The Schoolmaster's Daughter (26 page)

James exhaled slowly. “He's young, strong.”

“Yes. He's still in Boston—”

“Don't tell me where, Abigail. The British have been watching my house regularly—I could be arrested at any time. I can't tell them what I don't know.”

“All right.”

“But he is well. That's good.”

Abigail looked about the cemetery; there was an old man on his knees, clipping the grass about a grave with shears. “There's a soldier,” she said, “a corporal named Lumley, who wants to escape Boston and join the provincials.”

“No doubt there are plenty who would like to get off this peninsula. He wants assistance, I gather. I hope you told him no—it's too risky.”

“He's genuine, I really think so. He has information.”

“They all have information.”

She decided not to respond. James had to come around of his own accord; he could not be pushed in a direction he did not want to go. They sat for a minute, listening to the sounds of the old man's shears snipping grass and a cluster of chickadees that hid in the lilac bush over by the granary wall. Finally, she said, “I love this spot. Better because it's a graveyard.”

“I know,” James said. “I think of it as the hub of Boston. Everything radiates out from it. It's the center of our universe.”

“Last time I sat here was with Rachel Revere. They're packing up and evacuating. I shall miss her terribly.”

“It's better for them. Have you considered going?”

“Me?”

“I could make arrangements for you to stay in—”

“No. I'll not leave Boston.”

James shielded his eyes with a frail hand. “That man trimming the grass. Name's Boit, a rather good tailor. From my window I see him come in here every day to tend to his wife's grave. That's devotion.” He lowered his hand and placed it over his stomach. “I shouldn't stay much longer, I'm afraid. Shall we head back?”

She helped him get up and they walked out to the street.

As they passed King's Chapel he said, “All right, what information?”

“It's about food.”

“Yes, Boston is on the brink of starvation.”

“Lumley says that Gage is planning on raiding some of the islands in the harbor.”

“Which ones?”

“Noddle, and possibly Grape and Hog.”

“Of course. There are plenty of cattle, sheep, and horses grazing out there, and they're in desperate need of hay for their horses.” They walked down to James's front door, where he placed his free hand on the iron railing for support. “Such an expedition will require a fair number of men, and ships—not just longboats—to transport the animals. Did Lumley say when?”

“Not exactly, but soon.”

James looked beyond Abigail, and smiled. “We have an observer, as usual. I don't recognize him—must be new on the job. All right, kiss me on the cheek for our friend's sake. Perhaps he'll report that I've taken up with a beautiful young mistress adorned with a turban.”

He leaned forward, and Abigail put her arms about his neck and kissed his cheek.

“And this Colonel Cleaveland,” he said. “I'd be cautious there, Abigail.”

She began to let go of her brother, but then clung to him more tightly.

“Remember, I speak from some experience in such matters. Ask yourself what you want, what you really want.”

“At the moment, what I want is to send Lumley and Benjamin out of Boston together.”

“I see.”

She let go of him, and when he straightened up he didn't even look at her before turning to open the door. “Yes, that might do. They are watching me too closely, so you'll have to arrange it. I will provide you with the necessary contacts.” He paused after he stepped up on to the threshold, quite exhausted. “Give my love to Mother, and keep Father and his guests content, as distasteful a task as that may be.”

Benjamin awoke in the shed, and for a moment he was confused, baffled as to how he had got there, but then he recalled that while it was still dark Mariah had shaken him awake, kissed him once more, saying he must get out of the house before daylight for fear that someone might see him, so he got up from the bed, pulled on his clothes, and walked out the kitchen door, and it was there on the back steps that he heard the sound of alarmed chickens coming from the coop, and then saw a boy crawl out from the small cage, a chicken, its neck already wrung, dangling from his fist, and the boy got to his feet and froze when he saw Benjamin staring down at him from the kitchen steps.

Or maybe Benjamin had only dreamed it. Maybe Mariah didn't take him to her bed with such urgency. Maybe the boy didn't stare for a long moment and then ask
You be a ghost?
And maybe Benjamin didn't answer
Yes, the ghost of Anse Cole
, causing the boy to drop the chicken and run to the back fence and leap over it, falling heavily and groaning in pain, before his footsteps beat down the alley.

Benjamin got up off his bed of sailcloth and peered through the crack in the shed door, to see a dead chicken lying in the dooryard. And then Mariah opened the kitchen door and stepped out into the early morning sunlight. She crossed the yard and picked the chicken up by its neck and said, “Already had three stolen since father died. No respect for the dead.”

“The ghost of Anse Cole saved that chicken for you,” Benjamin whispered through the crack in the door.

For the first time since he'd returned, she smiled, “Thank you, Father. And I best not waste thy gift. I'll make a fine chicken dinner, and with the carcass, a good stock.”

He whistled gently. “But first, come into the shed.”

Mariah gazed so long at the shed that he wondered if she could see right through the door. “First? First,” she countered, “I must attend to my chores. I will keep this gift of a fine chicken in a cool, shaded place and tend to you later. Not first. Last—at last.”

“Would it do any good to beg?” he whispered.

“It would not.” She laughed as she walked away from the shed, the pendulous chicken swinging at her side in time to the sway of her hips.

XV

Departures

A
BIGAIL
'
S DAYS AND NIGHTS HAD BEEN FRANTIC.
S
HE VISITED
Mariah each day and informed Benjamin of their progress in arranging his escape from Boston, and she often went straight to Molly Collins's rooms near Dock Square to confer with Lumley. Then, representing James, she met with men in waterfront taverns and chandleries, and made plans to smuggle both Benjamin and a British deserter off the peninsula. Bostonians were terrified of being captured by the British patrols; there were numerous incidents where people were incarcerated for the slightest infraction. Several fishermen initially refused to help Abigail, but finally it was settled that Benjamin and Lumley would be taken across the water to Charlestown in an oyster boat.

Donning a completely different guise, she also walked out frequently with Samuel. It was difficult to be in public with him, but she had learned to ignore the gaze of passing Bostonians (Samuel pretended not to notice). He had told her that he loved her with a straightforward sincerity that seemed determined to overcome any perceived obstacle—occupied and occupier. He talked frequently about the future, about his family's property in Surrey, and she listened intently. But as they grew closer, more familiar, more passionate, she became aware of something within him that was restrained, withheld. It seemed to be a matter of preparation, but for what she did not know. He seldom discussed military matters, other than offhand remarks which suggested that things were only getting worse.

One evening, walking her home from a stroll down to Windmill Point, he said, “This is a delicate situation, the two of us.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“I just hope you're able to see beyond this uniform.”

“I believe I can. We're both in rather contradictory situations.”

“Sometimes I feel you're watching me, for some sign.”

“Of what?” she asked.

“I don't know. And I must admit that at times I …”

“What, Samuel?”

“I'm almost spying on you. Do you know that there are regular reports regarding your brother James? There is great activity, comings and goings from his house. Some under General Gage's command would have done something, taken James into custody—there's no question where his sympathies lie—but there's great reluctance because your father and the general are so close.”

“James is not well, you must know that.”

“I do.”

Suddenly, Abigail stopped walking and waited until Samuel did so as well. His hair was tied back in a queue and his face tanned from conducting drills with his men in the afternoon sun. “What are you really saying?” He shook his head and began walking again, but she caught his arm. “No, tell me, Samuel. Are you saying we are safe because of you?” He wouldn't look her in the eye. “You're protecting us?”

“I try. I do try.” Then he almost seemed to plead. “You don't make it easy, Abigail. It is difficult, and dangerous. For us both.”

Her hand was still on his arm. She kept it there as they looked at each other, and then they continued walking.

Benjamin was unaware of the circumstances surrounding his departure from Boston until the night before he was to leave, when Abigail arranged for him to meet her in a back room at the Green Dragon Tavern. She said James would join them briefly. And then she introduced Benjamin to a man named Lumley, a British corporal who wanted to desert and fight for the patriots. Benjamin was wary and he wanted to object, but then his older brother arrived. James's handshake was soft, the fingers chilled and stiff. His physical frailty had advanced greatly in the weeks since they'd last seen each other.

“It's best I were away quickly,” James said. “But I did want to see you for just a moment before you go.” He gave Benjamin a packet of letters. “Take these and Lumley to Dr. Warren—he needs to know about Gage's designs on the harbor islands. I hear you were badly treated when captured, but you look like you are recovering well.” He glanced at Abigail. “I understand you are being well cared for. You might be cautious there, little brother. You know the trouble I got into when I was young.”

Benjamin only smiled at his brother.

“Now, I must not stay.” James looked at Lumley. “It might be understood if I were found in the company of my renegade brother, but assisting a British soldier who wishes to desert—that would be a very different circumstance.”

Then he placed a hand on Benjamin's shoulder before leaving the room.

Lumley was drinking flip from a bowl so large, it required two handles. The beverage was comprised of strong beer, sweetened with molasses and a gill of rum—all stirred with a red-hot loggerhead, an iron poker, which churned the beverage into a bubbling, frothing concoction.

Benjamin leaned toward Abigail and said, “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

They went out the back door to the alley behind the tavern. “You have to take Lumley,” his sister said, anticipating his objections. “He wants to join the provincials, I'm certain of it, and he's desperate.”

“I don't like it.”

“The alternative is to leave him be and eventually the redcoats will pick him up and make a great show of executing him.”

“Seems the likely end for a deserter, no matter which side he's on.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But if we get him out of Boston safely, it might encourage other soldiers to defect. There are plenty who want to.”

Benjamin leaned against the clapboard wall. “Ever since I was small I've been crushed by the logic of your arguments,” he said. “I just don't like this one, no matter what you tell me.”

“I'm telling you that it's been arranged, and it wasn't easy, Benjamin. We'll meet tomorrow night, as planned.” Angrily, she yanked open the door, but then she put her arm about his neck and hugged him quickly before disappearing inside the tavern.

Abigail spent the following morning at the Reveres' house, helping Rachel and her mother prepare to evacuate. There had been talk of crossing on the Charlestown ferry, but the necessary permit (which naturally would require a bribe) hadn't been secured. So a pass had been obtained to get them through the gates at the Neck. There were trunks to be packed in the wagon, enough linen and bedding and clothing for all the children. Though food was not allowed to be taken out of the city, a basket of wine was loaded, in anticipation that meager forms of bribery would be required along the way, and a neighbor's gift of a shank of lamb was covered with burlap and sewn inside one of the mattresses. A letter from Paul had gotten through to Rachel, saying they could be put up in Watertown at the home of a Mr. Van Ee. Paul requested that she bring him clean socks and undergarments. Oddly, his letter made no mention of the money she had sent out with Dr. Church.

“That one hundred and twenty-five pounds, disappeared,” Rachel said. And then laughing giddily, she added, “His copper plates have already been smuggled out. Since no one has any money, we'll just have to print some!”

Young Paul Revere was going to remain behind to manage his father's shop, with the assistance of an English engraver, Isaac Clemens, whose shop was next door on Clark's Wharf. When the wagon was packed with children and belongings, Rachel took up the reins and rode from North Square to King's Chapel, where Abigail kissed her and climbed down.

Rachel stared toward the granary burying ground a moment. “I'm trying to think of a joke, something that'll leave us laughing.”

“You could save it for when next we meet.”

“All right. I promise to think of something quite randy before I get to Watertown.”

She drove on and as the wagon turned down Cornhill Road she laughed without looking back, raising one hand in the air.