Rachel wasn’t moving.

Rachel wasn’t moving. In a panic, Nathan put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her up so he could see her face, but it was too dark to make out anything. Her eyes were open, but people died with open eyes, they—

She blinked. “Are you hit?”

Air rushed into his lungs, freezing and welcome. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Are you?”

She shrugged, sitting up and patting her head and legs. “I don’t think so.”

He should sit up and check himself for shell fragments. He was probably unhurt, even if he’d heard that wounded men often couldn’t feel it. The body spared them that, somehow. Boruch atoh Adonoy, Eloheinu melech ho’olam, asher yotzar es ho’odom b’chochmo…Blessed are You who in wisdom fashioned the human body…

Making a frustrated sound, Rachel ran her hands over his body, quickly and carefully. Nathan let her. He deserved something nice after all that terror. “You’re whole,” she said brusquely. “Go back to camp. Now.”

Only now she’d moved away did he realize how close they’d been. He could feel the imprint of her body on his, the stiffness of her pomaded hair against his cheek.

He wished there was something he could leave behind with her, some charm against misfortune. His amulet had shared a pocket with his nutmeg grater, and been stolen in its company. He wished now he’d made more of a fuss.

Nathan had always wanted so badly to protect her, to take care of her. He’d never managed it.

“When my mother was dying,” she said. “You helped. I should have said so before. Thanks.”

He…had? He breathed in, full of emotion—

“Brearley’s company, form here!” someone called out.

“That’s me.” She turned away. “Prescott, he’s talking to you too! Carvalho, are you hurt? Then why are you holding your arm like that?” She strode off.

In the sudden merging of past and present—the new bride caring for her sick mother and the corporal commanding her men—Nathan saw how impossible it had been for her to handle Mrs. Mendelson the way he’d asked her to. Rachel was built to face fear and injustice head-on. To deal as directly as she could, and to stand and fight.

He’d never fully understood that until now, any more than she’d understood that Nathan’s nodding agreeably when his mother talked didn’t mean he was under her thumb. It was just easier to pretend to go along, and then do as he liked.

To name an obvious example, he’d married Rachel.

He glanced at the battery under construction. The Allied guns were smashing Yorktown to splinters, but Cornwallis refused to surrender, hoping for help from Clinton in New York. The Allied armies wouldn’t wait forever. If Cornwallis dawdled long enough, Rachel and her comrades would charge his earthwork walls and bristling wooden spikes.

She had her way of fighting. He had his.

Rachel skidded to a stop in front of him and crossed her arms. “Why are you still here?”

“Just thinking.”

“Carvalho, kindly take your musket and escort Mr. Mendelson to the guardhouse before going to the hospital to have that splinter pulled. Report back here when you’re patched up.”

“Yes, Corporal.” A scrawny Jewish adolescent tried to salute with his injured arm and stopped with a frightened whimper.

Her voice softened. “Do you remember the password?”

The boy nodded.

She put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s just a scratch, Isaac. Keep it clean and you have nothing to worry about.”

As they walked off, Nathan wished the awkwardness of shackles didn’t prevent him from slinging a friendly arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Do you know where Colonel Hamilton is, Mr. Carvalho?”

Carvalho frowned suspiciously. “Um. Why?”

“I want to talk to him.”

“Look, sir, I may be young, and”—the poor kid gulped—“maybe I seemed a little scared just now because I’m bleeding, but you won’t make me compromise the safety of my commanding officer by sharing information with a known spy.”

Nathan pressed his lips together very tightly and shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from vibrating with frustration. “I gave my parole,” he tried. “I swore on the Bible. The front half, anyway. The part that’s ours.”

Silence.

“If you don’t want to tell me where he is, can you take me to him?”

“What if you assassinate him?”

Nathan rubbed at his eyes. “Search me for weapons, then! Tie my hands together. Whatever you need to do. Believe me, it’s of the utmost importance I speak with him. I know something about Cornwallis’s troops.” Did the lie sound plausible? Did it matter?

The boy pressed the tip of his finger to the shell splinter in his arm. People did the strangest things when they were nervous. “Ow. And why do you want to tell him now if you didn’t before?”

“Because Corporal Jacobs is my friend and I want him to be safe.”

That sounded plausible, apparently. Carvalho took a deep breath and capitulated. “I like Corporal Jacobs too,” he confided as he led them through the trench.

“That’s because you have good taste,” Nathan said. “Who do you dislike?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you.”

“Fair enough. Just chitchatting.”

* * *

After his meeting with Hamilton, Nathan said his evening prayers and made himself sleep. He needed to have his wits about him tomorrow—or maybe the day after. Who knew? But best be prepared. He lay down on his pile of straw, shut his eyes, breathed in and out, and repeated part of the prayer to himself over and over, the part that began, Hashkiveinu.

He didn’t think about anything but the Hebrew words. He didn’t even think about who he wasn’t thinking about. Spread over us the shelter of Your peace…

He slept.

* * *

“But you have to say what happened at the meeting,” Rachel interrupted. “Mrs. Hamilton will want to know.”

“It was more or less what you’d expect,” Nathan said. “At least, I’m sure it was.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“I don’t really remember anything Hamilton did or said,” he admitted. “I was extremely nervous. Just mention his coolness under fire. I remember that it annoyed me at the time.”

* * *

Nathan spent the morning staring at his watch, waiting either to be summoned to Washington’s presence, or for it to be noon and for Rachel to return from the trenches. To pass the time, he also kept track of how many times he was threatened with violence for absentmindedly kicking the wall between his room and the guards’.

He tried to finish Pilgrim’s Progress, but could only absorb the meaning of a sentence or two at a time, so he flipped to the end to see how it turned out. He discovered a second part, written later, in which Christian’s wife followed him to Heaven. Nathan could only assume the author had been deluged by angry letters on the poor woman’s behalf. That gave him hope; even Gentiles were not entirely heartless.

Please, HaShem, let all this be worth it, he prayed. Let America lie down in peace and awaken to life. Let Rachel awaken to life. I don’t suppose I have anything You need, but if I do, it’s Yours—well, everything I have is Yours anyway, but…

Noon came and went. Nathan tried to count how much time for the soldiers to form up, how much to fuss about with drums and flags and saluting the new troops, how much to march from the trenches, how much for Rachel to escort her men back to their tents… Maybe she would be too tired to visit and he should try to bribe one of the sentries into sending a messenger.

The door opened.

It was only one of the sentries, who tossed a scrap of paper at him and shut the door again.

Nathan dove for the paper, tripped, and fell on his face. He felt about on the floor in darkness, seized the paper, and, still kneeling, stretched it towards the light. I’m well. I’ll be there soon. Ezra.

That had been kind of her, to remember that he worried.

He had ascribed to her any number of wonderful qualities, but he had never particularly thought of her as kind. He’d even had a sneaking admiration for her hard-heartedness, had fancied himself the rose twining round her briar, like in the song. But now he thought it over, the song was nonsense: roses had thorns and briars flowered. He had deluded himself that kindness came in one guise, and that was a sweet voice and never saying anything that might wound his own delicate feelings.

She had hurt him, it was true. But she hadn’t done it out of cruelty or lack of feeling. She’d pricked his fingers because he’d been poking at her.

The door opened again. This time it was Rachel. The door shut behind her, and the sentries locked her in with him. He didn’t know when he’d started smiling. It hurt where he’d scraped his chin on the floor. “I was just thinking about you.”

There was a pause. “I don’t—” she started. “I’m not—I should sleep—” She took two abrupt strides forward, fell to her knees, and kissed him, their hats knocking together and tumbling to the floor.

Five years went up in smoke. His whole life went up in smoke, and it was pretty while it burned. His hands flew to her waist and were confused by her uniform, layers of threadbare wool so different from anything they’d felt on her body before. He felt underneath her coat, underneath her waistcoat, there was her shirt and it might almost have been her nightdress but her body—was her body different or did he just not remember?

It must be different; she had marched a thousand miles since he touched her last. Her lips were chapped and her hair smelled like lemon, cloves, and slightly rancid fat. Lard, he thought. That was disgusting, pig fat in her beautiful hair, he couldn’t think about it.

But it was easy not to think about it, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered because she was climbing into his lap and her lips were on his, her breath warm in the autumn chill. She kissed him with silent desperation. Was he allowed to pull her shirt out of her breeches and put his hands on her skin? Better to wait, better not to do anything that might make her stop.

She pressed her forehead into his shoulder. “Oh damn, this is ill-advised, I’m so tired I can’t think straight.” She turned her face into his neck and kissed it. The shock of it went all through him. “Shut up,” she murmured. “Don’t make a sound. I’m begging you.”

He dug his teeth into his lower lip and kept them there, a bright sharp reminder as she clumsily unbuttoned first his breeches, then hers, and pushed him eagerly inside her.

“Not a so-o-ound,” she whispered. He shook his head. She was rubbing at herself, she moved against him with tiny silent jerks of her hips. She kissed him as if she was driven to it, and he had to stop biting his lip to kiss her back.

Not a sound, he chanted silently to himself. Not a sound. Oh, but it was hard, he had missed her, she was hot and wet and wanted him. She was a magnet and every atom in his body was an iron filing turning towards her, straining painfully to get closer, screaming in pleasure and relief at finally having somewhere to point.

But he couldn’t come inside her. He was proud of himself for remembering that. “I, um, pregnant,” he got out under his breath.

Rachel froze. Once, they had made sure he always, always came inside her, because they’d wanted a baby and it was a mitzvah not to waste seed. Never mind, he almost said.

But she nodded. “Can you wait just another half a minute? I’m almost—”

“Yes, yes.” He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his teeth into his lip again. He tried not to think about her arm rubbing against his waistcoat as she frigged herself, or the flatness of her chest beneath her shirt where her nipples pressed into tight linen, or her gasps, or the blunt pressure of her teeth through the wool of his coat where she’d set them on his shoulder.

She convulsed around him, her body shuddering, her teeth spasming on his shoulder. He waited and waited until he had to push her away. Sensation dimmed all at once but orgasm came anyway, pulsing weakly but intently. Seed dribbled down his cock. He wanted to take himself in hand but he wanted this to be all hers, too.

Oh, he couldn’t help it, he wrapped his fingers around himself and felt her slickness, it was sordid to say HaShem’s name at this moment but he knew the impulse anyway. When he opened his eyes she lay watching him, her fingers still working, slowly now.

Boruch atoh Adonoy, m’chaiyay hameisim, he thought out of nowhere, the daily prayer taking on sudden urgent meaning. Blessed are You, Lord, who gives life to the dead.

She was still for a moment, then wiped her hand on the inside of her breeches before buttoning them hastily. She smelled her fingers with a grimace and, reluctantly, put them in her mouth to clean them. Nathan’s pulse raced despite his satiety.

“Do you think it smells in here?” she asked.

“Probably.” Nathan replaced his hat. He felt disoriented by how she was a separate person again when she had been part of him—but she hadn’t been, had she? He had had no idea at all what she was thinking or why. She had wanted him, and he had given himself to her. He’d done it unquestioningly, and loved doing it.

Now, questions crowded in. But did he really want the answers?

Nathan fastened his own breeches. “Um. Stay a few minutes. I need to talk to you.”

She rubbed at her eyes. “I need to get back to my men. And sleep. I need…sleep.” Her voice almost trailed off. She must have been awake since yesterday morning. “They said we might be going out again soon. For some action.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about. I’m going back into Yorktown.”

* * *

Rachel sat bolt upright, exhaustion receding to a sort of dull jitteriness. “What?”

Nathan looked pleased by her reaction. “They’re sending me into Yorktown. Before your action. Probably to give false information, or…to help you. To help the army, I mean. Originally, I was hoping maybe you wouldn’t see any action at all, but it’s too late for that, evidently. Cornwallis would do everyone a favor if he—”

“That’s absurd,” she said firmly. “Going into Yorktown? They can’t send you. Not now. Have you seen Yorktown lately?”

Nathan took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Tell them you won’t go. They can’t force you. You’re not a soldier.”

“I asked to go.”

That stopped her in her tracks. For several breaths, she simply had nothing to say. “You asked to go,” she repeated carefully.

He nodded.

“What if I ask you not to?”

She hadn’t meant to say it. She didn’t know where the words came from. She waited, heart pounding and head aching, for his answer.

He watched her solemnly. “What if I asked you to leave the army?” he said finally. “They’d let you go if you told them the truth.”

Her eyes stung. “I wouldn’t do it,” she admitted quietly. “Not if you begged me.”

There it was, then. They had no hold on each other anymore. For one glorious moment she’d had him, his hands had been at her waist, he’d been hers but…it didn’t mean they owed each other anything. She felt like crying.

He shrugged and nodded. “I…I want you to know I’m not doing it for you,” he said. “To protect you. I do want to protect you, obviously. But I would have done it anyway. Well, not this exactly, I’d be in Yorktown right now if you hadn’t arrested me. But you know what I mean—I thought you were dead and I was doing it anyway.”

He fingered a scrape on his chin. “You know, when I’d get really scared, I’d think, Rachel could do it, and that helped. It inspired me. I didn’t do it for you, but you made me want to do it, and I think it was a good thing to do. So thank you. Thank you for giving my life meaning.”

Rachel felt ashamed. He’d inspired her too. Sometimes when she’d been afraid, early on, she’d thought, Nathan couldn’t do this, but you can. That had given her so much stubborn courage. A welcome conviction that being a soldier was about more than being a man.

She’d underestimated him. Maybe he couldn’t fight in a battle, or march ten hours without complaint, but he’d go into Yorktown and lie to Cornwallis’s face and risk cannonballs and hanging, flinching at every loud noise. She didn’t have the nerve for that.

He was waiting for her to answer him, but her heart was a stone weighing down her throat and mouth, holding them closed. She didn’t even know what to call this emotion. Fear? Anger? If she spoke…that would be something like a blessing, or permission, or acceptance.

All she wanted to say was Don’t go, and he was going.

“When…” She could see Nathan considering his words. Trying to decide what would tempt the evil eye least, probably. “When all this is over,” he settled on, “I’ll give you a get if you want one.”

She couldn’t speak.

“If you want one,” he repeated. “You said that last time I didn’t ask you what you wanted. So I’ll ask this time. I, um, you probably know I’d take you back if you wanted that instead. That is—sorry, that sounded wrong, ‘take you back.’ I don’t mean to say I’d be doing you such a great favor. I mean to say I love you. But can I ask you for a favor? Please don’t tell me the answer now. I want you to think it over. I want you to be sure. And if you are sure and it’s ‘no,’ I’d rather…is this a terrible thing to ask?” He fisted a hand in the beautiful, filthy hair at the nape of his neck. “You can say no, if you need to. I just would like hope. In case. If you don’t mind.”

Her heart swelled, closing off words even further.

She had to say something. He didn’t want to die knowing for sure she didn’t love him. If he did die, and she hadn’t said anything…

She’d told herself so often, Nathan couldn’t do this, but I can. But Nathan was able to say he loved her, and she was terrified to say it back. She had plenty of reasons, but in the end it was just cowardice, wasn’t it?

“And I won’t let my mother be rude to you. I lived with her all my life, you know. But I’ve been on my own now, and to be honest it was a bit of a relief. I know you wanted me to come with you to Philadelphia, so I hope that doesn’t pain you to hear. What I mean to say is, I understand now why she was a shock to your system, not being accustomed to it. If she can’t control herself, she’ll have to live somewhere else. If you say yes.”

Shame at her weakness pushed the words out of her throat. “I love you too.”

Her voice sounded grudging, but she felt calmer for having said it. What was the worst that could happen? Later maybe she’d add, But I won’t live with you, and maybe he’d believe she’d promised him something and not delivered it. She could live through that. It was better than letting Nathan go to his death, fidgeting bravely and without a single word of comfort.

“I do love you,” she said again, stronger. “And I’ll answer you when all this is over.”

She wanted to say something more, but there wasn’t anything. Not meeting his eyes, she took his hand in both of hers and crushed his palm against her lips. So hard it stopped being a kiss and became a demand. A direct order to be careful, because there was no point saying it out loud.

He smiled, a wide, incredulous smile. His teeth caught the light of the candle.

It used to make her angry, how much he loved her. How much he wanted her to love him too. It still did, because he was going into Yorktown and he shouldn’t be happy. He should be solemn and afraid.

The latch rattled. She dropped his hand, and the door opened. Two soldiers stood in the opening. “We’re here for the prisoner.”

He was led away, still smiling.

Rachel sat on the floor, very still, until her face stopped trying to cry. She went back to her tent and went to sleep.

* * *

Nathan’s meeting with Washington was brief, to the point, and left out any information about what Rachel’s battalion would really be doing.

“…After staging your escape in the sentry’s uniform, you will tell Cornwallis that while assisting in fatigue duty you overheard orders given and discussed in regards to an attack on the Fusiliers Redoubt on the British right flank this evening, to be supplemented by a simultaneous attack on the British position in Gloucester across the river.”

“What’s a fusilier?” Nathan’s ability to keep his mouth shut was severely compromised by nerves.

“They are an elite Welsh infantry regiment who wear a distinctive hat,” Washington said without a hint of a smile. “However, I don’t suppose Lord Cornwallis will expect you to discuss the military aspect of affairs. In fact, the less you know, the better. Tell him we were lulled into a false sense of security by your unprepossessing manner and that you used your previous friendship with a noncommissioned officer and coreligionist in the Light Division to—”

“Corporal Jacobs didn’t tell me anything, sir.”

“I hope not.”

“Is my manner really that unprepossessing?” Now he was just trying to see if he could get the general to crack a smile, even a scornful one. “I like to think I’m very impressive on first acquaintance. Dignified. Statesmanlike, even.”

Nothing.

“I see why everyone thought it was so remarkable that—” He bit the words off before he could bring up Washington’s dead friend Scammell, who had made the general laugh. “Never mind. I’m sorry, I’m a little on edge. Are you expecting heavy casualties in the Light Division tonight? No, don’t answer that, it’s bad luck. Is there anything else you want me to tell His Lordship?”

“I believe that will suffice.” Washington regarded him gravely. “Lives depend on your steadiness, Mr. Mendelson.”

“Not my steadiness, I hope.” He tried to pull himself together. “Don’t worry, Your Excellency. My unprepossessing manner is part of my stock in trade, as you so tactfully pointed out. I won’t fail you.”

In very little time, Nathan found himself skirting the edge of the trees behind the first Allied parallel, in company with a very large, very Irish sentry. “Well, uh.” He made a fist.

“Lord love you, you’ll break your thumb,” the fellow said, and showed him how to do it properly. “A good solid blow, mind. I want a black eye to show the boys, and you want scraped knuckles to show the lobsterbacks.”

Nathan winced in anticipation. “Sorry,” he said, and swung.

* * *

Rachel and her messmates were woken after only a few hours’ sleep by Major Fish, who informed them that the whole division was returning to the trenches at five o’clock.

“We’ll all need to be at our sharpest,” he told them. “If we keep a cool nerve, we can deal Yorktown a killing blow tonight. Most of all, we cannot allow a single man to desert, or a single deserter to make it into Yorktown with advance information of our attack. We must surprise the British.”

Flanagan rushed off at once to consult with the captain. Major Fish looked at Rachel. “Your spy friend escaped. I hope to God you didn’t tell him anything. You spent a lot of time in his company.”

“Nothing, sir,” she said firmly, and the adjutant left with a shrug.

She felt sick. We must surprise the British. Was that Nathan’s task? To ensure they were surprised?

Her thoughts full, Rachel began packing her knapsack. Did her queue need retying—

Scipio cleared his throat. Rachel glanced up to see her messmates regarding her gravely.

“What?” she asked, unnerved. “I didn’t tell Nathan anything.”

“We know the truth,” Scipio said.

Time slowed. Her stomach hurt. What would she do if there was nothing to know?

She blinked. “What truth?” Maybe she should offer up Nathan’s secret as a distraction. No, of course she couldn’t—it was too late, anyway.

Zvi shifted uneasily. “You’re going to be embarrassed if we’re wrong,” he told Scipio.

“We’re not wrong,” Tench said. “You’re a woman.”