The Midwife's Revolt

by Jodi Daynard

  “Of course,” I said. Eliza had not mentioned these Whipple slaves previously, and I was surprised that she knew them as intimately as it now appeared.

  I sat up, donned my stays and gown as Eliza explained the route, and set off. When I returned an hour later with my charges, I was obliged to rap long and loudly upon the door, for both Eliza and her babe were dead to the world.

  “A moment,” Eliza finally called. She opened the door. Within the chamber, it was pitch-dark. No moon shone through the window.

  I, however, held a double candle, which no doubt afforded Eliza a good view of the Whipple slaves, and, to her very great surprise, Colonel Langdon himself.

  Three slaves then entered the chamber and swarmed Johnny like the magi about baby Jesus. One was tall and proud-looking; the girl, perhaps sixteen, must have been Dinah. The third was a bent old man whose age I could not guess. This was Jupiter, I later learned, Eliza’s uncle’s old coachman.

  Sighs, exclamations, and tender clasping of hands all finally served to wake the sleeping babe, at which point the visitors took him up in their arms, each begging for a turn.

  Colonel Langdon—a very tall, fair man in his mid-thirties—seemed embarrassed by this unbounded affection between Miss Boylston and the Whipple slaves.

  “It’s dark as a tomb in here, Eliza,” I said, setting my candle down and searching for another.

  Just as soon as they arrived, it seemed, the slaves tearfully departed. They said they dared not be long absent from their home, as curfew neared.

  Colonel Langdon remained. Sensing that he wished to speak to Eliza alone, I turned toward the hallway. I then heard, rather than saw, all that transpired:

  “Miss Boylston, I see you have earned the love and trust of those who most often find us undeserving of either.”

  “Yes, well. They were kind to me when my so-called equals were not,” she said simply. “Do you wish to sit?”

  “Nay—please. Miss Boylston, I have news as will gladden and pain you at once. Your anticipation must be very great, and so I shall be direct. Watkins—John Watkins—”

  “Is he well?”

  “He is better than he was.”

  “What mean you?”

  The colonel hesitated. Then he finally said, “I’m afraid he—took a beating.”

  Eliza cried out and bent forward in her pain. Herein began a tale of meanness and treachery to harrow up one’s soul. And yet, as I listened to the colonel, even through Eliza’s sobbing, I began to discern the man’s steely conviction, an intent to help Watkins despite the risk to himself and others.

  “We shall find a way, Miss Boylston. Do not fear. It may take some time.”

  “Time,” she repeated miserably.

  Colonel Langdon replied, “You must feel entirely alone. But rest assured: there are others like me—even those in power.” Colonel Langdon then broke off these cryptic remarks, as if he’d already said too much. “But excuse me. You must be exhausted.” He then bowed and took his leave.

  “An impressive man,” I said once the colonel had gone.

  “Yes. The best of men.”

  “And an impressive woman.”

  Eliza said nothing, but I continued. “Until this day, Eliza, I don’t believe I knew you truly. Though we have been as sisters these ten months, I didn’t understand your character. I’m frankly in awe. Well and truly in awe.”

  Eliza smiled wanly. “You didn’t realize the depth of my love for . . . those you would not have expected me to love.”

  “No,” I said. “That much I freely admit.”

  “Don’t admire me so very greatly, Lizzie. Since I was a small child, I have lived in kitchens. My life was cold, and I sought the warmth. My life was small, and their lives bestowed upon me a depth of experience I hadn’t known. What’s more”—here, she stifled a smile—“I thought—I still think—John Watkins by far the handsomest man I ever laid eyes on.”

  “Well!” I replied, heartened to glean Eliza’s lightened spirits, “why didn’t you say so in the first place? A woman needs no further explanation.”

  Suddenly, Johnny, whom we had thought to be asleep, sat up with an annoyed expression. “Mama!” he cried imperiously. Eliza and I looked at each other in amazement. We had just heard the child’s first word.

  41

  JOHNNY FELL ASLEEP for the night at around ten, as I did, though the air in the chamber was hot and close. Eliza remained awake but must have dozed off, for at some hour deep in the night, we were both awakened by a soft knock.

  “Lizzie,” she whispered, terrified, “that must be him. Oh, what do I do?”

  “Open the door,” I said, bracing her by her shoulders and giving her a push. Eliza got up and approached the door. Then she opened it.

  Standing before her was a man of medium height, with a thick head of curls and stunning aqua-blue eyes. Their expression was of a tenderness that cannot be described . . .

  “A moment,” Eliza whispered, then turned to me. “Lizzie, this is John Watkins. My John.”

  I rose bashfully, as I was in my shift. I curtsied, then said, “Excuse me. I’ll be just there, beyond the door. I can keep watch.”

  “I remain not long,” Watkins replied. “The colonel waits for me below.”

  His voice was deep, resonant, and refined. If I had imagined he would sound in any way uncouth, I was at once sorely disabused.

  I glanced at John Watkins, then turned to Eliza, eyes wide. Yes, my eyes said. He is the handsomest man in the world.

  Then I noticed the dirty linen sling which held his bandaged right arm. I wondered what had happened to him but dared not ask. With his left hand, he took Eliza’s hand in his. She kissed it, then moved to the bed and lifted her child in her arms.

  “Your son,” she said, holding Johnny out to him. “Isn’t he amazing? He called me Mama today.”

  Watkins gazed down at his child, his eyes taking in the boy’s every part. Tenderly, close to breaking, he caressed the child’s head.

  “Amazing, yes. Don’t wake him just yet, though,” he said.

  “No,” Eliza agreed.

  I left the chamber then, and they shut the door upon me.

  He left in the dead of night; I stood guard the entire time. When I finally returned to the chamber, dead on my feet, I asked Eliza no questions. They would keep till the morrow.

  At breakfast we sat in one of the tavern’s small public rooms, where we drank coffee and ate a fine plate of ham and eggs. After ten minutes of silence, I began to giggle. The harder I tried to squelch my laughter, the worse the urge became.

  “Oh, Eliza,” I blurted at last, “I must have at least some details. Do tell me something and put me out of my misery. For I’m to be an old maid and must live vicariously.”

  “You’re a depraved being,” Eliza scolded me. She gave me no prurient details, especially as we were in a public place. But she did say, “Oh, you should have seen him with Johnny. You should have seen his tenderness.”

  I stopped laughing, and my eyes grew tearful at the thought of John Watkins holding his son for the first time.

  “It is enough. Thank you.”

  Eliza grasped my hand beneath the table in silent gratitude. Just as we were finishing our breakfast, a messenger approached us with a letter for me. I had been expecting no letter and felt it could only be bad news. I opened it quickly, but the messenger boy just stood there until I fished a penny from my pocket and handed it to him.

  After a moment, I stood up and let out a cry of joy.

  “Look, Eliza. Look!”

  I proffered the letter, which was from Colonel Quincy, but gave her no time at all to peruse it.

  “My Harry is in Braintree, Eliza. We must leave at once.”

  42

  IT WILL BE apparent to any astute reader that my joy was Eliza’s misery, but she pac
ked her things and left without a word. At least, I consoled myself, she had seen John. And she had been given every assurance by Colonel Langdon himself that help would be forthcoming. However, Eliza said nothing on the trip home, but sat gazing at some distant point beyond the road, and I did not intrude upon her private thoughts.

  Our carriage was just pulling down the bumpy lane to the cottage when I beheld a tan, thin figure wave his arms at us in the summer light. He was loping down through the dunes from the great house, and at the sight of us began to run. He was tall, and as we drew closer I saw that he had a faint blond beard and sandy locks, loose and wavy as a girl’s.

  The carriage pulled up to our house at last. It was then I saw the man who had once been my little brother.

  How often had I dreamed of him? Despaired of him? Dozens of times. And yet, no power of imagination could have aided me in guessing his fair likeness now.

  I jumped down out of the carriage and went running. Harry looked puzzled. Was I so greatly altered? No, it was the light, only the bright summer light, which had cast me in silhouette.

  “Harry!” I stopped short of him. Then, knowing it was I for certain, he came flying into my arms.

  Oh, to feel my brother’s arms around me! Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood!

  I buried my head in his shoulder, felt his thin yet strong arms. He had lost flesh and gained a foot in height since I’d seen him last. Though handsome and strong, he looked as if he had starved. I wished to feed him soon. I shut my eyes and let myself feel his breath and his heartbeat, and we stood there some minutes before I wiped my tears and said, “But it is a hot day. You must be wishing for refreshment.”

  Harry laughed. “Indeed, Sister, it is hot. But I am used to hotter.”

  I signaled to the coachman to approach the house. Once we had entered and bade the coachman follow with our trunks, I made tea. Eliza declined refreshment and went upstairs to find Martha, which left Harry and me alone together in the parlor.

  Harry looked about the parlor and made an ironical face. “Poor sister. The sacrifices you have had to make.”

  “Tut!” I said, knowing him to be teasing me, as he always had when we were children. I found his behavior reassuring, for it told me he had not changed greatly.

  “Well, you shall fare better by and by,” he hinted, eyeing the rough and dirty sacks he had stashed by the door.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Shall I show you, then?”

  “Let us rest an hour, so that we may better appreciate your gifts, if such they be.”

  “I’ll let you judge, Sister.”

  “Oh, Harry! I can’t believe it’s you!” I rose and embraced him once more, nearly toppling us backward in the chair.

  He laughed and hugged me to him.

  I repaired to my chamber, where I found Eliza and Johnny asleep on my bed. Martha sat by their side, caressing Eliza’s hair.

  “Poor thing,” Martha whispered. “I fear she is very low.”

  “It’s my fault.”

  “No, Lizzie. Who could begrudge you a reunion with your brother?”

  I shrugged, lay down next to Eliza and Johnny, and soon joined them both in slumber.

  When I awoke, I was alone in the chamber. I washed my face, took salt to my teeth, combed my hair, and availed myself of the chamber pot, too impatient to slip out to the necessary.

  Harry and Martha were below, chatting gaily, he regaling her and Eliza with his tales of the pirate’s life.

  “And dost thou wish to see thy bounty now?” He bowed toward me.

  “Indeed I do.” I laughed. “But Harry, I’m alarmed.”

  “Oh, don’t be,” he said. “We divided it all fair and square, with the lion’s share sent off to His Excellency for the troops. And Sister, you mustn’t call me Harry any more. I am all grown up now. My mates call me Henry.”

  “Pardon me,” I intoned facetiously. “But I will call you Harry. I dislike the name Henry, which will suit you perfectly when you are a toothless old man.”

  “Let us see what you have, then, Harry,” Martha said impatiently, for she had been waiting for hours while I slept.

  “Your maid is a prickly one,” he said, turning to me. Then he pivoted and bowed to her, saying, “Here we go, Your Bossiness.”

  Martha had already known Harry for two days, and I felt a slight envy that they had already established a teasing familiarity with one another.

  Eliza smiled wanly, clutching Johnny to her. Martha merely scowled.

  Can I explain the delight we felt, even Eliza, at having a man in the house? Can I describe my delight in having this dear, handsome, vigorous relation? I cannot. But perhaps I can begin to describe the almost instant camaraderie that sprang up between my fair brother and my friends:

  Johnny gripped his mother’s shoulder and his green eyes gazed with curiosity at Harry while I dragged the sacks from the door to the center of the parlor. Eliza caught my eye, and she smiled as best she could for my delight.

  Harry now splayed himself out upon the floor, the first sack between his two long legs. He unloosed the rope about the sack’s neck and began to lift the contents out. As he did so, he looked at each item, held it up, and announced its entrance into the world like a newborn babe. Out they came, to my and Martha’s unending chorus of exclamations.

  “Two pounds Demerara sugar,” he announced, setting the paper-wrapped block aside.

  “Ooh!”

  “Coffee. Jamaican. Four pounds.”

  “Ah!”

  “Bohea tea. Two pounds.”

  “It cannot be true!” Eliza blurted, clasping her hands together.

  “Calico. Twelve yards.”

  “Martha, only think of it!” I said. “With such fabric we can make new frocks for all three of us.”

  All the while, my handsome brother continued to laugh good-naturedly at us. When he came to the bottom of the first sack, he tossed it aside and asked, “Shall I open the second sack, then?”

  To cries of “Yes!” and “Don’t stop now!” Harry untied the neck of the second sack and resumed his recitation.

  “Ten pounds of wheat flour.”

  “But it can’t be,” I said, amazed, for not even the Quincys had such a quantity of flour. The entire North Parish had not so much.

  “Yes, it can and is.” He smiled at me. Seeing my delighted, childish face, he bent to kiss me.

  The second sack included salt pork, hard cheese, a dozen oranges, raisins, and fourteen pounds sterling.

  At the sight of the oranges, I rose.

  “I shall give Star an orange. He will love it. I myself have not had one since our dear mother was alive.”

  “Oh, Sister,” Harry called, glancing sideways at Martha, “when I tell you my stories you won’t believe me. I shall tell of a place where oranges grow so thick on the trees you could just reach up and pick one any time you like. And lemons, too.”

  “Tomorrow, I’ll make you an orange cake,” I said exultantly, “and shall invite the Quincys. It will be a homecoming celebration.”

  “I accept without hesitation.” He bowed facetiously, his sandy curls flopping over his face.

  I smiled. “Yes, I must go to them shortly and tell them they’re welcome tomorrow evening.”

  “They have been very kind,” he agreed. “These past three nights I have enjoyed such comfort as I have not had in many years.”

  “Perhaps you would like to remain there?” I inquired. He might prefer having Dr. Franklin’s room overlooking the dunes (so-called for it being the doctor’s room when he visited) rather than the dairy overlooking the cheese.

  “Oh, no,” he said, seeing he had wounded me, though the wound was but a slight one. “I would rather sleep on a dirt floor and drink that hard Liberty tea of yours than be away from you now, sweet Lizzie.” />
  “In that case, you shall be very happy here.”

  With that, I ran to the barn, calling, “Star! Look what I have for you!” My brother left to get his things from the great house and to invite the Quincys to dine with us on the morrow.

  Before he left, I shouted to him, “Oh, Harry—kindly ask the Quincys to let Abigail know you are arrived, and that she’s welcome to join us tomorrow.”

  “Abigail? You mean Mrs. John Adams? Why, I’ve already met her,” he informed me, much to my surprise. “She came just yesterday, to glean news of you from Martha.”

  “Well, then,” I amended, “if the Quincys could but extend her the invitation . . .”

  He nodded his reassurance and was off.

  Harry ended up staying with the Quincys for an hour or so, having entered into a conversation with Colonel Quincy about the progress of the war, while I returned to my friends.

  I found only Martha. Eliza was feeding Johnny.

  “How like you him?” I asked her as we worked by the small fire, preparing supper. We were used to delaying our gratification and didn’t even think to avail ourselves of our treasure trove.

  “He is sweet-natured and also giving, like you,” she said simply.

  “And quite handsome, too, don’t you find?”

  Martha blushed a deep crimson color. Then she sought to change the subject. “Is he much changed, Lizzie?” she asked after taking up a potato to peel.

  “Oh, yes. I should not have known him. He was a boy when I said good-bye to him. And he looks poorly nourished, though none of his cheer has diminished.”

  “Know you how long he plans to stop?”

  “Presumably some weeks, at least.”

  “Where shall we put him? He’s tall.” She spoke the words as if discussing the arrival of a new loom.

  I considered. “He may have a pallet in the parlor if he wishes, but I imagine he shall prefer the dairy, as it has a door.”