Aunt Caroline and I spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon sewing the remaining guineas and some of her jewelry into the hems of our petticoats. As I stitched, I planned my excursion to Grind Street. Since I was more familiar with the more roundabout route we’d taken on our return, I decided that it would be the safer and wiser course. I also decided to disguise myself as a man.
When we’d sewn the last of the guineas into the petticoats, Aunt Caroline was more than ready to nap. As soon as she’d fallen asleep, I went to her son’s bedroom. Unlike his father, Henry’s build was short and slender. Although he’d been in England for two years, I hoped he’d left some of his clothes behind.
Hot stagnant air engulfed me as I quietly closed his door and made my way through the dim, shuttered room to the wardrobe, where I found a dark-colored jacket whose sleeves were only a little long. My luck continued with the discovery of a pair of knee-length breeches that fit me better than I’d hoped. A short time later, I quietly left the room with not only a jacket and breeches but a white shirt, neck cloth, and an old hat. The shoes and stockings would have to be my own.
After hiding the clothes under my bed, I found the map I’d drawn when I’d first reached Boston. From it, I devised a route from King Street to Green Lane that looked easy enough. From there, it would be only a short way to Grind Street. Pleased with my plan, I returned to Aunt Caroline.
She stirred as soon as I opened the door. “I’m glad ’tis you, not Joseph,” she said with a yawn.
“He’ll likely be here soon,” I reminded her.
She frowned. “I do wish it was next week and we were safely away from here.”
I nodded, although the thought of leaving Gideon distressed me, especially when I knew how closely Colonel Paxman watched him.
Not wanting to think about it, I said, “I’m pleased at how quickly your strength is returning.”
She smiled, as I’d hoped she would. “Each day I feel better . . . just as each day I perfect my game of possum.”
It was well she had, for but five minutes later, Joseph knocked on the door and entered the room. This time he made no pretense of concern for his wife but spoke directly to me.
“I came to fetch you to join me in the library, where it’s cooler. Alice is bringing cool glasses of water for us to enjoy there.”
Taken by surprise, it took me a moment to reply. “What of Aunt Caroline? I’ve been trying to cool her, but she frets with the heat.”
She stirred and made a tiny sound when I dipped a cloth into the basin and gently sponged her face and neck. “Since she’s trapped upstairs, I don’t feel right leaving her for the cooler library.”
“It will only be for a short while.”
“My guilt would make it seem an eternity.” I gave him a pleading look. “Please, don’t ask it of me.”
Clearly taken aback, Mr. Lind looked torn between ordering me to do his bidding and trying to ingratiate himself. Luckily the latter won. “It would pain me to know I’d caused you guilt, my dear. Perhaps I can still show my concern for you by having Alice bring a glass of cool water up to you.”
I gave him a smile that was almost genuine. “That would be wonderful . . . and one for Aunt Caroline, of course.”
“Of course,” he agreed, but his words sounded insincere.
A short time later, Alice came with a tray holding two glasses of cool water. Though Aunt Caroline and I took pleasure in my small victory, we were wise enough to know that such a farce couldn’t last.
“He will soon demand payment,” she cautioned. “It has always been Joseph’s way.”
I shuddered when I thought of dining with him on Friday.
The hours until I could don Henry’s clothes seemed endless. Though he had often fretted to me about his lack of stature, tonight I was grateful. Using a ribbon as a belt for my overlarge beeches and with my hair pulled back in a queue under the hat, I felt that if I kept to the shadows, I might well pass for a young man.
Needing something to pry the boards away from the warehouse window, I’d gone earlier to the garden shed and found a metal bar, one small enough to fit into the pocket of Henry’s breeches. Now, well after ten o’clock and with the house wrapped in silence, I cautiously left my room, holding my breath as I crept past Mr. Lind’s bedroom, then went down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out the door.
I waited and listened, senses alert. The morning fog had crept back in fingers of mist that half obscured the moon and stars, and the peak of the stable roof was no more than a vague outline. Moving toward it, I wished more than ever that I had a lantern. Jake or Ezra would know where one was, but I didn’t want them to know my intentions.
I was grateful the Linds didn’t keep a dog as I moved stealthily through the stable yard and past the carriage house. The gate to the alley had been locked for the night, but thanks to the breeches I wore, I climbed over it without trouble or noise. When I found the crevice in the gatepost empty, my heart lifted. Gideon had been there.
I hurried down the dark alley and onto the street without incident, the sound of my slippers on the cobbles muted by the fog. At this late hour, few people were abroad, but I still feared patrolling soldiers.
I’d just entered the next street when the sound of approaching hooves made me flatten myself against the wall of a shop and wait while a carriage rolled past. When it was gone, I ran to the other side of the street and turned the corner, moving west toward my destination.
I hadn’t gone far before a glimpse of white alerted me to an approaching soldier. I pulled the jacket lapels across my white shirt and darted behind a bush, heart pounding wildly as I crouched, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tightly around them. Listening to the boots’ cadence, I realized there was more than one soldier. I could see them now, the outline of muskets and hats barely discernable in the swirling fog.
As they scanned the yards and silent houses, I shrank even smaller, scarcely daring to breathe as the sound of their approach grew ever nearer. Then they were past, the faint smell of rum and a clearing of a throat melding with the rhythmic cadence of their retreating feet.
I didn’t move until they turned the corner. Rising on cramped legs, I resumed my journey, my progress more cautious as I quickly moved from shadow to shadow. I had to hide once more when a man rode by on a horse.
On I went, not stopping to get my bearings until the muffled sound of laughter and revelry penetrated the thickening fog. Grind Street should be close, but in the mist and darkness, it was hard to tell. Moving but a few steps at a time, I stopped to listen again for laughter. What a cruel joke it would be if I became lost and couldn’t find either Grind Street or my way back home.
Engulfed by thickening fog, I shivered and remembered being lost and cold and afraid as a child. Then, Father had found me, but tonight I was alone.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I peered ahead and found that the fog, like a fickle mare, had suddenly parted. Instead of impenetrable grayness, I saw the outline of ramshackle buildings and knew I’d arrived.
Because I was coming from the opposite direction, number 26 was now the first building on Grind Street. The stillness made an eerie contrast to the noise and laughter coming from the taverns and houses behind it. I prayed the burly man who’d confronted us earlier wasn’t still there.
The fog closed in again, forcing me to find my way to the back of the warehouse more by touch than sight. Finally, a raised board told me I’d found the back boarded-up window.
Taking the rod out of my pocket, I cautiously pried away the bottom board. Each sound came loud to my ears, and a nail’s protesting squeal set my heart clamoring. Had someone heard? Hearing and seeing no one, I started on the second board, scraping a knuckle in my haste and feeling frustrated at my slow progress.
Panic shot through me when a muscled arm caught me around the neck and a hand grabbed my wrist and forced me to drop the rod. I thrashed frantically, trying to break the suffocating hold, but the arm tightened until I couldn’t breathe. My ears rang, and in a frantic effort, I braced my feet against the wall and pushed.
As we fell, the hold on my neck slackened enough for a strangled breath, but as we hit the ground, my attacker was atop me, his weight pinning me so I couldn’t move. Still struggling, I saw his hand pulled back in a fist and the glimpse of a shadowed face.
“Gideon!” I croaked.
His arm fell back, and for a moment, there was only the sound of harsh breathing. “Abby?”
I nodded, my heart pounding hard against my ribs while my lungs gasped for air.
Before I could say anything, he rolled off and pulled me so that we both sat. “What are you doing here? I could have killed you!”
“The ammunition,” I managed to get out. “I had to know . . .” Instead of finishing, I burrowed my head into his shoulder, needing to feel his closeness. “You frightened me,” I finally whispered.
“And you scared me.” His arms tightened around me. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
I nodded, savoring the feel of his fingers in my loosened queue, the steady rhythm of his heart. After a moment, I raised my head. “What if there’s only furniture or bolts of fabric inside? I had to know.”
“So did I.” He jerked his head at the sudden sound of revelry. “We must hurry and get the rest of the boards off.”
We worked together, Gideon’s strong hands making short work of the remaining boards while I kept watch. When there was enough room to climb through the opening, he stopped and put his head inside.
“Can you see anything?”
“No, but I brought a lantern.”
Not far from where our hats had fallen, he retrieved a lantern and lit the candle inside with the flint he took from his pocket. The flickering flame glowed weakly in the thick fog, and it grew even dimmer when Gideon lowered the shutters and handed the lantern to me.
“I can’t risk taking it with me if there’s gunpowder.” Giving my hand a reassuring squeeze, he climbed inside.
For a minute, he neither moved nor spoke, the shuttered lantern of little help as he tried to get his bearings in the black interior.
“Lift one of the shutters,” he whispered.
Worried that someone might see the flame, my fingers were clumsy on the metal. Then the splash of light picked out stacks of wooden kegs, and I could think only of our find.
“Powder!” Gideon whispered. “Lots of it!”
His elation matched mine as I moved the lantern to see what else was in the warehouse. The dim light only penetrated a short distance, but it was enough to see several wooden crates.
“Keep watch while I check them.”
I shivered as I looked behind me, the oppressive gray fog seeming to take on life, becoming a cloak worn by something inhuman and too horrible to have a name. A burst of laughter from the next street made me jump and almost drop the lantern. It also brought back my good sense.
“It’s safe,” I whispered, but it was all I could do not to add, “Please, hurry.”
“Good.”
The deep resonance of Gideon’s voice braced my sagging courage as I watched him pry open a crate. Even so, the sound of protesting wood made me draw in a quick breath and again look over my shoulder.
Then he was back, his low voice filled with excitement as he climbed through the window. “Lead balls . . . just what the army needs.”
The next minutes passed quickly as Gideon refastened the boards across the window and I retrieved our hats and blew out the candle.
We wasted no time in leaving Grind Street. Gideon, like me, seeming to feel an urge to be away. We moved stealthily from shadow to shadow until we reached the better part of town. Even then we kept watch for patrolling soldiers. I led the way, and Gideon followed, his presence like a solid, comforting shield at my back. It was well past midnight, the streets deserted except for the town crier calling the hour.
When I reached the alley behind the stable yard, Gideon quickened his pace to join me, his arm circling my waist to draw me under a tree.
“Well done, Abby, though I don’t like that you took such risk.”
“I was afraid you couldn’t get away from Colonel Paxman . . . and besides—”
“You were curious,” he finished for me.
“You’re coming to know me well,” I said. With his lips but inches from mine and his breath warm on my cheek, I had thoughts other than conversation.
Gideon seemed to be of a different mind. “You’re at great risk living in the same house as Joseph Lind,” he reminded me.
I thought it best not to tell him of the unwanted advances. Instead, I said, “His wife is anxious to get away. When can we leave?”
“My friend expects to have the passes by Saturday.”
“Sunday, then?” I asked.
He nodded and looked beyond me into the swirling fog.
“How will you get the powder and balls across the bay without being discovered?”
“It won’t be easy. . . and it will take time. But my friends and I have done difficult things before.”
“Even with Colonel Paxman watching?”
In the uncertain darkness, I thought he smiled. “I was able to divert Colonel Paxman’s attention from me tonight. I can do it again.”
Before I could ask more, he pulled me close, his chin resting on my forehead, a hand cupping my chin.
“I don’t want you to leave Boston, but the risk . . .” He shook his head. “’Tis too dangerous for you to stay.”
I nodded, feeling the prick of tears as I reached up and touched the shadowy outline of his cheek.
Then his lips were on mine, bringing warmth with their touch, joy with their closeness, and my fears vanished like fog giving way to the morning sun.