Over the next few days, I spent many hours with Aunt Caroline, encouraging her to eat and reading to her from one of Mr. Lind’s books. Through it all, my true purpose for coming to Boston was never far from my mind. Each morning while she napped, I slipped away to explore Boston.
The town was a warren of alleys that bisected the streets at irregular intervals, some mere paths to drive cows to graze on the common, others wide enough to accommodate carts and wagons. All had one thing in common: with so many soldiers and unemployed dockworkers present, they were not safe for an unescorted female.
I took note of the alleys, and each night I sat at my desk with quill and ink and paper and carefully added street names and lines to the map I drew. Whether ’twas for my own benefit or to help the army, I didn’t yet know, but I felt strongly that an accurate map of streets and fortifications would prove to be important.
It was not difficult to invent a reason to leave the house each day. Although Mina went to market each morning, other items were needed—medicines, tobacco, or a copy of the Boston Gazette for Mr. Lind. These and other errands I took as my own. With my white cap, apron, and basket, it was easy to blend in with the goodwives and maids.
Unlike in March, a somber mood hung over the besieged town. Faces wore uneasy expressions, and I saw many of the citizens cast worried glances across the narrow bay to the mainland. Did they wonder if the rebels on the hills were about to attack? Or was their focus on General Gage and the puzzle of why he still waited? The answer to this plagued me as well. If only I could discover his plans.
On my daily sojourns through the streets, soldiers were everywhere, some drilling, others digging fortifications on the common or patrolling the town in pairs. One morning, I saw redcoats stop a boy running down the street. After questioning him as to his hurry, they ordered him to remove his cap and to empty his pockets. When they found a scrap of paper under the lining of his cap, they marched him off to the guardhouse.
“Good,” a woman said. “’Tis good to see our soldiers on the alert for spies. In times like this, ’tis hard to know who’s for the King and who’s for the rebels.”
As I moved away, the image of the young boy being marched off to the guardhouse wouldn’t leave me. Hadn’t Gideon told me to use such a boy to carry a message to him if I came again to Boston?
I glanced often at the faces of those on the streets that first week, but of the man I sought, I saw nothing. Finally, I determined to visit The Rose and Crown under the guise of seeking legal advice from a lawyer by the name of Gideon Whitlock.
I knew I risked being recognized as the young lady who’d been kissed and had promptly slapped Gideon, but the need to find him pushed caution aside.
After I’d made certain Aunt Caroline was sleeping soundly, I put on my straw hat, adjusted the brim to lie low over my forehead, and tied the ribbon so the bow covered part of my chin. Hoping the change would prevent recognition, I set out for the tavern.
A strong breeze blowing off the bay buffeted my skirt and lifted the brim of my hat so I was obliged to hold on to it. When I neared the tavern, my steps slowed. Would I have to wait while Gideon finished with another client? What if he was off on an errand?
Since it was midmorning, I heard only a few voices when I opened the door. All was as I remembered it—the main room to my left, the ladies’ parlor on the right, and the proprietor presiding behind the bar.
He greeted me with a nod as he polished a tankard. “How may I help you?”
“I’m in need of legal counsel. A friend directed me to a lawyer who lives here . . . Mr. Gideon Whitlock.”
“Lived,” the proprietor said. “Mr. Whitlock is no longer with us.”
Numbness closed around my throat. Had my nightmare of Gideon being hanged or shot been carried out? “Is . . . is he dead?” I managed to get out.
The balding man chuckled. “He’s alive . . . leastwise he was when I last saw him. ’Tis just that he don’t live at The Rose and Crown no more.”
Relief washed over me. “Can you tell me where I might find him?”
“At a house on Summer Street. Number 28, I think it is . . . though I know for a fact his room there don’t compare to the one he had here.” Shaking his head, he went on, his vexation at losing his lodger evident. “’Twas that army officer he spent so much time with who got him to leave. He even helped him pack his belongings and papers.”
Though I longed to know more, I thought it unwise to query any further. “He’s at number 28 Summer Street?”
“That’s the address he told me to give to clients seeking his services. Since General Gage’s officers and a good many of his soldiers now lodge free in private homes, I expect the officer resides there as well.” Holding the tankard up to the light, he went on, “Mr. Whitlock is a fine lawyer. All speak highly of him.”
Seeing the proprietor’s wife approaching, I hastily murmured my thanks and left.
My mind was in a jumble as I reached the street. From my forays into town, I knew the location of Summer Street. What I didn’t know was whether it would be wise to go there. What if Gideon hadn’t left The Rose and Crown willingly and he was being held prisoner? Or maybe the home was a trap to learn who helped Gideon gather and smuggle out information. Such would certainly explain why no one had heard from him. In the end, I decided I would only walk past it. Surely no harm could come from that.
The address of the white clapboard home was clearly marked in black letters above the door. I walked at a leisurely pace, trying not to show undue interest in the dwelling while wondering if one of the front windows was Gideon’s. I cast a furtive glance at the house. Nothing. No one.
Disappointment dogged me as I returned to the Linds’ home. That night, after much thought, I penned a short message to Gideon. Apple blossoms are not forgotten. Do you recall the promise you made? M. A. Would Gideon remember the apple blossoms he’d given me? And would he know the initials M. A. stood for Mistress Abigail? So many question, yet as each one arose, I failed to find an answer.
***
The next morning, it was difficult to exhibit my usual patience with Aunt Caroline as I attempted to cajole her into eating a piece of toast topped with marmalade. Instead, my mind was on the tightly folded missive in my pocket, and my nerves clamored to be off to find a boy to take the note to Gideon.
As if she sensed my thoughts were elsewhere, Aunt Caroline became agitated and not only refused to eat any toast but had difficulty falling asleep too. Ordinarily, I would have welcomed it, for I was concerned by the numerous hours this radically changed woman slept. But not today.
It was after ten o’clock before I could leave the house. More than that, I had to walk to Marlborough Street before I could find a boy to carry my note.
“I can do it . . . though fast as folks is movin’ in and out, ’tis hard to say who’s livin’ where anymore,” the grimy faced boy responded.
“’Tis for Gideon Whitlock, the lawyer. At Number 28 Summer Street.”
“I know of him.”
Pleased, I handed him the folded note and a coin. “There’ll be another coin from Mr. Whitlock when he receives it.”
“Where can I find you if Mr. Whitlock sends an answer?”
“There,” I said, pointing across the street to a tinsmith shop. “I’ll be there until the clock strikes eleven.”
As soon as the boy left, I crossed the street to the tinsmith shop, pausing to look at a display of tin cups in the front window before going inside. What exactly I looked at I cannot say, for my mind was on the boy instead of the items in the shop. Was he to Summer Street yet? What if Gideon didn’t send a reply? The expectancy that had carried me through the morning suddenly fell flat, the interior of the shop seemed stuffy, and the shopkeeper’s hovering presence was annoying. Excusing myself, I exited the shop.
After walking but a few steps, I saw the boy ambling along a side street connecting with Marlborough. As soon as he saw me, his steps quickened.
“Is there a message?” I asked before he reached me.
The boy shook his head and darted a quick look over his shoulder. “Never saw Mr. Whitlock . . . but a soldier said he’d give it to him.” Without breaking pace, he passed me. “Two soldiers been following me since I left Summer Street,” he whispered.
My heart gave a frightened leap when a quick look revealed two red-clad soldiers coming at a quick pace along the connecting street. Their steps were determined, and I had no doubt they had come to find me. Without thought, I hurried off in the opposite direction. My mouth went dry, and my steps were quick and hard like my heartbeat. I scarcely noted the shops as I passed them. Instinct bade me lift my skirt and flee while caution warned that to do so would shout my involvement with Gideon to the soldiers.
Not knowing whether they followed the boy or me, I kept my focus ahead and my pace like a maid but hurrying home from an errand. In my haste, I almost missed an alley bisecting the street. I quickly turned into it, hesitating only long enough to look over my shoulder. Not only were the soldiers following, but they were also gaining!
“Halt!” one of them shouted.
Ignoring the command, I quickened my steps.
Hurry! Hurry! The unspoken words cried through my fear-clogged mind. Lifting my skirt, I broke into a run—past a chicken coop and clothes pegged to dry on a rope. Spying a gate, I sped through it and along a tall boxwood hedge that stretched across the back of the yard.
Not seeing the soldiers, I left the cover of the hedge and ran across the yard and hid behind a bush. The rapid thud of my heart mingled with my harsh breathing as I waited. Was I safe?
After waiting and watching, I left my hiding place and hurried to the front yard. A quick look at the street showed only a carriage and a mother walking with a child.
Fearing the soldiers would cut through a yard from the alley too, I hurried on, zigzagging down streets and across alleys until I became so lost and confused I had no notion of where I was. But at least I had evaded the soldiers. When I stopped to get my bearings, I spied the great wharf stretching into the Atlantic and knew I was only a few streets from home.
Exhaustion and disappointment dogged my steps as I returned. Was I never to find Gideon? Even as the question formed, I realized the mistake I’d made by giving in to fear and fleeing. I’d not only raised the soldiers’ suspicions but had also endangered Gideon.
“Foolish girl!” The accusing words came in a harsh whisper. The house on Summer Street had been a trap, and I was extremely fortunate to have escaped. My lack of experience had shown. In the future, I must be more careful and think before I acted.
By the time I reached the Linds’, I’d determined to stay close for the next few days. Although the soldiers had seen me only from the back, they might remember the lavender color of my skirts. For safety’s sake, I decided that in the future I must wear them only at home.
Jake looked up from mending a harness when I crossed the stable yard. ”Mornin’, mistress,” he said with a nod and smile.
“Good morning, Jake.”
He went on in a low voice. “Alice been lookin’ for ya.”
I nodded and whispered my thanks as I hurried past him. I was almost to the house when I saw Alice.
“I been lookin’ all over for you,” she exclaimed in relief. “Mistress Lind was asking for you. Thanks to Mina, she’s finally sleeping again.”
“Thank you. I would have been back sooner, but . . .” Seeking to divert her attention from my absence, I said, “You’ll not believe what I saw.”
“What?” Alice’s eyes brightened with curiosity.
I launched into a description of the boy who’d been stopped by soldiers and taken to the guardhouse a few days before.
“The poor lad,” Alice said, then added, “though I expect they were only doing their duty. ’Tis perilous times we live in, Mistress Abigail, and I daily thank my Maker the rebels ain’t at our very door.”
“Times are certainly unsettled,” I agreed. Looking past Alice, I went on. “I need to talk to Mina. Is she upstairs or in the kitchen?”
“In the kitchen.”
Nodding, I opened the kitchen door, where a massive brick fireplace took up one wall, with two ovens flanking each side and numerous nooks for warming dishes until serving time. Mina stirred a pot over the fire, and Hettie, the kitchen maid, was chopping an onion.
“Something smells good,” I said as Hettie scooped the chopped onion into a bowl and dumped it into the pot.
Mina nodded. “Chicken soup’s what you’ll be havin’.”
“It would be good for others in the house as well.”
Mina gave me a quick look, then glanced at Hettie. “I need you to go out to the coop and find six eggs for the puddin’ I’m startin’,” she said to the maid.
“Six?”
Mina nodded. “And don’t come back till you find ’em.”
Mina waited to speak until after the maid had gone. “You meanin’ the missus?” she asked. Seeing me nod, she went on. “The doctor don’t like her havin’ more’n tea and toast. He say she too sickly to have anything more.”
“She’ll never improve on a diet of tea and toast,” I countered. “My mother gave us strengthening broths and custards when we ailed.”
Mina nodded. “Twice I slipped such up to her, but . . .” She paused and shook her head. “Gettin’ the missus to eat ain’t easy.”
“I know.” I studied Mina, her turbaned head outlined by the fire, her brown eyes holding steadily to mine. “I want to make her stronger and persuade her she isn’t going to die . . . but I’ll need your help. Going against Mr. Lind will be a big risk . . . especially for you.” I paused and took a deep breath. “I don’t know your situation . . . whether you and Jake are slaves or hired servants, but . . .”
“We free, Missy.” Pride punctuated her words. “We free.”
“It’s still a risk. Before we go further, you must talk with your husband.”
“I done talk with Jake when Mistress Kent left and I took her place lookin’ after the missus. He know what I did ’bout her food.”
“You’re a brave woman.”
“I only doin’ what the good Lord want me to do.” She continued to hold my gaze. “I knew that first day you was the woman I’d been prayin’ to come here.”
“I want to help her get well again.”
She nodded and turned back to the pot of chicken.
“Noontime should be best to begin this,” I said after a minute. “Mr. Lind is gone by then, and he doesn’t come home until evening. If I were to start taking my meals with the mistress instead of in the kitchen . . .”
Mina flashed me a quick smile. “I kin send up a tray with the usual tea and toast along with two spoons and a bowl of broth or custard for the two of you.”
“How clever.”
“We best be hopin’ no one else be clever too,” Mina reminded.
I immediately sobered. “What about the maids? Can they be trusted?”
Mina frowned. “Hettie don’t think about much ’sides doin’ what she told to do, but Alice—” Her frown deepened. “Alice, I ain’t so sure ’bout.”
“Me either. We’re going to need to pray and keep our wits about us.”
“Amen,” Mina said. “Amen to that.”