I did not intend to end my last contribution at the point I did. It was my intent to document the entirety of that conversation between myself and Mother, but I was not given an opportunity to finish before Benjamin began writing again.

The next day, I started dressing myself, ruminating over what my mother had told me the day before.

"I understand that you are becoming fond of Major Tallmadge. He seems a good man, but be careful. He could still hurt you. A blind man can easily mistake a wolf for a dog."

I exclaimed in protest.

"I do not mean to imply that you cannot see or refuse to see who this man truly is. I, just as much as you or your father, believe him to have the best of intentions. But guard yourself. The curious dog trusts the porcupine only to receive a snout full of barbed quills."

"First an old, blind man, now a curious dog! What shall I be next, Mother, a dim-witted squirrel without brains enough to fear a circling hawk?"

"Of course not. You are anything but dim-witted, my child." She brought her hand to my face, pain and sorrow from some long-ago wound behind her eyes. "I simply cannot see you hurt."

"The way you were hurt, Mama?" I hadn't called my mother that in years. Not since I was a child. Surely the last time that name left my lips, it was before Henry and my father taught me my way around a knife, a gun, and my own fists. Before my fourteenth birthday, when my brother gave me a thin blade to sheath in one of my pockets, bound to the side so that it was never lost, inscribed "semper parātus, numquam necessarius". It came with a note reading, "May you never need it." This met the great displeasure of my mother, who thought such a gift unladylike. They argued, my father as mediator, long into the night, as I lay in my bed, flinching with every harsh word that fell from my mother's lips. She finally surrendered when my father abandoned his prior role and joined my brother's side. My mother succumbed, as she always did, to the wishes of her husband. I had carried the knife ever since. "I can defend myself."

Mother grimaced bitterly. "Henry and your father taught you to defend your body. I must teach you to defend your heart."

"I have no intentions beyond friendship, nor does Major Tallmadge."

She smiled wryly, and I fought down the blush that I felt in my cheeks. "Of course. Now go and do whatever ladies your age do these days. Maybe that look in your eyes, like you know more than the rest of us could ever try to will serve you well and scare away any man who wants anything less than to spend his entire life with you."

As I tied my overpetticoats, I thought about those last words. If she meant them, maybe Ben, who had seemed enchanted rather than frightened by my intelligence, did want a life with me, as I did with him.

I scoffed at my own imagination. What a silly notion.

"What is it, Henri?" asked Tempe, dressing on the other side of the room.

"Oh, nothing. Just a thought."

"I hope not about your major." She put on a false air of concern. "You sound displeased."

"Oh, shut it." I threw my cap at her and she laughed, catching it. "And no. Not about Ben."

"Ben?" She stood, half dressed, tossing my cap between her hands, taunting.

"Yes. Ben."

"You're already calling him not only by his Christian name, but a nickname as well?"

"And I've given him permission to address me as Henri."

"You two are even more in love than I thought!"

"I didn't know that the concept of friendship was so foreign to you. Such a lonely life you must lead." I made a leap for my cap, but Tempe held it just out of my reach. "Give that back!"

"It's gratifying to have the advantage of height on you after so many years of being shorter." She taunted me, lowering it slightly and then pulling it just out of reach as I grabbed for it, just as I had when we were small. I growled.

She laughed. "The puppy imagines itself threatening!"

My mother called upstairs. "Henrietta! Temperance! Come!"

Out of surprise, Tempe stopped waving my cap above her head and I regained control of my property.

"Better finish dressing, then," I said, smirking at Tempe. She rolled her eyes in response. I fixed my cap and kerchief in the looking glass, then rushed down-stairs. "Yes, Mother?"

"It's almost breakfast. What's delaying your sister?"

"She stole my cap, and I had to get it back."

Tempe called out, "She threw it at me!"

"An unimportant detail," I clarified.

"Oh, good Lord preserve us," Mother whispered. She raised her voice slightly, so that it carried deliberately up-stairs. "Will your childish mischief never end?"

Tempe descended in a clatter. "Never, Mother," she said with an impish grin across her face. She and I went forward to eat, but Mother stayed behind briefly. She sighed audibly, and then said, quietly, as if she didn't want us to hear, "And I am truly glad for it."

~

By mid-morning, we sat by the fire in the drawing room, as snow gently fell outside. Tempe read. Mother was attentive to turning the heel of the sock on her needles. I watched the snow, my knitting and my hands entangled in my lap. The repetitive motion of each flake drifting down, one after another, each alone and yet all at once, lulled me into somewhat of a daze. It was beautiful, at least watching from inside, out of the cold.

The bare trees, the snow-blanketed ground, the gray sky.

A beautiful winter's day for those of us inside and warm, though, no doubt, its beauty was lost on those shivering in the cold outside.

Hurried footsteps came up to us. They blended right into the rest of the scene at first—the falling snow, crackling fire, rustling pages, and clicking needles, until Daisy spoke, snapping me out of my reverie.

"Ma'am," she said, politely addressing my mother. "There is a man at the door."

"Well, who is he?"

"I do not know, ma'am. I asked him, but he said just to fetch my mistress. He gave me very little information."

"Major Tallmadge?" I asked. It was a small chance, barely a possibility, and I couldn't imagine him behaving this way, yet...

"No, miss, I know his face. This is a different man. Bearded. Shorter than the major. Wearing a long brown coat."

"Do you know who this man might be, Henrietta?"

"No, Mother."

"Then, Daisy, inquire of him his name, if he is in the army, and what his business here might be. This is certainly something easily resolved, but be careful all the same."

"Yes'm." Daisy curtsied, and her footsteps retreated. A few moments later she returned with more answers. "Ma'am, he claims he is Lieutenant Caleb Brewster of the Continental Army, though he wears no uniform, and that he was sent by Major Tallmadge to deliver a letter to Miss Henrietta."

Tempe looked at me slyly, and I rolled my eyes at her. My heart fluttered a little, though, even as I put on nonchalant airs. A letter to me! Just a letter, yes, not a visit, hardly anything really, but still something. Just a letter, I repeated to myself. Just a letter.

I stood, placing my knitting to the side. "Well, then, I shall go receive it."

I followed Daisy to the door, Mother's and Tempe's footsteps behind me as loud as my pounding heart. I couldn't explain why it beat so quickly, thudding in my ears: lub-dub, lub-dub. There was no reason to be so nervous, or possibly excited. It's just a letter. Calm down, I thought again.

I stepped outside, Mother and Tempe close behind.

"Lieutenant Brewster," Daisy said. "Miss Wick is here, sir."

The lieutenant turned around from where he had been watching a tree's branches creak in the wind.

"Good morning to ya, Miss, and to the two of yas as well," he greeted us, inclining his head to each of us in turn.

"Good morning, Lieutenant," I replied. He smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling. He had a jovial face accustomed to grinning. His brown hair was tied back in a messy queue, with strands of hair escaping around his face. A hat with a wide brim was shoved onto his head, and he wore a calf-length leather cat, which he began rummaging through the pockets of.

Pulling a folded piece of paper out, he said, "Major Tallmadge sent me with a letter for ya, Miss. I must say, it's a pleasure. Benny Boy and I have been friends since we were kids, and it's always nice to meet his other friends." I think he winked, but I was focused on the letter he held in his hand.

I took the letter, running my finger gently over where Ben had written my name on the outside. I could feel Tempe behind me longing to jump into the conversation. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Lieutenant, though I believe you presume more of a friendship than exists between the major and myself. I have only been acquainted with him these past few weeks."

"Ben makes friends easily. I'm sure you'll know him better before long."

"Does he?" My tone made it less of a question and more a polite response. I smiled softly, sure a blush was coming up into my cheeks. "I'm sure I will."

I began opening the letter, undoing the locking he had folded. As I opened it fully, Tempe crunched through the snow behind me to read over my shoulder. Mother sent Daisy inside and did the same.

The letter read:

Dear Miss Wick,

I address you more formally in writing than I would in speech, for I am loathe to offend a lady such as yourself. I write this in gratitude, as a meager and inadequate thanks for what you have done for me and the men under my command. The bread you have given to us has fed us tonight, and what is left will feed us tomorrow. All my thanks forever belongs to you.

Yr. humble servant,

Benj. Tallmadge

"'I address you more formally in writing than I would in speech'. Hmm, Ettie, how would he address you in speech?" Tempe whispered.

I elbowed her in rebuttal. "Hush. You know."

"'All my thanks forever belongs to you.' How sweet!" Mother cooed.

I turned my head sharply to her, exclaiming in exasperation, "Mother!" I found her extreme change of attitude regarding my relationship with Ben hypocritical.

She patted my back. "Hush there, Ettie."

"You both know I don't like that name."

Brewster chuckled so that we could hear.

"Oh, Lieutenant Brewster, forgive my manners!" I folded the letter back up and placed it in my pocket. I resolved to look at it more later and thought to write a response. "Come inside and get warm before you go on your way."

"I can't impose upon you like that. I'm sure you've better things to do than host the likes of me."

"Nonsense. I insist."

"I really should be on my way."

"I insist."

"No, I—"

Mother cut in. "I insist." Her courteous smile was welcoming, but her eyes made it an order punctuated by the way she emphasized the words. She could make anyone obey her like that, as she often did.

"Yes, ma'am." Lieutenant Brewster followed us inside, looking almost like a dog with his tail between his legs, an expression he did not seem used to wearing.

Once inside, we stood in the sitting room, Lieutenant Brewster appearing out of place in the neat room. He stood in awkward silence, a silence Mother not only broke, but shattered.

"Are you hungry?" The words cut through the silence like an ax.

"No, ma'am."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I am not hungry."

"I find that difficult to believe. Then they feed you well?"

Mother knew the truthful answer to that question and set it as a trap, lying in wait to catch him and force food upon him.

He hesitated. "No, you couldn't say that, ma'am."

"As I expected. The harvest was poor, and the army seems to have insufficient funds. Daisy!"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Is there porridge left from breakfast?"

"A bit, ma'am. I was about to give it to Isaac and Jerimiah."

"They haven't eaten yet? Nevermind that, get the porridge for this man and find something for them. Go."

Daisy winced slightly, barely perceptibly. "Yes, ma'am."

Tempe and I glanced at each other, discomfited.

"Mrs. Wick, I can't take food from your servants. They need to eat as much as any of us do, especially in this cold. Truly, I don't need anything."

"Nonsense. They're only servants, and fed well enough."

Tempe, deflecting the direction of conversation, said, "Lieutenant, why don't you come sit down?"

Lieutenant Brewster followed her into the dining room, and Mother advanced behind them. I sighed quietly. Hopefully, that discord was behind us. I went to join them.

Tempe sat, staring at her hands. Brewster twiddled his thumbs. Even Mother was quiet. All were seemingly unaware of what to say next, and I had no more idea than them.

"Lieutenant Brewster," I ventured, uncomfortable in the awkward silence. He looked over at me. "What do you do in the army?" Internally, I winced at the unwieldy verbiage of my question.

"A bit of this and that. Whatever I'm asked to, ya know?" He smiled, but seemed unwilling to be more specific. I changed directions and pressed on.

"How are you and Major Tallmadge acquainted?"

A grin spread over his features, an expression that seemed much more natural and fitting than the neutral one he had previously been wearing. "Benny Boy and I, we grew up together. Sprouted right up from Long Island, friends from the beginning."

I smiled, for it was truly contagious. "You're from Setauket as well, then?"

"Aye, miss, born and bred."

"Then what was he like as a child?"

"He was always the sharp one, always smarter than the rest of us. When he was twelve or thirteen, the president of Yale came and said he was ready to go off to school, but his father kept him home until he was fifteen. Wouldn't shut up about Latin and Greek. He was never as cautious as Willie, though; he broke the rules with the best of us."

Tempe chuckled. Mother granted him an amused smile.

"I can see that."

"Really?" Tempe asked. "He didn't seem reckless to me."

"You met him after I dragged him in from a snowstorm! Only the reckless and desperate would have been out in that mess."

"True."

Daisy came in from the kitchen. She placed a bowl in front of Lieutenant Brewster, saying, "Here you are, sir."

"You have kept him waiting more than long enough," scoffed Mother.

I looked apologetically at Daisy. "You're dismissed."

She nodded, curtsied, and left.

"Mother, please stop speaking of and to the servants in that manner. Daisy has done nothing to offend you."

"I should not dream of hearing my daughter speak to me in that tone!"

"What tone? A civil one? You are the only one to raise your voice."

"We have company," Tempe interjected, her voice steely and hard, clearly telling us to end our discussion. We glared at each other, then softened our gazes and turned to Lieutenant Brewster. He ate quickly and steadily, working his way methodically through the porridge. We left him to his devices, but did not continue our sniping.

Tempe and I locked eyes, We were of the same mind, that Mother ought to be more polite, even if Daisy was subservient to her. We could not act upon this, not with Mother's guard up and Brewster present, but that long look was enough to assure me that we would confront her, together, when the time was right.

As Lieutenant Brewter polished off the bottom of his bowl, he pushed it gently away and said, "Thank ye kindly, ma'am, misses. I should be on my way." He smiled, and we all responded in kind.

"You are very welcome, Lieutenant. I hope they start feeding you well," Mother commented.

"I doubt they will, but the sentiment is appreciated."

"I hope to see you again this winter. If not, I wish you fortune and prosperity," offered Tempe.

"Thank you, miss."

"We appreciate your company, sir, and it is truly our pleasure to share our good fortune with you. Come, I'll show you out."

"Henri, Daisy shall do it."

"Mother, I'm sure she's busy. I'll take care of this."

Mother was silent, and I accepted that silence as permission to leave.

I stood. "Come with me, Lieutenant."

He pushed his chair from the table, the legs scraping against the floor. Mother and I winced. Tempe drew her breath in sharply.

Seemingly unaware, Lieutenant Brewster stood and followed me. As we walked away, Tempe's skirts rustled as she stood up, presumably to make sure the floor was not damaged.

Once we reached outside, I said, "Thank you for delivering Ben's letter." I placed my hand in my pocket and fingered the folded edge of the paper.

"Ah, it's my pleasure. He's very fond of you, you know."

"Really?"

"Really."

"We barely know each other."

"Well, you got off on a good foot, then."

"I suppose so. Thank you again, sir."

"A pleasure to meet you."

"And you as well." He started to move away, but I spoke again. "I would like to write a reply and bring it to him. Where should I find him to do so?"

"He'll be around camp. Should I deliver it for you?"

"No, I'll bring it myself."

"Then I'll bring you to him."

"That would be wonderful, Lieutenant."

"Ah, it's nothin'. I'll come by tomorrow. Any friend of Ben's is a friend of mine."

"Well then," I smiled. "Until tomorrow."

"Until tomorrow, miss."

As he walked off, I stayed. I took the note out of my pocket and read it again, over and over. It was a small nothing to him, surely. Only a polite thanks, of course.

Yet to me it was everything.

It was a sign I was something to him, a person he thought of at least once when we weren't together. There was something in it, something real and solid that I held in my hands and in my heart, that I could not articulate but new was surely there.

Even if I was an afterthought to him, I was a thought.

And that was something, even if I didn't know exactly what.

~

I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. The dim glow of the coals illuminated ever so slightly, flickering occasionally as each small tongue of flame sprang up.

Tempe's calm, regular breathing and the wind against the sides of the house were the only sounds in a quiet, dark night.

I held the letter from Ben in my hand under the pillow. Allowing myself to indulge in a fantasy, I imagined him writing it, not in a cold, drafty cabin surrounded by snow, but a warm, comfortable study. A fire crackled and lept merrily on the hearth, and candlelight flickered from the desk. His quill scratched on the paper, and he dipped it in the inkwell. The room smelled of books and ink and smoke from the fire.

He turned, as if he heard a noise, and looked at me. His eyes lit up as a smile leapt to his face.

And as he smiled at me, I drifted finally and slowly to sleep.