Chapter 25

Billy Fields arrived in Annapolis in early January 1779 and was surprised to find the big Conroy house on State Street now occupied by another family, a dealer in slaves and rum who was said to have many contacts in Charleston, Savannah and the West Indies as well as a inky black concubine and a number of mulatto children. He was not being received in Annapolis society.

Billy briefly visited James and Priscilla Dulany at their stylish home and discovered that Anne was now living on the Shore in the old family manse, a place he had long heard of but never visited. The Dulanys, he was told by other friends, had been talking of leaving the area. Billy spent several days with his family and several nights in taverns with his friends. He dallied with some of the serving girls, and paid one pudgy blonde with two very dubious Continental bills for her brief but satisfying favors.

After a week of rough weather including some sleet and wet snow, the Bay was mottled gray and white-capped when Billy crossed in a friend's close-rigged pink to the busy wharf at Queenstown. After a few inquiries, he hiked out along what local's called the Neck to the Conroy's place and went around the old, gray house to the summer kitchen and back door. He hesitated after looking about the yard and seeing a large gray cat prowling the stable area. Chickens and ducks scurried about when he crossed the yard, and a fluttering cock complained about the intrusion.

He stepped into the warm kitchen, leaned the door closed and removed his battered felt hat. Bess saw him first and stopped stirring her soup pot and smiled. "In the dinin' room," she said, nodding toward the doorway. Billy thanked her, and went through the kitchen, enjoying the warmth and the smells and nodding to Philippa where she sat peeling apples. Anne had her back to him so he stepped behind her and put his hand over her eyes. "Guess who?" he asked with a laugh.

Anne cried out, jumped up and embraced him, covering his face with kisses before their mouths met. Then she stepped back and asked, "Where in Hades have you been, you foul rebel? We've heard nothing for, what is it now, six months? You churl, we were worried." She smiled. "At least some of the more common types were."

She took his arm, hauled him into the parlor, poked the fire, and sat beside him on the narrow bench. "So, tell, tell me where you have been, what you've been doing and why I've had no letters. Go on, tell me some lies." She leaned forward and kissed his stubbled cheek. He held her shoulder and kissed her mouth, feeling his ardor rise, excited by the smell of her body, the familiar mass of red hair tumbling down her back.

"I wrote a few times after Monmouth, I did, most were not posted, couldn't find a way to send them. Things ha'been verra confused up yonder. I did get several a'your letters through couriers an' I thank you." He gave her another quick kiss that she almost ducked. "Major Clark 'ad me going in an' out of the city, New York, where the British're holed up. They still argue about who burned it, y'know." He smirked at her.

"So you were spying again?" She studied his face and saw fatigue as well as the remains of scars. He did not look well, rather drawn, angular where there had been softness; somehow older, strained.

"No, no." He shook his head and looked away. "Not really. Jus' carrying messages. But he decided I'd been seen too often; too easy t'remember." He wiggled his stump at her. "And then, for a week or so, in November it was, I was real sick." He gave her a wan smile. "The flux. Lot a'men were down. Some died when it got bloody." He snorted and wiped his mouth.

Anne nodded not knowing what to say, fearing to ask more. Not my role, my turn; it was Billy's move in this old game. She took a deep breath and urged patience on herself, noting that his skin was yellowish in places.

"So when m'insides quieted down, he sent me 'ome. I'm goin' to help recruit in the spring, startin' in April. Gi' me some stripes too; it's now a quartermaster sergeant I am, thank you very much." He grinned at her and puffed out his chest and then coughed.

"So you're still in the army?" she asked, frowning. He's not free, not ready for marriage, for settling down. And he's not well either.

"Yep. This is jus' being on leave, like when I lost m'arm. How've you been doin', all alone by yourself?"

She waved her hands widely and tried to look happy. "It's mine, Billy, all mine. The house, four slaves, twenty acres or so and my own dock, if it hasn't fallen in the river. I don't have the paper yet, survey hasn't been done, but it is really mine."

"Your inheritance, eh? I heard your father died, and it's sorry I am. Must a'been hard."

"Still is," she said, looking away and composing herself. "But let's change the subject. How long can you stay?"

He shook his head. "Haven't thought about it. You got a spare bed?"

She did not answer but filed the question away, one to ponder and consider. "Come, I'll show you around." They walked, sometimes holding hands, and she showed him what had been accomplished with the help of the Riley boys and what was still to be done including the dismantled ell while part of her brain pondered and, out of the blue, offered up the word "rectitude." That made her smile, a fine word.

The smokehouse now held several hams, a lot of sausage and some big slabs of bacon, all acquired in trade, and she told him, with some pride, how she got them. "The well's pretty good, but could use some work, cleaning out, a new top, but the necessary is really dreadful, just awful. I hate to use it. I guess it's been there fifty years; right in the same spot. Ought to be moved, filled in and redug. I'll have to hire that done."