Quarantine: A Novel (41 page)

of the meeting-house. She had once told Leander that she saw the tithing man in her dreams, and that he had a large mole on his

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cheek. Startled, he said that this was true. When he asked her if she feared Goodman Boylston, she said, “No, in my dreams the

sun shines great warmth upon us in our pew, and father always has enough money that we fear not of the tithing stick.”

When he reached the warehouse, Leander tapped the end of

the stick on the door. Inside, there was the shuffle of footsteps, and when the door opened one of Horseshoe’s helpers, a boy named

Timothy, peered out in the alley. His movements were uncertain

with rum. Leander raised the stick and struck him once on the

side of the head, and he fell in the doorway. Leander took hold

of him by one arm and dragged him outside and left him in the

muddy alley; then he entered the warehouse, closing the door

behind him. He walked toward the lantern light at the far end of the building, where two men were seated on barrels—one was

another of Horseshoe’s blacksmiths, a large, simple boy named

Nicholas. He was brutal with the horses, and he leered at the

young women at the Sumner house. He was drinking rum and

talking quietly with Mr. Clapp.

Both men turned when they heard Leander. Nicholas got to

his feet. He stood a good hand taller than Leander and seemed

pleased to see him. “What you got there?” he asked.

“This is my tithing stick, like Goodman Boylston used during

Saturday meeting.”

Nicholas walked toward Leander. “Come to collect, have

you?”

“I have.”

“Here’s payment.” Nicholas cocked his big right fist.

Leander held the stick with both hands. When Nicholas threw

his punch, Leander swung, catching him square on the fist. Nich-

olas howled, and he stared at Leander with fierce eyes. When he

stepped forward, Leander swung again, hitting Nicholas on the

shoulder. And again, on the head. Two, three times, each blow

causing the big boy to crouch lower and cry out. When Leander

swung a fourth time, Nicholas sprawled on the dirt floor, silent.

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j o h n s m o l e n s

Leander turned toward the lantern. Uriah Clapp was standing

now. He appeared neither amused nor frightened. If anything, he

was curious. “Tithing stick?” he asked. “You think you are taking up collection in meeting-house?”

“I am thinking of my congregation,” Leander said. “My family,

my neighbors who lie in the pit on the hill overlooking the Mall.

With the medicine you stole, they might have been saved.”

“We’ll never know.”

“But you will find out. They will tell you. My sister, she will

tell you.”

Clapp glanced down at Nicholas, who had not moved. “You

will beat me with that stick, and they will find me, and you will be punished. It’s the law. They have not proven that I have broken any law—you heard Ellsworth.”

“Mr. Ellsworth may have his day in court,” Leander said. “But

you will come with me.”

“Where?”

“Bring the lantern and lead the way,” Leander said.

Clapp picked up the lantern. The light cast upward upon his

withered face, and his eyes were in deep shadows. “Where, may

I ask?”

“No, you may not. I will show you.”

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Thirty-Two

Marie was leaning over Giles when he opened his eyes.

“You have been telling the lie,” she whispered. “You never have

this fever before. You are not immune.”

“A lie, yes,” he said.

Even when confused, her eyes were beautiful. “Why this one?”

“I always fancied myself a doctor, though I don’t have the

formal training.”

“You are not a doctor?”

“I am a surgeon.”

“I am most upset with you.”

“Accept my apology, please.”

“You must have to keep away from this pest-house.”

“Hide? Is that what you would have me do?”

She began to straighten up, looking distraught and perhaps

disgusted, but he took hold of her forearm. She leaned down to

him again. “You are like the child who will not listen, and now

you fall out of the tree.”

“Yes, I am falling out of the tree,” he said, smiling.

“This is funny?”

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“It may as well be.”

“It does not make me laugh.” She looked away.

“I want to know something,” he said, and he waited until she

looked at him again, her eyes round with hurt and fear, but also with curiosity. “What will you do? After, I mean.”

She shook her head. He did not think her eyes could be so large.

“Do you want to stay here, here in Newburyport?”

“I do not know. Where else is there to go for me? I cannot go

back to France.”

“No, I hope you remain here.” She stared at him for a long

time. “Please do that,” he said. “Stay here. Live here. There are people who will help you—Emanuel and Sameeka. And the boy,

Leander.” She ran a finger under one eye, trying to keep the tears from running down her cheek. “Will you think about that?”

She nodded, and then she took her hand away from her face

and let her tears flow.

“All right,” he said. “Then will you grant me one other

request?”

“
Oui
.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Will you marry me?”

She stood up straight and looked about the tent desperately.

Her mouth trembled as she said, “But—”

“Please.”

“But you do not understand. I have not been always the hon-

orable woman.”

“Now
you
are being funny.”

“No, I am most serious.”

“All right,” he said. “So am I. You must go and find a min-

ister—ask Dr. Bradshaw to help. He’ll send someone for a minister.

Not Reverend Cary, though. He won’t come in here.”

“No,” she said. “I will not be married by him. Is there a

priest?”

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“In Newburyport? No, no priests.”

Marie’s shoulders settled in resignation, until suddenly her

eyes became bright, hopeful. “When I was aboard the ship from

France to the islands, the captain he married a man and woman.”

“Emanuel—that’s perfect,” Giles said. “He’s captain of
The

Golden Hand
and he can marry us. It will be an officially recognized marriage, making it easier for you to remain here.”

“But Giles, you cannot to be moved, not now. And there is

only the cart used to carry the dead away.”

“Enoch,” he said. “Send him a message. He will bring a

carriage.”

“Monsieur
Sumner—your brother?”

“Yes, he is my brother, and I need to speak with him. Hurry,

please. I haven’t got far to fall.” She looked alarmed but she

nodded. He reached out and took her hand, so warm in his, and

said, “Marie, before he arrives, please ask Doctor Bradshaw to

have someone come and help remove these linens.” He smiled up

at her. “I must bathe and dress for our wedding.”

R

“Hear that?” Uriah Clapp said, looking back over his shoulder.

Walking behind him, Leander continued to tap his stick on

the ground.

“It’s a mob,” the old man said. His voice was now stripped of

any authority. “They are roaming the streets, looking for me and for Samuel Sumner.”

“Can you blame them?”

“I did not cause this fever—I did not bring it upon this town.”

“Who did?”

“Who knows? God? Fate?” Clapp seemed curious suddenly.

“Do you think it is random, this fever, or is it earned somehow?

Is it retribution?”

Leander shook his head. “It doesn’t really matter now.”

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“That mob—they want blood, and you’re going to deliver me

to them.”

They both stopped at the sound of voices, the tread of feet

coming closer. Ahead, Leander could see a string of torches passing through Market Square. He took Clapp by the shoulder and drew

him back into the darkness of a shop doorway. He watched as the

mob entered Middle Street, heading into the South End.

“Now we can go,” Leander said, pushing the man out into

the alley.

“I insist on knowing where you are taking me,” Clapp said.

“To the law.”

“There is no law here. Not now. That’s what this fever has

done to your neighbors. They only want revenge.”

“Just keep walking.” Leander followed behind the old man,

tapping the stick on the ground. They crossed Market Square

and climbed State Street, which was muddy though the rain had

stopped. When they reached the corner of Pleasant Street, Leander saw a couple of men standing in the doorway of the apothecary.

“You there,” one of them called. “Is that Caleb Hatch’s boy?”

“It is,” Leander said.

The men stepped out into the street. They were Robert Trum-

bull and Elisha Blake—both constables who had been his father’s

associates. Leander always felt uneasy around Trumbull, who usually arrived for Sunday dinner already much in the drink. He had a habit of laughing at his own jokes, which Leander’s mother suffered in polite silence. Elisha Blake she simply refused to admit to her house.

“What have we here?” Trumbull asked. “This be the man

from Boston everybody’s been searching for?” He was flush with

drink—they both were—and he placed a hand on Leander’s

shoulder. “You’ve done well, lad, capturing such a scoundrel as

this. We’ll take him into custody.”

Leander stepped back, shrugging the hand off his shoulder.

“Thank you, but I think it would be best if I deliver him myself to Mr. Poole.”

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“Ah, hear that, Blake?” Trumbull said with delight. “He wants

to take his prisoner directly to the high sheriff.”

Blake, who was stout and appeared to be having difficulty

standing up straight, chuckled and said, “The high sheriff, yes.

But I don’t believe he’s at the jail. I mean we was just there and he warn’t in.”

“There, you see?” Trumbull said. “So, really it would be wise

to turn him over to us.”

Clapp said to Leander, “You cannot hand me over to these

men.”

“Why?” Leander asked.

“It will be the same as giving me to that mob,” Clapp said.

“There are some constables—these men included—who do not

want me to see the inside of a courtroom.”

“Because you will testify—” Leander hesitated. “You will

testify against them for their part in the robberies.”

“Precisely,” Clapp said.

Both men moved toward Clapp but stopped when Leander

stepped in the way, holding up his stick. Mr. Trumbull smiled.

“What’s this, young Mr. Hatch? You’re going to listen to this

Boston
man? You’re going to take
his
word?”

“I’m going to deliver him to the high sheriff,” Leander said.

“Well then,” Trumbull said. “It’s our duty to accompany you.”

“Right,” Blake said. “To make certain your prisoner doesn’t

try to escape again.”

Leander nodded to Clapp, indicating that they were to con-

tinue up State Street. They set out, their boots sinking deep in the mud, the two constables following them.

“If Mr. Poole ain’t in the jailhouse,” Mr. Blake asked, “where

you going to take your prisoner?”

“I will try Wolfe Tavern,” Leander said.

“See, Blake?” Mr. Trumbull said. “There’s a wise lad. Always

with a plan.”

“And if he’s not there?” Blake asked.

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Leander continued walking. The going was very hard in the

mud. “There’s always the pest-house,” he said.

“Know what I think, Blake?” Trumbull asked pleasantly.

“What’s that?”

“I think we might propose to Mr. Poole that young Mr. Hatch

join us constables. We be short a man now that his father, you

know, has passed on, and it seems right appropriate that Leander here take his place, especially after he’s done this brave deed, capturing the escaped Mr. Clapp, and all. Would you be willing

to second such a motion?”

“Indeed I would,” Blake said.

When they reached Wolfe Tavern, Leander saw Roger Dav-

enport in his usual place, seated on a stool just outside the open door. “Sir,” Leander said. “Would the high sheriff be in your

establishment?”

Davenport got up off his stool and came to the porch railing.

“Mr. Poole is at the bar.”

“Would you mind asking him to come out here?” Leander

said.

Davenport looked at the four men, nodded, and ducked inside

the door. After a moment, Mr. Poole came outside, followed by

Davenport, who remained in the doorway.

“This is a fine parade,” Mr. Poole said. Clearly he was with

the drink, but not so much as the constables.

Trumbull stepped forward and said, “This young fellow here

captured the escaped prisoner all by himself, Mr. Poole, and we

accompanied him up State Street to ensure his safe delivery.”

Mr. Poole considered this a moment, and said, “Well done,

Leander. Where did you find him? And what about the other—

Samuel Sumner?”

“I found this man in a warehouse down on the wharves,”

Leander said, “but I don’t know what happened to the other man.”

Mr. Poole walked up to Clapp. “Where is he?”

Clapp didn’t answer.

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Mr. Poole shoved Clapp hard on the shoulder. “Where?”

“I don’t know,” Clapp said. “He was taken away earlier in the