A More Perfect Union: A Novel (The Midwife Series Book 3)

by Jodi Daynard

  His mother and Mrs. Lee were soon locked in conversation as Johnny observed the cool cobbled streets of Boston and the simple, stately homes. These homes, in their upright primness, reminded him of the Negro grannies who sat so erectly in St. Michael’s Church, eager to hear the reverend’s every word. Where were all the Negroes, anyway? Passing from Boston to Cambridge, he saw not a one. Then Johnny reminded himself that he was white now. He wasn’t supposed to care about how many Negroes there were.

  They traveled through Boston Common, a vast pasture dotted with cows and strolling couples; its far end declined gradually to the sea. The carriage soon crossed a bright new bridge of impressive dimensions. Johnny estimated that it was at least one quarter of a mile long. Seagulls squawked overhead, and the marsh soon gave way to hilly farmland. From these hilltops Johnny could see the Charles River, wending gracefully eastward.

  Somewhere just before reaching Cambridge, lulled by the rocking carriage, Johnny fell asleep. He slept deeply as they rode past the university, the busy market, and the stately homes of Brattle Street, until the carriage finally lurched to a stop. He awoke but allowed his eyes to remain closed.

  He had been dreaming: It was early morning, and the air was cool over Carlisle Bay. A gentle breeze blew in from the east. He was riding down the beach upon the back of a green turtle. Soon he would hear Cassie call him to breakfast. Cassie would stand at the edge of the hill and call down, her wrinkled brown hands cupped around her mouth: “John-eee! I hope you not be swimmin’ down dere where nobody know if you drown yah’self!”

  His mother shook him gently. “Johnny, we’re here.”

  “All right, Mama,” he muttered. But Johnny kept his eyes closed a moment longer. He knew that when he opened them, he would see an entirely new world, and the old one behind his eyelids would be just another memory.

  3

  MRS. ELIZABETH LEE BOYLSTON MILLER, OR “LIZZIE,” was already within, having traveled from Quincy for Eliza and Johnny’s homecoming. Johnny thought Lizzie a handsome woman. She had rich auburn hair through which snaked a single thick streak of gray. Though also in her late thirties, she appeared in robust good health. She wore a cotton summer gown of a cerulean blue that suited her fair complexion and made her hair glow like embers. But Johnny also gleaned that Lizzie was indifferent to her appearance: Her gown was several years out of date, and her shoes betrayed a recent trek through a muddy field. How plain she was compared to the fine Barbadian ladies, so keen to keep abreast of London fashion!

  Suddenly the object of his study came flying toward him. She engulfed him in her arms, crying, “Is it really you, Johnny? Goodness, but what a fine fellow you’ve become!” Turning to his mother, she exclaimed, “Eliza, I can hardly believe it. Oh, but what a great difference fifteen years makes. He’s every bit a man—and so very handsome!”

  “Yes.” Eliza beamed. “Very like his father.”

  “But I do wish Tom were here to greet you, Johnny. He’s in New Hampshire just now and shan’t be home for several weeks.” Shifting excitedly back to Eliza, Lizzie said, “Just wait till the children see him! They will eat him alive!”

  Where were the children, anyway? He had heard that, between Lizzie and Martha, there were ten of them. But he saw not a one as Aunt Martha fairly dragged him into the kitchen, where she commanded him to strip out of his filthy garments and step into a tub of hot water.

  Johnny stood in his salt-crusted clothing, defiant. He was bone-weary and eager to get into a real bed, but it had been years since he had allowed any woman to see him naked, and he would not do so now. After a standoff of some minutes, Aunt Martha said, “Well, suit yourself!”

  “You must mean ‘unsuit,’ Aunt Martha.” Johnny smiled.

  “Oh!” She left him with an annoyed little huff.

  Then, just as he had settled into the bath, he heard the door bang open. It was Lizzie. She strode toward him and took up his necklace in one hand. “What on earth is this, pray? It looks quite savage.”

  “It brings good luck. Especially the carnelian.”

  “And your hair!” she went on, placing a hand upon his head. “It’s so very curly!” Then Lizzie did something Johnny did not see coming: she pulled a pitcher of water from behind her back and poured it over his head.

  Johnny cried and belatedly fended off the water.

  Lizzie laughed.

  Eliza heard her son’s spluttering cry and entered the kitchen. Seeing Lizzie standing over him with the empty pitcher, she turned to her friend: “He detests such ministrations, you know. It’s best to let him get on with it himself.”

  “Oh, so sorry,” Lizzie said. But neither woman seemed very contrite when, giggling, they finally left him in peace.

  Soon, clean and dry and swaddled in a thick cotton dressing gown, Johnny was led by his aunt up a carved staircase and into a handsome chamber, wherein stood a heavy mahogany bed.

  “Sleep well, dear boy,” she said. Then she closed the window curtains and shut the door behind her. Johnny sank gratefully into a real bed at last. Oh, luxury! He was asleep within a minute and did not stir until late the following morning.

  In his sleep, he still felt the rocking. Rolling one way and then back the other: fear and anticipation, back and forth. As the sun began to filter through the gauzy curtains, the trees beyond, unmoving, Johnny realized that he was no longer on a ship. He rose from the bed and opened the curtains. The blazing sun made him squint.

  After washing and dressing, Johnny soon emerged into a cool and silent hallway. He was fully dressed, save for his bare feet, and eager for coffee. He had begun drinking coffee in Cassie’s kitchen before he could reach the table. Cassie would hand it to him, steaming hot, in a child’s dish. What was dear Cassie doing at that moment, he wondered, without them?

  Descending the stairs, Johnny was met with more silence. Now the strangeness of this new place came upon him. The house seemed a familiar-enough dwelling. With its double parlor and fine staircase, it was much like his plantation home. But the smells were different, and the light that came in from the window was a far whiter light than he had known in Barbados, a blue-white diamond light.

  Johnny drifted toward the kitchen and saw an old woman napping by the hearth, head bent into her chest. She had on a well-worn lace cap that partially concealed a florid white face. Beside her, sitting upon a tall ladder-back chair, snoozed a grizzled old Negro. He was dressed in a worn linen suit. His old head was bent onto his chest, and a pair of hexagonal-shaped spectacles dangled at the end of a broad nose. These must be Bessie and Giles, old servants of Lizzie’s family. Giles had once been a family slave. He was something of an inventor, Johnny’s mother told him.

  Bessie, hearing him approach, lurched upright and exclaimed, “Oh! Heavens! Everyone’s at meeting. Why, you must be Johnny. I knew you when you was the size of a Sunday roast. And near as dark, too. Goodness, but you’ve whitened up considerable. Yes, a handsome white lad you are now.”

  Johnny laughed good-naturedly.

  “You can call me Bessie. But Lord, it’s past ten! You must be starved!” At this worrisome thought, Bessie hastened to prepare him a breakfast. Her shouts finally woke Giles, who stood with some difficulty and bowed to Johnny in a most dignified manner. Johnny bowed in return and then retreated into the parlor, where he sat at the dining table and waited, his bare toes snuggling into the fine Turkey carpet.

  Soon Bessie brought Johnny a plate of eggs, ham, and a warm biscuit. He dug in. Just as he was finishing his last mouthful, the entire Lee clan burst through the front door. Mrs. Lee was first, followed by three girls, one about his age and two young ones, perhaps five and seven, both in calico frocks and pink ribbons. Next came two boys who, by contrast, appeared rough and hardy. Hands shoved deeply in their pockets, they affected boredom with their sisters and with domestic life generally. The older one, perhaps twelve, kept glancing toward the front door, as if everything exciting lay beyond it. This lad, Johnny later learned, was Ben. The younger
boy was Harry, and he was ten.

  Finally, Johnny’s eye was drawn to the eldest girl. Her dun-brown hair was pinned atop her head in a sloppy bun, and her eyes, though a pretty amber color, were obscured by a pair of metal spectacles much like those old Giles wore.

  The youngest children swarmed about him as if they had discovered a great wild beast.

  “Oh, but look at his hair!” cried the older little girl. “Regard how very curly it is! May I touch it, Mama?” she asked, sticking her hand into the soft fuzz.

  “Certainly not, Elizabeth.” Martha Lee pulled the child back.

  At the sight of the strange beads, the little one exclaimed, “What are these, pray?” She reached out to touch Johnny’s bracelet, but Aunt Martha steered her away as well. “Hannah! Elizabeth! Where are your manners? Let the poor boy finish his breakfast.”

  Hannah began to cry, and Johnny gratefully swallowed the last mouthful of food that had sat in his cheek since the family had arrived.

  Mr. Lee, the children’s father, was the last one to make an appearance, having been detained at meeting. “The devil take Mrs. Appleton,” he cried upon entering the foyer and removing his hat. “She held me back with a long-winded tale of her husband’s gout!”

  “That’s uncharitable,” Aunt Martha said sternly.

  “Oh, well, I suppose you’re right,” said Mr. Lee, suddenly chuckling boyishly. Though now domesticated by a wife and five children, Harry Lee still bore the telltale signs of the roguish privateer he once had been. He had muscular arms, a rakish stance, and a careless mop of graying blond hair that fell to one side of his face.

  Espying Johnny, Mr. Lee let out a snort of delight. Then, though a good head shorter than the boy, he proceeded to lift him off the floor.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” Elizabeth and Hannah protested, finding it unfair that he should be able to touch the exotic stranger. Mr. Lee set Johnny down. “All right, children. You may devour him.” He then turned to his wife. “Speaking of which, I’m starved!”

  The children were upon Johnny at once. Even the two boys could no longer feign disinterest. Grasping Johnny’s bead necklace, Ben asked, “What are these long things?”

  “Those are dogs’ teeth.”

  “And these round ones?”

  “Fish vertebrae.”

  “Ew!” cried Hannah.

  “Can you eat them?” inquired Elizabeth.

  “They’re probably poisonous, you idiot,” young Harry replied.

  “I wouldn’t,” said Johnny. “They’re not poisonous, but I doubt they’re very tasty.”

  “Mama! Harry called me an idiot!” Elizabeth cried.

  But her mother had gone to see about dinner, and Elizabeth, seeing that her complaint fell on deaf ears, turned back to Johnny and asked if she could try the necklace on.

  “Oh, but I should like to wear it,” Hannah whimpered, her little chin wobbling.

  The children all clamored at once, and Johnny offered up the necklace and the two bracelets, much to their delight. He kept only a gold ring set with a large ruby, which he feared to lose. This ring had been given to him by a certain Madame Pringle, tavern owner, as payment for Johnny’s help with her accounts.

  Martha whispered to Lizzie, “I fear we are in danger of falling as much in love with Johnny as we did when he was an infant.”

  Lizzie nodded. “Indeed. Regard how natural he is with them.”

  “And so patient,” added Martha. “Not the way some youths are, who feel they should like children and make a sickly sweet show of it.”

  Once the family had dined, Johnny found himself on all fours pretending to be a pony. Little Hannah climbed upon his back and the others cried for their turn. Only the eldest girl, whose name was Kate, sat apart, reading upon a book. For this activity, the poor girl was obliged to raise her spectacles and hold the book so close to her face it almost touched her nose. Occasionally she ceased reading long enough to scold one or another of her siblings for grabbing Johnny too harshly or yelling in his ear.

  Without, the day was sunny and fine, and not too humid. His mother had opened the front door. As the children finally moved off to other pursuits, Eliza glanced at the door.

  “Johnny, do you—would you like to see the house in which your mother grew up? It’s just down the road.”

  “Oh, yes, Mama!”

  His mother did not say that her memories of that place were painful, but Johnny knew they were. She had told him how her father had sold Cassie’s husband, Cato, and their child, Toby. Toby had been a great favorite of Eliza’s. She had only just taught him to read when he fell victim to her father’s financial “retrenchment.” It was the first time, Eliza said, that she understood what slavery was. Then, the following year, a beloved younger sister, Maria, had died in that house, of the throat distemper.

  They strolled down Brattle Street, Johnny admiring the great estates along the way. Stands of hawthorn, maple, and ripening apple trees flourished all the way down to the river. He had somehow imagined America as being stark and arid, and was surprised to discover its lush vegetation and tall trees.

  After walking for five minutes, his mother stopped before a large, stately home. It was painted a bright yellow with cream trim. Roses, having already bloomed, flanked the path leading up to the stone stoop and a dark-green door.

  “This is it,” she said. “This was my home.”

  Johnny found no words for what he saw.

  “Of course,” she continued, “it has changed. We owned the land behind the house, too, all the way down to the river. There are other houses there now. But we used to play in the apple orchards just there—” she pointed into the distance. Johnny strained to see what his mother saw, but he realized that it was a vision from before he was born. “Oh, I would love to peek inside!” She giggled.

  “Shall I do it?” he offered.

  “Nay, Johnny! Someone is certainly within!”

  But Johnny had already run off without waiting for permission. At the front door, he crouched down and peeked in a sidelight, gazed about for a moment, and then ran back to his mother, laughing.

  “Johnny! How could you?” she began. She pulled him away from the house by his elbow. “You are very wicked!” she said. But Johnny saw that she stifled an urge to laugh.

  Once they were safely down the road he said, “Mama, would you like to know what I saw?”

  “Indeed not,” she said, chin in the air.

  “Very well.” Johnny walked along in silence. His mother stopped.

  “Oh, well, since the deed is done, you may as well tell me what you saw.”

  He smiled and lightly shut his eyes. “It is very beautiful. The floors are polished, and there is a green carpet in the foyer. An impressive staircase winds its way by means of four differently carved turnings, painted bright white. Instead of a newel post, there are seven—no, eight carved spirals.”

  “And people? Did you see any?”

  “Nay. But I did have a glimpse of sorts off the foyer on the right.”

  “That was Papa’s library. That was where he sat, reading upon a broadside, when I asked him what he’d done with Cato and Toby. He told me that we needed to ‘retrench and consolidate.’” Tears sprang at once to his mother’s eyes. “Oh, let us go and leave the ghosts to rest in peace!”

  4

  ON THE FOLLOWING MORNING, JOHNNY BREAKFASTED EARLY with the children. He had not yet fully dressed, and his feet, as always, were bare. The adults were nowhere in sight. But after he had played for near half an hour with the children, Johnny heard his mother calling to him. Her voice was syrupy.

  “Johnny, would you kindly join us? We’re just here, in the library.”

  The children clung to him like barnacles as he rose and moved off to Mr. Lee’s study. Entering the room, Johnny saw a tall glass-fronted case containing an annotated chart of the West Indies, a fragment of a China bowl, and an old sextant. His mother, Aunt Martha, Harry, Lizzie, Bessie, and Giles sat in a single row upon a red
damask sofa. The late morning sun cast them in silhouette. Johnny squinted. What was it they wished to speak to him about, so inquisition-like?

  “Aunt Martha has something to say,” his mother began.

  That was ominous. People rarely prepared one to hear good news, he thought. From her pocket, Aunt Martha took a piece of paper and handed it to Johnny. Then, noticing that the door was ajar, Eliza rose to close it.

  “What is this, pray?” he asked.

  “It’s an oath, sworn to and sealed by all of us in this room and three who aren’t. We’ve sworn to remain silent regarding your lineage. No one else must know, not even our children. It would be very dangerous for you.”

  “Yes, I understand. Mama and I have discussed it.”

  Johnny glanced down at the document. In addition to those in the room, it was signed by Thomas Miller, John Adams, and Abigail Adams. Indeed, Johnny thought, there were so many signatures, and such illustrious ones, that it might have been the Declaration of Independence.

  “Do you truly, Johnny?” Aunt Martha continued. “Think about it. Think about the very grave dangers, not only to yourself, but to all those who know you. Lizzie could no longer procure work as a midwife. My husband would lose his job at Boston Harbor. Even Mr. Adams—”

  Suddenly, Johnny heard giggling beyond the door. He opened it, stuck his tongue out at the expectant children, then slammed the door shut. He burst out laughing.

  “Johnny!” Eliza scolded him. “Listen to your aunt.”

  “Yes, child. This is serious. Do you hear what we say?”

  But Johnny already knew what they told him. He’d had many weeks to think of little else. He replied gravely, “I understand full well, Aunt Martha. The very taint of knowing me would spell death. The Black Death.”

  Eliza scowled at her son, who had a terrible way of growing more antic the more one fretted over him.

  Aunt Martha sighed. Then, with an effort at cheer, she said, “Well, but now that’s done, our dear friends beg leave to impart some gentle advice to you, in preparation for your exams.”