Chapter 9

Miss Anne, oh Miss Anne, dere's a man downstairs wants t'see you. Can't call him a genta'man, way he's dressed. I'se seen him somewhere's." Philippa watched the young redhead pull herself together, look in the mirror, push at her impossible hair, wiggle in her linen dress, spread the bodice wider with her thumbs, yank up her stiff corset, smile at herself and head for the steps, all in about ten seconds. The maid servant fled before her, well aware of who was visiting.

Standing in the front hall, a battered felt hat in his hand, was a lean young soldier with a smile on his face. He watched Anne on the stairs and when she stopped, he asked loudly, spreading wide his right arm, "Happy to see me, m'muirnin?"

"Billy," Anne squealed and ran down the rest of the steps and right into his grasp, almost knocking him over. She hugged him and then stepped back, blinking. "What happened? Where's your arm?'

Billy Fields patted the pinned up sleeve of his well-worn blue jacket with its faded crimson lapels. "Left it up in Pennsylvania. Careless, eh?"

"My lord. Come in. Come sit. Please tell me." She felt tears in her eyes, and her heart was beating madly. "Why didn't you write? Did you get my letters?" She pulled him down on the sofa and sat beside him, tossing his hat aside and holding his calloused hand, staring at his familiar face and noticing his blood-shot eyes. His hand felt like an ill-treated saddle, and he smelled of hay and sweat. Billy had bathed once, in a rainstorm, in the last four months and knew he harbored lice in his body hair. He killed some every day, pinching them with his fingernails or flicking them into thecampfire.

"How's your family, the dear sister and her new husband?" He was overjoyed to see the bubbling redhead, as usual excited by her excitement.

"Oh fine, fine, everybody's, well, everybody but Daddy, we're just fine. Trade's down to nothing, mostly coastal. Daddy's even sold some silver." She almost told him about signing the oath but managed to swallow that shameful secret.

"I did write, Anne. Honest, jus' notes folded over like. Sent some by courier, fellows that was comin' down this way, maybe a dozen times. One was some kin t'the Pacas, tole me later he came right to this big house. Another by a wounded man, a Taffy he was. T'others the usual way, old Franklin's thing. Gone now I suppose."

"I only got one, just one y'big liar, long time back, right after you left; said you were sick." She looked at his face closely and saw that he was poorly shaved and that his hair was ragged and unclean, his eyes sunken, his skin yellowish. His clothes were filthy, and he smelled awful.

He smiled, nodding and showing a missing tooth. "I remember. We was all sick back then. But I never heard from you, not a bla- a blinkin' word. Thought you might've, y'know, found somebody loyal, some smock-faced sport. An' I did write, honest I did." He squeezed her hand and leaned to brush her cheek with his chapped lips. "Thought y'might be mad at me, m'bran-faced chuck." He tried to look crest-fallen, but his joy showed.

Anne let go of Billy's hand, confused and irritated. She went to the sliding doors and called Philippa. The young servant came quickly and stood blinking at her.

"How many letters did I give you to be sent to Mr. Fields?" the girl asked, angry and curious. "You know, folded and sealed with red wax."

"Mister who?" Philippa blinked.

"Him, Billy." Anne pointed.

Philippa shook her head. "I dunno. Lots a'letters. I can't read, Miss Anne," she lied.

"What did you do with them, the letters I gave you to put in father's pouch?"

She looked away. "Gib 'em to the mistress like she tole me." She clamped her lips and nodded twice, looking off to the side, avoiding the angry girl's eyes.

"You gave them to Mrs. Conroy, to my father's wife?" Anne was shocked, flabbergasted and then quickly furious, stamping her foot.

Philippa nodded rapidly. "Yes'um."

Anne waved her away, stomped back through the room, went to the door, changed her mind and came back to sit beside the confused young man. She snorted in anger. "What are you going to do now, my fine bogtrotter? A bath might do you some good."

"I'm still in the army, y'know. Got two weeks leave, t'visit home on account of this." He flicked at his dangling sleeve. "And I know I smell awful."

"Still in the army. But, but you can't shoot a gun. I mean can you?"

He shook his head. "There's things to do, m'fine carroty-pated dell. And I could use a pistol I guess. Might cook, be a clerk." He grinned.

"You? Cook? Come now, Billy; be serious. Tell me about your arm, I mean what happened?" The curiosity and fury inside her threatened burst out, but she choked it back, knowing her turn would come.

Billy took a deep breath, loosed his black stock and closed his eyes. "Bout a month ago, up yonder, on this crick called the Brandywine, we was hurryin' along, us and some Delaware boys and a bunch from Canada..."

"We heard about that battle. Lot of men died, didn't they?"

"On both sides, love." Billy took a deep breath and shook his head and licked his split lips. "So the officers, they was a'yelling and wavin' their stickers, all agog, an' we were scurryin' along, double-timin', bayonets fixed, all a'that, and the lobsters, they started shootin' these small cannons at us, from the left." He waved. "Couldn't see the guns, just smoke." He stopped and closed his eyes. "Pretty close, too close I guess, in the woods maybe. We could sure hear 'em. Wham, wham, wham!" He slapped his thigh and dust rose.