Y'ALL, I am CRYING after all the love on the last chapter. Thank you. I love you all.
This one takes place immediately following the events of the appropriately-named episode Sybil Ludington.
May, 1777
Although you the Congress have finally seen fit to promote me to the rank of Major General, you have failed to return to me the seniority my actions merit. Therefore, conscious of my own rectitude, I hereby resign from the Army of the United States of America.
She should write something down, she thought. Then again - was there any use in that? It wasn't as if they could print a copy of General Arnold's resignation letter. It could be weeks before General Washington received it, longer still to find a replacement. It's madness she thought as she watched Arnold leaving through the glass of the print shop window. It's absurd. Even so. Such notions meant little in the swell of Arnold's wounded pride.
The thought settled somewhere in the pit of her stomach. She should be rejoicing - near to ecstatic that the rebels were losing a figure so central to their hopeful victory. She'd not only borne witness to Arnold's after Danbury, but had seen firsthand the passion, the fervor he held for American independence. Wars are fought with musket and ball, he had told her weeks previous whilst she'd been a guest in his home. But it is our principles, my dear Ms. Phillips, that rule the day.
And where are your principles, General Arnold? she wondered now. She was no stranger to the burn of refuted hopes - of dashed expectations. But try as she might, she could not bring herself to condone Arnold's decision. It's his reasoning, she finally settled on. It's selfish. She could no longer claim naiveté as she might have done at the war's start; not when so many others were staying the course, choosing to fight for their cause, for a belief, in spite of pain and suffering and loss. Already this war had lasted longer than she had anticipated but for anyone to quit now - most especially a high-ranking general - seemed unbearably self-serving. And all over a missed promotion? It almost seemed a bad omen.
Would Arnold's resignation pave the way for more?
"You look troubled." Moses came up behind her, wiping his inked fingers on a clean rag. "Are you well?" She cast him a furtive glance.
"I fear for my friend, Moses."
"General Arnold?" he asked, frowning. "Why?"
"Sometimes I think he's destroying himself with his own bitterness and anger." The concern would mean little to those who had not spent the last few weeks in Arnold's company but still - it felt good to speak the thoughts aloud. "This does not bode well for the American cause."
"The loss is significant. I'll not deny it." Moses looked pensive as he chucked the rag on top of the press. "But take heart, Sarah. He may still find that his run is not yet through."
It is not only his military service I worry over, she wanted to say. While staying in his home, there had been more than one occasion in which she had witnessed his fits of temper, near to spitting in his rage that he was not being given his due. Anger would have been one thing, but his temper had bordered on something maniacal - and it had frightened her more than she cared to admit. Odd, she thought, for one man to bear such duality.
She was about to say as much aloud when the front door of the shop opened and a familiar voice sounded that sent her thoughts scattering. "Hello all!"
"James!" Moses said with a friendly chuckle. "We weren't expecting you back til tomorrow." But Henri, ever exuberant, rushed across the shop with a cry of,
"Mon ami!" as he flung himself into his arms. James laughed as he swung him about, setting him back down on the floor with a quiet grunt.
"You're getting big, you scamp," he chuckled. Henri grinned, straightening his posture as James looked to Moses. "I rode through most of the night. Wanted to make it back while my memory was fresh." Then his eyes moved to her. "Hello, Sarah."
"It's so good to see you, James," she said warmly as she approached. And she meant it, too - though she wasn't about to admit that she had actually missed his company these last few weeks. He offered her a boyish grin that made her cheeks tingle. "I've read your dispatches. You and I nearly crossed paths in Connecticut."
"Connecticut?" He ran a hand across the top of his head, smoothing out a few stray pieces of hair that had been mussed during his ride. "I thought you were with Mrs. Adams in Boston?"
"I was," she said, "until we happened upon General Arnold at a local ball. I have been in his company these last few weeks." The slightest of frowns dipped between his brows, but Moses spoke again before he could.
"That's some fine work you've been sending us, James." He moved past her, motioning toward the press. "Your account of the attack in Danbury was remarkable."
"Thank you, Moses," he said, a soft smile lighting up his face. But it was true; in recent months, all of them had begun to take notice of James' proclivity for writing. He's a natural, Moses had told her a few nights previous as they'd finished printing up the week's paper. Always has been. Though James' report on the British rampage in Danbury had been absolutely gut-wrenching, she hadn't been able to help the swell of pride that had blossomed in her chest as she'd read it. That's my friend, she thought then, just as now. My clever, daring friend. James patted the satchel still swung over his shoulder. "Wait until you see the story I'm working on now." Henri reached out and pulled on his shirtsleeve.
"Is it a story of a great military 'ero, like Sarah's about General Arnold?"
"No, Henri." Another smile tugged at James' lips but this one seemed more gentle - almost wistful - as his gaze moved beyond him. "It's about a different kind of hero. And I can finally call her a friend." Something pinched in her lungs at the mention of this unknown her - James hadn't mentioned any her in any of his dispatches. But Henri could always be counted upon to voice what she would never dare to speak aloud.
"Her?" the boy exclaimed. His nose crinkled, as if the mere thought was a total affront to his sensibilities. "You are writing your story about a girl?"
"Not just any girl." James tousled the boy's hair, then laughed as he slapped his hands away. "A most remarkable girl. Suffice it to say, she proved herself an unsung hero of the Revolution and will be gracing the headlines of the Gazette's next edition."
"Goodness," Sarah smiled, finding that she had to force it. "Who is this girl?" James' gaze shifted back to her, taking on a noticeably more mischievous glint.
"You will have to read my story to find out."
"Well, I am sure we all look forward to hearing of your ventures in Fredericksburg," Moses laughed. "But I have the feeling you are in need of some sustenance after your long ride."
"I am, Moses." James pulled his bag off his shoulders and Sarah took it from him, wordlessly. "Famished, actually."
"We just finished up lunch, and there are leftovers in the kitchen." Moses stepped forward, clapping him on the back with a brief embrace. "It is good to have you back. I'll go tend to Caesar while you rest."
"Oh yes," Henri cut in, waggling his eyebrows as he skipped past them. "And I will, eh...go 'elp James in the kitchen."
"Henri," she laughed as he went running out of the room. Gracious, but that child could eat. Moses laughed as he too exited the shop, the cheerful sound of which still reached her ears even after the door slammed shut behind him. She smiled softly as James looked to her.
"You know somehow, I think that by help Henri means eat until he makes himself sick." James walked slowly toward her, eyes dancing in the light of the late afternoon sun. "Hello Sarah."
"I think you said that before," she said lightly. Still - it seemed the both of them felt inclined towards a more intimate greeting in the quiet of an empty shop. She dropped his satchel to the ground as he moved to close the space between them, wrapping his arms around her in a warm embrace. Her eyes slipped shut for a moment, shuddering out a sigh against his shoulder. "Hello, James."
"Hi," he mumbled into her hair and it made her laugh. So comfortable was she, the words I missed you nearly passed her lips before she realized how absurd that would be. James surely hadn't been thinking of her while he'd been away. "It is good to be home."
"You must be terribly weary." It felt too soon to pull away from his touch but she made herself do it, lest Henri reappear and assume - well, assume something. James smiled as she looked up at him, squinting. "You look a fright."
"Well thank you for that," he laughed, making a show of smoothing his hair down again. "Have mercy. I rode all night, for God's sake."
"You know I tease," she tsked, bending down to scoop his satchel from off the floor. "A good rest and a hearty meal ought to set you to rights."
"Come now, Sarah." He winked as he moved past her. "You know your barbs make me a better man."
"Glad to hear you've finally come around." She turned to watch him head toward the doorway, already missing the warmth of his embrace. "James - who is it that you are writing your story on?" He paused, looking over his shoulder at her; then the corner of his mouth tipped into an impish smile.
"The only other woman I have met who saw it fit to tell me off, as it were." He offered her a teasing wag of his eyebrows. "Besides you, that is. Seems I have a penchant for befriending the more defiant ladies of these United States." He gestured sideways with his head. "Now. You coming or what?"
"Oh. Yes. I..." She made herself laugh. "I will be along in a moment." He nodded, offering her another grin before heading back toward the kitchen. One hand still gripping his satchel, she moved the other to lay over her stomach, trying to quell the nervous energy suddenly churning in her gut.
And along with it, the curious sting that had settled there at the mention of this most remarkable girl.
I am not upset.
It had become a mantra of sorts in the days following James' return. His story on his "unsung hero of the Revolution" was printed alongside her own, in which she showcased General Arnold's heroics at Compo Hill; and while her report was met with resounding accolades from their readers, she found an unlikely critic within the walls of the print shop. Arnold is no better a General than any of the rest of them, James had laughed after he'd read her story. What good is a victory on the backs of a departing army? She'd had to bite her tongue to keep from reminding him that by virtue of its rarity, any rebel victory was newsworthy. You weren't there, James, was what she had said instead. You did not see what I did. But he had only laughed at that too, adamant in his conviction that a General on the cusp of resigning should not be cast in so fair a light.
It wasn't just that, though. James' mysterious new friend - who she came to find out was one Sybil Ludington of Fredericksburg, New York - had taken up an inordinate amount of space in her head. The details of her midnight journey (that had surpassed even that of Paul Revere by double the mileage, if not more) had been positively breathtaking, but James - acting as her most avid enthusiast - had struck her as odd. What sort of bond, she wondered, had formed in the weeks James had been in her company? She couldn't recall a time James had ever seemed so taken with an interviewee. Not that it mattered, of course. She was just curious.
I am not upset.
She was proud, actually. Certainly not blind to the oft-unrecognized contributions of womankind in this fight for liberty. Remember the ladies! Abigail Adams had once implored of her husband; and James' written account of Ms. Ludington's heroics, published for all of Philadelphia to read, offered some assurance that her story would not be so easily forgotten. Still. To Sarah she was just a name; a figure to celebrate, perhaps, but really nothing more than a news story printed on paper, just as so many others had been before.
She wasn't sure why they had to keep talking about it.
The days soon melted into warmer weeks, signaling the arrival of summer and longer days along with it. Life fell easily back into its usual rhythm with the daily operations of the shop, and there came a point where Sybil Ludington's name stopped being mentioned altogether. Sarah's concerns - still unspecified - soon faded into distant recollection along with any disquiet that had plagued her.
And the day the letter came, she had all but forgotten the business of Sybil Ludington.
...
June 8, 1777
"You finished with that?" James motioned toward the paper she held in her hands, fresh off the press.
"I have only just started looking at it," she chuckled, eyeing their work with a scrutinizing gaze. He knew well enough that the first print of the newspaper had to be reviewed in case of any errors, but it had become something of a joke between them that she was trying to correct his work. A vestige of their previous rivalry, now turned agreeable.
"It is perfect," James stated. "I'm telling you, there is no need for any correction." She paused in her review, peering over the top of the paper at him, only to find he was already looking at her. He grinned as he leaned an elbow on the handle of the press. "I think you can trust me just this once, no?"
"Not on your life," she muttered, lips pulling into a smile as she moved her gaze back to the paper. He was probably right, of course - but still. One had to be sure.
"Sarah, if we were to tally how much time has been spent needlessly reading through the text I meticulously laid out, I am certain we would have a full day's worth of time back. Possibly even two." She laughed again, casting an exaggerated glower his way.
"And if we were to miss a significant misprint, we would then have to dedicate a full day's worth of work to correcting it, and it would all even out to the same." He raised an eyebrow.
"Unless it was two days' worth of time."
"James, you are impossible." But alas - it seemed he was right. In the few moments he allowed her a silent review, she spotted no errors and, humming with satisfaction, she met his gaze again. "It looks good. Let's proceed."
"Who would have thought?" He beckoned for her to hand him the paper, but his fingers brushed lightly over hers in the transfer. The contact made her heart leap. God's sake - what was that about? "Think of how far along we would be by now if you had just trusted me."
"An entire five minutes into the future," she said dryly. "Maybe even six." He chuckled as he hung the paper, standing back to survey their work with his hands on his hips.
"A penny saved is two pence clear," he quoted with a laugh in his voice, "and such is the logic I am applying to time."
"You know I am becoming convinced that you would argue about anything." She moved to stand beside him, shaking her head lightly. "I could say the sky is blue, and you would insist it yellow."
"As if you would not do the same." He turned to look at her, a rakish smile on his lips. "You are a contrarian, Sarah Phillips."
"I am a contrarian? Now there's a laugh. If anything, you are the -" But her mouth slammed shut as James began laughing, having so effectively made his point. She made a show of rolling her eyes but hid a smile as she turned to move back behind the press. Honestly - she would throttle him if he didn't look so damn happy. He spun around to face her, bracing his arms atop the galley.
"Come now," he teased. "You know I jest."
"I do know," she replied, but whatever words she'd intended to say next disappeared in the back of a suddenly-dry throat. James was looking at her - really looking at her - and cast in the warm glow of sunlight from the window behind him, his eyes had taken on a strikingly beautiful hue. Like cobalt, her mind supplied. Or the sea when the sun hits it so. Their ethereal quality rendered her momentarily speechless and, seeking distraction, she moved her gaze to take in the rest of him: the few strands of golden hair that had loosened from his ponytail. The broad pull of his shoulders, the tips of his fingers stained with ink, the curious allure of his shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms - which offered a rather appealing display of the veins in his arms. It's just James, she reminded herself. He didn't look any different than he usually did and yet she felt almost...bashful beneath his gaze.
Dare she say, even twitterpated.
"Can it be so?" he said, voice hushed with faux sincerity. "Have you no riposte, Phillips?"
She barked out a nervous laugh, quickly clamping a hand over her mouth for how awful it sounded. "I've told you not to call me that," she managed. But his smile only widened, the sight of which inspired another bout of giddiness and were it not for the sudden burst of the door opening, she was certain he would have teased her mercilessly for it.
"James!" Henri came bounding in with his usual explosive energy, slamming the door shut behind him. "You 'ave a letter!" It was only once James turned to take the letter from their young apprentice, who was jumping with excitement, that she found she could properly breathe again.
"How strange," he said, breaking the seal. "I never get mail." Both she and Henri watched as his eyes scanned the page, then as the curiosity on his face eased into joy.
"Who is it from?" Henri asked, attempting to yank the page from his grasp; but James pulled it up and out of his reach, his eyes never leaving the page.
"It's from Sybil," he said quietly. His lips pulled into a wide smile; then he laughed. "It's a letter from Sybil!"
And just like that, the sickening pull of dread she'd thought long-gone made a swift, and vicious, return.
"The girl from your story?" Henri sounded disappointed. "I 'ad 'oped it was someone a bit more interesting."
"Well she's plenty interesting," James replied, finally looking down at him. His eyes darted between the two of them, and the excitement she found in his gaze sent her heart plummeting. "She'll be visiting Philadelphia two weeks from now, and wants to visit the Gazette! Isn't that spectacular?"
"Just wonderful," her mouth spoke for her as Henri offered a noncommittal shrug. It was odd, she thought, that neither of them seemed to notice that all of the air had just been sucked out of the room. "Will she be needing accommodation?"
"No, she mentions they will only be passing through." Relief swept over her in a wave, only to vanish in the next moment as he continued: "She asked if I would be willing to give her a brief tour of the city as well. Naturally I will oblige her." He motioned toward her then. "You were new in Philadelphia once. What do you think would be worth seeing?"
Oh no. No. Do not ask this of me, James.
"How about a romantic stroll down by the docks?" Henri raised his eyebrows tauntingly as James balked. "I 'ear it is the perfect outing for people in love."
"Don't be a git," James sputtered, his cheeks reddening as he quickly folded the letter back up. Oh - so he did like this girl after all. It was only then she wondered why she should care about such a thing, much less feel upset by it.
Oh Lord - why was she upset by it?
"I am just saying," Henri said smugly. "You are a boy and she is a girl, and -"
"And she has made a reasonable request," James interrupted. "And you will shut your mouth."
"Sarah, are you 'earing this?" Henri waggled his eyebrows at her as he jabbed a thumb in James' direction. "James has found 'imself a lady-love."
"Henri," James protested. She took note of his reaction as he looked to her, his tone jumpy. "Talk some sense into him, would you?"
"Henri," she said calmly, suddenly struck with the insane notion that she should feel this out, just to see, just for curiosity's sake. "Do be kind. After all..." Her gaze flitted briefly to James before landing back on their junior apprentice. "We will need to make a lasting impression on Ms. Ludington if she is to be James' sweetheart."
"Christ," James muttered at the exact moment Henri burst in with,
"A-ha! See?" He flashed a naughty smile, waggling a finger at James. "You are in love!"
"That's enough," James stated, irritation working its way into his tone as he flashed Henri a warning glance; but the boy, clearly thrilled to have inspired such an embarrassed response from his friend, began laughing maniacally as he raced around the shop with a taunting chant:
"James is in love! James is in love! James is -"
"Would you -" James made a swipe at him as he ran past, just missing grabbing onto the back of his shirt. "Knock it off, Henri!"
"When is the wedding?" the young boy giggled, dodging out of the way as James lunged for him again. "Perhaps by next spring, when the flowers are in bloom?"
"Henri -"
"Or would you prefer a winter wedding? When the -" Henri shrieked as James gave chase, his joy quickly erupting into a lighthearted terror. "I was only joking, mon ami! I was only -"
Sarah began slowly backing out of the shop, watching as James finally managed to grab hold of Henri, trapping him in a strong embrace from behind. "Think you're funny, do you?" James taunted, red-faced, but laughing all the while. "Well I think I'm the funny one now. Now I'm laughing!"
"Stop," Henri shriek-laughed as James began tickling him, kicking madly to no avail. "Ah, je suis désolé! Aies pitié...!"
"Too bad I don't speak French!" The sound of the boys' laughter followed her down the hall and up the stairs as she made her way to her room. She needed a moment; just a moment, to gather her thoughts and find a way to reconcile this numb press of disappointment in her chest, growing heavier by the second. What was wrong with her? There was absolutely no reason to be reduced to such bitter distress over a letter. It was just a letter. And a simple visit from some unknown girl. Nothing more. Nothing less.
I am not upset.
But the refrain now offered nothing in the way of consolation as she slipped into her bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind her. She leaned heavily against it, one hand pressed to her forehead, eyes slipping shut as her mind whirled. She'd never felt like this before - not on account of James, anyway. It is because I have never seen him fancy a girl before, she reasoned. Yes. That must be it. This was new, strange territory; James being so wholly dedicated to his work, he hadn't the time to take notice of the fairer sex, at least not that she had ever observed. Then again, it wasn't as if there was much opportunity, seeing as how multitudes of women did not make it habit to waltz through the print shop or grace a blood-soaked battlefield. Except for me, she thought glumly, now well and truly feeling sorry for herself. She was the one ever by James' side; she was the one who knew him best. And what had it earned her? Not excitement. Not joy, or that ridiculous gleam in his eye. She received only the distraction brought on by the cut of his shirtsleeves, the nervous flutter in her belly whenever he was teasing her. It's not fair, she concluded. But even that made no sense. Heaven's sake, Sarah. You are being ridiculous. Far be it from her to stoop so low as to feel envious over one stupid letter -
Her lips parted in a quiet gasp as the realization took hold of her. Oh, good God. That's what this was.
She was jealous.
Late June, 1777
"And this is Sarah. She's a journalist here at the shop as well."
"A lady journalist?" Sybil's eyes lit up as she curtsied to her. "Now there's something you don't see everyday."
"It certainly did not come easy," Sarah laughed, smiling until her cheeks hurt. "Most especially with James here. He did not take too kindly to our partnership at first." Oh, God. Why did I say that?
"Not because you were a woman," he said, his cheeks flushing. "I just...it was more the unofficial nature of it."
"Unofficial." Sybil tsked, elbowing James slightly in the ribs. The two of them shared a laugh and it made Sarah's stomach turn. "Now there's a sorry excuse."
"Needless to say, a lot has changed since then." James smiled at her, and she forced one to her face as well, lest he think she was crazy. "Sarah is now an integral part of the operations here."
"That is so kind of you," she replied politely. Perhaps a bit too politely, as James cast her a strange, sideways glance; but it was currently taking every ounce of her willpower to maintain an indifferent façade. Her heart had sunk the moment Sybil had walked through the door - the girl was beautiful, a detail James had apparently forgotten to mention. It was no wonder that he was taken with her...or so she had initially thought. Over the course of the last twenty minutes, it had become clear that there existed an easy, dare she say natural rapport between the two. It was as if they had known each other forever and the longer she'd watched them engage, one more thing had become demonstrably evident: James was comfortable around this girl.
Far more comfortable than he had ever been with her.
Comparison is the thief of joy, her mother's voice chided from somewhere in the recesses of her memory. Still - it did nothing to alleviate the pit in her stomach. James had spent less than a month with this girl, but already between them there existed a camaraderie that Sarah had had to fight her way into over the course of the last three and a half years - and only then after countless brushes with death, danger, and everything in between. She had honestly thought, for whatever reason, that the banter she and James shared was something almost...special, between them. A testament to their friendship, and the bond they shared only with each other.
Sybil here was proving that to be nothing but a fantasy.
Stop it, she scolded herself, watching as James showed Sybil around the shop. This is ridiculous. She had no right to feel this way; James could certainly be abrasive, yes, but he was authentic and it was a quality most everyone responded favorably to. Indeed it was one of many reasons why he made such a good journalist - people enjoyed talking to him. Plus, Sybil had the benefit of meeting James now, as opposed to the short-tempered youth she had first met onboard the Dartmouth. No matter that James was far friendlier to this girl than he'd ever been to her, was actually acting like a gentleman in her presence whereas she had had to practically teach him to act -
"How does this thing work, anyhow?" Sybil's father asked from behind her, offering a welcome distraction as he motioned towards the press.
"I can show you, if you'd like," Moses replied with a chuckle. The two men had been swapping stories since they'd set foot in the shop, leaving the rest of them to make their awkward acquaintances. Sarah moved her gaze across the room, spotting Henri who was following Sybil around like a puppy. Him too? she thought, schooling her expression into an emotionless mask. Honestly. You get one pretty girl in the shop and everyone loses their heads.
"That would be splendid!" The two men moved to the press and it was only then Sarah noted that she stood alone in the center of the room, most assuredly the odd man out. Ire rising in her blood, she stole another look at James, only to find that he was already staring at her.
"Care to help?" he asked as he made his way back over. The grin on his face softened her a bit; he seemed so happy. What sort of friend was she, having such nasty thoughts while he was so clearly enjoying himself? "I know you know your way around the press." She was about to reply when he called over to Sybil: "Would you like to see how the press works?"
"Not terribly, if I'm honest." She flashed a smile, rubbing Henri's head, which elicited another bout of envy in Sarah's heart. "Henri here was just mentioning a sweet shop he wanted to show me?"
"They 'ave the best molasses candy!" Henri exclaimed. "You must try it, Sybil. You must!"
"Well it's going to have to wait, Henri." James tsked, making his way over to Moses. "Colonel Ludington wants to see how the press works."
"Why don't we have a quick walk down to the shop while you boys look at the press?" Sybil moved to stand beside her and, much to her shock, looped her arm through hers. "We'll be back in half a tick." She glanced over at Sarah and offered a genuine smile, which only served to heighten her guilt. "If Sarah would like to, that is."
"Oh yes please!" Henri said, rushing over to them. "Let's go! Please, Sarah? Please?"
"Well..." She laughed uncomfortably, meeting the gaze of all three men as they stared at her. "Of...course. Of course. I should be...happy to."
"Splendid." Sybil moved to the door, dragging her along with her. "Lead the way, Henri."
"Certes, ma dame," Henri replied, rushing out ahead of them. They had just gotten to the doorway when James reached out and took her gently by her other arm.
"Bring me something back?" he smiled, and the sight of it sent a rush of butterflies through her stomach. Oh, good Lord. She was pathetic.
"We will. Come on, Sarah." Sybil answered for her and pulled her out the door, much to her great annoyance. But James only laughed as the door shut behind them, and the three of them headed toward the sweet shop. "Goodness, but that was boring." Sybil sighed, moving her gaze heavenward. "Not to impugn your good work, dear Sarah. But it is simply too lovely outside for me to stay locked away indoors."
"I'm afraid I do not share in your sentiment," Sarah replied, bewildered by the girl's boldness. "We often spend upwards of twelve hours a day in the shop."
"You cannot be serious!" She paused in their walk, staring at her incredulously. "How do you do it? I would go mad!"
"A matter of preference, I would think." She offered yet another smile that felt forced. "James mentioned you grew up on a farm?"
"I did indeed. Proud of it, too." She hummed under her breath as they began to walk again, watching Henri skip down the street ahead of them. "I take it you did not?"
"No. I hail from London." Sarah moved her eyes across the street, suddenly self-conscious. Sybil was the daughter of a noteworthy Colonel in the Continental Army - most assuredly a Patriot through and through.
Perhaps that was why she and James got on so well.
But Sybil surprised her by sighing, "Oh, London. What a dream. Is it as splendid as everyone says?" She grinned, laughing to herself. "I have an uncle who went to study there."
"Did he? Where at?"
"University of Edinburgh? I think?"
"That's in Scotland." Sarah could not help but laugh as Sybil's smile grew, shaking her head.
"That's right. Heavens. I cannot keep my countries straight, apparently."
"Not to worry. I often feel much the same about the geography of the Colonies." They continued to engage in small talk as they walked to the shop, and it wasn't long until Sarah eased in the girl's presence. Loathe as she was to admit it, the girl was exceedingly easy to talk to.
After paying for their sweets, Sarah wordlessly handed a few over to Henri who was practically mad with desire for them. As they exited the sweet shop and began a slow walk back home, she offered Sybil a candy, who took it and popped it into her mouth without a word - but it was quickly followed by an mmm of satisfaction. "These are good," she stated. Sarah nodded, eyeing the bag carefully. Henri was sure to eat at least half of these, and she wanted to make sure some were saved for James as he had requested. "Are you paid for your work?"
"Sorry?" Sarah startled, frowning at her. Sybil only smiled and nodded toward the candy.
"I saw you pay for it. Just am curious, is all."
"Oh. Yes. Well." Lord, but she was brash. "Dr. Franklin pays me a small allowance for the work I do in the shop."
"Is that so?" Sybil's nose scrunched as she thought on it. "James isn't paid though, is he?" She smoothed her expression at the mention of him.
"James is an apprentice. He's currently working under contract for Dr. Franklin, until he is twenty-one."
"What then?" Sybil motioned for another candy and Sarah passed it off to her, blinking a few times.
"What then what?"
"What will James do once he turns twenty-one?"
"I...I am not certain, actually." Sarah moved her gaze to Henri who was bounding back and forth across the street. "Henri, careful please! You could choke!"
"He told me he wants to be a journalist," Sybil continued. "Not a printer." The candy clacked against her teeth as she moved it around her mouth. "Do you think he will stay in Philadelphia?"
"We've never discussed it, if I'm honest." But the line of questioning gave her pause. When she'd first arrived in the Colonies, twenty-one had seemed a distant - and somewhat negligible - milestone. Given all that had happened since the war had begun, the ever-looming future seemed too great a thing to ponder and had been easy to ignore. But...James had just passed his eighteenth birthday the week before, which meant he was now a mere three years from fulfilling his contract. What would he do in three years' time? Would he stay here in Philadelphia? Or would he go elsewhere to seek his fortune? What does it matter? some snide part of her countered. It's not as if you will still be here by then. She swallowed against a tightening throat, needing a change of topic. "Why do you ask?"
"Curious, mostly." Sarah turned to look at her as she stopped walking, scratching her head. "James is an odd one."
"Odd how?" Sybil met her gaze, eyes sparkling with mirth.
"I'm sure you know, seeing as how you've lived with him for a few years. He's..." She gestured around her. "Different."
"I'm sorry," Sarah laughed as unease worked its way into her belly again. "I am not sure what you mean."
"Hard to understand, I suppose." She sighed, eyes moving to watch Henri. "But nice, to be sure. If not a bit headstrong. A bit handsome too, don't you think?" Sarah froze, stomach suddenly clenching.
"Ah. Well. Ha..." She cleared her throat and popped a candy in her mouth to buy her a few seconds of time. "He's..."
"Come now." Sybil smiled, jerking her head sideways. "We are not in the company of the men. You may speak freely."
"James is a...a good friend," she managed, cheeks warming as Sybil giggled. But the sound of it annoyed her, now struck with the notion that Sybil was...testing her in some way. She spoke without thinking. "Why? Do you fancy him?"
"Fancy him?" Her eyes widened before she burst out laughing, loud and uproarious. Sarah balked at her, fidgeting nervously as Henri began to make his way back toward them. "Oh my Lord. No. Never."
"Oh?" Her heart soared but she kept her voice even. "I thought you said he was handsome?"
"He is, to be sure. But I speak only as an observer, as one might with a nice painting." Henri appeared, hand already extended for another sweet. "But as a suitor? Surely not."
"May I ask why?" The unpleasant memory of a similar conversation with Mrs. Radcliffe tugged at her heart; it felt rather like there was an insult hidden somewhere between the words.
"Well, because." She shrugged. "James is a coward." Sarah froze as Henri took the bag from her hands, happily digging in.
"A...a coward?" She shook her head as Sybil's eyes moved to meet hers. "How?"
"We are in the middle of a war, Sarah." She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, almost sounding bored. "A war in which countless men have offered their time, and their very lives, to fight for their country and for our freedom. James is an able young man but chooses to wield a pencil instead of a rifle." She shrugged again. "I find his preference for safety both selfish and cowardly, given how passionate he is for the cause. Neither I nor my father would ever allow such a man to court me."
"I beg your pardon, Ms. Ludington," she said as an angry heat began building behind her ribs. "But your quick assessment of my friend is egregious. I assure you, he is anything but a coward."
"You think so?" Sybil squinted, the hint of a smile on her lips. "What would you call a man who refuses to fight, then?"
"A man who refuses to fight is a coward. A man who chooses to wield a pencil, as you say, as James does, has merely chosen a different means of warfare." Sybil began laughing again but the sound of it enraged her this time. How dare she? What right did she have to say such things?
"I am afraid this is something we disagree on, Sarah," Sybil replied, sounding infuriatingly indifferent. "James is a nice fellow, but he is hiding from his duty. Writing about the war will not win it."
"This from the woman he wrote a lovely piece on, describing you as one of the unsung heroes of the Revolution?" Sarah stiffened, tilting her head in defiance. "I must say, if you felt so strongly about this, you should not have allowed him the honor of interviewing you."
"Well now I am curious: how does writing about me, or anyone else for that matter, do anything for the war effort?" Sybil's tone had changed toward something decidedly less friendly. "There are men out there dying, Sarah. Sacrificing all in the fight for freedom, for liberty."
"I am well aware," she began, but Sybil cut her off, face folding into a frown.
"Are you? My understanding is that you are loyal to old King George, which is your right. You will forgive me, but...you haven't any true stake in this war."
"Tell me, Ms. Ludington." She eyed her steadily as memory danced, fierce and quick. "Have you ever been on the field of battle? Have you ever had to cower beneath a hail of cannon fire, or watch as the men around you fell dead where they stood? Have you ever taken on the risk of imprisonment, or charges of sedition, simply because your name is printed alongside a news story? Indeed, have you ever partaken in any line of work that has posed such a danger not only to yourself, but also to those you care about?"
"Well..." Sybil stuttered. "No. I - "
"Well I have. And so has James, for that matter. In the course of this war, we have borne witness to atrocities neither of us had ever dreamt of, much less thought we would ever face. And James has put his life on the line more times that I can count, far more than I ever have, to ensure that every victory, as well as every loss, is delivered to a public that would remain otherwise oblivious to the exploits of their cause." Her voice rose, propriety now all but forgotten as her temper got the best of her. "You would disregard the efforts of the common writer, but I will have you know that it was a writer who penned your Declaration of Independence, and it was a writer who rallied exhausted troops back to your precious cause with the publication of his Common Sense. I might also add that my employer, who is highly regarded as the most brilliant scientist of our age, is also a writer and is currently employing those talents to persuade the French to join this fight - and without their support, your war is all but lost, Ms. Ludington. It seems to me a heavy burden to place on the shoulders of a talent you would so readily dismiss." The burn of her anger cooled into a hard lump, lodging in the back of her throat. "James is a writer, yes. But he is also a good man, a brave man, and is deserving of so much more than your snide derision. And as a potential suitor?" She leaned in close, spitting the words out. "One like you should be so lucky as to catch his eye."
For several, awkward seconds, the only sound that met her ears was the distant rattle of carriage wheels. Sybil had the decency to look contrite, but it was too little, too late now. "Sarah..."
"I am afraid the sun is making me dizzy." Sarah snatched the bag of candies from Henri, who was staring up at her wide-eyed. "I'm going back to the shop." She gathered her skirts and departed quickly, feeling both sets of eyes on her backside.
She didn't care, though. Despite her outburst, despite the most unladylike way she had behaved. She didn't care.
Not at all.
"So what happened earlier with you and Sybil?"
Sarah paused, the threaded needle in her right hand freezing in place upon her sampler. James' question had broken an otherwise pleasant silence, shared between him, herself, and Henri, all of whom had retired into the parlor following supper. James hadn't asked a single question earlier as to the sweets excursion and she'd been glad to put the entire day behind her. But now - with Henri sat on the floor begrudgingly practicing his longhand, she working on embroidery, and James reading - he chose to speak up. She cast a quick glance across the room at where he was sat in the old armchair, nestled beside an empty hearth; but his gaze remained steadfast on his book. Clearing her throat softly, she gently tugged the thread through her sampler. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
"When you returned earlier this afternoon, you retired to your room and did not come out until Sybil and her father had left." The sound of James snapping his book shut prompted a second glance in his direction. He was now eyeing her steadily, a teasing smile on his lips as he leaned forward. "It was apparent to all that you were avoiding us."
"Not avoiding, no." She shook her head as she moved the needle through again. "I did not feel very well after our walk was all."
"You seemed perfectly fine once they departed."
"I had a nap."
"That conveniently ended just as they left?"
"Yes."
"Sarah..."
Finally, she raised her head to meet his gaze. "Is it so unreasonable that I wanted to take a moment for myself?"
"No," he said with a rakish smile, "but I can tell you are lying to me."
"I beg your pardon?" She set her sampler down in her lap, suddenly edgy. "I am not lying to you, James."
"Sybil told me you had a disagreement and that you were cross with her." His tone was teasing but just picturing Sybil confiding in him after what she had said positively incensed her. "But she didn't say why."
"Well then why don't you go pick up a quill and write her a letter and ask her, since you two are such good friends?" She gestured behind her. "In fact, I will go get you some paper. Sit tight." She made to stand but James beat her to the punch, scrambling to his feet.
"Hey...what's this? Are you upset?" He moved closer until he was standing right over her, hands on his hips. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong," she said evenly, keenly aware that she was acting a fool yet was somehow unable to stop it.
"Yes there is. I can tell." He crouched down, leaning one arm upon the edge of the sofa, and something about the kindness in his eyes made her heart skip. "And if it is me, I would ask you tell me what I did so I may make amends."
"I am not cross with you, James." His eyes searched her face, questioning, so she softened her tone. "I'm not. I promise."
"Then what is the matter? What happened this afternoon?"
"Forget it, I beg of you. Nothing happened."
"Are you certain?" She didn't reply so he reached out and grabbed her gently by the wrist. "Look me in the eye and tell me nothing happened. And then I will leave it be." Damn you, James. She stared at him for a moment, struggling to find a response that was only further inhibited by the warm feel of his fingers on her skin.
"Sybil insulted you and Sarah defended you." Both of them froze at the sound of Henri's voice - she had honestly forgotten for a moment that he was there. "And if I know Sarah, she had to tuck 'erself away so as to avoid another outburst."
"Henri," Sarah hissed at the same time James said,
"What?" His eyes darted between her and Henri for a second before he stood, turning to face their young apprentice. "Are you in earnest?"
"Oui," Henri replied. Sarah shook her head no at him, which he pointedly ignored.
"What did she say?"
"Henri, don't." She stood quickly, sending him a warning through her gaze. James considered Sybil a friend. Telling him what she had said would be unnecessarily hurtful.
"She called you a coward." Sarah winced, digging her fingernails into her palms. Dammit, Henri! "Because you are choosing to write instead of fight in the war." Silence fell for a moment as she watched James' backside.
"That's it?" He turned and looked at her, a smile tugging at his lips. "That's all she said?"
"That's it," Sarah bit out, somewhat surprised at his reaction, but Henri kept going.
"She also said she would never consider you as a suitor either." Sarah threw her hands up, fixing him with a what is wrong with you? stare. "And that she would never want to be courted by someone like you." Henri scrunched his nose in thought. "She is not very nice, James."
"Well I'll be damned." Silence again; then James started laughing. Laughing.
"You find that amusing?" Sarah asked. He turned to look at her again, his face split wide with a grin.
"Of course I do. I've no interest in courting Sybil." Her traitorous heart warmed but she kept her face pulled into an unhappy smirk.
"I suppose she thought differently, given how well you two get on."
James laughed again. "Be that as it may, she is simply...not of interest to me. Not in that way. Not in the slightest."
"Good," Henri piped in. "Because you are anything but a coward, James!"
"Thank you, Henri." His eyes found hers again and she did not miss the way they softened as he beheld her. "Though I suppose I should be thanking you for so gallantly defending me."
"Oh hush," she began to say but then -
"What did Sarah say, Henri?" His smile widened as he asked the question, though he never took his eyes off of her.
"Enough of this. Honestly. Henri," she snapped, pointing a finger at him. "Not another word."
"She likened you to Thomas Paine," Henri said cheekily. "And that Sybil should be so lucky to catch the attention of one like you."
"Is that so?" Her cheeks flamed hot beneath James' piercing gaze, heart now stuttering out a nervous beat. "Can it be I've made my way into the good graces of Ms. Phillips?"
"I'm suddenly quite tired," she said quickly. "I think I shall away to bed."
"Ah, ah now - wait a moment." He reached out and took her by the hand, startling her, then dramatically dropped to his knees as he placed his free hand over his heart. "Your ladyship has done me a great service and I am now indebted to you, most assuredly."
"You can repay that debt by getting up off the floor," she huffed as Henri began giggling.
"Nonsense. You have defended my honor and proven demonstrable character by then refusing to tell me of your good deed. You are what the French would call...eh..." He waved his hand around. "Henri, help me out here."
"Un joyau parmi les pierres," the young boy said. She spoke enough French to understand his meaning, but James looked completely clueless.
"Right. What he said." He grinned at her. "As long as it was nice, that is."
"It was plenty nice. Now get up," she replied drily, hoping he couldn't hear the nervous tremor in her voice.
"As the lady commands," James laughed, quickly moving back up to his feet. Silence descended upon them all, but it somehow did not feel as awkward with James searching her face as he was.
And, she was just realizing - still holding onto her hand.
"You needn't worry about Sybil," he continued. "I respect her greatly, but we do not see eye to eye when it comes to enlisting. She made that clear from the very first day. And besides..." His fingers gently squeezed her own, voice dropping. "I made a promise to wait awhile before considering that again anyway."
"I just..." She swallowed, thinking back to the mocking tenor of Sybil's laugh. "I do not like it when anyone speaks ill of you." He smiled, genuinely this time.
"Because that's your job, right?" She tsked, jabbing him in the shoulder.
"You may not be a coward, James," she tittered, "but you are a menace and a scoundrel."
"Well be that as it may," he said lightly, "I am heartened to know of your loyalty. It is..." His voice dropped as he appeared to think on it, his fingers slowly playing over hers. "It is of great worth to me to have you as my friend, Sarah." And before she could reply, he lifted her hand up. Looked at her a moment, smiling softly.
Then bent down and pressed his lips to her hand in a gentle kiss.
The air left her lungs in one stunned exhale. All at once, it felt as if her body were the key at the end of Dr. Franklin's kite string - all aglow and thoroughly electrified by the mysterious energy now coursing through it. She couldn't breathe, nor think, nor make sense of how she could simultaneously be floating ten feet off the floor while also remaining firmly, and steadfastly, upon it.
What was this effect he had on her?
"What are you doing?" Henri's horrified voice sullied the moment, effectively breaking the spell as James released her. She laughed nervously as he straightened, winking at her, before turning his attention back to Henri.
"Thanking Sarah for her kindness," he said smoothly. "Which I'm afraid I cannot say about you, you little puck."
"Hey, I saved you candy, you know!"
"Duly noted." James' eyes slid back toward her. "Give us a moment, Henri."
"But I -"
"Here." James produced the bag of uneaten sweets from his pocket, shaking them teasingly. "These are yours, but only if you run along."
"Say no more," the boy grinned. He snatched the candies and bolted from the room, his writing left forgotten on the floor. James shoved his hands in his pockets, studying her again; then suddenly cut in with,
"I meant what I said, you know."
"Oh?" Sarah folded her arms across her chest, certain he could see the insistent hammer of her heart. "About what?"
"About my gratitude." His eyes shone a warm blue as he looked at her. "I know I often tease you, but I am in earnest about this. Your..." He exhaled softly through his lips. "...friendship. And your kindness. It means...a lot to me."
"Well." She could feel a blush rising into her cheeks again as she cleared her throat. "Think nothing of it. Anyone would have done the same."
"Not you, though." She paused, tossing him a frown.
"I beg your pardon?"
"What I mean is," he said, chuckling, "there was once a time where you would not have felt a need to defend me."
"Just as there was once a time I would have smacked you for that comment," she retorted, which only made him laugh harder.
"Or," he shrugged. "Elbowed me in the stomach." A slow smile crept up his cheeks as he stepped just a bit closer. "But that's rather my point."
She fought to keep her voice steady. "In that you are impressed by my sudden change of heart?"
"In that you have my full trust, Sarah," he said softly, the sound of which sent a shudder down her spine. "And that I find you most...extraordinary." Good gracious. Good gracious, was he leaning in toward her or was she just imagining...?
"For what it's worth," she found herself saying, matching his tone. "Your friendship means a lot to me, too."
"Is that what this is?" His gaze traveled down her face, lingering for just one moment too long on her lips before darting back up to meet her eyes. He smiled and it was as soft as his voice. "Friendship?" Oh - Lord have mercy.
Was he flirting with her?
"James!" Moses' voice burst from down in the shop, snapping the both of them out of - out of whatever this was. "I need you a moment!"
"Goodness," she breathed, running a nervous hand over her arm. "It sounds like Moses needs you." His eyebrows shot up.
"Sod Moses. He can wait a moment." But even as he said it, he was laughing - which in turn made her laugh too.
"Go," she laughed, shoving him against the shoulder. "Duty calls, Mr. Hiller." He raised his hands in mock surrender, turning 'round to face her as he slowly backed out of the room; but he paused at the doorway, eyes dancing with something she couldn't quite identify.
"Did..." His voice faltered and the sound of it sent her heart scurrying again. "Did you really tell Sybil she would be fortunate to catch my attention?"
"Yes." The smile he gave her felt enough to brighten the entire room, prompting her to candor. "You would make a fine suitor, James. For anyone." His voice dropped low again.
"Anyone?"
Warmth flared in her chest. "Anyone."
"James!" Moses bellowed, eliciting an exasperated sigh from said apprentice.
"God almighty, his timing is shite." He pointed at her, grinning. "Don't go anywhere. I will return."
But he didn't. By virtue of God's hand or fate's indiscriminate timing, James was preoccupied with Moses for the rest of the evening. Not that she waited for him, of course; there was still her embroidery to be finished. Then a book to read. And then another, until her candles burned down to stumps and she felt silly for having read for so long. It struck her then and in the days to come that such conversations required both time and circumstance to align just so; and though she longed for a continuation, there just never seemed a good time to bring it all up again.
Still, though. In those few moments where she stood alone in the parlor, the echo of James' words warming through her like rum, she couldn't help the giggle that made its way past her lips. She was light as air and fully contented and oddly, felt no compulsion to question why. Instead she basked in it, settling back down on the sofa with a pleasantly thudding heart and an intent to finish her embroidery. But upon scooping up her sampler once more, she found herself distracted by the skin on the back of her hand, still tingling from the remembered sensation of James' lips upon it.
And along with it, the sudden, staggering vision of what it would have felt like if James had kissed her on the lips instead.
I took a few liberties with this chapter. Benedict Arnold actually DID attempt to resign in July of 1777, but George Washington was like yeah...no. Kinda makes you wonder how differently history could have played out if he had accepted it.
The validity behind Sybil Ludington's midnight ride has actually been contested by modern historians. There's a myriad of reasons for this and though I understand WHY, I'm still choosing to believe that it happened.
I doubt that Sybil and her father would ever have had the need to "pass through" Philadelphia, especially since Colonel Ludington was associated with George Washington's spy ring in New York. But hey - she needed to make a reappearance somehow.
Did they have sweet shops in the 18th century?