The Color of Freedom (16 page)

She snorted. Principles and stubborn pride were more like it, on both sides of the ocean.

Would the colonies really be better if they threw off the king's mantel? Would liberty apply to Irish, to Negroes, to Quakers, to Jews, to Catholics? Or would that slogan be cast aside when majority rule served the majority? Had Whigs just invented a whole new kind of tyranny? Americans, after all, were simply men, as selfish and imperfect as the king. Could all people find a place here, or would outsiders always be scorned and ostracized as her father was now?

She didn't have any answers for her speculations, but she had experienced British policy in Ireland and despised it. These new ideas, at least, offered hope. But would that be enough to balance the cost in blood?

A scrap of paper peeped from beneath the feathers. Bending, Meadow plucked it from the gutter. It was crumpled and soiled but bore a wax imprint of a lion and a unicorn, the British coat of arms. Only General Gage would have access to the official seal. This, she realized, was a ticket through the Neck, a pass to leave the city.

Meadow whistled low. People stood in line for days seeking a pass at Province House, often spending more than they could afford to bribe their way inside. She put it in her pocket. The paper would fetch a handsome price on the black market.

Climbing the loft, her heart lifted with the melodic rumble of her father's singing. She lent her own voice to the familiar song of their homeland. The blending chords reverberated through the loft and lingered like the sweet fragrance after a summer rain.

Ending with a flourish, each singer sank, laughing, upon a crate. Amos reached across the table and clasped his daughter's hand. "Meadow, my lass, you do my old heart well. Few have been the merry songs this barn has heard. I only regret I've had so little time to share with you."

"It doesn't matter. God brought us back together, and here is where I will stay until you earn your freedom," she insisted.

"Freedom," Amos murmured, staring far beyond the stable walls. "I've been lucky. Jonathan has treated me as a brother, even in time of great need. But for a man to make his own way in the world, to possess his own land-"

Meadow knew she looked on the barest longing of her father's soul.

He drew a long breath. "Even in Ireland I never dared to dream so deeply."

"Da, do you miss Ireland?"

"Aye, lass. My heart beats with the sound of the waves upon her shore, but she's a land deeply troubled."

"We have only traded one trial for another."

Amos nodded thoughtfully. "Nowhere on this cursed earth is free of hardship. Man is born to it, but each must figure for himself his own path - will he master it or be mastered by it?"

Meadow sighed. "Every day that passes, Ireland grows dimmer."

"I know, lass. But we can't go back. We can only remember."

Meadow stood and crossed the room, returning with her Bible. She opened it to the names written on the front cover. "Da, who are these women?"

Amos touched the script tenderly. "Aye. You will be fifteen in only a few short weeks.
'Tis
time you knew your past. But the story is long and difficult."

With a sigh that spanned years, he began. "When I was a lad, our corner of Ireland was not torn as it is today. Boys had energy left after a day's work to find trouble enough, and just next door lived one quite willing to go looking for it with me. David Donovan and I were inseparable.

"Our landlord, Lord Alfred
Wescott
, was a good man. He charged fair rents that allowed a man to feed and clothe his family. The work was long and hard, mind you, but such was the way of our life, and few complained.

"Lord Alfred was wise and generous with his tenants. If there was a need, he met it. If there was important work to be done, he rolled up his sleeves and pitched in. And every birth or funeral found Lady Rebecca in attendance.

"They had a son named Edward. He taught David and me our letters, but I could tell you long tales of the scrapes we got in together," Amos smiled.

"Eddie grew into a fine man and inherited his parents' estate after their deaths. He fell in love with David's little sister, Rosie, and was not too proud to make an Irish lass the new Lady. I married my Annie that same summer and before long both girls found themselves with child.

"We visited each other often, and though David never married, he remained as much a part of our fellowship as before. But our happiness was short-lived. A few months later, Eddie's body was found in a gully five miles from the manor. He had been robbed, beaten and his throat slit."

Meadow gasped, and Amos paused to wipe moisture from his eyes.

"The next day, Rosie disappeared and was also presumed dead. No one was ever charged with the crimes, though everyone suspected Lord Edward's cousin, Heathcliff
Wescott
. Because Eddie left no heir, Heathcliff inherited the estate.

"The combined deaths proved more than David could bear. His grief drove him to madness. He was convinced of Heathcliff's guilt, as we all were, and though I tried to dissuade him, he rode to the manor to confront him. He was shot dead."

"But surely Heathcliff was convicted of the murder?" Meadow demanded.

"Heathcliff claimed he acted in self-defense. There were no witnesses, and the judge dismissed his case. From that day, none dared challenge Heathcliff. He was free to do as he willed. Within a decade, he had cleared out several villages, including our own."

The stomping of feet below interrupted the story. "Amos?" Jonathan boomed. Meadow could hear urgency in the man's voice.

Amos stood in alarm. "Is it Abigail?"

Jonathan's head popped above the loft floor. "No, no. I must be gone late tonight. Several new ships have arrived in the harbor. Would you keep an eye on my womenfolk while I'm gone?"

"Of course."

"Is this about the three generals that came on the
Cerberus
?" Meadow asked.

Jonathan's stare pierced her. "You've seen them?"

She shrugged. "I hear things in the stable. They may be replacing General Gage."

"You're sure of this?"

"The words of Captain Buckler, sir."

"Did you hear their names?"

"I remember them."

Jonathan turned to Amos. "I want the boy to come with me."

"He's just a child, Jonathan. I don't want him involved in the conflict."

Meadow listened to her own words as though they came from another. "But Da, how can I avoid it? I am a part of this. You cannot shelter me."

"Jonathan wants you to become a spy. I've no wish to place you in danger."

"Am I not already in danger? I will do as Jonathan asks."

Amos searched long into her eyes and nodded.

Jonathan led Meadow to a tavern close to the Mill Pond. She studied the two-story building from the lane. A sign above the door featured a square and compass - working men's tools - and a bronze dragon tarnished by years of exposure to New England weather.

The inside was furnished with the same tables and low-slung ceiling that characterized taverns across the country. A stone fireplace took up most of one wall, and a few customers pushed pints at a corner table.

Jonathan led her up a stair to a long room filled with seated men who mumbled quietly to each other. Jonathan called them to silence.

"Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce my nephew. He works in a British stable and has become privy to some interesting information.

"Wynn, I want you to swear secrecy on this Bible. Upon your life, you must not breathe a word of the goings-on inside the Green Dragon. To do so puts us all at risk - the revolution as well."

Revolution! Her neck prickled at the word. "I'm no stranger to secrets, Uncle." She placed her hand on the book.

"He's just a boy, Jonathan. How do we know he'll be truthful?" one man scoffed.

"Wynn," Jonathan said. "Tell these good men what you told me in my barn loft tonight."

Meadow cleared her throat, glancing at the faces turned expectantly toward her. A tavern girl appeared at the head of the stairs with a round of drinks which she deftly handed around to the men.

"Ships arrived today with fresh troops," she began.

"At least four thousand," someone called out. "We all seen '
em
."

"Just wait, Solomon," Jonathan implored. "Wynn, go on."

"The
Cerberus
also carried three men named Howe, Burgoyne, and Clinton. They are generals, here to assist, maybe even replace, General Gage."

Pandemonium broke out at her words.

"Now is the time to strike, I tell you!" someone exclaimed. "Our armies sit idly by, bored and restless. They need to see some action before they all pack up and go home. Their number grows smaller every day."

"The army is not yet ready," replied a dissenter. "Only passion for a common cause holds them together."

"But our opportunity may slip away if Gage is to be replaced. His hesitancy and uncertainty have been great allies for our cause."

"Perhaps 'tis time for another demonstration such as our tea party?" another voice asked.

The first man rejoined, "Our little acts of rebellion have done nothing but fill the city with more British. I already have two of the buggers living under my roof. Bloody hollow villains, stealing food meant for my children. If we would be rid of them, we must take greater action. We must fight!"

"But, James, how can our boys take on the strength of the British regulars?"

"They fought well enough in Concord and on the road back to Boston. Nearly three hundred British regulars dead or wounded! We suffered only a third as much."

"Five score which we could not spare," someone reminded him.

"A hard-fought battle, I agree," James continued, "but time is our enemy. I'm tired of sneaking around the city at night. We must take the fight to the British and drive them from Boston before more arrive!"

"Wait just a bit longer, my friend," Jonathan suggested. "Our job is to collect information, not advise the army. We must get word of the new arrivals to Dr. Warren and the Committee of Safety. And Ward should know, as well."

Jonathan rose. "We will relay it and meet again in three days."

The men began to melt into the night singly or in groups of two, and soon Meadow was left only with Jonathan and two others.

At Jonathan's signal, the tavern girl set down pints of flip. Meadow slurped coffee while Jonathan pumped her for additional information. But she had told all she knew. Satisfied, he drafted two letters and sealed them with wax.

"James, here, will carry news to Dr. Warren and the Committee, but word must also reach General
Artemas
Ward, Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army. Both men are in Cambridge, but two copies will ensure arrival. Where is Isaac Pickford?"

"He took sick. His wife wouldn't let him out tonight."

"I need another courier," Jonathan said. "David, can you carry a letter to Ward?"

"Sorry, Jonathan. Old man
Dochier
needs a driver at first light and I'm it."

Jonathan looked around the empty room in consternation.

"I will go, Uncle," Meadow volunteered. "I am not expected at the stable tomorrow."

"I've no wish to anger your father, son."

"You're just a boy," David grumbled.

"It seems you have no other choice," Meadow pointed out.

After a long silence, Jonathan spoke. "There is great danger. If you are caught, you could be hanged as a traitor and a spy."

"I am no stranger to peril," she argued. "Tell me the surest way."

Jonathan gave a quick nod. "Very well." He handed her a letter. "James will go over Boston Neck. He has friends among the guards at the gate. You must go by water."

"I can swim."

"Not across the Charles River, you can't," Jonathan warned, "unless you have also learned to grow gills."

"That I cannot do," she smiled.

"Then you will need to paddle to Charleston, cross Charlestown Neck and make your way west and south to Cambridge. But use caution. The
Lively
lies at anchor, bristling with men who would sooner slit your throat than shake your hand. Muffle your oars and do not tarry.

"You will find a small skiff in
Gree's
Shipyard, lashed to the southern dock. You can procure a horse from..."

Jonathan continued giving instruction, but Meadow's attention was turned by the tavern girl who handed her a package wrapped in burlap. Nestled inside she found a small loaf and a chunk of cheese.

"Go now," Jonathan finished, "before the tide changes."

Meadow departed, slinking through the night to the river's edge. She scurried among the narrow lanes of the North End, munching on her supper. The way was not far. Soon she spotted the black silhouettes of the shipyard against the lighter darkness of the sky. To her right, the horizon had begun to glow silver, announcing the fast arrival of the moon, and across the river, hundreds of campfires twinkled like fairy dust sprinkled over the hills.