The Turning of Anne Merrick (13 page)

Sally was an eager student and she quickly developed into a voracious reader, but the war had put a pause in the progress they had been making. Once ensconced in the British encampment, Anne seized on the idle night hours between supper and sleep as time devoted to expanding Sally’s schooling with the practice of penmanship and ciphering.

“For God’s sake, Sal, no one is expecting for you to become an arithmetician,” Anne said. “One day soon you’ll be helping David to
run the Peabody Press, and I should think you might want to learn enough to manage and keep your own accounts. This war won’t last forever, you know.”

“Aye, Annie.” Resigned, Sally brought her legs up to sit tailor style and bent her head to the problems Anne had written out on her slate.

Ho-hoo… hoo… hooooh!
An owl’s sudden hoot put an end to the whippoorwill’s soothing refrain.

Sally slapped her chalk down. “Fegs! Tha’ owl’s gone and scared our sweet whippoorwill away…”

Ho-hoo… hoo… hooooh!

“My!” Anne gazed upward. “Sounds as if he’s perched right above our heads.”

Ho-hoo… hoo… hooooh!

Sally groaned.

“Never mind the owl,” Anne said. “Just concentrate on finishing your sums.”

Tossing her slate to the side, Sally heaved a dramatic sigh. “I’m tellin’ you true, Annie, I canna muster a single thought for all this racket.”

Ho-hoo… hoo… HOOOOOH!

Sally hopped off her cot, gathering several pinecones from the floor. “I’ll chase him off…” Before Anne could stop her, she scooted through the tent flaps emitting a high-pitched,
“Shoo! Shoo!”
—the shrill cries followed by the thwack and roll of pinecones landing on the taut canvas overhead.
“Shoo!
Sho… mmmmph!!!”

Anne looked up at the odd stifled squeal. The tent flaps swept open, and with blue eyes as round as Dutch dinner plates, Sally was pushed inside, locked in the arms of a befeathered and tattooed Indian. Crouched in the tight confines of the wedge tent, the fierce savage struggled to keep squirming Sally constrained within the vise of his arms. With one hand clapped tight across her mouth, he muffled her distress.

The lantern hanging from the shaking ridgepole swung mad shadows over the quaking canvas. Anne fumbled under her pillow and, in
an instant, produced her pistol. Arm extended ramrod stiff and the gun clasped in a two-handed grasp, she clacked back the hammer.

The Indian jerked his head back, his wild black hair flying. Flinging off his feathered headgear, he whispered, “Don’t shoot, Annie!”

Sally visibly calmed at the voice. Heart a-race, Anne leaned forward, her pistol trained as she focused on the savage’s tattooed face blinking in and out of the swinging light. She reached up to still the lamp, shining light on features made friendly by a familiar smile.

“Jack?!”

Jack flashed an even wider grin and gave Sally a little shake. “I’m going to let you loose, Sal,” he said in her ear. “Promise you won’t put up a fuss?”

Sally answered with a vigorous nod. As soon as Jack relaxed his hold, she stomped her heel down on his moccasined foot and sent a sharp elbow straight to his brisket.

“Ow!”
Jack’s tattooed face renewed its fierceness in grimace.

“Tha’s what ye get fer scarin’ us witless.” Sally plopped down beside Anne.

“Goddamn it, Jack!” Anne uncocked her weapon and let it drop to her lap. “I was about to shoot!”

Jack positioned himself under the ridgepole with feet planted wide in order to fit his tall frame fully upright. Swiping back his long hair away from his face, he posed with fists resting at hips. “Convincing, eh?”

Anne and Sally shagged their heads up and down in brisk unison in admiration for Jack’s clever disguise.

The faded indigo shirt he wore was belted at the waist with a sash woven in a pattern of red and yellow braided wool. Voluminous shirtsleeves were cuffed with horn buttons, and cinched at biceps with armbands worked in pierced silver. His woolen breechclout was trimmed with a scallop of colorful bead- and ribbon work, and extended several inches beyond his long shirttails. Utilitarian buckskin leggings came to mid-thigh, and were secured below the knee with finger-woven garters. Anne was relieved to see he wisely kept the telltale noose scar concealed with a knotted red kerchief.

“At long last…”
Sally stifled a giggle with her hand. “Yer bedecked and festooned like the heathen ye are.”

Worn loose as it was, Jack’s black hair was perhaps a bit too wavy for a full-blooded Indian, but the two thin braids he’d plaited at his right temple and tied off with beads and feathers helped aid the deception. To complete his disguise, three diagonal hatched lines rendered in indigo ink crossed his tanned face from hairline to jawline, and a stylized drawing of a bird in flight adorned his right cheek.

Brow furled, Anne stood and pointed to his face. “You didn’t really… ?”

“Not to worry…” Jack pressed his index finger to the tattoo and transferred a blue smudge to Anne’s face. “Paint. Neddy made it by boiling a scrap of sugar paper in bear fat.”

Anne sank back on her cot. “Neddy?”

“The younger of our Oneidan scouts. David charged two of them to work with us.”

Sally gave Jack’s shirttail a tug. “Yiv been with David? How’s he fare?”

“David’s fit as a fiddle and busy being Schuyler’s right hand, keeping what passes for the Continental Army of the North together—no easy task, that. I saw him last when we delivered the courier you two uncovered.”

“And it was David who put you in the company of savages?” Anne asked.

“Ned and Isaac are no savages. I’d wager pounds to pennies they know their Bible better than any in this tent.”

Sally was skeptical. “The British claim th’ tribes all gather beneath the King’s banner…”

“Except the Oneida and Tuscarora have fallen in with us rebels.” Dropping down, Jack took a cross-legged seat at the women’s feet. “Good thing, too—they’re valuable allies—master woodsmen, crack shots, fierce fighters, and now, good friends. Titus and I learn daily from Isaac and Ned.” Jack hooked a thumb under the beaded strap crossing his chest. “These are Ned’s clothes.”

Anne shifted forward in her seat. “What happened with the courier you delivered to David?”

“We found a message hidden in his canteen, just as you said we would. Due to your good work here, General Howe will never receive that message.”

“And the courier… ?”

“Captured as a spy and hung for one.”

“Och!” Sally drew her shawl over slumped shoulders.

“We were hoping that maybe he’d be spared. You see,” Anne explained, “the courier’s sweetheart was the one who revealed his true purpose to us.”

“Th’ poor lass.” Sally sighed. “So worried for her man, she is, and doesna ken it was she who sealed her lover’s ill fate…”

“Strung up like a common criminal…” Anne said with a shake of her head.

Sally added, “And they were soon to wed…”

“Stop it!” Grabbing them each by the knee, Jack said, “We are spies. We lie, we cheat, we steal, we take advantage—our task is dangerous and thankless, but every bit of information we glean and anything we can exploit is crucial to our country’s survival.” He took in a big breath. “Ensconced among these British, you two have no ken to how desperate our cause has become. Our army is outmatched and outgunned at every turn and sorely lacks supply and matériel. Our soldiers are daily deserting by the drove. The only way we can ever hope to defeat the British Empire is by our wits, and without intelligence, we are doomed to fail. You must both keep your minds, eyes, and ears ever tuned to that which aids our cause, no matter the unsavory consequences. Do you hear me?”

Duly chastised, Sally and Anne both nodded vigorously, and Anne slipped her hand over Jack’s. “We left an important message today…”

“Under a big maple—with a ribbon marker. Did ye no’ find it?” Sally asked.

“We found it—awful important it is, too. Titus and Isaac are on their way to David. I was set to travel with ’em but when I saw this…”
Jack dug into the pouch at his hip and produced the drawing of the reunited crown. “I thought maybe you needed to see me…”

“Oh no!” Anne tipped the slip of paper to the light, and winced. “An aimless, silly scratching…”

“Which is unlike you,” Jack interrupted. “I worried maybe something was amiss.”

“I didn’t expect for you to even see this, much less have it induce you to risk your neck in coming here.” Anne handed the drawing back to Jack, and it made her heart skip to see how carefully he returned the little scrap of paper to his pouch. “I was missing you—feeling lonely and more than a little sorry for myself, and drawing our little crown made me feel better.”

“Caw!” Sally gave Anne a little shove. “Yer a softhearted lass, fer all yer stoic brash!”

Jack smiled. “I’m glad to hear that’s all there is to it.”

“You are a madman to have come here”—Anne touched the silver disk hanging from his pierced earlobe—“but I’m so glad you did.”

“Ahoy, Mrs. Merrick!”

Anne and Sally locked eyes, and Sally whispered, “What’s he want?”

“I’ve no idea!” Rising to her feet, Anne pressed a fingertip to Jack’s lips in silent warning.

Jack grabbed her by the hand. “It’s Captain Feather Hat, isn’t it? What was it he gave you today?”

Anne dropped back to her seat. “What?”

“Ahoy, Anne Merrick—Geoff Pepperell come to call—”

“It
is
him.” Jack growled under his breath, pushing off to rise up to his feet.

Sally lurched forward and shoved him by the shoulders, sending him back onto his hind end. Her index finger like a dart to his forehead, she hissed between gritted teeth, “Stay down an’ shet yer hole, or it’s the three of us dancin’ a jig at rope’s end by sunup.”

“Ahoy, Mrs. Merrick!”

Anne stumbled forward and banged into the lantern, sending the light swinging. Rubbing her forehead, she gave Sally a pull. “Get rid of him—but nicely.”

Sally nodded, drew a deep breath in, breathed it out slow, and poked her head between the tent flaps, clutching the canvas beneath her chin.

“Good evening, Captain,” she said in a loud and cheery voice.

“Hullo, Sal. May I have a word with your mistress, please?”

Sally pulled inside, keeping the canvas crimped closed in white-knuckled fists. “He wants to talk to you.”

“No!”
Anne and Jack hissed in unison and waved her back.

Sally once again inserted her head between the flaps, her twin plaits swinging. “Apologies, Captain, but th’ hour is dark, and my mistress bids ye t’ pay yer call in the light of day.”

“Tell your mistress this matter cannot wait. I must speak with her now.”

Sally pulled inside. “Maybe ye ought…”

“No!”
Anne and Jack whispered together.

Sally’s head emerged once again. “I’m so sorry,” she told the Captain, “but Mrs. Merrick is not prepared t’ receive callers at this late hour…”

“This is absolutely ridiculous…” Pepperell raised his voice. “Please inform your mistress that I will wait right here while she collects herself to speak with me direct.”

Sally popped back in. “Ye heard. He willna budge.”

Anne slipped her feet into shoes. “I’d better see what he wants.”

Jack grabbed Anne by the hand and pulled her down, their cheeks brushing. He growled in her ear, “I know what he wants, and so do you.”

Anne jerked free, and hissed, “That man is the fount of our intelligence —every bit of it crucial—you said so yourself.” She tugged a striped skirt over her shift, twirled a shawl over bare shoulders, and slipped outside.

Lantern in hand, dressed in casual shirtsleeves and buff breeches protected by black gaiters, Pepperell kept himself at a discreet distance from the tent, as any gentleman should. Anne noted the brace of pistols tucked into the sash at his waist, and she rushed forward to keep him as far from the tent as possible.

“
I apologize for the lateness of the hour…” he began, setting the lantern on the ground.

“Indeed.” Anne held tight her shawl and managed a smile. “Sally and I are about to douse the light.”

“Were you at your letters? You’ve a bit of ink there…” Geoffrey stepped close, and brushed the back of his hand to her cheek.

Anne stumbled back a step, scrubbing the blue pigment with the tail of her shawl. At the exact moment, Sally squawked a distressing yelp. Pepperell made a move toward the tent, but Sally’s ginger head popped forth in an instant, stopping him in his tracks. She sputtered, “A huge,
ugly
spider crawlin’ about in here—he needs
squashin’
… I could use your help, Annie.” And she disappeared.

“Captain Pepperell.” Anne resorted to her vexed-widow voice. “Paying call at this hour—most unseemly, sir. I must bid you good night.”

“Wait…” The Captain grabbed her by the hand, curtailing her retreat. “I have come with only wholesome intent. Lennox has set out his telescope—a beautiful instrument—and Mrs. Lennox sends an invitation for you to join us in our stargazing. I’ve come to escort you to our camp.”

“S-s-stargazing!” Anne struggled to shift her tack from angry to reasonable. “How… how very kind of you, Captain… and, of course, kind of Mrs. Lennox as well—to think of me.” Any other time she would have leapt at this sort of opportunity, for Lucy Lennox had already proven to be a valuable resource. Eyes darting to Jack’s silhouette in a hunker near the canvas tent flaps, she was nonetheless compelled to cultivate Pepperell’s good graces. Tugging the Captain along, she guided him to stand with his back toward the tent.

“A telescope, you say? I’ve always wanted to learn more about the night sky…”

“Good! I’ll wait while you dress.”

“No! I couldn’t… wouldn’t want to trouble you.” Anne could not keep her hands from flailing about. “After all—well—it’s very late. And of course… there’s Sally and the spider…”

“The spider!” Geoffrey laughed. “It’s a moonless night—perfect for stargazing—and the views are fantastic. Please say you’ll come.”

Anne glanced over Pepperell’s shoulder at the tent, horribly aware of Jack and Sally watching her every move and listening to her every word. She moved in closer, kept her eyes cast demure, and lowered her voice to a more seductive tone. “Oh, Geoff, I would truly love to spend the night with you… stargazing.” Letting go of her shawl ends for a moment, she allowed the Redcoat captain the briefest glimpse of her dishabille, before collecting the soft wool in a modest clutch at her breast. “But it has been one long day after another, and I am”—she let out a breathy sigh—“quite spent. Could you possibly come calling tomorrow night, when I can promise to be better company?”