“She has many excellent qualities,” I said earnestly. “You’ll soon see how loyal she can be. She made this long journey to Morristown for my sake, just to make certain you were worthy of me.”
He laughed, slipping his arms around my waist. “Ah, so here’s the truth, then. You’re more concerned with her verdict regarding me than mine of her.”
“Alexander, please,” I said. “Be serious.”
“Very well, then,” he said, making a show of composing his face into the picture of grim severity. “I liked your sister very much, and I look forward to learning more of her in the future. She’s very different from you.”
“She’s much wiser than I,” I said.
“She reads and studies more than you,” he said, “but that makes her bookish and intellectual, not wise. You, my dear Betsey, are wise in the ways that matter.”
I refused to believe he was serious. “She speaks French.”
“Yes, she does,” he said mildly. “But I’d wager a hundred dollars that she learned it not because French is the language of diplomacy and King Louis’s court, but because it’s also the language of flirtation and seduction.”
He’d seen so much more of the world than I, to know such things! I was glad he couldn’t see me blush, not only for myself, but for my sister.
“I don’t know what Angelica said to you today, but she didn’t mean it, not that—that way,” I said. “It’s simply her manner. She is accustomed to attention from everyone, gentlemen and ladies alike. She’s been that way since we were girls.”
“I understand that now,” he said, pulling me closer. “But it’s also proof that you’re the wiser sister.”
I shook my head, looking down at my hands on the blue woolen of his blue coat, the long rows of brass buttons winking dully in the moonlight.
“There’s more to wisdom than a library filled with books,” he said softly. “You’re gentle and kind and patient, Betsey, and filled with reason and sound judgment. You’re loyal and honorable, and you always consider others before yourself. Even when it’s your selfish sister.”
“She’s not selfish, Alexander,” I began, but how he tipped his head to one side proved that he was right.
“You would never leave our children behind, as she has done with hers,” he said. “Not when they’re so young, so fragile.”
“No,” I said wistfully, ashamed for Angelica’s sake.
“Nor would you ever speak as freely to Carter as she did today to me,” he said, leaning closer over me. “Not in French, or English, or any other language in creation.”
“She’s my sister,” I repeated helplessly, hoping that would be explanation enough.
I don’t believe he cared.
“Mon sage petit hibou,” he whispered, brushing his lips over mine.
Breathlessly I turned aside. “What did you just say?”
He smiled. “I called you my wise little owl.”
“An owl?” I wrinkled my nose, picturing the heavyset predatory owls who hunted mice in the barns at home. “I thought you said that French is the language of love.”
“It is,” he said, his voice low and dark as he pressed me back against the door to kiss me. “Je t’aime au-delà de tous les autres, ma belle, bien-aimée, ma Eliza.”
And without knowing a word, I understood.
*
As the days grew longer and warmer, the army—or what remained of it—began to return to life, like a great slumbering bear after a long winter. The soldiers drilled with more purpose, openly eager to challenge the enemy again. All of Jockey Hollow buzzed with rumors of when the camp would break for summer, and where the various regiments would be sent next to meet the British in battle. The next campaign could be a counter to the siege of Charleston to the south, through Virginia and Georgia. Each day brought more tales from Congress’s meetings in Philadelphia, from spies across the Hudson in New York, from letters from Georgia and Carolina. All carried stories of more British troops arriving, of more guns, more cannon, for the sole purpose of finally bringing an end to the war.
The most popular rumor, however, had the Continental Army waiting until the French troops landed in Rhode Island, and then joining with them in an attack upon the city of New York, across the Hudson River. Part of this plan (or so it was said) also involved the defense of the fortifications farther up the river at West Point—which by curious coincidence was the same West Point that my father was urging as an appointment and fresh start for the disgraced General Arnold.
The only thing that anyone seemed to agree upon was that things would change, and soon, and that the war would begin anew. The British general Henry Clinton had completed his triumphal victory over Charleston, and was reported to be sailing back to New York with a large company of troops. Emboldened by this news, small groups of British soldiers from New York were already to be seen in New Jersey, launching small attacks on the populace that were meant to draw His Excellency out of Morristown earlier than planned.
So far these small attacks had been contained by local militiamen, but those of us still in Morristown became more and more ill at ease as the attacks grew closer to the encampment. Few civilians wished to find themselves in the middle of a campaign. One by one, the wives and families of officers who had wintered with us in hired houses packed up their belongings, bid their husbands and friends farewell, and began their long journeys back to their homes, scattered across every colony.
As a general’s wife, Mamma had witnessed this before, and she was determined to stay with my father here at the camp until, as she said, she could see soldiers marching to battle from her front door. Lady Washington and Aunt Gertrude likewise took this forthright stance, the three older ladies standing confidently beside their husbands as our little community shrank around us. We now also had an additional sentinel at our house posted to guard both front and back doors, and Mamma and I did not go about the town without the company of at least one soldier. I’m not certain if this was an order from His Excellency, or a request by my father. Mamma, Angelica, and I understood, and we did not complain. Because of Papa, we would have made valuable prisoners had we been captured.
It went without saying that I, too, remained in Morristown, relishing every moment that Alexander could spare for me. I pressed him as much as I could for more information on the army’s plans for the summer, but even though he wrote and read all of His Excellency’s orders and letters, he couldn’t offer any more definite news than anyone else did. It truly did seem that the army’s movements were the proverbial game of cat and mouse. His Excellency possessed neither the men nor munitions to strike as he might choose. Instead he was forced to wait and watch, and then react to whatever the British did first.