New York - The Novel

soon be in British hands again. The Patriot troops in North Carolina are in poor shape too. Perhaps our friend Rivers gave up too early.” She hadn’t seen her father look this pleased in months. “General Clinton is so satisfied that he plans to return to New York and leave Cornwallis in charge down there,” he concluded.
    “Is Albion returning also then?” she asked.
    “Not yet. He wants to stay with Cornwallis. Hoping to make a name for himself, I expect.”
    “I see. Does he enclose any letter for me?”
    “No. But he thanks you for yours, and sends you his warmest good wishes.” Her father smiled. “I’ll give you the letter. You can read it for yourself.”
    “I’ll read it later, Papa,” she said, and left the room.
    For the next few days, New York continued to celebrate. But Abigail did not. In truth, she hardly knew what to feel. She told herself that she was being foolish. A young man going to war had kissed her. He must have kissed a score of girls before. He said he had tender feelings for her. Perhaps he had. But that, she supposed, might pass. And what did she feel for him? She scarcely knew.
    Her world seemed bathed in a sunless light that left the landscape uncertain.
    She felt sure that Albion had acquitted himself with distinction, so why had he declined to return with General Clinton? And mightn’t he at least have replied to her letter in person? Surely he’d have done so, if he cared for her? Two more days of this silent moping followed, until her father, who could bear it no longer, took her aside and asked her frankly: “My child, have I done something to cause you unhappiness?”
    “Nothing, Papa, I promise you.”
    He paused, as if considering something. “Might this have any connection with Grey Albion?”
    “No, Papa. None at all.”
    “I think, Abby, that it has.” He sighed. “I wish your mother were still alive. It must be hard for you talk to your father about such a matter.”
    She gave in. “I thought at least he’d write to me.” She shrugged. “If he cared.”
    Her father nodded, seemed to reach a decision of some kind, and put his arm around her shoulder.
    “Well then, I’ll tell you, Abby. Do you remember the day that Susan came and I sent goods to the Patriots? Albion came to me that evening. He spoke of you … in the most tender terms.”
    “He did?”
    “He expressed his feelings plainly. Indeed, nobly.” Her father nodded at the recollection. “But you are still young, Abby, and with this war continuing … and so much uncertainty … He and I decided it was best to wait. Wait until the war is over. Who knows how matters may stand then? In the meantime, for his sake as well as your own, you should think of him as a friend. A dear friend.”
    Abigail stared at her father. “Did he ask for my hand in marriage?”
    Her father hesitated. “He may have mentioned the possibility.”
    “Oh, Papa,” she said, reproachfully.
    “You care for him, then?” he asked.
    “Yes, Papa.”
    “Well, I like him too,” he now declared.
    “He would want to take me to England, I suppose?”
    “I’m sure of it. I’d miss you, Abby. Should you wish to go?”
    “Would you go also?”
    “I might have to, Abby, if the Patriots recoup and win.”
    “Then, Papa,” she smiled, “I’d tell him, ‘I’ll go if my papa comes too.’”

    Solomon was happy. It was a beautiful June day and the sea was sparkling. They were off the coast of Virginia and running north toward New York, under the bright blue sky and a breeze coming from the south-east.
    The vessel was French. They’d taken her off the coast of Martinique, with a fine cargo of French silks, wine and brandy, and even a small chest of gold. The captain had split the crew, sending the mate to take the prize to New York with a dozen of their own crew, including four slaves, and six of the captured Frenchmen.
    Though he was still waiting for his freedom, Solomon enjoyed being at sea. Life aboard a privateer, especially one owned by Master, wasn’t so bad. And since he was the merchant’s personal property, neither the captain nor the mate were going to give him any trouble, as long as he performed his duties well. In any case, he’d long since become a valued member of the crew. The last time they’d hit bad weather, and the mate had needed assistance, he’d called out: “Take the wheel, Solomon,” and afterward told him: “I knew you’d keep her steady.”
    But he was looking forward to