Time Enough for Drums (8 page)

I looked down at myself. I’d fallen on my bed in my dirty petticoat. The mud had dried, of course, but it looked awful. I turned in confusion and put my hands to my head, which was throbbing. “There isn’t time to change. What’ll I do?”

“Just wash your face and fix your hair,” David advised solemnly. “Brush yourself off. The later you are, the more time they have to think. Jem, watch yourself with Reid. Mother and Father think the sun rises and sets with him.”

“I know that, David.”

“And take my advice and don’t mention the war. That sets them off faster than anything.”

Candlelight glowed softly in Father’s study, reflecting on the bound books and soft draperies. Father was leaning back in his chair behind his desk, his legs stretched out, smoking his clay pipe. A goblet of wine was on his desk and another on the small table a few feet away where John Reid sat. They were talking in soft tones when I went in. My father was even smiling.

He saw me and sobered, pulled his legs in, and beckoned me toward him. “Jemima.”

I ventured farther into the room. The candlelight and shadows played across John Reid’s face, adding a quality of maturity I had never noticed before. He stood, inclined his head, and said my name politely, then flipped his coattails and sat again, his face betraying nothing.

Father puffed his pipe, ruminating. “How are you feeling, Jemima?”

“I’m all right, Father. Other than my head hurting.”

“You had a fall. Was your head injured?”

“No. I fell on my hand. The Indian women at Grandfather’s bandaged it.”

“Let me see.”

I went to him and he examined the wrist. “It looks fine. No swelling. The Indian women know their medicine. You look worse for wear, though.”

“I’m sorry about the way I look, Father. I fell asleep and didn’t wake until David knocked. I didn’t take the time to change.”

He nodded. “Sit down.”

I sat and he considered me. “It’s been a bad day for all of us, Jem. It started early and it looks as if it will never end. I had a long meeting with the Committee of Safety, which took up most of my day. You know how important those meetings have become these days.”

I didn’t think he should be discussing the Committee of Safety in front of John Reid, but I said nothing.

“And then I came home just before supper to find your mother completely distraught. Jemima, this has been one of the worst days of your mother’s life, with Dan leaving. And you have added to her heartache.”

It sounded awful when he said it that way, and there was
nothing I could add to it or detract from it to make it sound any better.

“Your behavior, from this morning on, has been disgraceful. I won’t go into detail and categorize your sins. We’re all tired and you know what they are. Sufficient to say that it seems almost beyond anyone’s ability to make a proper young lady of you.”

The clock on the mantel ticked. John Reid did not look at me.

“Mr. Reid here has attempted for two years to give you an education as befits a young woman of your station in life. You have tried his soul to the utmost. I don’t know how he has kept his temper with you.”

He hadn’t. He’d lost it on more than one occasion, but I knew better than to say so.

“War is coming, Jem. With my work with the Committee and keeping the shop and your mother’s work with her sewing for the army, we haven’t time to worry where you have run off to next or what new ways you have come up with to disgrace yourself.”

I was sure he was talking about my kissing Raymond Moore, and I prayed he wouldn’t take it into his head to discuss that now. He didn’t.

“When Rebeckah suggested this afternoon that you go to Philadelphia with her, your mother was sorely tempted to say yes. Lucy might be packing your bags now if it were not for Mr. Reid. He insists on trying again with you. So your mother and I have agreed.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“Don’t thank me. If anyone deserves thanks, it’s John Reid. But you stay only on the condition that you apply yourself to your lessons with diligence and attempt to control that wild nature of yours. Lessons will be five afternoons
a week now instead of three. You are to be on time, be presentable, and behave in a well-bred and amiable manner. Now, John, suppose you tell her what lessons you have planned.”

John Reid nodded cordially to my father and got up. “There will be added instruction in penmanship, as you requested, Jemima, and a more intense study of French and Latin. And sums. There will also be instructions in etiquette, which your father felt you could use. And I’ve added geography.”

“Geography?” It sounded awful.

“This isn’t the usual education for a young lady,” my father said, “but your mother and I want more for you than just needlework and dancing. The times are changing, Jemima. As we struggle to preserve our freedoms, we must also have the moral clarity and education to handle those freedoms. Your mother and I want you prepared for the future.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You have an excellent tutor in John Reid. With his education at Harvard College, you have the best. If you ruin this chance, if Reid once comes to me with the complaint that you’ve run off or flouted his authority, you’ll go to Philadelphia. To live with Rebeckah and Grandfather Henshaw and mingle with their Tory friends. Is that what you want?”

“No, sir.” How my father could overlook the fact that a Tory was to have the job of teaching me the moral clarity to handle our future freedoms was beyond me. The situation would have been humorous, had I not been so tired.

“I was going to take Bleu away to punish you,” he went on, “but John suggested I allow you to keep him. When
your grandfather gave you that horse, he gave you a certain amount of freedom. And you have abused it. It’s a terrible thing to abuse freedom, don’t you agree?”

“Oh yes, Father!” Take Bleu? My heart would break, surely.

“The most important thing we’re going to have to learn, if we win our freedom in these colonies, is to handle it properly. Your generation will have to learn that, Jem, and teach it to the next one. So Reid thought it best that you keep your horse. It is his belief that you don’t teach freedom by taking it away.”

I stared openly at John Reid, but he was looking down into his goblet of wine. What did a Tory know about freedom? To be sure, I had never heard him argue with my parents about his feeling of allegiance to the Crown. But that was only because it was Father’s rule never to argue politics with old friends who happened to be Tories.

“At the first provocation, though, John has my permission to send Bleu back to Otter Hall.”

So that was it. Reid had convinced Father I was to keep Bleu only so he could have that edge of power over me. And he’d covered it all over with talk about freedom!

“Go to bed now, Jem. Have Lucy give you some supper first and a cold compress for that head. Say good night to John.”

“Good night, Mr. Reid.”

He stood and did his little half bow. “Good night, Jemima. I’m sure we’ll work well together from now on.”

“Oh, Jemima, how did you find your grandfather?” Father asked.

I stopped at the door. “He was fine.”

“I hear Canoe escorted you back to town.”

“Yes.”

“You had a chance to talk to him, then. What did you talk about?”

I hesitated, remembering the delicate situation between Father and Canoe.

“Come, come, Jemima. We’ve all heard the rumors concerning Canoe. It’s always been to your credit that you have gone out of your way to be nice to him.”

I glowed. I couldn’t remember the last time my father had praised me. “He told me about his boyhood in Canada.”

“Ah, a most interesting boyhood. There’s a fine bit of education for you, John.”

“I’d like to hear about it someday,” Reid said earnestly.

“He told me how Indian children are raised. And how they are never punished.”

Father looked at me over his spectacles. “Are you telling me you don’t think you should be punished?”

“I’m only telling you what Canoe told me. Goodness, you asked.”

He scowled. “I sense impudence, Jemima. I hope it wasn’t intended.”

“Oh no, Father.”

I’d displeased him. I saw John Reid scowl at me and shake his head. I hadn’t wanted to do that. For all my father’s threats, he was a patient and good parent. I felt bad and stood, hoping he would invite me to kiss him good night. I yearned for him to take me in his arms.

“Don’t forget your prayers, Jemima. Lessons will begin in a week. By that time your wrist should be back to normal and John Reid will have had time to prepare his course of study.” He smiled kindly, but there was no invitation in the smile. I turned and left.

When I reported to John Reid for my lessons a week later, there was an old inventory book of Father’s on the round table in the middle of his study. I marched into the room and went immediately to the table where my mother’s silver coffee service sat. I had just come in from riding Bleu and was numb with cold. It had been two hours since my noon meal and I was also starving.

I took off my cloak and threw it on a chair and reached for a piece of cold meat that was laid out on the silver tray next to Lucy’s pumpkin bread and some dried fruit.

“Put it back.”

I had the meat in my hand, halfway to my mouth. “What?”

John Reid was sitting languidly in a chair next to the fire going through some of his papers. He didn’t bother to get up or even to look at me. “I said put it back. Barbarians eat with their hands. You wouldn’t dare do that at your parents’ table. And barbarians make such an entrance, clomping in with muddied shoes and throwing their clothes about. Put the meat back. You’ll eat when given permission.”

I put the meat down, too startled to do otherwise. In the
past he had commented once or twice on my unruly manners but never attempted to do anything about them. “It’s my mother’s food. And her coffee and her silver service that was made by Paul Revere and that she bought in Boston from a Tory who needed money.”

“Go back outside and come in again. And this time come in quietly. And curtsy when you enter the room. Then pick up your cloak and hang it up properly.”

“Well, I never! If you’re going to be such an overbearing …”

He looked at me. “I am going to be overbearing. You were about to say?”

“I was about to say that only prissy girls from Miss Rodger’s curtsy.”

“Like Betsy Moore?”

“No, of course not. But—”

“Betsy Moore is a lady. And your brother Daniel is a gentleman, as befits his rank of officer in the Continental army. He wouldn’t have any less than a true lady for a wife. You’ll be a spinster at the rate you’re going.”

“And that’s the way I’ll stay if a man likes manners before he likes me.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “You’ll be a lady if I have anything to say about it. And you’ll marry if I have to marry you myself.”

“I’d sooner die!”

He sobered. “Go out and come in again, Jemima. We don’t start lessons until you do.”

I stomped out. Again I entered, more quietly, and stood looking at him.

“You know how to curtsy. I’ve seen you do it when you wanted something from your grandfather Henshaw. Can you do it for me?”

I screwed my face up in distaste and curtsied. He regarded me with a penetrating gaze that disquieted me. “Your head and shoulders could be held higher, but it will do for now.”

“How do you know so much about it?”

“I’ve been in the company of a few fine ladies in my time.”

“Like my sister, Rebeckah?”

Again he scowled. “You will kindly refrain from ever mentioning Rebeckah to me again. Is that understood?”

I nodded my head numbly.

“And when I speak to you, I expect a proper answer. Yes, sir. Or yes, Mr. Reid. Either will do, but I expect an answer. Well?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now pick up the cloak and hang it properly on the peg, and then you may eat.”

He took a plate and arranged some meat and bread on it for me, pulled out my chair, and poured me some coffee. I sat. He sat opposite me, sipping his own coffee and watching me. “Don’t stuff your mouth like that. And sit up straight. How you got to be fifteen with such horrendous manners is beyond me.”

“I’ll be sixteen in March.”

“So you will. But sixteen or not, a properly brought-up Christian young woman does not kiss a man in public. Not even if she’s betrothed to him.”

I felt myself blushing. “What business is it of yours if I kissed Raymond Moore?”

“It comes under the heading of moral clarity, which I am supposed to be teaching you.”

“Father was talking about moral clarity to handle freedom.”

“Exactly. Freedom. And your constant misuse of it.”

“That’s not the freedom Father meant, Mr. Reid.”

“I know the kind of freedom your father was talking about. And it starts with everyday life and entails great responsibility.”

“Then you do admit that we’ll win our freedom in these colonies.”

“This has nothing to do with politics.”

“Mr. Reid, how can you be so close to my parents and not see that we’re right in our desire for self-government?”

“Jemima, I will not discuss politics with you. That subject, along with Rebeckah, is forbidden.”

“Daniel is your friend, and he’s off fighting a war.”

“That’s Daniel’s choice.”

“How can you be content to be a schoolmaster when so many people you know are fighting?”

“When the time comes, I’ll offer my services. But I’m confident the rebellion will be crushed before then.”

“Washington still has the British penned up in Boston. They’re short of provisions and very miserable. That doesn’t sound like we’re being crushed.”

“I’ll hear no more about it. War has come to the colonies, unfortunately. It has torn apart the loyalties of everyone in Trenton. Since we are in the direct route between New York and Philadelphia, choices will have to be made by good men here, whether Tory or Patriot. Those choices are not easily made. Some of the most influential men in town will soon be throwing their fortunes in with the Crown. Lawyers, like Isaac Allen and Daniel Coxe; our high sheriff, John Barnes; and iron manufacturers, like Sam Henry. All good Americans.”