"I'm sorry, we've closed."
Molly walked down the stairs at the sound of Anna's voice. She froze mid-step. By the entrance to the tavern was Captain Simcoe.
It had been a week since the Queen's Rangers had left for Connecticut. In that week, there hadn't been any news. They hadn't heard from Captain Wakefield or the Rangers or the rebels or Ben. And now Simcoe was back.
"I've just returned from a long journey. I'm in need of a drink." Simcoe said casually.
He was moving stiffly, and Molly noticed he was favoring his left side, almost as if he was injured. Anna stepped forward.
"Where is the major?" she asked, not hiding the excitement from her voice.
Simcoe's expression was blank.
"Perhaps you should be seated."
Anna was frozen where she stood. Both women were preparing themselves for the worst.
"He didn't return?" Anna's voice broke.
"I did my best, Mrs. Strong." There was no feeling in his voice. "The brutes murdered Hewlett before we arrived."
Anna burst into tears. Despite everything, Anna grabbed Simcoe's arm and leaned her weight against him. He pulled her into a brief hug, patting her back.
Molly tried keep her emotions under control, but it didn't work. She muffled her sobs with her hand, and she felt the hot tears slide down her cheeks
He continued, "My sole consolation was meting out the same rough treatment they'd given him. I even sustained this wound… I'm here to console you if you so require. You're not alone."
Their tears quickly stopped though. After a few moments, the tavern door opened again. And there stood Major Hewlett, dressed in his uniform. He was accompanied by two redcoats.
They stared at him in shock – even Simcoe. Anna lightly pushed away from Simcoe and rushed over, throwing her arms around Hewlett. She kissed him on the cheek.
"Good evening, Mrs. Strong." He said calmly.
The Major had a black eye. He had obviously been in a fight. From her place on the stairs, Molly could see the Major and the Captain glaring at one another.
"I thought you were lost." Anna gasped.
Hewlett weakly smiled.
"I feared for you, too." He looked at Molly as he said it.
Molly silently held back a sob. Anna hadn't been lying. The Major did intend to invite her to Whitehall. He knew – probably better than anyone – what kind of man Simcoe was.
"Major." Simcoe stammered, "This is..."
Hewlett finished for him, "Somewhat of a surprise?"
"I did everything I could to rescue you, as my men will attest."
Simcoe's response was sudden. Molly's eyes darted back and forth between the men. No, she thought. It can't be.
"I have no doubt of it. But I outwitted the rebels and escaped." Hewlett paused. "Were you injured, Captain? Was it the young rebel lieutenant?"
"An adversary of no consequence." Simcoe's voice was tense.
And that's when Molly figured it out. Simcoe had something to do with Hewlett's kidnapping. Why else would the two be speaking in such a vaguely specific way? Then there was the comment about Simcoe's injury. To her knowledge, this was the first time Hewlett and Simcoe were aware of each other both being in Setauket. Yet, Hewlett knew about the injury. Had he wounded the Captain? Molly could only hope it was true.
"Hmm. Well, it is a pity that you sustained an injury." Was Hewlett's reply. "I do hope that it didn't cut too deeply." He turned to Anna. "Mrs. Strong, I have come to escort you back to Whitehall. That is, if you are ready to travel."
"I'll gather my things." She said.
Hewlett turned his attention to Molly again.
"And Ms. Strong, may I have a word?"
Molly nodded. "Of course."
While Anna hurried upstairs to collect her things, Molly stepped outside with the Major. They stepped away from the redcoats so they could speak privately.
"Are you quite alright?" Hewlett asked, in a whisper.
Molly wanted to laugh. "I believe I should be asking you that."
"Before you inquire, yes, I have written to York City ordering for Abraham Woodhull's release."
Molly let out a shaky gasp in relief. Things were going to be okay.
Hewlett reached out and gently took her hand. "Ms. Strong, Anna told me everything. About how Captain Simcoe has made… advancements towards you."
Molly looked down for a moment, but she nodded.
"Aye, he frightens me."
"I am sorry. I am unsure if Anna spoke to you regarding the matter, but it was my intent to rescue you from his company. And I have every intention of pursuing that now." He cleared his throat. Molly could tell he was in pain. "Ms. Strong, I know our interactions over the last year have been limited. And when we have been in each other's company, it was for less than ideal reasons… But, please, let us forget about the past… Ms. Strong, it would be my honor to offer you my friendship and my protection."
Molly felt fresh tears welling up in her eyes. They were not tears of sadness; she was moved by his kindness. He was still holding one of her hands, and she tightened her grip on him, suddenly not wanting to let go.
She gently kissed him on the lips. It was not a romantic kiss; it was a type of kiss shared between family members. "And I accept, Major. I do." She said, her voice breaking.
He faintly smiled with relief. "Edmund, please." He insisted.
She breathed out a small laugh, trying to keep her tears from streaming down her face.
"Molly, please." She also insisted. Her smile fell. "Edmund, I've made a terrible mistake."
His eyebrows knitted together in confusion.
She continued, "In your absence, Captain Simcoe offered me his friendship. I accepted out of fear… Although I desperately want to stay at Whitehall, I believe it would be damning for both of us if I were to do so."
"Molly-"
"He hates you as it is. Am I correct?"
Hewlett did not respond, and Molly knew it was true.
"Edmund, I need to stay here."
He shook his head, "No. No." He released her hand and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Molly, I cannot protect you here. As long as he is here, it is not safe."
She agreed with him, but she also knew the dangers that may follow could be far worse if she left.
"I agree." She said. "I only mean that the time is not right. Christmas is only a few days away. If we wait until them, I believe I can find some excuse to escape to Whitehall."
"What do you mean? Surely Mary has invited you to Whitehall for the celebrations."
She bit her lip, "She did, but I'm afraid I had to decline. DeJong insists I work Christmas day."
And that was the truth.
Selah always closed the tavern during the holidays. But DeJong was a different business owner. He did not care if his staff worked when he himself was at home. He saw the holiday as only another opportunity to make money.
Edmund swore under his breath. No matter how much he didn't like it, he had to give Molly credit; her reasoning was sensible. It was strategic.
"Do you have a weapon?" he finally asked.
"Aye. Selah's musket. It's hidden in the tavern."
"I recommend having it within reach."
His words sent chills up her spine. She had seen him irritated before. Like at the trial last spring. But this was a different kind of anger. It was a calm anger. Suddenly, she wondered if he knew something she didn't.
"Do you wish for me to explain this arrangement to Anna?" he asked.
She nodded, "Please. I'll go back and try to appease Simcoe however I can."
She started to separate from him, but his grip tightened on her arm.
"Molly… If he tries anything, I am giving you permission to shoot him on sight. I will find a way to acquit of any or all charges."
His expression had darkened. She looked at him for a few seconds, then she nodded. It felt surreal. She had thought it would be safe to form an alliance with a man like Simcoe. But now she understood her mistake. This entire time, Anna had been the clever one. Molly hadn't believed her when she told her that Edmund was a loyal ally to have. But Molly was too blinded by her anger regarding the affair and her argument with Anna to realize that.
"Thank you." That was all she could think to say.
And they parted ways. Just as Molly was walking back to the tavern door, Anna was exiting with one of the redcoats. He was carrying her bag.
Anna had a smile spread across her face. "Come on Molly, hurry up. I've already told Cicero to get his things."
Molly took Anna's hand in her own. She said nothing, and Anna's smile faded. She knew that look.
"Have you lost your mind?" Anna hissed.
She didn't respond. It wasn't like this was a goodbye. They would see each other tomorrow. They both still worked at the tavern, after all. She released her sister-in-law and stepped back inside the tavern.
"Hey, put everything back. We're not going anywhere."
Cicero froze where he was stood beside the bar. He had his small bag of clothes slung over his shoulder. He had been talking to Akinbode.
The tavern had become considerably fuller in the last few minutes. The rest of Simcoe's men had entered through the back door, and they were now all spread out at the tables. Chatting in hushed voices. All the men became silent when she stepped inside. She felt immediately unwelcomed.
She noticed that Simcoe was staring at her. He hadn't been expecting this. He had expected her to flee to Whitehall; therefore, severing ties of their brief friendship.
"Ms. Strong." He said. That was all he could think to say.
"Yes, John?"
Molly was aware of the Rangers' eyes on her. She didn't like speaking so informally, but she knew it was all she could do. No matter what doubts she had about everything, she understood the present danger. She was not foolish enough to let her emotions drive her.
When Simcoe said nothing else, Molly took control, "Well, seeing as you're all here, may I offer you men some ale?"
"Aren't we closed?" Cicero cut in.
Molly nodded, "Aye, but I'm sure Mr. DeJong would not mind."
Cicero shrugged and set his bag down behind the bar. He began collecting mugs, and Molly joined him and found a pitcher. She filled all the mugs to the brim, and she began passing them out among the Rangers. The men's conversation resumed. They were soon chatting loudly, the ale guiding their conversations.
"What news of the rebels?" she asked casually, handing Simcoe a drink.
He shrugged, "You'll be happy to hear that we slaughtered every last one of them."
Although he sounded just as passive as always, he still glared at her as he took a drink.
The men finished their drinks quickly enough and returned to their rooms either in the tavern or in the neighboring buildings – some of the men were sleeping in the stables next door, etc.
Molly and Cicero finished cleaning all the mugs and putting things back in their place. They were both exhausted. They were walking to their shared bedroom – Molly had continued to stay with Cicero despite everything with the kidnapping and the Rangers – when she was abruptly found herself cut off. As they were walking down the hallway, one of the doors had opened when they walked by. She stifled a gasp as she felt a hand grasp her wrist, holding her in place.
Cicero noticed and stopped. She waved for her to go on without her. Once he was further down the hallway, she turned to look at who had ahold of her. She already knew the answer: it was Captain Simcoe.
"A word, Ms. Strong." He whispered.
She found herself roughly pulled into his quarters. Before she had a chance to protest, he had her pinned against one of the walls. He was a tall man, so he loomed over her, with his arms placed on the wall on either side of her. She was trapped. She tried not to show her fear.
"Yes, John?" she asked innocently.
She yelped as he slapped her across the face. Tears welled in her eyes, and her mouth was agape as she tried to ignore the stinging pain in her cheek. She tried to shove him away, but she quickly found herself in the same situation as that night in the cellar all those months ago.
He had one hand still placed on the wall beside her, and the other one was gripping her face. She could feel his fingers digging into her cheeks and jaw.
"Do not insult me. I am not a fool… You've made a deal with Hewlett."
She couldn't speak with his hand clamped on her face, so she tried to shake her.
"Do not lie to me."
She struggled against him, her hands trying to pry him off her. After a few seconds, he removed his hand and slapped her again. She once again found herself gasping in pain, but she didn't let it overcome her this time. She whipped her head around so that she was facing him again, and she spit in his face. It sprayed across his mouth and cheeks.
"I am not the one lying." She hissed. "I thought we were allies. I know what you tried to do in Connecticut."
He chuckled darkly. "Oh, and did the Major tell you everything?"
"No. I figured it out myself." She shoved against him again. "How dare you betray me. When you left to rescue Hewlett, I believed it was because we were friends. Not because of some petty feud between the two of you."
He looked at her for a moment. Molly wanted nothing more than to burst into tears from fright. But she had to wait. She had done well so far composing herself. And she could see the frustration in Simcoe's expression. It was just like last year when he accused her of playing a role in Captain Joyce's murder. No matter his suspicions, he had no evidence against her. He had never had any evidence against her, and she knew it must be driving him mad.
Suddenly, he released her and took a step back.
"Good night, Ms. Strong."
She looked at him, her expression still stern. She felt a wave of confidence wash over her. She was right. Her plan was working. She wordlessly exited the room and hurried down the hallway to join Cicero.
Simcoe stopped talking to her after that. She saw him periodically throughout the day, but his pleasantries had ceased. In a way, she was grateful. But she was also worried. Did this mean he viewed her as an enemy again?
When Anna came into work the next day, she scolded her under her breath. "Edmund told me what happened." She whispered.
They were both behind the bar, refilling pitchers.
Molly did not turn her head, "And?"
"I don't like this." Anna suddenly paused and pulled a folded piece of paper out of her skirts. "Here, this is for you."
Molly snatched the paper and quickly stuffed it in her bodice.
"How did you manage to get to the drop?" Her voice was just as hushed as Anna's. They were speaking so that only they could hear each other.
"I snuck away this morning. It was stuffed with papers this morning. Caleb must have visited last night."
Molly nodded and quickly stepped out from behind the bar. She began to wipe down a couple of tables nearby.
It was early, but the tavern was by no means empty. She was uncertain if there was a correlation, but she had definitely noticed an influx in the amount of Queen's Rangers frequenting the tavern. When they had been here before, they would stop by in the afternoon or evening, after their patrols. But that morning, nearly a third of Simcoe's men were spread out across the tavern and it was not yet noon.
"I've told DeJong that I'll cover your shift for Christmas."
Molly paused. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. They had decided their schedules weeks earlier, before the Rangers came to town. Molly had decided then that she had no desire to celebrate the holiday with friends. This Christmas was going to be very different than the previous years. So, she was content to stay at the tavern, and work. Even though things had changed, Molly still felt no desire to visit Whitehall for the celebrations.
Molly shook her head, "Don't do that."
"Why not?"
She shrugged. She knew Anna wouldn't understand. Molly just didn't feel in the mood to celebrate Christmas. She knew she couldn't be the only one who felt that way.
Molly got a chance to read her letters later that day. She was surprised to see that Caleb had written to her. He rarely did. He had never been big on writing.
Moll,
Sorry these took so long to get delivered. Was delayed. Boy, do I have stories to tell you! We'll have to wait until we see each other next. Hoping it won't happen, but I wish you'd come to camp with us. Tall-boy is getting impulsive without you around. And I can only do so much. Also, I do miss your company. If you were here, we could pretend it was like old times, and we could spook the men and horses under Tall-boy's command (haha)
I admit, a lot of these letters are getting old. Tall-boy asked me not to send all of them, but I figured why not? I doubt he's mentioned this, but did he tell you that he writes you a lot of letters he doesn't send. This was one of those letters. I know he'd kill me if he knew I salvaged this one. I know he's embarrassed, but I don't know. I know he tires of writing to you. Says it would be easier if he could see you in person. But I don't know. He doesn't like talking about you with me. He seems to forget the fact that we were all raised together.
But anyway, I know I'm rambling. Oh, and why don't I ever see you at the dead drop? You should try to visit me sometime. ~Caleb Brewster
Tall-boy. As in Tallmadge. Caleb always did love nicknames.
She opened the letter from Ben. She stared at the parchment for a long time, not reading what was on the page. The letter was chaotic. It wasn't an actual letter; it was fragments. She noticed his handwriting had become more erratic towards the end of the paper. As for the parchment itself, it had clearly been crumpled up, and half ripped before it was folded neatly and delivered to her.
Molly,
A redcoat came to camp today and surrendered. He claims he wishes to defect. He brought news from his camp. He says there is will be an assassination attempt on Washington. He claims he abandoned his regiment, but that the man carrying out the killing will be coming to camp later today. Will write more soon.
...
I really don't know why I'm writing this to you. I already know this letter will never reach you. It is more for my sake than for you. I need to organize my thoughts.
It appears the redcoat was telling the truth. A man came to camp a few hours after him. This new man, he says he is one of us, but I have my doubts.
I have spoken to Washington on the matter. He demands that we wait. I fear he is too preoccupied with his plans to persuade France to aide us in the war.
This new man, I interrogated him. He says that the redcoat is the one who will assassinate Washington. I don't know what to make of it. Both men claim that the other is the assassin. Clearly, one of them is lying, but the question is: Who?
...
Spoke with Washington. He is convinced the assassin must be the man claiming to be a Patriot. I am not convinced though. We need more information.
There were some scribbled under these words and the next set of letters. It was almost as if he had started to write something but became frustrated and just began scratching at the paper with his quill.
Mr. Sackett is dead.
Her breath hitched in her throat. She had never met him, and Ben had only mentioned his once or twice in his letters. But she had thought highly of him. He was the one who wrote their codebook. She suddenly wondered if he knew about the personal letters she and Ben wrote back and forth.
Washington was wrong. The Patriot turned out to be just that. We struggled to find a record for him because he deserted the army months ago. Turns out, the redcoat was the assassin all along. And it also turns out that assassinating Washington had been the furthest thing from his mind. We were his target.
Washington chose to trust the redcoat. So, Sackett went to interview him. By time we figured out the truth, we found Sackett dead in his tent. Throat slit. The redcoat got away, but not before stealing documents relating to the ring. Molly, he took some of your letters. They'll never be able to decode them. Luckily all our copies of the codebook are intact.
Sackett is dead. I hadn't realized how fond I had grown of him until I found him. Yes, I'm the one who found him. He was still alive when I got there. God, I can still feel his blood on my hands.
He had scribbled out the next part, but she could still make out what it said.
I hate him! Washington has demoted me. I am no longer the Head of Intelligence. I do not know what this means for you or Anna or Abe. If I am allowed to hear any word on the change in arrangements, I will personally come to tell you what will become of this.
I don't know how much more of this I can take.
I've been thinking of Samuel often. I am grateful he was not alone when he passed. It seems fitting that it was Selah who saw him off. I have found myself thinking of your brother often. I saw what he looked like when he was released from the Jersey. And I can't help but picture Samuel looking the same way.
You don't know this, but Selah had gained back a lot of weight by time we came to Setauket…
Molly tore herself away from the letter. She couldn't read anymore. Tears were streaming down her face. She inhaled a shaky breath and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She wasn't supposed to see this. It hadn't been for her, that's why it was crumbled and ripped.
She threw the paper to the floor and stood up, rubbing the tears out of her eyes. She sniffled and took a few more breaths. She was beginning to feel the way she did when she was in a bad place. But this time it was worse because now she knew that she was not the only one who felt this way.
"Oi, do you need some help there?"
It was the next day. Molly was fetching water from the water pump beside the tavern. She had purposely filled the bucket to the brim, not wanting to make two trips. And now she was regretting it. She struggled to find a good grip.
She looked up at the sound of the voice, to see who was approaching her. It was one of Simcoe's Rangers. Although they had frequented the tavern often enough, she didn't make it a priority to become acquainted with any of them.
She eyed his warily, trying harder to lift the bucket and get out of there. She trusted Simcoe's men even less than she trusted Simcoe.
"I can manage." She replied.
The Ranger was beside her now. He watched her struggle for a few seconds.
"Do you need some help?" he repeated.
He had a thick Scottish accent. Although they had not spoken before that moment, she remembered his face. She did not fraternize with the Rangers, but she also couldn't ignore their appearances. This man, she happened to think, was very attractive. But, of course, she remembered what happened the last time she thought a soldier was attractive. Poor Ensign Baker.
She continued struggling with the bucket, but then she stopped. She scowled at the Ranger as she finally stepped back and stood up straight. He looked amused. He stooped down and easily lifted the bucket into his arms.
"Where do you want it, ma'am?"
She silently motioned for him to follow her, and he did. She led him inside the tavern and back to the room behind the bar. He placed it on the floor where she pointed to.
"Thank you." She said stiffly.
"Of course, ma'am."
With that, he left her in the room by herself. And that was not the last she would see of him.
It was later that day.
"Ms. Strong, more ale!"
Molly was struggling not to visibly roll her eyes. Anna was in the cellar, doing inventory, so that left Molly and Cicero working upstairs. The tavern was full of Simcoe's Rangers. Luckily, Simcoe was out for the day. But that only meant that Molly had to endure torment from his men. She was almost certain his men were under orders.
"Ms. Strong, pitcher!"
"Molly, pitcher!" one of the men chuckled.
More of them began to laugh at the informality. And then another Ranger decided to string those two words together so that it sounded like a name.
"Molly Pitcher!"
All the Rangers burst into laughter. She turned her head slowly, to watch them.
It was a pun. If a man did not know a woman's name, he often referred to her as 'Molly'. She didn't know why that was. But she could not deny that it was a thing. The men were essentially saying 'Girl, pitcher!' Regardless, it was just a name. She found no harm in that, so she endured it. For the rest of the day, they called out that name whenever they needed a refill.
It was Christmas Eve. As soon as she opened the tavern, Molly went out front to empty the spittoons.
"Good morning, Ms. Pitcher."
She slowed her pace and bit the inside of her cheek to keep her annoyance at bay. She slowly turned her head, a frown on her face. She recognized the voice. It was the Ranger with the Scottish accent. He had a lopsided grin on his face. He quite liked her new nickname.
"Good day, sir."
She turned and abruptly poured the contents of the spittoon into the dirt. Much to her aggravation, the Ranger approached her like he had yesterday.
"Hey, what's the matter?" he asked, his tone playful. "Molly Pitcher, cute isn't it?
To be honest, Molly didn't mind the nickname. She would have found it much more endearing if it was not given to her by the Rangers.
"I suppose it's alright." She admitted.
"You suppose, do you?"
She glanced up at him, refusing to say anything else. He looked at her for a second and then slowly nodded. Then he left her once again.
She saw him again later that day.
Since she was not coming over on Christmas Day, Mary had convinced Molly to visit for a few hours on Christmas Eve. Although it was cold, and although there was snow on the ground, Molly had decided that she wanted to walk. She was looking forward to spending some time alone, with no one to bother her. Or at least, she had been looking forward to it.
As soon as she collected her cloak and began to walk out of town, the Scottish Ranger fell into step beside her. She stopped in her tracks.
"Hello again, Ms. Pitcher." He greeted.
She eyed him for a moment. This was all too weird. Before yesterday, they had never spoken. Also, it wasn't like all of Simcoe's Rangers were beginning to become acquainted with her.
"Is Captain Simcoe having you follow me?" she blurted.
He stopped walking as well. "Aye." He hadn't even tried to deny it.
Molly inhaled deeply, trying to keep her tone under control.
"And may I inquire as to why?" she said through gritted teeth.
"I volunteered."
Unbelievable. She rolled her eyes and shoved past him, continuing on her way. She was walking with more determination than before. Maybe if she could walk faster than him, then he would get discouraged and give up? She knew that wouldn't happen, but the thought still crossed her mind anyway.
She found him walking beside her once more.
"Why?" she finally asked.
"Why what? Why I volunteered? I think the answer is obvious enough."
His tone was flirtatious, and Molly felt conflicted about the whole ordeal.
She glanced at him, "Why am being followed."
A grin spread across his face, "Better if you didn't."
They were outside of town now, walking down the main road that would take them to Whitehall.
"Well, let's pretend I don't know any better."
He chuckled, "We all saw that kiss you gave him. The Captain's just worried about you."
She rolled her eyes again.
"Liar." She hissed.
"Well, it's better than telling you that the Captain doesn't trust you"
She looked at him again, "And is that the truth?"
He shrugged. After a few moments, he removed his helmet and ran a hand through his shirt curls. Molly tried not to look at him. She felt guilty for finding him attractive.
"Why aren't we taking a carriage?" he asked.
"I like to walk."
"It's bloody freezing out here."
"Then you can go back to town."
He smiled, "You know I can't do that."
They walked in silence for several minutes. It was just them on the path. Molly had no interest in walking in awkward silence for the next half hour. So, she broke the silence.
"If you're going to be following me, shouldn't we at least be acquainted?" she asked.
"I am acquainted with you."
As much as Molly didn't want to admit it, she was grateful for the Ranger's playful tone. Every soldier she had ever talked to had always been so serious. Even ones who were more comfortable with her, like Ensign Baker. But, then again, the Rangers weren't soldiers. Not really. They were mercenaries. She knew that should concern her, but in the moment, she frankly didn't care.
"I mean for my sake." Her own tone was becoming less harsh. "I don't even know your name."
"Lieutenant Alexander MacInnis."
"Molly Strong."
He held out his hand. Despite everything, she allowed herself to smile, and they shook hands. The lack of formality was comforting, in a way.
"Of course, I already know who you are Ms. Pitcher."
"Call me Molly."
"Call me Alex."
Molly knew it was in poor taste, but she could not help comparing Lieutenant MacInnis to Ensign Baker. For one thing, MacInnis was a far better conversationalist. She learned more about him than she had any soldier she had met before. The truth was, he liked to talk.
She learned that he was only a few years her elder. He was from Scotland – obviously. He had moved to the colonies shortly before the war broke out. Since he had no family, he decided to volunteer for the Queen's Rangers.
Her stomach churned when he spoke about being a Ranger. He had been one for many years, and all Molly could think about one of Ben's letters.
I lost my entire patrol to Robert Rogers. My men were butchered in that ambush.
Ben had been the only survivor of that ambush, and MacInnis had surely been involved. The thought sent shivers up her spine. And now there she was smiling and speaking informally with the man who perhaps nearly killed Ben.
"Alright, question." Molly said once Whitehall was in their sight, "What do you intend to do once we reach Whitehall?"
"I suppose I'll have to wait outside till you're finished."
Molly rolled her eyes but said nothing. He had already complained about walking in the cold. She could not imagine he would last long waiting outside of Whitehall. But it also gave her an idea. Perhaps when she went back to town later, he will have given up and won't accompany her on the way back.
When she finally arrived at Whitehall, Mary greeted her warmly. Mary was ecstatic. Major Hewlett had written to York City only two days earlier, and they had already heard word that Abe was going to be released from prison. Molly was pleased with the news. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her. Now, the only weight she had to work about involved Simcoe and MacInnis.
Mary beckoned her into the parlor so they could talk while drinking tea. But before Molly had the chance to step further into the house, both women turned their head and watched Major Hewlett quickly descending the stairs.
"Yes, Molly, a quick word." He said. Once at the bottom of the stairs, he addressed Mary, "Terribly sorry, madam. It will only be a moment."
"Of course."
Despite her confusion, Mary stepped into the parlor alone. Hewlett guided Molly into the Judge's office and closed the door behind them. They were alone.
"Hello, Edmund."
It still felt weird for her to refer to him by his Christian name.
"Any updates?" he asked with a brief smile.
She shook her head, "Aye, but you won't like it."
He raised his eyebrows in concern.
"You're still alright, I hope?"
"Aye, it's not that. It's… I am afraid there is a bit of a hiccup in my plan." Although they were alone, Molly still kept her voice lowered. "Simcoe is having me followed by one of his men."
Edmund scoffed, "I don't see why that would alter anything."
"But it does. I asked the Ranger who's assigned to watch me, and he admitted that Simcoe questions my loyalty to him. If I were to come here now, I fear he will misinterpret it as my being guilty of some crime."
Edmund shook his head. He was in disbelief.
"Why are you doing this?"
She blinked. "I'm unsure what you mean."
"When I asked Anna to Whitehall, she did not even consider what my offer might do to her relationship with Captain Simcoe. When I asked you, I expected the same reaction. But why are you so intent on remaining in Simcoe's good graces? Molly, I know you despise the man. Perhaps almost as much as me."
Molly chewed on her bottom lip. It was a good question. She knew the answer, but she could never confide in him. I'm doing this to protect Anna and Abe and Ben and Caleb.
In her mind, she imagined herself admitting this to Edmund, and she also imagined what he would ask next. 'Why was she so intent on protecting them?' She could never expect him to understand what her answer would be.
The simple answer would be because they were her friends. But it was more than that. Selah and Anna were the only family she had left. It did not matter if she and Anna would never quite see eye-to-eye. She was Selah's wife, so Molly's love for Selah had to be extended to his wife as well.
Caleb was her closest friend for most of her life. When Ben and Samuel and Abe left for university, Caleb remained in Setauket. He didn't go on with his education, so he and Molly were able to maintain their long-lasting friendship.
Then there was Abraham. She and Abe had not been close since childhood. It was for a variety of reasons. The most obvious one was Judge Woodhull's distaste towards her. She did not blame Abe for distancing himself from her as they grew older. His father had always been a loyalist, and he was constantly trying to appease his relationship with his father. But, to Molly, the memories were still there, and she still cared for him.
As for Ben, for the first twenty years of Ben's life, Molly had always been someone's else's friend. She was Samuel's friend. She was Caleb's friend. She was Selah's sister. As children, they never interacted unless someone they knew mutually was with them. With was always Caleb and Molly… and Ben. Or Samuel and Molly… and Ben. Or Selah and Molly… with Ben. It was like that for all their early relationships. For example, when Ben taught her how to ride a horse, Samuel was with them.
They were forced to become friends when Ben returned from university, when he was twenty and she was twenty-two. Molly and Selah's parents had been dead for a year. Selah had taken his inheritance and invested it into building a tavern in town. Samuel had moved to the city by then, and Caleb was always away working as a sailor.
As for Molly, she spent most of her time alone. All her friends were either away or working, and Selah refused to let her help with the construction of the tavern. As for friends, she had none. She had not been a very nice child. She would admit to that. She picked fights with anyone and everyone. Although she had not been like that for many years, it was hard for people to forget.
Ben and Molly were forced to become friends because all the people they knew mutually were gone. After a year of this new friendship, they discovered that they got along far better than they expected. By the time Ben was twenty-one and Molly was twenty-three, they were engaged. And by the time Ben was twenty-two and Molly was twenty-four, their engagement was called off, and Ben left to join the Continental Army.
Although Molly was now twenty-seven, she had decided that her loyalty towards her friends was something that would always remain constant.
But how was she supposed to explain something like that to Major Edmund Hewlett?
"Edmund," she finally said, "I am grateful for your willingness to protect me. But will you allow me to do this? This may be the only way I can return the favor and protect you as well."
He eyed her for a moment, then he nodded.
He faintly scoffed under his breath, "I can see why Simcoe is intrigued by your friendship."
"Why's that?"
"I don't know why it is, but you speak more like a soldier than a tavern maid."
Molly left at nightfall. The remainder of her visit had been pleasant. She spoke with Mary and Edmund and Anna and Judge Woodhull – who seemed more cross than usual. All of them were equally anxious for Abe's return to Setauket. He was expected right after the New Year.
When Molly exited the house, she was surprised to find Lieutenant MacInnis waiting for her. He was speaking with the redcoats on sentry duty in front of Whitehall. He quickly excused himself when he caught sight of her.
"Will we be walking then?" he asked.
His cheeks and nose were pink from the cold. Molly hugged her cloak tighter around herself. He hadn't been incorrect earlier. It was cold.
She shrugged, "I suppose I wouldn't mind riding into town."
He grinned and quickly went about procuring a carriage. One of the redcoats drove while Molly and MacInnis sat beside each other in the back. They had sat in silence for the first minutes of the ride.
"How was your visit?" he asked.
"It was tolerable enough."
She couldn't help but eye his musket wearily. He had it their entire walk to Whitehall, but she hadn't really noticed it until now. He was holding it, propped up against his knees. The musket reminded her of what he was. Although she enjoyed his company, she could not let her guard down. He was following her after all, and whatever she said, he would report to Simcoe.
He said no more after her abrupt response. She could tell he was tired from waiting in the cold for the last several hours. She wasn't sorry though.
The wagon dropped them off at the edge of town.
"Happy Christmas." The redcoat said, turning the carriage back in the direction of Whitehall.
"Merry Christmas!" Molly called after him. She was still struggling to believe that it had been less than a year since she became involved in the spy ring. Some days, it felt as if years were passing rather than days.
The two of them turned and began walking in the direction of the tavern. Molly was feeling the cold now, and her teeth were chattering slightly.
"I suppose you won't be given leave for the holiday?" She kept her tone light.
"Nah. You're stuck with me until Captain Simcoe gives me further orders."
They had arrived at the tavern.
"Well then, I suppose I'll see you tomorrow."
"Aye, that you will Ms. Pitcher." He grinned as he watched her roll her eyes. "Good night, Ms. Molly."
"Good night."
They parted ways.
"Happy Christmas!"
Molly was greeted by MacInnis the next morning. He was already sitting at one of the tables when she and Cicero walked into the main room.
"We're closed." Was her response.
He shrugged, "Fine then, you can be the one to tell that to the Captain."
She rolled her eyes as she stepped behind the bar and tied her apron around her skirts. It's going to be a long day, she thought.
And it was a long day. The tavern was busy the moment it opened. Major Hewlett had given many of his men the day off, so they made the most of their time drinking ale and celebrating the holiday. Molly was suddenly disappointed she had discouraged Anna from coming in to work that day.
The noise was astronomical. The men drunkenly sang Christmas carols and drinking chants throughout the day. MacInnis drank little. He spent the day conversing with whoever sat within hearing distance and watching Molly as she worked. He attempted to engage her in conversation whenever she passed too closely by his table. She ignored him most of the time. It was too busy for her to take a break.
By the early evening, most of the redcoats had cleared out, and Captain Simcoe returned to the tavern with the remainder of his men. Molly had seen Simcoe periodically over the last few days, but they had not spoken since he cornered her in his quarters. Molly soon found herself working alone as Akinbode and Cicero began talking.
"Merry Christmas, John." She said nonchalantly as she placed a mug in front of Simcoe. He and two other Rangers were sitting beside MacInnis. Although she knew he no longer trusted her, she was determined not to appear guilty of anything.
He looked at her for a moment.
"Won't you sit with us, Molly?"
She wanted to swear. There was no way she could excuse herself. The only customers in the tavern were Simcoe's Rangers. She accepted her losses quickly and retrieved a clean mug from the bar and a pitcher of ale. She sat down beside MacInnis and poured herself a drink. She sat there quietly, unsure of what the purpose of this was.
"I've been making enquiries about you." Simcoe said, taking a drink.
Molly also took a drink, "What sort of enquiries?"
"Mrs. Scudders tells me you were rebellious in your adolescence."
Molly choked on her drink and quickly tried to recover. Mrs. Scudders, Molly began thinking of every horrible name to call the woman.
Simcoe continued, "She told me an interesting story. Said there was a time when you were infamous for engaging in drinking contests. Apparently, you were skilled in holding your ale."
Molly inhaled deeply. To be honest, she was surprised that Mrs. Scudders even remembered that story.
Molly was aware of her former behaviors. She had been a troubled child and teenager. She admitted to it, and she was grateful she had outgrown her impulsiveness. She remembered the drinking contests well. When she was a teenager, Caleb bet that he could outdrink her. Molly, who was once ridiculously competitive, refused to be bested. So, she challenged him to a drinking contest.
It was supposed to be a one-time thing. But, after she proved herself to have the stronger stomach, other boys in the neighborhood began to challenge her. When her parents found out about her behavior, her mother beat her as punishment. Molly remembered the bruises. She hadn't drunk ale like that in a long time.
"That was a long time ago." She stammered, suddenly self-conscious.
Simcoe looked amused, "What's a bit of friendly competition between friends?"
Her eyebrows knitted together. She wasn't sure if she was hearing him right.
"You want to challenge me?" she asked.
"Of course not." A beat. "It was merely an interesting fact. Don't you agree, MacInnis?"
Molly shifted her eyes to him. He had a faint smirk on his face as he shrugged.
"Aye, when did your rebellious streak end?" MacInnis inquired.
She took a large gulp of her drink. She knew what this was about. They simply wanted to tease her.
"I was a child then." She shrugged, "I suppose I've grown up."
They sat in silence for a few moments. Then Simcoe made a gesture and MacInnis and the other Ranger rose from their seats and walk away. Molly looked at the Captain uncertainly.
"You know I'm having you followed?"
Molly nodded, "Aye."
"Do you know why?"
"Aye."
Simcoe smirked slightly. He took another drink.
"Good. I'm glad we have an understanding."
A beat.
"I wasn't lying to you." Molly lied. "I do value your friendship, and I wish you would understand that."
He took another drink in response. They sat there in silence long enough for both of them to finish their drinks. The Rangers chatted noisily at the tables around them. Before rising from his seat, Simcoe said something that sent shivers up her spine.
"I am glad to hear that. It will do you good to be my ally in the coming weeks."
She didn't like the sound of that…
Author's Note: There is one continuity error I'd like to address: So, Hewlett confiscates the townspeoples' weapons in 1x09. And at the end of Season 2, he makes a comment that he still has all the weapons confiscated. So, Molly technically shouldn't have Selah's musket at the tavern, but... It really doesn't matter, but I still wanted to mention it.
As for MacInnis, if you're curious about what he looks like, I included some pictures at the end of this chapter on my ao3 account. When I was rewatching the show, I noticed he's in various episodes throughout the series. He's even in the pilot, and he's one of the Rangers who shoots at Ben when he escapes.