Free The Rebel's Return by Susan Foy Page B

The two men exchanged greetings.
    “Have you heard the news?” Nicholas asked him. “Colonel Haslet crossed the Bronx River with a raiding party and caught Robert Rogers and his Tories by surprise. They killed a mess, captured thirty-six men and brought back a pile of muskets as well.”
    “I was hoping you would say he wiped out Howe’s entire army,” Walton grinned.
    “No such luck. But I’ll take any victory we can get right now. We need one badly.”
    Walton nodded glumly. “We’re in for another fight soon, I reckon.”
    “It looks that way,” Nicholas concurred. “Maybe you should take a minute to write to your little lady in the next few days.”
    Walton’s eyes brightened. “I heard from her last week. She is with child! Do you believe it?”
    “Congratulations.” Nicholas laughed silently. “You must have kept busy during your one week at home.”
    Walton grinned, embarrassed and proud, then his expression darkened. “I’m mighty glad she has her parents to look out for her right now. I won’t be any use to her for a while.”
    Nicholas reflected that his young friend would scarcely enjoy the pleasures of either marriage or fatherhood anytime soon, and nodded grimly. The aide returned with a response for Lord Stirling, and Nicholas swung up onto Syllabub, waved farewell, and kicked the mare into a trot.
    What was it about war and carnage that made young men like Walton rush off into matrimony? He had noticed the same phenomenon repeatedly. Was it a sudden awareness of the shortness of life? The urge to leave progeny behind? A quest for security in a world turned upside down? A yearning for female companionship in an all-male society? Or simply the sudden maturity that came from sacrifice and hardship and daily facing the grim realities of life?
    He had faced the same questions about himself. Just six months ago he would have laughed at the notion of settling down with one woman anytime in the foreseeable future. But that was before the newness and excitement of army life had worn down to a monotonous daily struggle for survival. That was before so many of his comrades—most of them younger than himself—had been slaughtered on Brooklyn Heights. Sheer luck that he had made his escape back to Rebel lines before the Hessians closed in. He could just as easily be lying, unrecognized and unburied, in the wood of horror with the hundreds of other corpses, and who would know or care?
    Irrelevantly his mind went back to that last carefree day in Philadelphia with Phoebe. It was true that he had first planned to ask Alice, for reasons he could scarcely explain to her sister. But he had been surprised at how much he enjoyed her company that afternoon. She was pretty and fun-loving, curious and warm-hearted, with an innocence he found both amusing and endearing. And she did not bother to hide the fact that she found him attractive. But when he had tried to push his advantage, later in the day in the woods, she had quickly shown her mettle and put him in his place.
    Well, that was that. He had almost begun to think of the Fuller house as his second home—his first home now—but he hardly dared show his face there again. Phoebe had no doubt told her strict mother and her starchy sister that Nicholas had taken her off into the woods to try to have his way with her. Well, it was his own fault; he should have known better. What a fool!
    He tried to shrug the whole incident off as he had many times in the last two months. His father would not approve of the Fuller daughters as marriage material, for they were only apothecary’s daughters and would have no fortune apart from a modest marriage settlement. Now that he was the oldest son, he would be expected to improve the family fortunes with an advantageous match. But his mother would approve of Phoebe. Phoebe reminded him of his mother in many ways: her zest for life, her affectionate heart, her piety.
    Suddenly he was swept with a wave of homesickness so