The Traitor's Stain (wattys 2019)

Chapter Sixteen: Norwalk, Connecticut

When Ophelia had thought of her old friend Ben Tallmadge, she'd imagined him as he'd been in 1776, when he'd left Long Island: tall, gangly, boyish face; when he'd left Setauket, he'd been an uncertain kid, wearing a uniform that was too big for him and carrying a gun that was too heavy for him.

Ben had changed since then. A lot. He'd grown in to the roll he'd found himself in, his uniform sitting comfortably on his shoulders, now. His face was still slightly round, ovular, but it had lost its boyishness. Where he once shrank back in his seat, as if trying to take up as little space as possible, he sad with tall, military discipline. Where he once avoided eye contact, he held the gaze of others without qualms. Military life had changed him, and she prayed that it was for the better.

He smiled. That, it seemed, hadn't changed much: he still had that shy, nervous smile.

"Hello, Major," Ophelia said as Ben stood up from his desk.

He walked out from behind his desk and did something she hadn't expected: he hugged them. It was very much welcomed after not seeing him for nearly four years, but it surprised her all the same: he was the type of person who shied away from physical affection.

Was the man standing before her even Ben?

"It's so good to see you!" Ben said. He let go of them. "How are you?"

Ophelia had hated that question since she got the news about Noah. Since he'd left Setauket to join the army, even. Very rarely did people actually want to know who she was doing, it seemed, and very rearely did she ever actually tell people how she felt. She didn't tell people that there were days where it felt like she was barely hanging on to her sanity, or that there were nights where she broke down and cried in her room, exhausted and overwhelmed by the prospect of staying strong for Constance. She woudl just slap a smile on her face and tell people that she was fine, even though sometimes, she was anything but.

She sighed. "Well, I thank God everyday that things aren't worse than they are, but... they could still be better," Ophelia finally said.

Ben nodded in understanding. "I heard about Noah. And... I want you to know that I'm sorry. Truly."

Ophelia nodded, trying to ignore the lump that was starting to form in her throat at the mention of her husband. "Thank you. Let's just get this war over with so he can come home. And so you can, too."

"Right," Ben said. "Have both of you been briefed on what you'll be doing?"

Anna nodded. "That we have. Caleb and Jacob were just telling about this... submersible vehicle that we have."

"Ah, yes: the Turtle."

"Mark II," Jacob corrected.

"Sorry: Mark II," Ben corrected himself. "Do you have any questions about it? The mission, I mean."

"Does this thing actually... work?" Ophelia asked. "I mean, the whole idea of an underwater ship just seems impossible to me."

"Much of what is going on these days once seemed impossible, too," Ben said. "I can assure you, the Turtle-"

"Mark II."

"-Mark II works." Ben looked at Jacob. "Are you certain that you don't want to call it the Turtle?"

"I'm certain," Jacob said. "The Turtle was a failed invention: I don't want any confusion between the two."

"What if we called it the Tortoise, instead?" Caleb suggested. "Or... the crab. You know: because it's got that weird arm thing."

"You can decide its nickname later," Ben said. "For now, though... I want to make sure that all of you are up for this."

The room got quiet.