Free The Rebels: The Kent Family Chronicles by John Jakes Page A

being lugged away by two companions. “—saved me from a broken skull. My thanks, Kent.”
    Washington whirled on the goggling laggards:
    “Inside, the rest of you. Smartly— smartly!”
    The Virginians ran, including the toothy, cock-eyed fellow who seemed to be trying to grin some sort of appreciation at Philip. Washington pulled his rain-drenched cloak down across his blue-and-buff uniform and turned to stride back to his phaeton. Henry Knox lingered, his round young face beaming:
    “I’d heard you were out here, Philip.”
    “But not in officer’s territory.”
    “Oh, I’m not there myself. Only on the border. Neither fish nor fowl, it seems. Still, I’m happy to serve where I can be useful.”
    “Your name’s been widely circulated, Henry. I understand General Washington’s impressed with your knowledge of artillery.”
    “I trust he will increase his reliance on what little I’ve learned,” Knox said, no longer smiling. “Only cannon can defeat the British garrison in Boston.”
    “I’ve also heard you may be commissioned a colonel.”
    Knox made no comment. But he couldn’t hide a prideful look. Before he’d shuttered his Boston bookshop to join the American army, Henry Knox had deliberately turned the shop into a haven for British officers of the occupying force. He had a purpose: to draw out the enemy’s best thinking on the subject that fascinated him—the proper use of artillery. “Lucky you had a good reason for your presence,” Knox observed finally. “The general’s determined to birth an army out of this dismaying collection of ruffians. He was correct when he said he spares no one—least of all himself.”
    “Well, that may be true, but—” Philip hesitated.
    “Go on with what you were about to say.”
    “Maybe I’d better not. It concerned the general.”
    “You can be candid. God knows everyone else in this camp is!”
    Still Philip held back. Knox smiled wearily:
    “Did you intend to tell me that most of your compatriots have doubts about the general’s ability?”
    Embarrassed, Philip nodded. Knox waved:
    “Don’t worry, I’ve heard that ten times over—from high and low. I’ve heard it all. That he was nothing more than a militia colonel before. And that while fighting the French and Indians, he lost several engagements. But I tell you this, Philip. Judge him by what he does now, not by his past.”
    “I suppose that’s the fair way,” Philip agreed. It was pointless to go into all the widely expressed reasons many soldiers considered Washington a poor choice for his high post.
    Aware of the general watching impatiently from the phaeton, Knox himself changed the subject:
    “So you’re on your way to see your wife, are you?”
    “That’s right.”
    “I do believe I heard you’d married Mistress Ware—”
    “Back in April.”
    “And she’s with child. You’re to be congratulated.”
    Philip didn’t smile. “As I said, she’s been sickly—”
    “Knox!” Washington’s shout from the phaeton hurried the fat young man’s departure:
    “I hope that condition reverses itself promptly. Give Anne and her father my compliments. I’m glad to find you again,” he added as he waddled off. “I might have need for a couple of quick-witted men for a scheme I’m hatching—”
    With a wave of the silk-wrapped hand, he was into the phaeton, a cloaked mountain hulking beside the general and the other officer as the carriage vanished in the murk.
    Philip turned and hurried away from the Virginia encampment. He had only a few hours—and he was already late.
ii
    “Anne?”
    Kneeling beside the bed, Philip kept his voice to a whisper:
    “Annie? It’s me—”
    Slowly, Anne Kent’s eyes opened. Her head moved slightly on the sweat-dampened bolster. The brown eyes reflected the flame of a candle by the bedside. Rain pattered the roof of the cramped upstairs bedroom in the house on a shabby side street in Watertown.
    His mouth dry, Philip closed his hand