American Challenge

by Susan Martins Miller

  “All that talk about self-defense! A soldier ought to have more control than to get spooked and fire a gun.”

  “That sentry’s life was never in danger. The defense never proved that anyone in the crowd had a gun.”

  “Anybody with an ounce of common sense would have found Preston guilty. But what do you expect from a bunch of Loyalists? If they had any common sense, they wouldn’t be Loyalists in the first place.”

  “They had their minds made up before they ever left the jurors’ box. The jury did not stay out long enough to give thorough consideration to the evidence presented by the prosecution.”

  “The Sons of Liberty will not let this end here, I am sure of that.”

  The group of men moved along down the street. Stephen stood up and straightened his jacket. He had been successful at finding one piece of the puzzle. The jurors were not from Boston, and many of them were Loyalists. Or at least that is what one person said. Stephen had no idea who any of those men were or whether he could believe them. So maybe he had not discovered anything helpful after all.

  Stephen continued on toward the Liberty Tree. The light was starting to fail now. In the gray haze of dusk, every shape around him took on an eeriness and shadowy quality. Twice he got disoriented in the back streets, but only briefly. Soon he came out in the center of town with a good view of the Liberty Tree.

  Dozens of people were milling about the Liberty Tree, but not the sort of people he expected. He saw only ordinary citizens. Granted, they were more irate than usual, but they were ordinary citizens. There was no sign of Sam Adams, William Lankford, or any of the other Sons of Liberty.

  Stephen slapped the side of his own head for his foolishness. Why had he thought the Sons of Liberty might be meeting at a time like this? This was no time to stand around exchanging ideas under an elm tree. This was a time for action.

  Darkness had fallen fully by now. Stephen was suddenly frightened. He would never be able to find William in the dark. Sneaking out of the print shop had been a stupid idea, and he had been foolish to let Lydia talk him into it. Surely his father would have missed him by now, and Stephen would have to face the consequences of his foolishness later. He looked back in the direction he had come from. The streets seemed fuller every minute. Turning around, he looked in the other direction—toward Uncle Ethan and Aunt Dancy’s house. Actually, he was closer to their home than to the print shop.

  Stephen’s mind flashed back to the night of the massacre, the night the baby had been born almost eight months earlier. The streets had been just as full that night and tempers just as high. But somehow none of that had concerned him as he ran through the streets searching for help. All that mattered was the baby. The mission of finding help for Aunt Dancy and the baby had kept his feet pumping long after his own strength would have given out. Stephen had never taken time that night to question why so many folks were out.

  Tonight was much the same. Stephen did not care about the results of Captain Preston’s trial nearly as much as he cared about his baby cousin. If he was going to risk his safety for any cause, it would be for one he believed in, not one Lydia smothered him with.

  Stephen made a decisive turn, quickened his step, and headed for Aunt Dancy and Uncle Ethan’s house. The closer he got, the steadier his breathing became. Once he was inside, he would face a severe scolding, but he would be safe. And he would know whether the baby was all right. He was almost there.

  A sudden thud against the back of his head brought darkness.

  The cat was meowing. It was a loud sound, almost screeching. As Stephen listened, he realized the loud meowing was not angry. The cat was distressed. It gave a painful, mournful cry.

  “What’s wrong with the cat?” Stephen murmured, as his brown eyes fluttered open. Gradually, they focused on the face of Uncle Cuyler.

  Uncle Cuyler furrowed his brow. “What cat?”

  “Oh,” said Stephen, breathing heavily, “it’s the baby crying.” He was lying on a pallet of quilts in front of the fire at Aunt Dancy’s house. As he realized where he was, he understood what the sound was.

  “Yes, she’s been crying most of the evening.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “She has a fever.”

  “Will she be all right?” Stephen tried to prop himself up. “Ow!” He moved his hand to where a sharp pain pierced him in the side.

  “Take it easy,” Uncle Cuyler said, helping him lie back. “I think you have a couple of broken ribs.”

  “The baby … Is she all right?”

  “It’s been a long night, but yes, I think she will improve.”

  Stephen breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad.”

  “Stephen,” Uncle Cuyler said, “your concern for the baby is touching, but I must ask you what you were doing out.”

  Stephen turned his head away. “I know it was dumb,” he said, “but Lydia dared me. She said it was the only way to prove my patriotism.”

  Uncle Cuyler nodded and pressed his lips together. “And did you?”

  “I guess not. And when Lydia finds out I came here, she will really think I’m stupid.”

  Uncle Cuyler smiled faintly. “You know, Stephen, your mother is my older sister. I know what it’s like to have an older sister. I understand how it feels to be the youngest one in the family.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure. I was the baby, and for a long time no one trusted me to do anything. Your mother made me walk home from school with her long after my friends were free to roam around on their own.”

  “Then you do understand.” Stephen laughed, then grabbed his side again. “That really hurts!”

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  Stephen shook his head. “After I realized what a dumb idea it was to try to find Will, I decided to come straight here. Something hit me in the back of the head.”

  “My guess is that you got in someone’s way. I had to go to the clinic for a potion for the baby, and I found you outside. But I don’t know how long you were there.”

  “Did you get the medicine … for the baby?”

  “Yes, I gave her a dose, and we’ll wait to see what happens.”

  “You have to take care of her, Uncle Cuyler. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Just lie back and rest, Stephen. I’ll send your mother in.”

  A knock on the front door startled them both. Mama and Aunt Abigail both appeared from the next room, staring at the door with worried frowns. The knocking persisted.

  “Step back,” Uncle Cuyler said, and he went to the door.

  “Who is there?” he called.

  “Cuyler? It’s me, Richard. Stephen is missing.”

  Quickly Uncle Cuyler undid the bolt on the door and let his brother-in-law in.

  Papa spotted Stephen by the fire immediately. “Stephen, are you all right?” He rushed to his son and knelt next to him. Mama, too, knelt next to Stephen and laid her cool hand on his cheek.

  “Uncle Cuyler says my ribs are broken. I’m sorry, Papa. I disobeyed you, and I know it was foolish.”

  “We’ll discuss that later,” Papa said. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

  “I should have known you would miss me. I’m sorry to make you come out when there is so much happening in the streets.”

  “Actually, it was Lydia who told me that you were gone.”

  “Lydia?”

  Papa nodded. “She told me everything—how she goaded you into going out. We had quite a bit of activity outside the shop this afternoon. So when you didn’t come back, she panicked and told me what had happened. I looked all over town for you. I even saw William and started him looking. Then it came to me that this is where you would go—to check on the baby.”

  “I don’t really care about the trial,” Stephen said, grimacing with the effort. “Even William cannot convince me that politics are important at a time like this. But the baby—I wanted to be sure she is all right.” He looked hopefully at Uncle Cuyler.

 
“Your uncle will take good care of her,” Papa said. “He’s a good doctor. And remember, she’s strong—like you, Stephen.”

  Stephen moved to embrace his father and stopped suddenly. “Ow!”

  Papa smiled at him in sympathy. “I think this is one lesson you’ll be painfully reminded of for a long time.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Family Reunion

  In the morning, the baby’s cry was a soft coo. Stephen awoke smiling. But when he tried to sit up, he was forced to surrender to the throbbing headache and the slicing pain in his side. He lay back and listened to the baby’s coo and Aunt Dancy’s soothing tones, as she hummed and rocked the child across the room from Stephen.

  Last night’s events were like a bad dream. If he had not found himself sleeping in Aunt Dancy’s front room with a knifelike pain cutting through his torso every time he tried to move, Stephen might have thought he had imagined everything. But the pain was real, and the gurgling baby was real.

  Stephen knew that the trial of Thomas Preston was only the beginning of Boston’s dealings with the men who had been involved that dreadful night more than seven months earlier. The other eight soldiers and the four civilians who had been charged with crimes still awaited trial. The jury agreed that the captain had not given the order for his soldiers to fire. But they had fired, and five men had died. Boston was still determined to hold those who had shot responsible for their actions. William had told his family many things about Samuel Adams. So Stephen knew that the Sons of Liberty were not finished with this case.

  It was still very early in the morning. His parents had been persuaded to go home and get some rest with the promise that Uncle Cuyler and Aunt Abigail would look after him. Stephen brightened at the thought that Uncle Cuyler, Aunt Abigail, and Anna had all spent the night at Uncle Ethan and Aunt Dancy’s house. They would all be together to celebrate the baby’s recovery.

  Without moving his body, Stephen turned his head toward his aunt and baby cousin. Aunt Dancy looked calm and content. Her daughter was on the road to recovery. She probably had not paid any attention to the jury’s verdict, Stephen decided. Aunt Dancy knew what was important. Her child mattered more than the trial.

  Stephen sighed contentedly and dozed once again.

  “Stephen? Stephen? Are you awake?”

  Without opening his eyes, Stephen turned toward the voice and moaned softly. He had been sleeping deeply and did not want to awaken.

  “Stephen, wake up. I have to talk to you.”

  He forced his eyes open and looked into Lydia’s familiar green eyes.

  “Papa and Mama said you were hurt. I didn’t sleep all night, worrying about you.”

  “You were worrying about me?” Stephen had not expected that Lydia would be concerned.

  “Of course. You’re my little brother.”

  “Oh.” He did not know what else to say.

  “This is all my fault, Stephen,” Lydia said humbly. “I should never have let you leave the shop.”

  “You practically pushed me out the door,” Stephen reminded her.

  “But I didn’t think you would really go!” Lydia retorted. “I was sure you would be back in three minutes. You have far too much common sense than to stay in the streets during a riot.”

  Stephen was puzzled. “I thought you wanted me to be more adventuresome.”

  “That’s what I thought, too.” Lydia drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “I guess I was counting on you to draw the line between adventuresome and foolish. I’m sorry.”

  “So you didn’t really want me to go out last night?”

  “Well,” Lydia said thoughtfully, “I did want to know what was going on out there. When you didn’t come back right away, I thought maybe you really were going to find something out.

  But then …”

  “What happened?”

  “There was a street fight right outside the print shop. Some Patriots were lining up against a group of Loyalists. They said awful things to each other! These were people who have been neighbors for years—Sarah Parkenson’s father and Agatha Fleming’s older brother. Then someone starting swinging a stick. If his friends hadn’t had sense enough to stop him, someone would certainly have been hurt. And then I thought about you—how it could be you who got hurt. Then I started to pray.”

  Tears welled up in Lydia’s eyes. She pushed them back with her open palms.

  “And I told Papa you were gone. He thought you were in the back room, but you had been gone for almost an hour by then.”

  Stephen smiled mischievously. “So you were right about one thing. Papa didn’t notice when I left.”

  “I wish I had been wrong about that. Then he would have made you come back immediately, and you … you … you wouldn’t have been hurt at all. I would understand if you said you could never forgive me.”

  “Of course I’ll forgive you. It’s really my own fault that I went out. Besides, I’ll be all right. Uncle Cuyler says my ribs will heal quickly because I’m young.”

  “I’m glad for that. I suppose I’ll have to deliver papers by myself until then.”

  Stephen smiled inwardly at that thought. “And I can just rest at the clinic until I am fully recovered—which could be a very, very long time.”

  “Don’t get any crazy ideas in your head. You can recover at home, and Uncle Cuyler will surely tell us when you are well enough to go back to work.”

  “You know,” Stephen said, “I was at the clinic yesterday when Uncle Ethan came in. At first Uncle Cuyler thought he was there to argue about the jury’s verdict. But he was there about the baby. Uncle Cuyler and Uncle Ethan never agree about anything, but when the baby got sick, Uncle Ethan knew where to come. He knew Uncle Cuyler would help.”

  Lydia laughed. “They actually spent the night under the same roof, and the house is still standing.”

  Stephen smiled as much as his sore ribs would allow him. “I thought about that a lot during the night. I know that everything William is working for is important—taxes and freedom and everything else he talks about.”

  “I haven’t given up on that,” Lydia said. “I know. It is important. When Mama and Papa talk about how things were when they were growing up, I realize that Boston has been changing my whole life. I don’t know when the change will be finished.”

  “William says the change is only beginning,” Lydia said. “He says the Sons of Liberty are willing to go to war against the British if necessary.”

  “If that happens, I hope that Uncle Cuyler and Uncle Ethan will remember this night,” Stephen said, “the night when they forgot about politics because they needed each other.”

  “It was the baby who brought them together,” Lydia said. “An innocent baby who knows nothing of politics or Parliament or the king or colonial assemblies.”

  Stephen was getting excited. Painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow.

  “You’re right, Lydia,” he said. “It looks like you and I found something to agree on, too.”

  Aunt Dancy entered the room holding the baby. “Is she better?” Lydia asked.

  “I heard you singing to her earlier,” Stephen said. “She wasn’t crying.”

  “She is much better, thanks to your uncle Cuyler.” Aunt Dancy smiled at the babe sleeping in her arms.

  Lydia reached out and stroked the top of the infant’s head. “She’s a beautiful baby. I don’t think I ever told you that I thought she was beautiful.”

  Aunt Dancy smiled proudly.

  “Does anyone want breakfast?” Aunt Abigail and Anna joined the group in the front room.

  “I’m starving,” said Lydia most dramatically. “Let’s have a huge breakfast.”

  “Somebody get the boys up to milk the cow,” Aunt Dancy said. Anna scurried up the stairs to do her aunt’s bidding.

  At the sound of a friendly knock on the door, Aunt Abigail opened it. The rest of the Lankford family entered.

  “Stephen, you’re awake. Good!” Mam
a went immediately to her son.

  “You gave us quite a scare,” William said. He shook his finger at Lydia. “I’ll talk to you about this later.”

  “Have you had breakfast?” Aunt Abigail asked.

  “No, we came right over here to check on things,” Papa said. “I wanted to make sure Stephen and the baby were all right before going to work.”

  “You’ll join us then,” Aunt Dancy announced.

  Anna was back with the boys. “What is everybody doing here? It’s like a holiday family dinner but no holiday,” Charles said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

  “I think it’s wonderful,” Anna said. “I’ll set the table.”

  “I would like to offer our patient some toast and tea,” Aunt Abigail said, “but I suppose coffee will have to do.”

  Stephen scowled. He did not like coffee. He missed the tea that his family used to drink before the boycotts.

  “I’ll put a lot of milk in it,” Aunt Abigail assured him. Aunt Dancy smiled wryly. “I believe that if you look on the top shelf of my pantry, in the back left corner, you will find a tin of tea.”

  “Really? Tea?” Stephen could hardly believe his good fortune. “Did someone say tea, or am I still dreaming?” Uncle Cuyler ruffled his uncombed hair with his fingers. Uncle Ethan was right behind him.

  “The tea can wait,” Lydia announced, rising to her feet. “Stephen and I have something to propose first.”

  She looked at Stephen, who nodded his agreement. “I would have thought that the two of you would have learned your lessons about scheming,” warned Aunt Abigail, “considering what you have been through in the last few days.”

  Lydia shook her head vigorously. “This is different. This is not a scheme.” She looked around the room, meeting everyone’s eyes. When she had their complete attention, she turned to Aunt Dancy and put out her arms. “May I hold Margaret?”

  “Margaret?” Aunt Dancy questioned. She glanced at Margaret Lankford.

  “The baby,” Lydia insisted. “Her name must be Margaret.” She took the baby from Aunt Dancy’s arms.

  Uncle Ethan and Aunt Dancy chuckled. “You have decided the baby’s name?”