TEARS OF THE FOOT GUARDS

ALLEGRO - STAVE XVI

S T A V E

XVI

25th December, 1776

Obedience smiled – to cook in a kitchen: cranes and spits in an open hearth, fatback crackling, a roasting hen turning, pots bubbling with chowdered corn and in the beehive, Indian Pudding. The firebox, blackened since Cromwell's day, was the crowning jewel of the old stone manse – the generations that tended it, having birthed and died and never knew England. And the kitchen larger than the flat on Old Pye; she could sit in a chair, she could stir without bending; no earthen oven to share, but a fine house with a fine barn and numerous outbuildings for her first American winter. Killer that it is: frostbite, the flux, la grip. Surer than a musket ball; most burst their hearts from the coughing. Though occasionally a wife might succumb from a drunken husband . . . but also him from her as well to be honest. Obedience feared all but the last; Geordie proved a kind soul, a lucky catch – lucky so far. And lucky again when they cantoned here, in Middlebrook, a fine New Jersey village.

They had married last week, going into winter quarters. The license procured from the local parish and the ceremony performed by the brigade chaplain, Reverend Mr. Cooke, in the barn. The Company witnessed, standing about the stalls and lofts, and Mr. Cooke, mono-chromatic in black with white tabs: ". . . the mystical Union that is betwixt Christ and His Church: which holy State Christ adourned and beautified with His Presence and first miracle that He wrought in Galilee . . . commended to be honourable among Men, and therefore is not to be enterprised, nor taken in hand unadvisedly, lightly or wantonly, to satisfy men's carnal lusts and appetites like brute beasts that have no understanding; but reverently, discretely, advisedly, soberly, and in the Fear of God . . ." God, yes, yes, God . . . What's He got to do with it? About them in the candlelight the soft cardinal red, everyone watching, all her life, people watching. How'd she come to this? "You needn't fear, madam," Captain Leigh had inclined toward her, "Private MacEachran is of good character." Good character? Is anyone? Bolt. Run – back to Old Pye, back 'round Birdcage Walk – and sing 'til you're noticed – a businessman, an officer, wring 'em and toss 'em when done as becomes a great lady . . . She stared at Geordie. Companionable . . . Under the sycamore – his big cock . . . while it lasted . . . but he loves. Loves what? No Smithfield bargain . . . The fool's a romantic. But there – Grace on her husband's arm. Jaruesha and Tom Tree a breath a part. About the barn faces with Elliot in the shadows, gripping a post with a vice-like hand. She knew that hand, the feel of it. She then considered Geordie – I know you too . . . from somewhere. Her voice: "I will." His voice: "I will." Applause. The fifers played a jolly tune and the newlyweds danced to a clapping rhythm. All danced, the walls resounding, the plank floors shaking. She surrendered to his hand and the world felt safer. Elliot fled. Good riddance. They slept on a bed of hay in the midst of the Company, spooning and nothing else. No place to steal away. No sycamore to shelter.

And a good thing, she now thought, standing in the warm kitchen. A year ago, on Old Pye, could she've imagined herself here with a new husband? Where might she be Christmas next year? In London? In a far better flat than she'd ever known? So she hoped. MacEachran would go far, a man of good character – a sergeant's sash – 1 & 10 per day. . . That he outlast the war . . . Billy didn't – didn't make it through the start . . .

She scratched flour off her nose, flour to make Christmas bread. Lemuel Burch, their landlord, allowed them the kitchen this day, and glad to do it, happy to be free from the rebel army from whom he received nothing, not like the Commissary General who paid him for the grenadier company to be lodged in his barns. The war almost over. New Jersey is British once more; Americans here amiable. Indeed, Burch said if the women make it for the household, they could make some for themselves. That's richness. No wormy meal from the victual ship; Burch had secured better. As he should, he's paid enough. And what the Company was not provided, they'd have to forage, and from whom would that be but the local farmers. No, better to provide and provide generously, especially this Day, a day for Good Feeling, Generosity, Heartfelt Display. The women thanked him, to which he replied he could do nothing less – God bless the King and the Soldiers of his Country.