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Nathaniel offered a quick bob of the head in reply.
Henry turned. “Let us see what news awaits us.”
Both men hurried back into the milky daylight, the tent door flapping closed behind them.
Joseph looked up and removed his hat. His height brought his head only inches from the drooping canvas roof. Nathaniel motioned to one of the two simple wood chairs that waited with arms outstretched, ready to ease any weary traveler. Joseph was all too willing to comply.
He sat with a humph and rubbed his finger and thumb against his eyes. “How long have you been in camp?”
“Three days.”
“Three?” Joseph’s eyebrows pinched down hard. “And already Donaldson has risen to such a rank?”
“His military experience is more than all the rest of us combined. The men are in desperate need of leadership and discipline.”
Looking to the tiny slit of light that wedged through the tent door, Joseph hummed in agreement. “I could not think of anyone better suited for such a position.”
Wiping a hand down his face, as if attempting to scrape away the thick exhaustion that dulled his eyes, Nathaniel fought a yawn. “We’d hoped to make the journey from Ticonderoga in only a few short weeks, but the
devil had his fingers in the weather—impeding our progress at every turn.” Nathaniel took the other chair and sat. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees while he rubbed the back of his neck. An airy sigh, full of memories and sprinkled with amazement, laughed from his throat. “By God’s good grace alone we survived the trip, and with the artillery intact. But I shall bore you with the victories and woes of our journey another time. Needless to say, Washington has the cannon and may use them as soon as he wishes. Until then, we wait.”
Joseph leaned back, reveling in the blissful stretch he could allow his long, ride-weary legs. He sat, studying the sudden pensive stare that pulled lines across Nathaniel’s brow. “You are tired.”
Nathaniel released an audible grumble of agreement. “We all are.”
The unusual quiet of the man Joseph had known since childhood—a man who always had a ready wit and jubilant nature—made Joseph sit rigid in his chair. “What is it?”
Nathaniel’s neck corded, and he pulled his bottom lip through his teeth. “Our situation is grave. More grave than any of us care to admit. Therefore we do not.” He spit out the answer like spoiled food.
Joseph stared, his expression growing heavy the longer he awaited the continuation of Nathaniel’s unspoken thoughts.
“There are so few men,” Nathaniel said. “And those who do remain are plagued by one horrid aliment or another.” He stopped and shook his head, his mouth thinning as he stared at the far corner of the tent. “I fear the pox will end this war before it has begun.”
The pox. Motionless, Joseph allowed the ugly word to burn in the heated silence before glancing to Nathaniel once again. “How many are afflicted?”
“More than I can number.”
Dear God.
Nathaniel rose and went to his desk. Pulling a canteen from the drawer, he took a drink before offering it to Joseph. He took it gratefully and refreshed his thirst while Nathaniel finished speaking.
“I have inoculated a few, those who will allow it, but it races through the men like fire in a wheat field. If we cannot contain it…” Nathaniel returned to his seat with a huff of tangible worry.
Joseph exhaled, resting the canteen on the ground beside him. He’d rarely seen his friend with such deep lines on his face, such a firm set to his jaw. Glancing down, Joseph picked up the bag and opened it, reaching to the very bottom to pull from hiding the lifeblood of Nathaniel’s spirit.
“Your wife’s generosity kept my belly full on my journey. You’ve married a good woman.”
Nathaniel’s head flicked up, eyes round, tone reverent. “You saw her?”
Joseph nodded and extended the note. Nathaniel straightened, joyful disbelief spinning in his expression. Taking it, he caressed the seal with his fingers, as if across the miles her skin could feel his touch against the paper. He looked up again, this time speaking the simple words as if they were a prayer. “How is she?”
“Very well.” Joseph looked to the tent door, a twinge of grief tugging at his memory. “I asked her if she would be willing to look after Jacob.”
“She agreed, of course.”
Nathaniel spoke with such confidence, as if he knew without question how his wife would act. What would it be like to be joined with someone who carried the same mind, loved with the same heart?
He rested the almost empty bag on the floor. “I had prepared to leave earlier, as you know, but Jacob’s fever returned, and I could not bring myself to leave him.”
