The Color of Freedom (6 page)

"You got your tea tax revoked,"
Salizar
grinned.

"Only to be replaced by a slew of other laws. King George could have chosen no surer path to incite the people to rebellion."

"The rebels in Boston are preoccupied with survival."

John pointed his fork, "Even so, the issue won't rest. Outspoken Whigs like James Otis, Samuel Adams, Joseph Warren and Patrick Henry will keep the people incensed with ideas of freedom. There's even talk of breaking with England altogether."

Meadow gaped at the words. The idea was so audacious as to be laughable.

"I fail to discover the wisdom in that,"
Salizar
hesitated. "All the colonies benefit from British trade and protection."

"As in Boston, you mean?" John scoffed.

"Well spoken,"
Salizar
admitted, "yet without their strong military backing, our fledgling colonies would be vulnerable to the French and Spanish, and our unprotected ports would suffer raids by lawless buccaneers. Without their factories as markets for what we produce, our economy would crumble within months."

"You underestimate the strength and genius of the American people. Together, these colonies could grow strong even without British support."

"You talk treason,"
Salizar
cautioned.

"I talk sense," John countered. "As much as any other man, I wish to see us reconciled with England, but if the king continues his acts of tyranny, I will throw my lot in with the colonies should it ever come to blows."

"It will not come to that," Meadow interjected softly. "The British have redoubled their efforts to spy out your powder and shot so they can move to confiscate them. They have already discovered the stores in Salem and Concord."

John looked up at her sharply. "How do you know this?"

She shrugged. "The British don't think a child can hear."

He stared at her intently. "Two weeks ago the British attempted a raid on a forge in Salem. It failed. The citizens held them off long enough to move the cannon housed there. And you say they also know about Concord? Who told you these things?"

"I overheard the words of Lord Percival, an officer in his majesty's royal marines."

John stood abruptly. "Many ears listen in Boston, but on the chance these whispers have not been heard, our leaders must know immediately."

Patience objected. "Surely you don't intend to ride out tonight, John?"

"The need is urgent. If the British gain our supplies, we stand no chance against them."

Patience grew grave, but she began gathering food for his journey.

"How will you find the leaders?" Meadow asked. "They've gone into hiding."

"You know more than you let on," John stated frankly.

"I listen, sir," she replied, eyes dropping to the table.

"So it seems. Perhaps I was unwise to voice my opinions so strongly tonight."

She raised her chin and her flashing eyes met his. "Your words will not leave this room, sir. Though I think your cause is lost, I would never aid the British after what they did to my family. I hate them!"

Her gaze did not waver. At last, he nodded. "I believe you. And to answer your question, I do not intend to find the rebel leaders, but I do have connections that can get the word where it needs to go. I will leave tonight."

"How far is the city, sir?" Meadow asked.

"Riding steadily, a man can reach Boston in two days. To make it in less time would kill the horse."

He accepted the package his wife handed him and turned to
Salizar
. "I'm sorry to miss your wares, but Patience is more than qualified to choose for me." With a wink, he kissed his wife. "Don't let that old pirate exact one extra farthing from you, my dear."

Patience compressed her lips. "Be careful."

"Godspeed to you, John,"
Salizar
said. "We'll be along in a few weeks. There's money to be made in route."

"If God wills, I'll be home long before you reach the city." Then with a kiss for each of his silent, wide-eyed children, he departed.

∗ ∗ ∗

After dinner, Meadow brought armloads of merchandise into the humble sitting room for the family to look through. She watched the excited children from the corner and listened to
Salizar's
familiar sales pitch. He haggled over the price of each object, but Patience bartered skillfully, doling out not a half-pence more than its worth for anything.

Meadow shook her head in amusement. For all his peculiarities,
Salizar
was a shrewd businessman, and despite appearances and comments to the contrary, she realized he did quite well for himself. Money controlled his friendships, his actions, even his politics. But she still liked the old man. And to his credit, when the bargaining was done, he threw in a trinket for each of the children.

The evening had grown late by the time the dealing ended. Patience caught sight of Meadow dozing in the corner and insisted they stay for the night. "I can arrange an extra bed and a mat for sleeping," she offered.

"Nay, nay,"
Salizar
declined. "My wagon suits me just fine, but the boy grows weary of sleeping on the hard ground. And I'll beg a warm stall and feed for Aberdeen."

The thought of a real bed did sound nice after weeks of sleeping in haylofts and camping underneath the wagon. Meadow accepted gratefully.

Patience eyed her critically. "How does a bath sound?"

Meadow looked down at her soiled skin and clothing and grinned impishly. "Like heaven itself, ma'am."

Patience nodded. "Fetch the water and I'll heat it while you tend your master's horse."

When the bath was made ready, Meadow crouched in the wooden tub with a sigh of pure contentment. She scooped up handfuls of steaming water and let it roll off her cropped hair then hunkered down as far as she could and soaked until it grew cool.

Scooping up a handful of soft lye soap from the tin Patience had provided, she scoured laboriously at the layers of dirt, startled to rediscover the pale color of her skin beneath. She scrubbed at her hair until it felt clean once again. When she had finished, the bathwater looked like mud.

She dried herself with a scrap of soft flannel then reached for the clean clothing Patience had lent her. The shirt and breeches belonged to John and hung like sails on her slender frame. She cinched them up tightly with a length of twine.

Tossing her own clothes into the dirty water, she scrubbed them with the strong soap, knowing they were soiled beyond repair. Wringing the excess water from them, she wadded them into a ball and left the room.

With all the children asleep, the house was strangely quiet. Meadow padded across the worn floor in her bare feet, stopping abruptly at the sound of whispering. Was
Salizar
still inside?

Curious, but unwilling to disturb anyone, Meadow crept into the sitting room and peered around a spinning wheel. Patience sat rocking in a corner with her eyes closed, talking urgently to herself.

With a start, Meadow realized the woman was praying. How quickly she had forgotten the woman's husband had just ridden off on a long journey with a purpose that could label him a traitor, a
hangable
offense.

She backed softly from the room, but an uncooperative floor board betrayed her. Patience glanced up. "Hello, Wynn. Feel better?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you. I was just on my way to rinse these and hang them to dry when I thought I heard something."

"It's all right."

Meadow felt extremely awkward. "I wish there was something I could do."

There was a pause. "God is good," Patience finally stated.

Meadow nodded. She had been taught that from youngest childhood.

"He'll see us through these difficult times. You'll see."

Meadow looked down at the puddle her garments were making on the floor. "I certainly hope so, ma'am."

Refreshed by a hearty breakfast and a comfortable night's sleep, Meadow and
Salizar
took their leave of the Blackburn residence at first light. They waved goodbye and promised to return if they traveled that way again.

Salizar
nodded his head enthusiastically as they rode away. "Didn't I tell you? The noblest family hereabouts."

Meadow had to agree.

Monotonous days rolled into each other, and spring began to advertise itself in the fresh, moist breezes. Hidden life awakened as the snow receded. Early yellow buttercups and wild violets popped up in unexpected places, and blood red buds sprung up on every tree.

They stopped at several towns and a multitude of farmhouses, winding their slow way to Boston, and the closer they came, the more the reconciliation-minded majority became infused with the radical notions of John Blackburn.

Meadow listened to the talk without involving herself. Though the inspiring words of liberty struck a chord in her heart, she was certain of the strength of the British. These notions were futile and treacherous. And the more she heard, the more terrified she became that these hot-headed colonists might try something foolish. Then came a day when her heavy mood unexpectedly lightened.

Pulling onto the emerald common of a small town, they opened for business. Meadow fetched objects and collected money as
Salizar
entertained and scrapped with his customers.

The day was profitable.
Salizar's
little room was crammed with sacks of rags and bones. The wagon bed held a fine rocking chair he had taken in trade, and he was shaking a small leather pouch of coins and beaming with happiness when a heavy, work-worn woman approached. Her mouth puckered as if she'd been sipping vinegar.

"How much
fer
the kettle?" she asked roughly, pointing to the largest one.

Salizar
smiled expansively. "Ah, a fine choice. The best I have to offer."

She cut him off. "I don't want ta hear
yer
blatherin
', I want ta know
yer
price."

Temporarily at loss for words,
Salizar
turned to Meadow. "Wynn, be a good lad and fetch the kettle for us."

"So don't take all blessed day about it," the woman snapped. "I have a
boardin
' house ta run. Name
yer
price."

Meadow stopped to watch as
Salizar
fumbled about his brain for a figure. He named one much too high, and the woman turned abruptly away. As she left,
Salizar
amended loudly, "But that is just a humble estimate. What would you say it was worth, in your wise opinion, ma'am?"

The woman snatched the kettle from Meadow's hands and inspected it closely. She snapped out a price, and
Salizar's
face flamed red. "Surely you mean to rob me, woman!"

"You asked my opinion and I gave it to
ya
," she maintained staunchly.

Meadow rested her chin on a corner of the wagon and grinned at the exchange. Not often had she seen her employer on the losing end of an argument.

After a long, heated battle, the lady stalked off in triumph, kettle clutched tightly beneath her ample arm.

Salizar
slumped against the wooden stays of the wagon bed, flushed and perspiring. "Let's close up shop for the night, son. Another customer like that and my poor heart might go into
palpeations
."

Salizar
led the way to a nearby tavern and demanded a tankard of cider before ordering his dinner. Chugging half of it down in one quick motion, he soon regained his equilibrium. Grinning widely, he said, "There, my boy! Now I can manage anything. Order what you like. The treat's on me."

As they ate their dinner, the pub began to fill with townsmen and farmers. Meadow washed her meal down with coffee. She'd become rather accustomed to it. Suddenly, a voice rang out. "
Salizar
! Is that you?"

Meadow turned to find a thin, scholarly-looking man peering at them down the length of a very long nose.

"Doc?"
Salizar
asked, his head bobbing with delight. "I say! How are you?"

The friends shook hands and the newcomer sat down.
Salizar
made introductions. "Wynn, this is Charlie Baker, the village doctor."

"How do you do?" Meadow asked politely.

"Fine, fine, lad. Even in the midst of all this conflict, folks still require remedies. I claim neutrality and patch up both sides." Then he grinned. "But I must admit, my coin purse is light while my larder overflows with eggs and rotting apples."

Salizar
turned the conversation to suit his interests. "So tell me, how is it in Boston?"

"Still blocked up tighter than the bowels of a colicky horse."

"Can an enterprising merchant gain access, do you think?"
Salizar
probed.

"I wouldn't be the one to ask," Charlie admitted. "But
ol
' Isaac over there," he pointed to a muscular man across the room, "sneaks in and out of the city regular like. Left his missus there. Used to work the docks, but no ships enter or leave port anymore, unless you count the British man-of-wars. Came out here for work."