The following morning, Abigail took the pass that Colonel Duncan had provided and walked to the Presbyterian Church, which had been converted to a British hospital. It was a two-story stuccoed building on Pine St., just above Fourth, the overhanging front roof supported by eight large pillars. An old cemetery sat beside it, some of the tombstones hidden by shrubs and trees.
Across the street sat three clustered brick row homes, two British soldiers stood just past the steps of the first, eyeing her curiously. No residents walked the streets or sat on stoops—the area was controlled by the military. She observed the soldiers a moment more and climbed the steps to the church entrance.
She walked through the double doors, shocked at the sight she confronted in what was once the sanctity of a
