Spirit of the Nation ★ Female America

3. Meeting France

December 25, 1777

Washington's encampment

Valley Forge, United States

"'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.'"

I looked up from my lap when the man with the tar-colored foot began to cough. I sat by his sickbed, not knowing if he could hear me or if he would survive the night. He was just one of the terribly ill soldiers I had read to that night.

The Continental Army was starving, exhausted, and, worst of all, freezing.

The British were relentless. Though General Washington's bravery and leadership drew thousands of volunteers to fight for independence, we were severely outnumbered and outgunned, not to mention undertrained and underfed.

I felt a tap on my shoulder in the middle of the next Psalm. It was an officer.

"A gentleman to see you, madam."

"Who?" I asked.

He only shrugged. "At the command tent."

I cinched my bonnet tightly before leaving the field hospital. The night was moonless and dark, and the wind cut like a knife. Soldiers huddled around fires throughout the camp, eating their petty rations and exchanging stories of battles or of Christmases of yore. My identity was a closely guarded secret, privy to only the highest of government officials, so the men paid me no mind. Fatigue pulled at my very bones as I clutched the metal handle of the oil lamp with my apron, making my way through the packed snow.

An unknown gentleman stood by the campfire outside Washington's tent. He wore a striking white uniform with silver buttons that glimmered in the firelight. He regarded me from afar and began to approach, speaking to me with a foreign accent.

"L'Amérique, I presume?"

I lifted my lamp to see the Frenchman's face better. His eyes were pale blue, and his handsome features were framed by long brown hair. Instinctively, in a slightly unsettling way, I knew that he was different.

"America," I confirmed hesitantly. "Yes."

"Join me inside," he said, placing his hand on my back to guide me.

I immediately moved away from his touch, and he glanced down at me in surprise. He struck me as a man not accustomed to contradiction. "Forgive me, sir," I breathed. "Who are you?"

An incredulous smile lit his face as his hands met behind his back. "I am France, of course."

My heart leaped into my throat. My curiosity about meeting another Nation was dimmed by the fact that my country was in tremendous debt to his, in more ways than one.

My eyes fell. "Why...did you come here?"

After a moment, gloved fingers lifted my chin until our eyes met again. I felt my heart flutter as he smiled warmly. "Because I want to help you, little one."