Of Wildflowers and Gunpowder

Chapter 20

I awoke to the sound of boisterous laughing outside my door and the rays of sunlight shining onto the desk across from the bed. It felt exhilarating, despite everything that had happened the night before. I would be back with Benjamin by nightfall.
Letting my bare feet hit the cold wooden floorboards with a shiver, I dressed myself and packed my market bag for the day, prepared to not ever come back to this place.
Last night, I had written down every piece of information I received and consolidated James Armistead's reports into my own.
     It was dangerous to carry written letters but even worse to give false reports by word of mouth. With the letters in my pocket, I filled the market bag with blank pieces of paper and my fancy steel quill pen.
Without saying anything, I slapped ten pence on the counter in front of Joseph Burgwin and walked out with as much pride as I could muster, ignoring some of the same men from last night calling to me.
The bitter air whipped around me as I walked towards Swan Tavern, the more high-end meeting place in the city. It was mid-morning and Yorktown was bustling with activity, soldiers running from place to place making jokes and barking orders to each other.
James appeared from inside the building, a big, anxious smile on his face. "Ah, my dear Elizabeth! Come inside, you must meet my superiors!" I gathered up my gown and hurried inside as the cold wind picked up, saying, "Oh, James, it is wonderful to see you!" He embraced me and whispered in a barely-audible voice, "Cornwallis is here."
My breath caught in my throat. I had no idea I would be meeting with the most important British soldier in the southern campaign. It would be much harder to pass things by him and I hoped with all my heart that he wouldn't recognize me somehow from my escapade in Brooklyn. The last thing Washington needed was a captured spy.
Because I wasn't sure how much he had already told the officers, I let James do the talking as he pulled out a chair for me and poured me a cup of expensive tea.
"This is my friend, Elizabeth Livingston," he said, "and she is visiting town for a few days. And this is Captain Thomas Symonds, Admiral Thomas Graves, General Charles O'Hara, and Lieutenant-General Charles Cornwallis."
"It is an honor, gentlemen," I said graciously, "I have heard many stories of your bravery...every single one of you."
O'Hara smiled and Cornwallis asked, "What brings you here to Yorktown, Miss Livingston? There isn't much here but His Majesty's military."
"I came to visit my family on the plantation. My father was a magistrate. But," I paused, thinking carefully before I said another word, "they were killed by the enemy. Right there in the parlor, murdered. I was told when I arrived here a few days ago."
Emotion threatened to strangle my voice as I said the word "enemy." I had told the men the truth, but I meant something completely different from what they understood. The enemy was not the patriots or the French or the Spanish or even the Loyalists; it was the very men I was talking to.
"I would like to offer my deepest condolences, Miss Livingston. A loss such as that will never be able to be expressed."
    I sipped from my tea and nodded. "It is alright; we surely can't dwell on the past forever. I have recently committed myself to do what I can do honor their memory. How long will you all be in town?"
     "A few more weeks, then we will join the brothers Howe in New York," Symonds said, reclining back in his chair and motioning for the tavern woman to bring him another bottle of ale.
     "Ah, yes, because of George Washington's plans to take back Manhattan, I assume."
Cornwallis nodded. "Your friend James here was able to gather intelligence and inform us of his every move. He has been very useful."
     James grinned at me, and I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise.
"Yes, well, I hope I may be of use to you as well. I spent some time in the countryside outside of York City before coming here and I witnessed many of their preparations and tactical trainings firsthand. I lived with Colonel Campbell and his family—perhaps you have heard of him—and we saw them many times."
O'Hara raised his eyebrows and Charles Cornwallis said, "Would you be so kind as to eat with us, Miss Livingston? I would like you to stay as long as possible."
     We talked for over an hour, my nerves heightening with every moment I spent with them. I knew I had to see this through.
     Every word that escaped my mouth was carefully examined before I said it, desperate not to compromise myself.
In the beginning, it was mostly me doing the talking: telling them false things about the Continental Army that would be normal for a magistrate's daughter to observe and remember.
Slowly, it turned to small talk. Every now and then, however, they would mention the position of their strongest battery or complain about their worst, most cocky and weak officers and where they were stationed.
     I pried harder and harder as I gained their trust, giddy with excitement as I acquired a clearer picture of exactly what Washington needed to do to corner them here. It was so much easier for me as a woman;  I could ask almost anything without being suspected.
James was an enormous help; asking questions I never would have thought to ask and discreetly providing clarification to things he knew didn't make sense.
Cornwallis seemed to trust James more than I first expected, and I realized that if it wasn't for their belief that Washington was in New York, they would have been much more on guard and would have never given so much information to a stranger like me. James was the reason any of this worked at all.
When the church clock down the street struck two o'clock, I stood up, all the men standing with me.
     "Oh, my goodness!" I exclaimed, "I admit I neglected to keep track of the time. You have all been so very obliging, so very kind! Good bye!"
     They each bid me adieu with genuine smiles, and Cornwallis thanked me for all the information I had provided them.
     "You have a natural elegance about you, Miss Livingston," he said, "and I admire your good judgement and accomplishments as a young lady—Mr. Armistead has given you only half the credit you are owed."
     I curtsied graciously, thanking him for his compliments.
     James Armistead led me by the arm outside, and I turned to face him when we were away from the tavern's windows.
"Thank you, James," I said, slipping the knife he had given me the night before into his hands. I wouldn't have much use for it now.
     It felt as if a weight had been lifted from my chest as I made my way to a nearby tree to write everything down. I had survived the entire day unscathed and unsuspected with more information than I had ever hoped to receive. Safe.
     It took me almost thirty minutes to write down everything I had heard and, to my frustration, my shivering hands began to ruin my perfect penmanship I worked so hard on.
     Benjamin had always joked that if he had my handwriting, he would have become Washington's secretary like Mr. Hamilton instead of the head of intelligence. I told him that I had never seen a gentleman's handwriting that equaled his.
     "I do not admire mine," he would always argue, "My penmanship has always been too small for my liking—it wants strength."
     I would laugh, and he would promise to write me another letter with the most elegant handwriting he could manage. Oh, how I missed him already.
     Slipping the paper into my petticoat and heading uptown to the courthouse, I nodded and smiled to a few soldiers who seemed to have noticed me talking to Cornwallis and the other officers. Nobody hooted or whistled at me anymore.
After a few minutes of walking, the streets narrowed and people became fewer and poorer, looking at me with interest or distain as I passed in my robe a la francaise gown and curled up hair. I knew the courthouse was in a less populated part of town but I had no idea that it was like this.
Just then, a man emerged from the alleyway to my right and stepped in front of me, blocking my path with a terrifying look in his dull, green eyes.
     "Excuse me," I said softly, keeping my head down and trying to walk around him. Instead, he grabbed me, putting a hand over my mouth and dragging me into the alley.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I tried to scream, fighting hysterically as he shoved me onto the ground and pinned me down with his knees, muttering threats if I didn't stop trying to yell out. This can't happen, I told myself, I can't let it happen.
He ripped off my shoes and stockings and unbuttoned his breeches, kissing me passionately on my neck as he held me down.
Suddenly, the memories flowed back. My brother Samuel screaming, the British soldier shoving me against the mantle in the parlor, my innocent, sixteen year-old self oblivious to the gravity of the situation.
     This is what that soldier did all those years ago after my parents were killed. Samuel died trying to keep me from being attacked. I had blocked out the memories until now but at this very moment, it was happening again and there was nobody here to protect me.
I cried out in pain as he forced himself into me with a sickening moan, saying something to himself in French. If he was French, perhaps I could reach his sympathy if I related to him. "Monsieur! Écoutez-moi, je vous en conjure! Arrête!" I begged between labored breaths, imploring him to stop. He continued even more violently, eliciting a scream from me.
     In response, he punched me in the jaw as hard as he could and spit on me, digging his knee into my leg. My vision blurred. I could feel the grimy cobblestone dirt in my teeth mixing with blood as I tried desperately to get out from under him, despair beginning to set in.
     He bit my lip when he kissed me and I whimpered, writhing away from his grip on my thighs to no avail. He was strong, I was weak. As he continued mercilessly, I closed my eyes and tried to block it out, turning my head to the side and letting the tears fall. I was worthless now.
I laid there in that wretched alley for what felt like an eternity, my soul slowly being stripped from me as he broke me piece by piece. Who could ever love a broken orphan? Every time I cried, he would grab me by the throat and slam my head against the ground, threatening to kill me if I didn't stop.
After a while, he began tearing at my stays with ravenous fingers trying to get it off but to no avail; luckily for me, it was harder than it looked.   
     "Enlever!" he demanded, telling me to take them off myself.
     Suddenly, blood erupted from the man's mouth and dripped onto me, his eyes wide as his grip around my throat tightened. "Louisa, get away quickly," a familiar voice said.
Benjamin shoved my attacker to the ground beside me and pulled a bloody bayonet from his back, punching him with furious energy.
I scrambled away as fast as I could and leaned against the brick wall, sobs racking my body as I watched Benjamin beat him senseless.
When the man was dead, he pulled me into his shaking arms and breathed my name over and over again, as if reassuring me that it still belonged to me.
   "I'm so sorry, Ben; it's my fault," I wept, "I should have—I don't know what I should have done! But I let it happen again, Benjamin! How could-"
"Louisa, stop. Did you say it happened again?" I nodded, trying to compose myself to no avail. "When my family was killed, Samuel saved me from being raped. But I didn't know at the time—I was too young. I forgot about it until now. Oh Ben, I'm so sorry this happened, it's my fault."
He took my face in his hand and looked me square in the eye. "Don't say that. It's not your fault. I'm just glad you're alive. It's going to be alright, love. I promise."
     He gave me his canteen and I drank eagerly, trying to swallow through my hiccuping sobs.
    "I'm ashamed for you to even look at me," I whispered as I pulled my torn petticoat down to cover my blood-streaked legs and nestled against his arm.
"Don't be ashamed of me, Lou, I beg you. I am going to be your husband soon, won't I? You are my dearest love and that will never change. Do you believe me?"
     I nodded through the tears as he ran his hand through my tangled hair affectionately, smiling as though I was the most beautiful girl in the world.
"Thank you for not leaving me, Ben," I said softly into his chest, "it seems as though most people would have moved on by now." He chuckled a little and cocked his head like he always did. "Why would I leave you because of everything you've endured? You are fearfully and wonderfully made, Louise, and I love you."
It made my heart swell to hear him say that and to know that my body wasn't the only thing that mattered to him. We laid like that for a long time, Benjamin comforting me as I poured out my fears and my pain to him.
    "Come on," he said after a while, "There's a carriage waiting a few blocks from here that will take us back to camp. You can rest there." I nodded weakly and tried to stand up before collapsing in pain frustratedly.
     With one hand around my waist and the other holding my bloody hand tightly, he guided me out of the alley and through the empty streets, explaining, "When you didn't show up at the courthouse, I started looking everywhere. I checked the taverns, the harbor, Market street, even the jails. It was providence that brought me to this street, where I heard you crying. I've never been so angry in my entire life."
     A few people walked past us with quizzical expressions on their face but none of them seemed too surprised...perhaps this kind of thing happens more often than it first appeared.
     "Benjamin," I said anxiously as we approached the carriage, "please don't mention this to anyone. I'm worthless now. I don't want either of our reputations damaged any more than they already are."
He looked like he wanted to argue but he knew I was right. People would blame me for this and nobody would look at Ben the same way if they knew he was marrying an unchaste woman.
     "Alright, but I fear it will be hard to hide the fact that something happened from the General," he said as he helped me into the carriage and put his arm around me comfortingly. I knew he was right and I dreaded going into Washington's tent looking like this. I was simply glad I had written all my intelligence down so I could give him the paper and be done with it.
     As we began our journey out of the city, I stretched out across the seat and rested my head in Benjamin's lap, pulling my cloak around myself and shuddering from despair and cold. He kissed the top of my head gently and whispered, "Sleep, love. I'll keep you safe." He didn't know it, but he was slowly putting me back together; piece by piece.