In light of my earlier writing, I found myself most curious to recall with greater accuracy the night Benjamin Tallmadge referenced in his farewell letter. And so I have paged through what of such accounts I used to keep (spotty and poorly scriven), and found my entry upon that very night, and shall transcribe it (hopefully in a far-better hand) here.

"Yesternight we were twelve for dinner at the Smiths. There is little enough alteration to remark upon about their home since last I visited there. The Smith boys are too young yet for society, and so we saw (and surprisingly, heard) nothing of them. But all the village knows Mrs. Smith considers herself (or perhaps one should say 'aspires to have herself considered') a great matchmaker, and so she rarely holds such dinners without inviting an equal portion of young, unattached villagers along with established married couples.

Presumably, we are the evening's entertainment.

Which I should not disparage. The food is always generous in portion and attractive in presentation, and they are one of the few homes in Setauket to boast their own spinet, and though their parlor is too small for even rudimentary dancing, one cannot ignore the polish music lends to such an occasion.

Bess and I were invited, and walked the distance to the Smith home without complaint, our nicer shoes in our hands, hidden by our cloaks. How she managed to espy her eau-de-nil hair ribbon upon my wrist, where I had borrowed it for the evening, I do not know. Her eyes ought have been to the ground, minding the hem of her skirts.

She was angry with me, but thankfully I did not have to listen to her protests long, as we arrived at the Smith's door and were ushered in.

The dinner was served late, whose centerpiece was a hearty mutton, admirably cooked. I overheard several of the men comment positively upon the reliable wine that was paired with it. As I have referenced prior, we were three established, married couples and six unmarried, young people, two of whom were Bess and I.

To keep the numbers even, Bess and I were joined by Rachel Clark, and the young men were the Tallmadges and Jem Crofton. Were any potential pairings of Mrs. Smith's to work out by age, that would have put Samuel and I, Bess and Mr. Crofton, and Ben Tallmadge and Rachel Clark together as couples.

I do not mind, and have generally never minded Samuel's company-at least not since he stopped pulling my hair when we were in school. But I find myself less satisfied of late with other's expectations of me. Why must Samuel be designated mine, and I, his-for no other reason than our similarity in age? Why must Rachel Clark be seated by Benjamin Tallmadge when Bess is far-better acquainted with him than Jem Crofton-who is the younger brother of Rachel's closest friend?

Can we not, even at dinner, be free of Mrs. Smith's machinations? Can we not be trusted to find our own way?

Thankfully, conversation remained largely communal, no doubt thanks to Ben and Sam speaking cross-table on current events (or what we here know of current events), and curious to hear everyone's opinions-even those of the ladies.

"And you, Miss Jenny," Benjamin asked directly of me (though from prior, less public conversations we've had I can think him in no true doubt about my thoughts on such matters as the Patriot Cause), "what say you?"

But then I thought of Papa and Mama, who were not present, but who had made it quite clear Outerbridges were not to voice opinions for or against any such cause. Ours was not a social life of speeches and possible affronts to host and hostess. I looked at the other guests, uncertain of many of their political leanings, and I paused.

Even as Ben Tallmadge looked at me, his eyebrow cocked as it did when he was curious about the answer to any question. Was it a challenge he issued to me, here? To say aloud and in public notions I had shared with him one-on-one?

"Jenny?" I heard Bess' voice, playing at incredulous, cut in from where she was seated, partnered to Jem Crofton. "Knowing her mind's simple as knowing she thinks that ribbon 'pon her wrist is pretty. She has no thoughts for tariffs or the money-changing that went into bringing it to her."

My mouth remained open from where I would speak before, my eyes falling down to the eau-de-nil upon my wrist before I recalled: 'twas hers. I had nipped it from her small chest of such things and placed it on myself in hopes of covering a scratch I'd gotten that did not become a young lady attending a fine dinner with gentlemen guests. The additional fact that it set the curve of my wrist off to great effect was not lost upon me.

I looked up only to see that Benjamin Tallmadge's eyes had also been upon my wrist and the ribbon there. When our eyes met, he looked tentative, a man thinking to see a fight, not certain one was about to erupt.

Instead of hot words from my lips, I sucked in breath through my nose (hopefully none too loudly, nor indelicately).

"Shall we have music tonight, Mrs. Smith?" I heard from my side, Samuel interposing himself into any manner of complications in hopes of resurrecting the peace. I turned to smile my thanks at him, without even caring that Mrs. Smith (whose eyes I'm sure were upon us) would take such a gesture and draw her own, highly romantic conclusions.

Music we did have, the married women giving way to the younger, and even Rachel Clark (who thinks herself something of a village prodigy when it comes to music) appeared to enjoy herself when Bess and I took our turns.

The eau-de-nil ribbon of Bess' must have come loose as I stood to walk toward the instrument. I did not notice its absence as I played, nor did my wrist's scratch catch my eye. I noticed little else than the music, into which I poured my enjoyment of the evening, the company to be had, the satisfaction in being able to find amenable society here among our village.

When I returned to where I had been sitting, rather than finding the ribbon upon the cushion of the seat, it was in the fingers of Benjamin Tallmadge, standing (as were the other men) until I re-seated myself. He and Rachel Clark were immediately behind the seats that Samuel and I had taken. Rachel was momentarily distracted by something Jem was saying to Bess.

I watched Benjamin thread the ribbon over his knuckles once, twice before his eyes came up (he behaved for that instant as though he had been in the room utterly alone) and he realized I had returned.

"You've dropped this," he said, and slowly extended it toward me.

I told him it was Bess', that I had taken it for the night and she was now cross with me.

"Bess'?" he asked, seeming surprised, though gently so. "Well, I would not have you lose it, then," he said.

The others played, the lamps grew dimmer, and as always we knew it was time to make our farewells. The Tallmadges, leading their horses, walked us home. Bess did not speak to me, so I must assume her quarrel with me endures."

So ends my account of that night.

We four made our farewells, none of which I can recall, nor marked at the time as out-of-the-ordinary.

And yet in the days and weeks to come, how I scoured that account looking for something, hoping to find something, often believing that I *had* found something, some preferential treatment or interaction from you.

You were ever a discreet young man, ever true and steady, and it would be beyond imagination to expect you to place word or deed deliberately in such a way as to tempt a girl into belief when there was no hope for such.

This letter from you I have only now, after much time passed, received, it has made me a truer believer than before. It has affrighted me more than before.

For what I stand to lose now is not (or at least was not) merely a pipe-dream. Not some fantastical day-dream without substance, without future.

You wrote three letters. That is all the leave you allowed yourself to take in the world entire.