Night had crept upon the camp when I had done with supper. All the men and women, and some of the children gathered to share in the bounty.

  My father, standing straight and tall, raised his hands.

  "Brothers and sisters, let us bless this food we are to partake of, and thank God for blessing us in this new land." The sound of the guns lowering and skirts dropping hushed over this stilled camp. The fire crackled underneath the iron pot that held the savoring stew. There was not much but it would do. I heard a muttered, "I'm starving al'eady" from one of Captain Barton's men, but no one heard. Or they pretended not to, as did I.

  The wind was cool and wet. There must be rain coming, I thought. As the camp silenced, and people returned to one of the three small cabins, I tided the cooking area and then followed my father to the cabin we shared with a small family, a young man and his wife, and a few of Captain Barton's men. Nothing else would happen, but father reading the Testament to those who would listen and I would stitch some cloth.

  I found the air tight though, and silently gathered my shawl up and slipped outside, to breath and think. A moon hung near transparent above the pine's tops, lighting the camp and etching the cleared land within the walls of the fort. The sea shone soft and mellowed and black beyond it. 

  I had not walked very far, just around and about the cabins, humming an old song to myself when I heard a snapping of twigs. Two of  the captain's men exited the farthest cabin, closest to the fort's walls. 

 Halting and not wishing to be seen, I slipped between the houses, enough to not see them but I heard them well enough. 

  "...there's more we could be doin' then sulking behind this fort we broke our backs builin'. We could be huntin' them savages who at any moment could be attacking us and scalping us in our beds..."

 "Quiet, man, or someone will hear you," a calm voice spoke.

  The captain's voice. He was, I saw, when I peaked to look at them. I should not be here, I knew. To listen in their  conversation, to eavesdrop was mean and dishonest. But what he said halted me.

  "You'll get your chance, soon enough. And the reward when you drag back a redskin will be 'nough to get you back to England and then- someone's out there."

  They both stilled. I strained to listen. Nothing.

  "You're daft, I didn't hear anything."

  "But I did, right in them shrubs."

  "Posh, you've hit that jug of hard cider too hard..."

  And with that they returned to their cabin. 

 What could this mean?

The next morning was bright. I had thought of what I overheard half the night. Father asked me what troubled me but I couldn't tell him. I had said I was only a little worried about the coming winter. It was truth, but I felt a twing of guilt as I turned to give someone their rationed amount of the breakfast fair.

 We were low on supplies, I had seen, and little work was to be done within camp. I grabbed my cape and a basket, and set out to gather some berries I had happened upon yesterday.

  The air was crisp, and it didn't take me long to reach to patch of wood where the berries were. I did not hurry, though the cold nipped at me a little, as I did enjoy the quiet. Camp was always busy.

  But something, close by, disturbed my daydreaming.