smile played on Charles’s lips. “Our paths will cross again. Not in war, I trust.”
Impulsively, John took both of Charles’s hands in his. “I pray it be so.”
He turned and walked off with Charles’s good wishes and his father’s expensive flintlock.
Walking back into the barracks, the dust still warm between his toes, Charles noticed Piglet standing still, watching the tall captain disappear in the distance.
September 3, 1781
The sun, up for an hour, bathed the corn, the apple orchards, the wheat in gold.
Captain Schuyler jumped out of the wagon. He’d had to pay the driver a bit extra for the stop. Fortunately, he had not far to travel, although he couldn’t tell Charles West that. He was to connect with a few troops on the east side of Charlottesville. With them, he would be moving to the coast. In Virginia, intent on rampage, Cornwallis was getting his wish. He would also get battle. His commander-in-chief, Sir Henry Clinton, was unable to restrain Cornwallis. The two British generals barely communicated, their mutual disregard having arrived at an unhealthy distaste.
Knocking on the door, hat under his left arm, as he had learned from Charles, John awaited the Garths’ butler.
Opening the door, Roger, beautifully dressed, smiled slightly. “Captain.”
“Might I have a word with the master?”
“I shall see if he is available. Please, come in.”
Within moments, Ewing, an early riser, told the butler to invite Captain Schuyler into the breakfast room for, of course, breakfast.
The room, flooded with light, seemed to create a halo around Catherine as the good captain walked in. It lent Rachel a glow as well, but John’s focus was on Catherine.
Bowing to the father, with a chair pulled out for him by Weymouth, John sat down.
Wonderful though the food was, he was so tense he had to force himself to eat it, or to make conversation. When the dishes were cleared at last, fine bone china at that, he dabbed his lips with a napkin and began, “Sir, you have been so hospitable to me. I can never repay your kindness.”
“Oh, my dear captain, after four bridges and two roads, I fear it is the opposite,” Ewing nearly gushed.
“I have come to inform you I have been assigned to General Lafayette,” John continued, but all he heard was Catherine’s gasp. “As you know, the enemy is here in some force.”
“Indeed, I had heard that. Destroying everything, stealing horses, and I even heard they slit the throats of mares so we could not continue to breed.”
“I would slit theirs,” Catherine burst out, her emotion focusing on the horror but really provoked by John’s news.
Ewing registered his distaste. “And they call us barbarians.”
“I believe, Sir, events will prove otherwise, but I do hope if word should come to you that they are advancing west, hide your horses, your silver, and possibly yourselves. They have not been uncivil to women, but should they experience a…a laxity in command, I cannot say.”
“Do you think they are loosely disciplined, Captain?”
“Some troops are. Some not. They do seem to lack cooperation with one another and they seem mindless of the French. We have a powerful ally. You would think, of all people, the English would be sensible of naval guns, as well as troops.” He paused. “Forgive me.” He looked to Catherine and Rachel. “I do not mean to bore you.”
“You couldn’t possibly bore me,” Catherine baldly said, to her father’s shock and her sister’s and Weymouth’s delight.
John registered this then replied, “We do have Washington. The greatest man of the age.”
Ewing smiled back. “Indeed.” He stood up, and all stood with him as he offered his hand to the captain. “God protect you, Captain.” He walked the tall man to the front door, which Roger opened.
Stepping through it, John faced Ewing. “I will write you when I can, and, Sir, might I have permission to write your eldest daughter?”
Struck into silence for a moment, Ewing felt his daughter’s hand on his elbow. He thought Catherine had stayed behind, but she had followed at a slight distance.
“Father, please.”
“My dear.” He looked into her eyes, beseeching him, then turned to John. “You have my permission.” After all, Ewing Garth remembered those feelings.