“Queer is a good word for it.” I couldn’t read Hebrew myself—Jamie had learned it in Paris, studying at the université, but there was one English word at the bottom of the note. “What does ‘ambidextrous’ have to do with anything, do you suppose?”
He shrugged and shook his head.
“The Hebrew bit is a sort of blessing for a house. I’ve seen it before, in Jewish houses in Paris; they put it in a wee thing called a mezuzah by the door. But ‘ambidextrous’ …” He hesitated, looking at me sideways. “The only thing I can think of, Sassenach, is that it’s a long word wi’ no repeating letters.”
The mention of Paris had at once reminded me of his cousin Jared’s house, where we had lived in the year before the Rising—and where he had spent his days selling wine and his nights—all too often—in intrigue and—
“Spying?” I said, incredulous. I knew almost nothing about codes, ciphers, and secret writing—but he did. He looked mildly embarrassed.
“Aye, maybe. I’m sorry, Sassenach; I shouldna have brought such a thing home. I was only curious.”
It was no more than a scrap of paper, and whatever message it might hold was certainly not meant for us—but it brought back those anxious days and nights in Paris, full of glamour, fear, and uncertainty—and then of sorrow, grief, and anger. I swallowed, hard.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, very softly, his eyes fixed on my face. Still looking at me, he opened his hand and held it out. The wind snatched the little note at once and whirled it away like a leaf, flying off the roof and into the deep woods beyond. Gone.
His hand was still open, and I took it. His fingers were as cold as mine.
“Forgiven,” I said, just as softly.
The slam was so sudden that I jerked my hand out of Jamie’s and whirled round.
“What did that?” I demanded, looking wildly to and fro.
“Likely a tree,” he said mildly. “Over there, I reckon—” He gestured toward the distant trees. “I’ve only heard it when the wind’s out of the east.”
“I’ve never heard a tree make a noise like a slamming door,” I said, unconvinced.
“If ye spent much time sleeping in the forest, Sassenach, ye’d hear them make as many sounds as there are animals on the ground near ye—and it’s often hard to tell the difference, if the wind’s blowing. They groan and scream and clatter and drop their limbs and hiss and squeal when they catch fire from lightning, and now and then they fall over with an almighty crash that shakes the ground. If ye paid attention to the racket, ye’d never sleep.”
“For one thing, I wouldn’t be sleeping much if I were in a forest, regardless. And for another, it’s broad daylight now.”
“I dinna think that matters to a tree.” He was openly laughing at me, and it absurdly made me feel better. He bent, picked up the bottle, and handed it to me. “Here, Sassenach. It will settle your nerves.”
I took a solid gulp, and it did. Somewhat.
“Better now?” he asked, watching.
“Yes.”
“Good. I said I had something to tell ye, aye?”
“Yes,” I said, eyeing him. “Why do I think it’s bad news?”
“Well, it’s no exactly bad,” he said, tilting his head. “But I didna want to be talking about it wi’ the sailors in earshot.”
“Oh, just dangerous, then. That’s a relief.”
“Well, only a wee bit dangerous.” He took back the bottle, had a quick swig, and told me about his meetings with Colonel Locke and his conclusions regarding the Rowan County militia.
“So,” he finished, “I said I’d got everything on my list, save the one thing—gunpowder.”
“Ah,” I said. “So you have guns—some, at least—courtesy of Captain Cunningham—”
“And with any luck, Roger Mac will get me more in Charles Town,” he interrupted. “But I’ve barely enough powder to keep us in meat for the winter. I couldna buy any in Salisbury, for Colonel Locke has requisitioned all of it for military use.”
“And if you joined the Rowan County super-militia, Colonel Locke would supply you. But you don’t want to do that, because then you’d need to answer his call and take orders from him.”
“I dinna mind taking orders, Sassenach,” he said, giving me a faintly reproachful look. “But it does depend who from. And if it were to be Locke … he’ll be taking the companies under his command toward battle, God knows where—but not anywhere near the Ridge. And I will not leave my home—or you—unprotected while I mind Locke’s business a hundred miles away.”