The Schoolmaster's Daughter (15 page)

“But those soldiers, why—”

They entered the kitchen, and Abigail stopped. Benjamin Church, who was seated at the table, pushed back his chair and got to his feet. Today he was wearing a wig, and he bowed, saying, “Abigail, it's good to see you again.”

“You went out of Boston, and have returned?”

“I am in the ‘care' of General Gage himself,” the doctor said. “He has allowed me some freedom of movement, though with an escort, as you see.”

They sat at the table and Rachel skillfully poured Abigail a cup of tea while she balanced her sleeping son on her shoulder. “Dr. Church has brought word from Paul,” she said. “He is safe.”

“Yes,” Benjamin Church said. “He acquitted himself brilliantly the night before the redcoats engaged the militia in Lexington and Concord. He rode through the countryside sounding the alarm, and at one point he was captured by several British officers, only to elude them and outrun them on horseback. There were numerous riders alerting the towns, but at dawn Paul found himself in Lexington, where he warned John Hancock and Sam Adams that they needed to flee before the British expedition arrived. They got away from Lexington just in time, with his assistance, and I understand that as the militia faced off against the redcoats, Paul and another patriot were carrying Hancock's trunk out of the village.”

Abigail glanced at Rachel, who was smiling proudly, and then she looked back at the doctor. “A trunk?”

“A trunk containing papers belonging to Adams and Hancock,” Benjamin Church said. “If those documents had fallen into the hands of the British, there's no knowing what damage could have been done. By now, they should be on their way to the Continental Congress in Philadelphia.”

“I see.”

“John Hancock, a true patriot, though he tends to complicate matters.” Benjamin Church ran a hand back over his wig, and for the briefest moment he seemed on the verge of a smile. “Hancock's one of the wealthiest men in Boston—inherited money, you know—and he can be … an irritant. Evidently, he's traveling not just with Sam Adams, but they're also accompanied by his fiancée
and
her mother. And in the midst of battle there was some business about a fish, a rather good-sized salmon, I understand, which in their haste to depart Lexington they had left behind. I'm not certain, but I believe Hancock sent Paul back in harm's way to retrieve their dinner.”

“Which he did?” Abigail asked.

“Admirably so, I'm sure,” the doctor said. “Really, it would be better if Hancock were on the other side. Of course, there have been times when he has exhibited a tendency to … sway. As for the fish—no one knows what became of that salmon.”

Abigail hadn't touched her teacup. Her brother was missing and the doctor was telling a story about a fish. Benjamin Church seemed to avoid her eyes, which she found perplexing. And yet there was always this sense that he was watching her, waiting for some indication from her. Of what, she was not certain. “Doctor, please tell me. Have you any word about my younger brother? We've not heard from Benjamin since you and Dr. Warren sent him to the Neck with William Dawes. Do you have any idea what's become of him?”

Warily, it seemed, Church stared at her now and said, “None, I'm afraid. Under these circumstances, people go missing—first my apprentice, Ezra, and now your brother. You might say they are lost to a cause.” He glanced at Rachel a moment. “But consider the alternative, remaining together under the yoke of tyranny.”

“True,” Rachel said, “there's no safety in that.”

Church straightened up in his chair, as though he were attempting to show resolve by example. “I can tell you both that thousands of men have gathered and encamped outside the city. More are arriving every day. I trust the men you care about—Ezra, Benjamin, and Paul—are among them, and that they're in good company. Where this is headed and how long this will go on, it's impossible to say.”

“Yes, we are now under siege,” Abigail said. “It's quite remarkable that you reentered Boston.”

“Someone had to,” Church said.

“You might have been shot on sight,” Rachel said. “Or hanged.”

“We must all accept risks,” he said. “I am in custody, though I'm afforded a certain cordiality and latitude. And I will be allowed to leave the city again in order to conduct General Gage's response to Dr. Warren regarding the evacuation that's about to begin. It will surely make for difficulties, but it's important that both sides maintain the ability to communicate.”

“Of course.” Rachel patted her son's back as she looked at Abigail. “Paul has requested that I send him socks and linen. But what he really needs is money, and I'm going to send it out to him, through Dr. Church. One hundred and twenty-five pounds.”

“A hundred and twenty-five?” Abigail said.
“Pounds?”

“I know,” Rachel said. “It's a goodly sum, but there's no knowing how long he'll have to stay out in the country. Paul's mother has gone to relatives to seek their assistance.”

Dr. Church got to his feet. “I shouldn't keep my escort waiting too long. They get suspicious, you understand. I would be happy to convey the money to your husband, but we must make the transaction quickly because I will have leave Boston soon—tomorrow.”

“Paul's mother should return by evening,” Rachel said. “I'll have it by tonight.”

“Excellent,” Church said, but then he hesitated. “But I'm not sure I will be allowed to return here again.”

“I see …” Rachel said, exasperated.

Abigail said, “I suppose that I could deliver it for you.”

“That would best,” Rachel said.

Now Benjamin Church stared directly at Abigail. “And perhaps you might bring it to my surgery tomorrow morning?”

“Certainly,” she said.

“I regret to make such a request of you on the Sabbath, but I expect I'll depart for the country by midday.”

“I understand, Doctor,” Abigail said.

He gave the slightest bow and then left the kitchen.

Rachel got up and said to the doctor, “I'll see you out.” She brought the baby around the table and handed him to Abigail.

Swaddled in his blanket, the child conformed easily to Abigail's shoulder, and the top of his warm head rested against her cheek. He had recently been bathed, for the fine hair that brushed lightly against her skin held the faintest smell of lye soap.

When Rachel returned to the kitchen, she cast an assessing eye upon Abigail. “That baby is fast asleep in your arms. Usually, he'd be wailing by now. You hold him for a spell—you need the practice.”

“Stop.”

Rachel grinned as she went to the kitchen door. “Come with me.”

They went out into the dooryard, attracting a flock of chickens, and crossed the yard to Paul's workshop, next to the stable. Inside the workshop were a forge and a large stone chimney, and along one wall stood a workbench fitted with several anvils and blocks, above which hung the tools of a silversmith: clamps, hammers, pliers, saws, chisels, awls. Rachel took a small wooden box down from a shelf and placed it on the workbench; then she got a crock from another shelf. After removing the lid, she took out a wad of paper money. Slowly, she peeled off bills and smoothed them out on the bench.

“We will need more,” she said. “Paul's mother believes she can raise at least fifty.”

She opened the wooden box, which contained a quill, an inkpot, and a sheaf of foolscap. Finally, when she had everything laid out, she regarded Abigail for a long moment. “I see the way he—”

“What are you saying?”

“Dr. Church—I see the way he avoids looking at you, as though he's afraid to give himself away.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were courted by his apprentice, and something went wrong there, am I right?” After a moment, Rachel smiled. “You're so tight-lipped. I'm now an old married woman, but I still have an eye for these things. What happened between you and Ezra—”

“Nothing.”

“I see. All that trysting, and it comes to nothing. Things didn't go a bit too far?”

“Rachel—”

“Ha!
Are you blushing because it's none of my business, or because I'm right?” Before Abigail could answer, Rachel said, “Doesn't matter whether I'm right or not, though, does it? What matters is what the good Doctor Benjamin Church thinks.” She suddenly laughed. “These older men—I married one of them, remember? They get on the scent and then they circle.”

“What do you take me for?”

“Quarry! Ah now, that cuts you to the quim, doesn't it!”

“You're despicable—”

“Indeed I am,” Rachel said, delighted. Then she whispered, “You do understand that Dr. Church has a wife?”

“Yes, I've heard this is so.”

“Yet she is a woman seldom seen, mind you.” Rachel took up the quill and dipped its point into the inkpot. “But this
other
, she can be quite public and extravagant in her ways.”

“What other?”

Rachel ignored the question and commenced to write on the foolscap. There was only the sound of the quill scratching across the page. She worked slowly, leaning to her task. When she paused to dip the quill again, she said, “I'm obliged to you for taking this money to his house, but I'm afeared, too.”

“Rachel, be plain.”

“Plainly, he keeps another woman. But then this is not so uncommon in Boston.” Rachel glanced up from her work and light from the window cut across her face, illuminating her right eye. “Even your own brother, James—before he was married, he kept that woman, right? She was somewhat older, I understand, and she had a son, which she took with her to—where was it?”

Abigail sighed. “New York.”

“New York, yes, a city full of Boston bastards, it is. But at least your brother's the well-bred kind and I'll bet he sends her a regular assistance.”

“I wouldn't know,” Abigail said. “It was years ago.”

“I wouldn't know,” Rachel mimicked. “It was years ago.”

“It's not my business, anyway.”

“There
you go, love. Mind your own business.” Rachel laughed again. “They're like a bad tooth, men. The ache never quite goes away.”

She continued to compose her letter, and Abigail said nothing. The baby's arms and legs struggled within the blanket, and she softly patted his back. When Rachel was finished, she laid the quill back in the box and took out a small bottle; after removing the cork, she sprinkled sand on the ink.

Rachel picked up the piece of paper, bent it so that she could pour the sand back in the bottle, and then laid the sheet on the bench in front of Abigail. “Tell me, schoolmaster's daughter, does this suffice?”

My dear, by Doct'r Church I send a hundred & twenty-five pounds & beg you will take the best care of yourself & not attempt coming into this towne again & if I have an opportunity of coming or sending out any of the children I shall do it. Pray keep up your spirits & trust yourself & us in the Hands of a good God who will take care of us. Tis all my dependence, for vain is the help of man. Adieu my Love
.

From your Affectionate R. Revere

“It's fine,” Abigail said.

“Now,” Rachel said, counting the wad of notes on the bench. “I hope Mother returns with the rest of the money. Please come by in the morning, the earlier the better, I think. You will do me a great kindness in conveying this to Dr. Church. I don't wish to put you in harm's way, but—”

“I'm glad to help, Rachel.” The baby, nestled against Abigail's neck, began to stir and whimper.

“Seriously,” Rachel said, putting a hand on Abigail's cheek. “I don't know what I'd do without you. I would miss you so.” Her eyes suddenly grew large, brimming with tears.

“Rachel, if you could get the children out of Boston, would you go?”

Nodding, her tears ran down her cheeks. “It's
you
who are despicable. That's the question, all right. Their father is out there,” Rachel said as she lifted the baby off Abigail's shoulder. “The thought of leaving Boston frightens me so. It is all I've ever known.” Unbuttoning her dress, she eased her son's mouth to her breast. “But then if we stay here,” she said, “what would happen to us?”

Abigail walked home, pausing several times in doorways to wait out an intermittent spring shower. When she entered School Street, there was a redcoat standing outside the door of her house, speaking to her mother; it wasn't Lumley, so Abigail approached as the young soldier walked off down the street.

“My dear, we are honored,” her mother said when Abigail reached the stoop, “so many messages from the British command.” Though she claimed to be a staunch supporter of her husband's political views, her comments to Abigail were at times rather sarcastic in tone, and she spoke them as though they shared a carefully guarded secret. “Now we have two—imagine, two in one afternoon! I look forward to the day when King George addresses us directly.” She led Abigail into the house.

“Two?” Abigail said, removing her damp shawl and hanging it on a wall peg.

“Earlier, General Gage sent a request that your father attend a meeting at Province House tomorrow. He's sending round a coach!” In the vestibule she handed Abigail a folded letter, sealed in wax. “And this just arrived for you, my dear. Far be it for me to inquire as to who is sending missives to my fair young daughter.” She walked down the hall toward the kitchen.

Abigail went into the parlor and, standing by the window, she broke the seal and opened the letter.

April 22, 1775

My Dear Miss Lovell
,

I am most grateful for your company the other night and only hope that I did not appear to be too much engrossed in the current events that have beleaguered you Bostonians. If it is not too Impertinent, nor too great an imposition, I wonder if we might meet again, for it would be a great benefit for this weary Soldier to bask for even a few minutes in Your Gentile Presence. However, the purpose of this request is not entirely selfish (though it is that, to be sure), in that I have, after making some discreet Inquiries, obtained information regarding the subjects we discussed, which I would very much like to convey to you personally. If this Proposition is agreeable to you, I would appreciate your meeting me this evening at the same time and place as before
.