One
Setauket, Long Island New York,
September 1778
Anna Turner hung another sheet on the line. She had two baskets of wet laundry to see to and hoped it didn’t decide to rain later.
Then again, maybe it should.
There was a hanging today. The main streets would be clogged with people by now, and she was grateful she didn’t need to venture into town anytime soon. She hated days like this.
Anna reached into the basket, shook out another sheet, and pinned it to the line. She’d better hurry. Mrs. Fenwick expected help with the midday meal soon.
Mercy, the other maid, hauled out another basket and set it at Anna’s feet. “This is the last of it. I’m sorry I can’t help you. Mrs. Fenwick has me peeling potatoes.”
“That’s all right,” Anna said. “I’ll manage. Go on and help her. As soon as I finish here, I’ll come in.” She reached for a hand towel and hung it neatly beside the sheet.
“Very well.” Mercy hurried back toward the house.
Anna returned to work. “Sheet, sheet, towel, towel, sheet, towel,” she recited silently.
She hung the linens in careful order. She’d been doing this for over a month and still wasn’t certain she’d made the right choice. At times, fear gripped her so hard she could scarcely breathe. Yet deep down, Anna knew this was the right thing to do.
Simple household tasks as a means of communication were her contribution to the war against the British. But on days like today, when they were hanging spies, while she was hanging laundry, it gave her pause. Still, she continued.
Anna hung Mr. Pembroke’s handkerchiefs between several dish towels before moving on to the second basket. While the laundry dried, someone would cut through the alley behind the house, read the message on the first line, and leave. A hedge separated the servants’ yard from the alley. People cut through there now and then. It was nothing unusual.
So it wasn’t long before Anna heard the clop of approaching hooves. She had to hurry.
Thankfully, Captain Whitby, the British officer staying with Mr. and Mrs. Pembroke, was attending the hanging. Still, Anna breathed easier knowing she’d gotten the message up in time.
Now for the second basket.
She went back to work, her heart thundering as the hoofbeats drew near and stopped. Anna didn’t dare look up. She didn’t want to know who carried the messages or where they endedup. She already knew far too much. So did Mercy and Elias, the Pembrokes’ footman.
Anna froze. Normally, the rider would be gone by now. Whoever collected the message was always quick and efficient, never lingering longer than necessary.
But this rider remained.
Anna hung a sheet and peeked around it. “Oh, no,” she muttered. That wasn’t the usual courier. In fact, she recognized him. Anna ducked back behind the sheet, her pulse pounding.
Nathaniel Reed.
He worked as a courier for the British and called at the house several times to speak with Captain Whitby. Anna risked another glance. Mr. Reed still sat astride his horse, staring at the laundry.
Or… was he staring at her? Did he suspect what they were doing? Was she about to be arrested and hanged like the poor souls meeting their fate today?
Her throat tightened. Anna reached for a tablecloth and forced herself to hang it with steady hands. Then she made the mistake of looking up.
Her eyes locked with Nathaniel Reed’s. She smiled politely, gave him a small nod, and returned to work. Everything must appear ordinary. Just a maid hanging laundry. If her eyes lingered on him, she could say it was because he was handsome, which he was. Brown hair, blue eyes, and broad shouldered. What woman wouldn’t look? Still, it might not be considered a good excuse.
Anna didn’t look at him again, and after a long moment, heard him continue down the alley. As soon as he was gone, Anna let go of the breath she was holding.
She returned to the house to help with lunch. Captain Whitby often had some of his fellow officers call on him. Mrs. Fenwickwas one of the best cooks around, and the British were taking advantage of Captain Whitby’s hospitality.
Anna entered the kitchen and fretted over Nathaniel Reed’s scrutiny of the laundry. Had he read the message there? But how could he? He had no idea she was a spy, or that the rest of the servants in the house were all on the side of the rebels.
“You’re being awful quiet,” Mrs. Fenwick commented as they prepared the food.
