animals.'
'They were my disguise.'
'Yes, they certainly disguised you,' said Mrs. Hulter, in a tone that made it clear she was taking a proprietary interest in her young charge. 'But you seem to be ready to burst the bounds of any such disguise. You have even excited some interest from my son.'
'Really?'
'He's too young for you, dear; he's barely thirteen. But he had a look in his eyes when he told me about you.'
'A look?'
'Men get an expression in their eyes, as if the sockets will collapse.'
'Is that love?'
'Well, it is something like it.'
'Can I trust you with a secret?'
'Of course.'
'I love Jake.'
The words rushed from her so suddenly they surprised her.
'Many women love him,' said Mrs. Hulter gently. 'But. .'
'Do you think he loves me?'
Mrs. Hulter sighed deeply, trying to be diplomatic without lying to the girl. 'He is too old for you, dear.'
'He's not much older than I, only six or seven years.'
'The war has aged him in ways it is difficult to explain.' Mrs. Hulter tugged her arm gently. 'Do you think he loves you?'
'He saved my life. And I saved his.'
'That is one type of love,' allowed the older woman. 'Still, I think you are after something else, aren't you?'
'How can you tell if someone is in love with you?'
'A person's whole being changes. You will see, when the time comes.'
'I will make him love me.'
Mrs. Hulter laughed. 'I would think that quite difficult. In any event, he is too much a gentleman to take you as a lover, being both older and having been trusted with your safety. But as your guardian or friend, he is a powerful ally to have.'
Alison was not ready to settle for that, even if she might suspect it was the truth. Instead, she changed the subject. Slightly.
'I have seen that look you were talking about,' said Alison. 'If that is love. There is a lieutenant in New York. He tries to be mean to me, but I know he doesn't mean it. He's only seventeen, and already he is a lieutenant.'
'Perhaps you should turn your sights on him,' said Mrs. Hulter, rising from the bed. 'Come, let's find you something to wear.'
Alison pushed away the coverlet and followed her hostess to the next room. She was completely without clothes, yet felt no more shame than Eve before the Fall.
'This chemise is practically new.' Mrs. Hulter withdrew a light linen shift bordered with fancy lace from the oaken wardrobe that dominated the small room. Alison stroked the lace, as if it were some precious metal she had never seen.
Mrs. Hulter next produced a jumper that had belonged to a niece. This lightly boned corset, not nearly as restricting as the elaborate metal affairs preferred by city ladies, nonetheless would be sufficient to leave little doubt as to Alison's sex — or beauty. Mrs. Hulter then brought out a light blue dress so expertly woven from homespun flax that it seemed like fine silk.
'I don't want to wear a dress. I want to serve our cause,' said Alison, handing the chemise back.
'And so you will, no matter what you wear. This is a patriotic dress. It was woven in defiance of the king's ban on weaving. Women declared their independence first in this land. Men may boast, but it is women who take the risks and act first, protecting our homes and our rights. You will learn that as you grow older.'
'I have already seen it,' said Alison. She studied the dress a moment. 'Do you think it will look attractive?'
'I think you would look as pretty as a butterfly in it.'
Whether it was Mrs. Hulter's appeal to patriotism or her soft, reassuring manner, Alison finally submitted, allowing herself to be made up in a way she had scarce imagined possible. The bold patriot who had risked her life to save Jake and clamored continuously to help General Washington had not been banished; on the contrary, defiance shone all the brighter in her eye. Yet it had been magnified by a physical beauty that previously had been severely disguised.
'Your hair is our final problem,' said Mrs. Hulter, stepping back. 'It has a natural beauty to it, but it will be months before it grows long enough to curl. A wig would be too fussy — ah, I know just the thing.'
She disappeared out the door and down the hallway. There was a small mirror on the bureau. Alison picked it up furtively, glancing at the image as if she might see something painful. She had worn dresses before, of course — her father absolutely insisted on them for church — but she had never felt like this.
Mrs. Hulter returned with a gauze-and-silk turban and a colored plume. Within a few minutes, Alison's face was set off by a colorful crown. The overall transition was so remarkable that Mrs. Hulter's son Timothy was knocked speechless, retreating to the wall as the two women descended the staircase.
'Well now, you certainly look beautiful,' said Jake, meeting them downstairs in the house. He swept down as if introducing himself for the first time. 'Jake Gibbs, on special service to General Washington. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss.'
Alison turned red and found it impossible to speak, as if her wit had been left with her old clothes. It was difficult even to look at his eyes — though she strongly hoped to find the shadow there Mrs. Hulter had spoken of.
For his part, Jake wondered whether he should try and talk Mrs. Hulter into adopting Alison. But he decided the poor woman would have her hands full nursing her brother back to health and keeping her farm running besides. She had done yeoman's service merely getting Alison to wear a dress.
'We have to leave soon for New York,' said Jake. 'It will take us more than an hour to get to the ferry from here.'
Mrs. Hulter insisted that they eat before they leave. It was now nearly four, and all she had given Jake for breakfast was a half-loaf of rye. They sat down to a large dinner of boiled salt pork with some freshly dug potatoes. The meal was not a rich one, though Jake judged it must be as expensive a luxury as the good woman could afford during these difficult times.
'Alison, you have become very quiet,' said Jake.
'I'm just — thinking.'
'I see. Well, you may think a while longer while I consult with Professor Bebeef once more,' he said as he rose. 'But then we will leave promptly.'
As accomplished as he was in affairs of the heart, Jake in this instance had made a mistaken interpretation, believing that Alison was infatuated with young Timothy, not himself. He went across to Bebeefs rooms feeling rather smug.
'I have prepared the bullets,' the professor told him, looking up from the jars and tubes that arrayed the long desk where he was working. 'I have adapted some simple copper balls and soldered them whole. They are somewhat fragile; you must not handle them too much before they are loaded.'
'They will stay in their case until the duel,' said Jake. He picked up the small ball and shook it; it seemed solid, if light.
The matched pistols were very plain, with only the slightest piece of scrolling at the very end of their butts. Their heavy, straight lock mechanisms betrayed their French design. No self-important English gentleman would condescend to use either to dispatch his ailing horse with, let along uphold his honor.
'They're the best I have,' Bebeef apologized. 'I'm not much for dueling.'
'They'll be good enough. My friend may sneer all he wants, but he is obliged to accept them.'
