After breakfast Rhoda, my cousins, and I set to work packing the supplies for the soldiers. Mollie tied up a bundle of clothing with twine and frowned at her younger sister. “Nancy, aren’t you finished with that pair of stockings yet? Hurry up.”
“I’m casting off the last few stitches now.”
I parried playfully with a knitting needle. “Yes, hurry up, lass! We give no quarter to shirkers here.”
“Aye, aye, General!” Nancy placed the finished stocking on the worktable with a flourish.
“You say ‘Yes, Sir’ to a general,” Rhoda chimed in. “Mother, my stitches on these mittens are crooked. Are they good enough to send?”
“Yes. Look at how your stitches improved with practice. The mittens will still keep a soldier’s hands warm.”
Satisfied, Rhoda took up her drop spindle. I taught her to hum “Yankee Doodle” as she twisted the wool fibers, for a steady rhythm helps make good yarn. After a turn around the table, she marched away down the hall.
Mollie rolled the stocking up with its mate and some ribbon garters. “How do you stand Benjamin being gone for so long? You never seem to worry.”
“That’s not true. I worry more than I let on, but I’ve grown used to his absence. I took it harder when he went to Williamsburg with the Minutemen.”
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