Our Own Country: A Novel (The Midwife Series Book 2)

by Jodi Daynard

  She looked at me, surprised, and moved to her desk, where she found paper and quill.

  I pulled the room’s one chair over to the desk and wrote to Colonel Langdon.

  Dear Colonel,

  You will understand my distress at your news, and as I am eager to be off, I wish to let you know that we leave for Portsmouth as soon as we can arrange it—I know not what I can do, but I must be there. We will install ourselves at Stavers’s and await word from you. I hope this letter reaches you in time, as you mentioned having to depart Portsmouth. God bless you. —E. B.

  Abigail found someone heading north that afternoon and gave him the letter, along with admonishments about the need for haste. We readied to leave as well, though Abigail still had her anxieties about our riding the roads alone. In this, Providence intervened when the following day we learned that our field hand, Thaxter, planned to leave us. I had barely noticed his existence since my arrival in Braintree, particularly since he had an uncanny habit of disappearing whenever he was needed.

  As it happened, Thaxter—whom we had not paid in many months—had decided to return to his family who lived just north of Portsmouth. He planned to leave the following week, but with a little liquid incentive from Lizzie’s stash, he agreed to travel with us that same day.

  “I shall tell Uncle that we have need of his coach,” Abigail announced. She had returned to our cottage early that morning and was present for Thaxter’s announcement. She then moved off through the dunes to the colonel’s house.

  Martha began to pack our clothing and a sack of provisions for the road. She would not be joining us, though she would have liked to, for someone needed to remain behind to feed the animals and attend the crops.

  We set off that afternoon in Colonel Quincy’s carriage, stopping at Abigail’s for twenty minutes or so while she packed a bag and gave instructions to her field hands. She gathered up her boys, who had been playing in one of the fields out back. They began to whine and complain until she sent them a look that silenced them, for at once they moved off to pack a few items. Abigail and her family could accompany us as far as her sister Betsy’s in Exeter.

  We were elbow to elbow in the carriage. It was hot and uncomfortable, and our bodices were soaked through with perspiration by the time we reached Cambridge, where we stopped the night at Lizzie’s ancestral home, continuing on early the following morning. Bessie, Lizzie’s old family servant, and Giles, their former slave, formed an attachment to Johnny and were loath to let us go, but Lizzie, without giving details, impressed upon them our need for haste.

  At last we arrived in Exeter, around ten the following evening, greatly fatigued. I had no breath for speech and retired at once. Yet, brief as it was, my impression of Abigail’s sister was highly favorable. Betsy was everything kind and intelligent, and I later learned that she was an accomplished writer.

  My sleep that night in Exeter was profound but brief. I woke at dawn, nursed my babe, and then woke Lizzie, who slept beside me. She rose at once, and after a quick breakfast of coffee and eggs, we were ready to depart. Abigail, hearing us, emerged from her chamber, her nightcap still perched upon her little head. “Are you off so soon?”

  “Yes, dearest,” said Lizzie. “But we will write when we have news.”

  “Oh, do, please. I shan’t rest until I know what there is to know.”

  We hugged her and promised that we would.

  43

  “I’M FALLING DOWN,” LIZZIE ANNOUNCED UPON ENTERING our chamber at Stavers’s tavern. There was but one available, and we shared it. It was in the front of the house overlooking King Street, and we could hear the noise from the street below. But Lizzie was grateful to be out of the coach. “Thank goodness we are arrived at last. I slept quite poorly last night.” I nodded but did not reply. I had lost the urge to speak, even to Lizzie. The world seemed leagues away.

  Lizzie undid her gown and stays and fell upon the bed; I myself could not rest. I placed my sleeping babe beside Lizzie and moved to the window, where I looked down upon King Street. There, across from Mr. Fowle’s old printing house, stood Mr. Henderson’s English and India Goods, now closed. Next door was Mr. Brewster’s bookstore, at whose display I had often stopped to gaze. And just there was Mr. Bass’s establishment, with its display of coats, hats, and fine kid gloves.

  Oh, Portsmouth! It seemed an age since I’d lived there. Though only twenty-three, I felt that I’d lived through a hundred years of gain and loss, and was regretful that John had not known this seasoned woman; he had known the girl with her bits of silk still clinging to her.

  As I looked out the window, I recalled the pipe-smoking ferryman and Captain Jones, and fishing with that impossibly long pole on the eastern end of Badger’s Island. I recalled Langdon’s shipyard, taking the cure on Pest Island, and our laughter as John and I got to know each other, and my soft bed that one time . . . gone, gone.

  “Lizzie,” I said abruptly, my voice sounding far away. “Would you kindly walk over to the Whipple house and inform Cuffee and Prince that we are arrived? It is but three streets away, directly up Front Street. The house is blue, and there’s an enormous oak tree before it. You can’t miss it. Would you have one of them send word to Colonel Langdon that we are arrived?”

  “Oh, of course,” she said, though she did not move. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to doze. After a few moments she sat straight up, donned her stays and gown, and set off.

  While Lizzie was gone, I rested and nursed Johnny. I gave him some crushed blueberries, which Betsy had sent with us in the carriage. Johnny plucked the berries one by one in his dainty little grip before putting them in his mouth. He fell asleep with a purple tongue and lips, and I fell asleep beside him. I knew not how long we had been asleep, but we were both dead to the world when a hesitant rap on the door woke us.

  “One moment,” I said, righting myself. It was dark in the chamber now—no moon shone beyond the window—and close. My mouth tasted stale, but I had no opportunity to clean my teeth. I moved to the door and opened it.

  Standing before me were Prince, Dinah, Jupiter, and, to my very great surprise, Colonel Langdon himself. Lizzie stood beside the colonel and looked on in astonishment as I was hugged and fairly smothered by the Whipples.

  Then they turned to my sleeping babe. Sighs, exclamations, and tender clasping of hands all finally served to wake him, which had no doubt been their aim. They then took him up in their arms, each begging for a turn. None of them seemed in the least surprised by his existence, and from this I concluded that all the slaves of Portsmouth had long known my “secret.”

  Colonel Langdon, who remained at the threshold, seemed embarrassed by this unbounded display of affection.

  I curtsied to him. “Come in, Colonel.”

  Lizzie added hastily, “It’s dark as a tomb in here, Eliza,” and lit a candle.

  “Lizzie,” I said, steering her first to Prince, who stood hunch-shouldered in a corner of the chamber, “this is the soldier who taught me to use a musket.”

  “A most useful skill, indeed,” said Lizzie archly. But Prince, intimidated, did not hazard a reply.

  Johnny suddenly pointed to Jupiter, who took that as a sign to take him from my arms. Jupiter grasped him tight and held him high in the air, grinning his broad, white grin. Johnny took fright, frowned, and reached for me.

  Jupiter merely laughed good-naturedly. “He thinks I’s de Devil hisse’f, Miss Eliza!”

  “Jupiter,” I said. “I am very glad to see you. But tell me: How is it you remain in Portsmouth?”

  “Before he leave, Master Robert, he tells me I ain’t worth nothin’ and lets me go. Says the same of Dinah—he never did take to her cookin’. Well, I had nowhere to go, so Colonel Whipple take me in. I’m a free man, Miss Eliza.” Here, Jupiter allowed himself a small, proud grin.

  Regretfully, all but Colonel Langdon soon had to return home, and I felt sad to have to cut short our reunion. I knew not when I’d see them again. After several mo
re hugs and many more tears, they all departed.

  Colonel Langdon entered my chamber. Lizzie stood at the transom, turning toward the hallway to give us privacy.

  The colonel strode anxiously from one end of our chamber to another. I waited. Finally, he said, “Miss Boylston. I see you have earned the love and trust of those who usually find us undeserving of either.”

  “They were kind to me when others were—less so. Do you wish to sit?” I said, pointing to the lone chair.

  “Nay—please,” he deferred. I sat with Johnny on my lap, and the colonel sat on one corner of the low bed, his long legs bending at an uncomfortable-looking angle.

  “Miss Boylston. I mustn’t be so cruel as to delay. I have news as will gladden and pain you at once.”

  “Tell me,” I said. I thought I saw a flinch of anticipation in Lizzie’s shoulders.

  “Yes. Watkins—John Watkins—”

  “Is he well?” I interrupted. “And Isaac?”

  The colonel paused in his account, as if deciding how to proceed. “I was going first to say that this Richards character is well known to us. He’s a notorious swindler whom Kittery folk call Mr. Wretched. I’m afraid it has not been easy for our boys. Isaac is well.” The colonel smiled wanly and pushed a heavy lock of hair off his forehead. “He has grown.”

  “Oh, Cassie shall be overjoyed to hear it. And Watkins?”

  The colonel looked at his feet, then at me. There was much regret in his eyes.

  “He is better than he was.”

  My heart began to pound uncontrollably. “What mean you, sir?”

  “The good news is that I have succeeded in procuring him once more for the yard.”

  By this statement the colonel gave me to know that John was alive, but nothing more. He continued, “When I returned to Portsmouth and learned what had happened, I offered Richards a thousand pounds for them both. But old Wretched refused. It seemed that the very idea I wanted them made him cling to them all the more. I finally offered the scoundrel a king’s ransom to have them both returned to the shipyard—hiring them, as it were. Well, that the old devil couldn’t resist. But the day Johnny returned to me, I saw . . . he kept it beneath his shirt, attempting to hide it . . .”

  I rose from the chair. “Kept what from you, sir? What did he attempt to hide?”

  “His hand,” the colonel blurted at last. “His hand has been broken. The bones of all but his thumb were—all smashed.”

  “Oh, God!” I rose from the chair and placed Johnny on the bed. I felt cold and began to tremble. I turned to Colonel Langdon in desperation. “Are you certain? He can do nothing without his hands.”

  Langdon approached me and gently took my arm.

  “He heals, Miss Boylston. Someday, perhaps . . .”

  “Someday! Oh, this evil, evil world. His work—his work is all he has. Without that—oh, why has God put us here to suffer so?”

  Lizzie abandoned all pretense of not hearing us and came to my side.

  “Miss Boylston,” the colonel said, moved by my despair, “he is safe for now, and the hand shall heal in time.”

  “But why?” I said, more to myself than to him. “Why would Mr. Richards do such a thing?”

  “Apparently he believed that Johnny knew the whereabouts of certain—armaments.” Colonel Langdon looked at me, doubting whether to proceed.

  “Have no fear, colonel. I know about them.”

  “Yes. Well, as you can imagine, they’re worth a great deal. The greedy wretch wished to procure them, sell them to his Tory friends. After breaking four of Watkins’s fingers, Richards realized that the man would sooner die as give up the whereabouts of the arms.”

  My eyes closed for a long moment. The thought of Watkins’s suffering was unendurable. What reassurance had we that it was over? None.

  I finally said, “Perhaps they are with you during the day, but they must return each night to that . . . place . . .”

  “Mr. Richards won’t harm Johnny now, I am fairly certain. I’m a daily witness of his condition. Should I not like what I see, I could easily find a means of having Richards arrested. Then, as you know, accidents often happen in jail. Most unfortunate accidents.”

  Here, the handsome colonel gave me a mordant smile, though his eyes were hard. O, for such a backbone! There must be no remorse for the remorseless. I wiped my tears and curtsied deeply. Then, impulsively, I embraced him. “Thank you, colonel. There is a special place in Heaven for people like you.”

  He nodded, hiding a deep blush in the room’s penumbral gloom. Then, after some hesitation, he asked, “Would you like to see him? See Johnny, I mean? I might be able . . .”

  “Oh,” I burst into tears at the very thought. “Do not promise such a thing. The hope alone should kill me if—”

  “No, I won’t promise. But I think I know a way.” He looked at me as if actually seeing me for the first time since his arrival. “But I have stayed too long. You are exhausted.” Then, blushing, this remarkable man quickly took his leave.

  The moment he left, Lizzie lit another candle.

  “My love is grievously hurt,” I said.

  “Yes. I heard.”

  “But he lives. Lizzie, he lives.”

  I curled up on our bed beside Johnny who, perhaps sensing his mother’s misery, whimpered in his sleep.

  Lizzie sat on the edge of the bed, caressing the sleeping child’s head. “You know,” she began, “until this day, I don’t believe I truly knew you, Eliza. Though we have been as sisters these ten months, I didn’t understand your character. I am frankly in awe. Well and truly in awe.”

  I smiled wearily, “You thought me as prim and proper as one of Mr. Copley’s portraits.”

  “Nay—well, in a way, perhaps—”

  “You didn’t realize the depth of my feelings for—those you would not have expected me to love.”

  “No,” she said. “This much I freely admit.”

  I took Lizzie’s hand and grasped it. “I may be cowardly, but my heart is not. Isn’t that odd? Besides,” I continued, suppressing a smile, “I thought, I still think, John Watkins by far the handsomest man I ever saw—”

  “Well!” she looked at me. “Why did you not say so at once? Surely a woman needs little more incentive than that?”

  We laughed. Suddenly, Johnny sat straight up, annoyed at having been awakened.

  “Mama!” he cried. Lizzie and I looked at each other in amazement. We had just heard his first word.

  44

  I CUDDLED WITH MY BABE, AND FED him, and he finally fell asleep for the night at around ten, followed soon thereafter by Lizzie. Their quiet breaths were consolingly regular. But I remained awake. The air was hot and close; the room was utterly black—I could not tell whether my eyes were open or no, and in my nervous state I thought I could hear animals scratching in the walls. I must have dozed off, for I was awakened by a soft knock.

  “Who’s there?” I whispered. I thought of Langdon’s words but dared not hope.

  Silence. I got up and approached the door. Perhaps it was a messenger. I opened the door slightly and looked through the crack.

  There stood Watkins. His fair, clear eyes took me in for a long moment. Then they moved beyond me, to Lizzie and the sleeping babe.

  “A moment,” I whispered. I went to wake poor Lizzie. She roused herself quickly, smiled blearily, and asked, “Who is it?”

  “As you see,” I whispered.

  Lizzie looked toward the door and said, “Oh!” She turned to me and opened her eyes wide, as if to say that I had not exaggerated, that he was, indeed, the handsomest man on earth. She then rose, curtsied without meeting Watkins’s eyes, and moved past him into the hallway.

  “Where go you?”

  “Just here in the hall. I shall keep watch.”

  “I remain not long,” Watkins said to us both. “The colonel waits for me below.”

  Oh, God! The sound of his voice made me dizzy.

  Watkins’s right arm was hidden
in a linen sling. With his left hand, and very slowly, he took my hand in his. He looked a little older, perhaps, but here was the same animated face; here, the strong, sinewy body I once had known so intimately. His curly hair, which I had caressed I knew not how many times, was now pomaded and tied in a ribbon. One brown-blond lock had escaped and tumbled upon his shoulder. But his eyes were different. In them, I thought I saw a kind of resignation I had not seen there before, not even on the pier after the Ranger’s departure. I could think of but one remedy: I moved to the bed and lifted Johnny gently. He remained asleep, on his back in my arms.

  “Your son,” I said, holding Johnny out to him. “Isn’t he amazing? He called me Mama today.”

  Watkins gazed down at his child. Gently, he cradled Johnny’s head in his good hand.

  “Amazing, yes. But don’t wake him just yet.” He glanced lovingly at me.

  “No.” I placed Johnny back on the bed. John approached me slowly, as if I might flee, his eyes never leaving me. We embraced, saying nothing, and for the longest time we just stood like that in the small chamber in Stavers’s tavern.

  John left in the dead of night, Lizzie having stood guard in the hallway the entire time. When it was time for him to leave, she knocked gently. But she did not wake us, for we had not slept. John said he hoped to see me once more before we returned to Braintree.

  At breakfast, Lizzie and I sat in one of the tavern’s small public rooms, where we were served coffee and a fine plate of ham and eggs. After ten minutes of silence, however, she began to giggle. The harder she tried to squelch the urge, the worse it became.

  “Oh, Eliza,” she blurted at last, “I must have at least some details. Do give me a morsel and put me out of my misery. For it’s certain I’m to be an old maid and must live vicariously.”

  “You are depraved,” I scolded. I gave her no details, though I did say, “Oh, you should have seen him with Johnny. You should have seen his tenderness.” She stopped laughing, and her eyes grew tearful at the thought of Watkins holding his son for the first, and possibly the last, time.