The soldier in question proved to be a very young man—in the uniform of the Continental army. Angelina gasped at sight of him and dropped the glove she was holding in her left hand.
“Who are you, sir?” she demanded, sitting up as straight as she possibly could. “And how come you are here, may I ask?”
“I came under flag of truce, to bring a message. Lieutenant Hanson, your servant, ma’am,” the young man replied, bowing. “And yours, ma’am,” turning to Brianna. He withdrew a sealed note from the bosom of his coat and bowed to her. “If I may take the liberty of inquiring—are you Mrs. Roger MacKenzie?”
She felt as though she’d been dropped abruptly down a glacial abyss, freezing cold and ice-blind. Confused memories of yellow telegrams seen in war movies, the memory of siege guns, and where is Roger?
“I … am,” she croaked. Angelina and Henrike both looked at her, grasped the situation at once, and Angelina rushed to support her.
“What has happened?” Angelina demanded fiercely, hugging Bree round the middle and glaring at the soldier. “Tell us at once!”
Henrike’s hands tightened on Bree’s shoulders, and she could hear the whisper of a German prayer behind her. “Mein Gott, erl?se uns vom B?sen …”
“Er …” The young man—he couldn’t be more than sixteen, Bree thought dimly—looked flabbergasted. “I—er—”
Bree got control of her throat muscles and swallowed.
“Has he been killed in battle?” she asked, with what calm she could muster. Oh, God, I can’t tell the kids, I can’t do this … Oh, God …
“Well, yes, ma’am,” the soldier said, blinking. “But how did you know?” The note was still in his hand, half extended. She broke free of the women and snatched it from him, scrabbling frantically to break the seal.
For a moment, the words, written in an unfamiliar hand, swam before her eyes, and her gaze dropped to the signature. A doctor, dear God … And then her eyes rose to the salutation.
Friend MacKenzie
“What?” she said, looking up at the young soldier. “Who the hell wrote this?”
“Why, Dr. Wallace, ma’am,” he said, shocked by her language. Then, realizing, “Oh. He’s a Quaker, ma’am.” She wasn’t paying attention, though, having returned to the text of the letter.
Thy husband bids me give thee his best and tell thee that he will be with thee in Savannah in three days’ time, God willing. She closed her eyes and took a breath so deep that it dizzied her. He would have written to say so in his own hand but has suffered a minor dislocation of the thumb which prevents his writing comfortably.
He has departed on a brief but urgent errand for Lieutenant-Colonel Marion. In the meantime, he asks whether thee would come to the American camp at Savannah （the soldier who brings this under a flag of truce will escort thee）， in order to perform an artistic service of generosity and compassion.
One of the most esteemed of the American cavalry commanders was killed in the battle, and General Lincoln is desirous of having some concrete memento of General Pulaski. Friend Roger offered consolation to the general’s friends, and upon hearing General Lincoln’s lamentation at having no lasting memorial, suggested that, as thee were close at hand, thee might be willing to come and make a drawing of the gentleman, prior to his burial.
At this point, astonishment began to overcome shock and she started to breathe more slowly. She was still light-headed and her heart was fluttering—she put a hand flat on her chest in reflex—but the words on the page had steadied.
Pulaski. The name was vaguely familiar to her; she must have heard it in school. One of the European volunteers who had come to join the American cause. There was something in New York named after him, wasn’t there? And now—now, today, not two hundred years in the past—he had died.
She became aware of Angelina, Henrike, and the young soldier, all staring at her with varying degrees of concern and anxiety.
“It’s all right,” she said. Her voice trembled, and she cleared her throat and shook her head to dispel the dizziness. “It’s all right,” she said again, more firmly. “My husband’s all right.”
“Oh …” Angelina’s face relaxed and she clasped her hands. “Oh, I’m so glad, Mrs. MacKenzie!”
Behind Angelina’s back, Henrike crossed herself solemnly, the fear ebbing from her eyes. The soldier coughed.