Abe and Anna paced back and forth that evening, wearing a path into the already thread-bare rug. It had been hours since they had planned to meet Caleb in their room; where was he?
As soon as the three had returned Creely's man and wardrobe to The Mermaid's Tail, they hurried to the Square. Abe and Anna, posing as man and wife once more, were to scout the interior of the Square while Caleb lurked around the outer ring. If Ben were seen on the platform, Anna was to break into hysterics in order to distract some of the lobsterbacks from their gruesome business. Abe, in turn, would make even more noise, shouting to redcoats, the hangman, even the prisoners to do something or fetch a doctor. This would give Caleb time to push through the crowd and scoop Ben away. Their only escape plan was to fight through.
Much to everyone's relief, the three had not needed to take such a risk. Though they watched multiple men hang—found guilty of "betraying the King, running when pursued by the King's men, stealing a loaf of bread from the King's army," and other sentences just as minor—none could even be mistaken for their friend. Anna and Abe had lingered as the crowds dispersed, listening as the women giggled and jabbered about how horrid the entire business of hanging was, hoping to spot Caleb. The sun had set quickly, however, and they attributed not being able to spot their courier to the fact that his tell-tale trench coat and broad-brimmed hat blended so well with the shadows. Five hours later and still no sign of Caleb set the two pacing.
Suddenly the door swung open, revealing the courier. He rushed in and slammed the door, leaning on it as if exhausted. "Have I got news for you two," he panted, smiling mischievously.
Abe advanced, any relief he felt at seeing his friend masked beneath an irate face, his worry manifesting into fury. "Where the hell have you been? Anna and I have been waiting for hours!"
"Calm down, Woody," Caleb replied, glancing nervously at the door. "Don't want our slightly-less-than-Patriot neighbors to hear. As it were, I was trackin' ol' Rogers 'imself."
The two stared, dumbstruck. "Y-you saw him?" Anna stuttered, finally finding her voice. "Where?"
"Just when the crowd began to break up, I seen 'im lopin' away toward the harbor, so I took after him and followed the bastard all the way to the Bulging Bride."
"The tavern? That's on the mainland!"
"Ay, makes sense why I was gone so long, doesn't it? Ol' Rogers caught a ride on a raft, so I followed in Creely's rowboat. Looks like that cabin boy did right; the boat was right where Percy told 'im to put it. Anyway, I followed Rogers to the Bride but didn't want to risk 'im recognizing me, so I waited across the street, just behind the sign for the brothel. Stood there for hours, but Rogers never came out, so I decided to risk it and walk in. Still no Rogers. But there is a cellar door right inside the kitchen, so unless he just likes hangin' around in smelly cellars for no reason—"
"—that's most likely where Ben is!" Abe finished, his anger at the courier's tardiness forgotten. "We could have been standing on top of him the first night we came to the city!"
Anna, who had listened to Caleb's tale in silence, now stood to speak. "There's a back cellar door that leads to the alley in all taverns. That way the barrels of ale can get in without someone carrying them through the front door," she said in a low tone. "That's how we can get Ben out."
"But how do we get in? The cellar door's in the kitchen, and the barkeep's always about. Besides," Caleb sighed, looking at the two apologetically, "Rogers knows Abe's face and yours too, Anna. If he's in that cellar when we go get Ben, Culper'll be found out."
Anna's face contorted with thought for a moment, then hardened like stone. "I've got a plan; it will be risky, but I don't see what else we can do. Abe, you need to position your cart near the back of the tavern, and get rid of those crates in the back."
. . .
Once more, Abe walked into the Bulging Bride, this time alone. It seemed as if he'd never left; women with tottering hair still babbled on to drunken men, laughter still boomed from all directions, the smell of ale-induced vomit still lingered. He went up to the barkeep and ordered a drink, silently observing Caleb tipping one back on the other side of the tavern.
Anna entered a few minutes later, her hair adorned in lace, a bit of rouge tinting her cheeks. She wore a flattering forest green dress, simple in its flourishes but enhancing her figure in all the proper places. Even at a glance, the drunkest of men could tell that—though she may not be a member of the highest society—she certainly wasn't another girl from the brothel.
"One ale, please," she asked of the barkeep, who fetched it immediately and tipped his tricorn as he placed it in front of her.
"Anythin' else I can get you, mum?"
"Actually, I was wondering how long this establishment has been here. I've just arrived, you see, and have an interest in local history." Anna kept him talking for a few minutes, smiling at the right moments and laughing at his ill-formed jokes, all the while maintaining an air of admiration and respect for the barkeep's knowledge of the structure and its owner. "It seems that if…the mistress of this tavern is such a collector of paintings, I imagine there would be quite a few lovely pieces upstairs." Anna leaned forward, placing a hand softly over the barkeep's. "Even though she's away, do you think you could give me a quick peep?" Anna cocked her head to the side, staring intently at the man melting before her. Dropping her voice she whispered, "It'll only take a few minutes."
The barkeep swallowed, a look of eagerness immediately washing over his face. Glancing quickly around at his customers and finding that they were all deep in their cups, he held out one hand to Anna, motioning to the stairway just beside the kitchen door. "Right this way, madam."
Abe and Caleb watched her ascend, then quietly stole into the kitchen, spotting the cellar door. "Alright, now pull up your handkerchief," Caleb whispered to Abe, who had already begun to reach for the dark cloth in his pocket. He tied it tightly, covering everything but his eyes, then pulled his tricorn low. His features hidden, Abe nodded to Caleb, and they swung open the heavy cellar door.
Candles littered a small shelf to the left of the door; Caleb lit one and descended, Abe following. "There's the door leading to the alley." Caleb pointed at the opposite wall where tiny streaks of moonlight filtered through a wooden hatch, illuminating millions of tiny dust particles. "Okay, Ben, where are you?"
The two barely had enough room to move; barrels of ale stood in no particular order, while crates of rum and whiskey—some half-full, some empty—filled most of the walking space between the brews. Abe and Caleb kept to the walls as much as possible, their footfalls softened by layers of dirt and grime on the floor.
"Woody, there's a door!" Caleb's hand reached out to tap the wall; sure enough, a hollow sound echoed back. "Help me move these damn barrels outta the way!" The two maneuvered the barrels as quietly as possible, being careful not to jingle any bottles of spirits that might be underfoot. Resting a hand on the doorknob, Abe glanced at Caleb, who nodded. With one quick motion, the door swung open.
Ben lay in a crumpled heap on the dirt floor, oily hair covering his face and a bloodstained bandage clumsily tied over his trousers on his left thigh. Caleb rushed to him, nearly throwing down the candle as he did so. "Benny-boy!" he whispered sharply. "Ben, wake up, you bastard! We've come to take you back! Come on, Ben, come to!"
The forlorn figure stirred slightly. Slowly, his face turned toward the flickering light, revealing a split lip, a bloody nose long-crusted over, and a purplish black eye. "Christ, what has he done to you?" Caleb breathed.
"Caleb? Is that you?" Ben asked weakly, then broke into a fit of coughing.
"Yeah, it's me, Ben. We're here to take you home."
Abe silently knelt down by his friend's side to cut the ropes around his ankles; as the knife flashed in the candlelight, however, Ben tensed and shrank back. "Who are you?" he demanded, an undeniable hint of terror in his voice. "What are you doing?"
"It's all right, Ben," Caleb reassured him, laying a hand on his shoulder. "It's just W—"
Suddenly all three froze, having heard heavy footfalls making their way to the door of the secret room. Rogers' form appeared in the doorway, his face aglow with the wavering light of a dying candle. The pupils of his eyes reflected the flame as he stepped over the threshold, a half-full bottle of whiskey swinging in his left hand.
"So," he said evenly, "Ye think you can take my prisoner? I've got to admit, I had lost hope of anyone comin' fer the lad. But," he added, tipping the bottle to his lips and then shattering it on the ground, "it'll be nice to have someone else to dance with. So stand out o' the shadows and fight, ye fiend!" he roared, pulling a dagger from his belt. Abe and Caleb responded instantly, shielding Ben behind them while pulling weapons of their own.
Rogers had barely taken a step toward them, however, when a loud clang! echoed through the room. Rogers' vengeful scowl gave way to one of sudden pain, and he fell forward onto the dirt floor with a dull thud, the dagger flying from his grasp. Anna stood over him holding a large brass candlestick; one look told the others she had done the same to the barkeep.
"I saw Rogers call out the back cellar door," she said, her skirts billowing around her as she knelt to help Ben up. "More men are on the way; we've got to hurry."
"Alright, Benny-boy, we've got to get you up," Caleb said as soon as Abe cut through his bonds, wrapping an arm around Ben's torso. Anna lifted on the other side, and slowly Ben stumbled to his feet. "Let's get out of here, eh?"
Abe went ahead with the candle, passing through the hidden doorway and swinging open the heavy cellar doors that led to the alley. As he emerged to scope out their path from the cellar to his cart, however, rough hands seized him by the collar and pulled him upward, their grip getting stronger by the second. "Men, they're over here!" a deep voice bellowed. "Comin' out the back way!"
Abe lost no time; vaguely aware that his three companions were stumbling out of the cellar as quickly as possible, he felt for the paring knife hidden in the sleeve of his jacket. But strong arms squeezed him into a tight chokehold, forcing him to abandon the search for the knife in order to claw at his throat. He saw Caleb, holding most of Ben's weight, glance at him as he struggled. Using the rest of his breath, Abe managed the word, "Go," watching as the courier nodded, continuing to help Ben limp along. Anna's gaze, however, lingered a bit longer as she struggled to keep up with Caleb's hurried steps while at the same time ensuring that Abe was okay. As he struggled, Abe saw in her eyes something he had never seen in them before: panic.
Locking eyes with her, Abe put his boot down hard on his captor's foot, causing the unknown enemy to howl in pain. His hold loosened just enough; in one swift motion Abe pulled out the paring knife and plunged it to the hilt in his enemy's bicep. The great man shrieked and reeled; Abe pulled out the knife and kicked him hard in the stomach, then turned to run as fast as he could to his cart. The entire incident with this man had taken less than fifteen seconds.
Anna and Caleb had just lay Ben in the cart as Abe leapt up, grabbing the reins and snapping them with a loud, "Gee up!" just as two more of Rogers' men rounded the corner. The horses sprang readily into action, the cart bouncing violently in tow. The pursuers were determined, though; rather than abandoning the chase, Rogers' men leapt onto two more horses tied at a hitching post and urged them into action, gaining quickly on the cart.
"Faster, they're gaining on us!" Caleb shouted as a bullet whizzed by his head, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. He whipped out a pistol himself, taking aim at the nearest rider and firing, letting out a hearty whoop as the man tumbled from the saddle.
Anna's head popped up beside Caleb's, her own pistol in hand and ready to fire. "No, Anna!" Caleb hissed, taking aim once more. "Rogers' men might recognize you; best if you stay down!" He took another shot and whooped again as the other rider fell.
"Checkpoint ahead!" Abe shouted, thundering through the small blockade of redcoats who shouted obscenities as the cart sprayed muck onto those who leapt out of the way. "They'll follow; get ready for more!"
Like flies to rotting meat, three more horsemen appeared out of the growing fog, shortening the distance to the cart at a rapid pace. Caleb shot another, but as he pulled the trigger again, aiming at the second, he felt the weapon jam. "What the—" he exclaimed, ducking as a shot was fired by the lobsterbacks. "Son of a—"
Before he knew what was happening, Caleb felt his hat being ripped off his head. Unable to comprehend the rapid movement beside him, he heard a shot rip through the darkness, then looked up just in time to see another redcoat fall, his horse spooking and galloping in front of the third. The last horse, cut off so suddenly by its companion, reared and threw the last redcoat to the ground.
Caleb swiveled around to face Anna, who donned his hat and held a smoking pistol. Her face was smeared with what seemed like mud; she blended so well with the night that he could only see the flash of her teeth as she smiled back at him. "Anna!" he gasped, his gaze jumping between the pistol and her darkened face. "Where the hell did you get that gunk to put on your face?"
"Don't ask," she replied, pulling Caleb's hat even lower on her forehead. "I think Abe transported hogs in here on his last trip, and I suppose he forgot to wash out the cart."
Despite himself, Caleb erupted into exuberant laughter, his smile nearly splitting his cheeks in two. Gripping her in a bone-breaking hug, he shouted, "Right here! This gal right here has more balls than half the Continental Army, and the whole of the King's lily-livered curs!"
"Don't celebrate yet," Abe called back to them. "We've got two more checkpoints to run through, and with this cart I can't cut through the woods as I'd like to."
"Ah, don't worry 'bout us," Caleb replied cheerfully. "With your lass smeared all over with hog-shit and ol' Brewster cheerin' at every man who falls, no one would dare to cross this madman's cart! Now toss me your pistol, so's I might have somethin' to fight with."
. . .
Warm rays of sunlight trickled in through the open flap of the tent, brightening the dingy cloth Anna had placed on Ben's forehead. His eyes flickered open as the tent warmed, blurry vision clearing after a few minutes. His entire body ached; it was an effort to even blink, for his black eye had become inflamed.
The cot creaked as he reached for a cup sitting on the bedside table, jolting Anna—who was dozing in a stiff rocking chair—into action. "Ben," she breathed, a relieved smile breaking over her face, "You're awake! The others will be thrilled to hear; I'll run out to get them—"
"No." Ben's croaking voice stopped her in her tracks. "Not yet, Anna."
She returned to his side, pressing the cup to his lips. He drank greedily, asking for another cupful of the lukewarm water. She gave it to him, watching intently as he sipped slower this time. "Is there anything to eat?" was his next question, and he turned his head in search of a plate.
"I brought this in a few hours ago when you were talking. It's cold now, but still good." She gestured to a bowl of what looked like lumpy gray oatmeal. "Well, edible."
Ben looked at her in confusion. "When I was…I don't remember…Anna, how long have I been out?" He didn't bother to hide the urgency in his voice.
Anna took a deep breath before she answered. "You passed out just after we loaded you into the wagon last night…and haven't been yourself since we carried you back here to Morristown. It's almost evening now; nearly twenty hours since we found you."
"Christ," Ben muttered, lifting an arm to tussle his hair, wincing at the pain, then slowly easing it back to its original position. "Does…does anyone know why I'm wounded? The men in the camp, I mean?"
"No," Anna replied evenly. "We arrived in the wee hours of the morning; Caleb woke Sackett, and already he's circulating rumors that you've been wounded on a top secret mission for Washington." She hesitated, then decided to add, "Your reputation's still intact."
Ben heaved a sigh of relief, sagging into the pillows. "Thank goodness. If the men knew—" He stopped short, noticing for the first time hot tears streaming down Anna's face. "Anna, what's wrong?"
Anna stepped toward him, tears still spilling down cheeks ablaze with anger. "You could have died, Ben," she choked out, locking eyes with the stunned soldier. "You could have died at the hands of Rogers, and all you think to ask when you come to is if your reputation has been saved? The whole bloody world should know what a foolish thing you did!"
"I couldn't just sit here and wait!" Ben exclaimed, sitting up as best he could. "We were doing nothing here; you don't know what it was like—"
"Maybe not here, but I damn well know what you walked into!" she snapped, shaking her head fiercely at him. "If Abe and Caleb were here they'd—"
"We'd what?" Caleb's voice called through the flap of the tent, followed by his figure a moment later. Abe entered as well, crowding the tiny space. "Tell 'im what a rat-bastard he is for runnin' off? Scold 'im for gettin' himself captured, not just by anyone, but by Robert Damn-Him Rogers? Or maybe," Caleb continued, his voice growing huskier as he stooped over the cot and grabbed the collar of Ben's shirt, only to shove him down once more onto his blankets, "maybe we'll just rough 'im up a bit. Show 'im how much we risked our arses to save his sorry hide."
Abe had stood by the end of the cot throughout Caleb's scene, fingers pressed firmly to his lips. Only after Caleb finished did he speak. "Why did you do it, Ben?" The words came out in a low whisper, fingers still pressed together in front of his face. "Why did you run?"
"I wasn't running!" the soldier retorted, gazing fiercely at the three stony faces surrounding him. "I was simply trying to make something happen! Washington said we needed a man in York City; I was trying to follow orders!"
"If you were trying—" Abe shouted, then checked himself, glancing around as if noticing for the first time that the tent wasn't soundproof. Lowering his voice, he started again. "If you were trying to follow orders, why in hell didn't you tell Washington where you were going? It was a fool's errand from the start, Ben, and you know it."
"Of course I know it! You think I don't? Rogers treated me worse than a dog, and cut me up like a piece of meat, and you think I don't know I was being foolish? But I had to do something; we were sitting here, the army wasting away from disease, and I couldn't stand the thought of the British gaining intelligence as we did nothing! I thought—"
Yet another person entered, his presence dominating the scene as he stepped through the flap of the tent. Ben's fierce stare softened into one of reproach, and the others shrank away as best they could; this was a fight for Ben alone.
Washington's eyes locked onto Ben's as he advanced, never acknowledging the other three. He looked down upon Ben with a stern, hardened face, not speaking until he had halted at the side of his soldier's cot. "Benjamin Tallmadge," came the deep, low voice. "I see you have returned from your 'mission' in quite a vulnerable state. I shall give you a day to recover, but once you have regained some strength I should like to discuss your foolhardy and pigheaded actions. As Head of Intelligence I am astonished that you would show such ignorance, breeching the trust you stressed so intently during our first meeting."
Ben could only manage a weak, "Yes, sir," and dropped his gaze to his lap.
Washington turned his back to the soldier, glancing around the tent for the first time. "And you two," he said, eyes stopping on Abe and Anna, "I think it would be best if you left tomorrow at dawn." Seeing their nods of assent, the general left without another word.
Silence hung heavily in the tent. No one looked directly at Ben, instead occupying themselves by shuffling their feet or picking at their nails. Anna soon excused herself, taking the cold oatmeal off the table and stepping out to find something warmer. Abe soon followed with the claim of wanting to get some fresh air.
Caleb, however, piddled about a bit longer, rummaging through the pockets of his trench coat to procure a good-sized flask. He took a swig himself, then held it out to Ben, flashing a wide smile. "Ah, come on, Benny-boy. You need it more than I do right now."
Against his better judgement, Ben smiled back, grabbing the flask and taking a long drink. "Thanks Caleb," he said when he came up for air, holding the flask out to his friend.
"Keep it for now," Caleb replied, nodding his head toward the entrance to the tent. "There's plenty more there that came from, on account o' yours truly knowin' the black market." He slapped Ben on the shoulder, his good-humored smile growing as the soldier winced. "And Ben," he added, his eyes roaming from the wounded thigh to the split lip to the cut just visible near Ben's collarbone, "It's good to have you back."
The rest of the evening passed peacefully, the way all evenings do when a desperate adventure comes happily to an end. Abe, Anna, Caleb, and Ben all squeezed back into the tent for supper, passing around a couple bottles of Madeira and laughing at memories from long ago. The last week fell from their minds for a time; indeed, if it wasn't for Ben's bright blue jacket neatly draped across the back of a chair, they would have forgotten the war and the part they played in it. Perhaps they all did forget, at least for a few moments; Anna's smile and Caleb's jokes and Ben's booing and Abe's laughter transported them back to Setauket, back to their tiny make-shift camps by the sound. Back then, playing war seemed so real; now, when they truly thought about it, it seemed like a nightmare.
Eventually Anna wandered out of the tent, telling Ben that if he needed fresh dressings for his wound during the night she'd be in the nursing tent, only one over. Caleb and Abe stumbled out about an hour later, laughing at some long-forgotten joke. Alone at last, Ben settled himself underneath his blanket, wincing slightly at the soreness of his body. He smiled as he lay in the darkness, listening to the crude jokes, clinking bottles, and shuffling feet of the men in the camp. The sounds of life teeming about, of men ready at a moment's notice to march with Washington, gave him hope. Tomorrow he was sure the guilt and foolishness he felt about running would bubble up once more, but tonight he simply appreciated that he was where he belonged. His place was to protect Culper, and he had put the Culper Ring in danger by running off to do Abe's job. Thankfully, though, all had ended as well as possible; Culper was safe—more importantly, Caleb, Abe, and Anna were safe—and they had saved him from Rogers. Slowly, the soldier drifted to sleep, his mind lost in the first peaceful slumber he had had in a week.
. . .
The next morning, Abe and Anna stood in front of Ben, their cart ready to leave. Ben glanced back and forth at them both, out of bed and dressed in his usual blue uniform. "Remember what I told you," he said. "If you can manage a way back into the city, try to get to the boarding house in the Bowery. I never caught the name of the man who runs the place, but rumor has it that he's a Quaker from Oyster Bay whose views are a bit unsteady. Washington still needs a man in York City; it's up to you to find one."
Abe smiled, nodding. "We'll get back in. Don't worry; we'll find him." Ben smiled back, the two silently communicating for the other to be as careful as possible. Then, without warning, Abe strongly embraced his friend, saying nothing, but letting him know that it was a relief to have him back in camp. Ben returned the gesture, and they broke apart grinning.
"Anna," Ben sighed, stepping toward her with open arms. She hugged him as well, chuckling softly as he whispered, "Keep him in line, will you?"
"Only if you keep Brewster out of trouble," she replied.
Abe helped Anna into the cart, waving across the camp to Caleb. He waved a flaming tomahawk back, already settling into his natural, easy-going state. As Abe whipped the reins, however, another man he had never seen before sprinted up to the cart, puffing and blowing.
"I'm Nathaniel Sackett," he said once he caught his breath, "And I hear that you need a bit of coin and supplies to help sell your story back home."
Abe and Anna both looked at each other, then at the man. "I-it would certainly help," Abe stammered, "But I was just going to say we were mugged, or—"
"Nonsense. Too many holes in your story as it is," Sackett cut in, handing Abe a small bag of coins and a note. "This is from 'Cooke'; unfortunately, you didn't get to his camp as quickly as he desired, so he only paid you regular price. And you, my dear, can pick up whatever 'tavern supplies' you need in the shed over there."
Abe and Anna both smiled, thanking him for the money. Rather than hurry away, however, Sackett lingered, staring at Abe with intense curiosity. "So you're the infamous Abraham Woodhull," he breathed, checking to see if anyone could ear. "I never thought I'd lay eyes on you."
Abe nodded kindly in response, gathering the reins. "No sir, I think you're mistaken. I'm Culper. Samuel Culper." With that he whipped the reins once more, steering them toward the shed filled with supplies.
The ride back seemed long; neither spoke for hours, exhausted from the past few days, yet unwilling to return to the reality of Setauket. The sun brightened as they bounced along, its rays falling lazily through the trees and warming their faces. The clop-clop-clop of hooves against dirt and the creak-creak-creak of turning wooden wheels echoed about them; everything else lay quiet and peaceful.
It was Anna who broke the silence, shattering the illusion that the world had seen nothing but harmony in all its ages. "It's a dangerous business, isn't it?"
"Oh ay," Abe replied, trying to preserve the light mood of the morning. "But it's the one we've chosen, and we're more vital to the Patriot cause than ever. You saw that camp, Anna. They need information. They need us."
"No, Abe. I meant…I meant us. Being seen together." She sighed, her gaze falling to her lap. "I'm a suspected Patriot, Abe, and even though I jumped from that boat, the people of Setauket will never forget that I married a Strong. Nor will they forget my father's views. If you and I were caught…together…your cover as a Loyalist would be shattered." Her shoulders drooped as she finished, and she wrung her hands together in her lap. The burden of her confession took its toll instantly; even the sun seemed a bit less bright.
"Hey," Abe cooed, placing an arm around her and pulling her close, "It's all right. We've got to be more careful, that's all. No more meeting in broad daylight with only trees for cover; that's all the change that needs to happen." Gently planting a kiss on her forehead, he whispered, "I promise, Anna. I promise we will find a way to be together. We always will."
As her form nestled closer to his, as the cart swayed and bumped nearer to Setauket, as beads of sweat formed on the back of his neck as the sun rose higher, Abe thought of what home would bring. He thought of Major Hewlett sitting perched like a god in the church. He thought of his father roaming about Whitehall, scrutinizing his every move. He thought of the townsfolk, whose anger that bubbled just beneath the surface could erupt into action if properly prodded. He thought of Mary's scowl if he trotted into town with Anna seated beside him.
Rather than discourage him, however, Abe found that these obstacles merely hardened his reserve. This was his purpose, to walk the fine line between the chaos and weave his way inward. He had found his place; he had found what he was called to do. He pulled Anna closer, wishing that she, too, could always walk beside him in their secret balancing act. For now, however, he had to settle with this ever-shortening ride back, determined to savor every moment.
