The Color of Freedom

by Michelle Isenhoff

  “It’s about time someone made a move,” one man complained. “Me and my musket, Jezebel, have been itching for a fight.”

  “Aye,” another agreed, “and I’ve got four stout boys at home as say the same.”

  Jonathan hushed them. “With Americans controlling the surrounding heights, it seems Gage has become concerned for the security of Boston and the harbor. To ensure they stay under British control, he plans to fortify some strategic hills on both the Charlestown peninsula and on Dorchester Heights.”

  “Is this reliable? Where’d you hear it?”

  “My source is very trustworthy. I wouldn’t have awakened you otherwise.”

  One man hissed out, “We must move before they do. An American offensive would take them by complete surprise!”

  “General Ward and the Committee must be informed immediately,” another stated.

  Two volunteers were quickly forthcoming.

  “Make all haste. Time is of the essence,” Jonathan urged. Then he charged the remainder with strict secrecy. “If the British catch wind of this, all will be lost. Speed and surprise are our greatest allies against English might.”

  “Let’s end this war now!” someone demanded.

  “We’ll drive the British into the sea and be done with them!”

  A crash sounded in the front of the shop, silencing the men. It was followed by the tinkle of glass and the crunch of hasty feet.

  “Run!”

  The men streamed out the back door as soldiers charged in the front.

  “Stop, you rebels!” an officer commanded but the colonists paid no heed.

  Meadow raced out into the yard where a line of regulars attempted to cut off escape from the rear. Men scattered like leaves in the wind. Two were captured and fought valiantly to free themselves. Another was overpowered at bayonet point. A few more ran away, closely pursued.

  One tall redcoat made a grab for Meadow, but she ducked beneath his reach and scampered away between two buildings. She climbed a trellis and hid on a roof, searching frantically for her father in the dark.

  The last of the regulars returned to the yard, some with prisoners, others empty-handed. Weak with relief, she saw her father was not among them.

  As the noise of the encounter died away, the sound of crying grew. Abigail and the children!

  A sergeant drove the family from the house in their night clothes, knocking Abigail roughly to the ground. Naomi, eyes bulging with terror, helped her back to her feet. The other girls clutched at their mother, sobbing, and the baby screamed in protest.

  Meadow’s heart broke for the suffering family. She longed to help, but dressed as she was, she would receive even worse treatment at the hands of the soldiers.

  “Enough!” the officer demanded. “Can’t you see she’s pregnant?” He glared at the captured men. “Whose shop is this?”

  “It’s mine,” Jonathan pronounced stoically. “And you’ll receive no struggle or protest from me if you leave my family in peace.”

  “Agreed. These others are all under arrest for public assembly, but you’d best prepare to swing for your leadership in the Sons of Liberty. Round them up,” he commanded.

  Abigail screamed and sank to the ground as the men were marched away under guard.

  Meadow’s hands trembled. What had she and Amos gotten themselves into? What would she do if she lost her father again? She must talk him out of this foolishness and flee this accursed city.

  She went immediately to Abigail and took the baby. “Are you all right, Mrs. Wood?”

  “Jonathan!” she wailed. “Where are they taking him? What will become of us?”

  “I’ll try to find out, but first I must find my father.”

  “Your father,” the woman spat, “will fly to the army camp. He won’t risk his neck in this city after my husband is dead. Oh, Jonathan!” she wailed, breaking into sobs.

  Her father was safe! She was tempted to follow him, but she had made a promise to Abigail. Instead, she called the trembling girls and half-dragged, half-carried the grieving woman indoors. Then she bolted after the regulars to learn where the prisoners were bound.

  The British had taken over all public ministries and the buildings that housed them. The jail would be no exception. On a hunch, she sped in the direction of the Court House and was rewarded to see the tail end of the procession disappear inside the small stone jailhouse behind it. Moments later, the patrol reappeared without their prisoners and hastened away down the street.

  Thinking fast, Meadow entered the building and boldly approached the short, orange-haired sergeant.

  Scowling beneath bristly brows, the man asked, “What do you want?”

  Whipping out her pass, she announced, “Captain Buckler sent me to look for General Clinton. Emergency, sir,” she stated, pulling the names out of her head at random while she glanced around the small building.

  From where she stood, she could survey the whole interior. There, together in one of two cells, sat Jonathan and the others looking hopeless and forlorn. The jail housed several other prisoners as well. A second sergeant manned the building, leaning his chair back on two legs and drinking from a pewter tankard.

  Jonathan spotted her and rose expectantly to his feet. She let her gaze pass him without recognition.

  “Sit down!” the orange-haired man yelled at him with a curse. “Think this is old Saint Nick bringing your pardon from the king?”

  Jonathan retired to a corner, and the sergeant fixed his piercing eyes on Meadow. “What in God’s green earth would General Clinton be doing in my jail in the dead of night?” he demanded with irritation.

  “I didn’t ask, sir. Just following orders.”

  “Well, tell that flea-brain, Buckler, to use some sense – if he’s got any at all. If Clinton’s even awake he’d be at Province House. Check headquarters.”

  “I will. Thank you, sir.”

  Chapter 16

  Meadow dragged herself to the stables the next morning. No matter how horribly Abigail had treated her, she could not abandon the woman with Jonathan’s life hanging in the balance. And as the family’s only remaining source of income, Meadow felt obligated to continue working.

  She found Willy washing his breeches again, his unseasonably warm jacket hanging on the same nail. Uncomfortable in the muggy heat, sleep-deprived and tense, she forgot the camaraderie they had shared at the beach and lashed out at the boy.

  “Was Captain Buckler’s warning not enough last time, you must anger him again?”

  “Easy, Red. I’m off duty and Buckler’s gone. He rode out this morning on some errand. And good riddance, I say. This afternoon I’m going to take a long nap in the hay away from the confounded noise of the barracks. Imagine lying beneath canvas in this heat!”

  He wrung out his last pair of breeches, set them to dry over a stall door and emptied the trough. In a matter of minutes he was making himself comfortable in the loft. “Enjoy your afternoon!” he called down with a grin.

  Meadow grabbed a shovel and moved from stall to stall scooping droppings into a wooden bucket. They gave off a strong odor that lingered in the humid air. Sweat dripped down her back, and flies by the hundreds buzzed in the stable, zooming past her ears and landing on her flushed face.

  Her mind fixed on the jail where Jonathan and the others sat behind bars. Only two officers guarded the cell, but they might as well have been an entire company. She felt completely helpless.

  Then her eyes landed on Willy’s uniform, and an audacious plan began to form.

  She grabbed the wet breeches off the stall door and hastily pulled them on. Then she tugged the jacket on over her clothes and buttoned it up. The uniform was incomplete, but perhaps it would suffice for her purposes.

  She hesitated a moment, regretting that her actions might prove badly for Willy, but she set her mind firmly. As much as she liked the boy, she realized they each had a part to play on opposite sides of this conflict.

  She took off the coat an
d breeches and shoved them into a sack as she left the stable. Fishing in her pocket, she pulled out two copper coins and called to a pair of boys who were poking sticks into a gutter.

  “See here,” she called. “I have a penny apiece for you if you’ll do as I say.”

  Their eyes shone with delight as they listened carefully to her instructions. Grinning hugely, they ran off down the street.

  Meadow followed at a more leisurely pace and slipped into an alley to pull on Willy’s uniform. Moments later, the boys ran down the street yelling, “The rebels are coming! The colonists are attacking the Neck! Watch out! They’re coming to Boston!”

  Meadow grinned at the enthusiastic pair. They were playing their part with perfection. Now it was her turn. With luck, she could save Jonathan then drag her father far from this mess.

  She took a deep breath and rumpled her hair. Putting on a mask of panic, she ran after the children. “I’ve just come from the Neck. The rebel army is coming! They’re attacking the Neck! Form ranks! The rebels are marching on Boston!”

  The street turned to chaos behind her. Colonists poured from the buildings in droves while redcoats scurried in all directions, going in search of superiors and weapons. One man tore down the street on horseback to scout out the situation. Meadow knew she had little time.

  She raced into the jail. “The rebels are coming!” she yelled wildly. Guards and prisoners alike jumped up at the news. “They’re attacking the Neck! Men are being called to order!”

  The sergeants rushed from the building in alarm, and seeing the movement on the street, they followed suit.

  Meadow stripped off Willy’s jacket and searched frantically for the keys. If only the confusion would last long enough to free the men!

  “On the wall behind you!” one of the prisoners yelled.

  She grabbed them and stood shakily before Jonathan’s cell, adrenaline flooding her veins.

  “Wynn!” he called out. “Are they really attacking?”

  “No! I needed a distraction. But I’ll only let you out on one condition.”

  The men moaned.

  “Name it!” Jonathan snapped.

  “Free my father from his indenture today.”

  “Done!”

  Her hands shook so violently she could not insert the key into the lock. Jonathan snatched them away and did it himself. As the door clicked open he added, “I would have freed him anyway. To fight!”

  ~

  She arrived at the Wood home moments after Jonathan. She realized after such a deception she could never return to the stable. She was no longer safe in her male disguise.

  She raced through the shop to the top of the stairs. With tears streaming down her cheeks, Abigail grabbed Meadow’s face and kissed it again and again. “I knew you would prove useful the moment you came to live here. Thank you for saving my husband! But you must go. Neither of you are safe here. Go! Join the army!”

  Jonathan protested, “But what about you and the girls? They may come after you here in the shop. And what about the baby?”

  “We’ll be fine. I have many friends for when my time comes. In the meantime, the girls and I will move back into our house.”

  Jonathan reluctantly agreed and began gathering articles to bring with him.

  “Mrs. Wood, I will stay and help you move if you lend me a dress.”

  Both Jonathan and Abigail paused to stare at her as if she had taken leave of her senses.

  “I’m completely serious, and sane, I assure you. Please, may I have one of your old ginghams? You have little use for them just now.”

  Jonathan recovered first. “Ingenious!” he laughed. “You could easily pass for a girl, and not a single soldier will be the wiser. Abigail, go get him a dress, dear.”

  The woman dug through an old trunk in her bedroom and returned with a worn but serviceable dress and handed it to her. Meadow took the garment and closed herself in the room.

  When she had changed, she surveyed herself in the small mirror, delighted to find a young woman where a girl had last stood. Even the dust and perspiration of her errand could not shroud the beauty of youth in full bloom.

  The dress felt strange after so many months, but it fit perfectly, hugging her slender waist and clinging to curves that had formed in secret beneath oversized men’s clothing. And though her body had changed, the greatest evidence of maturity showed in her eyes and in her posture. She scarcely recognized the reflection that gazed confidently back at her.

  She fingered her hair until it curled prettily around her face then stepped from the room. She grinned shyly at the startled stares that met her appearance.

  Abigail covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes grown large in disbelief, but Jonathan stuttered stupidly, trying to fill the shocked silence with words that refused to flow.

  “You’re not-” he tried and started again. “You’re really, you’re-” He stopped and swallowed. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Amos’s daughter, Meadow McKenzie,” she stated softly.

  “You were a girl all this time?”

  Abigail stifled a giggle. “Jonathan, you fool.” Then, overcome with merriment, she held her belly and laughed until tears streamed down her face. Jonathan and Meadow looked on awkwardly, then they, too, began to chuckle. Even the little girls smiled as the adults sank to the floor and laughed until their muscles ached.

  Finally, wiping her eyes on her sleeves, Meadow explained her deception to the others.

  Jonathan rose and took her hand. Bowing low, he kissed it. “Meadow McKenzie, you make as fine a woman as you do a lad.”

  ~

  The next afternoon Meadow borrowed a horse and cart from a neighbor and carefully loaded all the Wood’s possessions. They scarcely filled the box.

  As Abigail locked the shop for the last time, the girls clambered on top of the load. Meadow tied Penelope behind. Then she helped Abigail awkwardly onto the seat and drove the few blocks to the yellow house.

  Pulling into the front yard, Abigail heaved a tremendous sigh. “Home at last. I’ve missed this place.”

  “Heating it shouldn’t be a problem,” Meadow quipped as she pulled at her shirtwaist. “And Naomi can help you tend the garden.”

  “Let’s get this stuff unloaded, then,” Abigail suggested.

  As Meadow hauled boxes into the spacious house, Abigail went from room to room opening windows and chasing out the closed-in smell. “This whole place could use a good cleaning,” the woman said, shaking out a dusty rug.

  “Not until after the baby is born,” Meadow scolded. “Perhaps a son this time?”

  “Another mouth to feed,” Abigail complained, but her words were soft.

  When the last trunk was safely deposited on a bedroom floor, Meadow rose with a smile. “I’m sure your girls can help you unpack. The rest is light work, and I want to be after my father.”

  “Wait a moment, Meadow. I have something I want to give you. A gift of gratitude for all the help you’ve been, and perhaps an act of atonement for my abominable behavior.”

  She pulled from the trunk an old, but still beautiful gown, stylishly altered and accompanied by a frilly cap, shift and petticoats.

  Pulling Meadow to a wall mirror, the woman pulled on the cap and arranged her short auburn curls. Then she held up the dress. The blue material complimented Meadow’s coloring beautifully.

  Meadow stared at the becoming image in the mirror. “Thank you, Mrs. Wood.”

  “Aunt Abigail,” the woman smiled. “Now put it on and get going before it gets too dark to see.”

  Moments later, Abigail pressed a blanket and a small sack of dearly-surrendered provisions into Meadow’s arms. “Send word as soon as you can,” she begged.

  “I will,” Meadow promised and waved good-bye to the family.

  Her second trip to the encampment proved much easier than her first. Walking through the city, she spotted one of the British horses that had been under her care tied before a public building. Seeing no one
around, she slipped the reins from the hitching post and shamelessly mounted astride.

  Too late, a red-clad figured shouted at her from a window, but she was already galloping far down the street.

  As she neared the Neck, she slowed her pace and shifted gracefully to a sidesaddle position, no easy task in a man’s saddle. Smiling sweetly at the young guard, she showed the pass she had found in the gutter and crossed without incident. A short distance beyond, she brushed aside her skirt and threw her leg over the saddle once more. Riding fast, she arrived at the camp within the hour.

  She cleared the guard with ease and rode directly to Daniel’s tent, enjoying his look of incredulity.

  “Meadow!” he gulped, “You’re a woman!”

  “Very observant, man!” Matthew jibed, emerging from the tent. He turned to Meadow, “You’ll have to forgive him, miss. He’s seen few enough women these last weeks, and none to match your charm.”

  Meadow blushed at the compliment. Then the young man narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Say, you remind me…”

  “It is Wynn, you dolt!” Daniel laughed, jabbing his friend in the ribs. “Revealed as nature intended, and her true name is Meadow.”

  Matthew stared, astonished. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. Then he bowed low, gallantly sweeping his tricorne from his head to reveal short, tightly-curled hair. “Alas, had I only known sooner. I hope my prior behavior…” He let the thought hang uncomfortably.

  Meadow smiled and dropped lightly to the ground. “Hello, Matthew,” she said, tossing him the reins. “I brought you a traitor, an old friend of mine. If you treat him kindly, I promise to forgive any past indelicacies.”

  “I’d be much obliged, miss,” he mumbled, leading the animal away.

  “And Matthew!” she called.

  He turned expectantly.

  “It’s Meadow!”

  Grinning, he lightly doffed his hat again.

  Daniel grasped her arm in concern. “Meadow, why are you here? And out of your disguise? What if Dennison sees you?”

  She laughed. “Here? There’s small enough chance of that. Besides, there’s a whole British army who would like to get their hands on a certain Irish stable lad.”