The Gentle Rebel (37 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

A MATTER OF HONOR

Day after day, units moved out of Cambridge and Boston, headed for New York, for Washington and his staff were convinced that Howe would strike there. Knox worked frantically training gunners to man the guns the British had left behind, and Adam kept the Virginia riflemen drilling constantly. “I expect we’ll be leaving in a week, Molly,” he said one night after supper.

“What will happen to Julie when we leave—if that scoundrel Sampson hasn’t come by then?”

Adam shrugged and gave a disgusted grunt. “Don’t know. I thought she might run away again. But don’t guess she’s got anywhere to run to.” He stretched, then gave Molly a look of speculation. “I’ve had the idea that Quaker might marry her. That’d solve the problem.”

“Yes—but I don’t think she’d marry him.”

“Good man.” Then he gave her a closer look and demanded, “What’s in your head? I know that look!”

“Oh—just thinking.” She evaded his question, saying, “Charles wants us to come out tomorrow and have supper with them.”

“Oh, Molly, I don’t want to do that!”

“I know, Adam, but I think we should.” She came over and sat down beside him. Taking his thick hand, she stroked it gently, tracing a long white scar in the shape of a fishhook that curled around his thumb. “I feel uncomfortable there, too, but we ought to go this time—for Charles’s sake.”

“I don’t understand?”

“Why, he wants to thank you for saving his home—try to patch things up between you. He stopped by today while you were gone and asked. I tried to tell him we couldn’t come, but he almost begged. I think maybe we ought to go this one time.”

“Oh, blast!” he groaned. “I don’t want any thanks . . . !” Then he threw up his hands and surrendered, as he usually did when she asked for something. “Well, we’ll go—but get us away as soon as you can. Martha will be taking potshots at me as usual. Will Nathan come?”

“Yes, and Abigail—if she’ll go. She and Nathan are having some sort of a fight. He won’t say what—but Abigail is giving him a hard time. That’s why he’s been mooning around so much. She’s dangling him, punishing him for something.”

“He ought to whip her,” Adam grinned. “Good beating every once in a while—that’s what all wives need! But I guess he’s too much in love to act sensibly.”

Molly punched her husband playfully on the arm. “Better not let Nathan hear you say such things. He just might take you seriously!”

Julie, who was upstairs writing in her journal, felt the same way, but she dared not say it to Nathan. She wrote with a frown on her face, jabbing so viciously at the paper that she snapped the tip off her quill several times:

She shut the journal, knelt and prayed for a long time, then left her room. Molly and Adam had already gone to bed, so she fixed a cup of tea and was sipping it when the door opened and Nathan came in. He had a heavy look on his face and there was gloom in his voice as he asked, “My folks already gone to bed?”

“Yes, they went early. Did you need to see them?”

He shrugged and turned to go. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

“I just made some tea.”

He came back and sat down, and the hot tea seemed to cheer him, but he seemed restless. “I’m not sleepy tonight. Hate to go to bed.”

“Let’s walk around the pond.” The house that the Winslows had rented was on the outskirts of town, and the small pond that lay under the canopy of some huge chestnut trees had been a godsend to her. She had fished for the small perch that abounded in it, and in the late evenings had enjoyed it as she walked.

Nathan responded quickly. “If you’re not sleepy, I’d like it.”

The soft spring breeze had warmed the earth, bringing the peepers out, and they piped loudly, like ghostly sleigh bells
until Nathan and Julie stepped onto the small beaten path that ringed the pond. The sudden silence made Julie laugh. “I think those frogs resent us. They think this pond is theirs, and we’re trespassers.”

“I guess so.” Nathan looked up and saw the full moon and commented, “Look, Julie, there’s some kind of a hazy ring around the moon—I wonder what it is?”

“I don’t know much about the stars,” she said. They moved on, and the pond was so still the reflection of the moon seemed solid as the reality. He reached down, picked up a stone and tossed it into the pond; it struck with a loud
plop,
and rapidly spreading circles broke up the image of the moon. As the tiny waves reached the shore, he murmured, “One little stone—and it changed the whole picture. Doesn’t take much to mess things up, does it, Julie?”

She looked up at him quickly, knowing that he was thinking of Abigail, and she hated what was happening to him. “Time changes things, Nathan.” She motioned toward the pond. “See? The ripples are almost gone already, and it’ll be like it was—smooth and clear.”

“Life’s not like that.”

“No—because we’re more than a pond,” she agreed. There was a longing in her to say something that would take away the gloom that had come to mar his manner. Always he had been cheerful, even when things were bad, but he had lost that lightness of spirit. Finally she said, “Abigail will forgive you.”

He stared at her, and shook his head. “She—she thinks that I’ve known all along that you were a girl. Says as close as the two of us were, I just
had
to know.” His teeth gleamed in a quick smile, and he said ruefully, “I can see her point. Looking at you now, it seems downright impossible I didn’t catch on!”

“Oh, I was clever,” she said. “She’ll get over it, Nathan.”

“I guess so—” He stopped and turned to face her on the narrow path. He was so tall that she had to tilt her head to look up at him, and he put his hands on her shoulders
and said, “Julie, I ought not to be bothering you with my troubles. You’ve got more than I have—and I’m worried about it. Maybe we ought to get a lawyer—you can’t go back to Philadelphia with Sampson!”

She was totally conscious of his hands on her shoulders, but she let nothing show in her face. “It will be all right, Nathan.”

“Well—” He dropped his hands suddenly as if they had been burned, and said awkwardly, “I—I guess we better get back.”

“All right.” They walked back, saying little, but when they got to the door, Julie spoke up. “Your uncle Charles came by today. He wants all of you to come to his house for dinner tomorrow—said for you to bring Abigail.”

“Doubt if she’ll come.”

A streak of anger raced through Julie. “Tell her I’ll be there—that’ll make her come.”

He shifted his shoulders uneasily, then said, “Might not be much fun for you. She’s—upset with you.”

Julie smiled as she turned to go in, amused by some thought. “She won’t hurt me, Nathan. Good night.”

Whether Abigail chose to attend the dinner at the Winslows because Julie would be there, Nathan was not certain. He looked across the table at Abigail, and thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful. She was wearing a blue silk dress that left her arms bare, and her rich brown hair was woven into a crown that sparkled with jewels. The dimples in her cheeks were often in evidence, for all evening she had been as charming as he had ever seen her.

She had kissed him when he came for her, the first time since the night of the ball, and on their way she had been animated as if nothing had happened between them. The change in her manner startled Nathan, making him somehow feel awkward. Her moods, he had discovered, were often like that, and he could not seem to adjust.

But the party is a success,
he thought, looking around.
Even Martha Winslow, his father’s stepmother, seemed to be determined to keep things agreeable. Charles sat at one end of the table, with his wife on his right and Anne and Julie on his left. Nathan sat with his parents, and across from them Abigail sat between Paul and Martha.

They had eaten a sumptuous dinner, and the only thing that had marred the evening had been the fact that Paul was obviously drinking too much. He had been a little drunk even before the meal, and Nathan had noticed that he had eaten little but had emptied glass after glass of wine. His face was flushed, and there was an uncertainty in his speech and movement. Once his mother had said sharply, “Paul, you’ve had enough wine!” but he had paid no attention.

Charles Winslow had been less talkative than usual, but finally he cleared his throat and said in a voice that claimed attention, “I’ve been sitting here thinking how sad it is that our family has drifted so far apart. It’s taken a war to get us all together at this table.” He looked at Adam and spoke with a rueful shake of his head, “I’m no good at speeches, but this is one that I must make—”

He paused and looked awkward, then made a futile gesture with his hands. “Adam, I don’t know how to put this, but you’ve saved the family—my family, anyway. God knows you had no reason to! We’ve not given you cause to love us.” At this point his mother seemed to shrink, and Dorcas flushed and looked steadily down at the table. Charles seemed to struggle for words, found none, so he said in a whisper, “Thank you, Adam—for what you’ve done.”

Adam was shifting uneasily in his chair, and he blurted out, “Why, Charles, there’s no need for all this! What sort of brother would I be if I didn’t do what little I could for you? Let’s say no more about it, if you please.”

Charles smiled faintly and shook his head. “I know you didn’t do it for thanks, Adam.” His eyes lifted to the portrait of Miles Winslow, their father, on the wall, and he said, “I
look
like Father—but you’ve always
been
like him!”

The compliment took Adam aback, and he looked up at the painting. “He was a man, Charles, wasn’t he? I wish we had more like him these days.”

“Why, Captain Winslow, you shouldn’t say that!” All eyes turned toward Abigail as she’d known they would. She gave Adam a smile and said, “I’m sure your father was a wonderful man—but you have a son who’s going to do great things! The House of Winslow will be one of the great families in this new country!”

Nathan twisted uncomfortably in his chair as Abigail went on, and he said finally, “Oh, Abigail, I’ve done nothing. Everything I’ve done’s been wrong!”

“That’s not so!” Julie blurted out her thought, then tried to shrink into the chair. She had said not a word to anyone except Anne, feeling totally out of place.

Abigail stared at her, and she lost her smile for an instant, but quickly said, “I’m sure you must have high regard for Nathan, Miss Sampson.” She paused and then added with a clipped edge to her words, “After all, it would be better I suppose for a woman who did what you did to have one man for a
friend
—than a whole squad!”

A shocked silence followed this taunt. They all realized that Abigail was accusing Julie of being a common woman—and Nathan of being a party to her behavior.

Abigail knew at once that she had gone too far, and tried quickly to modify the harsh charge. “I—I don’t mean to imply . . .”

“We all know exactly what you mean, Abigail!” Paul stood up suddenly and there was a fine perspiration on his lip. His eyes were fixed on Abigail and his voice was harsh. He was usually so easygoing that the transformation was shocking.

“Paul, I’m sure Abigail meant nothing by the remark,” Charles said quickly.

Paul stared at his father, then said in a quieter voice, “Father, you’ve told me many times lately that it was a sadness
to you that after all Adam’s done for you, there’s nothing you can do for him, haven’t you?”

“Why, yes, I have.”

“Well, there’s one thing we can do for him, and I propose to do it!”

“Paul! You’re drunk!” Abigail said quickly.

“Yes, Abigail, I am drunk. And it’s a shame that a man has to get drunk to do the right thing! But drunk or sober, my dear, we’re going to have some truth tonight!”

“Paul, please don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Abigail had been glaring at him angrily, but she suddenly grew gentle, and there was a softness in her tone.

“Regret?” he echoed, staring at her. He laughed harshly and said bitterly, “I’ve regretted just about everything I’ve ever done—but tonight I’m going to do the right thing.” He settled back on his heels and stared at the Winslows. “Uncle Adam, as my father has said, you’ve saved our family—but he’s wrong when he says there’s nothing we can do for you—I’m going to save
your
family.”

Adam and Molly had been mortified by the scene, and now Adam stared at his nephew. “Paul, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking, Uncle Adam, about Nathan.”

“Nathan?”

“Oh, yes! And I’m talking about his intended bride, Miss Abigail Howland.”

Nathan stood up suddenly, his eyes bright with anger. “Paul, shut your mouth!”

“No, I won’t do that, Nathan,” Paul said evenly, and then he got a strange look in his eye. “Honor—that’s always been important to the Winslow men, hasn’t it, Uncle Adam?”