The Rebel's Return Read Free

shabbily dressed young woman. Unwilling to call attention to herself, Phoebe tried to squeeze between two noisy groups, and as she ducked under their elbows, she ran smack into an officer’s uniform coming the other way.
    “Excuse me, sir,” Phoebe mumbled, trying to slip past him without looking up.
    “Phoebe?” the male voice said. “Phoebe Fuller?”     
    Startled, Phoebe raised her eyes from the row of coat buttons to the man’s face. She saw a young man of about twenty-five, a tanned, rather square face, wavy brown hair sun-streaked with blond, pulled back and tied at the nape with a blue ribbon. His eyes were a sparkling hazel, laughing eyes. Not tall, she judged, no more than average height or a bit less, but still a good eight inches taller than Phoebe, who was small for a woman.
    “Nicholas!” She recognized him now. His family had once lived on the same street as the Fuller family, until his father accumulated enough from his trade to purchase a country estate, raising the family to the status of gentry. His sister Lavinia had been Phoebe’s best friend when they were both children.   
    “How many years has it been?” Nicholas asked. “I remember you as a tiny girl—I barely recognized you.”
    “I don’t know; these six years at least.” Phoebe rubbed her palms against her petticoat, suddenly conscious of her grimy appearance.
    She was jostled from behind, and Nicholas grasped her arm and pulled her aside to a quieter corner of the yard.
    “This is a rather rough crowd for you, Phoebe. Did your family let you come alone? ”
    “Nay, I—I sneaked out.”
    She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, but he laughed heartily, his eyes narrowing and crinkling at the corners.
    “So how old are you now? Fifteen?”
    Phoebe swallowed hard and looked away. She knew, of course, that she was barely the same height as her ten-year-old brother Kit, with a figure only slightly more developed. She knew that her movements were quick as a bird’s, not graceful as a young lady’s should be, that her voice was often too high-pitched, and that her countenance displayed her every emotion like the changes of a kaleidoscope. She knew all these undignified facts about herself, yet she was still mortified every time a stranger thought her much younger than she actually was.
    She said in a voice that she hoped sounded normal, “I’m eighteen.”
    “Indeed!” His face reddened just for a moment with chagrin before he recovered. “Aye, indeed you are, I should have remembered. You were friends with Lavinia, and she will be eighteen in November.”
    Phoebe smiled up at him, hoping to dispel his embarrassment. “Everyone thinks I am younger than I am.”
    “You will be pleased by that someday,” he assured her with a grin. “Do you still hear from Lavinia?”
    She shook her head with an expression of regret. “Not these two or three years. We used to write, even to visit, then we lost touch. Are your family all well?”
    He shrugged slightly. “They were well the last time I saw them. And yours? I believe I saw George once with the army in New York.”
    She smiled with pride. “Aye, he is with Washington’s army. As you are as well, I see. Are you an officer?”
    “I am a lieutenant under Lord Stirling, but I ride courier for whoever needs me. Which is why I find myself in Philadelphia now, actually. How lucky, to be here today of all days! Although I’m sure the Declaration will be read to the army as well.”
    “Aye, it is so exciting,” Phoebe agreed with a glowing countenance, but as she glanced over her companion’s shoulder she was suddenly distracted by a familiar figure on the edge of the crowd. “Why, there’s Edmund, after all!”
    “Who?” Nicholas twisted around to follow the direction of her gaze. “You know him?”
    “Aye, Edmund Ingram, Alice’s beau. They have been keeping company several months now.”
    “I see.” Nicholas studied the figure