Chapter Two

Athena soon learned that the other aide-de-camp was a man named John Laurens, a simple-looking man, if not for the bright blue of his eyes and the whitish blonde hue of his hair, which sat about his shoulders in bedraggled strands. The frost of the morning only seemed to add to the dismal moods of the three men that surrounded her, despite their cordial smiles.

The first problem encountered was where they would mount Athena's trunk for the entirety of the ride. It would not be a long one, but the roads could become treacherous. This sent her mother into a frenzy like no other.

"What kind of leader sends his men into the snow with no other means of transport than two horses?" She asked bitterly, dark eyes seeming to startle the two soldiers into silence. It only persisted as she circled the trunk, skirts flapping in the wind.

"Mother," Athena found herself again having to abate her mother of her worries. "Step away from the trunk, please."

Edith looked at her daughter as if she had been mortally wounded, but did as told. Athena undid the gold-plated latch, and lifted the lid. It creaked in great protest, but gave way rather easily. Inside were gowns and frocks and shawls, made with only the finest, most ornately beaded brocades. Athena felt that same sour taste fill her mouth as she raised her head towards her mother, who looked away. "I know they are not exactly suitable for the battlefield, but I just could not bear to see them in your quarters without you there."

Athena sucked in a pensive breath that was brimming with incredulousness. How could her mother think such gaudy, frivolous clothing could do her any good as she weaved her way through rows of injured men lying on cots? She wanted to laugh, really. But she swallowed it down and pushed aside what she would not need, and folded at the bottom of the trunk, a flash of red in the sea of pinks and yellows and greens, was her beloved cloak, made of plain brown cotton.

She pulled it from the fray with glee, and fastened it around her neck with no more than a few tugs and a slip of the metal clasp. "This is all I will be needing besides my supplies."

"But, your hands," Edith retorted, studying her daughter's expression with a gaze that gleamed with scorn. "Will they not be cold?"

"I doubt that the cold will register, with how hard these hands will be working." Athena closed the lid of her trunk, almost reveling in the way it slammed shut. Her mother flinched at the sound.

As she mounted Hamilton's horse, she thought she saw her father smile as he mounted Laurens' stallion, truly, but it was hard to discern with the shadow that was cast across his face.

The world became a frantic blur of bleak greens, blues, whites and browns. Athena became giddy yet again at the sight. The world couldn't help but seem so much more appetizing when staring at it through the jagged lens provided by the harsh winds. The picturesque scramble of colors that she enveloped herself within persevered as they traversed the winding and treacherous roads, as Hamilton had described.

"We are coming upon it now," John Laurens called over his shoulder, words falling in the wind. "Valley Forge."

Athena had heard late-night conversations between her mother and father in the parlor, ones during which they discussed the merits of the war, the ludicrosity of the taxes on something as integral as tea, and General Washington, of course.

"It is most redundant, Patrick, to think that a man such as he could erect such a place, and for what? Half of those men are going to die in those woods before they even have a chance to touch a rifle."

"It will not be a waste, Edith. The letters I have gotten from George, though infrequent, give me hope."

"Hope is not a promise for a better future."

Plumes of dark, thick smoke rose from over the jagged skyline, filled by the beginnings of a forest, massive fir and oak trees all standing to attention, prepared to be the mens' first line of defense when they were attacked, perhaps. Athena shuddered at the thought of a redcoat managing to slip past, undetected. The Continental Army was disorganized, that much was true, but they were not stupid.

That is what she hoped, at the very least. As the four galloped onto the encampment's land, she couldn't help but feel like every set of eyes settled on hers, or more likely, the ones that she could see. Men were scattered across the raised plains of land, huddled together in front of bundles of kindling that had been burnt so that it all resembled charcoal. The britches some wore barely hung past their knees, save for the threads of the hems that had been pulled out of place. Some offered Athena smiles when they galloped past, sporting misshapen rows of blackened teeth.

Some had no teeth at all, just bloody masses of gum stared back. She returned their gestures with no more than a simple wave.

It was as if they had never laid eyes upon a young woman before. Amongst the monotonous rows of cabins, all with thatched roofs stood one that was much grander than all the rest. It was made with grandeur in mind, she supposed, if General Washington was to reside within it. Hamilton pulled on his stallion's reins, and his gallop turned to a canter, then a trot. The General's residence was two stories tall, made of tightly packed stone and tin shingles, layers descending upwards towards the sun, that was just peeking over the mist.

"At ease now, Seamus." The stallion made a swift turn toward a row of posts that sat only a few yards from the General's front door and next to that was a wooden trough that stood on thin legs that threatened to break at any moment. Seamus huffed, flicked his tail, and let his hind legs fold beneath his barrel-like body. His two riders went tumbling to the damp, muddy ground rather unceremoniously.

"Oh!" Athena gasped as she went sliding to the dirt, arms and legs splayed out in all different directions. She winced when she felt the cool, murky sludge creep up the back of her neck.

A roar of laughter rushed to Athena's ears.

"What a manner in which to make an entrance!" Someone jeered.

"It seems as if the princess is in for a rude awakening," Another interjected. More laughter followed.

She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to sit up. The men who had waved at her only a split second ago were using her as a vessel for their own amusement. She felt her stomach begin to churn and tighten with embarrassment. The mud had begun to slide down the back of her collar at a pace that was terribly slow. Nevermind. there would be time to freshen up later.

"Anieolach!" Hamilton had been tossed to the side, and was lucky enough to have landed in a patch of melted grass. Athena saw that a storm was beginning to steep in his violet eyes, the ones that she had been so captivated by. He sprang to his feet and stormed over to Seamus, whose long, whisker-covered snout was submerged in the trough. He was drinking with such impatience, yet such relaxation. He didn't pay the red-haired man any attention as he loomed over him, waiting for an answer.

As if the animal could give one.

"You are something else, Seamus. A wretched beast, that's what. " Hamilton gently pressed a bootsole against the equine's side that rose and fell with gluttony, or perhaps sloth. "This is just another reason that I think we should take you to the butcher's shop over in Lancaster. You would make a fine feast for a Dutch festival of some sort."

Seamus lifted his head out of the filthy water and looked at the soldier with empty eyes, and reared his head back towards where Athena sat. Almost immediately, the storm in Hamilton's eyes ceased. "Miss Beauford!" With a sort of swiftness and agility that Athena wasn't expecting the young man to possess, she was pulled to her feet.

"You'll have to excuse me, yet again." He let her go as soon as she was steadied, and let his hands fall to his side. "I believe I have apologized twice for my mistakes, and it has been less than three hours since our departure." He pursed his lips in disdain.

"Yes, you have apologized twice." Athena echoed as she brushed a speck of dirt from her stiff, starched blouse. "But not once have you asked for my forgiveness."

She was grateful that he was able to see the humor in her comment, and felt her stomach loosen yet again when his eyes crinkled with mirth.

A thousand pardons, my lady."

"A thousand given."

"Are you alright, Colonel Hamilton?" Laurens' voice rang through the air - his stallion, a thundering mass of muscle named Sally, went galloping up to the pair. He stopped in his tracks and gave a whinny of exhaustion. Patrick looked upon the scene, namely his daughter, with some degree of perplexion.

"Yes, Laurens." Hamilton glanced over at Seamus, who was still leisurely sipping at the contents of the trough. "We are fine. Seamus simply gave out because of exhaustion."

"Poor lad." Patrick muttered with trenchancy as he dismounted Sally, and ran to grab his daughter's medical case, which had gone askew. Athena had managed to forget about it.

"Oh, Father, let me take care of that," She went whizzing to his side, but he shouldered her aside with a gentle jostle. His bravado had returned. "No, dear." His tone was snipped, jagged. "I will bring it to your quarters, then you may take care of the contents that have been destroyed."

"That claim is baseless. I always take excellent care of my supplies." She replied, arms crossed over her chest - her defense.

"Your supplies?" Patrick's green eyes went wide. "Oh, dear. Is that really what you think?" His tone was scathing, demeaning, so much so that Athena stepped back.

"Yes. Why wouldn't I?" She said, trying to hide the cracks that were forming in her voice.

Patrick's expression turned from one of shock to one of remorse. He reached out a hand and set it upon Athena's head. "Oh, my sweet child." His lips trembled as he spoke those four words.

Athena knew then that she was going to be nothing but a plaything for the men to gawk and point at in between skirmishes with lobsterbacks. The chances of her getting close to a bullet or bayonet wound were fleeing from her imagination as the pace of reality quickened.

The murmur of conversation between the huddled groups of soldiers rose up once again, and tangled in the midst of it all were strangled cries:

"Doctor! Doctor! I need a doctor!" The crowd of men, the shoeless and toothless and threadbare, parted ways for a boy of no more than sixteen, wearing nothing but a nightshift and stockings. He was thin, scrawny, with barely anything on him - it was nothing out of the ordinary, if not for the fact that the boy's front was sopping wet with blood. Athena felt a bolt of lightning run through every inch of her being. She wrenched her beloved case from her father's hands and went sprinting for the young man. Her father's calls for her to return to his side did not go unheard, but disobeyed.

"I am not the one in trouble," The boy explained breathlessly. "A boy in my tent, another drummer, he's come down with the sickness."

Athena let out a sharp breath. "Child's play," She shoved the boy lightly. "Take me to him."

The pair of them slogged their ways through the thick, warped grass that threatened to pull them into the browned Earth underneath, but their determination must have kept them from sinking, Athena thought to herself as they went barreling past the canvas flaps. Once the world came back into focus, she saw the boy her companion had described. He was a shriveling lump of disease, curled up in the corner of the tent. His knees were tucked under his gown, pressed up against his stomach, which Athena was sure was bloated, sore, and hurt like the Devil. His face was pale, his cheeks were sunken in, gaunt. His hair, hastily cut and shorn short, stuck to his sweat-beaded forehead.

She knelt down beside him, and set a palm upon it, and nearly reared back the second she made contact - Christ, he was hotter than the Devil. His skin was practically molten.

"I first realized he might have been sick when we were standing at the pot." The boy said. His voice barely rose above a whisper. "He was pissing red, and he seemed as if his head was in the clouds."

"But he denied it."

"Yes." The boy said, voice raised with surprise. "How did you know?"

"I have a father who I think will nearly drive himself into the ground with work. I know how flippant you all are when it comes to your well beings." She pointed at her case.

"Grab me a cloth and dampen it. His fever must be lowered immediately."

"Shouldn't we wait for the doctor?"

The electricity that ran through her body paused at her fingertips. They were nearly on fire. She curled them into her palms and winced when the heat etched itself into the soft flesh. "I am the doctor."

The boy's face dropped into shock. "Oh, you..you must.." He trailed off, shut his mouth, sunk to his knees, and undid the latch on the case. He was gone from her field of vision in a lick. She looked up at her patient, who goggled at her.

"I'm going to help you. I promise. You just have to trust me."

His eyes jittered with deliriousness. He gave her a stiff nod, and then promptly vomited up a puddle of pink bile by her knees.

Athena worked late into the night and into the rising yolk of the next morning - food, sleep, cleanliness - it all became irrelevant. The tireless work was made just a fraction simpler by the fact that her patient was compliant, not that he had any other choice if he wanted his condition to improve. Finally, at ten o'clock in the morning, the boy, only fourteen years old and named Caleb Wainwright, fell asleep with a stomach full of sterilized water, and a few bites of plain porridge.

She took no thanks from her companion, or the men in the surrounding cabins and tents. She pushed right past them as they closed upon her, the silly smiles and waves returning. She needed to get to the water pump as soon as possible. As she has told her mother, the winter chill did not register in her hands, or any part of herself. She felt her chest swell with pride. She had proven Edith wrong, and wished with every drop of vanity in her hunger-panged frame that she had been able to see as such. She didn't know where Patrick was.

It was oddly comforting to think of him, conversing with General Washington over tin mugs of stale coffee, reminiscing about the childish wonder they once had. Standing at the pump when she arrived was Laurens, who was easily pumping the lever. He almost looked as if he was made of winter himself. His shoulders were covered in flakes of snow, the result of a flurry that had passed over. Some had gotten caught in his long lashes. Some had melted and were sliding down his cheeks. She couldn't help but notice that one of his cheeks was marred with a jagged scar that went down it diagonally and stretched down towards the cupid's bow of his top lip.

The spigot wasn't willing to give the man much in the way of water, and what it was willing to give was a puddle, filled with particles of dirt.

Laurens grimaced. "I should be used to seeing such a thing by now, but I am starting to think that day will never come."

"Have the men been drinking this since you've arrived?" She asked. Laurens looked at her with alarm. "Yes. We always boil it to rid it of pestilence, per the recommendation of Dr. Rush."

"Doctor Benjamin Rush?" Athena prodded. She had heard about the great doctor, who had penned pamphlet after pamphlet about wild diseases that ran rampant in the Caribbean, the spread of pathogenic disease, and every topic that existed in between those mammoths of bookends. Her father had caught her reading one in the sitting room once, and had torn it to pieces in front of her.

Laurens nodded again, though slowly.

"Colonel Laurens, I hate to undermine your authority, but your efforts are all in vain."

Laurens simply closed his eyes and pressed his mouth into a grim line.

A bit of time passed before he opened them again. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled a scrap of yellowed parchment from it - a sharp chunk of charcoal followed after.

"I'd hate to undermine your authority, Miss Beauford, but please," He pressed the scrap into her palm. She shuddered at the cool touch of his fingers as they brushed up against her own. "Find Colonel Hamilton."

"But-"

"He serves directly under Washington, I do not. There is a chain of command here, and he has it wrapped around his little finger." Some semblance of a smile crept onto the man's lips, but it faded away almost instantly after it had come. "He is a master of enchantment."

"Is that so?" She asked, voice lowered to a whisper, the same way the drummer boy's had when she was treating Caleb in that foul-smelling tent.

"You will see. Just watch, Miss Beauford." John's eyes had gone from a cool blue to a roaring aquamarine color as he spoke. Excitement pulled at his expression, only to be chased off by another glimpse of the water that sat in the bucket. "Now off you go," He waved a dismissive hand in her direction. "We haven't any time to waste."

She gave him a two fingered salute, whirled around on her heel and broke into a wild sprint, moving as quickly as her legs could carry her.

She found Colonel Hamilton trying to light a bundle of kindling, while a group of his men stood together in a shrunken bunch. The match he was trying desperately to ignite just refused to do so.

"Colonel Hamilton, I have a message for you from Colonel Laurens." Athena huffed, presenting him with the hurriedly folded scrap. Colonel Hamilton dropped the fledgling match and practically snatched it from her loosening hold. His eyes pinged back and forth with ferocity, it was almost as if he was devouring the words from the smudged surface itself. His lips curdled into a puckered frown. He stomped onto the smoking match and ground it into the soil with his toe, grabbed Athena by the hand and dragged her towards the center of camp. Despite being taller than the Colonel, she had to take two steps at a time to match his own. His urgency to get to his destination was sensed by every man within a twenty-foot radius, because they all scrambled to get to their posts, parting like the Red Sea had when Moses claimed the Promised Land.

They burst their way into the General's home with very little decorum or composure, and just as Athena had imagined, before her sat her father and the General in generously-stuffed armchairs, a pot of coffee and a pitcher of cream sat in between them.

"Your Excellency, I bring you urgent news!" Alexander announced, coattails flying as he stormed over to General Washington who eased himself from his seat. Athena couldn't help but gawk at him as she was dragged alongside the Colonel, who seemed to forget that she was still in his clutches. The General looked enormously tired, a gargantuan man with a face of strong features that made him seem menacing.

"Athena?" Patrick stared at his daughter incredulously. The mug in his hands started to tremble. A vein in his forehead began to appear, made visible by the unpredictable light thrown off by the lantern that sits on the floor by his stockinged feet.

"Father-"

"Colonel Hamilton, what is the meaning of your entrance into my quarters at such an hour?" Washington's tone is one of patience, tried patience, but evenly-kept.

"Miss Beauford has found an outbreak of a pathogen in the well, the one that made the Wainwright boy so very ill, and those before him."

"Is that so?" The General's gaze shifted over to Athena, who felt herself shrink into a girl, not a woman, a doctor, but a person that was hardly even a person. She thought she was going to collapse as she forced her stiffening body into a curtsy.

"Yes, Your Excellency. I was conversing with another aide-de-camp who serves under you, Colonel John Laurens. He took note of the dirty water that comes from the well - the pump, I mean. I understand you have taken the advice of Dr. Rush and his.." She had to choose her next words carefully. "Extensive yet questionable research on the spread of pathogens through many different means."

She heard her father huff. "Rush is nothing but a magician who uses science as a means of trickery."

"Quiet, Patrick." George dismissed his boyhood friend as if he were an unruly child. The satisfaction that Athena felt was almost indescribable. "Let the girl speak."

And so she did, patiently explaining the theories of pathogenesis to the General, who listened with keen interest as he nursed his coffee. Athena took the moment to put on a show, moving about the room with a newly realized air of confidence that seemed to buckle down the attention of all three men.

After a stunted stretch of silence that lingered throughout Athena's closing notes, the General paced up and down the length of his quarters, deep in thought.

"Hamilton, have one man from every cabin and every tent get a bucket of water each, and have them go to the kindlings immediately, and boil said water for five minutes, no more, no less."

"Yes, Your Excellency." Hamilton gave his commander a weak, gracious smile, a salute, and hurried for the door. Athena followed close behind, when she was stopped by the General beckoning her back over towards where he sat.

"Thank you, dear girl." The General's voice was thick with relief. "You have proven yourself to be a great asset to this camp in mere hours. If your mind is as cunning and sharp as you've displayed, I shiver at the thought of what your own two hands are capable of - I can only imagine it would be something of Promethean value."

Athena only uttered a soft 'thank you' and a 'goodbye', not daring to look in her father's direction, fearful of what she would see. She felt her legs turn numb as soon as she stepped over the threshold, but she didn't feel any part of herself sink to the ground. Instead, she was supported by a pair of strong arms and a careful hold.

"You are overdue in your need for rest." Hamilton scolded, but he softened. "May I escort you to your quarters, Lady Beauford?"

"No, that won't be necessary." She protested, but her argument fell flat. "You..you were given strict orders by the General, were you not?"

He guffawed. "He seems to forget that I have men underneath me who will do as I say."

"Oh, but of course."

The walk to her quarters was short, and she found herself being abundantly grateful for such a thing. Just as she was about to bade Hamilton goodbye, she noticed something. Pinned to his collar was an ample-bodied yellow blossom with a deep orange center.

"It was a gift from a suitor who visited the encampment a few days ago. It is a jessamine, native to South Carolina."

"It's beautiful."

"I know." A look of longing shaded the Colonel's brow. "It is a shame."

"What is?"

"Love, plain and simple."

With those single, parting words, Hamilton trudged off through the hardened snow, leaving Athena to rest.