One Big Mistake

Once again, time went on with Jodi feeling distanced from the world.
In the end, Jodi only kept to herself inside the boundaries of the house. Of course, she still looked over her shoulder continuously, looking for the signs when Mme. Wimund would get tired again at her limited usefulness. She didn't want to go to the hut again, or anywhere inhabited by men that are broken or twisted by the war. So she tried to help Anna whenever she could, which suited the aged woman just fine, though she too always watched for the distanced glances shot at her from the other women.
It was only through them did Jodi hear any news of the war.
Jodi was still thinking it over as she stewed over her own meal at that night. Slightly disturbed by the now made fact of history that she had no idea had ever happened. George Washington and his followers were trapped in New York as it has turned out, rendering many other supporters to look on fearfully; while instead giving their continental enemies a cause to rejoice.
Was this really supposed to happen? Or did her arrival have something to do to some change of security?

Christoph, the german fop she had come to know only by his informal name, (not that she would think of actually using it) interrupted the table's most happiest conversation by barging into the room, cradling a wine bottle with both hands.
“Here!” He exclaimed, “A bottle to commemorate this moment!”
“That's a good man, by George! Bring it over!”
Christoph blew off the dust and obliged. With a flourish, he presented it towards his fattened friends before uncorking it. The cork hit hard, making the old plaster ceiling drop shattered shreds of its person right over them, but for once no one was even caring.
Mme. Wimund held up her glass eagerly, Jodi attempted to follow her example, putting down her spoon and stripping off the ill concoction of uncertainty and nostalgia.

As she waited for the alcohol to start coming, she spied Lord Westmorland, who managed to find the cork on the table and took an appreciative smell. Maybe she can finally do this...
“Can you tell the brand by the smell, my lord?” Jodi asked.
Suddenly, her smile froze as Westmorland shot her an unfriendly glare. The men around him quietened, so Jodi dropped her gaze over her drink, pretending to appreciate its rich red color.
Westmorland let out a guffaw, “Me? Nooo! If I could I wouldn't even touch this stuff!”
“Speaking of which,” said Mme. Wimund in between chuckles, “Where did you buy this, Herr Baron?”
Christoph sat down, “Ah...I bought it on my way to New Jersey. A last-minute thought, really.”
“Hopefully from a trusted wine-maker?” Shaddingham chipped in.
“His bad taste can be a factor...” Westmorland drawled, eyeing the glass with mock suspicion.
Jodi shrugged her shoulders, “Well I'm willing to try.” she muttered.
“What's that, Miss Keese?” Westmorland said.
“Oh, I just...I said I'm willing to experiment, that's all.”
“Oh.” Shaddingham exclaimed, his black lens looking flatly at her. “I didn't know you knew wine.”
“Our town has holidays.” She replied stubbornly. She quirked up her flattening smile at the german baron, now settling himself back onto his seat, and took a whiff. “So what's this called?”
“It's what we call Glüweïnn at home.” Christoph mewled, he let out a tired sigh and pulled out a small fan. “It is best served hot, really. Had I known that today would be a great reason to drink I would've--”
“Oh, shut up and toast already.” Westmorland exclaimed, “ We don't have all night, You know.”
The table laughed as Christoph, smiling, stood up and raised his glass, his shirt sleeves admirably more fancier than the dresses owned by the only females present.
“Let us propose a toast to our victory, the king, and our alliance! God save the king!”
“And beat the rebels to pulp!” Mme. Wimund exclaimed, shaking an enthusiastic fist into the air, prompting hurrahs from everyone. Jodi clinked her glass, but her eyes widened when she saw that when the liquid moved, red still stained the glass. She stared at it as everyone threw their heads back and drank.
Wimund's face was frozen and flat as she slammed the glass back down, while all of the men spat it out in shock.
“Good...GOD, man!” Cried Shaddingham, “What is this?!”
“Ulp...Shaddingham!” Mme. Wimund cried. The cacophony made of retching and sounds of disgust continued around the table.
Westmorland slouched over his seat, rubbing his temples furiously, “No...no...It can't be that dreadful...”
“Gascony wine!” Hissed Christoph, “But the label said Glüwein!”
“Gascony Wine?” Jodi voiced aloud, “What is that?”
Mme. Wimund made a loud swallow, “Another one of the scourges of the French.” She said drily. Her teeth were now bright red.
“It is an ungodly concoction of cheap wine with red dye.” Shaddingham added, “So they could pass it off with a price much higher than they should be. For an easy coin, they'd do anything.”
“All the while adding a pinch of their inherent maliciousness...” Mme. Wimund continued, “especially to us.”
Jodi scooted the wine glass in a safe distance away from her.
“Well! I need to get the taste off now!” Mme. Wimund rang the bell, “Anna! Make some tea! Quickly!”
“Good choice, woman.” Westmorland croaked. “I'm sorry about your linen, though.”
“Do not worry, my lord.” Madame Wimund said demurely, “We will make do. Now is not the time for guilt.”
Jodi sighed as she swirled her spoon over her bowl. Table-talk. Ugh, something even more sickening. She'd know by morning that it'll be Wimund's main gripe in the pantry by the morning. Unfortunately, she herself didn't think she can have the strength to keep the same guy who slapped her silly far and away in a safe distance. She knew she had a bad poker face, especially if she felt intimidated in front of these men. It'd certainly make them think they can do anything to her.
She found a bit of boiled egg and slurped it greedily. Thanking her lucky stars that she got more than one this time. Finally, protein.
The men later forgot the incident, and continued with their talk, rapidly switching from poking fun at each other and joking about, to european politics and the war's progress. Mme. Wimund was silent for a change. She was still covering her mouth, repulsed by the taste of the drink that had yet to be drowned by the missing tea. As the men's talk got more and more racy; Mme. Wimund stood up in her seat, shaking her head and smiling.

“Alright, that's enough for me. I'll leave you men to continue with your masculine behaviour in privacy. Johanna? Would you like to see how is Anna doing?”
“Yes'm.” Jodi affirmed, scooting her chair backwards before walking fast out of the scene. She's very sorry for Mme. Wimund, but honest to god nothing is going to make her take an effort to get along with these gentlemen.

**********************************

The slave woman was busy stoking the fire when she entered the kitchen, still trying to heat the water within a great, bit pot. Hot water would also be needed for the dishes and be left for the night. Right until morning to be wiped clean.
“Oh...” Jodi exclaimed, “still busy, huh?”
“Yes.” Anna agreed, “The wind is blowing too hard down this damn hearth. I don't want to think about this year's winter.”
“Oh god, I know.” Jodi said. “Oh by the way, the royal A-holes just made a mess of the table top. Shall I...?”
Anna groaned, rubbing the curve of her back achingly as she picked at the fire. “What kind of a mess is it, child?”
“...Wine and artificial coloring?” Jodi surmised, “I'll go get the rags. Do you think a table cloth to replace it is needed?”
“Yes, I believe the Madame would have wanted it like so.”
“Okay—Aye—I'll do that.” Jodi babbled. Anna shook her head, the wrinkles on her face creasing more deeply as she gazed into the small heat of the fire. In the night when everyone is in high spirits, Anna felt the underlying fact that outside of New York, there is still barely a hope for victory to the true loyalists of the crown.
*******************************

She skipped two steps at a time as she climbed up the stairs, her petticoats and new dress bunched up and raised high so she wouldn't trip. Reaching the second floor, she headed towards Mme. Wimund's private bedroom, where the precious collection of fabric has to be there. She'd seen them when they were all folding bedsheets one thunderous June day, had to be in one of the drawers anyway.
She smiled as her slippers barely made a noise as she crossed the hallway. Of course they were too tight around the toes, not being hers to start with after all. The cushioning beneath the soles have long been mashed down as well, but this is definitely much better than clomping around in wooden clogs.
She passed several of the doors when strange noises made her pause. She held her breath in the dark, listening for them, and they began again.
Something that was...rustling, picking its way through one of these rooms.
The noises led her towards the fourth room. It was definitely not Lord Westmorland's, that was all she knew. A couple of times the noise would stop suddenly, making her heart miss a beat as the silence would suddenly hit her. But like a rat eager to get back into nibbling business, it would soon start again. Jodi immediately grimaced at the thought, Ugh, rats! There better not be another rodent to rob me of my sleep!
She'll have to find out, though. Once she'd thrown open the door...and happened to see nothing but the sound of scuttering under the furniture, she'll notify the unlucky man who lives here to start setting out traps. Not like a closed door would stop it though...
Her hand closed onto the door handle, breathing shallowly. She flexed her hand once, and pushed it down hard as she threw open the door.
The window showed everything. On the floor, right on the middle of the floor, did not belong. The desk against the wall was in shambles, papers were thrown carelessly over the nearby bed, while the drawers were pulled out and riffled through.
Jodi knew in a second what was happening, and quickly closed the door behind her.