Letters Home: Between Two Worlds
by: Shadow Chaser
Summary:
On his way back from the troop inspection in Boston, Ben stops by his father's house in Wethersfield. However, not all is well as assassins lurk in the shadows and Ben discovers that one does not need to be part of the Brotherhood to bring the Templars' wrath down upon him.
Story:
Ben was amazed that in the dead of winter, even with frost on the ground, there was still the faint odor of onions hanging in the air. But what greeted him was not an onion field, but rather the sight of the farm he knew grew the best apples in the colony of Connecticut. It brought a smile to his face as he heeled his horse from a light canter into a trot. He heard the rest of his men followed his stead.
"Daniel, Samuel, you're free to leave for your families for the rest of the day. I do not expect you to return until the day after tomorrow. We leave for camp at noon sharp," he gestured with a hand in the air back towards the men that followed him.
"Thank you sir," the two called behind him. He watched with a small smile on his face as the two wheeled their horses to turn as they passed a fork after the apple farm. The fork would eventually lead to nearby Farmington, where the two boys were from.
He could sense the growing excitement of the rest of his men behind him as they realized that they too would get at least a day of leave to see to their families and loved ones. But the discipline and professionalism he had drilled into them long ago stayed their overt anticipation as they rode further into town. Ben had taken soldiers he specifically knew were from the Wethersfield and Hartford region of Connecticut – even though the 2nd Continential Light Dragoons consisted of several of the nearby Colonies' infantry troops. He had specifically chosen at least one of his two light cavalry units from Connecticut and it was six of these Connecticut men who had accompanied him.
The rest of the 2nd was mostly deployed at Valley Forge, but there were a couple manning the scouting camps along the Connecticut coast. They were ostensibly to watch for any British activity throughout Long Island Sound; but also to guard against raiding parties who would attempt to burn the ports of Norwalk, Westport, Fairfield, Stratford, and New Haven down. He knew that part of his unit was deployed to the edges of Rhode Island – Washington having wanted a small force to keep an eye on French naval reinforcements due to land there in a few months, but there were rumblings of heavy British activity there, so Ben hoped that, that branch of his 2nd Continentals was holding up all right. His orders had been to examine troop readiness in Boston and so he had done so with an eye towards sending those troops to Rhode Island in the near future.
He knew that even though he was not in Washington's favor at the moment, he hoped that with his returning report on troop readiness it would at least garner some of the lost favor by helping his Commander-in-Chief. He did not know what plans Washington had for the Boston-based troops, but had accepted his assignment with some grace – after the initial attempt to get a little bit drunk with Caleb's bottle to soothe the hurt he felt when Washington told him that he was sending him north – and had come to accept it since his inspection that maybe he had really blundered badly in his confidence and handling of his spies.
He was also worried for Caleb and wondered if the last he had seen of his friend was at Morristown with the Turtle. The risks were high of Sackett's contraption sinking into the bottom of York City harbor and while Ben was used to his friend's hair-brained schemes, he still could not help but wonder if he had died in his attempt to free Abe from Sugar Hill prison. Maybe he should have been firmer in stopping Caleb – letting him and Abe run almost roughshod over his attempts at gathering intelligence through his spy network. Maybe Washington was right; he could not control his men effectively.
The whicker of his horse broke Ben out of his thoughts as he pushed it away and focused on his surroundings as they trotted into Wethersfield's main square.
It was already bustling with the afternoon activity, traders, mills, and shops busy with customers or haggling over prices, the bright winter's sun making it seem a lot warmer than it actually was. He could see a lot of them staring up in surprise as they rode into town before some of them cheered at their familiar presence. Ben nodded vague greetings to those who waved at them before he heeled his horse and stopped at the well situated next to one of the two more popular taverns in town. Dismounting, he turned to his men who were also getting situated, unable to hide their wide smiles at the anticipation of leave.
"Go to your families. We'll meet back here at noon sharp the day after tomorrow," he said before they tipped their plumed hats at him and he returned the gesture. Not even a second later, one of them gave a wild cheering shout and all but dragged his horse by the bridle as he headed down another road that led into the smaller farmland plots of the town.
Ben shook his head at the man's antics as did two of his fellow light cavalrymen. The third one only shrugged and shouldered his bags before heading to the tavern itself. "John," he called out to the man who turned, a wry smile on his lips, "don't get too drunk on the first night."
"Sir," John only grinned in return before walking away and Ben could hear the muffled snickers of the other two.
They all knew that John Davenport was the owner of this particular tavern itself and had been one of the 2nd's first volunteers, not even bothering with a bounty. He and Ben had become acquaintances during his three years as superintendent of the schools here in Wethersfield before the 2nd Continentals had been raised. However, unlike Ben, John did not have enough money to purchase a Lieutenant's or even an Ensign's commission and so had become one of the enlisted men. While their interactions had been cordial as was becoming between officers and enlisted men, Ben had seen to it that he had been regularly promoted – not only because he was his friend, but also because John was one of the unit's best horsemen. He knew that most dragoons had horsemen who were only officers, but Ben also knew that this was a war that had to be fought man by man and so had a handful of his dragoons as enlisted men. This also made it a lot easier for the enlisted men to command the infantry units whenever in battle instead of sacrificing one of his officers to put forth formations and the like.
"Henry, Liam, please give my salutations to your families. Henry, I'm sure your father will probably want to speak to me as always. He can find me at my father's lodgings," he said and saw the two others nod before taking their leave.
Liam followed Alexander's path down to the smaller plots of farmland, but instead of dragging his horse like Alexander did in his excitement, he took it at a steady pace. Liam Griffith and Alexander Mayfield were neighbors to whom Ben had taught for three years before they had joined when the muster had been called in Wethersfield. Henry had been enrolled at Harvard College for a year before he had come home to join the 2nd Continentals. Ben had been friendly with the young man's father who was one of the local lawyers who had two practices, one in Wethersfield, the other in Hartford.
Daniel and Samuel were farmers, though Samuel had been apprenticed to a blacksmith before he had answered the muster call. Farmington was a relatively small community that was mostly comprised of its namesake. Their export was mainly trade of crops and meat to feed Hartford, Wethersfield, and surrounding towns as well as sending convoys down river to the coast for further trade. There were several others who were native to the town as well as the area, but they were part of the force that Ben had sent out towards Rhode Island. A few others served with Washington directly as part of his personal guards while others served in a variety of other capacities.
Seeing that his men were well on their way to reuniting with their families and loved ones, he removed his helm, securing it on his saddle before taking his horse by the reigns and headed towards the direction of the schoolhouse. It was situated near the First Church of Christ, even though the schoolhouse existed long before the church had been built seventeen years prior. It was due to the influx and expansion of settlers after the French and Indian War, the schoolhouse also rebuilt for more students. It was also one of the reasons why Ben had stayed in Connecticut to teach and supervise the growing number of young minds after he had graduated Yale.
It had been a couple of years since he had properly returned to Wethersfield – he had not accompanied his father in his journey to the town after rescuing him from Setauket the year before. Instead, he had only sent a handful of soldiers to accompany the Patriot families to help them settle with families in various parts of the state and had only received a letter a couple of months later from his father detailing how he had settled into what used to be his house in the town. When he had visited his father after coming down from Achilles' Homestead, it had been in Hartford instead.
As Ben made his way up towards the schoolhouse, taking the right path before entrance towards the small row of houses where all of the teachers lived as well as the minister that ran the church and his family, he was glad in a way to see that nothing had changed much. The town, though certainly affected by the war in terms of the able-bodied men that had left to serve, had not been ravaged or torched by the British.
As he had been on a secretive mission to check troop readiness, Ben had not had time to forewarn his father of his arrival and hoped that at least the man was home. If not, he supposed that Joseph, Ezekiel, and Rachel would not mind if he stayed for the next two days. They had been the house servants that he had been given for his appointment as superintendent and part-time teacher of the schools. He had left them to take care of the house while he had been gone and now they served his father. His stipend for their work, since they were freedmen, was meager and small, but they did not complain. Now, Ben drew his pay and sent part of it regularly to maintain the upkeep of his house as well as to furnish his father's comforts.
He tilted his head a little in puzzlement at the sight of a carriage sans horse on the side of the path that led to his house. Someone was already here and it seemed his father had been entertaining them for the last few days judging by the amount of frost and powdery snow that covered parts of the carriage. The carriage itself also looked vaguely familiar, but Ben could not place where he had seen it before. Shrugging mostly to himself, he turned to lead his horse to the stables when he heard the distinctive report of a Pennsylvania rifle going off followed a half-second later by the sound of glass shattering in the back of the house.
Ben frowned; why would his father be shooting his rifle in the back, and against glass bottles of all things. With his curiosity further roused, he led his horse into the stables, quickly taking off the halter and saddle as well as giving the creature a quick brush down. He set a good amount of hay and water and finally placing a blanket on his faithful mount. Not even after he had done so, he heard a second report of the rifle, but there was no sound of glass shattering. Ben grabbed his travel roll, saddlebags, and helm before heading out of the stables. His boots crunched against the packed snow as he headed towards the back.
His frown turned into a bemused expression as he saw his father standing with another person he did not recognize, but was clearly teaching him the finer intricacies of using the familiar Pennsylvania rifle. The other man had a thatch of greying reddish hair that was more grey than colored, along with a short trimmed beard that was definitely whitish grey. Still he did not look much older than perhaps his early thirties. However, the hunched posture he had unconsciously adopted told Ben that he definitely had seen a lot more than what a man his age should have – which was probably the precedent of his greying hair.
The crunch of his boots in snow must have alerted them as he saw the other man suddenly look up and towards him before his father turned to see what he was staring at and Ben could not help but smile.
"Ben!" his father greeted, a wide smile splitting across his face as Ben crunched over the snow and shifted his bags to one hand while he shook his father's extended hand. He suddenly felt himself being dragged into a thumping embrace and awkwardly tried to hug his father in return with his saddlebags, roll, and helmet precariously held.
"Hello father," he greeted quietly, feeling a little shy as always when he was around him. The first time he had seen his father after he had enlisted was rescuing him from Setauket and it had been a surprise, almost a shock to hear the words of praise and the fact that his father was so proud of him. His father had stared at his uniform with pride and it had made Ben feel like a young boy once more. That same feeling lingered as his father stared at him now.
In his formative years, they had talked so infrequently due to his father's missions as an Assassin and his seemingly recalcitrant demeanor whenever he did see his father in between missions. The infrequency of his visits home had made Ben yearn for his approval and he and Samuel had turned to each other for support, especially after their mother had died. When Ben had been sent away to boarding school, he had all but cut his father out of his life and continued the trend when he enrolled at Yale. He was not used to the pride shining in his father's eyes.
"Just arrived?" his father asked and Ben nodded as he released his hand and placed a firm one on his back, guiding him towards the person he had been teaching. "Ben, this is Duncan Little. Duncan, this is my son Benjamin. Achilles asked me to help Duncan learn the finer points of rifling to further improve his abilities."
"Oh...oh..." Ben realized that Duncan was a member of the Assassins if his father's words were any indication, and more than likely a recent recruit. He shook hands with the other man before looking around, "Achilles is here?"
"Headed into town, wanted to look around the markets. Rachel is with him to make sure he doesn't slip on the patches of ice or muddy slush," his father replied, but there was the undercurrent of something in his voice that Ben could not quite identify. He had the oddest feeling that it was about him, but was not directed towards him.
"Here, let me get Joseph – Joseph! - to come help you find a room. Will you be staying long?" his father gestured for him to climb the stairs to the porch where Joseph opened the back door and the black man smiled at the sight of him.
"Master Benjamin, good to see that you've returned," Joseph gestured with his arms for him to give him his bags and roll to which Ben did so with a grateful nod of thanks.
"For the next couple," he replied, but did not say anymore knowing that while Duncan was an Assassin, he had long learned that discretion and words could be heard by anyone in the vicinity.
His father nodded, eyes twinkling a little at the discretion he was exerting on his words. He knew that his father knew he was the Head of Intelligence for Washington; it was one of the few things on the official dispatches as well as a hasty explanation – and bit of a lie – of military scouts that he had explained about why he and his men raided Setauket. But Ben could not help but wonder how much his father knew about his work, especially since he was a former Assassin. It was disconcerting to see his father in such a light, especially after what he had learned of the Assassins. When he had been growing up, he knew that his father was an Assassin and served the Brotherhood, but did not quite comprehend it all until now.
"I'll have to get a runner to let Rachel know to buy something succulent, maybe a wild turkey or something, for dinner tonight-"
"I'll let her know. I was going to head back into town to buy some supplies and to have new clothing tailored," he offered and saw his father smile a little bit.
"Still don't like the rifling lessons, eh?" he asked and Ben ducked his head a little in a small laugh.
"It was very educational and interesting, but I shall leave your lessons to your newest student," he could see Duncan frowning with some worry at his words. He glanced beyond the Assassin recruit's shoulder and saw that at least four pistols and two rifles had been set up and were leaning on the railings. He remembered his father's shooting lessons very well.
After learning the basics of reloading and committing it to memory, his father then shot pistols and rifles into the air near his head to get him used to reloading under fire. Then came the bullets that were shot near his position while he learned how to do it while having bullets very near him. Samuel had been nearly frightened out of his wits, by virtue of being the eldest to undergo such a training, but Ben had mastered it because he had seen Samuel go through it. He knew his brother had resented him for that, but had been able to salvage his honor by being an even sharper marksman than he was on both horse-back and on foot. Ben could only manage to hit body parts instead of having an instant-kill when rifling.
Ben decided to take some pity on Duncan and reached over and clapped the other man on the shoulder, "Cheer up, it'll be all right. I'll have Joseph prepare a salve later on for your ears."
With that, he followed Joseph into the house, catching the puzzled look the other man had on his face. "Calendula and some oils and grease would create the salve," he said, "it would help heal the bleeding in the ears he may have later on after my father's training."
"Yes sir," Joseph replied before gesturing to one of the smaller rooms that used to be Ben's study in the house, "I am sorry sir, but Masters Tallmadge and Achilles-"
"It's all right, I expected it," Ben said, noting that the couch was the only viable sleeping area in the study. While it was small, it was most definitely larger than his own tent back at Valley Forge, and more comfortable than the straw bunk he had prepared for himself there.
"I will gather blankets for you," Joseph said as he set his things down on the small high-backed chair that was next to the small fire, "do you need more firewood, sir?"
"Yes, if you please," he said before Joseph left the room and Ben closed the door behind him.
He breathed out a quiet sigh as he looked around. Everything seemed to have stayed the same, but he noticed that a few things had been moved around. He had no doubts that either his servants or even his father had rifled through his drawers, reading his various correspondences, letters, or even mandates that he had written in his three years there. He had written unpublished manifestos, letters to his best friend Nathan Hale after they had graduated Yale, had even some of his papers from professors and their remarks on them in this room. There was the occasional student homework he had corrected, but it had also housed a lot of the more mundane paperwork for the school district's budget, plans, and goals for the upcoming year or years that had past.
There were also a few correspondences from women he had met at Yale while debating and he knew that more than one had written to him without the consent of their fathers. Those letters he had responded with cordial greetings and basic interest, the politics of the colonies fascinating him at that time more than the missives of his female admirers. Ben did not expect any of that to be private anymore; not since he had left to fight and his father had moved in.
Still, it felt like a semblance of home since he had been away and he relaxed a little as he took off his jacket and shook the fine dust of flurrying snow from it before hanging it to dry next to the fire. He reached into his one of his saddlebags and pulled out his worn traveling cloak and a more casual dark jacket. It was similar to the leather ones he had seen Abe wear from time to time, putting that on just as Joseph's polite knock came.
"Enter," he said as he adjust his sleeves and put on the traveling cloak over it. He had not had time to waterproof the jacket with some of Caleb's whale oil, so his traveling cloak would have to protect it from the elements.
"Excuse me sir," Joseph said as he brought in a heap of blankets and some firewood. Ben helped by taking the firewood out of his hands and set most of it to the side next to the hearth, before putting a few sticks of kindling and one log into the fire, tending to it for a few seconds before straightening. It would be nice and warm by the time he returned from his errands. He glanced over to see Joseph adjusting his blankets across the couch before leaving with a nod.
Taking his sword belt off, he instead removed his pistol holster and wore that, before checking the knife attached to the side of the holster as well as the one in his boot. The knife in his boot had saved his life back when he had been ambushed in New Jersey by Robert Rogers. His pistol was a traditional one, instead of the spring loaded bayonet that was built into Caleb's, but Ben was not adverse to having another dagger near his pistol. One could never be too prepared.
Grabbing his small pouch of money as well as his unbuckled sword, he headed out of his room and out the front door. He paused for a moment to take in the blast of cold winter air once more, breathing in deeply at the smell of home. He closed his eyes for a few seconds to enjoy the cold air, before just as suddenly the moment was shattered as he sensed something not quite right.
He snapped open his eyes and looked around, his eyes taking in the bare trees, snow coating branches and nooks as well as the browned leaves on the ground. His ears focused past the shuffling of the horses' feet near the stables as well as the quiet murmur and sounds of his father and Duncan as the thumps and twangs of metal-on-metal told him that Duncan was reloading his father's rifle. But nothing seemed amiss.
Whatever had triggered the sense of something not quite right had not made itself known. It was a sixth sense of sorts that he had since he could remember his childhood. It had saved him from time to time, most notably alerting him of the Queen's Ranger that had been given the detail of ensuring his men were all dead after the ambush. It had saved him from a bullet in the ambush that Rogers had tried to lure him into after Selah's prisoner transfer, and had allowed him to evade the Redcoat patrols while he had made his way to the Homestead. He had never mentioned it to his father in the times that he was around, but had always taken it as a lucky charm of sorts. What had broken his reverie then?
Seeing that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, Ben relaxed a little bit, but decided to keep a wary eye out as he headed back towards the town's center. Maybe it was two years on the front, or maybe it was just nerves, but Ben hoped that maybe this time, his sixth sense was wrong.
The two pairs of eyes that had been watching Major Benjamin Tallmadge emerge from the largest of the row of houses that were situated next to the schoolhouse breathed dual sighs of relief as the dragoon passed them without any suspicion.
"You didn't tell me he's got that skill," one of the men hissed to the other. He picked at the borrowed green uniform he had been given for this mission. He understood that it was a disguise, to cover their tracks, but he hated the wool – it itched like a dead man had worn it and died in it until maggots claimed his body.
"How the hell should I have known? It wasn't in any of the General's dispatches," the other answered.
"Yeah well, we finish this job, I'm demanding double. It's goin' be hard sneakin' about with a guy with that skill," the first man grumbled.
"Well, let's just kill 'im first then figure out payment, all right? General's suspicious about him since that injun escaped in York City and wants him gone," his partner nudged him none too gently in the ribs before they left their place of concealment and headed back into the deep woods.
~END Part 1~