The Cautious Siege: A Novel of the American Revolution

By S. D. Banks

Against the backdrop of the Siege of Boston, The Cautious Siege is a sweeping tale of adventure, triumph and tragedy, friendship and love.

Returning from Transcendent Loyalties, Anna Somerset, Daniel Garrett, and Drummond Fisackerly continue to navigate through the turbulence of a rebellion that is fast becoming a revolution.

It is late 1775, and newly appointed General George Washington is laying siege to Boston. In addition to the difficult task of keeping the British bottled up in the city—and, hopefully, driving them out of the colonies altogether—Washington must find a way to shape myriad and disparate militia units into a functioning Continental Army.

To successfully tighten the noose on the British, Washington needs artillery. His only hope, a stockpile of artillery pieces at recently captured Fort Ticonderoga, is a slim hope; hundreds of miles of obstacles stand between the distant fort and the Continental Army at Boston. When a brilliant young bookseller named Henry Knox devises a scheme for retrieving the guns, Drum—with his phenomenal size and strength—is an obvious choice for Knox's team and, against Daniel's objections, becomes a willing part of the mission.

Another of Washington's most valuable officers, Nathaniel Greene, has other plans for Daniel. Raiders masquerading as militiamen have been terrorizing local farms, and Washington wants it stopped. Greene sees in Daniel—whose somewhat nefarious reputation has followed him like a shadow into Washington's camp—as the perfect man for the job. Daniel's search takes a perilous turn, however, when a murder committed by one of the gang members has a young boy as its sole witness. Now Daniel must keep the boy safe and find the killer before he strikes again.

Within besieged Boston, Anna is dealing with far more personal battles. Countless loyalists have sought out British protection inside the city, and Anna's uncle has opened his house to one such refugee family. In coping with the crowded living conditions and more mouths to feed, Anna must find a way through the severe food shortages that plague the city—along with a rampaging smallpox epidemic.

From every side, Anna, Daniel, and Drum are as besieged as the town of Boston. To not only survive, but thrive, they will need the hope of love, the strength of friendship, and the courage to be found within each of their hearts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543967241

Book preview

Also by S. D. Banks

Transcendent Loyalties

This book is a work of fiction. Aside from well-known historical persons and events, the characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance of those fictional events and characters to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover background photo by Stacy Rosenbloom of

Stā-Kind Photography, Boston, MA

Cover painting by Christine Hodges

Copyright © 2019 S. D. Banks

All rights reserved

ISBN: 9781543967241

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Friends and Family

With love and appreciation for your support

The Cautious Siege

Contents

Map – Siege of Boston

Prologue

1775

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

1776

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

Chapter sixteen

Chapter seventeen

Epilogue

Map – Siege of Boston

1775-1776

(Not to Scale)

Prologue

In the summer of 1775, when newly appointed General George Washington arrived in Cambridge, he was surprised to find that the makings of what was to be transformed into his Continental Army had managed to start the war without him and now held Boston under siege. The bloody battle on the Charlestown Peninsula, which was a dubious victory for the British, left the colonial militias inflated with pride over their own odd sense of victory. They stood firm in the face of the British assault, after all, something many had thought could not be done. The British lost almost half of their forces that day and, had the militiamen not run out of ammunition, might have been repulsed altogether. Though he conceded those points, it astonished Washington that the militia officers seemed to turn a blind eye to the lack of organization that had led to the men being without food, water, or ammunition, and he risked making himself unpopular when he moved imposition of organization on his new army to the top of his priority list.

For the British, the excessive cost of the victory engendered significant political fallout. Of immediate notice to Bostonians was the fact that General Gage was recalled to London to be replaced by Lieutenant General Sir William Howe. In London, massive shakeups among the king’s advisors were capped by the replacement of the tentative Lord Dartmouth with a considerably more hawkish Lord George Germain as Secretary of State for the American colonies.

To the Loyalists sheltering in Boston, the force besieging their city appeared to be one massive gathering of men strung out along the surrounding hills. Immediately following the catastrophic events of Lexington and Concord, militias from all over Massachusetts had arrived, to be joined later—after the battle on Breed’s Hill and Bunker’s Hill—by militias from other colonies. They were there with the expressed purpose of keeping the British menace bottled up in Boston, and most were reluctant to expand on that imperative by abandoning their militia loyalties to join Washington’s Continental army.

The men’s reluctance to be reorganized was only one of Washington’s problems. Since his arrival shortly after the battle in June, the camps had deteriorated into fetid breeding grounds for every disease and condition that tended to accompany groups of men living in close-proximity and with little regard for sanitation or hygiene. Dysentery and worse struck hard and often, and the putrid odors of sickness mingled with the stink of unwashed men to form a cloud of rank air that was almost visible. Smallpox raged across Boston and threatened to decimate Washington’s thin wall of troops surrounding the city.

It was an odd situation, the two opposing armies facing one another across the space of little more than a mile, a proximity that afforded each army a clear, panoramic view of the other. Sentries on both sides were easy to spot, and pot shots were sporadically taken from both sides as a result. At night, the British would occasionally lob various missiles over Patriot heads. The missiles rarely did any real damage, and once the men had become accustomed to the sight and sound, they found entertainment in the bright, shooting-star phenomenon. Yet, without artillery of their own, the colonial forces were unable to repay the British demonstration in kind.

In General George Washington’s view, the rebellion was in serious danger of ending before it had hardly begun.

1775

Chapter one

Josiah Martin and Tinley Holmstead strode through the Continental army’s camp full of self-importance and just a twinge of trepidation. The sense of importance arose from the fact that their orders came from a member of General Charles Lee’s staff. The touch of trepidation stemmed from the nature of their errand. A spy had been caught, and the spy refused to talk to anyone but the man Martin and Holmstead had been dispatched to fetch. In the opinion of the two men, it seemed an odd thing to entertain the whim of a suspected spy, but they had decided between them that the fact of allowances having been made was due to the unusual nature of the particular spy in question.

How will we find our man among so many? Martin wondered aloud for perhaps the fifth time. No one knew exactly how many men were spread along the Patriot lines, though most guesses put the number in the thousands.

They said he’ll be easy enough to spot on account of his being uncommon tall. Holmstead was impatient, for Martin had persisted in asking worrisome questions ever since they embarked on their errand. And, I understand that just about anyone among General Ward’s men will be able to point him out.

What if he doesn’t want to come with us?

Holmstead shrugged. Why wouldn’t he?

Would you?  I mean, if a suspected spy asked for you by name, mightn’t you want to distance yourself from the matter?

Another shrug from Holmstead. Probably. But then, from what I’ve heard, this man doesn’t do much the way the rest of us might.

I’ve heard that, too. And it worries me. If he doesn’t want to come with us, I’m not eager to argue the point with him. The man has something of a reputation.

So he does, Holmstead agreed. His step faltered almost imperceptibly, and he hoped Martin had not noticed.

Most days of late, the sky hung heavy with clouds that portended snow. Even on this day, with a brightly sunlit sky overhead, the men felt the seeping chill as they tramped on, picking their way through General Ward’s crowded camp, passing small huddles of Massachusetts militia who had not yet agreed to give up their provincial allegiances to join General Washington’s Continental army. Ward’s command and the handful of militias formed the Continental’s right wing, tasked with securing access to and from the crucial neck of land that connected Boston to the mainland.

Martin and Holmstead covered their noses as they passed a hole that served as a crude latrine. Gadsbobs! Martin cried, casting a disparaging eye at their surroundings. Folks in Boston complain about the troublesomeness of this siege. At least they don’t have to put up with this. I never smelled anything so foul!"

Holmstead agreed. Everything in camp reeks. If we were allowed to have women in camp as the lobsterbacks do, we’d at least be able to enjoy clean clothes and bedding. I heard that General Greene has been telling his men to wash their own clothes. What kind of man would suggest such a thing?

It might be better than this, Martin muttered through the scarf he had drawn up around his mouth and nose. I know its women’s work; but it might be better to do it ourselves than to suffer the stench.

Before Holmstead could express his astonishment that Martin would entertain such an idea, he checked at the realization that they had wandered into a remote corner of Ward’s camp where they seemed to have become objects of rather pointed scrutiny. It was not unheard of for men who had run short of supplies to go foraging, and the sought-after supplies were often procured without the agreement of their rightful owner. Martin was on the verge of speaking up to announce their purpose and ask if anyone knew where they could find the man they sought when Holmstead elbowed him.

Look there, Holmstead said, pointing toward a lean-to some fifty paces distant. I think that’s him.

A young man was seated there on what was probably one of the few actual chairs in Ward’s entire camp, his long legs propped up on an upturned crate. He was indeed taller than most men, lean and muscular, with a shock of black hair and a shadow of stubble on his face. Sensing that he was being watched, the man turned his head to survey the two strangers, locking them in an appraising gaze. Although he watched their approach without moving a muscle, Holmstead and Martin would have wagered their lives that the stillness was an illusion—that he could be on his feet and ready to fight or flee in the blink of an eye; self-assurance and fearlessness rolled off him like a powerful storm rolling off the ocean. Their determination wavered for an instant, not because of what they’d heard about this young man, but because they would not have had to hear anything to know that he was a man who should be treated with caution.

They approached in the least-threatening manner they could manage, and Martin’s voice cracked slightly when he spoke. Daniel Garrett?

Scowling, the dark man nodded. I am. He did not move and showed neither welcome nor threat. Instead, he baldly studied his two unannounced visitors in a clear effort to size them up for relegation to the appropriate category. Friend or foe, threat or harmless, his mind seemed to spin quickly through a series of calculations before he moved even one muscle. Decision made, he got slowly to his feet, uncoiling his sinewy body and leveling them in the steady gaze of his startlingly blue eyes. I’m Daniel Garrett, he repeated. And, who might you two be? He listened patiently as Holmstead and Martin introduced themselves and then succinctly explained their mission. A spy? he probed, frowning. A spy who asked for me?  You’re certain about that?

The two men nodded affirmatively, their heads bobbing up and down in unison. Yes, sir. Over in General Lee’s camp.

I don’t know any spies. That wasn’t quite true; he knew several. But the spies he knew worked for General Washington, not the British.

Well, this one seems to know you, Martin assured him. And no matter how many questions they ask and for all their pains, General Lee’s staff can’t get anything more than a request to see you.

To the surprise of both Martin and Holmstead, Garrett met this bit of news with a mere shrug. I suppose we should go see what it’s all about, then. He picked up his rifle and gestured for them to lead the way. Let’s go.

The suspected spy was being held in a one-room outbuilding near the Roxbury Fort, which Daniel approached with more curiosity than apprehension. A guard stood at the door, and a small group of men huddled off to one side deeply engaged in what appeared to be a rather contentious conversation. They looked up as Daniel, escorted by Holmstead and Martin, approached, and one of the men broke off from the others. Daniel Garrett? he demanded as he met Daniel a few yards from the small building.

Daniel nodded. I am. Who are you? He was not accustomed to being asked to give his name without a name being offered in return, and he found what seemed to be a new trend in camp irritating.

Whitacre, the man replied curtly. Gabe Whitacre.

Whitacre, who was a foot shorter than Daniel, seemed determined not to smile or offer any of the generally requisite niceties. He had to tilt his head back to see Daniel’s face and, because Daniel felt irritated by Whitacre’s manner, he took a step closer to make it that much harder for Whitacre to meet his eye. What’s this all about then? Daniel scowled down at Whitacre. Why have I been made to come all this way?

We believe we have caught a spy, Whitacre snapped.

So I’ve been told. He noticed that some among the men remaining in the huddle appeared not to agree with Whitacre’s assessment of the situation, and he wondered if Whitacre was acting on his own accord, perhaps attempting to impress one of his superior officers by having caught a spy. I’ve also been told that this spy asked for me. But I don’t know any spies, so I suspect something is amiss.

Nothing’s amiss. We just need you to help us get information.

Glowering, muttering an indistinct malediction, Daniel brushed past and strode toward the building.

Wait, now! Whitacre scurried to keep up with Daniel’s long stride. These things must be handled with a certain amount of finesse, you know!

Do they? Daniel marched forward and, without waiting for either of the guards to open the door, brusquely barged into the small building. Once through the door, he pulled up so quickly that Whitacre collided with him from behind. Bloody hell! Daniel gaped across the small room at the person calmly perched upon an apple barrel like royalty on a throne. What in blazes are you doing here? he demanded.

Hello, Mr. Garrett. Hands folded demurely in her lap, Anna Somerset looked at him with the placidity of a lady at her leisure. In a fractional moment, his eyes took in the whole of her small frame, the ginger-tinged auburn hair glinting from beneath her cap, the spark of mischief in her eyes, and the intelligent face given warmth by her dimpled smile. If her specious detainment annoyed her, it did not show in the least, and Daniel half-suspected that she found the state of affairs somewhat amusing.

You do know her, then? Whitacre slipped in beside Daniel and, full of hope that his ticket to acclaim had arrived at last, stood facing the suspected spy. She’s a spy, then? He practically licked his lips in eagerness.

"No, you bloody fool. She is most certainly not a spy."

Whitacre, momentarily cowed by Daniel’s vehemence, could muster only a thin argument. But I’m told that her father is a well-known Tory!

Loyalist, Anna corrected disdainfully. I’ll have you speak respectfully of him. And he is my uncle, not my father.

Daniel shot a quelling look in Anna’s direction before turning back to Whitacre. Yes, her uncle is a Loyalist. Nonetheless, that does not make Miss Somerset a spy. When Whitacre opened his mouth to debate the point, Daniel snapped at him so forcefully that the hapless little man was compelled to step backward several paces. Off with you, Whitacre, he growled. Whatever you hoped to gain by netting a spy is not in the offing today. Next time, you might base your suspicions on something more sound than family connection.

He watched Whitacre leave, making certain the man was well gone before turning back to Anna. "What are you doing here?" The thought of her travelling from Boston to Roxbury—crossing the blockades at Boston Neck and subjecting herself to the unpleasantness of the Continental camp—appalled him.

Anna sighed. "Dr. Warren’s widow delivered two of his books to your mother. They are books Mrs. Warren thought you might like to have. I was attempting to deliver them to you, but your friend Mr. Whitacre confiscated them from me on the grounds that they might contain encoded messages. Why a spy would be carrying encoded Loyalist messages into the rebel camp is not clear to me, nevertheless that is apparently what he thought."

The man’s a proper beef-head. I’ll retrieve the books from him. He walked several paces forward, shortening the distance between them. But you did not need to bring them out here. My mother could have held them for me.

It was no matter. Anna shrugged indifferently. I was curious to see the infamous rebel camp for myself. The city is not the most pleasant of places these days; a jaunt into the countryside seemed a nice respite. Besides, you come into Boston so seldom and, even when you do, we don’t always actually see you.

One corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smile. Had she missed him?  You know the difficulties I face in slipping past the blockades around Boston and dodging the patrols and pressgangs that roam the city’s streets. My fate, if caught by one of the patrols, would likely be a summary hanging. Not a happy thought. Nor do I want to end up serving on a British ship, which would be the likely outcome of an encounter with a pressgang. Not even your uncle could save me from either fate. And yet, I have taken the risk from time to time.

I know you have. That was unfair of me. Certainly, we are grateful for the birds and other wild game you deliver to our back door. Thanks in large measure to the efforts of rebel pirates—

They are privateers, operating under valid letters of marque—

Nevertheless, most of Boston has been reduced to salted pork or salted fish and dried peas, and many have almost no food at all these days—

And yet, the admiral of the king’s navy reportedly sits on his ship, fat and happy, while he enjoys every sort of delicacy delivered to him from the West Indies.

She paused to regroup. If you would cease your argumentativeness, I was attempting to say that your efforts to supplement our meager diet are appreciated. My uncle’s house is brimming with refugees at the moment. Feeding them has become quite the challenge.

Any one of those refugees would cheerfully hand me over to the British. Can you truly wonder why my visits are mostly limited to a quick word with your cook? He left unsaid the amount of restraint it took for him to avoid seeking out additional contact with her.

I wonder if that is the only reason we have scarce seen you. Your mother worries that you think we hold you personally responsible for the deprivations and inconveniences we now suffer.

Don’t you hold me responsible?

No. Her voice was firm and level. We are thinking people, after all, and capable of distinguishing between the general and the particular.

Aside from blaming me for the successes of the Continental privateers.

I was not blaming you personally. I blame this rebellion in general. I can hardly hold you responsible for all of it.

He laughed. In that case, you have grown considerably from the girl who once blamed me for all things related to political unrest as well as for her banishment to London. When a sharp look countered the jest, he amended his tone and moved a few steps closer. You seem much improved since last I saw you. It was over a month since he’d last visited her and, at that time, she had not yet fully recovered from the assault that had almost taken her life. The thought was still a painful memory for him.

A bit of soreness lingers. She shrugged, dismissive of the matter. But I can walk without assistance, and my scars fade. All things considered, I believe it is a most satisfactory outcome.

Undeniably. Like steel to a magnet, he moved several paces closer to her. It would be such a simple thing to give in to the desire to drop his well-guarded façade; an impulse checked by his unwillingness to destroy the easy, uncomplicated way she had of being with him. Anna had ever only thought of him as a friend, and it was best that she continue in ignorance of his much stronger feelings toward her. Reminding himself of that fact did little to ease the tight fist of tension gripping his heart. You have seen my mother?  She is well?

As well as can be expected in someone tasked with such a terrible burden.

I’m glad she has your support, and glad that she has your uncle’s house to return to. Mr. Wilton has been exceedingly kind to allow her to stay in your home until her own can be rebuilt.

He would not see it as kindness but as selfishness on his own part. He takes immense pleasure in her company, as do I.

He could manage only a muttered response, for he had become lost in the sensation of having her so near. A protracted silence settled upon them and then was broken by a statement she seemed to have randomly plucked from the air. Drum came to see me.

Oh? He blinked, taken aback by the abrupt announcement.

Yes. I surmised that you have taught him your tricks for slipping through the siege lines; he obviously did not have a pass. I chastised him for taking the risk and bid him not do so again. I feel rather sorry about that as he was quite abashed. He indicated that he is to be away for a long while. I had the sense that he was to embark on some adventure, and rather assumed it would be with you.

No. His mouth twisted with displeasure. That is, yes, he is to embark on an adventure, but it is very much without me or my blessing. Mr. Knox made a proposal that Drum found far more appealing than any of my objections could overcome.

If he is in Mr. Knox’s company, Drum will surely be safe.

Daniel doubted that Henry Knox or any of the men who were to undertake the dangerous journey would be safe. Suspecting that to say so might be to betray too much of the mission, he kept silent.

Drum is a grown man, Daniel, she reminded him. He must learn to get by in the world without your constant supervision. You may not always be at hand to look after him.

He shrugged, reluctant to think about the truth of such an eventuality. I know that, he allowed grudgingly. I just don’t think he should go along with this particular undertaking.

Anna laughed. You do dislike not having control, don’t you?

As if he’d not heard, his eyes dwelled fixedly upon her appearance. She had taken to wearing proper head covering, and he thought how much he preferred it when her hair was allowed to tumble about, unrestrained. Stop it! he told himself. Stop it before it’s too late. How did you manage a pass? he asked, his throat tight. I understood that they are not easily obtained. Are the redcoats so afraid that more Bostonians will flock to our cause?

Whatever the reason for their reticence, my uncle’s Loyalist standing and, I suspect, a well-placed bribe were enough to help me procure the necessary papers. Proper documentation or no, I must return to the city in time to reach home before curfew.

The streets are not safe for you to be out alone at any time.

I manage, she replied curtly. And, because my uncle’s health is increasingly fragile these days, I have little choice. No one else in the household seems up to the challenges of scavenging for food and other supplies.

He swallowed hard the knot of guilt her statement created in him and, standing within reach of her, he felt too distracted by her presence to manage a suitable response. You smell of smoke, he observed, sniffing the air about her hair.

The rebel sentries made me enter one of those dreadful fumigation boxes when I passed their checkpoint. She fluffed her skirts in an effort to banish the last remnants of the sharp pong. It seems unlikely that something as simple as smoke will prevent the smallpox spreading, but it was the only way I would be allowed into your camp.

Daniel frowned. Has anyone in your household been affected?

No, Anna said. At least, not yet. We employ all of the measures recommended to prevent contagion. As you know, your mother has decamped to one of the quarantine houses that she might assist in the care of the infected. She stays away from our house lest she bring the disease home to us. Anna gave him a curious look. She says that her parents were proponents of Mr. Mather’s teachings and took her to a place that would allow her to be inoculated when she was a girl. She insists that she cannot contract the disease herself.

Daniel nodded. Yes. When I was very young, she dragged me to Chelsea to have me inoculated, as well. He grimaced at the memory. We had to be away for some weeks while I recovered. It was not one of the more pleasant experiences of my life. I’ve heard that General Washington fears the deliberate spread of the disease to our troops by the British Regulars and would have the men inoculated but for the restrictions against it.

Anna snorted derisively. General Howe is battling the spread of the disease in the city and among the few of his own troops who have not been inoculated. I seriously doubt that he has time to concoct such horrid schemes. Compared to British policies on inoculation, I’m afraid we colonials are quite backward. And, don’t think for a minute that it doesn’t pain me to say that. She leaned forward, intending to hop down from her perch but, because her feet did not touch the ground, her movement threatened to upset the barrel. Oh, dear. She nervously gripped the edges of the barrel in an effort to steady herself. It seems that getting up here was easier than will be the matter of getting down.

Daniel sighed in pretended exasperation. That is the story of your life, I believe. A smile playing upon his lips, he crossed the remaining bit of space between them. Ever the kitten who thinks it a grand idea to scale the tallest tree only to discover the difficulties in returning to the ground.

Before she could protest, he grasped her about the waist and lifted her from her seat on the barrel. Once her feet were firmly on the floor, he did not release her. Anna stood quite still, looking up at him in a quizzical fashion that only half-registered with him. She was so close. He could feel the warmth of her, could see the flecks of gold that mingled with the brown in her eyes. Every impulsive nerve in his body urged him to tell her what was in his heart and, more, to bend and kiss her. The inner struggle against that impulse was almost overwhelming. So, Lieutenant Hinton is gone, then? The words seemed to have sprung from his mouth of their own accord. He had not intended to mention Hinton and immediately wished he could withdraw the question.

She blinked up at him, surprised by the abrupt statement. Yes, he departed with his regiment.

That’s good, then. The ice was getting thinner, and he could not seem to stop himself venturing farther out onto it.

Is it?

Yes. It’s good that you did not marry the man. He was on the verge of going through the ice and into the frigid water.

Anna cocked her head to one side and seemed to consider for a moment before responding. What an extraordinary thing to say!  I never suggested that marriage was under consideration. And, aside from your antipathy toward the British in general, and toward Lieutenant Hinton in particular, I am surprised to hear that you have an opinion on the matter one way or another.

He released her and backed away several paces. I was concerned on Drum’s account. He grimaced in reaction to the stammer he heard in his voice as he uttered the ridiculous statement.

On Drum’s account?

Yes. Even though you told us that Hinton said his goodbyes after Breed’s Hill, Drum feared that you might reconsider.

Reconsider?

Yes. Daniel knew he was making no sense, but barreled ahead, nonetheless. Drum had the impression that marriage between you and Hinton was a consideration and was very troubled by the idea. His words came out awkwardly and he could feel his face reddening with the effort of staying afloat.

Drum was troubled by the idea? She seemed skeptical.

Yes. Drum was concerned. I told him you were far too sensible to do such a thing. Daniel shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. He was concerned, nonetheless.

He never mentioned any of this to me. Why would Drum be concerned?  Why would he care?

I believe he was afraid it would mean you’d return to London.

Indeed.

Yes. He missed you quite a lot when you were away before. Just stop now, Garrett, Daniel told himself.

Anna stared owlishly at him. Drum missed me?

Well, yes. Of course. He felt his face redden, suddenly uncomfortable under her gaze. We all did.

Considering the statement, she cocked her head, seemed to make her mind up about something, and quickly changed the subject. There is one more thing I have come to deliver to you, she announced.

Oh? It was difficult to breathe and, unconsciously, his hand went to his chest.

Yes. She glanced toward the door. Do you think it likely that Mr. Whitacre will return?

He cast a frowning look toward the door. No, he replied slowly. Where was this going? 

Well then. She moved away from him to the corner farthest from the door. Turn your back, please, and keep yourself between me and the door.

Perplexed, he did as she asked. The sound of her skirts rustling overmuch filled him with curiosity and it was with effort that he did not succumb to the urge to glance over his shoulder.

Finished!  You may turn around, now.

He turned to see her beaming in triumph as she brandished a loaf-shaped linen pouch with long drawstrings at each end. From inside the pouch, she retrieved what, as she shook it out to size, turned out to be a man’s jacket. What’s this? Frowning in perplexity, he stared at the coat.

Your mother made it for you. She completed it just before she moved to the quarantine house.

Why?  I mean, it’s very kind of her, but I have a perfectly good coat.

Anna’s grin broadened as she handed him the jacket. But not quite like this one, I think.

It’s heavy, he observed, accepting the jacket. He hefted it, testing the weight. Very heavy, actually. The fabric was still warm from proximity to her body.

That’s because she hid coins from Teague’s horde in the hems. She said it would ease her mind to know that you had money, and she thought it might be preferable that the having of it be a secret from those around you.

He nodded his agreement as he stood staring at the jacket in his hands. It represented an enormous amount of work on his mother’s part, one more thing on the extensive list of debts he owed her.

Anna frowned, puzzled by his silence. Apparently, your father’s experience in the war with the French and Indians taught her that, at times like these, money is more than a little useful, she explained.

"I’d say that money is always more than a little useful," he replied wryly.

Yes. You make a good point. At any rate, she continued, given that we never know when or if you will be able to evade the pickets again, we thought it best to deliver the coat to you. Hiding it under my clothing was a subterfuge prompted by the difficulty we anticipated in getting such a hefty sum of money past the check points. General Howe has placed limits on what can be carried out of town, you know.

Yes, I do know. You should not have taken the risk to bring this to me.

She laughed. Oh, but your mother devised such an ingenious way of hiding it!  That pouch ties around my waist and hangs under my petticoats like a bum roll. Happily, no one seemed to notice the extra roundness to my figure.

"Happily, indeed. If you were caught doing something like this, you most certainly will be taken for a spy!"

Anna shrugged. Then I’d best not be caught.

Did you learn nothing from your last misadventure? he asked with a weary sigh.

Yes. I learned to not tangle with a madwoman.

He glowered at her. I do not consider that a matter for jesting.

She shrugged and gathered up her cloak. I should go. I must be home before the evening curfew.

Fighting his reluctance, he helped her settle the cloak upon her shoulders. I’ll walk with you back to the checkpoint.

They shared no conversation of significance as they walked together to where the two barricades stretched across the neck of land that crossed into Boston. Weather portents and personal trivia were far safer topics than political developments or plans and expectations for the future. For Daniel, it was an exercise in the inconsequential. He ached with the desire to share what was in his heart but knew the price he would likely pay for revealing his feelings would be irreparable damage to their friendship. Moreover, as he constantly told himself, he was not the right sort for her. She deserved far better than what he had to offer.

They reached the first checkpoint on the Roxbury side of the Neck. The militias had erected a crude redoubt with only a narrow passage through to the other side. A hodgepodge of militiamen and Continental troops guarded that passage, ensuring that nary a redcoat escaped the confines of Boston while also policing the flow of people and provisions into the city. At the far end of the Neck stood a more impressive fortification guarded by a disciplined squad of British Regulars intent on keeping the rebels at bay. In between was a no-man’s land so narrow that the defenders could actually make out the faces of their counterparts across the way.

Daniel and Anna stopped to stare out across the siege line. He waited for her to speak, daring not to speak himself lest the wrong words come pouring out.

I must go, she said finally.

He nodded, then stopped her, grasping for a way to keep her with him for one more moment. I’ve told my mother, but don’t know if she shared the information with you, I have friends in Boston who can get word to me if you need my help. If they see two candles in the attic window, word that I should come as quickly as possible will reach me. I’ll know it is important and shall do whatever it takes to come to you.

Two candles?  Two if by sea?  You are so very witty, Daniel. The hint of a smile undermined her dry, acerbic tone.

That was not in my mind when I conceived the plan, he assured her. Even I would not make light of the events of that horrible day.

Nodding her silent understanding, she half-turned to leave, then hesitated. Surreptitiously, she took his hand in hers, clasping it discreetly in the folds of her skirts where no one could see. Take care, Daniel. Whatever you must do in the days ahead, please do not be reckless. I—that is, your mother would be devastated to lose you, as would all of those who care about you.

I am never reckless. He laughed at the unconvinced expression on her face. Can it be, Mouse, that you are among those who care?

Of course I am, she snapped, her face reddening. Despite all, you are my dearest friend even if you are a quite impossible man. She snatched her hand from his and, leaving his laughter behind, walked through the gap in the redoubt without looking back.

Watching her go, he wished he had not made the jest. It had been necessary, he thought, if he was to bridle his true emotions. He turned to walk back up the hill, although he did look back—more than once.

Chapter two

Eight-year old Tobias Allender was hunting a bear. Despite having heard a good deal of talk about bears, he’d never actually seen one of the fearsome animals, and the desire to do so burned bright within his small chest. As was his habit, he had rushed through his chores and then made his escape into the woods to search for one of the big beasts. Fear of being forbidden to seek out a bear made him habitually cagey about his forays into the forest, and today he hid his purpose beneath a promise to search for any wild fruit or nuts that might yet cling to the branches. Late in November as it was, he did not expect to have much luck in his search. Although the occasional stubborn red or orange leaf showed through here and there, what remained of autumn’s vibrant colors lay hidden under a thin blanket of snow. Streaming from a cloudless sky, the sun’s rays cut the chill in the air making it pleasant to be out. In Toby’s mind, it was a good day to find a bear.

Beyond their mythic proportions and ferocity, he knew so little about the animals that he had no idea where to search for one. He did know that all animals liked to eat and, acting on that basis, formulated a strategy that involved leaving crumbs of food along whatever trail he opted to observe. On this day, it was an overgrown deer track through a densely thicketed section of the woods. He located a massive beech tree that not only lent itself to climbing but had lower branches overgrown with vines that, while leafless and dusted with snow, had formed a tangle of stems and stalks thick enough to provide a good hiding place. He then broke a large chunk of stale bread into pieces, which he scattered along the path leading up to the base of the beech tree. Satisfied with the distribution of his bait, he climbed the tree and settled in among the dense tangle to wait.

It did not take long for myriad birds to discover the appearance of the little bounty Toby had provided. They descended quickly and, when they weren’t squabbling among themselves over ownership of the best crumbs, pecked away at the bonanza. Within minutes, a hearty squirrel, its coat thickened for winter, arrived to compete with the birds. Toby could see that it would not take the birds and squirrel long to consume all of his carefully laid bait, so he began breaking off twigs to throw down upon the little opportunists in an effort to drive them away. His efforts were in vain until, abruptly, a disturbance somewhere up the path startled and dispersed the hungry critters.

Toby craned his neck to see what might be coming down the path but could only hear the crackle of footsteps and the rustle of something pushing through the undergrowth. He held his breath as a sense of the intruder began to form. It was something large, certainly, moving with clumsy determination along the narrow