Acts of Courage (2 page)

TWO

A shaft of light beaming through the iced-up windows wakened Laura. The rest of the family was already downstairs eating breakfast. She could hear spoons scraping against the wooden porridge bowls, and Mira whining about something to Bett. Laura pulled the quilt over her head to muffle the sounds and keep out the cold. If she stayed in bed for just a little longer, she might be able to walk to school by herself. There was no point in getting out from under the quilts before she had to.

She had not lain there long before she heard the back kitchen door slam shut and Bett saying, “No, don’t wait, Elizabeth. Laura isn’t up yet. So she’ll just have to walk. Thank your grandpa for callin’, though.” Then, after the front door closed, she heard Bett say, “Now where’s that Laura? It isn’t like her to lie in bed after me callin’ her twice.”

Laura was out of bed in a bound. It might be cold out there, but it would be worse to get a scolding from Bett. She had a way of saying things that were true, but you didn’t want to hear. In minutes, Laura was almost dressed and downstairs. She only had to lace up the front of her gown and put her boots on.

“Why, there you are! Whatever came over to you to lie in bed so long?” Bett opened her eyes wide at Laura and raised one eyebrow.

“Well…,” Laura began.

“Oh, never mind now. I see you’re all ready and rarin’ to go, so eat your porridge quick and get out that door.” Laura did up her boots and gown as quickly as she could and gulped down her breakfast. Then she grabbed her wool cloak off the peg in the hallway and raced out the back. Bett’s words followed her. “Hurry on to school, now. Those agitators are still out on the roads, and the longer you linger the more’s the chance you’ll be in their way. Lord help us. This is no place for children to grow up in.”

It was a snowy day. The wind was blowing but, between gusts, the sun shone down in blinding rays. She rounded the side of the house and went down the front lane. She had just turned to the left onto the highway that led to Great Barrington when she heard men’s voices and laughter carried on the wind from the cedar woods to the east of the highway. She kept walking along the road, but she looked in the direction of the sounds and thought she saw glinting steel between the cedar branches about one hundred feet away. She should head back home. But curiosity got the better of her, and she stepped off the left side of the road, opposite the sound, and hid behind a clump of wild raspberry bushes.

Through the swirling snow, she saw a crowd of nearly a hundred men. They emerged from the woods and strode toward the highway. Most were well armed with rifles and muskets, and some carried other supplies. A few, who appeared to be no older than Thomas and Levi Mayo, straggled along farther back. Some were regular soldiers, but many wore tattered farmers’ clothes that still gave off the sharp smell of pig manure.

The band of men turned down the highway toward town and passed right by her. Just as Laura thought that she should risk making a run for it back home, she heard more heavy tramping and saw the next group coming toward her. They were prodding a prisoner along the way—ahead of them. With a start, Laura realized it was Solomon Gleazen, the schoolmaster from the nearby town of Stockbridge. He looked straight ahead, the way he had when he’d led their spelling bee, but he walked with a noticeable limp and was shivering in his light woollen waistcoat. The man just behind him was wearing a tailored coat much like the one Mr. Gleazen had worn the week before.

Laura shivered. She had to get moving or she would freeze. As the men disappeared from view in the distance, she slowly stepped back onto the road. There was no question of going to school now. She would head for home.

“Where ya goin’, Miss?” said a voice with a strong Irish accent. She turned and almost bumped into the boy she had seen the day before. He was sullen-looking now, and she noticed again the red hair and ragged doeskin coat. He must have been standing right behind her as she watched the men pass by.

“None of your business.” Laura swerved around him and fell headlong to the ground. She had tripped over the boy’s extended boot. Gritty snow bit into her face as she sprawled on the side of the road.

“Look, you can’t go back to warn nobody ’bout us. The men up ahead has got business to take care of, an’ they don’t need the militia called out because of some gabbin’ little girl.”

The boy reached out his hand to help Laura up and, still short of breath from having her wind knocked out by the fall, she did not resist. Then, unexpectedly, he pulled her over to a clump of young cedar trees farther back in the woods and yanked her down beside him. In a gentler voice, he said, “We’ll just stay here till they’ve had time to do their job. Then you can go on back wherever it was you was goin’. I’m not gonna harm you none, Miss.”

Red-faced and angry, Laura gasped, “Well, that’s a fine way to show it, knocking me over like that and then dragging me over here.”

“Sorry ’bout that, but I had to stop you fast.”

Laura studied him intently as they huddled behind the cedars. The boy’s fiery red hair blew around his freckled face. His worn twill breeches were made of farmer’s homespun, and one sleeve of his doeskin coat was torn and hung loosely from the shoulder. He was shivering. When he noticed Laura staring at him, he pulled the pieces of his sleeve together.

“Where are you from, anyway?” Laura asked in a whisper.

He stared straight into the trees.

“What are all those men doing in our town?” she asked.

He pushed down a cedar bough and peered out toward the road.

Laura became braver and raised her voice. “How long do you think you can keep me here? I’m not far from home, you know.”

He was a little bigger than she was, but she bet he wasn’t any older, probably around twelve, too.

Finally, he turned to her and mumbled, “Not long.” He stared at her for a minute. “Where was you goin’, anyway, by yourself this mornin’?”

“To school. Where else?”

“Not very many girls go to school.”

“Well, I do. My father’s the judge in this town. He wants his daughter to go to school.”

“Really! Is he down at the court house now?”

“No, he’s…” She stopped abruptly.

“It don’t matter none if you don’t tell me. We’ll all be goin’ soon. We don’t mean no harm to nobody in Great Barrington, anyway.”

“Then why’d you have the Stockbridge schoolmaster tied up?”

“I don’t rightly know. I was here ahead, as a scout, you might say. They just picked him up this morning along the way, I guess.”

“I know he’s the schoolmaster over at Stockbridge. His students visited our school for a spelling bee last week.”

“Spelling bees. Boy, am I glad I don’t have to be bothered with that kind of stuff and nonsense.”

“What a stupid thing to say! They’re fun, especially when you win. You’re just jealous ’cause all you do is follow soldiers around the countryside in the freezing snow all day.”

“I don’t put much store by book learnin’. You think learnin’ ABC’s is going to put food in the bellies of the starvin’ farmers? It didn’t help back home in Ireland, and it won’t help here. Everywhere I go, the farmers have problems. My father shipped me off from Ireland because his farm was too small for my three brothers and three sisters. He could barely grow enough food for the lot of us. ‘Go to America,’ he says. ‘Uncle Gerald’s got no sons to help him to work that farm. Four times as big as ours, it is. And when he’s gone, it’ll be yours.’ So I came. Then, once I got out here to my uncle’s farm—what happens? He can’t pay the taxes because he can’t sell the crop. There was no one with the money to buy it. That’s the whole problem. People don’t need more schoolin’. They need more money. They need to stop those taxes.”

“Well, if the farmers were more educated, maybe they’d manage their farms better. And the government can’t help the taxes. They’re just as poor as anyone else; my father says a war is very expensive, and so is starting up a new country. And we’re paying for both right now. It won’t last forever.”

“Forever! Even a year is goin’ to be too late, Miss. Don’t you know nothing? There’s farmers starving and going to jail because they can’t pay their debts. And there’s people like…” The boy looked down to the ground and wiped his face with his sleeve. “There’s people like my uncle,” he continued, “farm just taken away like that. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t pay the debts. And Aunt Mary couldn’t take it. She took a fit—never spoke another word after that and dropped dead four days later. Me and Uncle Gerald’s alone now, and he’s taken to drink.”

“Well, why aren’t you helping him look for a job or something instead of hanging around with these ruffians? He must be wondering where you are.”

“Well, you must be a fine lady with a rich dad to be so ignorant. And what would you say if I were to tell you that my uncle just happened to be one of those ruffians, and we joined up ’cause it was all that was left for us?” The boy’s grey-green eyes turned dark. “There’s no work for no one out there. So there’s nothing left to do but fight. Safety in numbers, you know. At least I get to eat every now and then—instead of not at all.”

“Every now and then! You should have regular meals.”

“How? Are you going to feed me?”

“Well, yes, in fact, I will,” Laura blurted out suddenly, feeling more compassion than fear. The boy’s face was stark white behind the freckles, and his hands hung bare and gaunt, poking out of the too-short arms of his doeskin coat.

“You? Feed me breakfast? And how are you going to do that?”

“Well,” said Laura, “you’re going to follow me down the road a piece to that house at the end of the long lane—see the one with the verandah at the side?” She pulled back some cedar branches so he could see her house. “It’s quite safe. There’s no one around.”

The boy hesitated for a moment, and his eyes softened a bit, but then he seemed to come back to himself. “I won’t be awantin’ anything from you, Miss. More than likely, you’d be leading me straight into a trap. Besides, I have to stay here. The others are depending on me. And they’re getting victuals, anyway.”

The boy’s speech was interrupted by a commotion from the road. “Move along there,” yelled a man. Then they heard the heavy steps of many men coming back along the highway from town. Laura and the boy peered out between the boughs.

One man was prodding another in front of him. “Step up, boy.”

Laughter drowned out the rest of the man’s words. “What a catch! Two cellars full of food and wine!” More loud laughing followed, and then they heard the tramping of a great mob of men heading toward them.

“Stay still,” the boy whispered roughly. “I’ll not give you away.” Then, almost childishly, he added, “Promise me you’ll not tell on us when we’re gone.”

“I promise,” Laura repeated shakily. She certainly didn’t want to get in the way of that gang.

Some of the men were drinking wine straight from the jugs as they marched along. All of them were dressed in homespun shirts and breeches—which gave little protection against the intense cold of wind and snow. Only a few wore warm wool coats, and even those were full of holes.

Then Laura noticed a man she knew. It was Nathaniel Sheffield, the man who had been caught stealing at the general store in the centre of town.

“They’ve freed the prisoners!” Laura whispered hoarsely.

“Not so loud. Are you daft? If they see you, they’ll more than likely take you hostage, especially a judge’s daughter.”

“He’s not a judge today,” Laura said, wondering why the boy wasn’t hauling her onto the road and giving her over himself. “My father’s—” Laura stopped herself just before giving away the fact that her father was also a captain, who had left very early yesterday morning to lead troops against rebel farmers just like these.

The men finally passed. The boy had not moved toward them, and Laura was thankful.

“I have to go now,” he said gruffly. “Remember your promise.”

“I will.” Laura watched him start to wade through the snow, heading down the highway in the same direction as the men. “Be careful,” she called out softly, surprised to hear herself say the words.

The boy turned and gave her a brief, friendly smile. Then he said sharply,
“Better to die by the sword than the halter.”

Those were not the boy’s words—they were the slogan of Shay’s men. Laura knew then. It was against these rebels that her father would lead his troops today.

THREE

Laura arrived late at school, only to discover that classes had been cancelled for the rest of the week. She was relieved that school had been closed.

That afternoon, Judge Whiting came by and told Bett that Elizabeth and her mother were planning to go back to New York City for two weeks, to get away from the dangerous happenings around the countryside.

“Land sake’s, child, what you lookin’ out the window so much fer to see?” asked Bett, as she folded the fresh laundry. Her husband, Sam, looked over Laura’s shoulder to the front window.

“Are you quite deaf already, Laura?” Bett sounded impatient.

“No…I’m sorry. I was just thinking.”

“I asked you, what are you lookin’ at, out that window?”

“Oh, I’m looking for those men I saw this morning.”

“They’re long gone now. It’s not likely they’ll be returnin’ this way. Too many furious folks ’round Great Barrington. Folks don’t take kindly to havin’ a bunch of clumsy fellows stompin’ through their homes, takin’ their victuals and wine.”

“They didn’t come to our house.”

“No, and I don’t rightly know why. Our house was the first they come by. Must be the good Lord protectin’ us.”

“I guess they were anxious to reach the jail before they stopped anywhere,” Sam interrupted his wife. “I heard they let out all the prisoners. Some of ’em just ran loose, but most of ’em joined the rebels and marched on.”

“Did they break into many houses after that?” Laura asked.

“Yes, I heard tell they did, but no one was hurt. It’s hard to blame a man fer stealin’ food when his belly’s empty.”

“Sam! Watch your tongue! Laura, you can help your sister get ready fer bed now. After that, you’d best go yourself.”

Laura took one last look out the west window, but she could hardly see a thing. Night had rolled in over the fields as she had been talking to Bett and Sam. She took Mira by the hand and led her up the front stairs. The little girl stared up at her sister with her huge brown eyes and said, “Tell me the story about—”

“Sh-sh, Mira, we’re going past Mother Mercy’s room,” said Laura. She never liked going past her stepmother’s room these days. There was always a painful sound of coughing or such a dark silence. The girls passed on tiptoe and turned into their bedroom two doors down the hall. A beam of moonlight stretched over the two four-poster beds by the far wall and landed just short of the cherry-and-maple-wood dresser near the door. Laura remembered a night long ago when the moon had shone in just like this and her mother—her real one—had put her to bed, the way she was putting Mira to bed now.

Mother Mercy started coughing, and Laura tried to drown out the noise by singing to Mira. It was then that Laura heard the low vibrating sound of marching feet. She tucked Mira in, rushed over to the window, and pulled back the heavy linen curtains.

There was just enough moonlight to see soldiers coming along the highway, prodding a crowd of captives ahead of them—maybe fifty altogether. Some of the prisoners were men from the morning’s mob. At least three lifeless bodies were draped over the horses. Laura gasped. A small boy no taller than Laura herself stumbled along between two soldiers. It had to be the starving boy she’d met that morning.

Laura went back to Mira and whispered, “I’ll be back soon,” but the little girl was already asleep.

Laura crept out into the hallway, tiptoed down the front stairs, and took her red cloak off the hook in the downstairs hall. Bett and Sam were arguing about the day’s events, so Laura was able to slip out the front without being noticed. In the cold, still air of the night, she felt suddenly frightened and alone, but she forced herself to walk down the lane to the highway, keeping well behind the soldiers marching toward town. When they stopped, she stepped in behind the undergrowth of young cedar bushes that grew thick along their lane.

“That boy’s bound to be nearby. We’ll catch him later,” she could hear one soldier saying. “He can’t go far. Besides, we better put these fellows safely away first.”

“Yeah,” another soldier said. “We got to attend to the dead. Poor Solomon. It wasn’t his battle. I wonder why they forced him along.”

“As a hostage, I suppose. The miserable pigs! You can never tell what a mob will do. But this’ll be the end of Daniel Shay and his motley rebels, I warrant. There’ll be many a hanging after this day.”

“They say our judge will soon be a major, instead of a captain.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Didn’t you see how he led the defence? He’s bound to be promoted for that.”

“He isn’t much like Judge Whiting, is he?”

“Oh?”

“Judge Whiting takes the side of the farmers in the rebellion. He says he can’t blame them none. Times are rough for these guys.”

“Still, there must be a better way—guess that kid’s gone. We can pick him up later.”

Laura stood in shocked silence. Those men were talking about her father; she was sure they were. And about Elizabeth’s grandfather, too. But beyond that, she didn’t know what to think. Her relief at knowing he was still alive was soon replaced with anger at his so-called success. Who did he think he was, leading soldiers against these poor people and pummeling them to death? Couldn’t he just frighten them into running back to their farms?

Suddenly, a firm hand clamped over Laura’s mouth. A cold fear gripped her as she tried to twist herself away.

“It’s me, miss. Don’t yell, an’ I’ll let go.”

Laura nodded. The hand gradually moved away from her mouth. She tasted dirt on her lips. She turned around gingerly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

She was not surprised to see that it was the boy she had met in the morning. He looked tired but meaner. Laura was beginning to wish she’d never come out, but she didn’t want to let on she was scared.

“What are you going to do now?” she said roughly.

“Don’t know. Guess I’ll head back through Stockbridge and to the hills. Lots of places to hide in them hills.” At these words, the boy looked so defeated that Laura lost all her fear. His eyes were sunken, and his face was cold and red.

“There’s a storm starting,” she said.

“Maybe so, but I can’t stay here. They’ll soon be searchin’ everywhere for the strays.” He looked at the snowflakes that were beginning to fall.

“They won’t search our house because my father’s a judge.”

He stared back at her in disbelief before saying in a squeaky voice, “What ’bout the judge, hisself?”

“He’s away,” she tried to reassure the boy. Now he was the one who was scared.

“Still, I don’t like it.” His tone was firmer now.

“I could take you to our neighbours. They’re out in the country a bit.”

“How do I know it’s not a trap?”

“You don’t. Look, you can strike out in the storm if you wish, and they’ll soon be combing the countryside for you. If you don’t collapse in the storm or get lost, the soldiers will pick you up for sure.”

He glanced down the road where the soldiers had gone. Then, as he turned to leave, he looked at Laura and hesitated. He stood still for a minute and then, reluctantly, slumped down onto a fallen limb. He sat there, staring ahead as the snow began to fall thick on the ground.

“Well, maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” he mumbled.

Laura led the ragged boy through the snow, across the field in the direction of Thomas and Levi’s house, where Laura knew they’d find a place for the boy to hide. As they walked past Laura’s home, the wind picked up from the north and cut them right to the bone with cold.

“It’s not far,” she said, although the farm was almost a mile away. Then, without warning, the boy stumbled and fell face first into the deep snow. Laura held out her mittened hand to help him, but he brushed the snow from his face and struggled to his feet by himself.

A few minutes later, he stumbled again and this time let Laura help. Her hand in his, Laura pulled him along, and by the time they staggered into the Mayos’ yard, the boy collapsed into a snowbank at the foot of their lane. Laura left him half-conscious while she walked on up the lane to the house and knocked on the back kitchen door.

A chair scraped on the rough floorboards, footsteps came toward her, and the door creaked open. Thomas poked his nose out. “Laura Ingersoll! Whatever are you doing here at this hour? Hey, Levi, it’s little Laura! Maybe she’s brought over another stray.”

They always teased her about that sick kitten she’d brought them, and then found it was a baby raccoon. But she ignored the remark and beckoned Thomas out onto the stone stoop. “I’ve brought a farm lad who needs help.” She knew the Mayo family were sympathetic toward the rebels. In fact, she’d even heard Sam say that the boys might have been involved in Shay’s uprising.

Thomas stopped himself in the middle of a snicker. “I’ll get Levi, and we’ll be right out.” He left the door ajar as he stepped back inside.

Still struggling to get into their wool coats, the Mayo brothers hurried out onto the back stoop and followed Laura to where the boy was lying in a crumpled heap in the snow. They rolled him over onto his back and felt for his pulse. He made only a few groaning sounds.

“This boy’s suffering from frostbite and exposure. We’ll have to get him warm,” Thomas said.

“We don’t dare take him into the barn or even the house,” Levi explained to her. “Lincoln’s calling in more militia. It seems a number escaped today, and they’ll be scouring the countryside. The word is they’re going to make examples of all these fellows, and squash the rebellion once and for all.”

“I have it!” said Thomas. “We’ll take him to the potato hole. Levi, you go back and get a pot of live coals. That’ll give us enough heat. I’ll get a straw pallet to lie on and we’ll be warm enough.”

“You’re not planning to stay with him, are you, Thomas?” Levi asked.

“Of course I am. He’ll need someone. He’s not in good shape. He might not make it through the night.”

Laura sat shivering beside the boy. Was he asleep or unconscious? She pulled together the pieces of his torn doeskin sleeve and wished she had her needle and thread. She would bring them in the morning, she decided. The boy would have to hide out for a few days until the hunt was over.

When the brothers finally returned with the pallet and coals, they rubbed snow on the boy’s face to bring him out of his faint. He opened his eyes and looked at them in a daze as they hauled him up onto his feet. His red hair fell out from under his wool cap. Laura walked behind as Thomas and Levi each took one arm and guided the boy across the snow-covered yard to the hill behind the house, where a potato hole had been dug.

“What’s your name?” Thomas asked the boy.

“Red!” Laura answered for him.

“That’s not. . . ,” the boy grumbled. Then he mumbled, “Yes, Red. That’s fine.”

“Not surpising how you got that name,” said Levi.

“I’m glad it’s snowing like this,” said Thomas. “It’ll cover our tracks.”

“Do your parents know—about the boy?” Laura asked.

“No, but they’d help him if they were here. They’ve gone over to old Mrs. Sloan’s. She took sick late this afternoon. But it’s best we hide him here anyway ’cause the militia will be searching through barns all night. They might even check out the house since Ma and Pa aren’t home. But they’ll be back in the morning. Pa’ll know what to do.”

The entrance to the potato hole was small, about three feet by two. Thomas crawled in first and reached back for the boy, who had just enough strength left to worm his way inside behind him.

Levi loosely nailed the boards back to seal the entrance, and packed snow all around to hide them from sight.

“They’ll be snug in there,” he said to Laura. “I’ll take food out to them first thing in the morning.”

“Thank you, Levi,” said Laura, turning to leave.

“Wait,” Levi called after her.

“I must go. They’ll miss me.”

“I’ll walk with you till we see your house lights. This storm is getting worse. I wouldn’t want you lost.”

They plodded along in silence through the deepening snow.