The Schoolmaster's Daughter (30 page)

As Joshua brought the smack about for the city, Mariah screamed. Abigail looked toward the shore. There, on the spit of sand at the mouth of the tidal inlet, stood Benjamin, Ezra, and Lumley. The sun was setting and their shadows were long on the wet sand. Mariah jumped up and down on the deck as she waved both of her arms, calling out to Benjamin. And then Abigail joined in, shouting as she had never done before. Benjamin and Lumley raised their arms in greeting. Ezra only stared, bewildered.

“Joshua, take us closer,” Mariah pleaded.

“Too shallow,” the graybeard said. “And the current here's tricky.”

They slid past the spit of sand. Abigail and Mariah continued to wave, to call out. Benjamin waded into the water to get closer. “I will return to Boston,” he yelled. “Soon, I promise.”

Lumley was drinking from a flask. “I won't,” he said with a derisive laugh. “But you Boston lasses will always be in my heart!”

Abigail watched Ezra, who continued to stare at her—she suddenly realized that she was still in her pantaloons, which were pressed against her legs as the boat made headway in the breeze. He seemed perturbed, dejected. She continued to wave, hoping that he would raise an arm and return the gesture. But he suddenly began walking along the spit, and only once glanced back just before he disappeared over a sand dune. He looked ashamed, Abigail thought, ashamed and guilty.

Joshua steered for open water, where the wind freshened.

Ahead, darkness was falling on the city, save for the last moments of sunlight which cast the Christ Church steeple in a rose hue.

PART THREE

June: The Battle

These fellows say we won't fight! By Heaven, I hope I shall die up to my knees in blood!

—Dr. Joseph Warren

A dear bought victory, another such would have ruined us.

—General Thomas Gage

XVIII

Love and Loyalty

W
HEN
B
ENJAMIN RETURNED TO
C
AMBRIDGE, HE FOUND THE
provincial army, such as it was, invigorated by the reports of Noddle's Island. What had been a skirmish lasting several days had, in the eyes of the Americans, become a major military victory. Lumley was quick to correct anyone who would listen, telling them that the British army, pent up on Boston peninsula, was now faced with starvation and capable of behaving like a ravenous animal. To assuage his gloom, he went off in search of a house of ill repute, of which there were several servicing the camp on Cambridge Common. Benjamin sought and was granted permission from Dr. Warren to accompany Ezra, who wished to visit his mother in Concord for a night. Before they left, Dr. Warren too expressed concern about how General Gage would respond to Noddle's Island, and he told Benjamin that he would soon be needed to return to Boston.

They walked to Concord, Ezra and Benjamin. Everyone they encountered on the road was impressed with the American victory. At a tavern in Menotomy, the boys were well fed and all attempts at compensation were refused. Though great concern was expressed regarding the British and what they might do next, there was perhaps more anxiety over the weather, for the warmth and fecundity of an early spring had given way to extreme heat—the kind that New England usually experiences in July or August. Further, there was no sign of substantial rain, and farmers feared what effect a severe drought would have on the crops.

During the course of their day's journey, the countryside baked and sizzled, the humid air thick with bugs and mosquitoes, and the trees filled with the loud sawing of cicadas. Ezra harbored a reluctance which baffled Benjamin. He seemed gloomier as they neared Concord village, and the one time that Benjamin made mention of Abigail—how wonderful it had been to see her and Mariah, if even at a distance across water—Ezra studied the heat rising off a cornfield and said nothing.

“When we were on the beach, why did you walk away?”

They were passing beneath the shade of a maple; Ezra paused to sit on the stone wall separating the road from a pasture. From his haversack he produced his jug of water, which they shared.

“When Dr. Warren sends me back into Boston,” Benjamin added, “I'll see Abigail.” He waited, but Ezra only continued to stare out the field, baking in the sun. “She will ask about you, Ezra. You know she will.”

“I asked you to say nothing to her.”

“She waved and called out.” Benjamin drank warm water from the jug. “Clearly she was happy to see you. Has she offended you in some way?” He handed the jug back to Ezra.

“No, no offense on her part.” Ezra corked the jug and stuffed it in his haversack.

“Then what? Perhaps you are offended … by her attitude?”

“I said she has committed no offense.”

“My sister can be outspoken and bold. This does not appeal to everyone.”

“Her nature is one of her finest traits.”

“As long as I can remember, it has driven my father and mother to distraction.”

Impatiently, Ezra got up off the stone wall. “Best mind
your
attitude.”

“The pantaloons,” Benjamin said suddenly.

“Benjamin, you must stop this—”

“You are not put off by the sight of her in pantaloons?”

“Let's go,” Ezra demanded.

“I could look at Mariah in pantaloons all day. It's all I've been thinking about—”

With one hand, Ezra grabbed the front of Benjamin's vest and lifted him off the stone wall. He was about to speak, leaning down so that his face was only inches from Benjamin's—but then he appeared to have a change of mind and, releasing his grip, turned and started down the road.

They walked on, Benjamin keeping a few strides behind Ezra, who maintained a good pace. They passed through Lexington without exchanging a word. Finally, when the village of Concord was in sight, Ezra slowed and Benjamin ventured to walk at his side.

“There is something I must explain.” Ezra's blond hair was matted against his forehead and his muslin shirt clung to his chest. They continued to walk and he didn't say anything.

“About Abigail,” Benjamin offered.

Ezra seemed pained just to hear her name. But then he said, “No, about my mother.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes. You never met her, before she removed from Boston?”

“No. But I remember seeing her, in the markets.”

“Did you notice anything about her?” Ezra continued to stare ahead at the dirt road.

“No, she seemed …”

“Young,” Ezra said. “Did she not strike you as young?”

“I'm—Ezra, I'm afraid I'm not skilled at judging such things about women.”

“She is quite young, for a woman who has a son who is twenty-six.” For the first time since they'd left the stone wall in the shade, he looked at Benjamin. His expression was fiercely earnest, causing Benjamin to step to his right to keep a distance between them. “My mother was but fifteen when she had me, and my father—I know nothing of him. She has only said that he had gone to sea and never returned. For years I thought he had died, but then occasionally she would receive a small sum, delivered by a sailor, and though she would never say so directly I took it to mean that it had been sent by my father. My mother is—she is very secretive about certain things.”

“I see.”

“No, you don't,” Ezra wiped his face with his hand. “You see, when we stay with my mother, there'll be another—there will my brother, my half-brother.”

Benjamin began to slow down. Ezra continued on, and when Benjamin caught up, he said, “I'll be glad to meet him.”

Ezra laughed, but there was no joy to it and he merely stared ahead at the village, which appeared to shimmer in the late afternoon sun.

After Noddle's Island, Bostonians (not Tories) were emboldened and more openly defiant, which resulted in even stricter patrolling of the streets. British soldiers continued their demolition of houses for fuel; the destruction of churches inspired particular outrage. There was great concern regarding food. There seemed more nourishment in rumors, which were constant: the provincial army would attack the city any day, and the British were planning to march another substantial detail out into the countryside. What was indisputable was the fact that the rebels were building up their forces on the high ground that commanded the Boston peninsula. Everyone could observe the increased activity on the hills of Charlestown to the north and Dorchester Heights to the south. The heat and humidity of the first days of June only made the town seem more confining, and there was not even a breath of a sea breeze to bring relief.

Abigail's parents were exceedingly upset that she had gone missing for several days, only to learn that she had participated in the evacuation of livestock from the harbor islands. Mother had spent much of her time upstairs weeping, while Father had locked himself away in his study. James came for tea that day after Abigail returned, on the condition that they would all sit together at the dining room table.

“And no Greek or Latin,” he said to Father.

Father pushed back the sleeve of his toga and, as he began the serious work of preparing his biscuit with butter and jam, he whispered something in French.

“English,” James said. “The King's English, Father.”

Abigail stole a glance at Mother, who had stopped pouring the tea to see what her husband would do. He bit into his biscuit, allowing crumbs to fall on the tablecloth. Since closing the school on April 19, he seemed to have withered, his energy depleted, his commands diminished to pleas and complaints. Satisfied that there would be no outburst, Mother continued to pour the tea.

“Look at her,” Father said, pointing his butter knife at Abigail. “Her face all sunburnt, and her hair—a tangled mass smelling of the tides.”

James gazed fondly across the table. “Reminds me of when we were children, after walks on the beach collecting shells. I'm glad to see that you've dispensed with that turban. With your hair in such profusion you can't see the scar. And the sun makes it quite radiant.”

“And her arms, too,” Mother said, passing teacups around the table. “It's indecent.”

Smiling, James took his cup and saucer. “I would like to have been out there on the islands.”

“I suppose you would, an educated man reduced to herding sheep,” Father said. “That's what all of you want, right? A country that honors no king, where everyone is a shepherd.”

“I was thinking more about all those young women running about the pastures, barefoot. I hear girls had dispensed with their skirts and herded in their pantaloons.”

Father choked on his biscuit. “Please, not at the dinner table.”

“It's been so hot,” Abigail said, “I think Mother and I ought to be allowed to remove our skirts.” Father looked at her, aghast. “Just in the house, of course, Father.”

He was about to speak, when James said, “That would only be sensible, and fair.”

“Fair?” Father asked.

James leaned toward his father, eyeing him conspiratorially. “Be honest now. What garments do you wear beneath your Roman toga?”

Father sat up straight, the blood rising in his cheeks.

Then Mother burst out laughing. “Oh, John, you never wear anything under there.”

He settled back in his chair, quite defeated.

Mother said to Abigail, “Here in the house, while this infernal heat persists, I think it would be healthy if we shed some of our outer garments.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Abigail said, raising her cup to her mouth.

“Look,”
Father whispered, incredulous. “Tea—she's drinking
tea.”

“It must be the heat,” James said, raising his cup to his lips.

“Well, it is only sensible,” Mother said. “There's little else to eat. No chicken, no meat. Our preserves are running low. Fortunately there's fish and oysters, but they are getting so expensive—and now that school is closed. This summer there will be vegetables in the garden, provided we get some rain, but by fall I fear things will become very hard, very hard for all of us.”

No one spoke. They ate in a somber, methodical fashion, gazing at their plates.

Slowly, Abigail looked up. “I must tell you something.” They all stared at her, expectantly. “I didn't want to do this, because I was afraid it would be too upsetting, but I just realized that to keep it to myself would be … unfair.” She looked from her mother to her father to James, and then back at her mother. “When I was on the islands,” slowly, as though making an admission, “I saw Benjamin.”

As she feared, her mother dropped her teaspoon and put her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. Abigail reached down the table and took one of her hands. “He's fine, Mother. Really, he looks well.”

“Where?” Father said.

She turned to him. “It was on the islands, as I said.”