by Jodi Daynard
As soon as the men had passed our home, Papa went out in search of news. It was near noon when Jeb descended the stairs. In one hand he held an iron poker.
“Where go you like that?” Mama cried.
“To join them, of course.” He then disappeared into the fray.
8
IF MY PARENTS HAD EVER DENIED JEB’S participation in the rebellion, they could not do so now. Papa watched Jeb through the parlor window and bit his own forefinger, the fleshy part, to keep from shouting. Mama ran to her chamber and did not reemerge till supper.
As I watched my brother disappear into the roiling tide, my heart lurched just as if he had been swept away at sea.
He was being swept away from us, that much was certain. For by August of ’74 he had already met Elizabeth Lee. Within the month, he would leave us forever, to take up residence with his new wife in Braintree, Massachusetts.
Jeb didn’t tell me he had met or fallen in love with Miss Lee, but I saw it for myself one day at meeting. We were sitting in our pew with Papa, who was already fanning himself with his hat, as it was quite close in the meetinghouse. I was doing my best to listen to Mr. Emerson’s sermon when Jeb sneezed so loudly that one could hear it in the back row. A girl directly in front of us turned around, her brown eyes bright with mirth.
“Shh!” she said. But the way she looked at Jeb told me everything he had failed to tell.
The girl with the bright eyes was Judge Lee’s daughter. She and her brother, Harry, lived several estates down the road to Watertown. Our families had never socialized with one another, for Judge Lee was known to be a liberal thinker, sympathetic to the Cause.
In brief, a match with Elizabeth Lee would have been a catastrophe. Jeb must have known as much, and yet the following day, he brought Miss Lee home. Mama did not wish to receive her.
“But you must see that you have no choice in the matter,” I said to her.
“Oh, but I do! I do, indeed!” she cried, wagging her finger at some imaginary solution as she paced the library.
“Perhaps.” I shrugged. “If you’re willing to lose him.”
“Lose him.” Mama snorted. “How could we lose him?” But Mama relented, receiving Miss Lee in the parlor the following day. Mama, Papa, and I sat on one sofa, like grand inquisitors, and Jeb and Lizzie sat on a smaller sofa facing us. Jeb kept putting his hand on her knee, and she kept gently removing it. I tried to catch Jeb’s eye to stop him, but he had no eyes for me.
“And your father?” Mama was asking. “Does he find himself thinking of leaving our shores?”
“Indeed, he leaves on the twelfth.” Miss Lee smiled ruefully.
“That is very soon.” Mama said it as if she would have liked to scold Judge Lee for fleeing so precipitately.
“Too soon,” Lizzie agreed. “But there’s nothing to be done. He must go.”
“You mean you remain here without him?” Mama asked.
“I’m afraid so. My brother, Harry, leaves as well. He is determined to go to sea on a privateer ship.” Lizzie’s voice was sad, but she glanced at Jeb with a tender smile.
While the interrogation of Miss Elizabeth Lee continued, I endeavored to probe the mystery of her cheerful, confident air. Clearly the girl cared nothing for her appearance: Her shoes were scuffed, and she wore a homespun frock. She breathed and laughed far too easily to be corseted, and I shuddered to think that there might be nothing at all beneath her gown. Lizzie’s ample bosom was but partially hidden by a lace neckerchief, and her hair—well! Those thick auburn waves seemed to have been pinned by a witless ape.
All this I saw, yet nothing did I comprehend. Rumors in Cambridge were that Mrs. Lee, Elizabeth’s mother, had been the descendant of a king, yet here her daughter sat, having renounced all the superiority of her class, and corset-less as a milkmaid!
I sat there in my somber crepe gown, feeling old and vulture-like. Indeed, I felt like an old carrion bird beside a cheerful lark, though I was but seventeen. Partly this was because Cassie had pinned my hair so tight against my scalp that a headache threatened, and also because my corset allowed me only shallow breaths. I longed to stand up.
“And what, pray, shall you do with your papa gone? How shall you manage?” Mama was asking.
“My dear,” Papa interjected tactfully, “I’m sure Judge Lee has made provisions.”
“That’s quite all right.” Lizzie smiled warmly. “Papa has many friends.”
“And Lizzie has me,” Jeb stepped in. For the tenth time in as many minutes, he placed his hand on his beloved’s knee. At his incorrigible touch, Lizzie suddenly burst out laughing.
“What’s happening?” Mama inquired. “What is so amusing?”
“Nothing, Mama,” I said gloomily. “Nothing at all.”
“Well? What think you?” asked Jeb, once he had returned from walking Lizzie home. He sat by my side in the library.
“She seems a fine girl, and I’m very happy for you, Jeb,” I began. I hesitated a moment before adding, “But I would be remiss if I did not follow my conscience and say that I am also concerned.”
“About what, pray?” he asked. Oddly, Jeb did not seem surprised.
“I fear you’re about to be drawn into a society from which there will be no returning. I fear we’ll lose you.”
Jeb regarded me. “You’re right, Eliza. But it’s a choice I make willingly. The truth is, it’s been a long time since I felt myself at home here. A long time since I felt that I belonged.”
“Oh, Jeb!” His words broke my heart, though I was not fool enough to think them untrue.
Several days after this conversation, Jeb bounded cheerfully up the path and into our parlor with news to share. “It is all settled. I have spoken to Judge Lee, and to Lizzie herself. What do you know but she has agreed to marry me! I have already written to Uncle Quincy, and he has just replied with a most wonderful offer.”
The name of Uncle Quincy made Papa’s eyes flash. We rarely mentioned the Quincy name in our household. My father was related to that notorious family, though he no longer acknowledged the connection. Apparently the colonel had offered Jeb and Lizzie a cottage on his property, in Braintree.
“We leave immediately after the wedding,” Jeb said. “Oh, Eliza!” He grabbed me and twirled me about. My father, always a gentleman, proffered his hand, which Jeb shook gravely. “Thank you, Papa,” he said. Jeb then approached our mother for a hug, but Mama had turned a cold shoulder. In Lizzie, I knew, Mama found everything she ardently disliked in a woman. Independence of thought, defiance of fashion, an outspokenness that bordered on the scandalous.
I agreed with Mama’s judgment, and yet there was, mixed up in my disdain for Miss Lee, something akin to envy.
“Cassie!” Papa called. “Cassie! Can you fetch us the good Madeira? You know the bottle. The black one, with the thick punt? And some cordial glasses.”
Cassie appeared in the foyer. “What happen?” she asked, confused by Papa’s happy request and Mama’s gloomy countenance.
“Jeb is to be married,” I said.
Cassie flashed a broad grin at Jeb, who lifted her off her feet. “I’m all grown up now, Cassie,” he said.
“I get de Madeira,” she wriggled out of his embrace and departed, returning shortly with the requested items. My father poured four glasses.
“Well, my son, I don’t know that I would have chosen her, but I wish you every joy.” We toasted, and then Jeb embraced Papa. “Oh, Father. Just you wait. You will soon love her as much as I do. She is so—so very lovable!”
“Indeed, indeed. I am sure she is,” Papa muttered.
Jeb kissed me affectionately on the side of my head and rose to leave. Once he was gone, I moved to console Mama, who was in a bad way. She paced and fretted in an agitated manner. “He and this Lizzie person will make the acquaintance of John and Abigail Adams, and the despicable Quincys shall have them round for coffee to discuss us as if we were vermin to be exterminated!” I had nothing to say, believing th
at Mama was entirely correct in her assessment of the matter.
One week later, we stepped forth for the first time since the riots, to attend Jeb and Lizzie’s wedding. At first Mama refused to attend, but I pleaded with her until she came to her senses. There would be no celebration afterward—the couple planned to go directly to Braintree, for Cambridge was by this time too unsettled.
Without, it was fine and warm, but Cambridge town felt deserted. Saturday was typically a bustling market day. Now the market itself was empty save for a few local farmers selling their early harvests. I walked cringingly, my eyes cast down. At any moment I expected for us to be attacked. But Mama and Papa, in their wedding finery, strode with heads held high.
At the meetinghouse a small crowd had gathered. These were Lizzie and Jeb’s friends from town, young people wearing homespun and brown-stuff suits. Judge Lee stood beside Reverend Emerson, his bearing at once dignified and anxious. Lizzie’s brother, Harry, stood beside his father. He was a handsome, restless youth who kept glancing about him. I turned into a front pew as Papa and Jeb approached. Finally, Elizabeth Lee stepped through the meetinghouse doors. She was dressed in a cream silk gown, with a sprig of fresh lavender in her hair. She smiled warmly at Jeb, whose eyes glistened with tears of joy. My father could barely contain his emotions, and when Mr. Emerson pronounced them man and wife, Papa blubbered like a child.
9
IMAGINE SILENCE, INTERRUPTED ONLY BY THE CREAK of old stair treads, and darkness. The scenes of happy ruckus and chases, the laughter and shouts punctuated by stern parental warnings, were now but a memory.
The silence and darkness were real. My parents and I seemed to have acquired a genteel distaste for one another, and I spent my days in Cassie’s kitchen or in my chamber. As for the light, we didn’t dare waste our candles on anything save the evening meal—if bread, butter, and a little tea can be called such a thing.
Without, nature was hardly kinder to us. Ceaseless snow and rain, rain and snow, all that autumn. Or perhaps Nature condoled with us, sending down her ceaseless tears.
At least Jeb was a faithful correspondent. He wrote us twice per week, letters addressed to all three of us. These letters were happy but vague, written to avoid offending rather than to impart information. For what could be said of Braintree, or of Lizzie, or the Quincys and Adamses, without giving offense? He thanked Mama and Papa for their wedding gift of Star, a beautiful Narragansett pacer whom Lizzie already put to good use, and he shared news of their various crops.
Toward the end of December, I received a letter addressed to me alone. In it, Jeb allowed himself to express his truest feelings:
Dearest Eliza,
Dare I speak of the firelight, and of the view over the sea from our window? You have never seen such beauty, I assure you. The Quincys are very kind—you would adore them. The colonel can be blustery, but he is sensible on all subjects concerning our present state of affairs, and most generous with his firewood and provisions of every variety. Lizzie misses her brother greatly, as he has recently set sail on the Cantabrigian and she doubts whether she shall have a letter from him anytime soon. I have met Mrs. Adams but not Mr. Adams, as yet, though I’m told he returns for Christmas. Mrs. Adams is a very useful sort of woman, unafraid of farm work. Her mind is equally active, and little escapes her shrewd attention. Yet she has a warm and passionate heart. I think you would like her a great deal, Eliza . . .
“Like Mrs. Adams!” Mama, who had been reading over my shoulder, exclaimed.
“Can you not give me a moment’s privacy, Mama?” I shoved her slightly and continued reading.
But I must leave off now, since I think I hear the Great Lady herself at the door . . .
“You see. It is just as I predicted. The situation is most dire. Great lady, indeed!”
I set the letter down upon the hall table and turned to my mother. “Dire? Why, he sounds quite happy, Mama.”
“Yes, well. We shall see how long that lasts.”
It snowed all Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I was languid with boredom, which remained unbroken by any sort of feast, games, or song. Nor was there a special meal to delight the senses, though Cassie did make an excellent stew. But a few days after Christmas, I received a most remarkable post. It was an invitation to a party in honor of the queen’s birthday, addressed to me personally—by none other than Mr. Inman!
I was relieved that he harbored no grudge against me. I thought to decline the invitation, but the idea that I might enjoy good and plentiful food decided me in Mr. Inman’s favor.
Mama, having been so fearfully burned in her previous attempts to marry me to Mr. Inman, affected indifference.
“Go if you like,” she said. “Or don’t.”
“I think I shall go.” I smiled at her. “Since he was so kind as to invite me.”
On the morning of January 19, 1775, I found myself standing on the wet path before the house, basking in the sunshine. Indeed, it was so warm and bright it felt like spring.
Mama said I should wait indoors for the carriage, but I wished to feel the sun on my face, the warmth on my body. It had thawed, and great torrents of water continued to pour down from the trees and rooftops.
I arrived before Mr. Rowe’s house around noon. Mr. Rowe was Mr. Inman’s uncle and now employer. This house, which stood on Pond Street overlooking the harbor, was newly built and gleamed with fresh white paint. A party approached from the other direction, and a lively group—two boys, two girls—descended a carriage. They nodded to me coolly, and I recognized Hannah Appleton, the girl of the emerald-green gown, and the handsome black-haired boy with the hazel eyes. We went into the house together, I going slightly ahead. I heard the girls giggle behind my back. What did they laugh at? From within came the smell of savory cooking; my stomach growled. A butler took our capes and bonnets as we entered, and I looked about me: the parlor was prettily appointed with rich Turkey carpets and mahogany furniture. If there was starvation in Boston, one saw no sign of it here.
Mrs. Rowe, a plump, cheerful woman aged fifty or so, greeted us warmly. Then she announced, “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, children, but Mr. Inman has taken ill and does not leave his bed—it is only a cold, but it came on too suddenly to send word to anyone.” A murmur of disappointment went up among the small crowd. But Mrs. Rowe said, “Do stay. There shall be merriment and good things to eat. We mustn’t let it all go to waste.” Sighs of relief sounded all about me, and my joy at this news, so unfortunate for Mr. Inman, was very great indeed. The situation seemed to have been designed by Providence: excellent food and cheer and no Mr. Inman.
Almost the moment Mrs. Rowe left us, I was approached by the handsome lad with the hazel eyes, which now looked at me bemusedly.
“Hello,” he bowed. “I’m Tad Hutchinson.”
“Yes. You were at Mr. Inman’s party.” I curtsied, gave my name, and then inquired, “Would you be related to our former governor?”
“He’s my uncle. Mama’s brother.”
“Ah. Well. I hope he had a safe journey?” There was nothing else to ask under the circumstances. The governor had fled in haste to England, having become—like all those then in power—a target of the people’s rage.
“He did. We received word of his arrival only yesterday.”
“It’s a shame about Mr. Inman,” I changed the subject.
“Indeed,” Mr. Hutchinson replied. “It seems that illness, given this dreadful weather we’ve been having, is impossible to avoid. I expect he’ll be up and about in a day or two.”
A servant brought round some dressed oysters on a silver tray. I took one. It was savory and delicious. I took another, wishing that I could claim the entire tray for myself. Just then, the invalid appeared in the entrance to the parlor. He wore his robe and nightcap, and cut a silly, almost endearing figure. Miss Appleton and her friend pouted their sympathies for him.
“Dear friends,” Mr. Inman announced with a wan smile. “Welcome. I’m most dreadf
ully sorry for this inconvenience, which I hope is more to myself than anyone else. This blasted cold has robbed me of the pleasure of your company. Please make free to enjoy yourself. I suspect that a few of you might be perfectly happy without me.”
He cast his gaze about the room as the well-mannered young Tory children smiled and tittered. Mr. Inman suddenly withdrew a handkerchief from the pocket of his robe and sneezed into it. “Excuse me. I shall remove to my lair, so as not to importune you with my excretions.” Espying me at last, he singled me out with almost ostentatious fondness: “Eliza, how good to see you. I see you’ve met my good friend Tad.” I could not help but wonder why I, of all people, merited such kind attention, having treated Mr. Inman so unpardonably. Perhaps he was not so bad as I had thought.
“Yes. We’re just now getting acquainted,” Tad replied. Here, I caught what seemed to be a knowing look between himself and Mr. Inman.
Once Mr. Inman had returned to his chamber, Mr. Hutchinson excused himself with a bow. I thought he had gone off to flirt with the other ladies, but he surprised me by returning with a glass of wine.
“Why, thank you,” I said. “You’re very kind.”
He then whispered conspiratorially, “Look.” From behind his back, Mr. Hutchinson produced an entire plate of oysters.
“Oh, aren’t you clever!” I cried.
“My tutors at Harvard didn’t think so, alas,” he laughed.
“How did you accomplish this?”
“The cook fancies me,” he said wryly.
“Shocking!” I laughed, lips already closed indecorously about the oyster.
We continued in this easy vain, like old friends. Then, at a quarter to one, Mr. Rowe called for the carriages, and the party retrieved their hats and cloaks. We would all ride the short distance to the state house and then return from thence to our own homes. People exited in a bustle of excitement, for the ships would offer a grand salute at one o’clock.