Early the next morning, we set out for home. When the cart rolled to a stop in front of the barn, both my family and the Boatricks came to greet us. One glance at Father’s face told me of his concern, and a short time later, he invited me to his study.
“Thomas said there was trouble with soldiers when you picked up the broadsheets. What happened? Why were there soldiers?”
I quickly told him what had happened in the shop.
“Who would have thought?” Father asked when I’d finished. His expression turned apologetic. “Had I dreamed it would be that risky, I’d never have sent you.”
“I wasn’t overly worried until Thomas said the boy had left the print shop. But thanks to Mr. Whitlock’s quick thinking, all turned out right.”
“Mr. Whitlock?” Father’s voice and brows lifted. “How did he come to be there?”
It took a while to explain. During the telling, Father sat behind the desk and I took my regular place opposite him. His eyes widened when I explained how Mr. Whitlock had bluffed his way past the crowd to reach the redcoats and had gambled us away right under their noses. I spoke of his cleverness and confidence and how he’d taken us to his rooms at the tavern.
Father scowled when he heard this.
“Mr. Whitlock was a gentleman in every way and most protective of Jane and me,” I assured him.
“Well . . .” Father breathed. Conflicting emotions crossed his face—one of gratitude quickly followed by one that hinted of amusement. “’Tis what a father likes to hear, though I own you’re quick to come to the man’s defense.”
“If it hadn’t been for Mr. Whitlock’s cleverness, your broadsheets would have been confiscated and we would have been arrested.”
Father studied his hands for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice held anger. “To think that such a thing could happen in Boston in the brightness of day and with citizens looking on.” He shook his head. “’Tis all the more reason for us to take up arms against such blatant tyranny.”
Not wanting Father to become more upset, I hurried to tell him how Jane and I had hidden the broadsheets in our clothing and about the capes. “Mr. Whitlock burned Reverend Cooper’s sermons, and when we stopped at Aunt Martha’s, I put your broadsheets and our capes into the bag Thomas gave you.”
Father’s face was solemn when he arose and came around the desk. “The Good Lord most assuredly heard our prayers.” He shook his head. “I shall eternally be grateful to Gideon Whitlock. I owe him a great debt of gratitude.”
Before I could agree, Father put his arms around me and held me close. “Thank heaven you are safely home, Abigail. Thank heaven.”
***
With the coming of April, the lilacs in the yard opened in clusters of lavender and white blooms. The heady aroma made the day seem like one made in heaven. Birds that had flown south for the winter were returning to blend the happy sound of their singing with that of bleating lambs.
Since my return from Boston, I felt as if I were awakening from the grayness of winter as well. I hummed to myself when I walked out to the pasture to watch the lambs gambol in spring-green grass, and I picked a lilac spray when I went to the well house to bring in water for Mother.
She looked up from the batter she was stirring. “Will you see if the chickens have laid more eggs? I used the last ones in this pudding. Your father will be unhappy if he doesn’t have eggs in the morning for his breakfast.”
Picking up the egg basket, I went out to the chicken pen. Still singing, I’d almost reached my destination before I heard someone call.
“Mistress Abigail.”
I looked around and saw a tall man step from the shadows. The lowering sun was at his back, so I couldn’t see his features clearly, but even if it had been midnight, I’d have recognized the voice. Gideon!
I hurried to him. “Gid . . . Mr. Whitlock.”
“I wouldn’t be offended if you called me Gideon. Indeed, I should like it, for ’tis what my friends call me.” His voice was teasing, and I knew even before I reached him I’d see amusement dancing in his eyes.
Stepping close, Gideon looked as intently at me as I did at him. It was as if he had silent questions needing answers too. Awareness charged the air around us, and my gaze made a pleasurable journey over the high planes of his cheekbones, then down to his firm chin.
“You’ve come to talk to Father,” I finally said.
He nodded, his gaze still intent. “I had to know you were safe.”
Heat rose to my cheeks, and I tucked a stray lock of hair back under my cap.
His hand moved to stay me. The light touch of his fingers on mine sent pleasant shocks of warmth all the way down to my toes. “Don’t,” he said softly. “I like it that way.” Clearing his throat, he dropped his hand. “Were there any problems at the blockade?”
“No, though I am ever so grateful for your help. Father is sure to thank you too. When I told him what happened, he said he would always be in your debt.”
“I didn’t do it just to please your father.” Aware of my embarrassment, Gideon turned to study the orchard, then the barn and outbuildings. “Come,” he said, taking my elbow and leading me into the trees, where we were less likely to be seen.
Like the lilacs, the orchard was in bloom, the pink and white blossoms covering the branches like froths of new-fallen snow.
“What of you?” I asked.
“All has been well, though I felt it prudent to stay close to The Rose and Crown for a few days. ’Tis fortunate most of my clients come to see me there.”
“Clients?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
I looked up at him in interest. “I wondered what you did when you weren’t gathering information and spying.”
His voice came light. “What makes you think I’m a spy?”
“I am not without brains, Mr. Whitlock.”
“Courage either,” he countered. He rubbed his cheek. “You also have a bit of a temper.”
“’Tis true.” I sighed. “I don’t take kindly to being kissed in that manner, but I’m sorry if my slap hurt you.”
“’Tis I who should apologize. ’Twas all I could think to do to cover our conversation and get you out of the tavern.”
“When I left The Rose and Crown, my anger was genuine, but after I had time to think, I realized your ploy was really quite clever.”
“Now you give me compliments?” He went on in a more serious tone. “Brave . . . with a bit of a temper. Clever as well. Your father told me how you and your brother were tutored together.”
“Why were you and Father talking about me?”
“I wanted to know more about the young woman who’d called me an odious man and took me to task for quarreling with an old man.”
“I don’t like to see anyone bullied. Besides, I thought you were a Tory.”
“For anyone to think otherwise could mean imprisonment . . . perhaps even the loss of my life.”
I looked steadily into his eyes. “I promise that no one will learn it from me.”
Silence stretched between us, and I hoped with all my heart that no one discovered the game Gideon played. Did he daily awaken to the knowledge that he might find himself imprisoned on Crown Island by the end of the day or that the breath he took in the morning might be snuffed out by nightfall?
I shivered and pulled my light cotton shawl more tightly around me.
Noticing my actions, Gideon fingered the shawl. “I’m sorry you had to cut off your cape. The blue color became you.”
When I lifted my eyes and met his warm gaze, my insides quivered like leaves in a windstorm. Swallowing, I tried to think of something safe to say. “Jane is pleased to inherit it. After her mother hemmed it, the cape looked as if it were made for her, not me. Goody Boatrick is already weaving fabric for a new cape for me.”
“There’s no reason for you to worry,” Gideon said as if he guessed the true reason why I shivered. “As long as I keep my wits about me, I shan’t be found out.”
“I hope not.” I paused before going on. “When did you decide to spy and gather information from the redcoats?”
“While I was at college in Cambridge.”
“My twin brother went there also.”
“Your father told me about his death. I’m truly sorry.”
“So am I.” Unbidden tears clouded my vision.
Quickly clearing his throat, he went on, “While I was at Harvard, I frequently hired a horse and rode to Charles Town, where I caught the ferry to Boston. Hearing Sam Adams preach about gaining freedom from the heavy hand of England, I decided I wanted to be a part of the rebellion. The part I would play didn’t come to me until after I graduated and was clerking for my lawyer uncle in Philadelphia. During the months I wrote briefs for him, I determined that when I opened my own practice, it would be in Boston, where I would pass myself off as a staunch Tory.”
“An arrogant Tory,” I corrected, my discomfort forgotten.
He chuckled and leaned against a tree. “’Tis my wish to play my part well.”
“I think ’tis not entirely an act . . . that like me, you have a bit of pride.”
“You admit to such, do you?”
“I do. And since you asked Father about me, he’s certain to have told you as well. ’Tis a Stowell trait, and Father isn’t shy about pointing out my faults.”
“As any good parent should,” Gideon remarked.
“Did your father do such to you?”
He looked down at the grass. My eyes followed, taking in his dun-colored breeches buckled at the knee, his long stockings, and scuffed boots. “My father died when I was too young to remember him, but thanks to a generous uncle, my mother and I were given a comfortable home and I a good education. Since my uncle has no sons of his own, he’s also set me up at The Rose and Crown, where I’ve succeeded in building up a good clientele. Even so . . .” He looked up and met my eyes, the lowering sun outlining his wide shoulders and highlighting his brown hair touched with glints of copper. “Like your father, my uncle didn’t mince words about my shortcomings. But he did allow me to go to Harvard instead of the college in Philadelphia, and he and my mother . . . who has since remarried . . . are reconciled to me practicing law in Boston instead of joining in partnership with him.”
“You are from Philadelphia, then?”
“I am. And if you wish to know whether the male citizens there are as hot-headed as those in Boston, the answer is no. They claim to be of a more reasonable nature. My uncle is certainly so. He is also a dyed-in-the-wool Tory, and it’s from listening many years to him that I learned to impersonate a Tory.”
“Just the same, you must take care.”
He pushed himself away from the tree trunk. “I intend to, Mistress Abigail, for I have every intention of seeing you again.”
Color again rose in my cheeks. “I . . . I—”
He reached and plucked a spray of blossoms from the tree. Handing it to me, he said, “Now go and tell your father I am here.”
I nodded. “I will also tell him to leave the door unlocked for you after dark.”
His green eyes probed mine before I turned and walked away. I hadn’t taken many steps before I heard him softly say, “Remember, you haven’t seen the last of me, Mistress Abigail.”
I gave him a teasing smile over my shoulder. “We shall see, Mr. Whitlock.”
***
Basket still in hand, I left Gideon in the orchard. Twice I looked back, once near the barn and again at the chicken pen. The first time, he still stood under the apple tree, the top of his head half hidden by the blossoms, his hand lifted. By the second time, he had disappeared. I lifted my hand to shade my eyes against the lowering sun, but no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t see him. Like some figment of my imagination, he had vanished into the air.
My mind was so skittish with dancing, half-formed thoughts of Gideon, I paid little heed to the chickens as I gathered the eggs. When I entered the kitchen, I carried four eggs nestled in the basket and a spray of apple blossoms in my hand.
“I wondered what was taking you so long,” Mother said, “but I see you’ve been out to the orchard.”
I looked at the pink blossoms. If Mother hadn’t been watching, I would have brought them to my lips and kissed them. “They’re so lovely this time of year.”
The spicy odor of bread pudding filled the kitchen and reminded me I was hungry. Gideon must be hungry too. If I were careful, perhaps I could take him something. That was, if I could find him. Something told me he wouldn’t be an easy man to find if he didn’t wish to be found.
A glance at Mother, who knew the contents of her pantry as well as she knew her book of common prayers, warned me that taking food to Gideon would be difficult. I wandered aimlessly around the kitchen, unable to keep my mind on any one thought for more than a few seconds.
“Whatever is wrong with you, Abby? I’ve never seen you so restless.”
“I think I must have a touch of spring fever.”
“We have no time for spring fever,” Mother said in a brisk tone. “Can’t you see the spit needs turning and the table isn’t set?”
“Where are Jane and Bethy?”
“Jane wasn’t feeling well and has gone home. As for Bethy . . .” Mother sighed. “She’s as bad as you are today. The truth is I’m not sure where she is.”
For the next few minutes, I busied myself turning the spit and setting the table. Gideon’s name hovered at the edge of my mind like a bee darting from flower to flower in search of nectar. I tried to push it away, but in the end, I picked up the blossoms and slipped out of the kitchen. “I’m going to look for Bethy,” I called.
Instead, I went up to our bedroom, where I poured water into a blue vial for the apple blossoms. After smelling and admiring them, I went outside to look for Bethy.
After I’d called to her twice, she poked her head out of the woodshed.
“Where have you been? Mother’s looking for you.”
“I’m looking for the cat. I think she’s gone out to have her kittens.”
“You can look for her tomorrow. It’s almost time for supper.”
Bethy sighed and followed me to the house. “I hope she has four.”
“Why four?”
“I told Cousin Mary our cat was going to have more kittens than hers.”
I smiled and wished my life were as simple as Bethy’s. Yet if I were asked to trade it, my answer would be a resounding no, a response hopelessly tangled around Gideon’s parting words.
After helping Mother finish supper, I went to look for Father.
“Abby,” Father said when he saw me.
“Gideon Whitlock is here,” I whispered.
Father looked around. “Where?”
“He was in the orchard, but he said he’d come to the house after dark.”
Father nodded. “’Tis wise.”
“I told him you’d leave the front door unlocked.”
Father was unusually quiet throughout the meal, and I thought he must be wondering why Gideon had come. Only when Mother dished him a bowl of bread pudding did he smile and seem himself again.
“No one makes bread pudding as well as you, Goodwife,” he said.
“There’s no one I’d sooner make it for.”
They exchanged a fond look, and his hand lingered on her shoulder when he rose from the table. “Instead of the sitting room, I’ll be working late in my study.”
Mother nodded and began to clear the table. With Bethy and me to help, it wasn’t long until the kitchen was set to rights and we were sitting around the fire in the sitting room. I listened with only half a mind as Bethy and Mother talked. Soon I ceased to listen altogether, my mind and ears tuned for the sound of the front door quietly opening. No sound came, and when the clock struck eight, I began to worry that something had happened to keep Gideon away.
The stitches in my sewing were as erratic as my thoughts. Where was he? Had he been discovered? As if to answer my question, the sitting room door opened.
“Could you bring a tankard of cider to me, Abby?”
My heart skipped in happy anticipation as I left to fetch cider. Gideon was here! Although I’d listened, he’d slipped into the house so quietly I hadn’t heard him.
Along with filling the tankard, I added bread with jam and dished up the last of the bread pudding Mother had saved for Father. Pleasing Gideon overrode the prospect of Father’s displeasure in the morning.
I paused to pinch color into my cheeks and felt to see if any stray locks had escaped my cap. “Don’t,” Gideon’s voice seemed to say. “I like it that way.”
Smiling at the memory, I hurried to the study and knocked on the door. Too impatient to wait for Father’s bidding, I opened it and went in.
Gideon rose from his chair. Though his eyes showed pleasure, he gave no more than a polite nod. “Mistress Abigail,” he said in a formal tone.
“Mr. Whitlock,” I responded just as formally. I set the tray on the desk. “I thought Mr. Whitlock might like something to eat with his cider.”
Father’s look was unhappy when he saw the bread pudding. Hoping to divert him, I asked, “Did you wish to speak to me?”
He nodded. “Mr. Whitlock has devised a plan we thought would be wise for you to know about.”
I had been waiting for an excuse to look at Gideon. Indeed, my senses had been aware of him the entire time I’d been talking to Father. Turning, I experienced the full force of his gaze. Something passed between us that made me swallow and Gideon to clear his throat.
“Something unusual is afoot with General Gage and the redcoats,” he began. “His aides are strangely close-mouthed, and I can feel their heightened excitement. Instinct tells me something important is about to happen in your area. I came to warn your father and others before it’s too late.”
His news ate at my happiness. “What do you think it is?”
Father’s expression was grave. “Mr. Whitlock thinks Gage’s spies have learned about the arms and ammunition hidden in Concord. I’ll ride there at first light to let them know.”
“The men we saw on the road last month . . .” I said.
“Were spies who escaped us as well as Sam Adams.”
“Whether a raid comes in two days or two weeks, it’s sure to happen.” Gideon paused before going on. “Since it isn’t safe for your father to contact me in Boston, if a need arises and he needs to send a message—”
“Yes,” I said, giving my answer before he could say more.
“’Twill be unwise to enter The Rose and Crown again . . . at least by the main door. But the back way can be used, though there’s no guarantee I’ll be in my room. I meet with clients in both the tavern’s main room and my sitting room. You can also send a note. There are always boys roaming the streets, eager to earn a copper. Any of them can be trusted.”
“You say this with confidence,” I said.
Gideon gave a brief smile. “I do. Word has gotten out that I’ll pay the boys another copper when the note is safely delivered into my hands.” The tone of his voice changed, and he spoke as if making a solemn promise. “If you but tell me where to meet you, I will make every effort to be there.”
His eyes held mine, their green depths deepening to seal the pact. Hoping Father hadn’t noticed what had passed between us, I strove for normalcy. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“That the risk in Boston grows every day. If you come, you must act with caution. More important, remember things are not always as they seem.”
“I will,” I said.
“Good.”
I looked at Father, who sat with his elbows on the desk. “Father?”
“I think all has been sufficiently covered.”
“Then I shall rejoin Mother and Bethy.” I moved to the door but stopped after opening it to look back at Gideon. “Please don’t ignore our hospitality by neglecting to eat the food I brought for you, Mr. Whitlock.”
“I shall eat every crumb.” Turning his head slightly, he winked.
I could no more suppress my smile than I could stop breathing.
Gideon’s next words stopped my smile, though, before it fully formed, his voice sounding so grave it gave me pause. “Should you be required to come to Boston, Mistress Abigail,” he said, “you must use every care.”
What remained of my smile trembled on my lips as I nodded and left the room. I leaned against the closed door, not knowing what to think or feel.
The sobering knowledge that General Gage was still determined to put down any show of rebellion coiled hotly in my middle. Father and dozens of others loyal to the cause could be arrested—carefully hoarded arms and ammunitions destroyed or hauled back to Boston—shots might even be fired. With all haste, the supplies stockpiled in Concord must be moved before the redcoats found them.
“Thank you, Gideon,” I whispered.
***
When I returned to the sitting room, Bethy had gone up to bed. Instead of returning to my sewing, I told Mother I wished to retire as well. She nodded and gave me a long look. “First tell me what you and your father talked about.”
Not wishing to reveal Gideon’s presence, my answer was evasive. “The situation in Boston grows worse. Father might need me to take another message.”
Mother’s hand stilled on her sewing. “Is that safe?”
“Father will explain it to you,” I said and kissed her good night.
Bethy was asleep when I undressed and said my prayers. Only when I’d snuggled into my pillow did I allow my thoughts to speed to Gideon. I remembered how he’d stayed my hand when I’d tucked back a stray lock of hair. And the apple blossoms. Tonight, their sweetness filled the room. Tomorrow they’d be there to savor, along with Gideon’s parting words. The rich timbre of his voice seemed to echo from the orchard.
“Remember, you haven’t seen the last of me, Mistress Abigail.”