“Most of what we know about them came down through accounts from local historians, novelists, and folklorists. It’s only been over the last fifty years that more academic scholarshiphas come out. Researchers have gone back through and matched those wild stories against primary sources like court records and church registries, and now a better picture is emerging. But it was one of those things that, in the end, only truly impacted the locals, since it stayed a criminal refuge long after the war was over.”
“Fascinating,” she says.
I love that she means it. “Anyway, I’ve known about the Pine Robbers for a long time. What I didn’t know is that Samuel Davis Brown was one of their leaders.”
She gives a satisfying gasp and listens as I tell her about the wealth of information I gleaned from his letters, all of which I was able to read and photograph. We pause only long enough for her to leave me idling in front of The Serendipity while she runs in and returns minutes later with the rest of the Smitten Kitten letters.
By the time we park at the tea shop, I’ve wrapped up the story of how old Sam had forbidden his oldest son, Samuel Junior, to join the war, but young Sam defied his father and was killed in his first skirmish with the British—by a malfunctioning musket provided to him. Old Sam had professed to be a patriot, but he’d done some heartbreaking calculations to measure the worth of his son’s life.
“He came up with a number that represented what young Samuel would have earned had he lived a full life. Then he organized the theft of supplies meant for the Continental Army, determined to rob back what he felt was blood money for the loss of his son.”
“That’s so tragic,” she says as she turns off the car. But she doesn’t move to get out. “No one ever knew old Sam was that bitter? No one guessed what he was up to?”
I shake my head. “Not for three whole years. He wrote to his cousin about how he wore young Sam’s death as a badge of honor, told people he was privileged to lose his son to a justcause, at least more just than some of the senseless ways other people died. But he wrote how beneath all that, he seethed because he saw young Sam’s death as just as senseless as a farming accident or sickness. He stole from the army to make himself feel like he had some control in the world, before he was finally caught stealing a shipment of cannonballs from an ironworks in Elizabeth meant for the forces in Yorktown.”
“No,” she says. “That would have been catastrophic.”
I nod. “Had he succeeded, our side would most likely have lost the whole war.”
“Wow.”
She’s still not making any move to get out of the car, and I wonder if she’s nervous.
“Interesting that I finally found out why he did it through letters,” I say. “Letters are a theme lately, aren’t they?”
She looks at the tea shop. “We need to go in.”
“We do.”
She gets out, and I follow suit, letting her take the lead. She has undercurrents to navigate with Catherine, and I’m not qualified to pilot.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jay
We spotCatherine sitting at a table beside the front window where she’s taking in the view. I wonder how we looked as we walked up. Nervous? Guilty? Dazed?
That last one is me. Dazed. I still can’t believe we’re about to sit down with Smitten Kitten after weeks of speculating who she might be.
“Hello,” she says as we reach her table. “I didn’t expect to see you, Jay.”
“Hello, Catherine,” Phoebe says. “It’s important for Jay to be here, and you’ll see why shortly.”
“You have my attention. Have a seat,” she says. “I’ve ordered green tea, but feel free to order something else when Nori comes over.”
“Green tea will be fine,” Phoebe says, looking at me, and I nod. We take our seats, and Phoebe begins. “If it’s all right with you, I’m going to get right to the point.” Catherine simply nods, and Phoebe continues. “Part of my compensation package at the museum includes a year of free rent. Foster set me up with an apartment at The Serendipity.”
Catherine looks surprised, and I suspect not many things catch her off guard.
“Specifically, I live in 3E.” Phoebe waits for this to sink in, which it does immediately.
Catherine’s lips part, and I don’t think she’s ever done anything as inelegant as gape in her entire life, but this is what it would look like if she did. “I lived there years ago.”
Phoebe nods. “We figured it out this morning. That’s why Jay is here. I ended up with a mystery on my hands the day I moved in, and he’s been helping me solve it.”
“What mystery?” Catherine asks. She’s always alert, always observing, but her focus on Phoebe is intense.
“I got a misdelivered letter. In fact, I got several.” She pulls them from the folder and sets them in front of Catherine. “They were all addressed to Smitten Kitten in 3E, all from Dear Heart.”
