The Color of Freedom (5 page)

The peddler chuckled merrily. "I believe I struck near to the truth."

Meadow nearly fainted with relief as the hoof beats pounded away. She clung tightly to the big horse's mane while the world swam back into focus.

The peddler dipped low in front of her. "My name's
Salizar
," he said, extending his hand. "Welcome aboard."

She accepted the handshake and shook it heartily, as she imagined a man would. "Thank you, sir. I'm-" she stopped abruptly. It would not do to announce her real name, and so soon after Lord Dennison's proclamation. She quickly settled on her middle one. "Wynn. My name is Wynn."

"Good to know you, son. Now let's see if you can get this stubborn cur moving again."

Meadow clucked to the horse and the strange rig rolled out of town.

∗ ∗ ∗

They traveled much of the morning in silence, Meadow keeping pace easily with the old horse. Sometimes in the muddiest places, the beast would grind slowly to a stop, like a giant mill wheel at the end of a workday. At those times she would lead him by his bridle, mumble nonsense in his ear and click softly to him.

In the dark, she had missed the scenery of the open countryside. Now she soaked it in. The world was still clothed in white, but it was dripping and stretching, shedding layers in the warmth of the sun. Tall maples and oaks reached skinny fingers to the life-giving rays. Spruce and white pine shook snowy aprons from their skirts. And here and there, a stark granite rock reared its head, struggling against the ice that still bound it.

They sauntered past a multitude of bubbling streams, freed from their seasonal prison. Their banks danced with little creatures beckoned from their nests by the snap and crackle all around them. Bushy-tailed squirrels chattered high in the branches, calling to their friends and neighbors, and red-breasted robins flew home from the south. Once, Meadow even caught a glimpse of a shy doe bending her neck for a graceful drink.

Salizar
sat most of the morning in the driver's seat, the reins resting slack in his hands. He stared alternately at the passing countryside and the clear blue sky, all while thoughtfully chewing the inside of his lip.

She felt safe in the presence of the strange little man, fully aware of her good fortune. She must remember to say a special blessing for him. Here, by God's grace, was food, protection, and a new identity for herself, all traveling in the direction she must go. She was inclined to stay with him until he strayed from her course.

The sun was well past its zenith before
Salizar
called for a halt and pulled the rig into an open meadow prickled with brown stalks of grass. "It's time to earn your keep, boy. Gather firewood while I scrape together some vittles."

Meadow crunched over the brittle crust to a row of elm trees that bordered a small stream. Her back grew warm beneath the dark wool of her coat as she gathered bundles of dried branches. She savored the heat, storing it up against the nights that would now pass crisp and harsh without the warmth of exercise.

Having collected a good pile, she pulled a shovel from the side of the wagon and scraped away the snow. Filling the hole with grass, she fashioned the twigs into a tent. Then, with borrowed flint and steel, she soon produced a hardy blaze.

"Well done,"
Salizar
nodded as he emerged from his living quarters, a satisfied smile crinkling his faded blue eyes. "This crooked old back wonders why I didn't hire a strong lad years ago."

He set bacon on to fry and her stomach growled loudly. He laughed, his face creasing into a thousand wrinkles. "I can't afford to pay you much, but I've food in plenty."

"I won't ask for more than my keep."

Silence fell between them, and Meadow could feel his eyes probing her. His unasked questions rolled loudly about the empty space.

Feeling uncomfortable, she approached Aberdeen and stroked his muzzle. She examined him for signs of stress and ran a hand down each of his legs in search of any swelling. Lifting the huge feet, she scrutinized soles and frogs with narrowed eyes, then stood, well satisfied, and unhitched him from the wagon.

"Not too much, now," she warned as he bent his head at the stream. "A belly full of cold water will give you colic. You may have your grain and more water when you cool down."

She removed his bit and bridle and staked him to forage in the open field. His big, disk-like feet plowed furrows in the softening ground and churned it to mud. Meadow then headed back to the line of trees for some private business, completely out of sight of the peddler.

Returning to the fire, the smells made her mouth water.
Salizar
chewed quickly and bolted coffee down his throat after each mouthful. He winked at her broadly. "Modest fellow,
ain't
ya
?" he asked.

Meadow felt her cheeks grow warm.

"Oh, don't be embarrassed. I remember how 'tis at your age. Afraid someone might take too close a notice of goods not intended for public scrutiny. Every lad goes through it."

Mortified, Meadow stared at the ground while waves of humiliation washed over her. Then slowly, like a chunk of ice thawing in her mouth, she realized the old man would never speak so to a woman. He had been completely fooled by her disguise. The freedom that accompanied that thought produced a most unladylike snort of laughter.

"Sit and eat,"
Salizar
commanded and set a platter of greasy eggs and bacon before her. He filled another tin cup with the strong, bitter coffee.

"It's nice to have some company besides old Aberdeen. He's not much for conversation, you know. You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

"You're out early this year," Meadow commented. "Not many travelers would brave winter weather and spring mud."

He shrugged. "I took ill last autumn and wintered with my sister. Now I'm healthy and the weather's fair. I aim to lighten my load before I reach the coast and resupply. I'm even pondering a side trip to the beleaguered city."

Meadow looked up in surprise. "Boston?"

"Aye." He chewed another quick mouthful and washed it down. "Are you headed anywhere in particular, or just along for the ride?"

Meadow shrugged evasively. "Don't much care where I go, so long as I reach the coast."

"Ah, taking to sea, are you? I dreamed of such a life myself once." His eyes narrowed as he looked in the fire, seeing there memories of long ago. He grinned suddenly. "Well then, Wynn, my boy, we are headed for Boston together!"

Meadow shot him a skeptical look. "How will you enter the city? I hear it is cut off from all trade."

"To be sure, to be sure," he burst out. "That does present a bit of a catch, but heavy profits stand to be made if an enterprising mind can iron out that little wrinkle."

"So you don't know how to get in."

"No
bloomin
' idea, son," he proclaimed merrily. "No
bloomin
' idea." Then he winked, "But luck tends to plague me."

Meadow shrugged her shoulders recklessly and mustered her first genuine grin in a week. "To Boston, then," she said, raising her tin cup.

His face wrinkled with pleasure as he clanked his cup against hers. "To Boston!"

Meadow tossed back the last of the bitter liquid with complete satisfaction.

The days with
Salizar
passed quickly, the end of each setting her that much closer to her father. They traveled slowly through the countryside, stopping at every town and many private homes to peddle their wares. Often
Salizar
traded for clean rags and old bones which he would sell to be made into paper and fertilizer. Sometimes he bartered for home-crafted goods, but always he traded at a profit.

The old man was no stranger to the region. He seemed to know every person they met. Many a buxom farm wife invited him in for dinner, and even more frequently, rough, work-hardened men treated him to a round of ale at a local tavern, all of which he accepted with customary humor and bluntness. Meadow followed at his heels, enjoying his quirky company and basking in the illusion of safety.

One evening, as a purple chill descended with the sun, they pulled into the tree-lined drive of a farmhouse. Several ragged children played about the yard. They let out a collective squeal and ran, shouting, to the back door.

"The peddler's come!"

"
Salizar
is here!"

"Mama, come look!"

"You're a popular fellow," Meadow stated.

Salizar
nodded his pleasure emphatically. "This, my boy, is the home of John and Patience Blackburn and their five strapping children. And a nobler family can't be found, even in the highest streets of London."

A tall, burly man exited the house, his curling black hair fastened behind his neck with a length of twine. Dressed in homespun that stretched over taut muscles, he strode purposefully across the yard. As he came, his features split into a wide smile.

"
Salizar
, you scoundrel!" he boomed, extending a callous hand. "How are you, my friend?"

"Delighted! Delighted!" the little man beamed, bowing right off the wagon seat. "John, meet my young hand, Wynn. Wynn, John Blackburn."

John extended his hand, and Meadow winced with the pressure of his grip. "I'm honored," John rumbled.

Meadow nodded and offered the stranger a timid smile.

John turned back to
Salizar
. "Come. Patience is anxious to see you. You must join us for dinner. Afterwards we'll let her paw through your merchandise."

Meadow followed the men into the kitchen where a plump woman labored at a huge stone hearth that dominated one whole wall. She stirred the contents of a black cauldron suspended over the fire by a heavy iron crane. Above, a massive beam supported the low ceiling, intersected at intervals by smooth, age-blackened joists.

"
Salizar
!" the woman exclaimed. She wiped her hands on her apron and gave him a brief hug. "How good to see you again!"

This sent him into another round of energetic bowing. He looked like a chicken pecking a handful of corn. Meadow had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

"And who is this?" Patience asked, turning to Meadow.

Meadow fought down her humor. "My name is Wynn, ma'am."

"
'Tis
good to have you." She surprised Meadow with a warm hug. "
Salizar
is getting much too old to be gallivanting about the countryside alone."

The men passed into the sitting room, already deep in conversation. Meadow stood awkwardly in a corner of the kitchen, watching the woman prepare the meal. "Can I help?"

Patience smiled kindly. "Thank you, Wynn. I would appreciate a full wood box. And the water bucket is nearly empty. The pump is right behind the house."

Meadow grabbed the wooden bucket. Filling it presented no problems, but chopping wood was a new task. Though her muscles had hardened, the ax outside the door felt heavy and unfamiliar. After a several awkward swings, she succeeded only in creating a few splinters.

She leaned on the ax, sighing hopelessly. Then she spotted the pile of split wood stacked neatly beside the house. She rolled her eyes and grabbed an armload, realizing the job had probably taken John only a few minutes.

By the time she finished her chores, the family was preparing to eat. She took her place beside
Salizar
on the long wooden bench, crossed herself, and bowed her head with the others.

"Heavenly Father," John prayed, "We thank thee for thy blessing and these friends who grace our table. Grant them safety in these uncertain times."

Meadow sneaked a peak at the man as he prayed. His head was bowed, and curly, black locks fell over his forehead. Thick hands rested together on the plank table.

"Bless our fellowship tonight, and guide these colonies down your path. We thank thee for this bounty placed before us by loving hands. May it strengthen our feeble bodies. In thy Son's precious name we ask, amen."

Meadow was touched by the simple prayer and the reverent way John spoke the words. He reminded her greatly of Father Holden, but she had little time to reflect on this as the plates of food were passed.

The meal tasted delicious. Thick stew swam with chunks of beef and preserved garden vegetables, all complimented with doughy slabs of Yorkshire pudding. In addition, she most certainly smelled blueberry cobbler held somewhere in reserve.

The children ate in silence, but John turned to
Salizar
with a question. "What news of the coast have you heard in your travels?"

"Very little, I fear. I know the situation in Boston grows more desperate, but the British regulars monitor who is allowed in or out. News and supplies must be smuggled through on peril of one's life."

"Since the Tea Party, the British have tightened control," John agreed.

"A foolish plan, the Tea Party,"
Salizar
remarked sourly. "What did it accomplish besides destroying good tea and drawing the ire of the authorities? Think of the profits lost."

"British profits," John countered. "But it was not about tea or money. It drew attention to the fact that the British are interfering in our system of government. They tax us to pay for their blood feud with France, they disallow settlers west of the mountains, and they impose restrictions on us without letting us send representatives to join their law-making."