The Sword of the Banshee (33 page)

Phineas visited too. He came down from camp and chattered about his hunting and fishing exploits, but the boy was on edge. He stole looks at India out of the corner of his eye, anxious that maybe his mistress would leave him again and drift off to her other world.

Calleigh was conspicuously absent during this time. Now that India was lucid again, he returned to his other duties. He left for Wilmington immediately to boost his partisan operation against Howe. Quinn was grateful that he could at last put the summer of 1777 behind him.

At first India, was relieved he was gone. She blanched wondering if she acted without dignity while she was sick or spilled secrets from her past. Yet, as the days passed, loneliness for him began to plague her. She missed Calleigh’s wit and good nature, his cavalier attitude, and even the mocking remarks directed at her. Even though she acted annoyed when he teased her, secretly his attention pleased her.  Being away from him twisted her stomach into knots and made her feel hollow inside.

After a week, India needed something to occupy her mind, so she moved from the mill back to camp to familiarize herself with Howe’s campaign. Quinn had appointed several new men as officers, and they briefed India on the progress of Howe’s march on Philadelphia. They reported that the outlook was optimistic in Philadelphia; the patriots in that city believed Washington would have no problem routing Howe and his army. Howe had expected a legion of Loyalists to come to his aid in Maryland when he arrived, and when they did not, it was believed his operation was severely undermined. India was not convinced the British were weakened though; in fact, she was alarmed by the complacency of the patriots.

Gathering her few possessions, she woke Phineas one September night and left for Wilmington by the light of the moon. She startled Antoine Parnell when she arrived, rousing him from his sleep at his shop in Wilmington. The tailor met her at the back door in his nightshirt with a candle in his hand.

“Lady Allen, is something amiss?”

“Indeed there is,” she murmured, stepping inside with Phineas. She dropped her dark hood explaining, “I have concerns about the occupation of Philadelphia. I am sorry to come to you so late, but I must speak with Calleigh and the others in the morning. Ordinarily, I would go directly to headquarters, but we risk friendly fire at this hour. May we stay here?”

“You are welcome anytime,” was his gracious reply.

In the morning, India dressed in her light blue polonaise, put on her simple pearl earrings and traveled to the home of Joseph Tatnall, a Quaker miller sympathetic to the cause of freedom. She climbed the steps of the sturdy stone home and was escorted to a sitting room that had been converted into a makeshift headquarters for General Wayne. Although headquartered in Wilmington as well, General Washington was not in attendance this morning.

The room was a warm sunny space with green and cream colored furnishings. When she stepped in, the men stood up, their chairs scraping on the hardwood floors. There were five of them, including Calleigh. Quinn had been expecting India. He knew that her health and well-being would never stand in the way of her commitment to the revolution.

“Please be seated gentlemen,” she said.

Calleigh ran his eyes over her slim figure with her wheat colored hair swept up at the back of her neck. She is indeed a handsome woman, he thought warming at the thought of her in his arms.

The officers sat down looking at one another, confused by her presence.

India removed her gloves and said, “I must apologize for the interruption, gentlemen. My name is Lady Allen. I reside in the Brandywine Valley. I am chief officer of intelligence in Mr. Calleigh’s partisan operation.”

They looked at Quinn, and he nodded his assent. Amused at her aplomb, he tried to stifle a smile by lighting some tobacco.

“Please do not let me stop you,” she continued. “I have come to familiarize myself with your plans.”

One of the men jumped up and brought her a chair. India sat down near the desk, sweeping her skirts to the side. The officers shifted in their seats, cleared their throats and resumed the meeting. They discussed plans, reviewed strategy, and surveyed maps, all the time stealing glimpses at Lady Allen. She was completely oblivious to it, but Quinn saw the admiration in their eyes.

India listened for a long time until one of the officers, an older man with an Irish accent said, “Lady Allen, my name is William Maxwell. I am aware that you and your late husband lead the partisan campaign back in my homeland of Ireland.”

She turned and looked at him, her eyes a bright blue. “That is correct, General Maxwell.”

“Can you add anything to what we have said today?”

“Very little,” she replied. “I came here feeling discomforted, fearing you were underestimating the abilities of General Howe and Cornwallis, but now I see that it is not true.”

“We are greatly in need of good intelligence though.”

“I must apologize, General. Our operation suffered many losses recently, but we are scrambling for pertinent information. Are your men destroying bridges and felling trees to slow the progress of the troops?”

“Yes.”

“Hiding food supplies and cattle?”

“Indeed,” said Maxwell.

“Are the millstones hidden?”

He nodded.

“Then I only have only one other suggestion. You mentioned that you and the sharpshooters are employing the tactics of the American Indian in the Cooch Bridge ambush tomorrow?”

“Yes, we are.”

“It is imperative that your men strike and run. Do not allow them to be drawn into a bayonet battle. Our men are inexperienced in this type of engagement. As you can imagine, the British regular is highly skilled in this arena.”

General Maxwell studied India a moment with an astonished look on his face. He nodded his head at last and chuckled. “She is right, gentlemen. Thank you, Lady Allen.”

The meeting adjourned and the officers filed out. India picked up her skirts and started out the door and down the stairs quickly, trying to avoid Calleigh. He was talking to Maxwell when he saw her hasten out the door. He smiled and shook his head. The old India is certainly back, he thought.

“Lady Allen!” he called, chasing after her. “I will see you home.”

She stopped in her tracks without turning around.

Calleigh hustled down the stairs. He hooked her arm, taking charge. Quinn stole a look at her and grinned, ready to goad her. “We have not spoken since your recovery. You seem to be back in full form.”

“Yes, I have been meaning to thank you for all of your help.”

“Yes, that was apparent as you ran down the stairs,” he replied sarcastically.

They turned down a cool tree-lined street walking arm in arm threading through the crowd. Usually, a sleepy little mill town, Wilmington, had become a busy place, bulging with Continental soldiers, supply wagons, horses, and munitions. It was midday, and the sun was high in the sky. Even in the shade, it was a hot and a sultry day. Calleigh had removed his topcoat, slinging it over his shoulder. The sleeves were rolled up on his white linen shirt, and India looked away trying not to notice the well- defined muscles in his forearms.

“It is too hot to be in town today. I should be home fishing with Phineas,” he said.

“He has missed you.”

“Have
you
missed me?” Quinn said, turning his dark eyes on her.

“Everyone has missed you,” India replied quickly, not making eye contact with him.

“I long to ride again. I have been too busy here to find time.”

“Where did you move the horses?”

“Not far to the south, they are at the Bjorklund home near New Castle.”

“Phineas is worried about his pigeons,” she said.

“As well he should. If food gets short, many will see them as a fine meal. Tell him to watch them closely. Now more than ever we need them for the Revolution.”

“He has been successful sending and receiving messages to Lucretia Dupuis and even communicates with patriots in Virginia.”

Quinn nodded. “It is most amazing. These birds will be instrumental in our communication with the Southern Colonies. We have already sent messages as far as South Carolina. The birds can fly almost two hundred miles. They can be relieved at their destination by a fresh bird who will carry a message to the next bird, right on down the coast.”

When they arrived under the sign of the spool and needle, Calleigh took India’s arm and turned her around to face him. “The troops move to Chadd’s Ford in a few days. You and Phineas are not to return home under any circumstances. Stay with Parnell. I want you to report to me just before we march. I have some last minute instructions for you before I depart. Be at headquarters at sunup that day.”

A bolt of anxiety shot through India. Until now, it had not occurred to her that Calleigh would be participating in battle. She had not worried over the past few years, his skills in partisan warfare were so polished, but battlefield engagement was quite another matter. She looked at him with panic written on her face. Quinn read her eyes, a feeling of bittersweet pleasure flooding him.

He kissed her hand and said, “Until then.”

*           *            *

Wilmington was in an uproar over the next few days preparing the troops for departure. India worked day and night intelligence gathering, sending, and receiving reports and releasing counterfeit information to Camille Ashton and others to confuse the enemy. The streets were noisy all through the night with wagons thundering past the shop and men barking orders. Parnell was busy too, hunched over his sewing around the clock, perspiration dripping from his forehead as he fitted soldiers and spies for uniforms.

Phineas was spellbound by all the excitement. He would sit on the front steps and watch all the activity. On several occasions, India had to comb the streets for him. She was frantic that some regiment had snatched him up as a drummer boy. She and Quinn had both agreed not to encourage Phineas to serve yet. They both knew from years of experience that the glamor of war was a dangerous illusion.

During the day, India was able to keep her mind occupied and away from the thought of Calleigh leaving, but when night came so did the anxiety. She would drop into bed exhausted from hours of work, but rest would not come. She would lay awake for hours staring at the ceiling with feelings churning inside her. She could not understand why she should care so much about a mere colleague who aggravated and annoyed her in so many ways.

The final night before departure was ominously quiet in Wilmington. The officers wanted the troops rested before their march four hours to the north and eventual rendezvous with the enemy. Just before sunup, India rose, laced her stays, and pulled on a petticoat and a simple green cotton gown. Parnell had made her clothing suitable for the wife of a tradesman, so she would blend well on the street. She tied her hair up into a knot, covered her head with a linen mob cap, and picked up her straw hat with tiny roses and sage green ribbons.

When she stepped outside, town was coming to life. Residents were beginning to line the streets ready to send the troops off. The sun was struggling to show through clouds heavy with rain as India walked to headquarters. The crowds were becoming thick and boisterous. Continental soldiers began to line up. There was a drummer boy in the front line along with a young man playing a fife. Several officers on horseback accompanied the group. The soldiers started to march down the street and cheering began. 

“There’s me boys!” townspeople cried. “Draw and quarter the bloody bastards!”

India pushed her way through the crowd, jostled by spectators who were eager to cheer the rebels to victory.

“Freedom, liberty, or death!” they called.

Old men, wives, mothers, and children filled the streets as dawn broke, were clapping and cheering. India stopped for a moment to watch. The first group that marched past looked polished and professional in their uniforms of blue or brown jackets, white britches and boots marching in formation. They were followed by men dressed in buckskin and homespun fabric, wearing coonskin caps and tricorne hats. They carried hunting rifles and buck knives, patriots fresh from the fields or the back woods of Delaware and Pennsylvania. Wagons filled with supplies rolled past, horses pranced, followed by more troops.

“No more tyranny! Death to the Lobster back!” spectators cried.

With her hat in her hand, India pushed her way through the crowd and climbed the steps of the Tatnall home to scan the crowd for Calleigh. She was amazed that Wilmington could produce so many people. It was so loud and chaotic that she began to feel panic. She could not see Quinn anywhere. Her palms started to perspire.
What if I missed him? What if, in all the commotion, he had forgotten to meet me?

Suddenly, he appeared at the base of the stairs dressed in the blue and white uniform and polished black boots of a Continental officer. He had just dismounted and was still holding the reigns of his gelding. He looked up at India and smiled, taking his tricorne hat off and tucking it under his arm. Even though his dark hair was tied back, several curls fell onto his forehead. When India looked into his eyes, her heart jumped. The crowd moved in a steady stream around him, but for India, there was no one, all she saw was Calleigh.