A Girl Called Samson (92)

“Deacon Thomas said the same thing. But I am not headstrong. I am strong-minded.”

He chuckled, which I had intended. “What is the difference, pray tell?” he asked.

“One is a virtue. One is not.”

“Ahh. So that’s how it works. We take our faults and reframe them. How clever.”

“It is a very important distinction. You, sir, are not harsh, but you are austere. You are adamant about rules. You have to be. Your men suffer when you aren’t.”

“How so?”

“Rationing saves lives in winter. So does cleanliness and thrift and guards that aren’t drunk.” I swallowed. “And delivering painful justice because mercy would encourage wolves.”

“I don’t know that my experiment in mercy went so well yesterday.”

We were quiet then, caught in the tangle of mercy and justice and which was which.

“They always send you, don’t they?” I asked. “When there’s a rebellion or a traitor or a conflict that must be resolved. They send you.”

“It is, oddly, the story of my life. Faithful and dutiful above all else. Old Reliable. Do you know that is what my mates called me at Yale? I was always the one who got everyone else out of scrapes. I was the staid one. The stern one. When they were planning something, they wouldn’t tell me about it, because they knew I’d try to talk sense into them. But I was always the one they came to when it all fell apart.”

“Elizabeth said you were likely to get pulled into the fray wherever you went, even though you wanted to avoid it. She said, ‘He has wide shoulders, a level head, and a patriotic heart.’ Like Solomon, but with no desire for a crown. I think she is right.”

“She gave me too much credit. You do as well.”

“No.” I shook my head. “No. You are the best man I’ve ever known, John Paterson.”

“And you are the most remarkable woman.”





23

PROVIDE NEW GUARDS

Back in March, an officer named Captain Huddy of New Jersey had been assigned to guard a blockhouse in Monmouth that came under attack by a regiment of loyalists. Captain Huddy, after expending all his ammunition, was taken hostage and brought into New York. A few weeks later, and without any trial or warning, he was brought to the New Jersey shore, late at night, and hanged from a tree.

A letter pinned to Captain Huddy’s chest read, “We, the loyalists, having with grief long beheld the cruel murders of our brethren, therefore determine not to suffer without taking vengeance for these numerous cruelties. We have made use of Captain Huddy as the first object to present to your view; and further determine to hang man for man while there is a loyalist existing. Up goes Huddy for Phillip White.”

Further investigation had revealed that Phillip White, a loyalist soldier, had been taken prisoner in a skirmish after Captain Huddy was already in confinement. Phillip White had also, after surrendering, taken a musket and shot the son of a colonel before escaping. He was recovered and once again brought into custody only to escape once more. One of his pursuers, after repeated warnings to him to stop, struck him across the head with a broadsword, which killed him instantly.

The outcry from the inhabitants of New Jersey to Congress as well as General Washington himself over Huddy’s death was so strident, General Washington called on all the general officers and those commanding brigades or regiments to assemble and deliberate on what should be done.

The previous vote had taken place in June. Now it was September, and the commander in chief had assembled his officers back at Robinson’s house, this time to discuss the sorry circumstances they now found themselves in.

I took the opportunity to look in on Morris and Maggie, who in spite of our shared reticence and reserve, had become friends of mine. I had little experience with friendship, and the two of them seemed to have even less, but an unspoken understanding had emerged, one I did not overanalyze or rely on. I simply enjoyed it and asked after their well-being whenever I was able.

General Paterson had been in meetings all morning, but he’d stomped from the house during a recess, desperate for some air and exercise. I’d seen him exit and had rushed to his side.

“Should I get the horses, sir?”

“No. General Washington has asked me to remain. There is another matter I am to attend to, but he is conferring with General von Steuben at the moment. I am going for a walk.”

“Should I come with you?”

“If you wish.” The general’s voice was terse and his stride long, but I loped after him.

“Your limp has worsened since the march to White Plains,” he muttered. “You should have listened to me. Both times.”

The day Phineas died our relationship changed, though I hadn’t allowed myself to draw conclusions from the intimacy we’d shared. We didn’t speak of it, and I was surprised he brought it up now.

“I will get some more salve from Maggie. It should help with the ache.”

He stopped abruptly. “You did not tell me you were hurting.”

“It isn’t constant. I can keep up, General.”

“Yes. But you would not win any races. Even in your magic breeches.”

I pushed my hat back so I could better see his eyes. “You know the fable of the tortoise and the hare, don’t you, sir?”