The last rays of the April sun didn’t warm Filigree. When a squadron of Redcoats marched down the street toward their camp on Boston Common, he didn’t even bother to growl at them.
Behind them, the pack of dogs who were loyal to the British marched in formation. They had been Filigree’s friends once. He pretended not to see them. But he couldn’t help hearing them.
“Traitor,” muttered their leader, Queenie, as she passed him. She was a strong, solid foxhound. Then she barked, “L-e-e-eft turn!” The pack headed around the corner toward Boston Common and the British camp.
Filigree’s tail drooped as he returned to the Revere home. There was a tiny hole cut in the door just for him. He wriggled through it.
There were good smells coming from the kitchen in the cellar. Filigree’s mouth watered. Jove’s insults still hurt, but he was hungry. He followed the smells down the stairs.
Frances’s older sisters, Deborah and Sarah, were cooking pork and hasty pudding for dinner. The meat sizzled and spat on the stove. Sarah tossed Filigree a piece. He leaped and caught it. The fatty, salty flavor cheered him up a little.
Then he spotted the Reveres’ house cat, Anvil. She curled on the kitchen floor like a round black rug. She was between Filigree and his water bowl.
“Trouble with the patriot pack again?” she mewed.
“No,” Filigree said. “I saved Jove.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Anvil always seemed to find out about things.
“At least I try to help,” Filigree growled. “You just lie there.”
Anvil yawned and stretched so she took up more of the floor.
Filigree walked the long way around her to his bowl. He lapped up his water. “I did save Jove’s life,” he mumbled. “He couldn’t have dodged that gun.”
He padded up the stairs and into the big front room to find Frances.
He couldn’t see where she was, but he could smell her. She smelled like vanilla and herbs. Her father was sitting with Dr. Warren at a table in the corner. Dr. Warren was Frances’s doctor, but Filigree knew he was also one of the patriot leaders. The two men bent over a piece of paper and whispered. Filigree heard the words “ride” and “lanterns” and “patrols,” and something about General Gage.
Paul Revere looked up at Filigree. “She’s upstairs in her room, boy,” he said.
No, she’s not, Filigree thought.
There was a big armchair near the winding staircase. Filigree trotted over and crawled under it. Frances was sitting cross-legged behind the chair. It was her favorite spy-on-the-family place. She was mushed up against the wall. Her dark eyes were fierce. What’s wrong? Filigree wondered.
When no one was looking, Frances picked up Filigree and tiptoed upstairs with him in her arms. He could feel her heart beating fast against him.
None of her sisters was in the bedroom. Frances plunked down on the edge of her bed. Filigree settled into her lap.
Anvil jumped up beside them.
“I was here first!” Filigree barked.
“I was in this house when you were still eating crumpets and tea cakes with the loyalists,” Anvil hissed.
Filigree would have answered back, but he could tell Frances was upset.
“I heard them talking,” Frances said. “General Gage won’t put up with the patriots anymore. He’s going to send the Redcoats to Lexington to arrest Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock.” What?! Filigree stood up in her lap. “Dr. Warren just doesn’t know when,” Frances went on. “He told Papa to be ready to ride to warn them when the time comes. Deborah says General Gage will hang Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock if he catches them. But what if he catches Papa instead and hangs him?”
Anvil crowded into Frances’s lap. Filigree shoved the cat with his shoulder. It didn’t do any good.
“If Mr. Revere knows what’s good for him,” Anvil meowed, “he’ll stay home.”
“They wouldn’t really hang him, would they?” Filigree asked. He hated to ask Anvil anything, but he needed to know.
“No one is supposed to help the patriots,” Anvil said. “And nobody’s allowed out after dark.”
Filigree knew about that. It was called a “curfew.” It meant that anyone out at night could be arrested.
Frances stood up, tumbling Filigree and Anvil onto the bed. “I won’t just sit around and wait!” She paced back and forth between the beds.
The family still treated Frances like she was sick. Mr. Revere said she had to have her supper in bed and stay in the house almost all the time. Only Filigree knew that Frances sneaked out to run and play catch with him and was getting stronger every day.
Frances sat down on the bed, crossed her arms, and lay down with a thump. “I’m not going to lose Papa, too,” she said. It had been less than two years since her mother died. Filigree knew that Frances still missed her every day.
Anvil jumped off the bed and stalked away.
“Where are you going?” Filigree demanded. “We have to figure out what to do.”
“I’m going to catch mice,” Anvil answered. “That’s my job.”
“Useless cat rug,” Filigree said. He climbed onto Frances’s pillow and curled up beside her.
Filigree opened his eyes. He didn’t know when he had fallen asleep. Moonlight streamed in through the window. Frances and her sisters were all sleeping. It must be very late.
He realized what had woken him. He could hear the firm tread of Mr. Revere downstairs. He nudged Frances.
“What is it, Filigree?” Frances murmured sleepily. Then, “Yes. Yes, I hear Papa.”
Then came the sound of voices and of a door opening and closing.
“Why is Papa going out after dark?” Frances whispered.
Especially tonight, Filigree thought. Jove had said something important was happening. So had the Redcoats.
Frances and Filigree looked at each other. Something’s wrong.
