“If we went to Boston, might we learn the names?”
“If I know your brother, though they have him in chains, it will not be for long. All the confiscated goods are sold at insane prices, and people are paying them. I cannot imagine a woman so desperate for perfume as one in Virginia I have heard about this day. Six pounds and ten for a bottle no bigger than a finger.”
I laughed with derision. “Ha. When perhaps a bath might serve the purpose better,” I added, and rolled over onto my side. “It was probably our beloved Mistress Spencer.”
He formed himself to me, his head raised above mine on his hand so that he could whisper, and said, “There is other news. I brought home a pamphlet for you to read in the morning when there is light. I have to return it tomorrow so the next family may read it. There will be a new tax now, on every tree I cut. Not enough that I break my own back or hire a man for sixpence to cut it, but I must pay a tax as if the king owned the tree itself though it is on unclaimed or private land where I have paid for a right to cut lumber.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“There is more. The British army is landed. They say there is too much snubbing of our noses at the Crown. They have put an extra five hundred men in Boston.”
I felt myself begin to tremble, but I tried to sound as if I cared not at all. “Boston? Is it so dangerous a place?” I thought of August. How long would he be able to skirt Wallace Spencer’s reach?
“In Boston, newspapers and pamphlets come out every week with articles about the army trampling the common rights of every British citizen. Someone sent a letter of complaint to the House of Lords. Their reply was to send more troops, with promise of a thousand more by the end of the year. No doubt they will live with us again.”
“This is ludicrous.”
He shrugged and said again, “The king is mad.”
*
By the first of March, Gwyneth and Roland’s new cottage was nearly finished. All that lacked were furnishings, but Cullah worked on what they needed from his shop. In April we received a parcel from August. It took two men to lift it from the cart and set it inside my door. “Will ye have me cleave ’er open, Missus?” the driver asked.
Just knowing August was enough to make me wary of that. “No, thank you. My husband will take care of it when he comes home. Would you have food and cider?”
He smiled. “Thankee, kindly, Missus. ’Ow ’bout you, boy? Want to eat? ’E don’t talk much, now. Our Davey boy ’ere is good and honest, though ’e needs someone to ’old a steady ’and on ’is rudder. A bit loosened in the noggin, ’e is.” The man accepted a plate and took the bread, formed it into a roll around the meat, and passed to Davey. He made a similar roll for himself and they both drank heartily after wolfing down the food. As he finished, I took two pennies from my pocket and offered them to him. “No, thankee, kind lady. I been well paid afore-hand. ’Is lordship what asked me to deliver these goods ’as instructed me to not accept your money but with delicate thanks, as ’e ’as give me a week’s wages to do this ’ere.”
“He is a generous fellow, that,” I said.
“’E is, indeed, Missus.” The fellow and his helper went on their way.
Cullah returned home to find the crate sitting in the parlor doorway. I could not move it. “Have you ordered something?” he asked.
“My brother sends his regards, and apparently his worldly goods. It took two men to get it there. I do not know what it is, Cullah, but I trow you must open it right there and we shall unload it a piece at a time.”
“Do you think he smuggled himself to us?” Cullah took a wedging tool and worked at the nails until he got the top off the box. The first layer was a sealed paper flat upon a woven blanket. He handed me the letter. “Better read that,” he said.
Gentle R, I trust you have means to hold this until the blackbird calls. Keep it as clean as can be managed. There is something in the smaller casket for your house. I will come for it. Forever your humble and affectionate servant, —A.
Cullah raised the blanket. We looked in, then at each other without a word. Below the blanket was an artillery piece. A cannon, so new it shone. A small iron version of those I had seen on the ships, but new, unused, and cushioned in wood chips, wrapped with rope for lifting. He tugged on it. “I will have to get Roland.”
It took both of them with Jacob helping to get it from the crate and into the parlor by the fireplace where it sat like a monster with a single great eye, staring at us.
I asked, “Should it not be in the barn?”
Cullah said, “He said to keep it clean, which means the house. You wouldn’t want it to rust, after all. How about the basement?”
“You cannot expect me to trip over that thing daily.”