Toliver's Secret (4 page)

“But, Father!” Mother cried. She was almost stuttering in her hurry to object to Grandfather's idea. “It's too cold to go sailing across the Bay … in December … a little girl would freeze with only a shawl to wear!” She clapped her hands to her brown hair and ruffled it with nervous fingers. “How could you think of a thing like that?”

“Now don't get so upset, Abby,” Grandfather whispered. “She could wear Ezra's old clothes to keep warm. No one would notice a small boy with a loaf of bread.”

Quickly Ellen looked from one to the other. Her mother wouldn't let him go ahead with a scheme so wild.

Mother's blue eyes flashed. “But Ellen doesn't even look like a boy.”

“Sh-h-h,” said Grandfather, pointing to the ceiling. “We could cut her hair like a boy's.” He seemed rather pleased with the idea of the disguise.

“Just like that!” said Mother. “You expect me to cut my daughter's hair and send her off just like that! You forget, Father, I gave my husband to the cause of freedom and my son has gone to the war, too. I won't let you send my little girl.”

Grandfather was surprised by this outburst. “But she isn't going to the
war
,” he said gently. “All she has to do is cross over to Elizabeth-town on an oysterman's boat, and hand the loaf of bread to my friend Shannon. And come home again.”

Mother threw up her hands. “It's too dangerous,” she protested. She set her mouth in a stubborn line as she shook her head. “It's just too risky.”

Ellen looked from one to the other. Grandfather couldn't be serious about this. She couldn't pretend she was a boy. She was too small and she wouldn't know how to act. Maybe someone like Dicey could do it. But Grandfather was looking right at her.

“I couldn't do it, Grandfather,” she stammered. “Why, I don't even know where Elizabeth-town is. And I don't know Mr. Shannon. How could I find a man I don't know?” In her fright she was tripping over her words. “How could I go on an oysterman's boat by myself?”

Leaning on his elbow Grandfather beckoned her to his couch. “Look, Ellen Toliver,” he said quietly, “I wouldn't send you off to do something that was dangerous. I love you too much for that. Now, it might take courage for you to sail across the Bay. But it isn't dangerous.”

“But I'd be too scared to do a thing like that by myself,” Ellen protested. “You know how scared I get, I just can't do the hard things you tell me to do. You think I'm like Ezra, but I'm not, Grandfather. I can't even stand up to Dicey.” She hated to tell him that she had run away from Dicey again in spite of all he had told her this morning.

She kept her head down so he couldn't see her eyes.
“I don't have courage like other people. Ezra says I haven't any at all.”

“I don't agree with you,” said Grandfather. “You had courage when you and your mother walked ten miles to New York,” he reminded her.

“And you had courage when you two stayed all alone in your house with war all around you.”

Ellen nodded.

“And today when you brought the leeches to put on my ankle. That took courage, didn't it?”

Well, yes, thought Ellen, that did take courage, but it wasn't the same as going across the Bay all alone to a place she'd never been.

“We get over fear,” said Grandfather, “by doing things we think we cannot do. These are trying times, Ellen. Many people are doing things they thought they never could do.”

It was hard to think of an answer. Ellen stood twisting her fingers and wondering what to say. She thought if they made her go, she'd never get back again.

“I
will explain to you what this is all about,” said Grandfather, “and then you can decide what to do, Ellen. I hear a lot of talk among the British officers in my shop. I hear a lot in the Tavern, too. I have information that must get to General Washington by tomorrow night at the latest. It must get there without fail. That's why I have hidden it in a loaf of bread. The bread won't attract attention, and it can be passed from one messenger to another until it gets to headquarters.”

With a frown on her face, Mother jumped up from her chair and stood in front of him. “How could a message be that important, now?” she protested. “It is only two weeks until Christmas! And the officers are planning to stop the war for Christmas. I know they are.”

Grandfather scowled at her. “And how could you know that, pray tell?”

“Why,” said Mother, “people all over New York are having parties and balls for the officers. I hear that hundreds of fruitcakes have been made already—and thousands of candles. That's what I heard when I went to the candle shop.”

Grandfather shook his head. His face, usually so pink cheeked and jolly, looked gray and drawn.

“And General Howe loves parties,” Mother pressed on eagerly. “They all love parties. I know there won't be any fighting at Christmastime!”

Grandfather's eyes were grim. “Nevertheless, this message is very important! Our army has been defeated time and time again for months!” He pulled his foot from the pot of water and sat up. “Why,” he exclaimed, “the British brought thirty thousand men—three times as many as Washington had!” He swung his leg over the side of the couch as if, in his eagerness to do something
for Washington's army, he was ready to start.

“Whatever information we Patriots here in New York can send him about the British is important! The only way we can win is by using surprise and cunning and determination.” He started to get up, but his foot touched the floor, and he groaned and fell back on the couch.

He looked at Ellen intently. “Can you understand what I have been telling you?”

“I think so.”

Ellen could see that Grandfather was very serious about the need to send his message. She, too, had been worried about all the news of lost battles and retreats, especially since Ezra was with that army. She remembered how joyous everyone had been last July when they heard about the Declaration of Independence. There had been bonfires on the village green and singing and dancing in the streets. And then the British army came to New York and there had been three months of defeat.

“If you understand how important it is to take the message, Ellen, I'll tell you how it can be done. And then you are to decide.”

Ellen listened and didn't say a word.

“You walk down to the docks near the Market-house
and get on a farmers boat—or an oysterman's. They come over early every morning and they go back to Elizabeth-town at eleven o'clock. Elizabeth is a very small town. When you get off the boat, you'll find the Jolly Fox Tavern without any trouble. My good friend Mr. Shannon runs the tavern, and you give the loaf of bread to him. That's all there is for you to do, Ellen. The Shannons will welcome you and take good care of you.”

Sailing across the Bay didn't seem so hard. It was finding a boat here in New York and asking a stranger for a ride that worried her.

“How could I find the right boat to take me?” she asked. She didn't intend to go, but she thought she'd ask anyway.

“The docks are right near Front Street where we walked on Sunday afternoon. The farmers and the oystermen tie up their boats near the Market-house. They are friendly people and they often take passengers back to Elizabeth-town since the ferryboat stopped running. I'll give you money to pay.”

“And how would I get home again—if I should decide to go?” she said in a very low voice.

“Oh, the Shannons will put you on a boat early in the morning. You'll be back here by ten o'clock.”

“Does Mr. Shannon take the bread to General Washington?” she asked.

“No, he takes it to a courier who will ride part of the way. Then he'll give it to another courier who will ride through the night with it. And finally a third man will carry it to the General in Pennsylvania.”

Ellen thought about the messengers riding alone through the countryside to carry the secret message. She wondered how it felt to be all alone among the British soldiers.

Mother interrupted. “It's too much to ask of her, Father. She's only ten.”

Her father reached out and squeezed her hand. “Abby, dear,” he said, “I know you are distressed because of all that has happened this fall. But don't make the child timid. We all have to learn to do things that seem hard at first. A child can't start too early to learn that.”

Ellen knew her grandfather wouldn't send her if he thought she couldn't do it. Now that she thought it over she knew that if she walked carefully she could remember the way to Front Street. And she would have money to pay for the boat. She had liked sailing across the East River when she and Mother had taken the ferryboat from Brooklyn to New York last November.
Perhaps it wouldn't be too hard. “But what would I do if I got lost?”

“If you lose your way, just speak up and ask someone for directions,” said Grandfather.

“You're sure there is no one else to take it for you, Grandfather?”

“With this bad ankle I can't walk around New York to find one of my friends—and I wouldn't know where to send you or your mother to look. Besides, there isn't time. I need your help, Ellen.”

Ellen was quiet for a long time.

“Very well,” she said finally. “I'll do it—if you are really sure I can.”

“I know you can, Ellen. And Abby,” he said, “this is nothing too hard for a child of ten. The Shannons will take good care of her, you may be sure of that. In that chest in the kitchen are clothes that Ezra left here years ago. Go out and see what you find, Ellen.”

Now that she had decided to go, Ellen ran quickly to the kitchen and poked around among the blankets and old clothes in the chest that sat near the fireplace. She was eager to see what was there. “Here's a striped cap,” she exclaimed. “And here's that old blue jacket with the holes in the elbows. I remember these brass buttons.” Grandfather had bought Ezra all new clothes
when he had come to New York to visit several years ago.

Ellen put on a red knitted shirt that was too small and the blue wool jacket that was too big. The brass buttons made her think of Ezra's grin. She put on heavy gray stockings before she pulled up the short breeches. The leather breeches were so old and stiff they could almost stand alone. She kicked up her legs to make them soften up.

Not since she was a small child had she known what fun it was to kick her legs as high as she could. She tried to kick the skillet that hung beside the fireplace.

“These will be better for walking than petticoats,” she said as she pranced about the kitchen. “Why can't girls wear these, too?”

“Ellen Toliver,” said her mother primly. “It would be unseemly.”

After trying on Ezra's boots, which were too big for her, she decided she would wear her own leather shoes to make walking easier. Certainly it would be easier to jump out of the way of horses and wheelbarrows and it would be better for climbing on the boat.

She ran into the shop to show her grandfather how she looked. For the first time since he fell on the ice,
Grandfather laughed. “You look like a ragged little urchin all right,” he said, “with those holes in your elbows. But all the better. No one will even notice you. And now we must cut your hair.”

Mother picked up the scissors and stroked Ellen's long brown hair. “Couldn't we just tuck her hair under the cap?” she asked.

“No,” said Ellen firmly. “I might forget and take it off! That would be dreadful. Besides, it might look bunchy beneath a cap.” Better to have it short and not worry about it. She remembered her friend Lucinda who had short hair with a band of ribbon around her head. Lucinda looked very pretty with short hair. “Cut it off!” she said impatiently.

Grandfather smiled from his couch. “You'll do right well, Ellen,” he said. “Tie a pigtail in back with a cord and then just snip off the part that is too long.”