The Return of the Freedom Thief

by Mikki Sadil

  She looked over her horse’s head at him, and the sun glistened on the tears running down her face. “Don’t say that, Ben, don’t say I don’t mean much to you. Please don’t say that. I’ll stay with you, and I promise I’ll do everything you say.”

  Ben sighed, and swung down from the saddle. He walked over to Bandit, and pulled Puck out of her saddle. He wrapped his arms around her slight body, feeling her quiver.

  “Come on, Puck, don’t cry. Of course you mean something to me. I mean, I do like you, and I’d like to have you stay with me. But you can’t go your own way on this. You’ve got to listen to me, and we’ll talk things out and make decisions together…uh, well, most of the time, anyway. Sometimes you’re going to have to do what I say without questioning me, especially if we get ourselves in a sticky place.”

  She cuddled against him for a minute, then pushed him away. She swiped at the tears on her face and climbed back on Bandit, who was fidgeting nervously. She fingered the reins gently and he settled.

  “I’m sorry. I won’t cry again. And I’ll do what you want me to do. So if that’s settled, let’s just get on to Lexington, all right?”

  Ben fought with his facial muscles to not smile. On the one hand, Puck was still a vulnerable young girl, but on the other, she was defiant and determined not to let anyone get under her skin. He nodded without saying anything, afraid that if he opened his mouth, he would let out the laughter he was struggling to keep silent. She will think I’m laughing at her, but I’m not. She’s just a complex little girl, scared under that brave face she puts on, and determined to have everyone think she can take care of herself. He thought about that for a minute, remembering that this same “little girl” had put not one, but two soldiers in their place by tying them both to the back of a saddled horse and sending the horse flying down the hill. I reckon maybe she’s not such a ‘little girl’ after all, but she’s still scared of being alone again.

  He swung himself into the saddle, and said over his shoulder, “Come on, I’ll race you!” He dug his heels into Socks’ sides, and the big black horse was off and running down the road.

  Puck muttered a few words to herself and put Bandit into a gallop. Ben slowed Socks enough for Bandit to catch up, then both horses were cued into a full-out gallop that lasted until Woodhall Street came into view.

  * * *

  He slowed Socks down to a smooth canter as they traveled down Woodhall Street. There had been silence between them for most of this ride, but now Ben said, “I think we’ll start with the Lexington Post. A Mister Joseph Gates Taylor is the man we’re supposed to see. He’s the owner and publisher of the paper. Mistress Fenaway seemed to think he would be more likely to hire me. She said he has several newsboys working for him, but he always seems to want more.”

  Puck looked over at Ben. “What about me? Will he hire me, too? If he doesn’t, how will I get to stay with you?”

  “Puck, don’t worry. You’ll stay with me, no matter what. Let’s just get there, and talk to this man, and see what happens.”

  It wasn’t long before they reined up in front of the newspaper office—a large, impressive building whose wide front was enhanced by two large, sparkling clean windows.

  Ben and Puck dismounted, and entered the newspaper. Inside, the office bustled with activity. Men, and a few women, hurried about, laying out newspaper pages, setting type, sending blank pages through a printing press, and sitting at desks, busily scribbling away with pen and ink, presumably writing stories. They stood in the small entrance area, kept away from the interior by a three-foot high gate of heavily polished wood. No one inside the gate paid them any attention, until one man got up from his desk, walked over to them, and said, “Yes? Do you want something? If you’re here to buy a paper, today’s will be out this afternoon.”

  “No, we’re not here to buy a paper. I need to see Mister Taylor, please.”

  “Sorry, he’s busy. He can’t be bothered with the likes of two street kids. Go on, now, get out of here.” The man’s voice had turned hostile.

  “Excuse me,” Ben said politely. “Mistress Fenaway sent me. I have a letter for Mister Taylor.”

  The man glared at Ben, his look now as hostile as his voice. “Mistress Fenaway, huh. Wait here.” He turned away, walked a few feet and knocked on a closed door. When a voice came from inside, he went in and closed the door behind him.

  Ben and Puck waited. Puck began to fidget, shuffling her feet restlessly. Ben poked her, but she just sent him a black look, and began to hum beneath her breath. Ben glared back, as the door opened, and a tall but stooped man came towards them.

  Joseph Taylor was balding, with what was left of his graying brown hair straggling around his collar. Thin gold glasses, perched midway on his large, misshapen nose, allowed dark brown eyes to peer sharply at Ben and Puck. The hand he held out to Ben was strong, with long, ink-stained fingers.

  “Good day, young man. And young lady, too. My man says you have something for me from Mistress Fenaway, is that right?”

  “Yes sir, I have a letter of introduction from Mistress Fenaway. She told me to come see you.”

  “May I see this letter?’

  “Oh, yes, of course.” Ben dug the folded letter out of his pocket, and handed it to Mister Taylor, who merely looked at the name on the envelop, then nodded to Ben. “Very well, follow me.”

  A few minutes later, Ben and Puck sat in front of Mister Taylor’s desk, with the door closed behind them, waiting for him to finish reading the letter’s two pages. When he finally finished, he put the letter down and looked at them both.

  A long silent moment passed. Finally, he spoke. “So, Ben, you wish to become a newsboy, but your real intention is to spy for the Union Forces. Is that correct?” Before Ben could answer, Mister Taylor went on. “But you come from a very strong Confederate family. How is it you now want to spy on this part of your heritage, why do you want to turn against all that you have been raised with?”

  Ben opened his mouth, but again Mister Taylor refused to let him say anything. “Oh, I know about you, of course. I know how you helped your slave friends escape, how you were gone with them for the best part of a year. I know all about the punishment the judge gave you, how you’ve been working the fields just like a slave. This doesn’t tell me anything about you, my boy. All I know about you is that you went on a caper for excitement, and got three slaves to go with you.”

  Ben was outraged. “You think what I did for my friends was nothing but a ‘caper,’ as you call it? What right do you have thinking anything about me? You’re right, Mister Taylor, you don’t know anything about me, and you aren’t going to, either. You’ve no call to talk to me this way, and I don’t figure I have to stand for it. I didn’t come to curry favor with you, but to ask for a job. Since you’re not the only newspaper in the city, we’ll take our leave of you right now.”

  Ben stood and pulled Puck up from her chair, none too gently.

  That was when Mister Taylor laughed. He stood, also, and walked quickly to his door. “Just sit down, Ben. I wanted to get a rise out of you, and I did. I think maybe we can work something out, after all. Wait here for a minute.” He was still laughing as he walked out of the door.

  Ben and Puck stared at each other. Puck said, “What’s going on, Ben? He sure got huffed up. Do you reckon he’s going to hire you, after all?”

  He shook his head. “After all that, I don’t know what he’s thinking. I reckon we’ll just wait till he comes back, and see what he says.”

  When Mister Taylor came back into his office, he had a map and some papers in his hand. “You’re hired, Ben, but I don’t think you’ll do as a newsboy for too long. You’re too tall, and older, too. Most of my boys are young’uns, eleven and twelve years. Lucy Fenaway is probably going to have to put you in her courier service, but for now, you’re a newsie. Now, Missy,” he looked over at Puck. “Just what are we going to do with you? Sure don’t see many girls as newsies these days.”

&nb
sp; “Well, maybe I can dress up more like a boy. I can make my voice sound deep and rough…just ask Ben about that.”

  Mister Taylor laughed. He put out his hand and started to touch Puck’s chin. She slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me, mister. I don’t put up with touching.” She glared at him, her eyebrows drawn down into a deep V.

  Ben interceded quickly. “Puck is, uh, my sister, my, uh, my little sister. I don’t know about her dressing up as a boy, but she has to stay with me.”

  Mister Taylor looked sharply at Ben. “I would be careful how you word that, Ben. Most anyone who knows Tom McKenna knows he doesn’t have any daughters. Besides, all I was about to say was that with her face and eyes, nobody would believe she was a boy. She’s dressed like a lot of the newsies dress, but you best not try to make anyone believe she’s a boy. Now, let’s get on with it. You do know how to read a map, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course I do.”

  Mister Taylor handed Ben a large, folded piece of paper. It was dusty, stained with what looked to be drops of coffee, and there was a larger, darker stain on one corner. Ben stared at it, thinking that maybe he didn’t want to know what that one was.

  “And are you also familiar with one of these?”

  Ben heard Puck gasp. He looked up to see a rather large pistol pointed at his face.

  Chapter Ten

  Mister Taylor and Broomville

  “Dang it, Mister Taylor! What in tarnation do you think you’re doing, pointing that pistol at me?” Ben slammed his fist down on the desk. This was the second time in only a few days he’d had a pistol in his face.

  Mister Taylor chuckled as he handed the pistol to Ben, grip towards him. “Now don’t get your back up, son, I just wanted your attention.”

  “Well, you got it. And yes, I am very familiar with pistols, muskets, and even the new Springfield rifles. Pa had one of the first ones out. I taught myself how to use it without him knowing. I just don’t rightly care to have any weapon pointed in my face.”

  Mister Taylor sat down at his desk without replying. He shuffled through some papers before saying, “I got the latest newspapers here for you to deliver. I’m sending you up to the western part of Virginia. There’s a Union camp outside of a town called Broomville. Town is small, used to be just a squatter’s camp. It’s not too far across the border between Kentucky and Virginia. Right now, that town is full of Confederate soldiers. I want to you make yourself useful with the Confederates, spend time with them, pass out the newspapers, and keep your ears open. Whatever you find out, after a few days, get on out to the Union camp, and see a Major Murphy. He’ll take the intelligence you’ve obtained, and then tell you what to do next.”

  Ben nodded. “That sounds good, Mister Taylor. I’ve got one question, though. Your paper is the Kentucky Post. Will the soldiers in Virginia want to read it?”

  He laughed. “Doesn’t matter where the news comes from, it’s always stuff the soldiers have no idea about, unless they read. Sometimes there’s even news from someone’s home town, so any old newspaper reads good to them. They don’t even care if the paper is a week or even a month old, they always learn something they didn’t know. That’s why you newsboys are so important to our work.”

  He handed a thick pile of newspapers to Ben, as well as a large, leather pouch. “Here, the papers go in this pouch, and you can tie it onto your saddle. Say, have you got a belt and holster for that pistol I gave you?”

  Ben shook his head. “No, I didn’t bring one from home. Guess I didn’t think I’d need a gun.”

  Mister Taylor looked at him in amazement. “Son, just where is your head? You are going into a war zone, you’re going in as a spy…” He stopped, walked over to a floor-to-ceiling cabinet, and opened it. Hanging on hooks were belts, holsters, rifle scabbards for saddles, and an array of weapons. He pulled off a belt and attached a holster to it, turned around and handed it to Ben.

  “Here, see if it fits.”

  Ben fastened the belt around his waist, and adjusted the holster at the top of his right thigh. He slipped the pistol Mister Taylor had given him into it and fastened the flap of the holster. “Yes sir, it fits fine.”

  “Good. I suppose you don’t have a musket or a scabbard on your saddle, either, do you?”

  Ben just looked at him.

  Mister Taylor sighed, handed him a scabbard and a rifle. “I don’t have muskets any longer. I bought a load of the new Springfield rifles as soon as they came on the market. If you know how to load a musket, these load the same way, but they’re more powerful and reliable.”

  “I know how to shoot and load a musket, Mister Taylor. I learned that at an early age. Thanks for these, though. I just hope I don’t ever have to use them.”

  “Well, boy, it’s best to be prepared for the worst, and not ever see the worst, than to have it slam into your face and you can do nothing about it. Here, you’ll need these, too.” He handed Ben a pouch with Mini balls and a ramrod for loading the rifle.

  Mister Taylor turned back to the cabinet and rummaged around for a minute. He came up with a well-used leather saddlebag, and handed that to Ben as well. “Here, this will fit better with the other trappings than your knapsack. Get rid of it. Whatever’s in the knapsack, roll up in your bedroll, or put here in the saddle bag. You’re going in as a newsie, but you’re older and bigger than most of them, so you dress the part. Now…”

  “Wait a minute.” Puck interrupted. “What about me? I’ve got a horse and saddle, what are you giving me?”

  Mister Taylor looked Puck up and down. He shook his head, turned back to the cabinet, rummaged around some more, and came out with another old saddlebag. “Here, here’s what I’m giving you. You get rid of your knapsack, too, stuff everything in here and in your bedroll. As for weapons, girly, nosiree! I don’t give weapons to girls, that’s pretty dang stupid. Now, Ben, you’ve got everything you need. I suggest you get out of here, take care of your gear, and be off. There’s no time to waste, so don’t let this little bit of girl trouble here hornswoggle you and slow you down.”

  With that, he slammed shut the cabinet, gave Ben a mock salute, and walked out of his office.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Ben and Puck had redistributed everything they had between them into bedrolls and saddlebags. Ben fastened the scabbard securely to the right side of his saddle, inserted the rifle, and said, “Mount up, and let’s get out of here.”

  They walked the horses down the Main Street of Lexington, seeming to blend right in with the other horse traffic. Horse-drawn carriages and smaller, open barouches carrying finely dressed women, and occasionally some children, took up most of the large, open street, with riders impatiently attempting to push their horses past them. On the wooden walkways next to the buildings men hurried by, most with briefcases in hand. Women carrying packages or holding the hands of small children paced more slowly as they tried to keep their hoop skirts contained.

  Ben sniffed the air, and the aromas of freshly baked bread, onions, frying fish, and some kind of gingery spice tickled his nose. They had just passed by the open door of a tavern, and the nose tickling reminded him that neither he nor Puck had eaten in quite a while. He reined Socks to a stop, turned to Puck and said, “Do you have any money with you?”

  She looked across her horse’s neck at him, and laughed outright. “Money? Ben, are you crazy? I have some pennies jiggling around in my pants’ pockets, and that’s it. How would I get money?”

  “Well, I’ve got about a dollar. Let’s see what we can get in that tavern for a dollar and pennies. I’m hungry, aren’t you?”

  They tied the horses up to the hitching rail, and walked into Carl’s Eatery. It was noisy with the laughter and loud talk from a bunch of Confederate soldiers gathered around the bar. There were only a few small tables against the outside wall, and most of them were taken. Over the bar hung two huge, gold-framed mirrors, with a large bill of fare between them which read:

  CARL’S EAT
ERY

  Working Men Welcome, Soldiers too

  Women Only if Accompanied by a Man

  Coffee and Bread…………..5 cents Pigs Feet……………….. 10 cents

  Soup and Bread……………10 cents Potatoes……………….. 15 cents

  Milk and Bread…………… 5 cents Sirloin Steak ………… ..25 cents

  3 Eggs, …………………… 10 cents Roast Beef………………….5 cents

  Bacon, 2…………………….20 cents Corned Beef………………..5 cents

  3 Crullers…………………… 5 cents Pickles………………………5 cents

  Ben looked at the bill of fare, and fingered the change in his pocket. “Uh, Puck, could we split a meal? Suppose we got the three eggs and two slices of bacon. I’d give you the most if you’re real hungry.”

  She shrugged. “I’ll have one egg and one slice of bacon. That’s all I want. But do you ‘spose we could get some coffee and bread, too? I’ll see what I’ve got…” She pulled out the pennies, and counted them. “Hey, I’m rich! I’ve got twenty-two pennies. So I’ll get the coffee and bread.” Puck put ten pennies on the bar, and handed Ben the rest. “You keep this for me. I’ll probably just lose it. Besides, since you have the most money, you can add this to it, and maybe we can get a nice, tasty supper some time.”

  The saloon keeper came up to them from behind the bar. “Well, what’ll it be? Hey, wait a minute. You kids shouldn’t be here, I don’t serve no liquor to kids. Now, be on with you, afore I call the Sheriff.”

  “Wait, wait! We don’t want to buy liquor, we just want some eggs and bacon, that’s all.”

  “And some coffee and bread,” reminded Puck, who had slipped behind Ben.

  The barkeep looked at them suspiciously. “You sure you got the money to pay for them eggs and all? Last buncha kids in here ate for free, seein’ as how they grabbed bread and bacon offen somebody’s plate and ran hell-bent-for-leather outta here. I don’t much prefer kids in this establishment at all.”