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

by Jodi Daynard

  Kate knew that Johnny did not love her back. Not in that way. Well, she consoled herself, heading up the stairs to her chamber, he may not love her now, but he was young yet. Sixteen. Feelings changed, did they not? She would wait. What choice had she, anyway? Love would not cease simply because it was unrequited, though such excellent reasoning gave her little comfort.

  17

  June 1795

  MAY AND JUNE PASSED QUICKLY, WITH STILL no signs of Peter. Johnny demonstrated his proficiency to his tutors and was passed on to his sophomore year. Soon, it was time to say good-bye to Kate and Eliot for the summer. He felt slightly jealous at the news that Eliot would remain with the Lees over the summer, although this jealousy was eased by the knowledge that he would move in with Eliot that August. He promised them both he would write faithfully.

  In his first days in Quincy, Johnny slept until his mother scolded him awake at around eight. The women found it nothing short of miraculous that he could sleep through dawn and the feeding of the animals, not to mention the children’s shouts and their heavy treads upon the stairs. But Johnny had worked hard all year and had spent too many sleepless nights either studying or talking to Eliot. Now, though asleep in the parlor bed, he was miles away in his dreams.

  After breakfast, there were chores for the children to do, but once dinner was finished, he allowed himself to be dragged in whatever direction the children chose—usually down to the beach. Or he walked with them to Houghs Neck, where they would row out to Noddle’s or Grape Island. On these desolate islands, they would pretend to be shipwrecked explorers until the mosquitoes came out, it grew dark, and the prospect of food beckoned.

  Some days were the province of men alone: one man, to be precise. Mr. Adams wished to raise a barn at the house where he was born, several miles away.

  The barn building took place in the last weeks of July and the first week of August. Mr. Adams rose at six, enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, and then rode to Lizzie’s cottage. On the second day of this routine, he was met by a fretful Miriam.

  “Uncle John,” Miriam scolded Mr. Adams, “can’t you hurry up and finish that silly old barn? We want Johnny to play with us!”

  “Miriam!” cried Eliza, who heard her niece from the kitchen. “Apologize to Mr. Adams at once!”

  But Mr. Adams just laughed and said, “The girls shall always prefer to play with Johnny!”

  “Yes, Mr. Adams,” his mother agreed. “Yet that is no excuse.”

  Johnny smiled. The children did not yet know what he knew about his mother: that her tone was far sharper than her heart.

  Riding east on the main road, Mr. Adams by his side, Johnny swelled with pride. As they passed through the center of town, people turned their heads at the familiar sight of their illustrious resident. Then they looked again to wonder, Who was the hale young man by his side?

  Adams affected not to notice the stares. Instead, he fired at Johnny the usual fusillade of questions. How did his studies go? (Well.) What was his last oration upon? (Death.) What marks did he get on his exams? (Second. The devil take Eliot Mann.) Had he read Gibbon’s History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire? (He had.)

  Johnny told Adams about his trip to Virginia and how impressive he found plantation life in some respects—the foxhunts, music, and sumptuous repasts. Then Johnny hazarded, “And I met Mr. Jefferson.”

  “Oh?” Adams feigned but mild interest. “What did you discuss?”

  “To be honest, sir, I was too frightened to say a word. He wondered whether you had more success with your wheat crops than he did.”

  “Humph!” Adams smirked. “The great pretender adores his role of simple farmer—half believes it, too.”

  “Indeed, it’s shameful.” Johnny frowned. “Only compare how we ourselves are off to raise a barn of great diplomatic import.”

  Adams shot Johnny a look, and then laughed. Apart from Abigail, Johnny might have been the only person in the world who could speak to Adams in this way without risking an explosion. Adams was moved to ask, “Why do you have no such terror of me, child, though I am far more powerful than Mr. Jefferson?”

  Johnny replied, “Sir, you have stated on several occasions that you find the job of vice president to be the most powerless one on earth. Naturally, I take you at your word.”

  At being hoist with his own petard, John Adams laughed so hard that he nearly fell off his saddle.

  When not with Adams or playing with Lizzie’s children, Johnny read and wrote letters. He wrote to Kate and Eliot, easy letters filled with news of ripening beans and cucumbers, suppers in the garden, and chases across the dunes with the children. That July, he also received two letters from abroad, one from Cassie and the other from Grand-mama:

  Dear grandson,

  I hope you are a diligent boy and doing well at school. I pass the days tolerably here, though the Lord knows Cassie can’t be bothered with me. She has taken to selling her rabbits at market and has hired a girl to look after me. The girl does a tolerable job, I admit. I cannot deny she makes very nice jam cakes.

  Grand-mama sounded very well, despite her complaints. Johnny then read Cassie’s letter:

  My Dear Boy

  Cassie is so happe to receeve yor leter. I be obliged to hire a gurl for miss Margaret. She complain but is not unappy. My little bixness doz well. And big news! Isac get married next month! A sweet girl, mulatter, and most comely. But he say he will starve if I don’t teach her to cooke.

  After reading the letters from home, Johnny was seized with homesickness. Why was he not in Barbados? Why had he forsaken his father’s shipyard? Why had it been so easy for him to forget them, when he remembered everything else down to its last detail?

  He knew why, he reminded himself. He had made a choice, but it was easier to live with if he locked that door to his former life.

  Meanwhile, Kate wrote Johnny nearly every day. She spoke of family matters, of what she read, and of the great pleasure of Eliot’s company. Kate said that the dry sun, gentle breezes, and Bessie’s good food had served to improve his health.

  Eliot says to tell you he feels strong and nearly well, and that he has not coughed blood in several weeks.

  Johnny was heartened by Kate’s letters. But in August, he received a letter from her that struck an ominous note. When Jay’s Treaty was finally ratified by Congress and published that July, violence broke out in the streets of Boston. Kate wrote,

  Boys are returning to college early and many of them have joined those anti-Federalist clubs that are all the rage now. They sport the hats of the French revolutionaries and put on Gallic airs. There have been violent fights reported within our local taverns. I fear these tensions shall grow worse.

  Johnny replied,

  I shall, I hope, remain above the fray. Fret not. I greatly look forward to the reconvening of our little society. I shall otherwise throw myself into solitary studies, and the idiotic partisan fighting shall be as nothing to me.

  Kate was not so sanguine. She was unsure whether Johnny could in fact remain above the strife. He had an uncanny ability to recall the past but could be woefully blind to all that stood in plain sight.

  When the day of Johnny’s departure arrived, Miriam was so despondent that she went into hiding and could not be found. As Martha’s chestnut mare had already been returned to her, Eliza spoke to Abigail, who insisted that Johnny take their carriage. She also insisted that he take four jars of beans and two of corn, raspberry jam for the Lees, and all manner of biscuits and pies for himself. For Eliot, Lizzie had packed a special cough tincture, a winter coat, and two blankets, though without, it was broiling and would remain so for another month at least.

  It was easier for Johnny to take the carriage than to argue with Lizzie or his mother. At the last moment, Miriam came out of hiding and endeavored to climb into the carriage ahead of him. The younger girls clamored and clung to his legs, exacting a solemn promise that he would return soon. His mother hugged him for a long time, her he
ad on his chest. Johnny could swear she listened to the beating of his heart, as if to confirm that he was alive and well.

  Her own heart was so full that she managed only two words: “Be careful.”

  Johnny sighed as he mounted the carriage. “I always am, Mama.”

  18

  August 1795

  THE SUN WAS A RED BALL UPON the Charles as the carriage made its way over the Great Bridge into Cambridge. The coachman brought Johnny to Harvard’s main entrance and deposited his things upon the ground beside the walkway. It took many trips before all the items from Quincy had been transferred to his new lodgings on the third floor.

  By the time Johnny made his last trip from the coach, the sky had darkened. Holding one parcel beneath each arm, he looked up and noticed that some students had placed candles in their windows. He wondered what they were for, until he saw a great flapping banner beneath one window: Damn John Jay and damn all those who don’t damn him!

  Johnny could not fathom how his fellow students could extol the virtues of the French Revolution when reports in the papers placed the death toll not in hundreds nor even in thousands, but in the tens of thousands. That was carnage, he thought, not freedom.

  Worst of all were those Southern boys who returned to college wearing their tricolor hats in solidarity with France. The hypocrisy to cry for liberty whilst being fanned by slaves!

  Eliot returned from the Lees’ house the morning after Johnny had returned from Quincy. He joined his friend for breakfast in the commons, and Johnny was cheered to note that his friend did look much improved. His color was excellent, and he seemed to have gained flesh. Eliot’s cane was conspicuously absent. They conversed for a few minutes about their summers. But eventually, Eliot asked the question they had both avoided.

  “Is Fray returned?”

  “Not that I can see.”

  “Ah, well. Perhaps that’s the end of it.”

  The previous spring, Johnny had told Eliot the truth about Virginia, including Harriet’s rape and his gift to her of his knife. Eliot had listened with careful attention, and when Johnny finished, had insisted that there was naught else Johnny could have done.

  He was comforted by Eliot’s words, yet he did not quite believe them. He could have challenged Frederick to a duel. But then he would likely have been unmasked, killed, or both.

  After breakfast, Johnny returned to their chamber, leaving Eliot in the commons to finish his tea. He had just strolled out of Harvard Hall and approached his lodgings when he found Kate standing at the entrance, waiting for him.

  She looked different, somehow. She had grown taller, and there was something about her face . . . Staring at her rudely, he tried to puzzle it out. Kate waited patiently for him to discover the change. Then she laughed. “So, you notice my new spectacles.”

  “I admit I did not notice them, though I do now. I noticed the amber color of your eyes.”

  Kate blushed. “Giles has long since been seeking a new project, and he found one. He discovered a means of ridding spectacles of their frames, all but the sides and bridge. See?” She removed her glasses and proffered them to Johnny. He held them gently in his hands. Two tiny bolts on each lens fastened to steel sidepieces and a simple bridge.

  “How very ingenious.”

  “Yes, he really is. The body, though infirm, yet houses an inventive mind. Needless to say, I’m most grateful to him.” Kate took her glasses back from Johnny and returned them to her face.

  “Say—are you off to class just now?” she asked.

  “I’ve half an hour—come.” Johnny took her by the elbow and led her into the yard. He removed his calico gown and placed it on the ground for her. Though it was yet August, a number of yellow leaves had begun to float down from the trees. After they had inquired about the health of each other’s families, Kate paused and stifled a smile.

  “What is it, Kate? What are you hiding?”

  “I had a suitor after you left for Quincy,” she confessed.

  “A suitor? Who, pray?” Johnny’s heart thudded unexpectedly.

  “Someone by the name of Pearce, a friend of my parents.”

  “Pearce,” Johnny muttered. “Sounds old.”

  “He is not old.” Kate smirked. “He’s but thirty years of age, or perhaps a little younger.”

  “Humph,” muttered Johnny, much as Mr. Adams did when dissatisfied.

  “Why, cannot you imagine any young man taking an interest in me?”

  “Of course I can!”

  “You seem to think that because you do not find me attractive, no one will.”

  “That is not what I meant—”

  Kate knew that was not what Johnny meant, but, affecting annoyance, she stood and brushed herself off. “I take my leave of you, Johnny Boylston.”

  Johnny stood as well, thoroughly confused. “Kate—what—?”

  But Kate had already headed off toward home. She heard Johnny’s call but continued walking as if she had not. She was smiling to herself, though. For she had gleaned something he had not. He was jealous! Boys could be such fools sometimes, she thought. Particularly Johnny Boylston.

  19

  IT WAS MID-SEPTEMBER NOW, AND JOHNNY believed that Peter was gone for good. The family must have arranged to send him somewhere closer to home. He was vastly relieved. There was unfinished business between them, but Johnny suspected that this business could never be resolved. It was best to let his experience of the Frays and of Virginia become swallowed up in the fullness of time.

  During the day, Johnny and Eliot worked hard at their studies. At night, they talked, sometimes late into the night. If a coughing fit kept Eliot awake, Johnny would make him tea with Lizzie’s tincture in it. Sometimes, to calm his friend’s fears, Johnny would sing softly to him, songs that Cassie had sung to him when he was a child:

  Pack she back to she ma,

  Pack she back to she ma,

  Such a decent girl like Jessie Mahon,

  Pack she back to she ma.

  A pretty little girl named Jessie Mahon,

  She lazy since she born.

  De girl couldn’ cook, she won’ read a book,

  So pack she back to she ma.

  “More verses!” Eliot always cried, for he knew there were more, and he didn’t want Johnny to stop singing.

  One morning toward the end of September, Johnny and Eliot walked into the commons and were about to sit at their usual table when Eliot halted. He stuck his thumb in the direction of Peter’s old table.

  “Regard. He’s there.”

  Peter was sitting in his usual place among Farquez, Shattuck, Selfridge, and Wales, just as if he’d never left. The moment he saw Johnny, he rose from his chair, his eyes like blue stones. The other boys’ glances, before merely indifferent, were now oddly cold as well. Peter approached Johnny, who bowed. Peter did not.

  “Welcome back,” Johnny said. “What happened to you? I thought you’d gone for good.”

  Peter said nothing.

  Johnny continued, “As you must’ve noticed, I’ve moved in with Eliot. I thought you’d left the college and—”

  “Meet me in the yard, in five minutes,” Peter interrupted. He then returned to his friends and whispered something that made them all snicker.

  Johnny sat down at his usual table, but he could not eat. As he took a sip of his coffee, he wondered what had happened.

  Eliot asked, “I suppose he’s angry that you’ve moved?”

  Johnny shook his head. “Nay. It’s something else.”

  “What else?”

  “I know not. I’m meeting him in the yard. I suppose I shall find out.”

  “You don’t need a second, do you? I should make a very bad one. You’ll have to prop me up in a chair.”

  Johnny did not reply; his heart beat so quickly he could barely breathe.

  Ten minutes later, having taken nothing for breakfast, Johnny strode out of Massachusetts Hall and into the yard.

  Peter was waiting for him a
t the north end, on the playing field. The morning breeze was cool, but Johnny felt himself perspiring with fear. He recalled that very first day one year ago, when they wrestled in that field.

  Seeing Johnny, Peter looked about to assure himself that they were alone. Then, staring directly at his old roommate, he said, “Frederick is dead.”

  For a moment, Johnny simply stood there. Shocked as he was, he could not feign sadness. He asked, “How?”

  “He got into a fight with one of our slaves.”

  “When? What did they fight about?”

  “February last. The nigger had noble ideas regarding his sister.”

  With slow horror, Johnny realized that Peter must be talking about Harriet.

  “But it wasn’t a fair fight. My brother was unarmed.”

  “What happened to the slave?”

  “We hanged him—slowly. It took three days. In his last moments, he begged not for his own life, but for the safety of his family. We had promised no harm would come to them if he told us where he procured the knife.”

  Peter looked at Johnny with undisguised malice. He said, “You were concerned for Harriet, as I recall, though you endeavored to conceal it.”

  “I—”

  “It was your knife, Johnny. I knew it the moment it was brought to me.”

  Johnny asked quietly, “Did you keep your promise to the man you hanged?”

  “Of course not. Harriet was sold to a planter down in Mississippi. They were all sold, and good riddance, I say.”

  Peter hesitated, as if debating whether to share the rest with Johnny. Then he continued, “I know not whether I shall last the year here. It’s doubtful whether my family can pay Frederick’s creditors. I’ve spent the past months helping Papa to contact and pay them. If we can hang on to the plantation, it will be a miracle.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Johnny.

  Peter let out a raucous laugh. “You’re sorry?”

  “It was not my intention to make an enemy of you, or for anyone to be harmed.” Johnny took a step toward his friend, but Peter sprang back.