February 1778

Molly slept through breakfast the next morning. She was grateful no one had disturbed her. Ever since what happened in the woods, she was having a terrible time sleeping. It was not every night, but most nights, she dreamt about MacInnis and she relieved what had happened that night.

Although she forgot about him during the day, as soon as she closed her eyes, she could still see his face; not his face when he was alive, but his face after she had shot him. The image still made her stomach churn. And she was haunted by his voice. In her dreams, she could hear it clearly. It was as if he was standing beside her.

For the past week, Molly hated waking up. Her head would be pounding, either from a hangover or from her troubled sleep. In the mornings, as she dressed, she would replay her actions over and over again. Stabbing MacInnis with the bayonet. Stopping Abe from firing. And then taking up the gun herself.

That was what bothered her the most. She still wasn't sure why she had insisted on killing him. She didn't have to do that, yet she also felt as if she owed It to MacInnis. To Alex.

When she finally awoke and dressed and went downstairs, she found Mary sitting alone in the parlor. She was working on her embroidery. Molly forgot about her hunger and found a seat on the sofa beside her friend.

"Good morning." Mary greeted.

Molly said nothing. She just watched her friend as she continued to work. After a few minutes, Mary began to squirm, uncomfortable by the silence. She stopped and turned to look at Molly.

"Nothing you can say will change anything. I've already made up my mind."

"I know." A beat. "When do you intend to go through with it?"

"Today. The Major already dispatched Eastin to the city. Abraham set out this morning, to wait for him along the road."

Molly exhaled deeply and leaned her head back, so she could look at the ceiling. She hated this. She hated every part of this.

"Mary?" she asked.

Her friend huffed in frustration, "Enough! It is done!"

But that wasn't what Molly had in mind.

"No. Mary, can I ask a favor of you?"

Mary eyed her for a moment, "What kind of favor?"

"I want to leave Setauket."

The embroidery slipped from Mary's hands and fell to the ground.

Molly was serious though. She had decided on impulse, right then, in that moment. After what had happened over the last week, she had decided that she was done. She wanted no part in spying; at least not in Setauket.

"Mary, will you help me?"

They had been in Mary's bedroom for the last hour. Molly was sat at the writing desk, watching Mary pace back and forth in the room.

"But you need to know where you're going." Mary insisted.

They had been arguing over this topic for quite some time now.

"That's the thing though, I don't know where I want to go! I just want to leave Setauket."

"Then tell me this at least, are you going to your rebel friends or are you planning on remaining a loyalist?"

Molly opened her mouth to say something but ended up closing it. The truth was, she hadn't thought that far. All this was on an impulsive decision. She didn't want to think about things such as that.

"I don't know." She admitted.

"Well you need to figure that out."

Mary stopped pacing and looked at her friend. She had not seen Molly this down since Selah's arrest.

"Do you want to hear my opinion?"

Molly rolled her eyes, so Mary took that as a 'yes'.

"You say you want to do this in a way that will not incriminate any of us that remain here. The only way, the safest way to do that, would be to move to the city."

Molly scoffed, "What? You mean York City?"

"Yes!"

The truth was, Molly did not hate that plan. After all, Abe had recruited a man in the city. She would not be the only citizen posing as a loyalist. She had no idea if or how she would continue to spy for Washington. But, frankly, she didn't care. Recently, she had stopped thinking about Ben. She was beginning to wonder if it would be best to move on until after the war.

"Alright," she said, "and if I were to go there, what would my excuse be?"

Mary thought for a moment.

"What if, we pretend that we have a mutual acquaintance in the city?" Mary offered, "What if, we receive a letter asking us to attend… an event?"

"What kind of event?"

"Doesn't matter. Could be anything. A wedding, funeral, something like that."

Molly slowly began nodding in agreement.

"Alright. Then what?"

"We make so you are the only one who travels to the city. One of Hewlett's men escorts you, and then you part ways. You stay in the city for a few days, or weeks, and then you write a letter to us, saying that you have, um, come to love the city, and that you are seeking employment there."

It made sense. After all, DeJong had supplied Molly with her references for working at the tavern. She could easily find employment at another tavern.

"Then what?" Molly asked.

"Then you do whatever you like. If you want to stay in the city, so be it. If you wish to escape to your rebel contacts, so be it. You won't be connected to Whitehall any longer."

It was a good plan. So, Molly agreed. She rose and Mary took a seat at the writing desk, and they began to forge an invitation to York City.

A week had passed since the ambush. Everyone – Anna, Molly, and Mary – was aware that Abe had gone through with the deed, but they didn't speak of it. Things continued as they had before. Molly was grateful to spend so much time with Mary. Spending time with Mary also guaranteed that Molly did not find herself alone with Judge Woodhull. Over the past week, the women had planned the entire scheme. They were just waiting for it to be put into action.

One morning, they were sitting in the parlor. Mary had taken a break from her embroidery to help Molly with hers. Molly had believed herself to be a lost cause, but Mary was patient and Molly's stitching was becoming a little neater each day. With each passing day, Molly couldn't believe the change she was seeing in Mary. She supposed that Mary had always been this way, but she kept it to herself.

"Do you hate me?"

Mary scoffed, "Why would I do that?"

"For not being a loyalist."

"Abraham isn't a loyalist." she countered.

"You know what I mean."

They continued their work in silence.

"If it's any consolation, know that I will miss your companionship."

"And I will miss yours as well." Molly felt tears welling up in her eyes, and she blinked them away.

She hated this. Her whole life, she had lived in Setauket. And not she was running away. She knew no one in the city, and now she was seeking refuge there. Soon, rather than being alone, she would be completely on her own.

The next day, Mary pulled Molly to the side. She seemed panicked.

"We have a problem." Mary said.

"What?"

"I spoke with Abraham. And he told me he failed to move Eastin's body."

"What? You mean he never buried him?"

This was bad. The plan was for Abe to ambush Eastin and then bury his body for a few days. Then he would unbury him and leave his body, and their false correspondence, on the road for Hewlett's men to find.

Burying the body would delay the body from decomposing. It Abe failed to bury the body initially, then Mary's entire plan would be ruined. Hewlett and his men would know that Eastin had been dead far longer.

"I don't know. He wasn't clear." Mary looked over her shoulder, almost to confirm that they were alone. "Listen to me, I need a favor from you now."

Molly perked up at the news.

"I must stay here with Father and Thomas," Mary explained, "but can you follow Abraham? Ensure he is not doing what I think he might be."

Later that day, Abe left Whitehall to go to the remains of his farmhouse. He was still very adamant that he wanted to rebuild his farm as soon as possible. So, when he left, Molly excused herself and said she was going for a walk. She began to follow him.

She repeated what she had done when she followed MacInnis and Tanner. She went off the path and followed Abe from the woods. She was relieved to see that he was truly going to his farm. She watched him from the edge of the woods. He entered his root cellar.

Molly's attention soon turned to a second figure. A large man was walking up from the woods on the opposite side of the farm. She couldn't decide if she recognized him or not. The man was not dressed as a soldier, he seemed to be a civilian.

Just then, Abe reemerged from the cellar. He didn't see the man though. The man said something to announce his presence, and Abe jumped in surprise. They turned to each other and began talking. Abe handed the man a piece of cloth. A few seconds later, the man punched Abe in the stomach and twisted his arm behind his back. Molly had no idea what was happening, but she feared the worst.

She burst out of the woods and fumbled with the pocket in her skirts. She quickly pulled out the pistol she kept hidden there. She had only started doing so recently. She aimed the gun at the man, his back was to her.

"Let go of him!" she shouted.

The man wheeled around so that she was now pointing her gun at Abe, who still had his arm pinned behind him. She scowled as she got a clear look at the strange man. She recognized him. Although she had never met him before, she remembered him from when he visited Setauket. It was Robert Rogers, the former leader of the Queen's Rangers. She hadn't the faintest idea what he was doing here.

"I thought you said you didn't tell anyone about me." Rogers growled to Abe. Molly just now noticed that he had a Scottish accent.

"I didn't! I didn't know she was following me."

Rogers readjusted his grip on Abe so that he was stood up straight now.

"Molly, lower the gun and get out of here." Abe demanded.

"No!" she suddenly didn't care if she was still aiming at Abe, "Not until you tell me what is going on!"

"Do what he says, lass," Rogers interrupted, "You're already in over your head."

Her eyes narrowed. She remained where she stood, her hands still steadily holding the gun. She looked back and forth between the men. From the way he was talking, Abe seemed to trust this man. Molly didn't like it, but she lowered her arms. She kept her finger on the trigger though; just in case.

"Tell me what's going on." She said, her voice calmer than before.

Abe struggled against Rogers for a moment, but then stopped.

"Why were you following the boy?" Rogers asked.

When Molly said nothing, Abe blurted out, "He knows, alright. He helped me ambush Eastin."

Rogers laughed, "Helped you! You went about and nearly mucked up everything. I was the one who saved your skin."

Molly raised her eyebrows in surprise. Her finger slipped off the trigger.

"Was this another one of Mary's ideas?" she asked.

"No!" Abe said, "She doesn't know. And she can't know."

"Then how…?"

"Major Andre, I suppose you've heard of him?" Rogers asked.

Molly nodded uncertainly. She knew who he was. He was the head of intelligence for the king, and he was stationed in York City.

"I'm going to use your friend here to get close to my old friend John Andre." Rogers chuckled, "He's nothing but bait to me."

Molly was beginning to understand. Something had happened, and Rogers wanted revenge on Andre. So, Rogers plan involved coming to Setauket to…? She couldn't figure out that part. But she feared that the answer might have something to do with Abraham. With some secret he was keeping from her.

"Abraham, what have you done?" she asked slowly.

"Don't act so coy, lassie." Rogers snapped. "I saw the way you butchered my boy MacInnis."

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Do you know how long that boy served under me?" Rogers continued, "I'll admit, it wasn't right the way he went. Watching him be killed by a tavern wench."

The gun slipped from her fingers. She gasped and quickly scrambled to pick it up again.

He had been there. Rogers had been in the woods that night, and he had seen everything. And that was why Abe was keeping him a secret. They were being blackmailed.

Abe spoke up, "Molly, don't worry. He's not going to tell anyone."

Molly didn't believe him. Rogers began to lightly chuckle. He was amused by Molly's state of panic.

"You can't kill your secrets, because they have a nasty habit of coming back from the dead." He laughed, "You can't kill me either." He tightened his grip on Abe's arm and Abe cried out in pain, "Now run along. And if you tell anyone about what you've seen or what you've heard, I'll make sure to avenge MacInnis' death. You hear me?"

She nodded warily and looked at Abe one last time.

"Will you get out of here?" Abe snapped.

So she did. She stashed the pistol back in her skirts and began to back away from the two men. As she got further from them, Rogers released Abe. The men watched her for a second, then they went back to discussing their plans.

When Molly reached the trees again, she turned on her heels and began running. She didn't know what to do. But her mind was racing, and she could feel panicky tears streaming down her face.

Mary's plan hadn't worked; Abe had messed it up somehow, and Rogers had thankfully been there to clean up the mess. But now Rogers was blackmailing Abe, and he could potentially blackmail all of them. Anna was too concerned with her friendship and feelings for Hewlett to try to stop Abe.

Eventually, Molly stopped running, and she began to wander through the woods as she made her way back to Whitehall. She could feel herself slipping deeper and deeper into her thoughts. Abe has always been like this. She told herself. And she knew it to be the truth. Although his heart was in the right place, and he was helping the cause, Molly knew that so many of his decisions had been done on impulse. That was why he had defended Selah, that was why he had involved Anna and excluded Mary, that was why he had killed Ensign Baker, that was why he wanted to kill Hewlett, that was why he had killed Eastin, and that was why he was now forming an alliance with Robert Rogers.

If he and Anna couldn't trust her with simple information regarding their spying, she didn't see what her purpose in Setauket had even been. When she told Ben she wanted to stay, she had no way of knowing how much stress and heartache would accompany her. By staying she had also done things she never wanted to: like killing a man. She suddenly wished more than ever that she had already left for the city.

Why don't I? She asked herself.

She stopped in her tracks and stood there for several minutes.

Why haven't I left yet? She thought. There's nothing keeping me here.

She considered Mary's plan for a minute. They had spent all week crafting it, but suddenly Molly didn't care. Suddenly, Molly could feel the same numbness she had felt when she killed Alex. She didn't care.

Mary's entire plan involved Molly being escorted to the city. But Molly began to question this. If they truly received word from an acquaintance, why couldn't the word be urgent? Why couldn't it ask that Molly leave immediately? The only reason they needed Hewlett's men was in case they encountered bandits along the road to the city. They were for protection, but they were not a requirement.

She began to walk again, but this time slower. She began to plot.

Molly pretended nothing was wrong. But then night fell, and the residents of Whitehall slowly began to depart to their chambers. And that's when Molly's night truly began.

That night, every decision she made was driven by impulse. She went around the house, stealing anything that might be of use: paper, ink, quills, blankets, spare clothing, cloth, what money she had, her references from the tavern, ammunition, gunpowder… anything.

She also grabbed Selah's musket. She still had it in her possession.

She left everything she had packed in the slaves' quarters downstairs. Then she wrapped her cloak around herself and stepped out into the night.

"You alright, Ms. Strong?" one of the sentries asked her.

"Aye. Just going out for a walk. Can't sleep."

They didn't question her further. She walked across the property to Judge Woodhull's barn. He only owned a few horses, and she intended to steal one of them. She heaved the saddle onto the horse and tied saddle bags around him. Then she silently led him out of the barn. She brought him to the woods and tied him to a tree. Then she returned to Whitehall. The guards bid her 'good night'.

She then retrieved her bags, and she snuck out the back entrance in the slaves' quarters. There were never sentries posted back there. She huffed as she dragged the bags with her. She had no intentions of making a second trip. Once she had succeeded in hauling everything to the woods, she set to work filling the saddle bags.

One that was done, she dug the stolen clothing from her rucksack, and she began to undress. She stepped out of her dress and into a pair of trousers, and a blouse, and boots, and a heavy overcoat. She draped her dress over the back of the horse, and then retrieved a knife from her knapsack.

She set to work unpinning her hair. She stood there for a moment brushing out her hair with her fingers; her hair fell down to her chest, and it had been that way for years. She took a deep breath, then she took the dagger and began sawing at her hair. She chopped it so that is was the same length as a man's haircut would be, to her shoulders. She kept it loose, and then covered her head with a hat. One she was repacked, she slung Selah's musket over her back and mounted the horse.

She clicked with her tongue and steered the horse as he began to trot. And she rode away from Whitehall and from Setauket, and she didn't look back.

The next morning, when Mary awoke, she found a letter that had been slid under her bedroom door during the night.

Mary,

I apologize for what I am about to do. I am aware that it is not fair to ask this of you, but I must implore that you proceed forward with our plans without my being here. You are clever, cleverer than anyone gives you credit for. I would bet on my life that you will find some way to explain my sudden absence from Whitehall. I trust you.

It is not logic that guides my decision but fear; fear for your family as much as myself. For if I were to remain at Whitehall, I fear that the secrets that have been kept here for so long will be revealed. The safest thing to do, in my mind is to flee. I do not know if I will ever get the opportunity to return to Setauket. This place has been my home, but, as of late, it has not felt that way.

If you wish to learn more details regarding my decision, I suggest you consult your husband.

If we are never to see each other again, I thank you for all you have done for me over the years. I have thanked God most days for having become acquainted with you. I regret that we were not more honest during our friendship, but I wish you and your family all the best, whether it be in health or in prosperity. Please know that I will greatly miss you.

All my love, Molly