Thad swallowed as she lifted the lid to her box of jewelry. She never wore much—the occasional necklace, and the ring Father had given her to mark their engagement. What could she possibly be willing to part with?
His brows furrowed when she pulled out a necklace she had always reserved for the most special of occasions. A delicate strand of gold with three pearls upon it. Mother withdrew it with an almost reverent care, placing the pearls in her palm. “Do you remember the story of this necklace?”
Apparently he should, but he had not even seen it in years, and why would a boy pay any heed to tales of such girlish things? He shook his head. “Only that it was your mother’s.”
“The necklace itself, yes. The pearls came from a strand my grandparents had given me. I was wearing it the night Grandfather had me beaten and tossed to the streets. The night that could have been my end, had God not led me to Viney.”
Viney he remembered—the pure-hearted prostitute who had saved Mother’s life, and who had later harbored Father when he was out spying on Benedict Arnold. “I recall that part of the tale.”
Mother nodded and touched a finger to one of the pearls. “I gave her the necklace so that she could sell the pearls and have enough money to live on until the consumption took her home. When your Father later met her, she gave him what remained of them—these three.” She looked up now and caught Thad’s gaze. “That was the day he proposed, the day we realized our causes were not so different. The day he learned of the Culpers. And so this has always, in my mind, been a Culper necklace more than just a family one. It ought to go to you and Gwyneth.”
Though part of him wanted to insist she keep it, the greater part recognized that this, too, was part of the mantle his parents had passed to him. A symbol of how beauty rested in a thing’s purpose. How God’s path could be found in the most unlikely of places.
His fingers closed around the gift when she held it out. “I know it will mean as much to her as it does to me. When should I…?”
Mother smiled, rested her palm against his cheek, and shook her head. “That, my darling boy, is for you to decide. But whenever you choose, know you have our blessing. We suspected as soon as she arrived that you two would be well suited. And so you are.”
“Is that what Father—Oh, I will never hear the end of this. For the rest of our lives, he will be crowing about how he knew from the start that we were meant for each other. He will try to claim it as some scientific deduction.”
She chuckled, patted his cheek, and stepped away. “And you will smile, pull your beloved close, and let him crow.”
“If I must.” He smiled now, pulled his mother close, and gave her a squeeze. “Thank you.”
“You are so very welcome, darling one. So very welcome.”
They exited together, Thad slipping into his own chamber long enough to deposit the necklace in a box with his cufflinks. Mother waited in the hall, and they moved together toward the stairs. Her face had gone serious. “The war will reach us soon?”
Perhaps some men would have tried to protect their matrons from that truth. His probably knew it before he did. “Within a fortnight, I would say.”
“And you will be out drilling under Smith’s command soon, digging trenches and what have you. When they come, you will be in Fort McHenry.”
Somehow hearing her state it so definitely… “Assuming that Tallmadge and Smith do not assign me elsewhere.”
They reached the ground floor, and Mother stayed him with a hand on his arm. Her gaze was intent, insistent. “I cannot shake the feeling that while you must take a careful, well-considered course, you ought not dawdle upon it. ’Tisn’t a time to leave things undone. Too much is at stake, and too many stakes are easily lost in war.”
Of what exactly was she speaking? Culper business or personal? Or some combination of the two? He would have asked, but voices came from down the hall, Father’s and Gwyneth’s and Philly’s. Mother made a quick motion. She took one hand from her mouth downward and touched it to her opposite fist.
Promise.
He could do nothing but nod as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. And wonder for what the Lord was steeling him.
Gwyneth crowded around the map with the others, her heart racing in a strange sort of excitement. Captain Arnaud had dubbed himself the general of this campaign, the irony of which made them all smile. Of their assorted family members, from young Jack to arthritic Grandmama Caro, he, with his generous scowls, was the least likely to order them all out to spread cheer.