New York - The Novel

opened and her father’s voice, coming from the hallway, caused them to spring apart.
    “Ah,” her father said easily as, taking his time, he entered the room, “you’re back. Splendid. I hope the party was a success.”
    “Yes, sir, I think it was,” said Albion.
    And after a few polite exchanges, he went off to his bed.

    In the remaining time before his departure, he was kept very busy. General Clinton was planning to sail down the coast to Georgia with eight thousand troops. As well as being occupied around the port, Albion was often away, spending days on Long Island and the various outposts around the city.
    All too soon, the day of departure was upon them. He was to bid farewell to the family at the house, before going out to march to the ships with his men. But before doing so, he drew her into the parlor with him alone. And there he took her hand and looked into her eyes with great sincerity and affection.
    “Dear Abigail. How can I ever thank you enough for all that you have done for me? Or for the happiness of being in your company?” He paused a moment. “I hope so much that we shall meet again. But war is uncertain. So if, perchance, we should not, I must tell you that I shall carry the memory of our time together as the best and the brightest days of my life.”
    Then he kissed her gently upon the cheek.
    It was said with much warmth, and she bowed her head in acknowledgment of the great compliment he was paying her.
    But she had hoped for something—she was not sure what—something more.
    Later, she and her father took Weston down to the waterfront to watch the ships sail out of the harbor.

    The Christmas season came and went. They heard from Susan that James had moved with Washington to winter camp. The weather by now hadturned bitterly cold. Snowstorms came, again and again, burying the streets. Not only the Hudson River, but even the harbor froze. No one could remember anything like it, and Abigail wondered with some anxiety how her brother was faring. Down the coast there were big storms. No word came of Clinton and his fleet. “Remember, they have to pass New Jersey, Virginia and both the Carolinas,” her father reminded her, soothingly. “It’s eight hundred miles even as the crow flies.”
    At last news came that the ships, after suffering badly, had finally arrived at the mouth of the Savannah River. She waited for a letter from Albion. Not until late February did it appear. It was addressed to her father, and announced that he was safe and that the army, under Clinton and Cornwallis, was preparing to move up the coast into the Patriot country of South Carolina. “Our object, without a doubt, will be the city of Charleston.” He sent his greetings to the family, with a lighthearted message to Weston, telling him to start preparing for the cricket season, as soon as the weather allowed. To Abigail, he sent his warmest remembrances.
    “I shall reply, of course,” her father said, and wrote the next day, to which she added a letter of her own.
    Abigail did not find it easy to write her letter. She kept it short, gave Albion some report of life in the city, and her walks with Weston. But how should she finish? Did she dare commit her affections to paper? How would that expose her? And how might they be received? Or should she instead write something lighthearted, letting him guess the tenderness that lay beneath? She couldn’t decide.
    In the end she wrote only that both she and Weston hoped he would be returned to them safely, “so that you and he may play cricket, and we, perhaps, may dance.” It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

    The spring passed quietly. She occupied herself with Weston and wrote her usual accounts to James. News arrived from the South from time to time. A vigorous young cavalry commander named Tarleton was making a name for himself chasing down Patriots. Then in May came a hasty dispatch: Charleston had fallen.
    New York erupted with joy. There were parades, banquets and, soon, a letter from Grey Albion.
    “This quite changes the position,” her father remarked. “If we smash the south, and then turn all our forces on Washington, even with his better-trained men, he may find it hard to survive.” Her father gave her a summary of Albion’s letter. “It seems young Tarleton cut Charleston off completely from the north. His methods are brutal but effective, according to Albion. A huge surrender, he says. The whole of South Carolina will