Alone in the Dark

Sybil rushed over. Patrick clattered down the stairs.

“Pay no mind to them,” Sybil said to Beth. “They’re black rat snakes. They do no harm.”

Beth stepped quickly backward. Patrick stood on tiptoe and tried to see through the shadows.

“Cool!” he said when his eyes adjusted.

“They’ve been hibernating here all winter,” Sybil said. “They’re still moving a little slowly.”

“Why do you let them stay here?” Beth asked in a shaky voice.

“They keep the rats away,” Sybil said.

“Rats?” Beth said.

Sybil nodded. “Some of the rats are as big as cats,” she said. “But enough of that. Help me carry potatoes.”

Patrick grabbed his cane from the floor near the snakes. Sybil gave the cousins armloads of potatoes. They all carried the potatoes back to the house.

The girls helped prepare supper. Then everyone sat down to eat with the Clarke family. They had a hot meal of potatoes and roast beef.

Soon it was time for bed.

“Patrick can sleep in the stable,” Reverend Clarke said. “He’ll be warm enough there.”

“Indeed, I’m sure of it,” Sybil said. “Beth can sleep in the trundle bed in my room.”

Sybil got a quilt. She gave Beth a lantern to carry. Then she led the cousins outside to one of the buildings.

Patrick looked up at the night sky. The darkness was blacker than it was back home. There were no electric streetlights. Instead, thousands of stars twinkled like lights on a Christmas tree.

Patrick’s teeth started to chatter. It was a chilly night.

Sybil opened the stable door and took the cousins inside.

John Hancock’s carriage was parked in the middle. Horses stood in the stalls on either side of it. Patrick heard one of them stamp its hooves.

Sybil took the lantern from Beth. She hung it on a post. It gave out a small circle of light.

Sybil climbed up a ladder to a loft above. Patrick and Beth climbed up too.

A large pile of loose hay sat on the loft floor. At the back of the loft were stacked piles of hay. They reached almost to the ceiling.

Patrick looked up. The roof rafters were exposed and looked like giant wooden ribs.

Sybil spread out the quilt on the hay.

“This will be a nice soft bed,” she said. “You’ll get a good night’s sleep.”

“Can we leave for Boston first thing in the morning?” Patrick asked.

Sybil shook her head. “You can’t be going tomorrow,” she said. “Father expects you to join us at our meeting. Tomorrow is Sunday. Nobody travels on Sunday.”

“We don’t have time to stay another day,” Patrick said.

“You’d be stopped and questioned along the way,” Sybil said. Then she said good night and climbed down the ladder.

“It’ll be all right,” Beth said as she climbed down after Sybil.

Sybil took the lantern from the post. She and Beth left the stable.

Now Patrick was all alone. In the dark. He felt his way to the quilt. He sat on it. The hay felt soft underneath.

Patrick stared into the darkness and sighed. This adventure wasn’t going the way he thought it would.

A noise broke into his gloomy thoughts. Pitter patter. Pitter patter.

Mice? he thought. Or rats. Rats the size of mountain lions. That’s crazy! He pushed the image out of his mind.

The noise stopped.

He waited. Whatever had caused the noise was still now.

The sweet smell of hay soothed him. The heat from the horses below warmed the stable loft. It was much warmer inside. He was surprised at how cozy he felt now.

Patrick took off his jacket. He took the letter out of his pocket. It was too dark to see anything.

He put the letter away again and folded his jacket. He placed it beside him on the hay.

He wrapped himself up in the quilt. He closed his eyes.

He thought about the noises around the stable. A snort from one of the horses. A distant hoot from an owl. A barking dog.

Then he thought of the rats again. And the snakes under the stairs.

Patrick didn’t like to admit he felt scared. But what if those creatures crawled over him while he slept? That was enough to keep him awake. If only for a few minutes.

Then he fell asleep.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Patrick sat up with a start. The loud noise sounded as if someone were hitting a pan with a stick.

“Breakfast!” a voice shouted.

Patrick rubbed his eyes. He sat up and yawned. Then he stretched.

His hand brushed against a piece of hay in his hair. He took it out and then shook his head quickly. A few more stray bits fell to the ground.

He reached for his jacket.

That’s strange, Patrick thought. The jacket wasn’t where he remembered putting it. It was a few feet farther away.

He also thought he had folded his jacket in half. Now it lay flat and spread out.

Patrick stood up and put on the jacket. He buttoned it. One of his buttons was missing.

He reached inside his pocket for Paul Revere’s letter.

Where is it? he wondered. How could it be gone?

He remembered taking the letter out of the pocket. But he also remembered putting it back. Was he wrong? Had it fallen out when he folded the jacket?

Patrick lifted up the quilt. Nothing. He dug through the hay with his cane. Still nothing.

He checked his pocket again. Empty.

He checked all his pockets. They were empty too.

He climbed down the ladder and looked around. He saw three deep shoe prints in the dirt.

“Patrick!” Beth called from outside.

How was he going to tell her? He’d lost the letter to Paul Revere.