My Name is Resolute

“Will you come inside with me?” I asked him. “I may be an hour or more.”

 

 

“To a lady’s tea? No, my love. I have suffered my share of torments. No, I will sit here. I will be your patient lackey. An hour’s quiet thinking will do me no harm.”

 

Margaret’s parlor fluttered with the silks and voices of many ladies. Most of them were well-dressed Tory wives making the best of their husbands’ dreary assignments when they had rather be in a drawing room in London. Margaret rushed to kiss my cheek and pet my hands. She was too flawy in her words, too demonstrative of affection, her fan waving about my head as she kissed me. When she drew away at last, I saw in my palm another silver shilling. Quickly as a butterfly in flight, she murmured, “Find a reason to go to the library and I shall meet you there.”

 

In the library, Margaret closed the doors. She all but scurried through the room, checking every nook for the presence of another. Then she came to me. “We must make a ruse that we are discussing books I should donate to a dame school you may plan to run.”

 

I paused. “Very well,” I said.

 

“Tonight. It is tonight. You must get home before sundown.”

 

“What is tonight?”

 

“Ressie, do not ask me to speak more plainly. Do what you have to do to get word to the committee as quickly as possible. Do not wait so much as an hour.”

 

“You know about the committee?”

 

“Everyone does. We don’t know who they are but we know that they exist. Thomas invited all these women here as a diversion for me. He thinks I have paid no attention. I can do no more than this, my friend, except to pray for your safety. They plan to break the rebellion starting tomorrow morning. Soldiers are mustering tonight.”

 

“How shall I make my exit from you?”

 

“Headaches are always convenient.” There was a rattle at the door. She raised her voice a bit. “And I should like you to mark every book that it was donated from my generous collection. I think that is nice, do you not?”

 

“I will not forget your generosity, my dear friend. The schoolchildren will always know it was you they should thank. May I send my maid for the volumes later, after you have chosen them?”

 

“Please do. Next week will be soon enough.”

 

“I find I have a dreadful headache and travel is preposterous with the conditions on the road. Would you feel slighted if I am excused, then?”

 

I turned to find there was indeed a woman standing at the door, listening to us. She said, “Margaret, dear? We wondered if you could tell us which of your cooks made the apple pudding. I should like her to teach it to my cook before Friday.”

 

Margaret tittered and flapped her fan before her face. The woman wanting pudding preceded us, I followed, and Margaret in the rear. I stopped at the front door where a butler held it ajar and bowed. I looked into Margaret’s eyes and saw there a flicker of emotion that stunned me. Her lips smiled but tears filled her eyes. She kissed my cheeks. “Fare well, my friend. Godspeed.” As soon as that, she smiled her winning smile and swept her gown up with her hands to join the other women. Violins played a duet somewhere in that grand room. As I slipped out the door the chatter of careless women nearly drowned out the music.

 

I told Cullah what Margaret had said as I stared at the bright shilling in my palm. He turned the wagon and drove down a side street to a wooden building with no sign out front. As he pulled to a stop, he leaned against my bonnet and whispered, “This is the back of the silversmith’s shop.”

 

Cullah went inside and I followed him. I could barely see for the darkness. He tapped his head twice. I made as if to adjust my bonnet, and touched the brim twice, also. At last the man said, “This is a private house. Looking for someone?”

 

Cullah said, “A friend of liberty.”

 

“Have you any news?”

 

“A little that needs telling, tonight.”

 

“Aye?”

 

“Tonight.”

 

“Who declares this?” It was Dr. Warren!

 

Cullah looked at me. He said, “Wife, tell him where you heard this.”

 

I gulped. “From a Patriot in the governor’s mansion.” I handed him the silver coin.

 

Dr. Warren took a breath and held it. “God preserve you on your way,” he said, and ran from the room.

 

Cullah inclined his head toward the door, took my elbow, and escorted me to it. Then, rather more loudly, he asked, “Will you give our regards to Benjamin? Tell him his father needs him.”