“’Tis them,” the boy cried.
“Halt!” a soldier shouted.
My only thought was to flee or try to hide the papers. Before I could do either, the soldiers were upon us, one shoving Thomas hard against the wall of the print shop, the other pointing his gun at me.
Jane let out a piercing scream.
The redcoat struggling with Thomas planted his musket against Thomas’s heaving chest. Anger and spots of color contorted his swarthy face. “One move and ’twill be your last,” he warned.
The second soldier, whose eyes seemed pasted on me, didn’t speak until Thomas had stilled. “Hand over the papers you’re carryin’,” he said in a clipped accent.
My heart beat so hard I found it difficult to breathe. Think, Abigail. And remember to speak with care. What came out surprised both me and the soldier. “Pray what is the meaning of this? Can a lady no longer leave her home without being accosted by soldiers?” My tone and manner were those of my Grandmother Reynolds, who could quell a man in midstride with no more than a look and a few well-chosen words.
The soldier, who looked no older than I, flushed. “The . . . the papers. Hand me them papers,” he stammered.
“Since the papers are mine, not yours, I see no reason to comply. Not only did I pay for Reverend Cooper’s sermons not five minutes past, but I had to wait for over a fortnight for Mr. Brooks to print them.”
I paused to swallow, my legs and insides quivering so hard I feared the redcoat could see them. Take care, Abigail. Attempting to do so, I went on in a more conciliatory tone. “Perhaps you aren’t aware that Reverend Cooper is famous for the excellent sermons he preaches. After I’ve finished reading them . . . and if you are of a religious nature, I shall let you borrow some.” I lifted my head in the haughty manner Grandmother Reynolds sometimes used. “Borrow, sir,” I said firmly, “not take them by force.”
The soldier holding his gun against Thomas’s chest made an impatient sound. “Just take the bloody papers, private.”
Glancing past him, I saw two stevedores watching from the street. To my left, an older boy hurried toward us, followed by a burly man and then another. Hope surged through me. Sam Adams’s Liberty Boys were gathering.
Something hard struck the older soldier’s back. He turned, his eyes widening when he saw the gathering crowd. What had been but five was now a dozen. Two of them carried stout sticks, and another fingered a potato in his raised hand.
“Dirty lobsterbacks!” The man with the potato hurled it at the private, striking him hard on the shoulder. Its force drove the flush from his face and replaced it with fear.
“Steady,” the older soldier said. He too heard the menacing sound of the crowd as it pressed closer.
“Go home, redcoat scum!”
“Stinkin’ lobsterbacks!”
An amused voice cut through the epitaphs. “’Tis a right comely miss you have there, private. May I suggest that instead of using a musket to woo her, you try a wink and a smile? Such never fails to gain a lady’s favor.”
My gaze jerked to a man confidently threading his way to the front of the crowd. I didn’t have to see his face to know who it was. The tone and cadence of Gideon Whitlock’s voice, though heard but thrice, had embedded itself in my mind as surely as an arrow shot from a bow.
“Now, take note,” Gideon went on, playing to the Liberty Boys as well as the soldiers. “See if I don’t gain a smile from the lady with a soft word and a wink and smile.” He moved between the two redcoats and made an exaggerated bow.
His wink, as he raised his head, was much like the one he’d given me at The Rose and Crown, but his smile appeared strained, as did his eyes, which pleaded for me to respond with a smile rather than anger.
I was so glad to see him I would have thrown myself into his arms had he asked me. Instead, I smiled sweetly and dropped a curtsey.
“See,” Gideon said. “Now I will show you a better way to obtain the sermons you’re so determined to have . . . though I have no notion why a few sermons should be so important.” He paused and smiled at me. “Nevertheless, I shall ask this charming lady with the sermons to accompany me to my lodgings . . . her maid and manservant as well,” he added when he heard the snickers. “There I shall ply her with—” Gideon paused and whispered something into the older soldier’s ear, then did the same with the younger. The captain’s mouth quivered with mirth, but a flush came to the private’s face.
The Liberty Boys had stilled and pressed close, trying to see and hear all what went on.
“We . . . we’ve been informed . . . that the lady carries seditious broadsheets,” the private stammered.
“Surely not,” Gideon retorted, the tone of his voice tightening. Without saying more, he placed his hand on mine and loosened my vicelike grip on the bundled papers. He let out an amused sound when he read the top page. “If a sermon written by one Reverend Cooper of the Brattle Street Church entitled ‘The State of the Soul Laid Bare Before the Eyes of God’ is of a seditious nature, I fail to see it.” Gideon’s gaze held that of the younger redcoat. “It appears that your information was wrong, private.”
“But the boy said . . .”
Gideon thumbed through several sheets of sermons. “See for yourself. Your informant was mistaken.” After giving the soldier a minute to scan the top few pages, he went on, “Now if you will excuse me, I should like to make myself better acquainted with this fair lady.” He tucked my hand protectively into the curve of his elbow.
Cheers and applause from the Liberty Boys followed his pronouncement.
“Come,” he said. “Your maid and servant also.”
Jane, whose thin hands had gripped hard on my shoulders the minute she’d spied the soldiers, loosened her hold when the sergeant reluctantly lifted the gun’s muzzle from her father’s chest.
If challenging looks passed between Thomas and the redcoat, I didn’t see them, for I walked beside Gideon with my eyes straight ahead, each step taking us away from danger.
In my state of mind, I paid little heed to the Liberty Boys’s faces or what was said as we walked between them to cross the street. But I did take heed of Gideon’s muscled arm and that my hand gripped it tightly. I was also aware of his tailored brown coat and that my head came to but an inch or two above his wide shoulders.
“Hurry,” he said when we reached the other side of the street, “but not so as to call attention to ourselves.”
I nodded and quickened my pace, aware that Thomas and Jane did the same. “Thank you,” I breathed, my voice and legs still trembling with fright. “How . . . how did you—?”
“I had business on Middle Street and heard you scream.”
“’Twas Jane who screamed,” I corrected.
Gideon glanced back at Jane and her father. “Keep close,” he cautioned. “I think we’ll be safe, but one can never breathe easy with so many lobsterbacks roaming the streets.”
As if his words conjured them up, two redcoats rounded the corner and walked toward us.
“I haven’t had opportunity to ask how you are enjoying your stay in Boston,” Gideon said in a polite voice.
I stared at him, wondering if he were jesting before I noted that his eyes were busy assessing the demeanor of the approaching soldiers.
“’Tis . . . much to my liking.”
Though I told myself it was impossible for the soldiers to so soon know of the happenings at the print shop, my breathing quickened. My nerves weren’t helped when I heard Jane whimper.
“Steady,” Gideon said as if we were a regiment and he the captain. In a louder voice, he went on. “’Tis a pity you couldn’t have been in town to attend the Governor’s Ball on Saturday. ’Twas well attended. Even Major Layton and his wife were there.”
Having no idea who Gideon was talking about, I forced animation into my voice and asked for more details. The redcoats were now so close I could see the seams of the shorter soldier’s coat straining around his wide girth. They passed as if they didn’t see us, forcing us into the middle of the street to give them room.
When Gideon deemed it safe, he bent his head and spoke. “Now tell me why you cling so tightly to the sermons and why the soldiers were so determined to take them.”
“The Reverend Cooper’s sermons hide broadsheets Father ordered from Mr. Brooks. His apprentice, who must be in the pay of the army, alerted the redcoats when we came to pick them up.”
“I saw the rascal slip out the back door . . . but before we could leave, the soldiers came,” Thomas put in.
Gideon looked back at him. “Have you checked to see if the lad follows us still?”
“I have, and he ain’t. The redcoats are out of sight too.”
“Well done . . . Thomas, is it? I should have known Nathan Stowell would send a capable man to protect his daughter.”
“Thank you . . . though I don’t understand why a Tory is helpin’ us.”
“Things are not always what they seem,” Gideon replied.
Thomas’s silence told me he was trying to puzzle this out. Finally, in a regretful voice, he said, “I fear I failed Mr. Stowell at protecting Mistress Abigail.”
“Not entirely, but we must hurry to get the three of you safely out of Boston.”
“If you’ll tell me where you lodge, I’ll fetch our horse and cart and meet you there.”
“’Tis at The Rose and Crown.”
Thomas made a sound of surprise.
“Travel at a normal pace so as not to call attention to yourself,” Gideon admonished. “We’ll meet you at the stable yard as soon as we can.”
When Thomas left us, Gideon quickened his step. We hadn’t gone far before he abruptly turned into an alley.
“’Tis a short cut . . . and you and your maid would do well to watch where you step.”
Following his warning, as well as his lead, we hurried past clotheslines and necessaries and even a pigsty. Glancing ahead, I could see the rooftop of The Rose and Crown.
When we neared it, Gideon paused. “I apologize for taking you through the less seemly parts of Boston, but my lodgings back on the next alley.”
I smiled. “You forget that Jane and I are country bred.”
Gideon nodded and hurried us across a street and into an alley that smelled of garbage and the tavern’s stable. A few chickens scratching for bugs at the back of The Rose and Crown were the only sign of activity. Yet after our fright at the print shop, I scanned the tavern with suspicious eyes.
“All is safe,” Gideon reassured.
We halted behind a lilac bush, the half-opened leaf buds and thick branches offering cover. Though I’d followed Gideon without question thus far, I wondered what he planned next.
The tightness around his mouth told me he wasn’t half pleased with the situation. “I don’t think I need to tell you that ’twas very fortunate the Liberty Boys came to your aid. Their threatening presence did much to change the two soldiers’ minds. Unfortunately, the guards at the blockade won’t be so easily intimidated.” His green eyes met and held mine. “I fear your only hope of getting them safely out of Boston is to hide the broadsheets on your person.”
I nodded, knowing at once he was right, even as I looked around the alley for a place where I could accomplish this.
“You can use my room,” he went on. He pointed to the back of the inn. “See the door under the far upstairs window?”
I nodded and studied the brick building.
Gideon retrieved a key from his coat pocket and handed it to me. “Inside that door is a stairway. My room is at the top of the stairs. Unlock the door and wait inside until I come.”
“How can I know . . .”
“That you can trust me?” Gideon finished for me.
I blushed, not liking that he could read my mind so easily.
“You can’t, which is the curse of what I do.” His expression grew solemn, and his eyes bore steadily into mine. “One can only go by instinct. Mine tells me you will guard my secret well. ’Tis my hope that you will come to know you can trust me also.”
All signs of the smug, confident man who’d kissed me a mere fortnight before and who only a few minutes ago had glibly spirited me away from the soldiers were gone. As our gazes held, something more binding than words passed between us to offer a hand of trust.
Gideon gave Jane a smile. “Hurry. We’ve no time to spare.”
“What of you?” I asked.
“I shall enter The Rose and Crown by the front entrance and go directly to my room.”
Jane and I hurried to the back door of the inn. Still holding tightly to the papers, I looked back and was reassured to see Gideon watching. Once inside, I stopped to get my bearings.
“There ’tis,” Jane whispered, pointing to the stairway.
We climbed the narrow stairs to the landing where an empty corridor fronted by several rooms ran the length of the second floor. The key slipped easily into the end door, and the doorknob turned without sound. It seemed Gideon kept them both well oiled. Thinking to use similar caution, I relocked the door behind us.
In my relief to have reached comparative safety, I quickly noted the chairs, table, and desk with quill pen and inkstand, along with a partially opened door that revealed a bed and dresser in an adjoining room. Judging by the size of the rooms, Gideon didn’t lack money. More importantly, his room had a sturdy door.
Jane let out a long sigh. “I ain’t never been so scared nor so glad to see the man what rescued us from the redcoats. Just the same, I don’t trust a man who kisses a lady without her say so . . . and if he tries it today, I’ll scream louder than I did with the soldiers.”
Setting the sermons on the table, I hid a smile. “Thank you. You’ve been very brave. Even so, I’m certain Mr.”—I stopped, deeming it unwise for Jane to know Gideon’s name—“the gentleman has things other than kissing on his mind today.” I quickly took off my cape and draped it over the back of a chair. “We must hurry!”
“First you gotta tell me what we’re doin’ with broadsheets and why we gotta hide them.” The tone of Jane’s voice and the stubborn set of her pointed chin told me the time of secrecy had passed.
“Mr. Stowell ordered broadsheets that say things against the King. Mr. Brooks hid them among these sermons. If we’re found with the broadsheets, we could be arrested.”
Jane was silent for a long moment. Then she slowly straightened her shoulders and nodded. “Then we gotta hide ’em so no lobsterbacks can find ’em,” she said determinedly.
Before I could say anything, a soft knock sounded on the door.
“’Tis Gideon,” a voice whispered.
I unlocked it with shaky fingers. Gideon made straight for the papers on the table. Looking down at the top page of the sermons, he smiled. “I think ’twas the title of the sermon as much as the Liberty Boys that made the redcoats lose their zest to arrest you.”
“Don’t forget the part you played in it,” I reminded him. With my former antagonism now past, I met his gaze squarely. “In our rush to get away, I fear I forgot to compliment and thank you for your quick thinking.”
Instead of raised eyebrows or a sardonic smile, he returned my steady gaze. “You are more than welcome.”
A tiny sound from Jane reminded us of her presence and sent us all to the table. It didn’t take long to separate the broadsheets from the sermons, and as a precaution, Gideon looked through everything a second time.
“While I rekindle the fire and burn the sermons, you may use the adjoining room to hide the broadsheets on yourselves,” Gideon said. “But hurry! Time grows short!”
Once in the other room with the door closed, I handed half the broadsheets to Jane. My fingers were clumsy as I folded a paper and rolled down my woolen stocking. Then, molding the broadsheet around my leg, I pulled the stocking up over it and did the same with the second stocking.
Mind and fingers racing, Jane and I conjured up other places to hide the broadsheets—rolling them to fit into pockets, folding them over the front and back of our petticoat waists. In not many minutes, all had been tucked into inconspicuous places between body and fabric, resulting in clothing that fit a trifle too tight. Darting a look at Jane, I saw at once that her brown skirt and bodice would need her cape to hide the bulkiness. Pray God the guards at the blockade wouldn’t be so discerning.
Gideon was impatiently feeding the fire with the last of Reverend Cooper’s sermons when we rejoined him. It was a moment before he spared a look at us.
“I think ’twill do, though . . .” His voice trailed away as he studied me more closely, shaking his head as he did. “Your fair hair and blue cape are certain to be remembered. You and your maid must exchange capes.”
My mouth opened in protest. “I am a good half head taller than Jane!”
“You are also an unusually comely young lady . . . so comely the soldiers and Liberty Boys will talk for days about the young lady in a blue cape and wonder where she’s gone.”
I turned away, hoping he wouldn’t notice my embarrassment. Retrieving my cape from the chair, I wrapped it around Jane’s shoulders. She was so short it dragged on the floor. “Have you a pair of scissors?”
Gideon rummaged through his desk drawer for scissors. After kneeling to assess the amount of fabric I’d need to cut off, I spread my cape on the table and began to snip.
Though urgency shouted for me to hurry, I willed my hands to steadiness so my cuts were even. I tried not to think of the hours it had taken Goody Boatrick to weave the fine woolen fabric, or of the numerous nights Mother and I had sat up late to cut and sew it. But getting safely out of Boston with Father’s papers was far more important than a ruined cape.
When I finished, I donned Jane’s green cape. Though it came several inches above the hem of my green overskirt, I felt only gratitude for Gideon’s caution and the fact that the blue hood of my cape would frame red hair, instead of blonde.
Gideon waited at the door. “Take the back stairs, use the alley, then turn to your right, where you’ll see the front entrance to The Rose and Crown. I was on my way to meet a client when I heard Jane scream, so I must return on horseback and explain my lateness. If you see me at the stable, pretend you don’t know me, and I’ll do the same with you.” His hand went to the doorknob.
“Thank you again,” I whispered.
A smile lifted his lips, making the high planes of his face more prominent. “I would go to greater lengths than this to protect Nathan Stowell’s daughter.”
“My name is Abigail,” I said, aware that we stood so close our shoulders almost touched.
“’Tis a name I’ll not forget, for I’ve carried it in my mind since I first saw you some weeks ago.”
His words and soft voice made me blush, and my heart acted just as strangely. “Thank you,” was all I could think to say.
“You are entirely welcome.” Turning the doorknob, he added, “Take care, and Godspeed, Mistress Abigail.”
***
We found Thomas waiting with Dolly and the cart in the stable yard. His eyes widened when he saw Jane wearing my cape, but a finger to my lips silenced his questions.
“We must hurry,” I said when he helped me into the cart. “And should you see the gentleman who helped us earlier, pretend not to know him.”
He nodded as Jane scrabbled into the cart behind us. Thomas was climbing into the cart himself when Gideon came out the side door of The Rose and Crown. Acting as if he didn’t see us, he hurried into the stable to saddle his horse.
No one spoke as Thomas called to the mare and the cart started toward the street. Keeping my gaze straight ahead, I sensed that Gideon watched us from the stable door.
Once we were on the street, Thomas set Dolly to a moderate pace. Though I knew his purpose, I wanted to scream at the slowness. I also knew he wouldn’t take a relaxed breath until we were safely past the soldiers.
Then we were there. Keeping my eyes demurely downcast, I neither smiled nor did anything to attract notice. Had the redcoats been able to hear the rapid beat of my heart or listen closely, they might have heard the slight rustle of paper each time Jane and I breathed.
Luck and God were with us. After checking the canvas bag in the back of the cart and discovering it contained only two nightgowns, apples, and a wedge of bread and cheese, they waved us through without requiring Jane and me to get out of the cart.
Only then did my mind hearken back to Gideon. By now he should have met his client and explained his lateness with an excuse that didn’t involve rescuing a young lady in a blue cape. Though he might downplay the part he’d played in our escape from the two redcoats, I would not soon forget the risk he’d taken.
Now that we were safely past the barricade, Thomas set Dolly to a brisk pace, and the cart bumped and jarred along the rutted road to Roxbury. The sooner we put distance between Boston and us, the better it would be. It wasn’t until we had passed through Cambridge and were on the road to Menotomy that Jane and I felt comfortable enough to talk.
“I think your trip to Boston was not as you expected,” I began in a low voice. Seeing her nod, I went on. “Am I also right to think that, like your father and brother, you are a loyal patriot?”
“Yes’m. I got no more use for the men in England who try to tell us what to do than Pa and Israel. Ben and Ma think the same.”
I glanced at her as I held on to the side of the bumpy cart. “Then can I trust you not to say anything about what happened at the print shop?”
“Not even to Ma?”
“Not even to your mother or Israel . . . and especially not to Ben.”
“Ben sometimes blabs,” Jane agreed.
“If word got out that Mr. Stowell had ordered broadsheets that speak against the King and Parliament, he could be arrested for treason, just as we almost were.”
“No . . .” Jane whispered.
“Yes,” I replied.
Jane didn’t say anything for a long moment. “What about the man what helped us get away from them awful lobsterbacks? Last time I saw him, I was so mad I wanted to slap him, but when he came today, I wanted to kiss him.”
“He was a great help to us,” I said. “But like Father, he needs to be protected.” We ceased to talk, me thinking of Gideon, Jane with her eyes on the passing white daisies blooming among the thick grass on the roadside.
“I think he admires you,” Jane finally said.
“Who?” I asked, though I knew full well whom she meant.
“The gentleman what helped us. Do you know his name?”
“I do, but ’tis best that you don’t.”
The mention of Gideon set me to worrying about him. Was he safe? What had happened? Tripping through my question was the memory of him saying he’d carried my name in his head since the day he’d met me. I smiled, thinking it wasn’t just Gideon who remembered things. Didn’t I remember things about him too?
We reached Lexington in time to sup and spend the night with Uncle William and Aunt Martha. My first act was to go with Jane to the necessary to remove the broadsheets and put them and the capes into the canvas bag with our nightgowns. It wouldn’t do for ever-curious Aunt Martha to know what had happened in Boston.