“I came to see if you are warm enough,” I said. “Sorry if I awakened you. I could not sleep thinking you might be cold up here.”
“As long as I undress quickly, I am warm enough once I have the coverlets on.”
I held the candle up to see her face. “Do you have need of another?”
“No, Mistress.”
“You will tell me, please, if you do? And tell me if any of my children are cross with you, or tease you? I will not have them being unkind or rude. You are not a slave. You shall withstand no ill-treatment in my house. Report it to me at once.”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
“And, America?”
“Yes?”
“I will get another bed warmer that you may use each night.”
“Thank you, Mistress. You are far more kind than, than I had expected.”
“Good night, then.”
I was not a lenient mistress as mistresses go. I bade America clean floors and launder from morn till night, taught her to bake before the hearth and to season meats and puddings, that last with an eye to her fitness as a wife someday. We purchased an extra brass bed warmer, which she could fill with coals any evening she chose to carry it upstairs, and every evening the bed warmers stood waiting their charging by the great hearth like so many muskets waiting for their soldiers to do battle against the cold and damp. In most chores she was compliant, even happy. America could have gone to any home as a maid-of-all-work. I did not ask why it suited her to work in my employ. If ever I thought of my life at the home of her parents, it was with a mixture of thankfulness and sad regret, anger and pity.
CHAPTER 25
October 4, 1746
After the first chill of fall, an Indian summer came upon us, and the balmy days with cool nights, gentle breezes, lifted Cullah’s dark spirits, for he had not been the same since the news of Culloden, worried every night about lurking evil. I tried my best to entertain the family with stories of Jamaica, and was surprised, now that I had an audience, how much I remembered. The colors of the place came back to me as I spoke, and I imagined embroidering with those shades, when I ever had time again to work at my own craft, and just the thought of it filled me with joy.
The next morning being Sabbath, we were up early preparing for the Meeting. Jacob and Cullah went to the field to hitch our wagon to the one plow horse we now owned. America was busy trying to get Barbara’s and Gwyneth’s plaited hair to stay under their caps, for she had not done them well and she kept having to start again.
I put Grandan into new clouties and went to replace my house apron with a clean one. Cullah came through the door. His countenance was ruddy, his eyes flashing. He lowered his brows when he saw my face and pointed to the door at the stairs to the lower room of stone. “It is about a cross.”
I said, “America, take the children out to the wagon.”
“It is a gumboo cross,” Cullah said. “They should stay inside the house.”
“Stay in and bar the door,” I told her. When I caught the look on her face, I said, “Ask me no questions. Do as I say.”
“But Mr. Jacob?” America asked.
“Do as you are told,” Cullah commanded her with a voice so low it gave me even greater fear. Then he turned and went ahead of me down the stairs. As I reached the floor, he made sure none of the children or America could hear him before he said, “Soldiers are approaching from Concord. It looks to be at least a dozen. They are armed.”
“Perhaps they are but passing us on their way to Boston.”
“Pa has hidden in the woods. Are you able to proceed to Meeting without me?”
“Of course. But if you wish not to go, we shall all stay here.”
“It would be better for the children not to be here to witness, well, anything.”
“Eadan.” I looked at the fear mixed with determination in his face and said, “I will do as you say, then.” I started up the steps but turned halfway up.
He stood upon my bench and pushed back the panel in the ceiling, then drew out his broadsword and axe. I raced down the few stairs and threw myself against him. “Promise me, husband, promise this, that you will not value your honor and your pride above the life of your children’s father.”
“Resolute, a man without pride and honor is not a man, and not fit to be a father.”
I held his face between my hands and kissed his lips, trembling as I did. I whispered, “Wear my kiss upon your lips then for a trophy if you would be a knight. Weave your strength with my love and with God’s wisdom for a shield if you would be a living one.” I sped up the stairs, determined not to look back. And I did not.
“America, we shall proceed to Meeting. I will drive the wagon,” I said to her, with as much confidence in my voice as I could pretend, for I had never driven a wagon, not one time since we married. The children clamored but I said, as I shook the reins, “Your papa has much to do this day and wishes us all to partake of the blessings of Meeting Day. We will see him later. Then we will have a celebration.”