Of Parchment and Saltwater

Chapter 4

I woke up screaming, and hushed voices quieted as my eyes flew open. Robert was sitting across from me and James Rivington was occupying the seat beside him, looking startled but compassionate as I recovered from my nightmare.
"Louisa Tallmadge, this is my partner, Mr. Rivington. I believe you have met before, although not formally."
I sat up on the chaise lounge I'd fallen asleep on and nodded to the man with a small smile, unsure of what was going on.
"Ah, yes," I replied cooly, "you were the one who published that endearing poem about me back in October. I enjoyed it immensely."
Robert shot me a glance but the white-haired man laughed jovially, seemingly entertained by my sarcasm. I could not for the life of me understand why Robert would bring him here to meet me, especially in the middle of the night like this. He was a loyalist, and a slanderous one at that.
     "I sincerely apologize, Mrs. Tallmadge, for any dishonor or humiliation that caused you. But I must publish sentiments loyal to the King in my Gazette and that was sent to me that very night...I certainly didn't know that you were the same woman who came here looking for Mister Townsend all those months before. Or that I would ever meet you again...like this."
I looked down sheepishly at my breeches and waistcoat and back at Robert, begging him with my eyes to explain himself.
     "Mister Rivington has offered you use of his carriage to ride back to Connecticut, if you so desire. Along the way, I would like it if you could provide safe delivery of a few messages to Long Island from us."
     I smirked and rolled my eyes knowingly at Robert. Of course it had something to do with intelligence.
     "Mr. Rivington," I quipped, "I don't mean to pry but you are well known by everyone to be the quintessential loyal King's man. At the most critical point in our fight for freedom, a false double agent will be catastrophic in destroying the hope we have of winning. Mr. Townsend obviously trusts you; why do you believe I should trust you?"
     The two men exchanged glances and I stood up, pulling away the curtains on the window to reveal a starry midnight sky.
     "Louisa," Robert explained, "many of the letters sent to Washington from New York have been made possible by this man's assistance. He has sent intelligence bound in the covers of books, inside the packages of British officials, right under the noses of everyone in the colonies. He's on our side, Lou. Trust me. We need this report sent to Culper before it goes to Washington. Please."
     I sighed and sat back down after a turn around the room. "Even of I was as confident as you are, I'm not even a part of this fight anymore. You know that. I'm not my alias Henry Wadsworth, not Agent 270, not Washington's courier; nothing. The only thing Washington has written to me about since Yorktown was Benjamin's capture. He doesn't want my help."
     Rivington looked between the two of us awkwardly and Robert sat back in his chair. "I see. Just because the General has given up on you, that make you eligible to give up on the rest of us? I know you miss Benjamin, Louisa, I understand that more than you can fathom. But Abe and I have been risking our lives to keep this spy ring alive until there are no more Tories to fight against. Can't you see how close the end is? If you won't do it for the sake of the spy ring, do it for Major Tallmadge. This may very well be the last report I ever need to send to Washington's camp."
I stared intently at him before holding out my hand in resignation. Confused, he took it and kissed it. I laughed and exclaimed, "I want you to give me the letter, you dull-swift!"
     "Oh," He said softly, pressing the sealed parchment into my hand with a wink. I scoffed and pocketed it, a wry smile on my face. James Rivington looked bewildered at the exchange.
     "You're lucky I need that carriage ride back to Connecticut," I said, shaking my finger at him and pouring myself a cup of coffee.
     "And you're lucky I'm offering, Miss Louisa Always-Arguing-Adams."

The next morning, after stopping by the mantua-maker's shop on Mercer Street to buy some more suitable, feminine clothes for me, Robert escorted me to the waiting carriage near the harbor.
"Thank you," I said softly, swatting away a bug and clutching his letters in the other hand.
     "No, Louisa, thank you. I'm so sorry about everything that's happened to you. And I'm sorry that I'm unable to fix any of it. You are one of a kind, Mrs. Tallmadge and I hope everything works out for you."
     As I passed the Jersey as it was pulling up the gangway and sailing away from the dock, I put my handkerchief to my mouth to keep myself from sobbing out loud.
     With every second that passed, Benjamin was growing weaker and sicker and closer to death and I was becoming more and more helpless to stop it all.
     The short ride to Setauket was miserably hot and even more unbearable for my emotions, but I attempted to entertain myself with the trim and silk of my new French gown, which was much more luxurious than the plain gowns they offered in the Litchfield shop.
     Perhaps, before the death of my family and the loss of their estate, I would have looked down upon anyone wearing less expensive clothing than this. Now it was a novelty and I liked it better that way. My old self was pompous and proud and selfish-I still retained some of that terrible attitude and Benjamin had seen it firsthand many times. But I was wiser.
     The trivial matters discussed over tea in Litchfield made me rage inside, knowing that I had seen men lose everything and had lost quite a bit myself. Each time, I had to stop myself from the toxic thought, they know nothing and I'm better than them.
     Benjamin and I had spoken about it many times and we had come to the conclusion that we could not blame them or hate them. They hadn't walked where we'd walked, seen the horrors we had, experienced the same terrible traumas that were a simple part of life for us. It wasn't their fault, and it certainly didn't make us saints because of what we knew.
     In Setauket, I restrained myself from visiting Benjamin's family, although we passed right by their house. I just couldn't bear the thought of trying to console his family when I was just as broken and angry and torn apart as them.
     Instead, I went straight to Abraham Woodhull's house and knocked calmly on the door, as if I was simply there to call on his wife for tea.
     "Mrs. Tallmadge?" Mary cried as she opened the door, bringing me inside hurriedly, "You have got to be joking. And your hair is dreadfully short!"
     I smiled and seated myself at the small table in the kitchen. She knew about much of her husband's correspondence and was willing to tolerate it to a certain extent, mostly because she was powerless to stop him. But she was still loyal to the King and let me know it, although we were still friends.
     "Special delivery."
     "You can't be here, Louisa. The whole town heard about your wedding to Major Tallmadge and if Major Hewlett or the magistrate find out that his wife is back and visiting us, we will be ruined. And Captain Simcoe is scheduled to return any moment now. Please, just because I know what my husband is doing, doesn't mean I agree with it. And I'm certainly not willing to risk my life for a rebellion I don't even believe in."
     I rolled my eyes. "Nobody knows I'm here but you. The sooner you bring Abe here so I can give him this letter, the sooner I'll be out of your way, dear Mary. Hewlett and Simcoe will be running back to England any day now; you needn't worry about them."
     She sighed, picked up her petticoats, and ran up the stairs, calling for Abraham to come quickly. He did, carrying little Thomas asleep on his shoulder.
     "Ah," he said, "what do I owe this pleasure, Mister Wadsworth?"
     "I'm not that anymore, Abe. Just Louisa. This is good news from Robert, though."
     He took it with the hand not holding his son and broke the seal with his teeth, looking quizzically at me before reading it.
     "An evacuation of New York?"
     "He seems to think so. Do you disagree?" He shook his head and shrugged as Thomas began to wake up.
     "Major Hewlett hasn't said much to me, or anybody, recently. He has mentioned how frustrated he is that Simcoe is returning, although I doubt that has anything to do with York City. Captain Simcoe is like a parasite to the British army, so I doubt they've entrusted him with any important news or orders. But I'll complete the report and send it with Caleb either way. Thank you so much."
     "Do you think Simcoe will come today? I certainly wouldn't enjoy passing him on the road home tonight."
     Jus then, there was a firm knock on the door and I sprung to my feet, looking to Abe with wide eyes.
     "Closet," he whispered, pointing to an open storage closet along the stairwell, "Now." He set Thomas in the cradle and covered him with a blanket. I grabbed Robert's letter from the table and hurried away, hoping desperately that I hadn't caused trouble for them.
     "Mister Woodhull! How pleasant to see you again." My heart dropped. It was Simcoe.
     "Captain," Abraham said, obviously as stunned as I was, "What brings you here?"
     "Oh, nothing much, I assure you. But at the sight of a beautiful carriage being put into your stable, I knew I just had to meet the visitor it belongs to. The driver was quite amicable; he said it was a woman from New York City. Now, where can I meet this woman?"
     I felt ready to throw up, and I clutched the letter with trembling fingers. If that foolish carriage driver had given him a description of my appearance, Simcoe would most likely be able to discern that it was me.
     "I apologize, Captain," Abraham said calmly, "but she has already left. She was a merchant's daughter attempting to bring her ill father out of debt by selling some belongings. I regretfully declined and recommended that she visit my father at Whitehall, since it is such a short walk, and offered to store her carriage while she was gone. Perhaps, if you ride fast enough, you could catch her in time if you truly want to meet her."
     His storytelling abilities astounded me, but I wasn't sure if Simcoe would even consider it. If he believed that I or any other spy of Washington was in the house, he wouldn't leave until he was victorious.
     "Oh yes," Simcoe crooned, "I believe I passed a woman with brown hair and a green gown—en fourreau style, I️ believe. That must have been her, yes?"
     I swallowed hard. He was attempting to trick Abe into agreeing with the description opposite the one the driver had given him of me, in order to trap him in a lie.
     "Hmm...I don't think so. This woman had golden hair with a green quilted petticoat and wore an Italian gown. It must have been someone else you saw."
     Breathing a silent sigh of relief, I thanked God for his astuteness, however frustrating it normally was.
     "Do you mind if I take a look around, Mr. Woodhull? It has been far too long since your wife and I last met and I'd love to take a tour of your beautiful home."
     I heard Abraham scoff. "Maybe some other time, Captain, Thomas has a fever. Let me help you onto your horse and-"
     "I am not in need of your assistance. Alright then, I will be back soon. Good day."
     The door shut behind him but my hands began to shake even more. The words were almost identical to the ones said the day my family was murdered. That day, they had put me at a misguided ease but today, I knew how deadly of a lie it was.
Abraham opened the door and said, "He's gone, Louisa. Come on, we've got to get-"
"No, no, no, Abe, I can't. He's coming back, I know it," I grew more and more hysterical as he tried to guide me out of the closet and I fought hard, pressing myself against the wall to hide from the gunshot I knew was coming.
"Louisa, I just saw him ride away. You're safe."
I shook my head and tried to form the words to no avail. "I can't do this again, Abraham, I can't! Please, he's going to kill us! You don't understand..."
He took my face in his hands and asked, "Does this have something to do with Ben?" I shook my head and sobbed into his chest, unable to shake the picture of John André and his soldiers in my parlor, my family dead on the floor below them.
     "Listen, Louisa, listen to me," he said, holding me still, "I promise that you're safe. Do you trust me? You must calm down."
    I wept, "I'm sorry, Abe, I'm so sorry. I forget myself....it's just...I'm sorry."
     "Hey, you don't have to apologize," he breathed, leading me out of my hiding place, "I know you've endured so much. But don't worry, alright? You still have people that care about you and want to protect you. You are safe."
I put my shaking hands on his and stammered, "I just...I'm a bit traumatized by everything, I admit. But you mustn't worry about me, I'll go out to get the carriage now and leave before Simcoe comes back. Thank you, Abraham."
     He grabbed my arm as I headed towards the door. "Wait here. I'll bring the carriage around the back of the house for you."
     Within a few minutes, I was inside the carriage and safely on my way to Connecticut, trying to forget about the agonizing moment when I heard the bullet shatter the window of my family's house and my innocence simultaneously.
It seemed as though my life was destined to be full of misery and heartbreak. Inescapable struggle and terrifying sorrow seemed to be at every turn in my young life. I was a twenty-three year old soon-to-be widow.
     Arriving very early the next morning in Litchfield, Mary ran out to greet me, holding a lantern to fight the darkness.
     One look at me told her what she needed to know, and she silently helped me inside and into the kitchen.
     "You didn't see Benjamin?"
     I blinked back tears. "I saw him. He's dying, Mary. Deathly ill. How much," I asked softly, "do you know about scurvy?"
     "Scurvy," she repeated, her countenance falling, Mr. Tallmadge has scurvy?"
     I nodded and she bit her lip. "I was brought here from Africa when I was twelve with my older brother. Many of the slaves, including my brother, had some kind of sickness. Looking back and reading more about such things, I'd always believed he died of scurvy. I'm—I'm so sorry, Louisa. That certainly doesn't mean that Mr. Tallmadge will die; he's probably being kept in better care than we were on the slave ship. Don't lose hope."
     The fire in the stove crackled and settled, the only noise in the room as I tried to process what I had just learned. "What were your brother's...symptoms?"
     Mary looked down at her hands in her lap. "I don't think I should be saying this to you, dear Louisa. You don't want to hear it."
     I took her hand in mine and pulled her close, breathing, "Please. Just tell me how long your brother lived before dying of scurvy."
     "Two and a half months, I believe. But it may have been longer, I don't remember much."
Two and a half months, I repeated the words silently over my lips and tried not to cry again.

Hey guys ITS BEEN SO LONG THANKS FOR STICKIN IT OUT SORRY SORRY SORRY BUT HAITI WAS AMAZING AND GOD WORKED IN SO MANY WAYS XOXO