Journey to Victory, page 11
Christiane pulled her weary self together as well as she could. “I have traveled from Montreal to New York City alone. I believe I can make it half a day’s journey over and back. Besides, I still have my hunting knife,” she said as stoutly as she could manage.
She knew the agony her friend was feeling. Even knowing he was safe, she suffered over being separated from Jean Claude. But Ben wasn’t safe. Dread filled her. Two armies were probably battling somewhere south, deserters roamed the countryside, and it was cold enough to freeze a young lad to death before morning. Ben had to be found and as soon as possible and no one else who could go, would. “Where are the wagons headed for? I’ll need to know where to meet up with you.”
“I ain’t supposed to say,” the old man said. “But, oh, what the hell, ye got to know. Come over here. I’ll tell ye.” He pulled her a few steps away from the others and whispered in her ear. “We’re headed to Morristown, New Jersey. Just ye stick to Princeton Road comin’ and goin’ as far as ye kin. All right?”
Shivering, Christiane nodded.
The old man gripped her shoulder as though giving her strength. “Good luck then.” He stepped back toward the crowd of women. “All right. Everybody git ready. We’ll be leaving right now.” The call went up and down the line as two women helped Tildy and William with their blankets onto a wagon.
“Don’t worry, Tildy. I’ll bring him back,” Christiane called as bravely as she could. Tildy pressed her hands together, making the sign that she would be praying. Christiane turned poor, tired Nancy and started back south over the wretched miles she had just spent a day accomplishing.
At first her fears made her alert to the subtle sounds, interrupting the midwinter night—Nancy’s hooves plodding, the hollow voices and farm animal noises near the occasional farms she passed, her own breathing. A summer’s night is literally alive with sound, but a winter’s night is deathly silent. The stars above were bright and sparkling. Christiane took as much comfort from their beauty as she could. The crisp and cold air fairly crackled around her muffled ears. Occasionally a gust of wind would rattle the leafless trees and startle her. The mud evidenced the dropping temperature. It had been moist and sticky all day. Now it was frozen.
Her initial alertness waned before the onslaught of her own weariness and the chill. Many times she caught herself dozing. She was surprised that she was able to stand. leaning against Nancy, while sleeping. From time to time Nancy would also stop, as though taking a brief nap herself. Christiane did not urge her on. The mare had been walking and sometimes carrying her all day and probably would be all night. Finally the cold would prompt the mare and she would start again of her own accord.
On Nancy’s back, Christiane awoke once again with a jerk. Nancy, too, was taking one of her rests. How many hours she had been on the horse she did not know, but she knew she was saddle-weary. She slid off and stood once again, leaning against the warm body of the horse. Had she ever been warm? The surroundings appeared somewhat familiar even in the sparse moonlight and Christiane was sure she had not strayed from Princeton Road.
Maybe she should start calling Ben’s name once in a while, now that she was nearer where he had left them. Her shouts roused only Nancy, who began plodding again. Christiane decided to walk beside the horse to start her circulation going again. So she walked beside the mare, alternately clapping her mittened hands together and calling out Ben’s name.
This went on for more than an hour. Never had Christiane felt more isolated. The silence around her was crushing; then she thought she heard something. She stopped Nancy and stood like a statue. She heard it again. It was another voice. “Ben!” she called out, hoping against hope. “Ben?”
Then she heard the answer from a distance. “Mrs. Kruger!” She dropped the reins and started running. Then she could see him about a hundred yards ahead of her on the frozen, rutted road. When she reached him, she held him close to her. Waves of relief washed over her. Jean Claude was safe with the Richardsons and Ben was here with her. She looked down at him, still unable to speak. His face streamed with tears and he was gasping for breath. She just held him close and hugged him till they both began to breathe normally again.
“Ben, why did you leave us?”
His words tumbled out. “I wanted to see a battle. But I got scared. I saw some deserters, English ones, and I hid from them. Then I went on farther and I heard cannon. That scared me. Then I remembered Father told me to stay with Mother and take care of her. And I knew he’d be angered if he saw me. And it was dark and I was scared.”
Instinctively Christiane knew that this was not the moment for a reprimand and besides, she was just too tired. Nancy had caught up with them and stood patiently beside her. “Come, Ben. Let’s get back to your mother.” In their accustomed manner they mounted and turned back north. At dawn they would stop at the nearest farm and beg for food and warmth. The worst was over. A day or two and they would be reunited with Tildy.
More hours came and went. Ben and she dozed off and on and Nancy plodded on, stopping periodically. Dawn still seemed to be years away.
Christiane awoke with a start. She looked down into the face of a Hessian and screamed.
“Down!” he bellowed at her. “Gib mir dein horse!”
Christiane kicked out with her right leg, almost knocking him off balance. With a curse, he lunged forward. But Christiane was ready for him. As he struck her thigh with his bayonet, she slashed him with her hunting knife. The blade flayed him across his throat. Blood shot out, spraying both of them. He stabbed her once more in the thigh, then he loosed the reins and fell to the ground in a heap. The frightened horse took off. Christiane gripped the mane to keep astride. Weeping aloud, Ben clutched her waist. The horse galloped only a short distance. Though terrified, Nancy was too tired to run for long. When the horse stopped and stood heaving from the exertion, Christiane ordered weakly, “Ben, get down and hand me up the reins.”
“Are you all right?”
“Ben, get down and hand me up the reins,” Christiane repeated as she pried his arms loose.
As he handed her the reins, he stared at Christiane’s leg. “Mrs. Kruger, you’re bleeding.”
“I know, Ben. Now get back up. Hurry.” Her icy leg burned with pain. Christiane looked around. Not a house in sight, but, at least the gray of predawn was lightening around them. “Ben, we’re going to find help,” she said evenly. From deep inside a fit of shivering welled up in her. “Hold on tight, Ben.” With this she urged Nancy on. All the while she was aware of the sickly sensation of her own warm blood coursing down her frostbitten leg and filling her moccasin to overflowing.
The minutes seemed endless and still no house appeared. Christiane halted the exhausted mare. She cut two of the long strings on Jon’s buckskin jacket and tied them together. Then she looped them around her injured thigh, making a primitive tourniquet. When she straightened up, stars exploded before her eyes and she slumped forward against the mare’s neck.
“Mrs. Kruger! Mrs. Kruger!” Ben called hysterically. He tried to reach around for the reins. Finally he caught them with his fingertips. Then he nudged Nancy with his heels.
Another mile and half down the road he spotted a lane off to the left. He kicked at Nancy’s sides and urged her to go, but to no avail. The mare had walked all day and all night and she was done for. The unconscious Christiane slid slowly from the mare’s back, landing on the frozen ground with a muffled thud. Ben jumped down and ran up the lane.
At the end of the long lane, a path in the snow led to a modest, white farmhouse, flanked by two barns. Ben ran directly to the side door and began pounding and yelling. Two large dogs came charging around from one of the barns, but Ben ignored their barking and continued beating the door.
At last the door was flung open by a half-dressed man. “What’s the matter?” he yelled sleepily as the dogs quieted.
“She’s dying! She’s dying!” Ben screamed at the man. “You’ve got to help me! She’s dying!”
“What did you say, lad?” he asked, bewildered.
“She’s dying. A man tried to kill her.”
“Who, lad?”
“Mrs. Kruger. You have to come!” Ben took hold of the man’s hand and began tugging.
“Where is she?”
“At the beginning of your lane.”
A woman, clutching a shawl over her nightdress, appeared at the man’s elbow. “What is it, John?”
“The lad here says there’s a woman dying at the head of our lane.”
“Well, you must go see,” she ordered briskly.
“Yes, of course.” He pulled his jacket from the peg by the door and set off at a trot with the boy. The dogs joined them, barking their encouragement.
Several minutes later the farmer’s wife saw her husband walking quickly back, carrying a woman. A horse followed the boy and the dogs. “Esther!” he called to her. “She’s been stabbed in the leg! She’s bleeding badly!”
Esther threw open the door as he rushed in and carried Christiane over to the fire. He laid her down gently. Already she was kneeling beside Christiane, pulling at the clothing that covered the injured leg.
“John, build up the fire and get some water heating. I’ll have to clean off the blood, so I can see what to do.” He quickly obeyed her. Ben stood just inside the door, watching.
Esther pulled up the multitudes of skirts and petticoats and then slid down the buckskin pants. Soon she was sponging away the gore with a basin of warm water. She examined the two deep slits in the thin, white thigh. “John, get me my herb basket.” The basket was delivered swiftly. She pored over its contents and then selected what looked to Michael to be spider webs, which she pressed directly on the wounds. “Bandages,” she stated succinctly.
John soon handed her another covered wicker basket. Inside were rolls of homemade bandages in various widths. She selected the widest and thickest one and began to unroll it as she applied it to Christiane’s leg. When she was done, she took the blankets John had brought her, unasked, and wrapped Christiane in them and left her snug by the fire.
Contemplating what to do, she refilled the copper kettle and hung it over the fire. Then she stood, gazing down at Christiane’s white face. Without turning toward him, she motioned Ben to come to her. He approached her warily. “Lad, how did this happen?” Somehow her calm question opened the floodgates of his emotions. He sobbed and could not speak at first. “A deserter…a Hessian tried to take…our horse. And he stabbed her,” Ben stuttered in between sobs. “It’s all my fault.”
Esther opened her mother-arms and took him in. “John, did you see a horse?”
“I hit her rump and headed her toward our barn.”
“Go see to the mare please,” she requested. Her husband nodded and dragged his coat on again and hurried outside.
“Who are you?” she asked the child.
“Ben Main, ma’am.”
“And this is?” Esther gestured toward the woman.
“Mrs. Kruger. She’s a friend of my mother.”
“Why are you with her and not your family?”
Ben hung his head in shame. “It’s all my fault.”
“Please tell me,” the woman asked patiently.
Ben heard some movements behind them and looked up to see four children, coming down the stairs to the kitchen.
“Sit down at the table, children. This is Ben. He is going to tell us how he came to our house while I make breakfast.” She gently piloted him to a seat on the bench by the long trestle table. She straightened her white cap and rearranged her heavy shawl over her long flannel nightgown. Then she began to mix up a large pot of oatmeal.
John came in, bearing a large bucket of fresh milk. “The horse is eating in our barn and I finished the milking.” He sat down in a large chair at the head of the table and began to fill his pipe.
“Now, Ben, tell us your story,” Esther bid him.
So he did, leaving out very few details. He ended with the question he dreaded to ask, “Is she going to be all right?”
“I’ve done as much as I can do for her. But she really needs a doctor and some good care. She’s so thin,” the woman answered, as though speaking to herself.
The silent children watched Ben as he put away two large bowls of mush and two mugs of milk. His shrunken stomach felt as though it were about to burst. The food reminded him of the way his mother had cooked in their old house in Boston. This brought fresh tears to him. Where was his mother? And what would she say about his wicked disobedience?
Just then Christiane began to moan weakly. Quickly Esther was kneeling by her side. “Mrs. Kruger?” she murmured. Christiane’s eyes fluttered open, but had an unfocused quality to them. Then Christiane tried to speak, but was not able to.
“John, milk, please.” He hurriedly brought over a mug, which Esther took and held to Christiane’s lips.
After a few sips, Christiane was able to whisper, “Ben?”
“He is here, Mrs. Kruger, and is well,” Esther answered her. Then she helped Christiane take in more milk. “Children, bring two large pillows.” The two older children quickly complied. She placed the pillows under Christiane’s head. Christiane just lay, staring into space.
In a few moments Esther prepared a bowl of thin mush which she began to spoon slowly into Christiane’s mouth. The bowl was almost empty when Christiane’s eyes closed.
“Did she faint again?” John asked.
“No, she’s just so weak.”
“Can we go get the doctor?” Ben ventured. There was a significant pause.
“I’m sorry, son, but there ain’t any doctors around here,” John answered.
“Then what are we going to do?”
“Wait and see. That’s all we can do,” Esther said. “I’ll do my best for her.”
Ben sat, staring down at his feet.
The rest of the morning passed slowly. John and Esther went about their daily chores, but whenever Christiane regained consciousness, Esther was there giving her milk or thin mush. Ben sat and watched helplessly.
They had just finished a lunch of bread, cheese, and dried apples when a voice and the sound of hooves startled them all. “Hallo! John, hallo!” In a second’s time, John was shrugging into his heavy coat and out the door. The rest of them lined up at the nearest frosted window to watch and listen.
“Army coming, John. My boys and me are warning everybody ‘long Princeton Road.” A tall man, dressed against the cold, sat on a dark stallion.
“Which army? Going north or south?”
“Continental. Going north. Hide your stock. They’re moving fast, but they still might do some commandeering.”
“Right. My thanks to you,” John called to his neighbor as they parted—the neighbor heading back down the lane and John toward his barns.
Ben’s ears perked up. Without a word, he pulled on his stocking cap and jacket and charged out the door and down toward the road.
Esther called after him, but understood almost immediately his intent. For certain an army—or, at least, part of it—would be visiting their house. Bearing this in mind, she bustled around the house, gathering up items of value and hiding them as best she could. She could hear her husband outside, urging their stock into the woods behind the barns.
When Ben reached the road, he could clearly see the army about a mile away. He had no plan, so he began to run toward the oncoming soldiers. When he came abreast of them, he slowed to a jog and carefully scanned the soldiers as they passed him. Exhausted then, he decided to sit on a fence rail by the side of the road and let the passing army reveal itself to him. While his feet rested, he scrutinized the marching ranks.
With collars folded up and rags wound over the legs of their breeches, the men were stiff-faced against the cold and the pace they marched at was brisk. No rain and clouds today, the day was bright and sunny, but so cold. Ben hugged his arms around him and occasionally stepped down to stamp his feet to keep them from feeling numb. Finally he picked out his father in the long columns of men. “Father!” he called as he darted in and out between the startled men.
“Ben!” The tall sergeant pushed forward and tugged his son back to the side of the road so as not to get in the way. “What are you doing here? Where is your mother?”
Young Ben was hesitant, but confessed, “I ran away yesterday. I wanted to be with you.”
“Ben, when I have a chance, I’m going to tan your hide! Your mother will be worried to death! And anything might have happened to you. Anything!” The angry father shook the boy soundly and left no doubt that punishment would be severe and soon. “Come along now. We have to get back into formation.” He began steering his son back toward the road.
“No, Father, stop!”
“What is it now?” the sergeant asked in exasperation.
“Mrs. Kruger came to find me on Nancy,” the boy stammered.
“Well? Where is she?” There was a pause. Michael shook his son’s arm. “Tell me!”
“A Hessian tried to take her horse last night. He stabbed her in the leg with his bayonet.” Ben’s lower lip trembled.
“Where is she!”
“At the farm up the road,” the boy whimpered, pointing north. Main was disgruntled.
“What’s the matter, Sarge?” Tom Mitchell asked as he reached them.
“It’s a long story, Tom. I’ll explain later. But Christiane is here at a farm up the road. She’s been wounded.”
“What!”
“Run back to Carter and tell him what has happened. Then catch up with us.” The father and son immediately started to jog alongside the road, heading into the lane.
“Father, where’s Mr. Kruger? Did he get lost, too?”
“Not now, Ben.”
They arrived at the farmhouse and before Sergeant Main could knock, the door opened. “Hello, Michael,” Esther greeted him calmly as though soldiers at her door was an everyday occurrence.
“Ma’am, we’d like to see Mrs. Kruger,” the sergeant said.
Esther opened the door farther and admitted them. The three went directly to Christiane’s side. “Is she asleep?” Tom whispered.
