Ashes (13 page)

The old woman watched Ruth scratch Thomas Boon's neck. “I'll feed that donkey and you, long as you go and come back without tarrying.”

Instead of agreeing straightaway, Ruth persisted with questions. “What will you feed him?”

I held my breath while Widow Hallahan studied first Ruth, then Thomas Boon, then Ruth again.

“Same grub as our horses–hay, oats, and mayhaps a few carrots when you get back from the hospital.”

I smiled with relief. The old laundress had found the best way to guarantee Ruth's speedy return.

“I'll go direct and come straight back,” she vowed solemnly. “On my honor, ma'am. Donkeys have a fondness for carrots.”

T
HE
B
RIGADE
C
OMMISSARIES ARE TO APPLY FORTHWITH TO THEIR
B
RIGADIERS OR
O
FFICERS
C
OMMANDING BRIGADES, AND WITH THEIR APPROBATION RESPECTIVELY, FIX UPON A PLAN FOR COLLECTING ALL THE DIRTY TALLOW, & SAVING THE ASHES FOR THE PURPOSE OF MAKING SOFT SOAP FOR THE USE OF THE ARMY.

–G
ENERAL
O
RDERS OF
G
EORGE
W
ASHINGTON

A
FTER THOMAS BOON WAS FED
, Ruth ventured off with the cart whilst I tried not to run after her.
Chin up
, I reminded myself.
All is well. It's a small town. She won't get lost. Keep stirring.

My first task was to stir the great cauldron of boiling shirts with a stick the size of an oar. The two other lasses working for Widow Hallahan, Kate and Elspeth, were mean-spirited snipes, but I was too worried about Ruth to pay any heed to them.

All is well. Keep stirring. All is well. Keep stirring.

My nerves jangled and clanged loud as alarm bells until Ruth returned from the hospital, the cart full with more dirty laundry. I was certain that I'd suffer a collapse if Ruth was sent out again, but Widow Hallahan put her to scrubbing at stained linens with a horse-bristle brush. Thomas Boon was tied to a fence post, where he produced a prodigious amount of dung, which I had to clear away with a shovel.

Ruth giggled each time this occurred.

When not hauling donkey dirt, I took the dry laundry down from the line in to Widow Hallahan for ironing, then took the shifts and breeches out of the boiling rinse water, twisted them to remove as much water as possible, and laid them on the wash lines and across the hedge to dry.

It was hard and heavy work, but it made the time fly.

At the end of the day Widow Hallahan sent us to the tavern's back door to get our meal: sour stew scraped from the bottom of the pot, dried bread crusts, and water that smelled of fish. We ate outside. Kate and Elspeth ate meat pie in the kitchen, at the table with chairs. They each received three meals a day, not two, and they had proper sleeping quarters and a bed to sleep on in the tavern's attic. Widow Hallahan was another snake-souled woman; happy enough to take our labor, but too evil to treat us fair.

As the sun began to set, Kate and Elspeth went off, tra-la-la-ing about the fellows who'd been courting them. It fell to me to haul out the ashes and bring in enough wood for the morrow's fires. As soon as I laid out the damp-smelling sleep pallets on the flagstone floor, Ruth lay down, curled on her side, and fell asleep without a word to me.

I sat with my back against the wall and watched as she slept. The events of the day had unfolded themselves so quickly and altered our circumstances so dramatically, I could scarce begin to make sense of them all.

Church bells tolled seven times. (How strange it was to be marking time by the ringing of church bells again! Our clock had long been the setting sun, the rising moon, the hoot of hunting owls, and the chirp of lonely frogs.) I waited as the bells announced the passage of each quarter hour, pondering how many days we ought stay in Williamsburg and if it was truly safe to allow Ruth to venture forth alone in her cart again. Widow Hallahan had explained that most of the washing she did was for officers and gentlemen of the army. She had great hopes for the convenience of Ruth and a delivery cart, which meant my sister would be venturing out among strangers every day.

By the time the bells gave the count of eight of the clock, my list of worries was long and fretful. Atop it sat the possibility that Curzon had already abandoned us. I grimly wrapped my scarf to mask my scar, secured my hat, and locked Ruth inside the laundry, praying that she'd stay deeply asleep until my return. I also asked the Lord to forgive me for bothering Him so frequently, but these were indeed trying times.

  *  *  *  

I took the quieter back streets to the market, staying clear of the strolling groups of soldiers and officers already muddy in drink. Noise and candlelight spilled from windows open to catch the cooling breeze. Certain words and names streamed through the air like dark ribbons: “Cornwallis,” “York,” “battle,” and “soon.”

I found Curzon and Aberdeen standing at the edge of a boisterous crowd that surrounded a pair of mud-covered wrestlers. Curzon had evidently been watching for me, but Aberdeen was concentrating on the match. Curzon tapped him on the shoulder and said something, pointed toward the shadows behind the print shop.

“Ruth sleeps,” I said as they joined me. “I dare not tarry.”

“Indeed,” Curzon said.

We quickly exchanged our stories of the day. After I shared both the good news and the bad about our prospects at the laundry, Curzon explained he'd found a blacksmith in need of a fellow who knew his way around a forge and hammer. Aberdeen boasted that he'd found work at a butcher in the French encampment, then he blathered on overly much about how much food he'd soon be eating. There was something about the way his eyes moved and the nervous manner of his hands that made me certain that he was lying.

“So Williamsburg is filled with rewards for us all,” Curzon concluded.

“Nay,” I said. “We cannot stay here. Ruth will never see danger if it crosses her path while she is out in the camp. We need to keep moving north, to Baltimore mebbe, though Philadelphia would be best.”

“We can't,” Curzon said flatly. “Not until we've earned coin and put some meat back on our bones.”

“We must,” I said. “A good-hearted woman in the market warned me. So many slaves have fled the farms hereabouts that their owners are desperate to replace them. We're in grave danger of being snatched up, all of us.”

“The army will shelter us,” Curzon said.

“The same army that handed you back to Bellingham?” I reminded him.

He shook his head. “All that has changed. The army has even more black soldiers now than it did at Valley Forge. It's desperate for skilled laborers like me. Williamsburg would be unsafe for us in ordinary times, but with the French and Continentals here, it's likely the safest place for us in the whole country.”

“A pox on the blasted army,” I muttered.

“I can help.” Aberdeen interrupted our argument. “I can go with Ruth on her deliveries.”

“How?” I asked. “You'll be up to your knees in cow carcasses every day.”

Aberdeen glanced over at the wrestling crowd, where a loud “Huzzah!” had gone up, indicating a victory. “I'll find a way.”

Curzon nodded. “Ruth listens to him better.”

“Not always,” I said.

“Yes,” Curzon said. “Always, at least, thus far. Aberdeen will take good care of her, he's proved that. Mayhaps if she spends some time with him, and then some time with you each day, it will help soften her manner toward you.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. It was hard to stay angry with Curzon when he made sense.

“You swear you'll stay by her side every step?” I asked Aberdeen. “You won't leave her on a whim?”

“What kind of scoundrel do you take me for?” he asked.

“Think of how happy she'll be,” Curzon added.

That was part of my concern, though I did not want to say it aloud. Ruth's fondness for Aberdeen had grown steadily during our journey. The day would soon come when he would go his own way, of that I was sure. The sooner I could wean Ruth from her affection toward him, the better. But having him escort her through the camp for a day or so whilst I calculated our next move would keep her safe and occupied in a useful manner.

“All right, then,” I said.

“I'll be there at sunup. I'll bring a treat for that ornery critter of hers too.” Aberdeen studied the crowd again and nodded to someone distant. “I need to talk to that fellow yonder. Good night to you both.”

T
HERE IS TO BE SOLD A VERY LIKELY
N
EGRO
W
OMAN AGED ABOUT
T
HIRTY
Y
EARS WHO HAS LIVED IN THIS
C
ITY, FROM HER
C
HILDHOOD, AND CAN WASH AND IRON VERY WELL, COOK
V
ICTUALS, SEW, SPIN ON THE
L
INEN
W
HEEL, MILK
C
OWS, AND DO ALL
S
ORTS OF
H
OUSE-WORK VERY WELL
. S
HE HAS A
B
OY OF ABOUT
T
WO
Y
EARS OLD, WHICH IS TO GO WITH HER
. T
HE
P
RICE AS REASONABLE AS YOU CAN AGREE
. A
ND ALSO ANOTHER VERY LIKELY
B
OY AGED ABOUT
S
IX
Y
EARS, WHO IS
S
ON OF THE ABOVESAID
W
OMAN
. H
E WILL BE SOLD WITH HIS
M
OTHER, OR BY HIMSELF, AS THE
B
UYER PLEASES
. E
NQUIRE OF THE
P
RINTER.”

–A
DVERTISEMENT IN
B
ENJAMIN
F
RANKLIN'S NEWSPAPER, THE
P
ENNSYLVANIA
G
AZETTE

A
BERDEEN WAS AS GOOD AS
his word, to my surprise. Every morning he showed up at the laundry as if he'd nothing better to do than to escort Ruth and her donkey around town and the encampments. The whiff of deceit still clung to him; I was certain that he was not being honest about all of his doings. But he made Ruth giggle with his comical gallantry and led Thomas Boon about as if the creature were a prize-winning stallion. Ruth returned safely each evening; that was what I cared about the most. I asked no questions about his job with the butcher.

One night Ruth was so excited, she forgot to be sour with me and told how they'd seen a group of soldiers racing crabs they'd caught in the river. The winning crab wore a crown of braided daisies and was paraded to great “Huzzahs” until it pinched the hand of the fellow holding it. 'Twas a rare delight to listen to her. Most days I was lucky if I heard more than a dozen words from her mouth, though she always spoke polite to Widow Hallahan and Miss Marrow, the tavern's cook, who made our meals.

I did not see Curzon in the days that followed. I tried to fool myself into believing that it did not matter. When asked about him, Aberdeen acted as if he did not know where it was Curzon worked or slept. When I pressed him for further information, he mumbled something nonsensical and hurried away. My suspicions about Curzon's curious behavior on our journey from Carolina–his sudden silences, his odd way of studying me when he didn't think I was watching him, and the dark moods that overtook him like a storm–shadowed me constantly.

  *  *  *  

Hallahan's did not wash the filthy clothes of ordinary soldiers. That work was done in the encampments by the soldiers themselves or their wives, who were hired by the army to wash and cook and mend. We cared for the clothing and bed linens of French and American officers, government men, and travelers in town to supply the army, and of course, the disgusting rags sent in by the hospital. The bundles and baskets arrived faster than we could manage them.