The Turning of Anne Merrick (2 page)

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Authors: Christine Blevins

BOOK: The Turning of Anne Merrick
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Goddamn those cabbage-eaters!” Jack peered through the lens. “I thought that bit of ax work would cost them at least half a day.”

“And the Redcoat vanguard is beginning to form… Do you see?” Titus pointed to a growing company of mounted cavalry.

Jack nodded. “They’re getting ready to move, alright.”

The pair inched forward as far as they dared, and watched as General Burgoyne’s formidable eight-thousand-man army coalesced into a colorful double column snaking through the wooded valley.

The red-coated infantry companies followed the vanguard, marching in the lead to the trill and thump of fife and drum, their polished musket barrels aglint in the morning light. The Redcoats were followed by close-ordered ranks of blue- and green-jacketed Hessian grenadiers and Jäger riflemen. After the Germans came a large contingent of Loyalist militia, wearing mismatched clothes and carrying sundry weapons. The militiamen were followed by a cadre of Canadian hatchetmen. Many beaded-and-befeathered Seneca and Mohawk warriors marched along with their British ally, and even more Algonquian braves from the far-western frontier had joined in the fight against the hated, land-hungry Americans.

“Here comes the baggage train,” Titus said. “Keep your eyespeeled for Mrs. Anne and Sally—we don’t want to miss any signals.”

A huge gaggle of camp followers came tagging along with a long train of carts and wagons overloaded with the supplies required to maintain Burgoyne’s multitude in the wilderness. While officers’ ladies were allowed to ride, the wives and children of the common soldier traveled on foot along with the herd of profit-seeking sutlers, peddlers, and prostitutes. So intent on monitoring this raucous and disordered passage, Jack did not notice the sound of oh-so-careful footfalls creeping up from behind.

A circle of cool iron pressed into his neck, the touch of it accompanied by the distinct double clack of a flintlock being pulled back to full cock. Jack did not move a muscle. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Titus, stiff and wary, with a rifle barrel pressed into the spongy black hair at the base of his skull as well. After waiting what
seemed an eternity, a deep, ominous voice at the end of the gun intoned, “Your Yan-kee tongues echo across the valley.”

Jack rolled over, swatting the Indian’s gun aside. “Goddamn you, Neddy!”

Neddy Sharontakawas, the younger of their two grinning Oneida scouts, settled the strap of his weapon over his shoulder. “Did we cause you t’ mess your breeches there, Jack?”

Titus pulled up to a sit and gestured with the dagger he’d managed to slip from the sheath at his belt, admonishing the elder Indian scout. “I’d expect you t’ know better than to sneak up on a man like that, Isaac.”

“I expect a man to have some sense…” Isaac extended a hand and helped Titus up to his feet, his grin turned to a sneer. “… Four eyes lookin’ to forward and none to back—makes no sense at all.”

Captain Isaac Onenshontie earned his rank fighting with Braddock’s army in the Seven Years’ War, and he bore his veteran status in proud display. His Iroquoian surname, meaning “flying arm,” was bestowed to honor his prowess with the war club dangling from his belt. The cluster of eagle and owl feathers attached to the tuft of hair at the top of Isaac’s otherwise plucked pate denoted high-distinction among his warrior brethren, and the series of blue-black arrowheads tattooed from shoulder to shoulder, spanning the breadth of his chest, were a testament to battles fought and enemies vanquished. Under this seasoned war chief’s tutelage, Jack and Titus were learning the ways of woodland survival and warfare, and they were both ready to accede to the inherent wisdom found in Isaac’s rough lesson.

Isaac gave still-seated Jack a nudge with a moccasin-shod foot. “We saw your woman.”

Neddy sent the turkey feathers bunched on the crown of his cap to quivering with a vigorous nod. “And she’s wearin’ stripes today.”

“Then we’d better get going.” Jack scrambled to his feet and took up his rifle.

To mask their party’s number from British scouts, Jack and Titus literally followed in the footsteps of their Oneida guides, treading along a steep deer path that switchbacked down to a bend in the road.

They took a stand a little more than ten yards from the road. Crouched behind the moss- and fungus-covered mass of a fallen conifer, they watched the parade of British teamsters pass, urging sullen oxen with snapping birch switches. Though burdened with heavy pack baskets, and often with little ones cradled in knotted shawls at their hips, the soldiers’ wives all seemed happy to be on the move, keeping the pace while chattering and herding their children. Jack kept watch until Burgoyne’s prodigious baggage column dwindled to a handful of stragglers. Just when he figured he’d somehow missedseeing Anne, she and Sally rounded the bend, pushing a two-wheeled barrow piled high with their goods along the bumpety corduroy road.

“She’s very pretty, your woman,” Neddy whispered.

Annie was smiling beneath her broad-brimmed straw hat, and she was made even more beautiful by the dappled light filtering through the leaves. Peering from behind the pile of deadfall, Jack knew Anne’s smiles were meant for him, and he was surprised how intensely he missed being with her after only a few days apart. It was all he could do to keep himself from running out to catch her up in his arms. He smiled, remembering he had felt the same way the very first time he ever laid eyes on Anne Merrick.

May 20th, 1766—the day we learned Parliament repealed the Stamp Act…

He was but a printer’s apprentice back then, running the streets of New York City, passing out the broadsides proclaiming the news.
The pages were still damp and fresh off the presses, and how the church bells rang and rang…

Happy, cheering New Yorkers were thronging into the streets to celebrate the good news. Jack ran up Broad Way, and handed the last of his sheets to a grumpy old Tory standing on the steps of St. Paul’s, a pretty but woebegone young woman at his side.

I thought she was his daughter…

The girl stood forlorn in the midst of such joy and happiness, and Jack could not help but swing her up into his arms. Her sudden smile was so beautiful, he kissed her full on the mouth, and ran off to join his
mates on the Commons. A brief moment on a banner day—a moment and a kiss he never forgot.

Almost ten years went by before he saw the girl again. Following a rumor, Jack and a mob of fellow Sons of Liberty paid a call on Merrick’s print shop, and he recognized the Widow Merrick as the girl he’d kissed, and learned the old man he mistook for her father had, in fact, been her husband.

Poor thing. Bride to a groom three times her age…
The thought of Anne married to the likes of Peter Merrick made Jack wince. He began to worry the dark stubble on his jaw as he watched Anne and Sally pushing their barrow along the road, skirts belling in the breeze.
Striped skirts…

On one hand, the use of this most urgent signal for their very first exchange of information was a strong portent for the success of this new mission for General Washington. On the other hand, success at the business of gathering intelligence ensured it would be some time before he would hold Anne Merrick safe in his arms.

Jack held tight to the sight of Anne as she passed by—the to-and-fro of her chestnut braid marking the sway of her hips like a pendulum on a longcase clock. He watched her figure grow small, and smaller yet, until she disappeared around the next curve in the road.

The scouting party waited with quiet patience until all vestiges of female chatter and rumbling wagon wheels were borne away on the breeze. On a wordless signal, Neddy and Titus ran in the direction opposite the parade, toward the abandoned British camp. Jack and Captain Isaac moved with more careful purpose, flanking the road, eyes scouring from forest floor to tree limbs for any telltale sign.

At the sound of Ned’s call mimicking that of a turkey, Jack and Isaac broke into a full-on gallop. On the straightaway, they could see Neddy off to the left, waving them in and pointing the muzzle end of his rifle up to a small scrap of blue ribbon tied to the low-hanging branch of a sycamore. At the base of the mottled tree trunk, Titus was busy burrowing like a squirrel through the loose duff.

Isaac took a lookout position near the roadbed, and Jack joined Titus digging around the tree. Neddy snatched the ribbon from the
branch and tied it to the colorful clutch of feathers and silver charms dangling from his riflestock.

“Here ’tis!” Titus unearthed a corked, blue-glass bottle and tossed it over to Jack.

Jack pulled the stopper on the familiar bottle, breathing in the trace lavender scent as he shook out a paper tube. No bigger than his littlefinger, the tightly wound paper was tied with a thread. He pulled the scroll open and studied the writing on the narrow page, very pleased that their maiden transmission was progressing just as planned.

“Among the Redcoats but two days, and the girls have already reaped results—have a look…” Jack showed the missive to Titus. “A very
long
recipe.”

Curious, Neddy came to peer over Jack’s shoulder. “A recipe?”

“Mm-hmm… a recipe.” Jack smiled, running a knowing fingertip between the wide-spaced lines of neatly penned instructions describing exactly how to prepare and bake a peach cobbler.

Neddy fell stern. “Your woman oughtn’t wear the stripes to pass a recipe, Jack.”

“Don’t fret so, Neddy,” Titus said with a grin. “I guarantee there’s more writ on that slip of paper than what meets the eye.”

“Secret writing…” Jack explained. “… Made to appear by the heat of a flame. I’ll show you once we—”

“Stah!”
Isaac cocked his head like a deer being stalked, motionless but for the feathers fluttering at his topknot. “Listen!”

After a moment’s concentration, they could all discern the sound first detected by Isaac’s sharp ears—a thudding canter of ironshod hooves on wood.

“Dragoons!” Titus jumped to his feet.

Jack stuffed both message and bottle into his pouch, and swung his rifle down from his shoulder. With weapons cocked, Neddy and Isaac took the point. Jack and Titus fell in behind, and the foursome melted back into the trees.

Part One

SARATOGA

With Loyalty, Liberty let us entwine,

Our blood shall for both, flow as free as our wine.

Let us set an example, what all men should be,

And a toast give the world,

Here’s to those who dare to be free.

Hearts of oak we are still;

For we’re sons of those men

Who always are ready—

Steady, boys, steady—

To fight for their freedom again and again.

H
EARTS OF
O
AK
, A
UTHOR
U
NKNOWN

ONE

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