Sukey draped Charlotte's fox fur mantle over her shoulders atop her chocolate brown cape, slipping it beneath the hood, and fastened the delicate copper chain across her collarbones, above the velvet ribbons holding the cape closed.

"All these fine things, and you wearing those boots," Sukey bemoaned.

"A tragic occurrence indeed," Charlotte droned sarcastically. "I am not riding in shoes, and I am not asking that Philip prepare the entire carriage for a five mile trip." She looked at her sister with a tip of her head and an expression that suggest she be reasonable.

"It's what he gets paid for," Sukey retorted.

"Yes, and he's been a great help with other tasks of late. As he is still amenable to helping in such a way, I prefer that we avoid additional work that might be considered trivial. It's enough that he must remain while I am in consort with the gentlemen in question, but that isn't to be helped." Charlotte sighed as Sukey looked her over.

Sukey grumbled "Mmmhmm. I don't 'spose you'd have him return here, and you by yourself with all those men!"

Charlotte huffed. "Of course not. What would His Excellency say? Worse, what would you say? My standing in the opinions of the members society is of little concern to me, other than that I remain in good graces long enough to complete my duties, but I do hope to remain in highest of estimations with the Continental Army." Charlotte spoke freely now, Martha's father upstairs resting, Martha herself seeking eggs in her chicken coop newly filled with chickens, and Peter with Philip in the barn.

"Mmmhmm. The Army. I see. Anyone in particular?" Sukey raised her eyebrows and made a comical pout. She fluffed the cream-colored brocaded silk of Charlotte's robe a la Française, its single accent color a blue astoundingly similar to that of Ben's regimental coat.

Charlotte scoffed, laughing "As if you're unaware."

Sukey groaned. "All I've heard about since Setauket." She repositioned the little white gold anchor her sister wore so that it rested at Charlotte's throat. It hung around her neck by a thin ribbon of matching blue silk tied in a bow at the nape of her neck. Then Sukey checked Charlotte's ears to be certain the generous pearls hanging just beneath her earlobes looked the way she wanted them to.

Charlotte made an ugly face in return, bugging out her eyes and grimacing. She pointed her right foot out in front of her so she could look at her little round-toed riding boots.

"I think he'll like them, besides, you've made them shine so nicely." Checking to be certain her Adams A signet ring was indeed on Charlotte's left right hand finger, Sukey handed the girl her rabbit fur lined gloves of buff leather.

"Humph. Ridin' horse in a sack back. Those boots might look right if you'd just put on a habit." She brushed at some imagined substance on Charlotte's matching blue stomacher, embroidered in cream silk thread to mirror the same pattern printed on the rest of the gown.

Charlotte pulled on her gloves.

"I told you, there will likely be a fire indoors, and I am not keen on the idea of sweating my way through what is not intended to be an interrogation."

Sukey looked at Charlotte and huffed in acquiescence. Then she remembered.

"You got what you need?" Sukey asked, gravely. Charlotte tapped her right pannier, suggesting that the bit of fine paper was indeed in the pocket tied around her waist on that side. "The other piece?" She asked. Charlotte nodded, grasping at the discreet sheath secreted inside her opposite pocket, Ben's knife inside. She smiled and put both of her gloved hands on either side of Sukey's cheeks, squeezing gently. Then she kissed her forehead. "Yes. I shall be fine."

Charlotte looked around the rather chaotic looking kitchen and sighed. They had accomplished a great deal the day before in the way of preparing the household, washing all the windows and scrubbing many of the floors, yet unopened crates of every kind, arriving from every manner of place all the time, occupied nearly every space, and they had a great deal remaining to do. Yet with the help of Sukey, Philip, and when she was able, Charlotte, the task was coming along far more quickly than expected.

Martha seemed continually relieved. Peter's accident as a child had left him quite physically disabled. He was now, as he had been in so many situations, frustrated by his inability to help the way he wanted to. Their father's illness was a constant torment to the head of the family, once young and robust enough to have kept up with August himself, and his children suffered greatly to see him so. He needed constant care, and Martha was unable to aide him in the way she wanted to, issues of privacy and propriety placing her in a difficult position. Indeed, she often found herself so overcome with the notion of her father's illness that the thought in itself immobilized her in intervening even when she might. Peter himself struggled with his physical limitation, despite his eagerness to assist. Sukey, ever accustomed to assisting first Lavinia an then Charlotte with personal care, was more adept and less squeamish about such visceral things, and she helped a great deal where she might. Philip had thus far been of great assistance with household tasks of a general nature, but had also been of tremendous value in the transporting of Marcus from place to place throughout the house as required. The task that might have quickly become impossible for Martha and Peter was now rendered far more manageable. Martha dreaded the idea of asking her New Jersey family for help. Of a higher social standing than Martha, and condescending in their way, it was Enoch's brother, a young barrister, that her cousins had sought to match her with in order to elevate her in class. She had instead come to fancy his younger, gentler brother. It did not bother her in the least that her fiancée's line of work was not considered glamorous, or that it seemed a source of shame even to his own family, but the brief chortles of laughter from her cousins when his profession was mentioned had not gone unnoticed. Enoch, Martha's intended, was yet far away purchasing more sheep for this very farm, his chosen occupation sure to keep him from their future home many more weeks. Marcus had not minded that the match his daughter had struck was with a sheep farmer. Enoch was quiet, and steady, and kind. Charlotte prayed Martha's father would survive to see his daughter wed, but each time another fit of coughing besieged him and he crumpled in his chair, hacking bile into a rag, she braced herself until it ended, wracked by sympathy for the man, and plagued by the fear that he would not improve, not even slightly. Charlotte had knelt beside his armchair the night before as he sat by the hearth. He breathed in steam each night before bed from a small boiling kettle of water and herbs in attempt to relieve his cough, and Charlotte had remained with him, catching the wretched muck he spat into the clean, empty chamber pot. Tears streamed down his cheeks, tears of exhaustion and shame, and he had muttered apologies to Charlotte between bouts of coughing. Charlotte had only firmly requested he not apologize, and bitten back tears of her own, soothing the man with words of encouragement as he filled the pot she held steadily beneath his mouth. It was inevitable, that he would die of this, the doctor said. But Marcus had rallied before, and all now residing at the little farm hoped he might do so at least once more. If only just once more.

"Still so much to be done," Charlotte lamented. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

Sukey shook her head. "Come along," she said, indicating with her arm the small breezeway off the kitchen leading to the back door.

When they stepped outside, Philip was waiting, and Charlotte wasted no time taking Powhatan's reins from him, with a pleasant "Good Morning, Philip," in reply to his "Good Morning, Mi'Charlotte."

Putting them over the gelding's head, she held the reins as she stepped up onto an overturned wooden bucket Philip had supplied for her. She mounted, situating her skirts, and with a smile and a wave to Suke she nodded to Philip, who had mounted his own horse, and they took off at a relaxed canter for headquarters. Inside the barn, Peter used his good arm to fork hay to the three remaining horses. Sukey watched them ride away, and when they were out of sight, she drew her own cape in around her, going to seek out Martha in the direction of the chicken coop.

At the same perimeter point to which she had reported before, Charlotte recognized the same young man who had permitted her access previously. She had stopped Powhatan at a respectful distance, Philip beside her and slightly behind, so as not to encroach upon the space of the two young men on guard.

"Good Morning!" Charlotte called to the soldiers, smiling. It was still only half past eleven. Charlotte had been uncertain how long their journey would take them, given how long they may need to wait for approval to enter the camp, and she detested the idea of arriving late to her meeting.

Tobias recognized her at once.

"Welcome, Miss!" called. "You are expected. Please, come ahead."

Charlotte gave him a nod, and as they cleared the path she urged Powhatan into another canter.

They breezed through the trees along the path, breaking out onto the flat meadow upon which the tents and buildings were situated. All the while, Charlotte, as discreetly as possible, scanned the terrain at either of her sides, searching for Ben. When all at once, it seemed, she reached the white building where she would soon be in conference with Mr. Sackett, Charlotte reached up and dropped the hood of her cape, scanning around once more. She expected to see him at any moment, radiant in his buff and blue. But peering about, she saw no sign of him. Stopped side by side near the staircase of the familiar building, Charlotte and Philip looked at one another for a moment, uncertain exactly how to proceed, when a young man happened to pass, and Charlotte called, politely for his attention.

"Begging your pardon, sir?"

He paused in his stride to turn and face her, jerking his head back slightly when he looked up and saw her face, and Philip's, also in his line of vision, not unfriendly, but stern. The young soldier's surprise was not unpleasant, but palpable.

"Miss," he said, with a bow. "I-How may I be of service?" He flashed a brief, bashful smile.

"If you could direct me to such a place where guests turn out their horses, I would be grateful," she returned his smile with one of her own. Warm, but reserved.

"Of course," he said. "If you follow this small path beside the main building here, you are soon to come upon a spare paddock which is designated specifically for that purpose." Charlotte nodded gratefully. "Thank You."

Without waiting for a reply, Charlotte urged Powhatan forward and Philip, on his bay, followed suit.

They gave the building a wide berth, following the aforementioned path, a narrow lane of sandy soil irregularly overlaid with snowmelt. They passed a series of tents and campfires, bosks scattered intermittently about. Around them, the sparse covering of snow was patchy and uneven. They located the paddock without trouble, plainly laid out as it was before them. At one narrow end, closest to the front entrance of the main white building, was a large, bony looking maple. At the other, where the paddock bordered the forest, the two noted, was the hinged gate, and they proceeded along the appropriate course until they reached a place at which it was appropriate for them to dismount. When Philip dropped his stirrups and swung down from his saddle, Charlotte dropped her left foot out of her single stirrup, lifted her knee off of her leaping horn and slid down with a rush of fabric, landing on the balls of her feet on the thin layer of snow. Standing at the edge of the paddock fence, she drew Powhatan's reins over his head and had looped them through one arm. She had run up her single stirrup and was reaching to lift one of billets on her saddle to begin unbuckling the girth, her mind occupied with the dalliance of wondering whether or not Ben would at least be present in the vicinity as she met with Mr. Sackett, when she heard an ungodly, unearthly scream. It was like no other sound she had ever heard another human produce in her life, and she was certain, in that moment, that it had been begotten of a woman. She raised herself up on the balls of her feet, looking over Powhatan's crest to seek Philip's guidance, her alarm plain on her face. She met his eyes over the top of his saddle, as he was running up his own right stirrup, and as he ducked around his bay's head to unbuckle his own girth, he muttered his quiet confirmation "I heard it."

Charlotte peered around. No one else in the surrounding area of camp seemed to have reacted at all. All in their vicinity were at some distance, but Charlotte could not imagine that they had not heard such an appalling wail. The chill carried on the gust of wind that swept beneath her cape elicited a powerful shudder, and Charlotte was suffused with foreboding. That sound. It still rang in her ears. She exhaled.

"I must…"

"Nn-Nnh," Philip disputed quietly, with a rapid, nearly undetectable shake of his head. He briefly looked around for himself.

Charlotte sighed, frustrated, and came around Powhatan's head to draw nearer to Philip in council. She waited until he had come back around, his girth now undone and draped neatly over his saddle. He slid it from his bay's back.

"Philip," Charlotte began. "It…was a woman." Her voice was quiet but emphatic.

She gave him space to walk as he approached the fence, placing his tack thereupon.

"Must've been," he said, curtly.

"Philip, she could be…" Charlotte paused intentionally, certain of what she implied, and waited.

"Could be," he affirmed, as he opened the paddock gate. He lead the bay inside.

"I must do-" She began.

He closed the gate. "No," he interrupted, quietly. "You mustn't."

She waited, but Philip, having lead the gelding further into the paddock, was removing his bridle, and was at too great a distance to speak comfortably. Charlotte worried Powhatan's reins in her hands. When Philip came to drape his bridle over his saddle, Charlotte spoke once more, aware of her tone, aware of the volume of her voice, and the precarious nature of their interaction. She could not endanger Philip, and if they appeared to be arguing, this young, white woman of status, and this male servant of color, the nature of such an exchange would not go unnoticed for long. The soldiers would step in. They would ask, as men had before, if she was all right. If they could be of assistance. Their assistance she had never needed, not with this man who was her tutor in all manner of horsemanship, who, along with her father, had taught her to ride, who she had known all the days of her life. As he always had, he was protecting her. But Charlotte persisted.

"But it could very well be…" She gave a brief, meaningful raise of her eyebrows. She had said nothing about Tabitha. But on one of their brief carriage stops, she had seen Sukey speaking quietly to him as he stared, hard faced, at the person in uniform. Likely her sister had made explained of the fact that this was not an unwelcome male presence, as Philip may have assumed.

He snorted, a sound rather similar to that of the horses by whom he was so often surrounded. "Seedy, Doxy Trash," he spat.

Charlotte widened her eyes, surprised he'd used such slang so openly.

"In any case…" she continued, "…I am not going to allow such an offense to occur if I might somehow prevent it! It is an affront to his Excellency that….such an offense…might occur at his headquarters."

Phillip sighed as he walked through the gate. Charlotte handed him her reins when he reached out his hand. He looked around again, as they passed around one another by Powhatan's head, Philip going to see to her saddle, Charlotte having long forgotten her intention to help untack. Remembering, she caught the girth as Philip swung it down towards her, and unbuckled the remaining side.

"And what are you gonna do?" He asked. "Charge in there, put yourself in harm's way. No." He shook his head briefly at her as Charlotte draped the girth over the saddle. He slid it off Powhatan's back.

"I'm just going to look. No one will see me. If there is trouble….I'll find Caleb. He's likely not to be inside." Charlotte's gaze on Philip was steady as he returned from the fence where he'd placed the saddle. He stood briefly, for a moment, by Powhatan's head.

"What am I gonna tell you, hm? In front of these men? Nothin." His voice was bitter. Quiet, but resentful.

Charlotte sighed as he led Powhatan towards the gate, and Charlotte opened it, hoping to ease the tension. As he passed by, Charlotte lifted her hand and wriggled her fingers.

"You'll hear me, Philip, if there's trouble," she said, alluding to the elaborate whistle signal code she and her brothers had always used on their vast plantation. He said nothing. She did not wish to wait any longer. Philip returned with Powhatan's bridle, placing it over Charlotte's saddle. He threw up his hands, in a brief, dismissive gesture. As he came through the gate, Charlotte patted her left pannier to suggest she had the knife. Her gift, from Ben.

"I shall be fine, I promise."
"This is absurd," he stated.

Charlotte nodded as she began to back away, towards the tree line.

Philip looked around, watching her go. He raised his voice, only slightly.

"They see you, you run." It was not a suggestion.

Charlotte nodded curtly. She had reached the edge of the wood. Charlotte took a last, thorough look around her, and one final, steady look at Philip. Then she ducked into the forest.