American Challenge

by Susan Martins Miller

  “Do you think Aunt Dancy will have a boy or a girl?” asked Lydia.

  Stephen shrugged. “I’m sure they would like a girl, since they have two boys.”

  “Charles and David want a little brother.”

  “I’m sure Aunt Dancy and Uncle Ethan would be happy with another boy, too.”

  “Don’t you ever have an opinion about anything?” Lydia taunted.

  “Why should I have an opinion about whether Aunt Dancy should have a boy or a girl?” Stephen defended himself. “The baby is already a boy or a girl. No one can change that now.”

  “Stephen Lankford, you’re hopeless. You have no imagination.” Lydia skipped ahead of her brother.

  Lydia stopped abruptly a few yards ahead of Stephen. “Look,” she said as she pointed. “There’s William.”

  Stephen looked across the street and saw William standing under the elm tree that all of Boston called the Liberty Tree. His height and his sleek, thick brown hair made him easy to spot. Sam Adams, the leader of the group, was there, along with a dozen or so other young men.

  “William!” Lydia cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted across the street. “William Richard Lankford!”

  William turned around and grinned at his younger siblings. He gave a friendly wave and turned back to the meeting.

  “Why don’t they find a warm place to meet?” Stephen wondered aloud.

  “Because the British have taken over all the buildings, silly.”

  “Not every building,” Stephen countered. “They must be getting cold out here.”

  “They don’t mind. They are talking about important matters, so they don’t notice the cold.”

  “Well, I do. Let’s get moving again.”

  Lydia’s green eyes flashed. “Let’s go see him!”

  Before Stephen could protest, Lydia had dashed out into the street between horse carriages. He had no choice but to follow. Mama had given him firm instructions to stay close to Lydia. Weaving through the horses and people who crowded the street, Stephen was trapped several steps behind his sister.

  “Watch where you’re going!” A man shouted gruffly from a carriage Stephen had nearly stepped in front of.

  Stephen searched the road for Lydia. She had already made it across and caught William’s attention.

  William met them at the edge of the street. “What are you two doing out and about this afternoon?” he asked lightly.

  Lydia drew herself up tall. “It’s my turn to stay with Aunt Dancy tonight.”

  William glanced at his brother. “And Mama wanted Stephen to go, too?”

  Lydia folded her arms across her chest and pouted. “She doesn’t want to treat me like a grown-up. She makes Stephen go everywhere with me so she can find out everything that happens.”

  William looked at her seriously. “You listen to Mama, do you hear me? She is doing the best thing for you.” He moved his gaze to Stephen. “What do you have there?”

  Stephen held up the bucket. “Biscuits and gravy for supper.”

  “Good. Aunt Dancy should just rest and let people take care of her.”

  “You would never do that,” Lydia challenged.

  William laughed. “I’m not about to have a baby!”

  Stephen liked it when William laughed. The brothers looked very much alike. Everyone thought so. Their dark hair and dark eyes and their tall, slender frames made people know immediately that they were brothers. But the resemblance ended there. In temperament and personality, Lydia was more like William, and Stephen was more like their quiet sister, Kathleen.

  “What are you doing here?” Lydia asked eagerly. “Shouldn’t you be at the print shop?”

  “I finished my work early. Papa said he would stay and clean up.”

  “Does he know you’re here?” Stephen asked.

  Stephen knew that although Papa could not stop his grown son from making his own political choices, he still worried about Will and wanted to know where he was as much as possible. Stephen had seen his father sit up late many nights beside the fire, waiting for Will to come home. Sometimes the wait lasted all night.

  Will was nodding. “I tell Papa as much as I can,” he said. “Even though we don’t agree on everything, he is still my father, and I respect him.”

  “Do you think Papa will ever let you print what you want to print in the newspaper?” Lydia asked exuberantly.

  Will’s eyes twinkled. “The newspaper belongs to Papa, but I keep asking. I haven’t given up hope.” He nodded back toward the tree. “I need to go back to my meeting. Give Aunt Dancy my love.”

  “Can we stay and listen?” Lydia begged. Stephen cringed inwardly.

  “I don’t think that is a good idea,” Will said. “But it’s a public place,” Lydia argued. “Sam Adams doesn’t own this tree.”

  “It’s cold, Lydia, and it will be dark soon. Go on to Aunt Dancy’s.”

  Stephen saw the look of firmness in his brother’s eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Lydia was not going to get her way this time.

  Stephen heard the bolt slide from the inside of the door. Everyone kept their doors bolted, even during the daytime. He was glad to see that despite Aunt Dancy’s insistence that she would be fine on her own, she was being careful. Lydia, Stephen thought, would leave the front door wide open and dare British soldiers passing by to cross the threshold.

  “Hello, you two,” Aunt Dancy said. “You’re late. I was just about to come looking for you. Now that would certainly defeat the purpose of your coming, wouldn’t it?”

  Stephen gave Lydia a knowing look and then turned away from her glare. He was relieved. Aunt Dancy was in a good mood. The evening would pass pleasantly; he would sleep in David’s bed, and then in the morning, he’d go home for a big breakfast. He smiled at his aunt.

  “We brought supper,” he said, holding up the bucket.

  “Good. I’m starved.” Aunt Dancy snatched the bucket with one finger and took it to the kitchen, where she hung it in the fireplace to warm. She noticed the pasty remains of the gravy that had slopped over the rim.

  “Did you sling this over your head, Stephen?” she teased. “It’s quite a mess.”

  “No, ma’am,” he said simply. “We just … Well, we … we had to hurry, that’s all.”

  “He doesn’t want you to know,” interrupted Lydia.

  “Know what?”

  Lydia grinned. “I threw a snowball at a soldier outside the Customs House.”

  Aunt Dancy looked at Lydia sharply. “Lydia! Why on earth would you do that?”

  “But, Aunt Dancy, you hate the soldiers.”

  Aunt Dancy pressed her lips together for a moment. “I don’t hate anyone,” she said. “God is not a God of hate, but of love.”

  “I’m not sure even God could love the British,” Lydia said haughtily.

  “Lydia, don’t be flippant,” warned Aunt Dancy. “You are both too young to remember what Boston used to be like. The soldiers have been here almost all your lives.” She turned to stir the gravy.

  “Don’t you want the British to go away,” Lydia pressed, “so life can be the way it was again?”

  “Of course I do,” Aunt Dancy answered. “I hate the thought that my baby is being born into a city that is virtually occupied by soldiers and with so many freedoms stripped away from the citizens.” She shook a pewter spoon at Lydia. “But that is no justification for your behavior. Provoking a British soldier could have serious consequences.”

  “He’s not going to hurt a child,” Lydia said smugly.

  “I thought you did not like to be called a child,” Aunt Dancy challenged.

  “I don’t. But the soldier would think I’m a child, and he wouldn’t dare hurt me.”

  “But you will not always be a child. You will not always be able to hide behind your age, and you may regret the habits you have formed.”

  “I haven’t formed any habits, Aunt Dancy. I just threw one snowball.”

  Lydia makes her actions sound so
casual, so accidental, Stephen thought. She had not even mentioned how she had teased the soldier for so long before she ever threw that snowball.

  Stephen took three plates down from a shelf as he watched Aunt Dancy turn back to the gravy. She was concentrating on it far more than necessary. He wondered what she was thinking. Was danger closer than he or Lydia realized?

  CHAPTER 3

  Emergency at Midnight

  Stephen sat bolt upright. His eyes instantly widened to alertness. A chorus of church bells shattered the black night and rushed him to consciousness. From the time he was a toddler, Stephen’s parents, and then his sister Kathleen, had drummed into him one response to the clatter of the town’s bells—fire!

  Stephen leaped out of bed and threw open the second-story window. His nightshirt fluttered in the chilly night air as he leaned out and scanned the neighborhood. It was not Aunt Dancy’s house that was on fire. In fact, Stephen saw no flaming towers lighting the black sky—only torches carried by people in the street. Dozens of people, perhaps more than a hundred, scurried in the street to a destination Stephen could not see.

  Not stopping to close the window, Stephen darted across the room and out into the hall. Aunt Dancy’s bedroom door was open, as was the door to the new baby’s room, where Lydia had slept.

  “Aunt Dancy!” Stephen called urgently, “Lydia! Where are you?” In his haste he had not thought to bring the candle from the night table in his room. The blackness in the hall was broken only by an occasional flicker from the torches outside.

  “I’m here, Stephen,” came Aunt Dancy’s comforting voice. As she turned toward Stephen, her candle lit her face. She was just starting down the broad front stairs. Stephen quickened his steps to catch up.

  “What’s going on?” Stephen asked, taking the hand his aunt offered.

  “I don’t know, but we’ll find out soon enough.”

  By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, Lydia had flung the front door wide open. The cold air rushing into the house made Stephen gasp, and he wrapped his arms around himself. Outside, men and boys hurtled down the cobblestone street.

  “It’s a mob!” Aunt Dancy said. The disappointment in her voice was obvious. Boston had seen so much violence in the last few years. Many wondered if the streets would ever be safe again.

  “An angry mob,” Stephen emphasized.

  “But what happened?” Lydia questioned. She started to move out the open door, but Aunt Dancy pulled her back. “Stay back, Lydia. Stephen, close the door, please. And bolt it.”

  “But I want to see what’s going on,” Lydia protested, twisting free of her aunt’s hold.

  “Lydia Lankford! Do you honestly think that your mother would ever forgive me if I let you out in the street in the middle of this madness? I am responsible for you tonight. You will stay indoors!”

  Lydia pushed out her bottom lip in a pout. Aunt Dancy stood between her and the door.

  “The door, Stephen,” Aunt Dancy reminded the boy, who seemed frozen in his spot.

  “I just saw William!” Stephen said.

  “William? Where?” Lydia once again lurched toward the door.

  And once again, Aunt Dancy firmly pulled Lydia back. This time she closed the door herself and leaned against it, scowling at her two charges. “Both of you know better than to think of going out,” she said. Looking at Lydia, she added sternly, “I would like to hear the explanation you would give your mother if you did go out.”

  “But William is out there!” Lydia cried.

  “I don’t know what is happening out there,” Aunt Dancy said evenly, “or how William is involved. But Will is nineteen. He makes his own choices. You will not go out there under any circumstances.”

  “May we at least look out the window?” Lydia begged.

  “All right, but if there is any further sign of danger, we will go to the kitchen, away from any windows.”

  Stephen and Lydia huddled at the window and watched the action in the street. The torches lit up the furious faces of the people who carried them. Their shouts were muffled by the wind, but the expressions on their faces were a picture of the words they spoke. Some beat the air violently with clubs.

  “Something terrible must have happened to make those people this mad,” Stephen said mournfully.

  “Everything that happens in Boston is terrible,” Lydia pronounced. “And things will not get better until the Redcoats are driven out. That’s what Will always says.”

  “Now, Lydia,” cautioned Aunt Dancy. With one hand she rubbed her enlarged belly as she looked anxiously out the window.

  Stephen watched his aunt. He had seen her rub her belly that way before, he reminded himself. It was an unconscious habit that meant nothing. He looked back out the window.

  Lydia’s eyes grew wide, and she poked Stephen with an elbow. “Maybe they’re driving the Redcoats out tonight!” she exclaimed. “That’s why William is out there. Oh, this is exciting!”

  “You can’t be sure of that,” Stephen said. “It would take more than a few torches and sticks to make soldiers of the Crown desert their posts.”

  Stephen glanced over at Aunt Dancy, expecting her to reinforce his argument. The expression on her face alarmed him. He watched as she wrapped both her arms around her stomach and pressed her lips together.

  “Aunt Dancy! Are you all right?” Stephen asked. He was no longer interested in what was happening in the street.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” she replied as she let out her breath. “Just the excitement.”

  Lydia had not stopped looking out the window. “I wish we could see where they are going. Maybe it’s the Customs House. I know they keep guards there all night. Those are probably the first soldiers that the Sons of Liberty will drive out.”

  “Yes, perhaps so.” Aunt Dancy politely agreed with Lydia as she lowered herself into a nearby chair. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  “Aunt Dancy, are you sure you are all right?” Stephen queried. He went to stand beside her.

  Lydia finally turned away from the window, puzzled. “The baby is not supposed to come for at least a month,” she said. “Mama says your babies are always stubborn and late.”

  Aunt Dancy chuckled. “She said that, did she? As I recall, you put up quite a fight at your birth, too. No doubt it’s just the tension making me feel this way. But perhaps you should help me back upstairs just the same.”

  “Here, Aunt Dancy, you can lean on me.” Stephen offered his arm to his aunt. Next to her bulging body, his thin, ten-year-old frame looked very small, but he was quite earnest. Aunt Dancy smiled at him and allowed him to help her out of the chair. Lydia slipped an arm around Aunt Dancy’s waist from the other side, and together they began to climb the stairs. Lydia looked over her shoulder out the window one more time.

  As Stephen tucked the quilt around his aunt’s shoulders a few minutes later, he saw the shadow of pain cross her face. Their eyes met, and his heart beat faster.

  “Stephen,” Aunt Dancy said softly, “I’m going to ask you to do something very important.”

  “Whatever you need, Aunt Dancy, I’ll do.”

  “Stephen, Lydia, the baby is coming.”

  “Now? Tonight?” Lydia cried. “You said it was just the excitement.”

  “I was wrong,” Aunt Dancy said with certainty. “The baby is coming tonight, and I’m going to need help. Stephen will have to go for the midwife. She warned me not to be alone for this birth. Do you know where Mistress Payne lives, Stephen?”

  Stephen nodded mutely.

  Lydia pushed in closer to her aunt. “I should go,” she said indignantly. “I’m older.”

  Aunt Dancy winced and started sweating. “Lydia, listen to me. Stephen will go, but he might not make it back in time. You might have to birth this baby for me. That’s why I want you here.”

  “What?” Lydia cried. “But I’ve never done that before.”

  “The baby will do most of the work, and I’ll te
ll you what you have to do. Right now I want you to get some things ready. Hot water, extra cloths, some string. The baby blankets are in the trunk at the foot of my bed. Can you do this, Lydia?”

  “Yes, yes. Water. Cloths. String.” Lydia flew into action.

  Aunt Dancy took Stephen’s hand. “You know I wouldn’t ask you to face the danger outside for anything else.”

  “I’m not afraid.” Stephen’s voice was faint but confident.

  “Take the backstreets. Stay away from the Customs House.”

  “I know all the shortcuts.”

  “Get your coat and go. Tell Mistress Payne to come quickly.”

  Outside, Stephen chose his route carefully. He was usually not allowed out so late in the evening—certainly never alone. He paid extra attention to every step he took. Avoiding the street in front of the Customs House would mean circling wide and approaching the Paynes’ street from the other direction. Stephen carried no torch to brighten the night. Buildings that were familiar in the daylight loomed ominously in the night’s shadows. But his heart was steady and determined. He was not going to let Aunt Dancy down when she needed him. He ran as fast as the darkness would allow.

  When he reached Mistress Payne’s street, he was far away from the commotion they had heard from Aunt Dancy’s house. The neighborhood was dark, but he knew which house the Paynes lived in. With quick steps, he traveled the cobblestone walk and approached the house. Not a single candle burned within. He rapped on the red wooden door and listened. No sounds came from inside. He rapped again, harder this time. A knot of fear formed in his chest.

  “Mistress Payne,” he called out. Still there was no answer. Five times, Stephen knocked on the door and called out, more loudly each time. Clearly, no one was home at the Payne house.

  Stephen heard footsteps in the street behind him and wheeled around. He set his feet solidly apart, ready for what might come.

  “If you’re looking for the Paynes,” a voice said in the darkness, “you’ll find them down by the Customs House.” Stephen peered into the street and recognized the father of a classmate.