But One Life Page 4

  Martha pressed her lips together and lowered her eyelids as if she was staving off the sudden onslaught of tears. But if anyone had been looking, they would have seen in the depths of her eyes gleaming coals of simmering anger and dark mirth.

  Thursday, September 10th, 1778

  Ginny sat by her window, idly stitching away at a sampler. Bending all her concentration on a particularly tricky piece of embroidery, she didn’t hear the hesitant knock on the door. After a moment of silence, it sounded again. This time it successfully filtered down through her senses, and she glanced up, pulling her thread taught. “Come in.”

  The door swung open to reveal the respectful form of Old Isaac standing there, holding his hat. “Miss Ginny?”

  Old Isaac had been hired as an indentured servant by Ginny’s great-grandfather when the Philipses had first reached these shores. After his seven years of faithful service, his indenture was complete, and Isaac gained his freedom. But instead of going forth and making a life for himself, he chose to stay. Mr. Phillips had cheerfully hired him on, and Isaac had stayed with the family ever since.

  “Yes, Isaac?” she said, smiling at him.

  Isaac was fidgeting fiercely with the brim of his hat, and Ginny lifted an eyebrow and watched bemusedly. “Is something wrong, Isaac? Do you need help?”

  Old Isaac slumped with relief. “Yes, Miss. There’s something I need to show you in the orchard.”

  Ginny cast a look at the sky, then looked at Old Isaac’s face. “Well, if it doesn’t take too long…”

  Old Isaac shook his head. “No, miss, it shouldn’t take long t’all.”

  Grabbing a shawl, Ginny hurried out through the kitchen. Outside the sky looked ever more threatening. A storm was blowing in from the sea, and there was a heavy wind, bringing the scent of coming rain. She almost turned back, but Isaac seemed to think it was urgent…

  Ginny set her jaw stubbornly, tightened her grip on her shawl with a shiver, and tried to guess what was so important on such a miserable day.

  Ahead, Old Isaac stopped in a clearing at the orchard’s edge, dominated by an aged apple tree in the center. He turned to her, hanging his head.

  A sudden fear arose in her, but Ginny shook this off. Why should she be afraid of Old Isaac?

  “I’m sorry, Miss Ginny,” Old Isaac said solemnly.

  Ginny blinked in confusion. “What are you sorry for, Isaac?”

  “Mistress Phillips… She put in a difficult place, she did.”

  Ginny took a step back. “What did Mother-in-law want?”

  “She threatened me—said she’d accuse me of stealin’ iffin I didn’t do as she said.” His shoulders hunched, and he seemed to shrink in on himself, a visible picture of self-inflicted disgrace. “She told me to take you deep into the woods an’ abandon you,” he said, “an’ to bring back your pretty little locket as proof I did it.”

  That statement caused her mind descended into a swirling mess of chaos. She was in so much confusion that she almost missed Isaac shaking his head. “But I’m not gunna do it, Miss Ginny. Your family did right by me; I’mma gunna do right by them. ‘Sides, I’m a free man. She can’t order me around.”

  After a moment, Ginny’s mind unfroze enough for her to take his hand and smile. “Thank you, Isaac.”

  Blushing slightly, Old Isaac lowered his head. “Tis nothin’, Miss Ginny. But what am I gunna do with you? I’d be willin’ to take the charge of stealin’ if that would keep you nice ‘n safe, but fact is, you can’t stay here no more, miss. She’ll find someone who’ll do it, right enough.”

  Ginny shook her head. “I have… duties here, Isaac, and I can’t go and leave everyone behind.”

  “And none of us are gonna stan’ for you staying and getting’ hurt, Miss.” Isaac said firmly.

  The girl groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Then what should I do?”

  The old man shrugged, looking helpless. “I dunno, miss, but we’ll think o’ summin.”

  There was a little silence, a silence full of despair, which was harshly broken by her Mother-in-law’s voice. “I-SAAC! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU LAZY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING?”

  Ginny jumped in panic. “She’s coming! What should I do?”

  The old man wrung his hat cruelly. “You have to go, Miss. Run ‘way to where she can’t get you.”

  Ginny stared into the unknown woods and clenched her fists. Screwing her courage to the sticking place, she reached up and grasped her locket, snapping the chain with a sharp jerk. She grabbed his wrinkled, shaky hands and pressed the locket into them. “Take this and say you did what she asked. Hopefully, she’ll believe you.” She smiled to hide her raging fear. “Thank you for everything.”

  Then she turned and fled from the clearing, leaving Old Isaac alone. Lord, have mercy and let me reach the forest in time. For Isaac’s and my sake.

  Behind her echoed the impatient tones of Martha’s voice carried on the wind, but Ginny didn’t dare look back. She reached the forest eaves and plunged into the darkness beneath the trees.

  The clouds parted and let loose their deluge with an echoing boom of thunder.

  Ginny hugged her shawl closer, even though it’s protection from the pounding rain was negligible. She pressed on instead, walking in what was hopefully a roughly southerly direction, not daring to stop. Perhaps she might find her way back to the city… but then where could she go? Her nearest relative was in Massachusetts Bay Colony. The locket was the only valuable she had had on her person, but she had given to Isaac. She could always ask Ethan for help… but Major Tallmadge’s base of operations weren’t situated nearby by any definition of the word.

  She could see no other recourse but to go on.

  This is a lovely pickle you’ve found yourself in, Ginny-girl. She told herself grumpily. And I see no escape.

  She shivered, stumbled over her sodden skirts, and clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

  Come on, Ginny-girl. If General Washington and his men can march through the snow on Christmas day, you can walk through the rain in September.

  It grew darker, though whether the darkness came from thickening clouds or evening’s onset, Ginny didn’t know. She trudged on.

  With a sudden, lurching feeling, her foot snagged on something in the dark, and she cried out, falling and catching herself on her hands. Roots and stones scraped into her palms, and she felt the stinging pain of dirt on open wounds as her knees ached, bruised. Trembling with exhaustion, she knelt for a long, long moment, trying to gather the strength to get up again. Get up, Ginny-girl. Make your father proud. She gritted her teeth and pushed to her feet, ignoring the rocks pressing deeper into her torn palms. She stumbled forward and grabbed the trunk of the nearest tree, clinging to it and pressing her forehead into the bark.

  If I stay out in this damp all night, I’ll get sick. But what else can I do? She took a deep breath and stepped away from the trunk.

  It was almost impossible to see. She hugged herself, remembering things Grandfather had told her when she was small—of dark forests and darker creatures, tales from the mountains of Wales where the Tylwyth Teg were said to roam.

  Her heart thumped nervously, and she pressed a hand against it. Really, Ginny! Trembling like a frightened rabbit over tales you haven’t heard in ten years. What would Papa think?

  Still, she couldn’t quite gather the courage to take another step. Not yet, anyway.

  A blazing flash of light, followed by what sounded like a gunshot roared out behind her. Ginny screamed at the top of her lungs, leaping forward. The next moment her forehead smote against something hard and rough, which caused a second flash of sharp bright light. This was accompanied by a moment of throbbing pain and followed by utter darkness.

  The darkness was shattered by a loud voice, and Ginny let out a groan, her head throbbing. Murmured voices wound about her ears. Sharply spoken words stabbed piercingly into her aching brain. The dripping sound of rain echoed around her head, and she moaned softly. T
he voices hushed, and slowly she dragged her mind into awareness. She lifted a hand over her eyes, to fend off the rays of light that viciously stabbed her eyeballs.

  “Are you awake, Miss?” a low voice asked gruffly.

  “Sadly, yes,” Ginny muttered, in no mood for social niceties while she tried to remember why her head hurt. She took a deep breath and squinted, deciding the pain was manageable. She sat up carefully and opened her eyes.

  Chapter The Fourth

  What Ginny saw made her wonder if she was still asleep.

  Seven forms crowded around her, clad in rough homespun, dirty and worn, some holding candles like a group of mourners. Dirt was smudged on their faces, hands and bare feet, and they were all young boys.

  Ginny moved her head slowly, taking in the rough wooden walls and dirt floor of a cabin. The rain drummed on the roof, and water dripped from the chimney, sizzling in the weak fire that struggled valiantly in the fireplace.

  “Where am I, what happened, and who are you?” Ginny asked, her voice careful and deliberate.

  The tallest one stepped forward, shooting her a dour look with his arms crossed. “We might ask the same of you, miss. Who are you and what were you doing in our woods at night?”

  Ginny stared. He could be no older than fifteen, and his obviously too-small clothes were and crudely patched. High cheekbones and coppery skin were topped by glossy black hair pulled back in a messy queue.

  “You’re an Indian!” Ginny gasped excitedly.

  His scowl deepened. “So?”

  She smiled at him. “My Mama was an Iroquois.” A second later she realized he might be from a tribe that didn’t like the Iroquois and she had just doomed herself.

  But instead he raised his eyebrows. “You? You can’t be Iroquois.”

  Defiance and embarrassment brought color rose to Ginny’s cheeks. “Why not?”

  A smaller boy was the next too speak up. He looked like he was made of beans—thin and stringy—with bright blue eyes and familiar copper skin. “Your skin’s too white to be an Indian like Ben an’ Judah an’ me. Were you made from snow? Are you a snowman come to life?”

  The older one—Ben or Judah? —rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dumb, Ephraim. You can’t bring snowmen to life.”

  Ephraim stuck out his tongue and made a rude noise. Ginny lifted her chin and glared at the big boy. “Despite what you think, my Mama was Oneida. Her name was Charlotte, and mine is Guinevere. My papa was from England, though.”

  The children eyed her up and down, and finally the older one, Benjamin, gave a dismissive sniff. “Maybe. But what were you doing here?”

  Ginny stared at him, trying to figure out how to answer. “My… mother-in-law, my father’s second wife, decided she didn’t want me anymore and kicked me out.”

  The children stared at her for a while, then one of them, a tiny little Indian boy, reached up and tugged on her skirt. “Wha’ bout Papa?”

  Ginny attempted a smile. “My Papa is in Heaven with my real Mama.”

  The little boy’s eyes widened, and he patted her skirt. “I’m sowwy. Dass sad.”

  “Hey!” a skinny boy with an unruly mop of carrot-colored hair piped up. He grabbed Benjamin’s sleeve and tugged. “That means the snow lady is an orphan like us!”

  Snow lady?

  Ben eyed Ginny. “So?”

  “So… she should stay with us!” the carrot-boy said.

  The other boys erupted into cheers of excitement. Benjamin frowned.

  Ginny needed a place to stay… and she knew what these boys needed. “I can sew and cook,” she said quietly.

  The frown began to fade. “You would be willing to help us?”

  Ginny nodded and smiled gently. “I need a place to stay, and you need a mother. It would be my honor to help you.”

  Ben looked at the ground, thinking. The boys crowded around Ginny anxiously as the silence stretched on. Finally, he looked up and attempted a smile. It was faint and uncertain, but still there. “Very well.”

  The children exploded, jumping up and down and cheering. Ginny smiled and wrapped her arms around herself.

  It is nice to be home, she thought. “How did I end up here?”

  The orange-haired boy giggled and pointed at her head. “The thunder made you scream and jump straight into a tree, and you smacked your head real hard, so I went and got Ben an’ we brought you home!”

  Well, that explains why my head aches so, Ginny mused, then bowed her head, “My thanks to you, uh…” She realized she didn’t know his or any of the other’s names, besides Ben and Ephraim. So she smiled at all the children, tilting her head to one side. “What are your names, and how old are you?”

  “Line up, everybody,” Ben said. All the boys immediately scrambled to line up in order by what Ginny assumed to be age.

  “The littlest one is Levi, he’s three,” Ben said. A small boy with messy brown hair and green eyes stuck his fist into his mouth and sucked shyly. Ginny smiled at him.

  “Hello, Levi. I’m pleased to meet you.” Levi looked up at her, took his fist out of his mouth, and smiled quickly before replacing it.

  “Then there’s Judah. He’ll be five and a half in a month.” Ben pointed at the little Iroquois boy who waved at Ginny, and she waved back.

  “The redhead is Reuben. He’s six and a holy terror,” Ben continued, but there was a fond grin hiding behind his severe stare. Looking completely unabashed, the boy with the truly frightening cloud of frizzy orange curls smiled at Ginny, displaying an impressive gap where his front teeth had yet to grow in.

  “That one’s Ephraim, and he’s eight.” The string-bean boy with the blue eyes lifted a hand and grinned.

  A boy with a mud-streaked face, yellow hair, and brown eyes stepped forward and gave a little awkward bow. “I’m Asher Castle, miss. I’m ten and two months.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Asher, but you must call me Ginny,” she said with a smile.

  “That’s Simeon, he’s thirteen,” Ben said. Simeon was staring down at his toes, but he glanced up shyly. His skin was rich and dark, the color of the black keys on the pianoforte in the house in town, and his eyes were blacker. Ginny began to smile at him but caught her breath. Around his ankles was an uneven ring where the skin was lighter and slightly shiny.

  Simeon saw her look of horror, and his face closed off like shutters snapping shut. He stepped back, but Ginny got up and held out a hand.

  “I’m very happy to meet you, Simeon. Could we be friends?”

  Simeon stared at her hand, then looked up at her face. Ginny grinned gently. He returned her grin and took her hand. “If you want to, miss.”

  “Ginny,” she said softly. “My friends don’t call me ‘miss’.”

  Once the boys had been put to bed that night, Ginny sat down next to Benjamin and stared into the fireplace. After a while, she stirred and turned to look at her companion.

  “You’re Benjamin, right?”

  He nodded, not looking away from the flames. “Most call me Ben.”

  Not one to be dissuaded, she persisted. “How did you all come to be here? Did you find this house all on your own?”

  “No,” Benjamin said, smiling slightly. “A lady and her husband owned it—Levi’s parents. Miss Anna and Mr. Church. They took in orphans and kept them safe. Miss Anna found me not long after the last war, when I was little. I don’t remember anything before then.”

  Ginny nodded, smiling at the thought of this lady. “…and Simeon?”

  Benjamin grinned. “Simeon ran away from the slave market and bumped into Miss Anna while she was shopping. When the shipowner came after them, Miss Anna flayed him with her tongue and threw the money to buy Simeon at his feet. They didn’t try to bother her or take Simeon again.”

  She smiled, imagining the scene. Then a sudden thought struck Ginny, and she twisted to look at Ben. “What happened to her?”

  Ben’s head drooped. “They got sick last winter and didn’t get better. We would’ve starv
ed if we didn’t know how to trap and fish, and if Miss Anna hadn’t taught us how to take care of her garden.”

  Ginny bit her lip. “I lost my Mama when I was little, and my Papa died in battle just a few months ago. Maybe… we can’t replace them, but maybe me being here will help you feel better and having you will help me feel better. Would you like that?”

  Ben nodded. “Yeah. I would.” He looked up from the fire and smiled at Ginny. When she smiled back, she knew all of them would get along just fine.

  Tuesday, September 22nd, 1778

  Ginny needed to get a message to Ethan, but she wasn’t entirely sure how to go about this. Eventually she came up with a plan. Ginny wasn’t excessively hopeful about its success, but it was all she had.

  She remembered the message Ethan had left her a couple weeks ago, back when she had first made contact with him:

  In case you are ever unable to contact me in an urgent matter, contact the Demigod Tailor in New York. Identify yourself by the number “355” if possible. He isn’t a part of our spy ring, the “Culper Ring”, but he has been spying for the General for a long time. He is very trustworthy—recommended by the General’s Aide-de-camp Hamilton. He will help you.

  After thinking long and hard, and she believed she knew of whom he spoke.

  There was only one demigod that would make sense, one famous enough that everyone knew of him. Hercules. And there was only one tailor that Ginny knew who had that name. So, it was to Mr. Hercules Mulligan that she would go.

  Ginny put an apple in her pocket, along with some money that she had found tucked away by the ill-fated Miss Anna. Tucking a basket with more apples under her arm, she set out for the city, hoping the dress she had picked from Miss Anna’s chest made her look like a servant from a wealthy farm.

  She was stopped by soldiers at the checkpoint, but they were quickly disarmed by Ginny’s smiles and apples and let her pass. After browsing the Maiden Lane Market, she set off into the more fashionable part of the city. When she arrived at Mr. Mulligan’s house, she went to the back, politely knocking at the servant’s entrance. Ginny’s heart pounded heavily in her throat, and she was filled with sudden doubt. What if she had guessed wrong? What if Mr. Mulligan is loyal to the British? What if—