I have looked with derision on girls who wanted only to marry, who mooned about men as if they held the power to give them the world instead of simply control their world. And now I am one of them. Now I want only to continue at his side. To care for him, to love him. And I am mortified by it. I wish you were here, and yet I am glad you are not. What a terrible thing to write. What a terrible thing to feel.
I did not sign my name or my initials at the close of the entry. I was not ready to be Deborah again, and Robert Shurtliff had been stripped away. Grippy said I was one of them, but I wasn’t. I never had been.
The diary no longer mattered. I would be leaving, and nothing I said on the page would change that now. I left the book open and let the ink dry, staring down at each hideous word. Contemplating the mess I’d made.
Writing to Elizabeth, the way I’d always done, had seemed perfectly benign. If any of my bunkmates had read my words, nothing I’d said would have condemned me.
But I had not planned on John Paterson.
I should have tossed the book into the fire the day I’d moved into the Red House, but I did not think. And now all was lost.
19
TO ALTER OR ABOLISH
The general had not slept in his bed. After our confrontation, I’d heard him leave his quarters, and he had not come back. I set out his shaving kit and tidied his room. I didn’t know if he’d donned fresh clothes, so I laid them out as well and stoked the fire in the grate. March had begun with sunshine and warmth and ended with two feet of fresh snow. Traveling would be unpleasant and difficult. Especially alone.
Perhaps the general would let me stay until I’d made other arrangements. I could write to my mother, but I was sure she’d been informed of my first attempt to enlist. She’d had more public humiliation than any woman should have to endure, and all at the hands of others. I could not go to her. I would not.
I had an aunt and uncle in Stoughton who might let me live with them. They had a farm, and their children were grown.
I could go back to the Thomases, to Middleborough, to the church elders and beg for them to let me return. Perhaps the community would forgive me if I groveled enough.
I shook my head, scattering the thoughts that didn’t serve me. The general would decide, and I would honor his wishes.
After cowering in my quarters almost an hour after reveille, I gathered my courage and walked to the kitchen to inquire whether the general had already eaten or whether I could bring him a tray.
Agrippa was alone at the kitchen table, eating his breakfast with obvious enjoyment. He looked up as I entered and answered my query as to the general’s whereabouts as if nothing at all was amiss.
“He said we were to let you rest. He left with Colonel Jackson and said he was meeting Colonel Sproat at Peekskill.”
“Why?” It was all I could do to keep my voice steady.
“Van Tassel—the loyalist who let you sleep in his barn—turned up dead. General got word of it, and he was gone within the hour. I would have gone, but Colonel Kosciuszko wants me here.” He kept eating his breakfast, seemingly unperturbed by the general’s sudden departure and the fact that I’d been left behind.
I collapsed into a chair, calling on all the fortitude I had left not to break down. I had no sympathy for Van Tassel—good riddance—but it was a mission I should have been on.
“General Paterson did not say . . . anything about . . . my position?” My heart was thundering, and I pressed my hands to my chest, bidding it slow.
“Like what?”
“My leg has been slow to heal. I fear the general needs a new aide.”
“You’d best let him decide that.”
“When is he expected to return?”
Agrippa shrugged. “He was worried about a slave named Morris. He’ll be back when he’s made arrangements. I suspect a few days is all.”
“Morris,” I breathed, ashamed of myself. What would become of Morris, his boy, and the woman named Maggie? I doubted I would ever know.
“I cannot just sit here. I’ll go mad,” I whispered. And I would. Better that I know my fate immediately than have it drawn out until the general returned. Maybe he expected me to quietly go while he was away. That thought brought a rush of new anguish, and I propped my head in my hands, jostling the breakfast Mrs. Allen placed before me.
“Are you unwell, Bonny?” she asked, laying her hand against my brow. Grippy’s nickname had become common among the entire house staff.
“No, ma’am,” I muttered, and she tsked, shrugging.