by Ann Rinaldi
“Honestly, Jemima, sometimes I don’t know what to do with you anymore,” Mama was saying. “I sent John out to look for you. He searched all over town. Why did you go to Grandfather Emerson’s?”
“Because she was off on one of her wild jaunts again with no thought for anyone but herself, that’s why,” Rebeckah said. “She ought to be whipped for worrying you so.”
“You’re one to talk,” I shot back. “You haven’t had any consideration for Mother since you’ve been home!”
“How dare you?” She stepped forward and grasped my good arm. “You little ruffian, how dare you speak to me like that.”
“I speak the truth. You’ve given Mother more heartache than anybody.”
She drew back her arm to slap me, but the next thing I knew John Reid was there restraining her. “That’s enough, Rebeckah. It isn’t your place to punish her.”
“Whose is it? Yours? You can’t even keep her from running off on her lessons when Mother is paying you so dearly. She’s out cavorting with Indians instead.”
Reid laughed. “So your grandfather Emerson is an Indian, eh? I knew there was some reason I didn’t marry you.”
“Your grandfather Emerson is not an Indian, Rebeckah,” Mama said, sharply.
“Well, he might as well be. He’s married to one. If he is, indeed, married. No wonder Jem feels so at home there, with that Indian servant, or whatever he is to Grandfather, hanging around.”
“You leave Canoe out of this,” I said. “He’s a good person. He escorted me to the outskirts of town.”
“Thank heaven he had the sense to stay on the outskirts. At least everyone didn’t see you riding with that savage.”
“He’s not a savage!”
“Dear, dear, this is intolerable.” Grandfather Henshaw sat mopping his brow.
“Rebeckah! Jem! For heaven’s sake, show some consideration for your mother, both of you!” John Reid spoke in his best schoolmaster’s tone.
Rebeckah calmed herself. “It wouldn’t be intolerable if Mother would take my suggestion,” she said. “I tell you, Mother, you’d do the right thing if you let me take her to Philadelphia.”
The room was suddenly silent. Mother had turned and was standing at the window, her back to us, rigid and silent.
“Mama? That isn’t why Becky and Grandfather are here, is it? You’re not sending me to Philadelphia.” I saw the smug look on Becky’s face and started to understand.
“You’d learn how to behave in civilized company at least,” Becky said. “One year in Philadelphia with me and you’d learn manners. I can promise you that.”
“Mama?” My voice cracked and my heart was hammering inside me.
“Go upstairs, Jem,” she said without turning around, “and clean yourself up and rest.”
The sobs started deep inside me and then the tears came. I didn’t know where to look. I put my hands to my face.
“Come here, Jem.” It was John Reid’s voice, but I didn’t move.
“Jemima Emerson, I said to come here.” He used his schoolmaster’s tone again. Numbly I went to him.
He looked at me, his brown eyes intent but not unkind. “Now, listen to me. Rebeckah says I can’t do anything with you. Do you want to prove her right?”
I couldn’t speak. I shook my head no.
“It looks as if I can’t. Not only to Rebeckah, but to your mama right now. She would have every right to terminate my services today. It seems as if I’ve failed as your tutor. Perhaps the only thing left for your mother to do is send you to Philadelphia.”
“I don’t want to go to Philadelphia, Mr. Reid,” I appealed.
“Then do as I say, and perhaps we can redeem this day. There will be no packing you off right now, not until your parents discuss this. So go to your sister and grandfather and kiss them goodbye.”
“Kiss Rebeckah?”
“Yes.”
“I won’t.”
“You will do as I say!” His eyes flashed and his voice held a dozen familiar threats. I went and kissed them.
“Dear child,” Grandfather said, wiping his eyes. He was quite beside himself. “Mind your tutor, there’s a good girl.”
Rebeckah accepted my kiss coolly. “Grow up, Jem. You must, sooner or later, you know.”
“Mama?” I looked at her, but she wouldn’t turn around.
“Leave your mother be, Jem,” Reid directed, “and come along with me.” He took hold of my good wrist and pulled me from the room. Closing the door, he looked at me. “You’ve all but ruined things for yourself today, you know that, don’t you?”
I said nothing. I was nearly falling off my feet with exhaustion.
“Your sister’s been working on your mother for two hours to take you to Philadelphia. If you think I’m bad, try having her for a teacher. You’d come crawling back in two months.”
“Thank you, Mr. Reid.”
“For what? I’ve done nothing yet. You’re still in danger of going. Your mother is at her wit’s end with you. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll go to your chamber until after supper and pretend exhaustion. Which shouldn’t be too difficult, the way you look. At the table I’ll try to smooth things over with your parents.”
“Why would you do that for me?”
He smiled. “If you think I’m going to let Rebeckah have anything to do with the way you turn out after I’ve invested two years in you, you have another think coming. Besides, I owe more than that to your parents.”
He kept his eyes down while he spoke. I moved toward the stairs.
“Jemima.”
“Yes, Mr. Reid.”
“I’ll fight for you to stay. All I have to fight with is my promise to your parents that I can do a good job with you. If I win and they let you stay, things will be different with us, however. There will be no more nonsense. I won’t tolerate it. Do we understand each other?”
I looked at him, thinking of how I hated him and here he was offering me the only hope I had at the moment. “Yes, Mr. Reid,” I said. I ran up the stairs.
CHAPTER
13
I awoke to a knock on my door. “Jem?” I roused myself and opened it to find David. “Jem, you’re wanted downstairs.”
“Who wants me?” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. It was dark except for David’s candle. “What time is it?”
“It’s near eight. Supper’s over. You should have been there. All they did was talk about you.”
“What did they say?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you. But John Reid took your part. Whatever you did today, I hope you had fun, because you’re to be punished for it. When I came home for my noon meal there was all hell to pay because everyone was looking for you. Mother thought you took Bleu and followed Dan to Princeton.”
“Did they say anything about Philadelphia?”
“You’re not going. Reid told Father at supper that he’d take full responsibility. He said he intended to make something of you. I wouldn’t want him making something of me, Jem. Damned Tory. I think you would have been better off going to Philadelphia.”
“David, stop your swearing. Where’s Mama?”
“She’s gone to bed. She’s feeling poorly. I told them at supper that Dan had given me his musket when he left, and Mama cried and Father said if I mentioned that musket again, he’d hit me. I think everybody’s gone daft. Jem, did you kiss Raymond Moore when he left this morning?”
“Who said anything about that?”
“Father knows about it. Someone saw you and told him. And I thought I was bad running off and making gunlocks with John Fitch. You’d better get downstairs, Jem, they’re waiting. You’d better do something about the way you look, too.”
I looked down at myself. I’d fallen on my bed in my dirty petticoat. The mud had dried, of course, but it looked awful. I turned in confusion and put my hands to my head, which was throbbing. “There isn’t time to change. What’ll I do?”
“Just wash your face and fix your hair,” David advi
sed solemnly. “Brush yourself off. The later you are, the more time they have to think. Jem, watch yourself with Reid. Mother and Father think the sun rises and sets with him.”
“I know that, David.”
“And take my advice and don’t mention the war. That sets them off faster than anything.”
Candlelight glowed softly in Father’s study, reflecting on the bound books and soft draperies. Father was leaning back in his chair behind his desk, his legs stretched out, smoking his clay pipe. A goblet of wine was on his desk and another on the small table a few feet away where John Reid sat. They were talking in soft tones when I went in. My father was even smiling.
He saw me and sobered, pulled his legs in, and beckoned me toward him. “Jemima.”
I ventured farther into the room. The candlelight and shadows played across John Reid’s face, adding a quality of maturity I had never noticed before. He stood, inclined his head, and said my name politely, then flipped his coattails and sat again, his face betraying nothing.
Father puffed his pipe, ruminating. “How are you feeling, Jemima?”
“I’m all right, Father. Other than my head hurting.”
“You had a fall. Was your head injured?”
“No. I fell on my hand. The Indian women at Grandfather’s bandaged it.”
“Let me see.”
I went to him and he examined the wrist. “It looks fine. No swelling. The Indian women know their medicine. You look worse for wear, though.”
“I’m sorry about the way I look, Father. I fell asleep and didn’t wake until David knocked. I didn’t take the time to change.”
He nodded. “Sit down.”
I sat and he considered me. “It’s been a bad day for all of us, Jem. It started early and it looks as if it will never end. I had a long meeting with the Committee of Safety, which took up most of my day. You know how important those meetings have become these days.”
I didn’t think he should be discussing the Committee of Safety in front of John Reid, but I said nothing.
“And then I came home just before supper to find your mother completely distraught. Jemima, this has been one of the worst days of your mother’s life, with Dan leaving. And you have added to her heartache.”
It sounded awful when he said it that way, and there was nothing I could add to it or detract from it to make it sound any better.
“Your behavior, from this morning on, has been disgraceful. I won’t go into detail and categorize your sins. We’re all tired and you know what they are. Sufficient to say that it seems almost beyond anyone’s ability to make a proper young lady of you.”
The clock on the mantel ticked. John Reid did not look at me.
“Mr. Reid here has attempted for two years to give you an education as befits a young woman of your station in life. You have tried his soul to the utmost. I don’t know how he has kept his temper with you.”
He hadn’t. He’d lost it on more than one occasion, but I knew better than to say so.
“War is coming, Jem. With my work with the Committee and keeping the shop and your mother’s work with her sewing for the army, we haven’t time to worry where you have run off to next or what new ways you have come up with to disgrace yourself.”
I was sure he was talking about my kissing Raymond Moore, and I prayed he wouldn’t take it into his head to discuss that now. He didn’t.
“When Rebeckah suggested this afternoon that you go to Philadelphia with her, your mother was sorely tempted to say yes. Lucy might be packing your bags now if it were not for Mr. Reid. He insists on trying again with you. So your mother and I have agreed.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Don’t thank me. If anyone deserves thanks, it’s John Reid. But you stay only on the condition that you apply yourself to your lessons with diligence and attempt to control that wild nature of yours. Lessons will be five afternoons a week now instead of three. You are to be on time, be presentable, and behave in a well-bred and amiable manner. Now, John, suppose you tell her what lessons you have planned.”
John Reid nodded cordially to my father and got up. “There will be added instruction in penmanship, as you requested, Jemima, and a more intense study of French and Latin. And sums. There will also be instructions in etiquette, which your father felt you could use. And I’ve added geography.”
“Geography?” It sounded awful.
“This isn’t the usual education for a young lady,” my father said, “but your mother and I want more for you than just needlework and dancing. The times are changing, Jemima. As we struggle to preserve our freedoms, we must also have the moral clarity and education to handle those freedoms. Your mother and I want you prepared for the future.”
“Yes, Father.”
“You have an excellent tutor in John Reid. With his education at Harvard College, you have the best. If you ruin this chance, if Reid once comes to me with the complaint that you’ve run off or flouted his authority, you’ll go to Philadelphia. To live with Rebeckah and Grandfather Henshaw and mingle with their Tory friends. Is that what you want?”
“No, sir.” How my father could overlook the fact that a Tory was to have the job of teaching me the moral clarity to handle our future freedoms was beyond me. The situation would have been humorous, had I not been so tired.
“I was going to take Bleu away to punish you,” he went on, “but John suggested I allow you to keep him. When your grandfather gave you that horse, he gave you a certain amount of freedom. And you have abused it. It’s a terrible thing to abuse freedom, don’t you agree?”
“Oh yes, Father!” Take Bleu? My heart would break, surely.
“The most important thing we’re going to have to learn, if we win our freedom in these colonies, is to handle it properly. Your generation will have to learn that, Jem, and teach it to the next one. So Reid thought it best that you keep your horse. It is his belief that you don’t teach freedom by taking it away.”
I stared openly at John Reid, but he was looking down into his goblet of wine. What did a Tory know about freedom? To be sure, I had never heard him argue with my parents about his feeling of allegiance to the Crown. But that was only because it was Father’s rule never to argue politics with old friends who happened to be Tories.
“At the first provocation, though, John has my permission to send Bleu back to Otter Hall.”
So that was it. Reid had convinced Father I was to keep Bleu only so he could have that edge of power over me. And he’d covered it all over with talk about freedom!
“Go to bed now, Jem. Have Lucy give you some supper first and a cold compress for that head. Say good night to John.”
“Good night, Mr. Reid.”
He stood and did his little half bow. “Good night, Jemima. I’m sure we’ll work well together from now on.”
“Oh, Jemima, how did you find your grandfather?” Father asked.
I stopped at the door. “He was fine.”
“I hear Canoe escorted you back to town.”
“Yes.”
“You had a chance to talk to him, then. What did you talk about?”
I hesitated, remembering the delicate situation between Father and Canoe.
“Come, come, Jemima. We’ve all heard the rumors concerning Canoe. It’s always been to your credit that you have gone out of your way to be nice to him.”
I glowed. I couldn’t remember the last time my father had praised me. “He told me about his boyhood in Canada.”
“Ah, a most interesting boyhood. There’s a fine bit of education for you, John.”
“I’d like to hear about it someday,” Reid said earnestly.
“He told me how Indian children are raised. And how they are never punished.”
Father looked at me over his spectacles. “Are you telling me you don’t think you should be punished?”
“I’m only telling you what Canoe told me. Goodness, you asked.”
He scowled. “I sense impudence, Jemima. I hope it wasn’
t intended.”
“Oh no, Father.”
I’d displeased him. I saw John Reid scowl at me and shake his head. I hadn’t wanted to do that. For all my father’s threats, he was a patient and good parent. I felt bad and stood, hoping he would invite me to kiss him good night. I yearned for him to take me in his arms.
“Don’t forget your prayers, Jemima. Lessons will begin in a week. By that time your wrist should be back to normal and John Reid will have had time to prepare his course of study.” He smiled kindly, but there was no invitation in the smile. I turned and left.
CHAPTER
14
When I reported to John Reid for my lessons a week later, there was an old inventory book of Father’s on the round table in the middle of his study. I marched into the room and went immediately to the table where my mother’s silver coffee service sat. I had just come in from riding Bleu and was numb with cold. It had been two hours since my noon meal and I was also starving.
I took off my cloak and threw it on a chair and reached for a piece of cold meat that was laid out on the silver tray next to Lucy’s pumpkin bread and some dried fruit.
“Put it back.”
I had the meat in my hand, halfway to my mouth. “What?”
John Reid was sitting languidly in a chair next to the fire going through some of his papers. He didn’t bother to get up or even to look at me. “I said put it back. Barbarians eat with their hands. You wouldn’t dare do that at your parents’ table. And barbarians make such an entrance, clomping in with muddied shoes and throwing their clothes about. Put the meat back. You’ll eat when given permission.”
I put the meat down, too startled to do otherwise. In the past he had commented once or twice on my unruly manners but never attempted to do anything about them. “It’s my mother’s food. And her coffee and her silver service that was made by Paul Revere and that she bought in Boston from a Tory who needed money.”
“Go back outside and come in again. And this time come in quietly. And curtsy when you enter the room. Then pick up your cloak and hang it up properly.”
“Well, I never! If you’re going to be such an overbearing …”