Washington

      It was a very chilly February morning.  The dawn was just beginning to break within the small town located just on the outskirts of young Pennsylvania.  A light layer of frost covered the grounds - a souvenir from the previous night's cold spell.

The slippery ice crackled and splintered underfoot as the villagers tended to their daily chores.

Among these villagers was a tall man who walked across the street, oblivious to anyone or anything. He paid little attention to the ice and sludge as he traveled quickly over the cobbled roadway. A neatly powdered white wig hung out from beneath his blue tricorn hat.  The large collar of his matching blue uniform coat, covered with fancy brass buttons and medals, was pulled tightly around his neck to protect him from the morning chill.  He had a lot on his mind, and was unhappy about it.

Two lesser-dressed uniformed men stopped dead in their tracks when they saw this man walk in their direction.  They stood, shivering, until he had gotten close enough so they could stand at attention and properly salute him.  Their arms shivered as they kept their right hands raised in spite of the fact that they were freezing in their skimpy attire.

The tall man glanced at them quickly, returned the salute, and continued on his way.  The two soldiers immediately lowered their arms, ran along the sidewalk and headed inside a building to seek shelter from the cold.

The officer continued on towards a small group of tents that were sitting in the middle of this small village.

He stopped just in front of the large medical tent with its sloppy red cross on the front.  He took in a deep chilling breath, before cracking a small opening through the canvas covered doorway and peeking inside.

The man scanned his eyes around the room as if he were looking for something, or someone.

This was the year 1775 and this tall, well-kept, uniformed man was a general in the American militia.  His name was George Washington.  He and his small tattered group of soldiers had been marooned in this frozen village throughout the heavy winter months trapped by the plague of recent snowstorms.  They had little help from their allies; no one could get through to them to supply his men with desperately needed food and ammunition.

Finally, Washington spotted just who he was looking for.  A short, slender woman was standing in the far corner, tending to a wounded ragtag of a soldier with a large bloody gash on his right upper arm.  The general looked down at the ground and shook his head.  He felt as if he had just been defeated in a battle which had not even taken place, not yet anyway.

Washington quietly closed the tent entrance as tightly as he could, though the brisk, cold wind was fighting against him.  He then walked back over the cobbled street and entered a small house.  His hands were clasped behind his back as if he were in deep thought.  Somehow, he no longer felt the cold air nipping at his exposed face and neck.

He entered a warm room heated by a small fireplace.  Inside were two men who impatiently awaited his return.

The general glanced at them but did not say a word as he started to pace back and forth in front of a small frosted window draped by a sun-faded blue curtain.

“Are you really going to do this, general?” spoke the first man, as he eyed his commanding officer. He took notice of his general’s agitation. This man was not dressed in a uniform but in fashionable street clothes. He held his hat in his hands; his natural brown hair was finished off with a neat black ribbon. His gray eyes watched every move General Washington made.

“I have to Mr. Grainger.” The General reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a letter. “Between the message in this letter and… and the war not going very well for us…” He turned to look back out the window, letting out a deep sigh.

“Have you watched her lately? She is tired and extremely overworked. She takes more risks then any of us. I… I cannot risk her life anymore. I am killing her, Mr. Grainger. She belongs in England with her family.”

“She will only fight you, sir.” The second man, Mr. Bains, now broke in with a low but audible tone. He was sitting on the arm of an overstuffed chair next to the fire. He had removed his overcoat, revealing his tailored vest and ruffled shirt.

“I know,” the General returned as he took in another large breath. “However, I will win this fight!” The General replaced the letter, then faced the men with fire shining in his eyes. “I must win!” Washington straightened his coat and walked back out the door.