Charlotte was growing impatient. Her original task of gathering information within York City had become a daunting one as the city around her began to take different shape. Officers were being shipped out to different bases down the coast and some men had even been sent back home, leaving her usual task of flirting with young soldiers to become a rare one. She still helped her mother host weekly parties, those of which diminished to somber dinners where mostly older men made crude comments to her in the absence of their wives. Charlotte had perfected a fake smile that hid how altogether miserable she was away from camp and now she was beginning to acknowledge this had little to do with her journey to find Michael. In some ways — selfish ways — it was also separate from the overall craving she had for the colonies to see a final victory.

Mrs. Grayford was none the wiser. She still planned and prepped as if the war had just begun, dedicating herself and the time of her servants to lavish parties and outings. Today was no different where on the table in front of her were several menus, all of them handpicked by the family's cook as options for their next fundraiser.

"What do you think of this one, darling?" Catherine asked, handing off the parchment to her daughter.

Charlotte gave a smirk, relieved her mother's words had taken her out of the reverie she was previously lost in. Her and Ben had not kissed since before his injury but she thought about it more and more, craving to be near him and growing restless with each passing day where that was not the case.

Recently Charlotte had caved and told her Aunt Lillian just where she was disappearing to, only to learn that her aunt had known all along. Lillian and General Washington had made this arrangement before Charlotte even met Ben, meaning her aunt was still in the dark when it came to the boy constantly occupying her thoughts. That didn't stop Lillian from asking Charlotte what else she wanted out of a Continental victory, encouraging a life beyond this war in times where Charlotte felt that maybe it would all never end.

It was these same discussions, usually shared over tea out on her Aunt Lillian's porch, that caused Charlotte to pack up her childhood bedroom and now sit across from her mother, unable to tell her that this city had nothing left to offer her and for that reason she'd be leaving. She could only offer her mother the same thing she'd offered her father and the rest of the men they'd entertained the previous night: that telltale smirk all women perfected when they were too uncomfortable to correct their current situations.

"It's fine," she said, all before returning her attention out the window.

Catherine's eyes narrowed as she took her daughter in. Charlotte's usually curly hair was not coiffed or adorned with jeweled pins. Instead it was pulled back into a simple bun, echoing the loose nature of her corset, an item she noticed her daughter had forfeited altogether many days ago.

"Fine? Well of course it's fine, Charlotte," she gave with a laugh, "I'm asking what you think. Which is your favorite?"

"The lamb," Charlotte said cheerily, now turning back to her mother.

Catherine nodded and put the card aside.

"Mother?"

She smiled. "Yes, darling?"

"Was there...did you have anyone before father?"

Her mother nearly choked on her tea. "Have anyone?"

"Courting-wise," Charlotte corrected with eyes shut in embarrassment.

Catherine giggled behind her cup. "Of course not."

"You're sure?"

She placed the tea cup back on its saucer. "Have you heard differently, dear?"

"No, I'm just...I've had a lot of time to think…" Her voice trailed off again. "About lots of things," she assured. "I wasn't sure if…"

"What are you on about, child?"

"I only mean that—"

"You have someone?" Charlotte asked, echoing her daughter's bizarre question with mirth coated words.

"No, I just—"

"Think it's time to accept Nicholas' proposal? Because I'd agree," she shared strongly.

"I don't…" She exhaled in search of courage. "No," she stated firmly. "I've decided that I don't want to marry Nicholas."

Catherine chuckled. "Sure you do."

"I don't," she persevered. "I didn't before and I certainly don't wish to now."

"Now? What's happened now?"

"Things are...they're changing," she explained, now with straightened posture.

"Oh, are they? I hadn't noticed. Surely they're not changing enough to where a beautiful girl such as yourself would ever reject the son of one of York City's best families."

"Is that why you married father then? Because your mother told you to?"

"No," Catherine scoffed before sipping at her tea. "It was my father, actually."

Charlotte's gaze turned troubled. "You didn't love him?"

"Of course I did! And I do." She sighed before sitting forward, ready to touch Charlotte's hands in reassurance if only the girl hadn't pulled away first. "It may not feel like love right now, Charlotte, but he will be able to provide for you and the children you'll someday have."

"With Nicholas?"

"Who else?"

"Well what if I meet someone?" she stammered. "What if someone else proposes?"

"Have they?" Her mother tossed right back. "Is there something I should know?"

Charlotte bit her lip. Her attention drifted back out the window before falling to the floor just below. No one had proposed and she'd hardly been romantic with Ben; even their kiss ended tragically and though her fingertips ached to touch him, both had been too terrified to act on what they were both so obviously feeling. Even so, she'd choose this uncertain state over the life her mother described — she'd choose it time and time again, if ever given the chance.

Catherine sighed. "I don't see why you or anyone would decline Nicholas' offer. Do you know how many girls fawn over that boy? And his family adores you."

"But what if it never happens?" There was clear panic in Charlotte's voice. "What if he's forever a friend? Don't I deserve love? Don't I deserve happiness?"

"Of course you do," she said simply with a wave of her hand. "And Nicholas can provide those things."

"Like father did for you?"

Catherine paused. "Your tone makes me question if you believe that's the case, Charlotte."

"Well is it? Are you happy, Mother?"

"Of course I'm happy, Charlotte! This state is my home. I grew up in this city—"

"This is hardly the city you grew up in, Mother, and you know it."

Catherine placed a hand to her chest. "I beg your pardon?"

"York City? It's been ruined. Father took you away and—"

"I wasn't kidnapped, Charlotte. I went willingly to Virginia because that is where your father wished to be. And we came back here because this is where I wished to be—"

"You came back," Charlie corrected sternly, "because Father was transferred. They needed him up here. It had absolutely nothing to do with you."

"You know, I don't appreciate this round of questioning, Charlotte. You must stop whatever it is you are trying to rationalize in your head. Love grows, darling. And with the help of a beautiful home and good social standing, so do children."

"And I have no say in it?" Charlotte was almost breathless, the hope in her escaping her lungs like air disappearing after a hard blow.

"Honestly? Very little." She pushed away from the table and moved to stand. The only thing that kept her from turning on her heel to walk away was her own daughter, the same girl she was currently so disappointed in, speaking in a tone that made Catherine think that maybe she was ready to apologize.

"Mother..." was all Charlie could manage. It kept her mother close but did nothing to rid her of the anger she felt in her chest.

"You're asking me questions and I am giving you the answers, Charlotte. We hardly have time alone to be this frank with one another and you started so I'm merely playing along. Any others?"

"What if there's someone else?" she asked desperately.

"That's the first question you've repeated. So tell me, Charlotte...is there? Is there something you need to tell me?"

Charlotte inhaled. As she looked back to her mother she let a forged grin tug at the corners of her mouth. "No. No, of course not."

But there was and such a thing was only confirmed as her mother walked away, leaving Charlotte to hear her own words in echo. She ran immediately for the stairs, unaware of how she'd waited so many days since last seeing Ben.

~!~

Charlotte remained in her room well past midnight. When her lady's maid knocked at the door, offering dinner or even help getting undressed, Charlotte said nothing. She didn't need anyone in the home noting a difference between her silent existence and soon-to-be disappearance. Charlie couldn't afford to be followed. If she was caught walking down to the docks alone, especially at this hour, she wasn't sure she'd be able to keep the rest of her secrets hidden.

Compared to most August nights, the night was cool, making Charlotte's plan to wear her cloak down toward the Battery a more practical one. While the dress she wore was plain, the suitcase she carried and the thick drape of her coat did little to hide her class. Even though the area was mostly empty, she felt out of place here, and for as much as she needed to be out of the city she spent the moments waiting for Caleb by taking mental snapshots of the harbor.

She was shaking and her heart quickened to a gasp as someone approached. Charlie was instantly calmed to see it was not Caleb, but a boy she'd known from her childhood. Isaac and Michael had gone to university together and she hadn't seen him in many years. She assumed, as she did with most of her childhood friends, that they'd either been lost to the war or so deeply entrenched in marriage and children they failed to notice its existence.

"Isaac!" she let out with relief.

"Char...Charlotte?" he asked. He stumbled, causing Charlotte's smile to falter while she continued to take him in. He did not have a rifle at his back but a knife and flintlock sat tied on his hips. The rest of his uniform was pristine but she could smell the whiskey on his breath, especially as he grew closer, nearly bumping into her.

"Isaac?"

He took a step toward her. "Bloody hell, you're pretty," he slurred. His hands moved to her hip in an attempt to still himself.

Charlotte's eyes scanned from where Isaac's hands rested, back up to the soldier. "You're…you're drunk."

"Perhaps a bit," he chuckled.

"Why don't…" A nervous laugh escaped her lips. "You should head home. I was actually—" Her words were stunted by Isaac's grip, one hand remaining on her hip while the other tugged at her wrist to keep her close. "Isaac," she warned, "let go."

"Where's Michael, Charlotte? Still gone?"

"Isaac, please…"

"Shouldn't have left his baby sister in this city all by herself. He should know better…"

"Isaac...please, alright? Let's just—"

"You never thought of me?"

"N...no, because—"

His teasing turned to torture as the back of his hand met contact with Charlie's cheek. The sting that was present thereafter caused her to blink as she brought the moment back in focus. She even licked her lips, tasting blood on her tongue from the impact.

"Pity," he breathed heavily, his mouth and nose dangerously close to her neck while his frame kept all of Charlotte pinned to the brick wall she originally rested upon. "I always thought you were so perfect, Charlotte," he sang sloppily. "Couldn't tell yer brother that, but he's not here now, is 'e?"

"Isaac...please let me go. You're...you're hurting me."

Charlotte moved to tug herself out of his grasp once more but was stopped by Isaac's weight. His hands gripped her arms tightly as he leaned in to press his mouth against hers. Instinctively his eyes closed, giving Charlotte ample opportunity to stomp at his foot and push him away.

"Get off!" she shouted.

Soon though she was back in his grasp, still so stunned by the situation she now felt powerless to get out of it. All calculations were lost as Isaac ignorantly pulled Charlotte flush against him, the alcohol on his tongue coating her skin as he dropped his mouth to her neck and inhaled her.

"You were always so pretty, Charlotte. And a boy gets lonely—"

The click of a flintlock had a sobering effect on the moment. It caused Isaac's eyes to blink open, but he couldn't turn his head to the source of the sound for fear of the gun placed his pulsepoint would be fired by its owner.

"Hands off the lady," Caleb said calmly. In his other hand he held his ax, both items being observed by a terrified Charlotte while she took the moment to steady her breathing.

His drunkenness was not completely gone. Isaac laughed, and while the grip he had on Charlotte lessened, his boldness did not. "Who's this?" he asked. "Want a turn?"

This time when Caleb cocked his gun, Isaac did not hesitate. He only continued to laugh, lost in his own stupor long enough for Caleb to lock eyes with Charlotte. "Charlie, slowly take a step toward me, alright?"

She nodded. All of her was still in shock but she felt a wave of relief wash over her now with Caleb at her side. She even gave a steady exhale as she slowly slid out of Isaac's grasp, moving slowly so as to not bring his attention back to her. His reaction, while late, did eventually come. Isaac grabbed a bunch of Charlie's dress, but before he could bring her close, a shot rang out and all of him instantly fell limp against her.

Horror graced Charlotte's features as her eyes bounced from the hole in Isaac's neck, to where Caleb was grabbing for her hand and her bag, dragging her off toward the docks. She did not have a moment to collect herself and it was only when the two were in Caleb's boat, rowing away, that she was able to take one last snapshot of the city. The sudden reality of its dwindling existence in her life was made all the more clear the more it began to vanish.

Halfway up the Hudson, Caleb finally had the courage to speak to a clearly shaken Charlotte. "Charlie," he sighed, "I'm not requesting help but I am gonna ask that yuh stop crying."

She picked her head up and looked to him. "He—"

"He was gonna have his way with you if I didn't intervene."

"He was drunk, Caleb!" she tossed back. "He didn't know what he was doing."

"Yeah well I'm drunk plenty and never once have I thought 'uh disturbing a lady."

"He's friends with Michael—"

"That's a shit friend if ever I saw one," Caleb jested.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "They went to university together," she added.

"I'm missing the part where any of this matters. He could be the King of France and I still wouldn't give a flying—

"Well Michael—"

"Would have done the same thing if he saw the way that sorry bastard was handling you. And if Ben—"

She snapped her head in his direction. "What?"

Caleb paused, even slowing the motion of his arms so the boat they were in nearly stilled in the middle of the river. "Charlie, this is...sometimes I think you still think this is a game," he shared with a heavy sigh as if relieved to be rid of the opinion.

"Still? I didn't know I ever thought of any of this as a game, Caleb," she sassed.

"Well Ben would have done the same thing, alright?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you saying that?" Any tears hindered by her anger now resurfaced, glossing her eyes to a lighter grey. "How do you know?"

"Because we're men and this is war and it's what we do."

"Kill people?"

"Yes, sometimes! When necessary!"

"You could have just knocked him out, Caleb!"

Caleb looked straight ahead and shrugged. "Wasn't a good angle, really…" he reasoned, causing himself to smirk at his own quip.

"Caleb!" Charlotte shrieked, begging that he stop speaking.

"Ben doesn't even know I agreed to this, Charlotte, but if I let anything happen to you, tonight or any night, I'd be the one with a bullet in my neck, alright?"

"You didn't...you didn't tell him?"

"Of course not!" Caleb chuckled. "You told me not to!"

"I thought…"

Caleb sighed. "I know that...well it doesn't matter what I know because it's really none of my business what happens between you and Ben but I'd have done what I did regardless. I didn't shoot that gobshite because he was a lobster or even because I feel responsible for you when Ben's not around. I did it because you're my friend too, Charlotte."

Charlotte was quiet. She was enjoying the honesty Caleb was giving her and she assumed if they were anywhere else in the world, she wouldn't get it. Already she was sure she'd never see it again.

"You kept him out of trouble, I presume?" Her words were a peace offering, a show of gratitude for his intervention and a returned favor for not harping on the thoughts he'd shared. Already Charlotte was smiling, her tears dried upon her cheeks as they now sat high on her face, put there by the thoughts of Ben she had in her head.

Caleb grinned. "He's alive, if that's what you're asking."

"I'd hope he's more than alive."

"Yeah, alive and intolerable," Caleb agreed with a hearty laugh. "But that's your fault."

"My fault?" she played along. Charlotte knew none of this was a game and yet things like death and sacrifice were so commonplace it was easy, or at least necessary, to move on from them quickly.

"Benny gets quite cranky when you're not around."

"Oh, does he?"

"Sure does," Caleb agreed effortlessly.

"How's he healing?"

"Fine, I think."

"You think?"

"He doesn't talk about it! He acts like it didn't happen. You know how he is…"

"Yeah, I do," she huffed, thinking about their kiss. "Stubborn."

Caleb chuckled. "Incredibly stubborn."