The Color of Freedom (20 page)

Finally, wiping her eyes on her sleeves, Meadow explained her deception to the others.

Jonathan rose and took her hand. Bowing low, he kissed it. "Meadow McKenzie, you make as fine a woman as you do a lad."

∗ ∗ ∗

The next afternoon Meadow borrowed a horse and cart from a neighbor and carefully loaded all the Wood's possessions. They scarcely filled the box.

As Abigail locked the shop for the last time, the girls clambered on top of the load. Meadow tied Penelope behind. Then she helped Abigail awkwardly onto the seat and drove the few blocks to the yellow house.

Pulling into the front yard, Abigail heaved a tremendous sigh. "Home at last. I've missed this place."

"Heating it shouldn't be a problem," Meadow quipped as she pulled at her shirtwaist. "And Naomi can help you tend the garden."

"Let's get this stuff unloaded, then," Abigail suggested.

As Meadow hauled boxes into the spacious house, Abigail went from room to room opening windows and chasing out the closed-in smell. "This whole place could use a good cleaning," the woman said, shaking out a dusty rug.

"Not until after the baby is born," Meadow scolded. "Perhaps a son this time?"

"Another mouth to feed," Abigail complained, but her words were soft.

When the last trunk was safely deposited on a bedroom floor, Meadow rose with a smile. "I'm sure your girls can help you unpack. The rest is light work, and I want to be after my father."

"Wait a moment, Meadow. I have something I want to give you. A gift of gratitude for all the help you've been, and perhaps an act of atonement for my abominable behavior."

She pulled from the trunk an old, but still beautiful gown, stylishly altered and accompanied by a frilly cap, shift and petticoats.

Pulling Meadow to a wall mirror, the woman pulled on the cap and arranged her short auburn curls. Then she held up the dress. The blue material complimented Meadow's coloring beautifully.

Meadow stared at the becoming image in the mirror. "Thank you, Mrs. Wood."

"Aunt Abigail," the woman smiled. "Now put it on and get going before it gets too dark to see."

Moments later, Abigail pressed a blanket and a small sack of dearly-surrendered provisions into Meadow's arms. "Send word as soon as you can," she begged.

"I will," Meadow promised and waved good-bye to the family.

Her second trip to the encampment proved much easier than her first. Walking through the city, she spotted one of the British horses that had been under her care tied before a public building. Seeing no one around, she slipped the reins from the hitching post and shamelessly mounted astride.

Too late, a red-clad figured shouted at her from a window, but she was already galloping far down the street.

As she neared the Neck, she slowed her pace and shifted gracefully to a sidesaddle position, no easy task in a man's saddle. Smiling sweetly at the young guard, she showed the pass she had found in the gutter and crossed without incident. A short distance beyond, she brushed aside her skirt and threw her leg over the saddle once more. Riding fast, she arrived at the camp within the hour.

She cleared the guard with ease and rode directly to Daniel's tent, enjoying his look of incredulity.

"Meadow!" he gulped, "You're a woman!"

"Very observant, man!" Matthew jibed, emerging from the tent. He turned to Meadow, "You'll have to forgive him, miss. He's seen few enough women these last weeks, and none to match your charm."

Meadow blushed at the compliment. Then the young man narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Say, you remind me..."

"It is Wynn, you dolt!" Daniel laughed, jabbing his friend in the ribs. "Revealed as nature intended, and her true name is Meadow."

Matthew stared, astonished. "By Jove!" he exclaimed. Then he bowed low, gallantly sweeping his
tricorne
from his head to reveal short, tightly-curled hair. "Alas, had I only known sooner. I hope my prior behavior..." He let the thought hang uncomfortably.

Meadow smiled and dropped lightly to the ground. "Hello, Matthew," she said, tossing him the reins. "I brought you a traitor, an old friend of mine. If you treat him kindly, I promise to forgive any past indelicacies."

"I'd be much obliged, miss," he mumbled, leading the animal away.

"And Matthew!" she called.

He turned expectantly.

"It's Meadow!"

Grinning, he lightly doffed his hat again.

Daniel grasped her arm in concern. "Meadow, why are you here? And out of your disguise? What if Dennison sees you?"

She laughed. "Here? There's small enough chance of that. Besides, there's a whole British army who would like to get their hands on a certain Irish stable lad."

"Oh, lord," Daniel sighed. "Meadow McKenzie, what have you done?"

"Nothing much," she said with a twinkle, "except empty a British jail."

His eyebrows lifted. "Are you the same trembling girl I sent away five months ago? My eyes say you are not, and my ears now agree!"

Meadow's humor vanished. "Perhaps I'm not as different as you think. I want nothing further to do with this war. I've come to remove my father."

"Your father is here?"

"He came last night with others from Boston. Do you know where I can find him?"

"Perhaps." His face sobered. "But I fear your errand will be in vain."

She looked up sharply. "Do you know him?"

"No, but I know the kind of men who have gathered here. Their purpose is set."

Tears of foreboding formed in her eyes, but she lifted her chin. "I must try."

"Meadow," he said, taking her hand and searching her eyes, "it's okay to be scared. You have proven what lies in your heart. You will find courage to follow through with what you believe. Don't do this."

She could not hold his gaze. "Please," she mumbled, "lead me to my father."

He dropped her hand and she felt frightened and alone, like the day she ran from
Wellshire
. He sighed heavily. "Come."

She followed him through a camp engaged in daily tasks. Here and there, sweat-stained women stirred large, boiling kettles of laundry and littered the bushes with garments hung to dry. A group of young boys tore between the tents, pausing to shoot each other with sticks while their sisters looked on longingly and tended the babies. But the vast bulk of the population was men.

Some scurried about, intent on one duty or another. Others lounged, whittling or sleeping. On the parade grounds, a crowd of men played at shinny, knocking a leather ball about with sticks.

Daniel pointed out an area of shelters thrown together in haste. "Here are the newest arrivals. We may find your father."

She sighed in dismay. "How? There are so many men."

He threw her a sidelong glance. "Trust me. He will find you."

Meadow suddenly became aware of the way activity slowed as she passed. She grew uncomfortable beneath the frank stares.

"Wynn!" came a shout. "
Er
, Meadow!"

She smiled as Jonathan approached. "I'm glad to see you safely among friends," she said.

"And I, you. Here is one stout heart!" Jonathan told Daniel appraisingly.

"I know that well," the young man agreed.

Their praise made Meadow feel cowardly.

"I thank you again for all you have done for me and my family," Jonathan continued. "You are truly your father's daughter. He once saved my life once, you know."

So that was the reason for the deep friendship that blurred the lines of station.

"But I sorely wish you had stayed with Abigail."

"My place is here beside my father," she stated firmly.

"I will leave that for you and him to sort through. Come."

Amos sat in the shade of a spreading tree cleaning a musket with an oily rag. "Meadow," he gasped, rising, "you look incredibly like your mother." He hugged her warmly.

She flushed with the compliment and introduced Daniel.

Amos grasped the young man's hand heartily. "I've heard many good things about you, son, and I'm grateful for your friendship to my daughter these many years."

"She's been like a sister, sir," he said, then grinned mischievously, "and lately more like a brother."

The men talked long together, discussing the newest intelligence and guessing at soon-to-be issued commands. They spoke as comfortably as old companions.

After a time, Amos rose to kindle a fire. "It's my turn to cook. You're welcome to stay for dinner, Daniel, though I fear our fare will be no better than your own."

"Thank you, but no. I have some chores to attend to before nightfall, and Matthew's probably wondering where on earth I've gone to. He's a horrible cook, but he'll worry like a woman if I'm not there to sample his recipes." With a grin and a wave, he strode off across the busy encampment.

Meadow at last found herself alone with Amos. "Da," she began, staring into the fire, "you are a free man. Your indenture no longer binds you."

"I know. Jonathan told me everything." His tone was flat, neither approving nor disapproving her actions.

She rose up expectantly. "Then let's flee this place. Why do you fight with those who hate and torment you? Let's go to Rhode Island. We can escape this warrant of death."

Amos shook his head. "Soon this conflict will overflow Boston Harbor. It will engulf the whole New World, and nowhere we can go would be far enough."

"Then let's leave America!" she cried.

Amos pursed his lips then spoke quietly. "Meadow, God has been good to lead us here. In a land so desperate for liberty, I can only believe someday room will be made for
all
races and religions to live together in peace. And land, Meadow! Vast amounts just there for the taking!

"No, daughter," he concluded, "I will stay in America. If we truly want to be free, we must stay and fight this through to the end."

Meadow slumped to the ground. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks and dropped onto her lap in small, damp circles. She wasn't surprised. Not really. In fact, she was proud of her father and a little ashamed of herself for showing less fortitude than he.

"Meadow, go get your Bible."

In a moment she laid the sacred book in his lap.

"The time has come to reveal exactly who you are."

He opened the back cover and began to carefully cut away the lining with the tip of a knife.

"My dear friend's sister, Rosemary Donovan
Wescott
, did not die at the hand of Lord Heathcliff as everyone believed, though she certainly would have if Father Holden had not intervened. In fear of her life and the life of the baby she carried, the priest hid her and cared for her in the church, unbeknownst even to her family, awaiting the child's birth. He held out hope that the baby might one day grow up to claim his rightful inheritance.

"All this was hidden from me until the night of the storm - the night you were born. Anna went into labor but it was long and difficult, and the babe, our daughter, was stillborn." He stopped and fixed her with a penetrating stare.

Meadow protested, "But I'm not dead. I didn't die."

He held her eyes. "Anna fared poorly and knew she was dying. I sent for the priest to administer last rites, and when he arrived he brought a baby; a newborn girl. Rosie had died in childbirth that evening but her baby lived. And before my Anna passed from this world, she charged me with raising the baby as my own and protecting her from her father's murderer."

Slowly, Amos' words pierced the fog of Meadow's mind.

Amos withdrew a paper from its hiding place in the Bible's cover. "Before she died, Rosie dictated a letter to Father Holden and sealed it in her Bible." He held the paper out to her. "This is for you, Allison
Wescott
."

Meadow took the paper woodenly. "No," she whispered.

She jumped to her feet, staring at it unseeingly. "NO!" she screamed, crushing it in her fist and fleeing from the camp.

Tears burned her eyes, and the night grew dark with no moon to light her way, but Meadow stumbled forward, finding strength in her anguish.

She felt betrayed, cheated in the deepest part of her soul. Everything she had believed about herself was unraveling like a garment caught in nettles. She was not the daughter of the Irish peasant man who raised her. Indeed, she was only half Irish - and half
British
- heiress to a vast estate and kin to a murderer!

Why had Amos kept this from her? While they dwelt in the shadow of the
Wescott
estate his reasons were obvious enough, but a months-long ocean crossing offered ample opportunity to reveal a secret of such magnitude.

Her anger blazed against him, and the temptation was great to flee back to Ireland to claim her birthright. Perhaps this revelation was of divine purpose, she mused. Perhaps God meant for her to atone for her ancestry. Her mixed blood might help heal the wounds between rich and poor, between Irish and British in one small corner of the globe.