New York - The Novel

Aboveall, Washington needed to discover what Howe’s next move would be. He was trying to employ spies. But he’d also sent James to reconnoiter around New York, and James was determined not to fail him.
    So now, after a while, he put his spyglass down and sighed. The loading of ships told him that something was afoot, but he needed to find out much more than that. It was time to try other measures.

    Abigail was just leaving Bowling Green with young Weston the next morning when a man came up to her. He looked like a farmer, delivering goods to the market no doubt, so she was rather surprised that he should quietly address her by her name.
    Then she realized—it was Charlie White.
    It did not take her long to leave Weston back at the house and return to Broadway. By the time she got there, her heart was beating fast. She was not sure what this meant, but she thought she could guess. Without a word, Charlie took her up Broadway. At Wall Street, they turned eastward and crossed to the East River. Then they walked northward up the wharfs for ten minutes until they were almost at the palisade at the top of the town. Coming to a small storehouse, she followed Charlie in. And there, sitting on a barrel in the shadows, she saw a tall figure in a greatcoat, who rose and came toward her.
    A moment later, she fell into her brother’s arms.
    He was wearing his uniform under his coat. The combination of the two, she thought, must have made him terribly hot. But it was important he should be in uniform, he explained, for otherwise if he were caught, he could be shot as a spy. He explained that Charlie had smuggled him into the city in a cart full of goods, but said little else about his movements. He was anxious to know all about Weston and his father, and most astonished when she told him that Grey Albion was in the house.
    “Alas,” he said, “how I wish that you could tell my dear father and little Weston that you have seen me, and that I think of them every day, but I fear that you cannot do so.”
    At last, however, he came to the business at hand.
    “Charlie has already listened in the marketplace. It is evident that General Howe is starting to put supplies in his ships, but the townspeople don’t seem to know where he is going.”
    “I shouldn’t imagine many people have been told,” she answered.
    “You have no idea yourself?”
    Abigail’s heart missed a beat. She looked down. Then she gazed back into his face.
    “Brother, why would the general tell a girl like me such a thing?” It sounded so reasonable. And it was not a lie.
    “No.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Do you think Albion knows?”
    “Perhaps, James, but he is only a junior officer. He hasn’t said so.”
    “Our father?”
    She hesitated a moment. What could she say? “If Father knows, then he certainly hasn’t confided the information to me.” This also was, strictly speaking, true.
    He nodded, and looked sad.
    And as Abigail watched him, she too was overcome by feelings of great sadness. She knew that her brother loved her. She knew that he longed to see her father, and his little son, and that he could not. Yet she could not help feeling a stab of pain that he had come to see her only to question her, to get information which, if given, would make her a traitor.
    At the same time, how she longed to tell him. He must be risking his life to come here. And perhaps, despite her promise to her father and to General Howe, she might have told him, if the information could have saved his life. But it wouldn’t. It would only give help to Washington and his Patriots, so that they could prolong this unhappy business even further. James was doing his duty, she was doing hers. Nothing could be altered. She wanted to weep, but knew that she must not.
    “I am sorry that Grey Albion is here,” he said at last.
    She supposed her brother meant he should not wish to have to fight his friend.
    “Father likes him,” she said.
    “And you?”
    “I admit that he is agreeable,” she answered. “But there seems to me to be a fault in his character. I think he is arrogant.”
    Her brother nodded. “Such arrogance is to be expected in an English officer, I fear.” He paused. “We were friends formerly, God knows, and his father could not have been kinder to me.”
    “It’s the war that makes you enemies.”
    “Yes, but it’s more than that, Abby. My feelings toward England, and what Grey represents, have changed. To tell the truth, I am not