The Schoolmaster's Daughter (41 page)

When Abigail was at the front door with Mary, about to say goodbye, James appeared at the top of the stairs. He was wearing a sweat-soaked nightshirt, and he held the banister with both hands. “Last night,” he said weakly. “How did it go?”

“Successful, I think.”

James seemed too weary to stand another minute and he eased himself down until he was seated on the top step. “But at what price?” He seemed afraid to look at Abigail.

“The price that was required, James.”

He glanced at her, stunned by the edge in her voice. “I'll never forgive myself—and to what end?”

Abigail laughed, surprising her brother and his wife. They watched her, wary. “There is nothing to forgive. It was my own choice.”

“But—” James began.

“But it was something,” Mary said. “You said so yourself. We did what we could.”

“So little,” he said.

Mary placed a hand over her enormous belly, looking wan and frail. Abigail helped her sit in the straight-back chair by the coat rack.

“And Benjamin?” James asked.

Abigail looked up at her brother. “He is away, with your letter to Dr. Warren.”

“He crossed to Charlestown?”

Abigail nodded.

“I would venture our brother is still there then, digging in.”

“I know,” she said. “I fear this—I fear this more than anything else.”

Quite desperate, James said, “I don't understand why the British are taking so long. I would think they would have attacked right at dawn. But it could be a feint, you know. They could be giving the appearance of going at Charlestown, while they send a force out the Neck—then they could march on Cambridge with no
real
opposition and surprise our army there and end all hope. In one day, take them down, and it could be over.”

“They could, it seems,” Abigail said, “but in the streets I see and hear nothing but reports of soldiers gathering down to harborside. Boats and barges are being prepared to transport them from Long Wharf and North Battery.” James appeared skeptical. “Joshua Tigge thinks they are waiting for the tide. It will be high around three, and they will launch in the afternoon to take advantage of high water.”

“Makes sense,” James said, though he didn't seem relieved, only more distracted. “So much of Boston's history has been determined by the ebb and flow of the ocean.” He was clearly invigorated by the thought of history, and as he struggled to his feet he added, “They may also suspect that our activity at Charlestown is a feint, that we actually plan to come at them from the Neck or Dorchester Heights. Regardless of what they think, they are in no hurry because there is no doubt about their military superiority.” He daubed his eyes with the sleeve of his nighshirt, then he stood up, gripping the banister for support. “Where will you be?”

“I am returning to Tigge's sail loft. There's a good view from there.”

“Well enough. You must take some food to Joshua.” James disappeared down the hall and she heard the sound of the door close behind him.

Mary got to her feet slowly. “I'll fix a wallet for you to take to Mr. Tigge.”

“Perhaps you should lie down too,” Abigail said.

“I must tend to the children,” Mary said, nodding toward the parlor, where several young faces gazed out at them. She made her way toward the kitchen. “Today requires imprecations to the Lord, and I find it easier to pray while I am doing something.”

New England farmers know how to move earth and stone.

Throughout the morning, they continued to build their defenses. Colonel Prescott sent word to Cambridge to request reinforcements, though the courier had to travel the four miles on foot as no horse could be secured for the journey—which only fueled fears that the men building the redoubt were intended to be sacrificed in a lost cause. Furthermore, a sizeable group of men could be seen gathered on the far side of Charlestown Neck, but they did not cross to the peninsula, fearing bombardment from the British ship standing in the river beyond the millpond breakwall. They merely seemed content to observe the preparations.

There was little order in the redoubt. Like the others, Benjamin continued to dig. Word among the men was that General Artemis Ward, who was known for his caution and indecision, was laid up in Hastings House with gout. Lumley speculated that Ward would send few if any reinforcements, because the British activity on the harbor could be a ploy to distract the American army from the real assault from an expedition that would venture across Boston Neck. Late morning, four small field guns did arrive. After being rolled into position, they were fired once to open portals in the redoubt walls. The British shelling continued steadily on past noon. But the real concern was the lack of men, the lack of ammunition, the lack of food and water.

Benjamin was quite exhausted from the work, and from thirst. At one point, he paused to sit on top of the earthen wall. His eyesight had always been keen. Despite the billowing smoke created by the British artillery, he could see people in Boston, clustered on rooftops and in belfry windows. Specks of color.
Spectators
. He imagined that his family was among them, not knowing that he was here on top of this green slope. He was certain Abigail was there, somewhere. He did not want to think on the implications of last night, on her strange laugh after they left the North Battery. Most disturbing was the image of her treading water next to the skiff, saying that she was cleansed. He could often read his sister's moods, but at that moment there was something about her that he could not fathom. A sorrow, but also some kind of eerie joy. It was too far, too dark, too difficult for him to see what it was, what it had made her. She was changed, he was sure, but how he did not know.

And he wondered about Mariah, locked away in a prison cell. He had never seen her frightened, but couldn't imagine that she would sit within its walls and hear all the commotion outside and not be afraid. She would not know what was happening. No one would tell her. It was the not knowing that would drive her to distraction—that and the sense of isolation. She needed the harbor, the sky, the smell of the marshes at low tide. Since the night they had become lovers, he wondered at what she had said.
If my blood doesn't come in a month, it will be all right. You take my meaning?
He had said yes.

XXVII

Menarche

A
LONG WITH THE THUNDER OF CANNON, CHURCH BELLS RANG
constantly throughout Boston, giving this hot, sunny day a strange air of portent and festivity. When Abigail returned to Joshua Tigge's sail loft, the upper floor was filled with watermen and their families. The men and women crowded around the three windows that faced the harbor, while the food Mary had prepared was feasted upon by the children.

Sometime after one in the afternoon, barges and longboats set out from Long Wharf and North Battery, headed for Charlestown. It was an awesome spectacle: twenty-eight vessels lined up in two even rows and propelled by their oars, resembling scarlet bugs as they crawled across the harbor. Joshua estimated that there were at least fifty soldiers in each boat, their bayonets glinting in the sunlight. They were accompanied by barges loaded with supplies, horses, and field guns.

“Those grasshoppers will be set up at the base of the hill,” Joshua said. “From several hundred yards they will be out of range of the American rifles, and they'll tear that redoubt to pieces unchallenged. A charge may not even be required.”

Another old fisherman said, “I fought at Louisbourg, and I saw what cannon could do. Those Frenchmen that weren't killed and wounded were driven from the fort, many diving into the sea.”

When the boats landed in Charlestown, the soldiers waded ashore and gathered along the beach below Morton's Point. Once empty, the boats began to return across the harbor. Over the course of the next hour it was clear that the British were in no hurry to initiate their assault. Perhaps, Joshua suggested, their mere presence would cause the Americans to flee. Though there were estimates that the first wave delivered some fifteen hundred redcoats to Charlestown, by midafternoon more troops were being ferried across the harbor. A small squadron marched into Charlestown, and soon the entire village was engulfed in flames. The thick plume of smoke drifted lazily across the peninsula, at times obscuring the redoubt at the crest of the nearest hill.

While everyone's attention was drawn to the scene across the harbor, a girl of about twelve took hold of Abigail's hand and looked up at her with imploring eyes. The girl's mother said, “Perhaps, Sympathy, you need to go outside?” The woman, heavy-set and missing teeth, stared at Abigail earnestly, as though trying to convey a tacit message.

“I'd be glad to take her,” Abigail said.

Pointedly, the woman said to her daughter, “Attend to the lady now. You follow close behind, understand?”

Sympathy nodded. She let go of Abigail's hand, stepped behind her, and followed her down the loft stairs and outside. They walked up a path from the beach.

“You need to relieve yourself?” Abigail said. The girl had large moist brown eyes. Her wrists were thin as twigs. Something about her was awkward, embarrassed. “Go ahead,” Abigail urged. “Go behind a bush there. No one will see.”

“It be your dress.”

“My dress?”

Sympathy looked away, toward the sail loft. Abigail took it now that her mother had orchestrated their departure. “On the back,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Quickly, Abigail reached behind her and gathered the linen fabric. It was damp. She looked at her hand, which was smeared with blood. The air was filled with the thud of cannon fire, and church bells rang from near and far. She suddenly felt the heat of the sun on her scalp. “Thank you, Sympathy. I must—I must clean myself and change. Do you wish to go with me?”

At first the girl seemed uncertain, but then as Abigail continued up the path, the girl fell in stride behind her. When they reached Mariah's house, they entered the dooryard through the back gate. The place was already suffering from neglect—wood slats had been removed from the fence. The kitchen door was ajar. Inside, the house had been ransacked.

“Thieves,” Abigail said.

“My father says the lobsterbacks will tear this house down because Mistress Cole is in jail,” Sympathy said. “And she will surely hang.”

When Abigail entered the parlor, broken glass crackled beneath her shoes. She stopped; the girl was barefoot. Abigail picked the girl up in her arms and carried her to Mariah's bedroom. The girl put her bare arms tightly around Abigail's neck and her smooth skin was warm. Abigail inspected the pinewood floor and, determining that there was no danger, put Sympathy down by the closet. There was an old seaman's trunk, which was opened; Mariah's clothing was spilled over the sides and was piled on the floor.

Abigail picked up a pair of shoes. “These may be a bit large but you'll grow into them.”

Sympathy slid her feet into the shoes. As she walked about the room, the heels knocked loudly on the floor, causing her to giggle.

Abigail got down on her knees and sorted through the garments until she found a blue dress of light calico. There was a yellow scarf, which Sympathy picked up. She looked at Abigail, who nodded. The girl draped the scarf over her shoulders, dramatically throwing one end over her shoulder.

“It goes well with your eyes,” Abigail said.

They went back into the kitchen, where there was a bucket of water. Abigail removed her white linen dress—Sympathy was surprised to see that she wore nothing underneath—and soaked it in the water, and then washed herself. “Do you understand what has happened?”

The girl nodded. She had remarkably long lashes, which snapped each time she blinked. Her stare was arrested, curious. “Mother says my blood will come anytime now.”

“It's called menarche,” Abigail said. “The first time can be alarming.”

“And then I will grow them,” the girl said, staring at Abigail's breasts.

“You will, and you will have a long, slender back and a high bosom that will give men and women pause.” Incredulous, the girl laughed. “It's true, and you will learn how to walk, how to turn and move. You'll learn how to carry them.” Abigail turned her shoulders, causing her breasts to sway, and, laughing, Sympathy mimicked her.

Abigail pulled on Mariah's dress and buttoned it up. “Your mother has told you what the blood means?”

“I am a woman, but as long as the blood comes every month I am not with child.” She hesitated, her fingers playing with the end of the yellow scarf. “I don't understand if the blood is a good thing. Mother says it depends.”

“Yes, it depends.” Suddenly, Abigail seemed out of breath. It was hot in the house and the dress was snug in the shoulders and across the back. “It depends on whether you want to be with child or not.” She placed a hand on her chest, inhaling.

Sympathy took Abigail's hand and led her out on to the back stoop, where the air was cooler. They sat on the step.

“It is painful?” the girl said.

“Sometimes.”

“When our pigs mount each other, they squeal.”

Abigail breathed slowly, deeply.

“It must hurt so,” Sympathy said. “But my cousin Anne says not at all. Does it?”

“It depends.”

Abigail leaned over, but when the girl placed her hand on her shoulder, she lifted her head. Then they were in each other's arms, and Abigail began to sob.

“I'm afraid,” Sympathy said, crying, too. “I don't want the blood.”

“I know. Neither did I.”

Once landed, the British soldiers ate a leisurely lunch in the meadows down by Morton's Point. At six to seven hundred yards, they were well out of firing range from the redoubt. Many of them were sprawled in the grass, eating, smoking cigars and pipes, seemingly unperturbed by the constant cannon fire coming from the harbor and Copp's Hill. The village was completely consumed in flames, crackling and filling the air with black smoke, which at times nearly blotted out the sun. The shade brought slight, fleeting relief from the afternoon heat.