page56 (1/2)

garden

glory

gravy

Heinous

hateful

humane

husband

Infant

indeed

incense

island

Jacob

jealous

justice

julep

Labour

laden

lady

lazy

Many

mary

motive

musick

21

Father

OCTOBER 1781

The hospital outside Yorktown echoed with the quiet sounds of death Agitated li a soft rustle And every few hosts flew free

Marcus lay on the cot in the corner, his eyes locked shut against the ghosts, unable to respond to calls for help that once would have had hiht, he was just another soldier far fro his brothers-in-arms

Marcus sed against the dryness in his throat It was parched and raw froh with the bucket and dipper So ton’s army were ill with camp fevers—too many to care for now that the as nearly over and the able-bodied were on their way home to their former lives

He heard low voices at the entrance to the ward Marcus claeakly at the sheets, hoping to get the orderly’s attention

“What does this French soldier look like, Matthew?”

Lantern light flickered against Marcus’s closed eyelids

“Dieu, John How do I know?” The voice was fa on Marcus’s memory “I barely knew him It’s Gil ants him found”

Marcus’s sticky eyes cracked open His throat worked tocame out but a whisper that was far too low for anyone to hear

“Chevalier de Clermont”

Booted heels stopped on the dirt floor

“Someone called my name,” the chevalier de Clermont said “Speak up, Le Brun We’ve come to take you from here”

The lantern swung closer, closer Its brightness pierced the thin skin of Marcus’s eyelids, sending rivers of pain through his fevered body Marcus moaned

“Doc?” Cool hands touched his forehead, his neck, pulled the sheets from his clawed hands “Christ alive, he’s on fire”

“I can smell death on the fellow’s breath,” the other man said His voice was familiar, too

There was a jostle of water against wood De Clere of a dipper, slick froainst his lips Marcus was too weak to s, and most of the water ran from the corners of his mouth

“Take his head—gently, Russell—and hold him, just so, there”

Marcus felt himself raised up Liquid tipped into his mouth, cool and sweet

“Tilt his head back Just slightly,” de Clermont instructed “Come, Doc S”

But the water dribbled out again Marcus coughed, racking his body and wasting th

“Why won’t he drink?” the other man asked

“His body is shutting down,” de Cler its own salvation”

“Don’t be so bloody Catholic, Matthew Not here, surrounded by all these proper Puritans” Whoever was speaking—when had Marcus heard that voice before?—was trying to lighten the atmosphere with soldiers’ humor

Marcus opened his eyes and saw the dead rifleman from Bunker Hill named Cole—the sa the clothing of a Virginian

“You’re not Russell” Against all odds, Marcus’s throat moved to s, and a drop of moisture slid down the parched tissues “You’re Cole And you’re dead”

“So, sir, are you—or near enough, by the smell of you,” he replied

“You know Doc?” De Cleristered his surprise

“Doc? No I knew a boy named Marcus MacNeil once, a brave lad froard for orders,” the man from Bunker Hill replied

“Name’s Galen,” Marcus croaked “Galen Chauncey”

The chevalier de Clerain This tiullet and into his stoone down, however, the water came back up His body wanted no part of it

A cool, damp cloth wiped the crust from his eyes and traveled down to remove the residue of bile and water from his mouth and chin Someone rinsed the cloth with fresh water before it mopped at his cheeks and stroked softly across his brows

“Ma?” No one else had ever touched him with such tenderness

“No It’s Matthew” His voice, too, was tender Surely this wasn’t the same chevalier de Clermont who had cowed Dr Shippen and silenced John Adams?

“Aone to hell, then tonight would make better sense Marcus didn’t remember that any of the vivid descriptions of the netherworld Reverend Hopkins had shared from the Hadley pulpit on Sundays had included an ar if not creative

“No, Doc You’re not dead” De Clermont pressed the dipper to Marcus’s mouth This time, Marcus sipped and sed—and the water stayed put

“Are you the devil?” Marcus asked de Clermont

“No, but they’re on very close terms,” Russell replied

Marcus saw that de Cler shirt or buckskins Now the imental

“You’re a spy” Marcus pointed a treer

“Wrong ence I’ilory boys Foriave off a strange crinkling sound like it was full of paper “Come, Matthew There’s a war to finish”

“Go You’ve got the terms of surrender,” de Clerarden