Valley Forge: George Washington and the Crucible of Victory (24 page)

“Would you put Benjamin Franklin in such a category?” Elizabeth interjected, and both turned to her with surprise at her sudden entry into the conversation.

“Dr. Franklin?” Allen asked. “All admire him as the greatest scientist and philosopher of our age.”

“And yet he did sign the Declaration,” Elizabeth replied.

“I would prefer to think the rashness of the moment informed that decision,” André stated. “General Grey and Lord Howe have attempted repeatedly to extend the utmost courtesy and understanding to him, and yet even now he is in Versailles plotting against his rightful king.”

“Perhaps we should ask why he is there, rather than here,” and as she spoke, Allen felt her gaze lingering on him.

André laughed softly.

“At least we have the courtesy of his house,” he said, forcing a laugh from the others, “and let the world observe we repay him by respecting his property and not despoiling it the way the French or Russians would.”

Allen nodded in agreement.

“And I pray that my countrymen take note of that.”

“Your countrymen?” Peggy asked, and now her gaze, rather than innocent, was sharply focused on him.

“Yes, our countrymen,” Allen replied. “Yours as well, Miss Shippen.”

There was a long pause.

“Oh there you are, André!”

The four turned. General Grey stood in the doorway of the library, beside him a captain of the navy who, from André’s satirical sketch, Allen recognized as their guest, and the excuse for this evening’s party.

“I’ve been looking all over for you. Besides your valiant effort at art in honor of our guest of the evening, I hear rumor that you have created a few lines of classical poetry.”

André turned away from Allen and offered a formal salute to Grey and then the captain.

“Oh, champion of Britannia, thou son of Neptune,” André announced. “Is it time for me to embarrass myself with that bit of doggerel?”

Grey smiled. “Your audience awaits.”

André turned back to Allen. “My friend, and from tonight I think our love of fine music at least unites us, let us master this device of Franklin and I will attempt to teach you that piece by Mozart.” André again extended his hand and Allen clasped it.

“Thank you, sir.”

“John, from now on it is John. I must confess I have, shall I say, a certain antipathy for some whom I’ve met on this alien shore since this war began, but you, Allen, you are an Englishman at heart.”

André next turned to Miss Shippen and extended his arm.

“Good lady, I would be honored if you would stand by my side while I attempt not to embarrass myself with this performance.”

She smiled coyly, obviously pleased by the attention, and took his arm.

“Your audience awaits you, sir,” Grey repeated with a smile. The small entourage left, Allen undecided if he should follow.

As André stepped into the parlor, where the party was in full swing, applause erupted at the sight of the frigate captain, Grey clasping him by the elbow, and André with Peggy at his side. Allen let them go, turning back to the glass harmonica. Sitting down, he slowly pressed the pedals, rotating the lathe so slowly that when he pressed C-sharp minor there was barely a whisper. From where he sat, he could see directly into the parlor, and could hear shouts of laughter and cheers as Grey called for a toast first for the captain and then for André, who had been convinced by a drunken major to stand atop one of the chairs, “putting your foot where Franklin’s fat backside once rested.” A momentary glance from André across the corridor to Allen suggested that André felt uncomfortable with the major’s words.

Allen was tempted to join the crowd. They were, after all, his comrades, and though shyness at times crippled him, he knew that most of the men of Grey’s command had come to accept him, not in any way as their social equal, but at least for his coolness and bravery under fire, his ability to inspire troops by his calm demeanor, and his open loyalty to Grey.

André began to declaim his hastily written poem:

Allen went to the library door and, standing behind it, let it slip nearly closed. He returned to the strange instrument created by Franklin, and pressed the pedals, feeling the slight vibration of the turning lathe. Touching a key, he tried to remember on what note André had begun Mozart’s gentle piece. Finding it to have been C major, he let memory drift and picked out a few more notes, playing out the first few chords. Cheers and shrieks of laughter erupted from the other room. He half caught a bit of the poem alluding to the less than legitimate nature of the lineage of those whom “Britannia’s sons” face upon the open seas.

“I thought you might wish for something to eat.”

Startled, he looked up.

It was Elizabeth Risher, bearing a china plate in one hand, upon it a slice of steaming apple pie covered in cream. In the other hand she was balancing two glasses of wine.

Fumbling, he stood up, not sure how to respond as she offered one of the glasses to him and motioned for him to sit back down, setting the plate atop the lid of the glass harmonica.

“Am I interrupting you, sir?”

“Please, miss, just Allen is fine.”

“And Elizabeth for me.”

He nervously smiled.

She sipped her glass of wine and put it down.

“Too sweet, this claret, frankly, a bit of cider would be better,” she offered and then smiled, “perhaps even some hard cider.”

He could not help but laugh softly.

“You handled yourself well with the captain,” she offered.

He could not reply.

“He really is a charming man. Typically English in so many ways, but beneath that a man of noble bearing, and if he has befriended you, he will stand by your side. Really he is a good soul. My friend Peggy, I think, is quite interested in him.”

“He is a gentleman, to be certain,” Allen offered.

“And so very English, if you know what I mean,” Elizabeth replied with a
smile. “Sadly, they come over here, can live here for years, but in the end never understand who we really are.”

Allen grinned. “Yes, he is a noble soul.”

“My friend is totally smitten with him.”

“Oh, really?”

“As some folks say, I think she has set her cap for him.”

He fumbled again, not sure how to reply, and Elizabeth laughed.

“So many of my friends have set their caps for the English and even the Hessian officers now with us this winter.”

“Well,” Allen offered, “they can be a charming, well-bred lot.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose, and he found the gesture to be absolutely touching.

“And you, miss?”

“Sir, you are being impertinent with such an inquiry!” She said it with a laugh, and they both smiled.

“I do remember you from my cousin’s wedding,” Allen ventured.

“And I you. Why didn’t you request a dance with me that night?”

He reddened at her brash directness.

“I feared,” he stumbled.

“Feared what?”

“That you would refuse. Or that you would accept. Either would have been painful. I am not very good at dancing. And the end result would have been embarrassment for both of us. I did not wish to subject you or me to that.”

She laughed and he found that thrilling. Shaking her head, she let her hand rest on his forearm for an instant. “I have, as they say, two left feet. Peggy can dance all night long and charm the entire room. But not I. That is why it is convenient for me to hide here while she holds forth over there.” She gestured to the next room.

“If you had asked me to dance, Allen van Dorn, we would have been a good match.”

She chuckled softly and, as if embarrassed, motioned to the pie, but he was too taken with her to wish to eat now.

There was a long moment of silence, the two looking off in different directions.

“Yet you play music well. With such a refined appreciation of music, surely you can dance as well.”

“You have yet to see me dance,” Allen offered with a nervous smile.

“My cousin and yours were a handsome couple, were they not, when they were wed?” she offered, a wistful note in her voice.

“Yes. I know he loved her dearly.”

“I know she adored him.”

She hesitated and then lowered her voice.

“How is he?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper. “Have you heard from him at all? She is in agony wanting to know if he is safe.”

“Not since the war started. Last I heard he was with a Pennsylvania regiment.”

“Those poor boys,” she sighed. “Rebecca last heard of him before the fighting at Brandywine, not a word since.”

“She shouldn’t worry too much,” Allen offered lamely, “the post now rarely carries letters through the line.”

If he had survived Brandywine, surely he would by now have written a reassuring letter to her.

“We all hear rumors, though. What the,” she hesitated, “what the Continental army is enduring up at Valley Forge.”

“Perhaps his regiment was sent elsewhere,” he offered. “It’s reported a number of regiments from Pennsylvania were sent to garrison Lancaster, Reading, York, or even out toward Pittsburgh. We have word many of them left the ranks at the start of the new year. Maybe he was discharged and simply cannot return home now until this war is over.”

“I’ve heard the same, but it is small comfort for her. She is due in another month.”

“Really?”

She blushed slightly.

“Yes, really.”

“Where is she now?”

“Back here in Philadelphia, with her parents. They insisted she return home from Trenton, saying she needed proper care. She’s had a difficult time of it, and they feared she might lose the child, and that she is in danger as well. Her family knows Dr. Rush, who they hoped would be with her when her time came, but he is off in York, so they are frantic with worry as to who will attend her.”

Allen was thoroughly abashed by the turn of the conversation and could not reply.

“Damn this war,” Elizabeth sighed.

He nodded, still unable to speak, not surprised or taken aback at all by her sudden bitterness or choice of words.

“Your family, are they well?” he finally asked.

“My parents, yes.” She hesitated. “I recall a brother of yours.”

“James?”

“No, your youngest, Jonathan. A sweet lad.” She smiled.

“He did ask me to dance even when you would not. All flustered and blushing when he did so. He must have stepped on my toes a dozen times. He was such a sweet, innocent lad.”

“He’s dead,” Allen said, voice barely a whisper.

Sitting by his side, she reached out, resting her hand on his arm. He could feel her hand trembling.

“I heard rumors, but wasn’t sure if they were true,” she whispered, voice suddenly choked. “Rebecca said he was sick and died after the battle. I’m so sorry, Allen, I didn’t want to believe it. You know how it is with this war—so many rumors, and you are not sure what to believe.”

Allen lowered his head.

“He was with the rebels. They never should have put him in the ranks that day,” he said bitterly, as he fought for control of his emotions. “He was still a boy. So sick that when they pulled out of Trenton after the fight, I helped to carry him back to the ferry and across the river. He died that evening.”

She squeezed his arm again, leaning closer.

“Go on, I would like to hear if it does not pain you too much.”

“He actually took me prisoner,” and he shook his head, sighing. “He joined the rebels and I joined the Loyalists. What more is there to say? When the Hessians occupied Trenton, I was assigned to be on the staff of Colonel Rall since I can speak a bit of German. I hoped I could bring my village and the German soldiers to an understanding with each other. I saw that as my duty to the Crown and also to my family and neighbors, and to this day I do not regret it.

“After the battle, Jonathan actually was the one to take me prisoner, along with his comrades. Maybe you recall young Peter Wellsley?”

She shook her head.

“One of his comrades.”

He sighed. “They found me in my parents’ house. I was taken prisoner. I gave my parole so I could help tend to him. I didn’t go with the Hessians into captivity but was allowed instead to go with the rebel army as they crossed back over the river. He was dying even as we marched, but they wouldn’t let us stop. Jonathan was never all that strong. The march to Trenton and back killed him that day, but that didn’t stop them from using him. He was gone an hour after we crossed back over the river.”

His voice trailed off.

“I’m so sorry, Allen,” she whispered. “I regret asking now.”

“The following day, Peter Wellsley,” he continued, as if not even hearing her words of sympathy, “went to General Washington and asked for my release without terms or condition.”

“Washington actually heard him?”

“Yes, he heard me, too.”

“Tell me?” And there was suddenly a curious light in her eyes.

“I did not ask for release. I was willing to go into captivity with the Hessians. I had signed to serve and felt it my duty to go with them. I told Washington that. He replied that in exchange for the service and sacrifice of my brother, he was willing to sign my release without exchange if I agreed to honor the conventions of war and not reveal anything that I saw. I did not see that as a violation, so I agreed. I went back to Trenton to see to my parents and tell them about Jonathan, but when the Continentals returned there a week later I went to Princeton to join with Cornwallis. It was there that General Grey took notice of me and I was recruited to be his liaison for working with the Loyalists in Jersey. He asked me about what I saw while with the rebels, I told him I was honor-bound not to reply, and he actually smiled, then asked me to join his command.”

She squeezed his arm again and then pulled her hand back as if she had overstepped propriety.

“I am so sorry about your brother.”

“He was a noble soul.”

“Yet he died fighting for the rebels.”

“He was still a noble soul,” Allen replied softly, looking straight into her eyes, and she did not lower her gaze.