Valley Forge

Chapter XVII

Saturday, February 14th, 1779

The cold once again kept everyone indoors. Smoke from a thousand chimneys climbed into the sky and settled there beneath the clouds. The snow had turned the frozen horse carcasses near the artillery camp from a frightful skin-covered skeleton into padded humps of wool. The Grand Parade was a white ocean crosshatched by trails. A few fellows dashed here and there, but mostly I was alone with my thoughts and the sound of Faulkner's shoes flapping with every step I took. 

I shifted the rock I'd heated for the journey from my left hand to my right and reviewed my plan, sure of its success. A dozen paces later, I moved the rock back to the right hand, confident my plan would fail. My journey continued thus as my feet went cold, then burning hot, then so numb, I had to look at the ground to be sure I was stepping proper.

Beyond the rows of huts of the Life Gaurd lay the stone house where the general lived and directed the business of the war. There were plenty of soldiers and officers hurrying around headquarters, despite the frost in the air. The artisan workshops on the far side of the valley creek bridge were noisy with the sounds of blacksmiths hammers, saws cutting and the ping-ping of blacksmith tools.

I did not see any of the washerwomen or dames who sewed for the army, but their long skirts had left smooth trails in the snow. Some of the children had been recently at play, for I passed a small brigade of snowmen formed by tiny hands. One of the snow figures had suffered a dreadful amputation. I stopped to repair his arm by sticking the twig back into his round body. 

I checked to make sure his arm was in the right place and thought suddenly of Anne, Adeline's little sister, who delighted in play like no other and could see only the good and cheerful side of life, while Adeline and I drank tea and stared at her out the window playing with the sheep. Those were the nice days. With my finger, I drew a face on the snowman's head and made him a smile. My stone had lost its heat, so I volunteered its service as a large button on the snowman's chest. 

I walked on 

The noises of the workshops and the bustle of headquarters were soon swallowed by the falling snow. I stepped cautiously as I could, but finally, the last bits of cord holding together the left shoe of Eben snapped. After that, I walked one hundred paces with the remaining shoe on my right foot, Than one hundred paces wearing it on the left.I carried the pieces of the dead shoe in my pockets. If Benny could not find a way to stitch it together again, we might boil the leather into a soup one night

Then again, if my plan worked, my friends would never dine on shoe soup again.

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Moore Hall was three times the size of headquarters, With candlelight flickering in all of the downstairs windows and smoke pouring from two massive chimneys so large signified hearths that were big enough to roast a pig in. I felt warmer just thinking about them.

The steps were flanked by two tall Life Guards, Their noses red from the cold

"Whats your business here?" one asked

"Mister Bellingham requested that I report to the Committee at Camp." I tried for a formal tone of my hoarse voice, but standing with one food naked in the snow put me at a disadvantage 

"Use the kitchen door," he said

I turned and walked five paces, then stopped. I was a soldier summoned by the men of Congress. That was not an errand for the back door.

I spun around and walked back to the guards. "Do all who meet with the Committee enter through the back door?"

"No" Answered the fellow who had ordered me around back. "Only filthy privates who don't know whats good for them."

The approach of a half dozen men on horseback prevented me from saying something stupid. The snow muffled the sound of the hooves on the road, but the harnesses jingled and the men, deep in the conversation did not stop talking to one another, even as they dismounted and tossed the reins of the horses to the guards. I stood straight and tall, as the committee members and officers stepped past me.

The last to dismount was my Father.

"Ali" He Exclaimed "Is it that late already? Come in, Come in. We've much to discuss" I followed him up the steps, nodded to the guards, and closed the door behind me.

(A/N): Sorry its late. 

*artisan; 

a worker in a skilled trade, especially one that involves making things by hand