Chapter One

Why does a certain set of people, and not another, come together to endure the unimagined dangers of life? Is it coincidence? Fate? The workings of a higher power? Or is it a little bit of everything, born not of the desire to not suffer alone, but of the desire to not die alone? Whatever the reason, in the latter years of the 18th century, we were that certain set of people. And even as events encircled us or took our lives, we were confident that we would not have wanted to bear those trials in the company of anybody else.

I'm sure our association began much earlier, but I remember that cool, misty day in September, 1793. I was playing in the garden of our home in Philadelphia, shivering in the flimsy sunlight. Margaret, my beloved guinea pig, nosed the short, stiff grass, purring as I stroked her cheek. I was only twelve. Despite the uncomfortable weather, my entire life at that moment consisted of nothing more than happily sitting on that fragrant stubble, communing with my pet. I was so ignorant of what had been happening around me that when my father walked toward me on the flagstone path, I never wondered why he was home when he should have been at work.

"Come along, Janet," he was saying, "There's something very important that I'd like you to do."

I reached for Margaret, but Papa took me by the hand and quickly led me inside. The back door opened onto the kitchen. Dona, my governess, was stuffing a loaf of bread into a canvass sack. She was short and round and pretty, with a creamy complexion, rosy cheeks and chestnut hair. When she saw me her eyes twinkled, and she smiled.

"We will have fun, cherie. There's nothing in life as invigorating as a good flight!"

"A good what?" I asked stupidly, as Papa gently pulled me through the house to the entrance vestibule.

The front door was open, allowing a partial view of a stagewagon at the curb. It was an open vehicle that had a roof from which blinds could be lowered in times of rain, and four backless benches set one behind the other the length of the wagon; the driver's seat was outside, in front. Stagewagons usually carried travelers between the city and points beyond, but the wagon parked outside my home that morning carried luggage and four toddler girls who were chattering nonsense and slamming their quilted dolls against the benches.

Papa brought me to the wagon, where I had a better view of the carnage. The smile he cast upon the destroyers was angelic. "These are the latest orphans of the parish, Jannie. I'd like you to help Mrs. McHenry and Dona bring them to Mrs. Allard's establishment in Princeton. They'll be safer there. So will you."

Mrs. McHenry, our housekeeper, was a hefty woman who must have been no more than thirty, but who always impressed me as aged. She had faded brown hair, a sallow, faintly lined complexion, and a manner void of joy. Immense with child, she directed a slender teenage boy in a dark green coat how to place a trunk between the seats.

In those days I lost no love on small children, and the thought of being confined with them for hours nearly made me sick to my stomach. I consoled myself by petting the bay geldings in the traces. "These are Sinecure and Stipend, the rector's horses, aren't they?"

Papa said they were indeed.

The horse nearest me, Stipend, chuckled as I rubbed his nose.

"Is Father DeWaere driving?" I asked.

"No, sweets, he's needed here. His son, Christian, will take you."

I dropped my arms and stepped back from Stipend, who followed me, bringing Sinecure with him. Papa took each horse by the cheek strap and pushed it backward into the street, unaware that the boy behind the wagon was instinctively lunging for the vehicle as it moved. I looked away as Mrs. McHenry gasped and something heavy hit the stones. The toddlers giggled. Papa stared at me benevolently, oblivious to the little havoc he had just created. "What's the matter, Jannie?"

I didn't know what to tell Papa. Christian DeWaere was a cherished agony. At eighteen, he was much older than I. Because our fathers were friends and active in the community, I had grown up hearing about him, and I liked him with intense secrecy. I wished he could like me back, but I knew that I wished in vain: Children have no place in the lives of young men. I was nothing to Christian DeWaere. I didn't know if I should be glad or annoyed that he was driving me somewhere.

I stole another glance at the back of the carriage. Christian--or Kit, as everybody called him--was holding Mrs. McHenry's lavishly embroidered handkerchief to his nose. He had a face that reminded me of a deer--a straight nose, large, trusting eyes and not much chin. Though it was tied back in the style of the time, his hair was a thick, light-brown tangle that glinted different shades of gold and red in the sunlight. Mrs. McHenry flitted around him, flicking street dust from his coat.

Dona came alongside Papa and me. She had slung the lumpy sack of food over her shoulder, crushing her short velvet coat. She extended her free hand, smiling brilliantly. "Come along, cherie!"

Papa kissed the top of my head. "Be good, Jannie. And be a better help."

Kit opened the wagon door, and Dona handed me up the step and onto the seat beside Mrs. McHenry. Dona followed, calling two of the toddlers to sit beside her. Mrs. McHenry took charge of the other two. Mercifully, I was left with nobody to look after except myself.

Settling down, I saw Papa look at Kit as if seeing him for the first time. "What happened to you?" The surprise was genuine.

A lesser youth would have railed about the idiot who had backed up a vehicle without looking. Not Kit DeWaere. He touched the handkerchief to the dripping tip of his nose and calmly claimed, "Gravity."

Mystified, but too much of a gentleman to admit it, Papa put his arm around the boy's shoulders and walked him away from the carriage. I heard him murmur, "Precious cargo, Kit. Are you able to drive?"

"Yes, sir." He lowered the handkerchief as if to prove he could control the horses with two hands.

"You know you may be turned away from New Jersey."

"Not to worry, Mr. Watters. I'll go north if that happens. We'll find a crossing."

Papa nodded, clapped Kit's shoulder with paternal fervor, then shook his hand. The two looked into each other's eyes, nodded in an agreement that I could not at the time understand, and broke away. Without another word, Kit climbed onto the driver's seat and turned the horses toward the road that would take us out of Philadelphia.

The trip began merrily enough. Dona, a sixteen-year-old French girl who spoke like an English aristocrat, entertained us with stories about how she had fled Paris at the height of the Revolution. "Ah, thank God for Julienne and her sisters! They dressed me like a kitchen maid, dirtied my face, and brought me to the country in an ox cart. I even pretended to nurse Julienne's baby, knowing that the authorities would never imagine a noblewoman doing such a thing in public!" Dona laughed loudly, but quickly covered her mouth with her hand and hunched forward, cringing. "Omondieu! You don't think Kit heard that, do you?"

Mrs. McHenry's eye was sharp. "If he did, my dear, I think we may be assured that, should tragedy befall us on the road, he'll die happy, having been filled with the image of your noble sacrifice."

Dona playfully swatted the woman's knee. Mrs. McHenry smiled, shifted position with effort. Dona was concerned. "Would you prefer a boy or a girl, Mrs. M?"

"I would prefer whoever it is to be of the age of majority and far away from me."

Suddenly serious, Dona studied the housekeeper's pale face. "One day, when the madness has passed, you'll come to Paris with me. You too, Janet. We'll find Mrs. M a French husband, someone who will appreciate her and her gifts for making a comfortable, happy home. Julienne has cousins who work as footmen and farriers. They’re good men. Hard-working. Reliable. And faithful, as my own experience with them taught me. Indeed, I swear to you, until I had nothing--no clothes, no food, no home, no family--I did not know what it was to live. Until I had nothing, all I thought about was what would happen next to make me happy. I was clothed, fed, amused both at my whim and without asking. I thought of nobody and nothing except myself. Until one day I had nothing except a handful of good people who gave me help and protection, and who by their actions taught me what it really means to live well. I'm still learning. I shall never stop learning, thanks to people like Julienne and her family, and thanks to people like you, Mr. Watters, and the DeWaeres, who make me want to live and make a life that reaches far beyond myself."

Mrs. McHenry grunted approval. "I think Kit heard THAT, my dear," she said, nodding toward the driver's seat.

It was then that I noticed the silence. Until that moment, Kit had been gently encouraging the horses with kind words and clucks. I noticed, too, that we were stopping. Carts and wagons clustered along the side of the road, surrounded by coffins of every taste and expense. A man approached on foot, saying something about no access to the road.

"Why, what's the matter? " I cried. "Why are these coffins here?"

Dona and Mrs. McHenry hushed me, but Kit turned to me. "That's how bad the contagion has grown, Jan. Our fathers and countless other citizens have been trying to stop it, but nothing's working. These men do what many people can't do for their loved ones: they take the dead and see that they're buried quickly."

"We need to get out of here quickly," Mrs. McHenry said between her teeth.

"Gladly, Mrs. M, but may I remind you that the law doesn't allow carriages to go faster than a brisk walk--"

"Just drive, Kit."

"But, Mrs. M--"

"Kit, if you don't move, I'll drop my infant out of me quicker than a heifer."

Kit urged Stipend and Sinecure into the fastest walk allowed by law.