War of Hearts, A Historical Romance (2 page)

***

Gone for almost two days, there was quite a
stir when the men strode back into camp. Even though they were
exhausted, their thin faces glowed with the pride of victory. They
marched to their tents to eat and rest. Sarah’s anxious eyes
scanned the group for Silas. She was rewarded for her patience as
once again, he brought up the rear. Unable to control her relief,
she ran to him, almost knocking him down with her embrace.

“I need to breathe, Sarah.”

“I am glad you are safe. Go and rest. We’ll
talk later.”

She reluctantly left him to rest and headed
back to the women’s encampment. Sarah felt almost giddy; Silas was
back, and he was unhurt. From the scattered conversations around
her, she learned that only a few of their men were lost, but over
900 Hessians had been captured. It was good to hear the men
speaking of hope and victory. There has been so much despair of
late.

Of the convoy of women following the troops,
most were wives and daughters. The army's provisions were not
allotted for them, so they took in laundry to wash, and worked hard
to earn their keep.

Margaret and Homer had been so kind to them
when they had first joined the army. It was hard for her to think
of Homer as gone. They lost more men from sickness than battle. She
so prayed that the winter would pass quickly, and that the war
would end soon. Reaching the tent she shared with Margaret, she
entered and sat down next to the older woman, who was darning
socks.

Wordlessly, she picked one up. Margaret had
been unusually quiet since Homer’s passing, and she worried for her
friend. As of late, it seems like all she has done is worry.

“My heart aches for your loss. What will you
do?” Sarah asked at last.

Margaret’s steely gray eyes lifted to meet
her worried blue ones.

“I will keep on, just like I have been.
There are still socks to mend and bread to bake,” Margaret
replied.

“But you can go home now. Back to
Connecticut. Why would you stay?”

“I stay to fight. My man might be gone, but
the war goes on. This is my land, and I will fight for it until my
last breath. I still have my principles. The good King George will
take no more from me.”

Sarah wondered at the fire and determination
in Margaret’s voice and expression as she returned to her work. She
had seen the same look on Silas’ and the other men’s faces.
Determination. To make a stand, to live and die for what you
believe in. She didn’t understand. She didn’t want to fight. She
just wanted this to be over. For Silas to be safe.

Sarah went outside to think. A piece of
paper blew against her boot. She reached down and unfolded it,
staring at the words for a second, thoughts of her parents
springing to mind. Her father saw no need for her to become
educated, but her mother insisted. Silently she began to read,

Morning was a boisterous affair. Sarah heard
word that the captured Hessians would be marched to Philadelphia as
a celebration. The men, thin and weak as they were, had high
spirits. She met her brother at his tent, which he shared with five
men, so they stood outside to converse. She did not want to be
spotted climbing into or out of a soldiers’ tent, even if it was
her brother’s. She smiled, seeing a gleam in his eye. A gleam that
she feared had been extinguished long ago.

“It is good to see you happy,” she
stated.

“I wish you could have been there! This is a
tale that will be passed on to my grandchildren and theirs. Against
all odds, we snuck into camp and caught them napping. Hessians! The
most fearful foes of all.”

“I am just glad you have returned with your
head. Where is your coat?” she asked, noticing his arms crossed in
front of him.

“I gave it away. There was a man more in
need of it than me. He was practically naked. His clothes were worn
clear off! I have my heavy shirt to wear. I am more fortunate than
most.”

“Yes. Yes you are.” Her eyes rested upon a
man nearby with no shoes. The rags he used to bind his feet were
red with blood, and his toes, which peeped out from the wrappings,
were of an unnatural color. Tears stung her eyes again, hugging
Silas tight.

***

It was hard to believe they were traveling
again. After scarcely a day of rest, the General was marching them
toward Trenton. The weather had turned, and it was getting quite
warm. Well, warm for New Jersey in the winter. The snow had started
to melt, and the road was turning into a quagmire from the heavy
loads.

The blaring rays from the sun reflected off
the snowdrifts and caused her to squint her eyes to protect them.
Sarah’s feet felt leaden as she trudged on the muddy ground. She
was in the back of the procession with the other women. Trailing
behind the supply wagons, she kept her head down as she slogged
along. She wished she could make sure it was only mud she was
walking through.

It was not long until the heavy wagons
became bogged down in the muck. It would take a miracle to free
them. The procession slowed and then stopped. Sarah was
apprehensive. She did not know what lay ahead today or in her
future.

They heard voices floating back and she
could make out one word ‘Cornwallis’. Fear wrapped its hand around
her, and she felt an ominous chill. Even she was familiar with his
reputation for winning battles. Cornwallis had not sailed for
England after all. He was here, in the flesh. The sound of cannon
fire exploded, and all hell broke loose. She took cover in the
thick trees with the other women.

Time seemed to stand still, and she held her
breath, her world erupting once again. The cannon bursts were ear
shattering, and she flinched with each shot. The ground shook, and
Sarah was showered with icicles that fell from the tree branches.
Her heart was beating so fast that she thought it would explode in
her chest. The wind brought the smell of gunpowder, and she could
taste the acrid smoke when she breathed.

The men at the front retreated across the
small bridge at the creek. She could glimpse General Washington
sitting astride his unmistakable horse, Blueskin. The horse was so
light in coloration it appeared to be white. He looked brilliantly
valiant while he sat next to the bridge, making sure his men
escaped the barrage of gunfire from the British. His mere presence
was a huge boost to the ailing army’s morale. She watched, awed, as
he sat bravely ignoring the bullets whizzing past.

Dusk was falling, and the fighting ended,
both parties were regrouping. Sarah spotted Silas' red hair from
afar as she went to collect firewood. She relaxed a bit, knowing he
was safe. She put her faith in Washington’s abilities. Any General
who would put himself at the front of the line to encourage his men
was worthy of her trust.

They had a thin soup for supper; you really
couldn’t even call it a broth. She took a sip, watching the sunset
paint colors across the sky. The night grew cold, and she pulled
her shawl around her tighter. The cold pulled at her to sleep, but
her head was too full of worry. A shadow whispered to them to
gather up and move quietly. To leave the fires burning. Their
miracle had come.

The ground had frozen enough by midnight to
allow passage of the wagons and the army snuck off through the
night. However, they were not retreating; just the opposite. Taking
a narrow dirt road, they made their way toward Princeton to
attack.

As dawn broke, Sarah could make out the
entire Continental Army marching in front of her. The brave men who
were willingly marching, possibly to their deaths, for their belief
in the cause of freedom.

These men, who were once farmers, merchants,
school teachers, and blacksmiths, were now a single unit. An army
with a purpose. They marched for their family, their friends and
their country. It was a sight to behold, and Sarah felt gladness in
her heart to be a part of it all. When the guns exploded again, it
was not fear she felt, but pride.

As they neared Princeton, the volley of
gunfire was unending; however, she could see Washington,
unmistakable, in the thick of it. It was difficult to make out the
others. The battle ended quickly, and she was amused by the few
British who scattered like field mice to escape capture. They
retreated past her on their way to Trenton and beyond.

Her smile faded as she took in the field of
dead men. She was relieved to see that most of them spouted British
Colors, but not all. The Continental Army was great; nonetheless
she pushed herself amongst them looking for Silas. Not seeing him,
she began calling his name. A bit timidly at first and then
franticly. There was no answer. She felt a hand on her shoulder and
looked over at her friend Margaret.

“We will find him,” she promised.

Sarah nodded, stepping onto the field. The
blood from the men turned to ice when it hit the frozen ground. The
scene was out of her own nightmares as she waded amongst the dead.
They turned over dozens of bodies in their search. A few of the men
who were wounded called out to her for help.

Sarah’s heart was torn between assisting
them and searching for Silas. Unable to ignore their pleas, she
went to them and rendered what little aid she could until they were
carried off. The sun glinted off of brilliant red hair as it rose
in the sky. She cried out to Margaret, who hurried over.

Silas was lying face down in the snow.
Dropping to her knees, she used all of her strength to turn him
over. A cry escaped through her lips at his sightless eyes staring
forward. Her brother had died on Jersey soil. Not too far from
where he had been born. Sarah took a deep shuddering breath,
feeling her heart break.

She gently took her fingers and closed his
eyes. Tearfully she said her goodbyes as she looked upon him for
the last time. Her eyes rested on his boots last, and she couldn’t
help but to think of the man from the other day. The one with his
feet wrapped in rags. Her mind set, she squared her shoulders and
moved down yanking them off. Holding them to her chest as a shield,
she and Margaret turned to follow the marching army north to
Morristown.

Life at Morristown was difficult for Sarah;
to cover her pain she worked hard setting up camp with the other
women. Since there was no longer a reason for her to be there, like
Margaret, she worked extra hard. The endless pile of mending and
laundry was daunting. Even though she received pay, she found no
solace in it. The mindless work gave plenty of time for her
thoughts to turn to her brother. She missed him so.

She had gifted his shoes to the first man in
need. Tears stung her eyes at the memory. With winter swirling
around them, she gave much thought to her future. A future filled
with piles of socks was not a pleasant thought.

She had family in Georgia, her mother’s
sister Eliza lived there. It would be a daunting trip in the best
of times. During war, it was nearly impossible to travel without
being accosted.

Lost in her thoughts she barely realized
when she pricked her finger. Her hands were so cold she had not
felt it. Her body was as frozen as her heart. With a heavy sigh,
she went back to her mending.

Margaret was a great comfort to her during
those trying days. However, it was not enough. On her way back from
delivering clean laundry to a tent, Sarah wandered past the
makeshift hospital. She could hear the screams of a patient and
something awoke inside of her.

She had not been able to save her brother,
but perhaps she could help save others. Remembering how the men
were soothed when she sung at Christmas she took a cautious step
toward the entrance to the barn. She stood at the doorway watching
the physician with a bloody saw in his hand, hacking away at a
man’s leg.

With nothing to numb the pain, his suffering
was great. Sarah entered the gloom and stood at the man’s head,
reaching out for his hand. Leaning down next to his ear, she
whispered words of comfort and encouragement. The man quieted down
to listen and was silent until the treatment was over.