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

by Jodi Daynard

  “Indeed, I would.” Johnny grinned. He had hardly been to Boston since his arrival in America. What’s more, Johnny had been contemplating joining one of the college’s theatrical societies.

  “Excellent!” Kate said. “But I fear I interrupted you before. Was there something you wished to tell me?”

  “Oh, no. It was only about Eliot.”

  “I shall write to him at once.” Kate stood, brushing the grass off her skirts. “Shall we see you on Sunday?”

  “Of course.”

  She curtsied and left with a lift in her step. She even glanced over her shoulder and waved gaily. Seeing her good cheer, Johnny felt ashamed that he had not told her that his plans had changed and that he would leave Harvard in July.

  Between September and the end of October, Johnny tried to make new friends. He auditioned for a part in a play, Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, winning a small role. And while none of the boys in the Hasty Pudding Club were very bookish, at least Johnny now had friends with whom he could sit at commons.

  As October arrived, Johnny found himself looking forward to going to the theater. Perhaps, he thought, he could learn something from seeing how real actors performed their roles.

  Meanwhile, the country at large was performing its own theatrics. As the citizens readied to vote for the second president of the United States, declamations of unprecedented grandiosity issued forth from both sides. Adams was dubbed a Monocrat, and the Boston Chronicle warned that if he were elected, heredity succession would be imposed upon Americans. And Thomas Paine, whom Johnny had once adulated, published a scathing article attacking the venerable Washington. “The world will be puzzled to decide whether you are an apostate or an impostor; whether you have abandoned good principles or whether you ever had any.” But to Johnny, the most dramatic occurrence was the publication of Washington’s Farewell Address, in which the old warrior begged his countrymen to eschew partisan fighting.

  Alone in Philadelphia, Adams was glum and feared defeat. But by mid-December, unofficial word had begun to spread that he had won the presidency, with Jefferson coming in second. This news, though by no means official, made for great good cheer among Johnny’s family, and it was with smiles and laughter that he and the Lees made their way to Boston.

  “Oh,” Kate exclaimed as the carriage moved off, “what fun we shall have!”

  The new Haymarket Theatre was an enormous wooden building that towered over Common Street across from the Mall. That night’s performance, Bunker Hill: The Death of Joseph Warren, promised to be well attended. Johnny was impressed by the opulent interior. Above their heads an enormous candelabra, already lit, swayed slightly, casting a dancing shadow against the theater’s red walls.

  As they settled into their seats, Johnny took the measure of the crowd: Though the building itself was bathed in elegance, the crowd was by no means so. Mechanics, sailors, and other workmen filled its seats and reeked of smoke. In the gallery above him, Johnny could already hear several voices emboldened by drink.

  The sconces were lit, the curtains parted, and the play began. The subject of the play, those brave men who fought in the War of Independence, was honorable. But overlaid upon it was the insipid story of a Boston girl who falls in love with a British officer. Johnny disliked such sentimental treacle, but Kate seemed enraptured. Her eyes were fixed upon the stage, her posture erect and attentive.

  The voices in the gallery grew louder.

  “He’s a bloody liar!”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me!”

  “You and your bloody king-loving Federalists!”

  People began to turn toward the gallery. The murmurs grew, someone threw a punch, and then came a piercing cry. The actors continued their declamations upon the stage, but Johnny knew they could not do so for much longer. At last, responding belatedly to the disturbance, the players fell silent and gazed into the audience to see who had cried out.

  Johnny endeavored to ignore the drunkards. But as they continued their bitter rants, his anger grew.

  Suddenly he stood up and turned to face the ruffians:

  “Have you no shame?” he cried. “Have you neither eyes nor ears, that you heed not the call of our beloved Washington?”

  Then something hard hit him on the side of the head. Johnny lurched back and lifted his hands to his face. Kate was on her feet at once, pulling him by the arm. The blow hurt so badly that for a moment, he swayed on his feet. They fled their seats, before the stunned drunkards could recover what wits they possessed. Once they were clear of the building, Kate and her parents hugged Johnny fiercely.

  “Oh, Johnny. I was so frightened!” Kate cried. “I thought they would kill you.”

  “You were very brave,” Aunt Martha added.

  Johnny shook his head slowly. “I know not what came over me. Rarely am I moved to such anger. But for those idiots to sit on their haunches, enjoying peace and liberty, for them to disturb our citizens in such a way. Of what use is a government of the people if the people will not govern themselves?”

  To this, no one had a ready reply.

  It was a subdued ride home. But, since they had left the theater, a kind of excitement had begun to build within Johnny.

  After a while, Kate said, “I’m afraid your birthday celebration was ruined.”

  “Yes, we’re very sorry for that, lad,” added Harry glumly.

  “Don’t be, sir. I do believe I’ve discovered something tonight.”

  “Pray, what is that?” Kate asked.

  “My voice,” said Johnny.

  24

  BENJAMIN RUSSELL, EDITOR OF THE COLUMBIAN CENTINEL, thought he heard something in the voice of the anonymous contributor whose short but compelling essay had just come across his desk. It was postmarked from Cambridge. A Harvard tutor must have written it, he thought. In its neat, even rows of handwriting, Russell could hear the kind of pure, idealistic voice that he’d not heard since the days of the Revolution.

  As our great George Washington has said, the very idea of the power and the right of the people to establish government presupposes the duty of every individual to obey the established government. Those citizens who, regardless of the cause, refuse to obey the laws that they themselves have made, weaken the Union and make it prey to factional influences. Each man must uphold the Constitution and eschew such petty grievances as will tear the fabric of our society to shreds . . .

  The essay was called “What Tears Us Apart,” and it was signed Concordia Discors. Out of discord comes harmony.

  Johnny had not believed that Russell would publish his essay. But at Kate’s the following Sunday, he noticed a copy of the Centinel on the parlor table and opened it to find the article on the second page.

  “Kate! Come look!” he cried.

  Kate approached. “What is it? What do you see?”

  “Regard this article.” Johnny pointed to his essay.

  “This? Why, what is it? By Concordia Discors. Who’s that?”

  Johnny blushed. “At your service, madam.” He bowed. “Oh, but I must tell Eliot! And Mama! May I borrow this paper, do you think?” he asked, wagging the broadside at her. “In case they don’t have a copy.”

  “They?” she asked bewilderedly.

  “I have a terrible urge to go to Quincy and boast of it. At once!” Johnny turned to depart but then said, “But, oh, I must return to get leave from a tutor or they shall fine me. Come to Quincy with me? Eliot shall be thrilled. If you agree, I’ll return within the hour.”

  Kate, nearly as excited as Johnny at the prospect of going to Quincy, flew off to ask her mother if she could accompany him.

  They left that same afternoon, taking the Lees’ little one-horse curricle. As they rode through Cambridge and Brookline, and then across the bridge into Roxbury, the skies darkened and Johnny heard thunder. He hoped it wouldn’t rain before they reached Quincy; that would slow them down considerably. Thankfully, the rain held off, and they felt the first drops and saw a flash of
lightning just as they ran into the cottage, holding sacks above their heads.

  Now in the third week of November, the farm had a vastly different feel from its summer aspect: without, the trees were gray sticks, and all the leaves lay about in piles, to be burned or used for mulch. There was not a soul in sight, and one heard no birds or crickets; there was only the roar of the waves.

  Within, all was cozy and warm. Eliza ran to her son. “But we had no notion of your coming just now, and with Kate, too!”

  Kate reddened. “I hope it’s not inconvenient.”

  Lizzie said, “Oh, don’t be silly. Eliot shall be very happy. He’s just in here.”

  In the kitchen, they found Eliot in good spirits, though a shade or two paler than he had been when Johnny had last seen him. He was sitting in a wing chair by the hearth, beside a small worktable. Miriam sat across from him: they were playing a game of cards. When Miriam saw Johnny, she stood and curtsied.

  “Hello, Johnny,” she said, primly. Then she sat back down to finish the game.

  “Johnny? Is it really you? And Kate, too?” Eliot turned to Miriam. “Miriam, allow me a few minutes with Johnny. We can finish the game later.” Miriam rose reluctantly and left the kitchen. It seemed clear to Johnny that, having at first roundly rejected Eliot, Miriam had now transferred all her affections to him.

  Eliot grinned at his friends. “But what brings you both here, and without so much as a whisper of warning? Come, man. Sit and tell me everything.” Eliot patted the table.

  “A truant disposition,” Johnny joked.

  “I would not hear your enemy say so,” Eliot recited.

  “We come for the night. I daren’t stay much longer.”

  Once Johnny had sat down, Eliot reached across the table and pulled Johnny to him. “Oh, I’ve missed you!”

  Kate stood quietly by the fire.

  “And you, too.” He nodded to Kate. “Come here!”

  Kate installed herself beside them.

  “Well, how’ve you been?” Johnny finally asked. “How’s life among the womenfolk?”

  Eliot gazed at the burning hearth. “I must say I’ve been vastly contented, Johnny.”

  Lizzie, who had come in to tend the fire, affected not to listen. But Will blurted, “He plays with us for hours and hours!”

  “Will, let us leave the friends to talk.” Lizzie ushered the ten-year-old out of the kitchen.

  When they had gone, Eliot continued, “Yes, vastly contented, John. I live a life that is both more rewarding and more strenuous than you can imagine. Why, I’ve burned myself twice removing cakes from the fire.”

  “Removing cakes, Eliot?” asked Kate.

  “Oh, yes,” Eliot said with pride. “I’ve baked a goodly number by now. You shall have one this evening. I’m quite clever at it, you know.”

  “I should like to taste one,” Kate said.

  “You shall. Indeed, you shall, my dear!”

  Johnny laughed. “Eliot the Baker!”

  Eliot lost his smile and grew contemplative. “Why, but that’s just it, John. This visit was meant to be my retirement from the world, but instead it has been my introduction to it. I admit it is a far cry from your world of books and ambitions.”

  “I don’t know,” Johnny mused. “I think I should grow weary of listening to women talk all day. Doing so reminds me too much of home. Cassie, Mama, Grand-mama. Talk, talk, talk, all day long. Enough to drive a man mad!”

  Eliot and Kate exchanged a knowing look.

  “Do you find time for your poetry?” Kate turned to Eliot. “I recall from your reading last Christmas that you’re quite a good poet.”

  “Oh, yes,” Eliot said. “I’ve simply forgotten to mention it.” Suddenly, he grimaced and adjusted his position in the chair. He took a few moments to breathe. His breath made an odd sound, like wind against crumpled paper. When he had caught his breath, he continued, “I sleep in the afternoon and wake once everyone has gone to bed. Then I sit just here, in this kitchen, and write for several hours.”

  “Will you read us your latest masterpiece?” Johnny asked.

  “Of course. But don’t set your hopes too high, John. I wouldn’t wish to disappoint you.”

  “You can never do that.”

  Johnny still had not told Eliot about the publication of his article.

  Eliot looked at his friend. “There’s something on your mind. What is it?”

  As if suddenly remembering, Johnny blurted, “I wonder whether the rumors of Mr. Adams’s victory are true? They’ve voted, you know.”

  “Of course I know,” Eliot said.

  Johnny heard hushed giggles. Then Lizzie called, “Would all friends of President Adams kindly come into the parlor? Dinner’s ready.”

  “President Adams! So you’ve heard? Is it official?” Johnny asked.

  Eliza stepped into the kitchen. “It’s true.” She grinned. “Abigail had the news from John just this morning, though there shan’t be an official announcement till February, when Congress reconvenes. So you see, your timing is excellent.”

  In the parlor, the children had a surprise waiting for them: they had decorated the dining table with little American flags, one on each plate. They had used cattails for poles and painted the stars and stripes on scraps of linen.

  “Charming, children!” cried Eliot. The children all grinned at him with unabashed affection.

  Halfway through the meal, Will and Abby began to throw the flags across the table at one another. Lizzie grew cross and asked them to leave. They heeded her not, at which point Eliza stood and glared such hot fire that Johnny thought the children would shrivel from the heat. After they had skulked off, Eliza said with some annoyance to her friend, “You’re too soft.”

  “One of us must be,” Lizzie rejoindered, “or they shall grow up believing all women are harpies.”

  They were just rising from the table when a messenger boy arrived with a letter for Kate. Kate took it with trepidation. Messengers never brought good news.

  “Who’s it from?” Eliza asked anxiously.

  “It’s from Mama.” Kate finally opened it and read:

  Ben has come down with a fever. I am very sorry, but as Papa is in town, I must ask for your help at once.

  Miriam, overhearing, cried, “But you only just arrived! Don’t go! Don’t go, Aunt Kate!”

  “I’m very sorry. I had hoped to stay till tomorrow.”

  “Write to me the moment you arrive home,” Eliot said.

  “I shall.” Kate smiled cheerfully at him. “But say—has Johnny told you he’s a published author?”

  Johnny cast Kate a stern glance.

  “What’s that?” Eliot asked, pale brows furrowing. “Nay, what mean you?”

  “Oh, he’s quite famous now. Or would be, if people knew who he was. He had an article in the Centinel just last week!”

  Eliot slowly turned to Johnny. “Why did you not tell me of this? What was the article?”

  Johnny blushed.

  The invalid looked up impatiently at his friend and extended his hand. “Well, give it here, man! Don’t be shy!”

  Johnny went to retrieve the paper from his sack. He handed it to Eliot, who read it and handed it back to his friend.

  “This is wonderful, John. Truly. But why did you not wish to tell me?”

  “I was going to.”

  A look of understanding came across Eliot’s face. “You did not wish to rub the world in my face, while here I bake cakes alongside the women. Is that it?”

  Johnny suddenly noticed the others’ silence as they listened to the boys’ exchange. A wave of loss rose up in his breast, and Johnny dared not reply.

  Eliot perceived his friend’s feelings. “But, my dear boy, you don’t understand. I’m happy for you! Happy as only a truly contented man may be. But take care you don’t anger anyone. I worry for your safety.”

  “Oh, I doubt five people have read my article,” Johnny said lightly.

  Eliot was not fooled.
“Even if that’s true, you know it shan’t always be the case. If you don’t wish to be read, then you should write poetry, like I do.”

  At this, Johnny could not help but laugh.

  Kate left within the hour. Once she had gone, and the boys were alone at the kitchen table, Eliot asked, “So?”

  “So what?” Johnny sipped his steaming tea.

  “You and Kate.”

  “Oh, we’re excellent friends.”

  “Four words, as false as they are brief.” Eliot snorted.

  Johnny said, “Must you always know my business?”

  Eliot considered the question. “You know, I think I must, having no business of my own.”

  Johnny finally sighed and admitted, “I don’t know. I feel not the pull of attraction. That fluttery feeling that makes one restless come the night.” Johnny blushed.

  “Such as you felt for the Marvelous Miss Burnes?” Eliot offered.

  A plate crashed to the floor just behind them.

  “Oh!”

  The boys turned. The plate had not broken, but the cake upon it had become a crumble. Poor Lizzie stood over the mess, hands on hips. Johnny suspected she had edged too close in order to hear them and caught the plate on a chair back.

  “Oh, tragic!” Eliot cried.

  “Is there something I can do?” Johnny stood.

  “Be a dear and help me pick this up,” Lizzie replied. “I’d like to get Eliot back to bed.”

  Johnny moved to procure a brush and pan. As he cleaned the cake off the floor, he could hear Lizzie speaking softly to Eliot, asking him questions in a slow, concerned way. Eliot answered her in a lower register, almost as if he did not wish Johnny to overhear.

  When Johnny had finished cleaning, he entered Eliot’s chamber and found him already asleep, his head thrown back and his mouth open, his breath coming in shallow wheezes.

  Johnny wrote his English tutor that same afternoon to say that an illness in the family delayed his return to school. He gave the letter to Lizzie to post when next she went to town.

  The weather grew dismal, the winds fierce. Johnny and Eliot remained indoors for the next few days. They passed the hours playing cards, talking about philosophy or simply reading side by side. After a few days of such retiring existence, Johnny grew restless. He needed some pursuit. Yes, he would return to school, where he would write a new article and begin study for his senior dissertation.