A Girl Called Samson (77)

“Her?” I gasped. “You are talking about me, General. You have to be careful around me? Do you not trust me?”

“It is not about trust.” He had dropped the volume of his voice so it rumbled between us, the sound of distant guns and approaching trouble. “It is like the scales have fallen from my eyes. I no longer see a soldier boy. I only see you,” he accused, throwing up his hands.

I glared at him, but I had no response. I was a woman, after all.

He shook his head. “Except when you look at me like that. Then I remember Shurtliff’s fearsome gaze.”

“It was never his fearsome gaze. It is mine.”

“Now you are doing it too, separating the woman from the boy. It is not so easy to keep them straight.”

“I have served with all my heart. And I will continue to do so if you will allow it.”

“I am sure that is true.” His voice had changed yet again. From a blast to a rumble to a white flag of surrender. I held my breath. I didn’t know yet what he was surrendering to.

“I have not known a moment’s peace since I realized you are not Robert Shurtliff,” he confessed.

“But I am,” I pleaded.

“Deborah,” he warned, and the sound of my name on his lips shocked me again.

“Please don’t take him away from me. Please let me be Shurtliff until the war is over.”

“What if you die here? You could have easily died at Tarrytown. Or Yorktown. Or in Eastchester, goddammit. What if you die as a soldier, as Robert Shurtliff? What then? Deborah Samson deserves more.”

“But don’t you see? This is more.”

He didn’t understand, and he stared at me, perplexed.

“I’m doing it for her. For me.” I thumped my chest. “And if I die”—I shrugged—“then I will die a soldier, which is something Deborah Samson wasn’t allowed to be.”

He raised his brows, stunned. “We don’t keep women out of war because they are less than.”

“No?” I scoffed.

“No,” the general shot back. “Men don’t bring their treasure onto the battlefield. They protect it.” He enunciated each word.

“I am not treasured. So I do not need protecting.” We’d been over this ground before.

“But you are. Elizabeth treasured you. I treasure you.”

I bowed my head, humbled by his earnest admission. For a moment, we did not speak.

“There are so few things any of us ever get to see,” I entreated him. “Not just women. I know that. I am not such a fool to think men are not bound in different ways. I enlisted because I dared not board a ship. I joined because I could not go west alone. I had no means to cross the sea or set out into the world. Breeches and bound breasts aren’t sufficient. A person needs money too. The war was at my doorstep, and it was the only escape available to me.”

His sigh was heavy and his shoulders drooped.

“Are you going to tell?” I asked.

“Who? Who would I tell? I am the commandant for the time being. I could go to New Windsor to see General Washington and tell him my aide-de-camp is a master of disguise. After the debacle with Benedict Arnold here at the Point, right under my nose, he might start to think I’m the traitor. And he’ll think you’re a spy.”

“You know that I am not.”

“I know nothing of the sort,” he grumbled.

“Truly? You don’t mean that, do you, General?”

“You have no idea of the depravity and ruthlessness of men. Especially the men who profit from war.”

“I swear to you on my life and my sacred honor that I am not a spy,” I said, using the language of the declaration on purpose. “I am a patriot, through and through, and I will fight at your side and at your direction until this war is over. You will never have cause to mistrust me or question my loyalty. I swear on my fondness and friendship for Elizabeth.”

“I do not want you to pledge me your life or fight at my side,” he ground out. “I want you to stay alive. I want you to do as I say so that I am not constantly worried about your well-being. And if that means sending Agrippa to King’s Ferry or wherever else I see fit, instead of you”—he pointed a finger at my face—“you will not mind.” He sat back in his chair and closed his ledger with a shove. His jaw was tight and his eyes were hot, and I bowed my head, contrite.

“All right, General.”

“You will do as I say?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you will not question or interfere with my orders?”

“I will not question or interfere with your orders,” I promised.

He exhaled with a gust. “God help us both.”

I had every intention of keeping my word, but some promises are impossible to keep.





20

LIGHT AND TRANSIENT CAUSES

The month I arrived at West Point after my enlistment, sixteen soldiers charged with desertion and crimes against the local citizenry were brought out onto the open field where gallows and whipping posts were erected not far from the garrison jail.

One by one, twelve of the men were stripped to their waists, tied to a post, and, with drums playing, subjected to their punishment. Most bore it well, hardly flinching as the whip opened bloody stripes on their naked backs, their mates cheering them on.