A Girl Called Samson (55)

I made it halfway down the lane before I gave in and let myself fly, joyful, strong, and imbued with new hope.





15

THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS

I didn’t allow myself to dwell on my deception or succumb to guilt over my improved circumstances. The staff sergeant, Mr. Allen, supplied me with a new uniform, warning me that soldiers in the house could not smell like soldiers in the barracks. He issued me a nightshirt as well with instructions that I not “sleep in my filth.” The nightshirt was too large, and I felt like a child when I donned it, but it did keep my berth clean and my uniform unrumpled.

Agrippa, who gave me permission to call him Grippy instead of sir, occupied a room on the second floor alongside Colonel Kosciuszko, as well as several other officers with regiments quartered in the garrison. The third floor housed Mr. and Mrs. Allen, their oldest daughter, Sophronia, and her husband, Joe, who all seemed to have come with the property. Mr. Allen took care of the house and the staff, though Agrippa told me to run everything by him. Joe took care of the animals and the stables, and Mrs. Allen and Sophronia were in charge of the cooking and general cleaning. I avoided them as much as I could, fearing they would see right through me.

On my second day, Agrippa made himself my personal instructor and escorted me through the house and around the immediate grounds, giving me a staggering verbal list of orders and instructions, which I carried out to exactness. I’m certain he had a good laugh at my expense when I pressed the general’s undergarments, sat on the floor beside his bed while he slept, and tested his food for poison before presenting it to him. The general informed me kindly that such things were not necessary, warning me that Grippy had an affinity for mischief.

This penchant was on full display days later when General Paterson and Colonel Kosciuszko left the garrison for a meeting at Newburgh encampment with a small contingent that didn’t include me or Agrippa Hull. They were only to be gone one night, but Grippy arranged a surprise costume party in one of the barracks—I was not invited—and attended the big event as Colonel Kosciuszko himself, wearing the colonel’s dress uniform, complete with ornamental sword, banner, and beribboned hat. The only thing missing from the costume were the colonel’s tall black boots, as Kosciuszko was wearing them.

Agrippa swore me to secrecy and promised me that “once I’d proved myself” I could tag along. He called it a soiree and even made a song about it, singing it softly as he stole out of the house and into the early winter darkness that descended on the Point before five and left the evenings dreary and long. I didn’t mind them at all, living in the Red House with a library at my disposal.

I’d only enjoyed one chapter from a book on Revelation when the general and Colonel Kosciuszko suddenly returned, their plans scuttled by a lame horse. Still too far from Newburgh, they’d decided to return to the Point and set out again in the morning with a new mount for the colonel.

When Kosciuszko asked the whereabouts of his aide, I played dumb but volunteered to find him posthaste. I ran through the trees to the barracks, not certain where Grippy had gone, but following the sounds of laughter until I located, without much difficulty, the secret soiree. A soldier was posted at the door, but I had only to mention Colonel Kosciuszko’s name with all the urgency I was feeling to be allowed inside.

Agrippa stood atop a stripped-down bunk that was being used as a stage and was entertaining the crowd with a very convincing, if theatrically embellished, impersonation of his fiery Polish employer. I pushed my way through the throng and grabbed his leg as he pranced past. It was covered from knee to toe with thick black paint to create the look of a black boot, and my hand left a streak across his shin.

“The colonel is back,” I shouted up at him.

He frowned down at me and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m performing, Mr. Shurtliff,” he said, still in character.

“Yes . . . I know. But the colonel is back, and he’s asking for you.”

He blanched, but didn’t immediately jump down. The crowd begged him for a little more, and he was loath to disappoint his fans. His painted legs and feet gave the costume a comical twist, and his face was shining with laughter and sweat. He doffed his tricorn and made a sweeping bow, and I turned to go.

I’d relayed the message, done my duty, and was eager to retreat. Such gatherings were not safe for me, though I had arguably the best costume of all. I pushed out of the barracks and stooped to wash my paint-covered fingers in the snow only to realize Grippy was right behind me. He hadn’t even stopped for his shoes.

He was studying my uniform, and I knew what he was thinking before the words left his mouth. I took several steps back, shaking the wet from my hands.

“No,” I said.

“Give me your coat, Bonny.”

“No!” I repeated, adamant. “You will not draw me into your mess, Mr. Hull. I have helped you. Do not repay me this way.” I began trotting back in the direction of the Red House, putting immediate distance between us.

“Wait!” He started running too, but I bolted, using all my considerable speed to fly back the way I’d come, Grippy on my heels. We raced for a hundred yards before Grippy swore and begged me to stop. I simply sped up.

“Damnation, Bonny. You’re fast,” he panted, but I sensed it was more surprise than exertion that had him gasping. The snow-covered ground beneath his bare feet could not have helped either, but he was fast too.