American Dream

  Soon the Reverend Jonathan Edwards came to the raised platform at the foot of the hill and began to preach. Many people around Maggie were crying openly, but there were none of the wild gyrations she’d heard about.

  With a hungry heart, Maggie listened to the words that clearly explained God’s love and mercy. The truth was clear to her now. She was responsible for her own decision to make Jesus her Lord.

  Later, as the rosy dusk marked the closing of the momentous day, the crowds began to break up. As Maggie helped to fold the blankets, she heard a voice calling her name. She turned about to see Celia running toward her.

  “Oh Maggie, you’re here, too.” Celia ran up and gave Maggie a hug. “It’s nothing like we thought, is it? I’m so ashamed of all our senseless scoffing.”

  “We spoke in our ignorance, Celia, but now we know the truth.” The look of peace in Celia’s eyes told Maggie that she, indeed, knew the Truth, as well.

  “Mother and Father have brought me out for nearly every meeting. I’ve invited Adelaide to come, but she only laughs at me.”

  “We can pray for her,” Maggie said. “God is faithful to answer our prayers.” “I know that now.”

  “Celia,” Maggie said, “I am thinking of starting a work in Boston to assist those less fortunate. I don’t know exactly how to begin, but I’m trusting the Lord to guide me. Would you consider becoming a part of the work?”

  “Oh Maggie, what an unselfish plan. We laughed at you when you spoke of helping the girl named Ann. I am sorry now that I laughed. I’m sure Mother would like to be a part, as well,” she added. “I must go now. They’re waiting for me. Good-bye, Maggie.” She ran a ways down the hill and then called back, “I’m so glad we’re sisters in the Lord.”

  A cool breeze had come up, softly ruffling the leaves in the trees. One of the first stars winked overhead. As she walked along with her family. Maggie felt warm and content to the very depths of her soul.

  “Let me take that,” Jacob said, lifting the heavy blanket from her arms. Then he boldly grasped her hand as they strolled to the carriage together.

  Lizzie and the Redcoat

  Susan Martins Miller

  A NOTE TO READERS

  While Lizzie Murray and her family and friends are fictional, what happens in Boston in this story is not. It is twelve years before the Revolutionary War, but Boston’s streets are already filled with violence. Angry because of increasing taxes, mobs are attacking British agents and soldiers. They burn homes and destroy property. Even people who are forced to house British soldiers are not safe from the mob’s fury.

  While it is easy for us to look back now and see where these events would lead, things were not so clear to King George III, Sam Adams, James Otis, or the thousands of colonists who were trying to decide the right thing to do. As we will see in this story, even individual families were not safe from the conflicts that raged through the colonies.

  CONTENTS

  1. The Attack!

  2. The Customs Agent

  3. The Argument on Christmas Day

  4. The Mob

  5. Sam Adams’s Speech

  6. The Shooting

  7. The Wounded Soldier

  8. Aunt Johanna’s Visit

  9. What Joshua Saw

  10. Mischief at the Print Shop

  11. Rooms for Redcoats

  12. Just One Soldier

  13. Night of Terror

  14. The Accident

  15. Victory!

  CHAPTER 1

  The Attack!

  Lizzie loved winter. Perched in a wing chair scooted up to the window, she pressed her face against the cold glass. The wind had blown a gentle curve of white powder against the clear pane. She studied the icy shapes that had formed on both sides of the glass. With her eyes squinted nearly shut, she tilted her head from side to side. Lizzie tried to imagine what the intricate patterns of the snowflakes might look like if they could only be larger. They might be like the spiderwebs she knocked down from the ceiling of her room, or they might be like the tatted lace her aunt Charlotte loved to make.

  Lizzie had tried to learn to tat. Aunt Charlotte had been a patient teacher, but Lizzie’s fingers simply would not go where they were supposed to go, and her projects always ended up being a tangled knot. She was almost twelve now. Perhaps she should try again. She would love to make a roomful of holiday lace—maybe even a whole Christmas tablecloth as a gift for her mother. A white lace tablecloth would look so festive on the long walnut table with the imported china dishes set just right.

  Lizzie pushed her thick coppery hair away from her face and turned her cheek to the glass. The draft came in around the edges of the window and stirred up the fire in the front room of the Murray family home. Mama always said that the inside of the house was nearly as cold as the outside. The fire gave an especially loud snap, and Lizzie glanced at it. She loved the comfort of a roaring fire on a cold day.

  Still, it was cold in the room, and Lizzie had been sitting in that chair near the window for almost an hour. She pulled her shawl snug around her shoulders and reluctantly crossed the room to warm her hands over the fire. The woodpile was getting low. At this time of year, it took so much wood to warm just the kitchen and front room of the family’s home. Upstairs, in her unheated bedroom, Lizzie had learned to change clothes quickly and leap into bed.

  Christmas was only a few days away. Lizzie could hardly believe that 1764 was almost over already. Mama had tried to tell her that when the years passed quickly, it meant you were growing up. Sometimes Lizzie wanted to be grown-up. She could choose her own clothes and perhaps drive her own carriage. But most of the time, growing up frightened Lizzie. Life in the colonies was changing, and if she were a grown-up, Lizzie would have to decide what she thought about everything. When it came to King George and the English Parliament, she was far too confused to know what she thought was right and what she thought was wrong.

  Putting unsettling thoughts aside, Lizzie pictured the front room on Christmas Day. Soon the house would be filled with relatives and decorations and simple gifts of love. Her mother’s brothers would come with their families. Uncle Blake and Aunt Charlotte would close down their carriage shop for the day and bundle up Isaac and Christopher. Uncle Philip would put a note on the door of his medical clinic telling people where he was in case of an emergency. He and Aunt Johanna and young Charity would descend enthusiastically on the Murray home.

  A fire would burn in every room on Christmas. Her younger cousins would romp joyously through the house. They would all go to church together and come home for the biggest dinner of the year. Of course, this year holiday food would be harder to find than in the past. Boston was not the same as it had been a few years ago.

  “Oh, there you are.”

  Lizzie turned toward the voice. “Were you looking for me, Mama?” Her mother had entered from the dining room.

  “I thought you might like to see the quilt squares before I give them to Charlotte.” Constance Murray spread two dozen carefully pieced quilt squares on and around the large chair next to the fire. A blue-and-white floral pattern emerged.

  “They’re beautiful, Mama,” Lizzie said sincerely. “Your corners are perfect. I wish I could learn to quilt like that.”

  Her mother smiled. “You will. It takes years of practice.”

  “Aunt Johanna will love the quilt.” Lizzie fingered the edge of one square and smiled faintly at the thought of her gentle aunt, married to her mother’s younger brother, Philip. Lizzie was glad to have Aunt Johanna to confide in.

  “I only wish Charlotte and I could have finished it in time for Christmas,” Mama said.

  “But Aunt Johanna’s birthday is only a few weeks away,” Lizzie said. “She’ll have it soon enough.” She looked up at her mother with a sly smile. “Do you think she suspects anything?”

  “I certainly hope not.” Mama started to gather up the quilt squares and stack them neatly again. “After all the hours Charlotte and I have spen
t on this project, I want it to be a complete surprise.”

  Lizzie chuckled. “I love the way Aunt Johanna holds her breath when she is surprised and doesn’t know what to say.”

  Mama laughed, too. “Maybe that’s why I like to surprise her.” She offered the quilt squares to Lizzie. “Here. Why don’t you take these down to your aunt Charlotte? I think she’s at the carriage shop this afternoon. She’s anxious to start putting the quilt together.”

  Lizzie looked toward the window. “But, Mama, it’s cold out, and it will be dark soon.”

  “You have plenty of time if you just go and come directly back. Besides, I know you love the snow.”

  “Please, Mama, can’t Joshua go?”

  “Your brother is down at the print shop helping Papa. And I have to stay here with Emmett and Olivia. Don’t be so contrary. It is not becoming to a young lady.”

  Lizzie heard the firmness in her mother’s voice and knew she would have to go out whether she liked it or not. She did love the snow—her mother was right about that. And the walk to Wallace Coach and Carriage Company, owned by Uncle Blake and Aunt Charlotte, was not a long one. A crisp, bright winter day was Lizzie’s favorite kind of weather, and Mama knew that. But it was no longer fun to walk around the streets of Boston. Lizzie much preferred to stay indoors and imagine that all was well.

  “Wear your warmest cloak, and you should be fine,” Mama said. “Tuck the quilt squares underneath to keep them dry.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Lizzie said softly and went to fetch her cloak.

  Outside, she took a deep breath and looked around. The street where the Murrays lived was a quiet one. The families who lived there were proud of their homes. They had worked hard to build their houses and make them every bit as comfortable as the homes newcomers spoke of having left in England. Goods came into the colonies from everywhere, but mostly from England. Business had been good for many years.

  That was changing now. Some people were so angry with King George and the Parliament in England that they refused to buy anything that came from England. And Parliament disapproved of the colonies bringing in too many goods from anywhere else.

  Lizzie turned a corner and started walking in the direction of Boston Harbor. Wallace Coach and Carriage was near the harbor. Lizzie knew that many people thought Aunt Charlotte had no business working at the carriage shop. But Charlotte was independent enough to do as she pleased, and Uncle Blake seemed to appreciate the help. Lizzie admired Aunt Charlotte’s fire as much as she admired Aunt Johanna’s gentleness.

  Around the next corner, Lizzie’s heart quickened at the sight of the British soldiers. They were standing guard outside the Customs House, the brick building where the king’s treasury in Boston was kept. There were two guards, one on either side of the doorway. They stood silently still, with their red coats properly buttoned and their muskets always ready. Their white collars were so stiff they could hardly move their heads. Lizzie kept her eyes fixed on the street ahead of her and focused on putting one foot in front of the other just to keep moving. If she had gone the long way around, she might have avoided the soldiers. But it was too late now. Beneath her cloak, her fingers gripped the quilt squares that had brought her out on this day.

  Lizzie hated the feeling she got in her stomach whenever she saw British soldiers on duty. British soldiers had been in Boston her whole life, but they had always been small in number with pleasant responsibilities. They had worked alongside the colonists for the good of both England and the colonies. Now, it seemed that they were everywhere, and they were here to do what King George wanted them to do, not what the Bostonians wanted.

  Even the townspeople could not agree about what was best for the colonies. In the past, no one had seemed to mind the soldiers. Now, everyone argued about whether the soldiers should stay in Boston or be packed up and sent home on the next boat to England. Lizzie had heard her uncles dispute that question many times.

  Not so long ago, Boston had been bubbling with energy. The harbor had been filled with boats, and everyone in town had been curious to see the new items they brought in. Books, fine furniture, and clothing had come from Europe, and the colonists had felt they were as much a part of life in England as if they still lived there.

  At the same time, Boston had become a real city. Schools and newspapers—including Papa’s print shop—had flourished. Carpenters were kept busy filling orders for furniture and equipment for the outlying farms. Craftsmen had worked on jewelry, dishes, and decorations for the homes of Boston’s upper class. Blacksmiths kept shoes on hundreds of horses. Women from the other colonies traveled to Boston to see what the new fashions were. Church bells rang to remind the people to worship the God who had blessed them. The streets had been filled with horses and carriages as people came into town to shop and visit and exchange information.

  Lizzie had loved living in Boston when so much was going on. She could go into Mr. Osgood’s shop for a sweet treat or to the dressmaker’s shop to see sketches of the new clothes from Europe. But those shops were closed now. The molasses that Mr. Osgood used in many of his sweets had gotten too expensive because of new taxes, and the dressmaker had taken an independent spirit and refused to follow the fashions from England.

  Lizzie did not understand very much about the Seven Years’ War. She knew that the colonies had fought alongside England against the French. At the end of the war, some of the land they had been fighting over was given to France.

  From reading the small newspaper that her father published, Lizzie also knew that King George in England was not happy with the colonies. He thought that they did not help enough during the Seven Years’ War and that they should have done much more to help the British troops. More of the men should have fought, the king thought, and those who did not could have given food and supplies more willingly. The Seven Years’ War—which had lasted for most of Lizzie’s life—had drained the treasury of England. The relationship between the colonies and their mother country was changed forever. Now King George seemed determined to control the colonies with an iron hand. So the soldiers were everywhere. Boston was still full of energy, but it was an angry energy, filled with dread of things to come.

  Lizzie was past the soldiers now and could breathe more easily. Her brother Joshua, who was two years older than she, teased her about how nervous the soldiers made her. He liked to remind her that their own family had come from England and Ireland. “Maybe those boys outside the Customs House are our distant cousins,” Joshua would say. “I think the red jackets are a bit odd, but I’m not afraid of the men who wear them.”

  Lizzie shuddered. The wind blew through her cloak. Now that she was down the street a few yards, she glanced back over her shoulder at the soldiers. They had not changed position. They seemed not to even notice the biting wind. No matter what Joshua said, the British soldiers made Lizzie nervous. Their presence meant that things were not going well in Boston. With Christmas just around the corner, Lizzie yearned to feel free of the foreboding presence that followed her everywhere she went.

  Suddenly Lizzie was pulled off balance from behind! She tried to scream, but a firm hand on her mouth stifled the sound.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Customs Agent

  Lizzie lost her balance and fell backward, straight into the chest of her attacker. He swung her around and lifted her feet off the ground, spinning her around three times. Her arms and feet flailed against the empty air. When she landed, she kicked backward as hard as she could until she struck something solid—a shin.

  “Ouch!” With a grunt that revealed his pain, he released Lizzie immediately.

  Once free, she started to run up the street—until she looked over her shoulder and saw the identity of her attacker.

  “Joshua Murray! You frightened me half to death.” She charged at her fourteen-year-old brother, who merely grinned back at her. He was amused by her anger. “Why in the world would you do such a thing?”

  Joshua caught her wrists before
she could strike him. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. I saw you walking past the sentries and thought it would be a shame to let all that fear go to waste. You could not even look at their faces.”

  “What does that matter?” Lizzie asked indignantly. “I did not come out in the cold to visit with soldiers.” She turned and began walking again.

  “They wouldn’t hurt you, you know.” Joshua fell into step beside her.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You’re just a girl. You’re not a soldier or a militiaman. You are no threat to them.”

  “I said I didn’t want to talk about it.” Lizzie speeded up her steps.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the carriage shop. Mama has finished her quilt squares for Aunt Johanna, and Aunt Charlotte is going to put them together.”

  “I’ll come along,” Joshua said. “I always like visiting the carriage business.”

  “Doesn’t Papa need you?” Lizzie asked.

  “I’m finished for today at the print shop.”

  “Well, if you must, you may come along.” Lizzie gave her brother a harsh look. Inwardly, however, she was glad to have Joshua with her. Not only was he bigger and stronger than she was, but he was not afraid. Nothing that had happened in Boston in recent months made him avoid being outside. When she was with Joshua, Lizzie felt less afraid herself.

  Soon Boston Harbor came into view. The sun glinted off the water as the waves lapped into the protection of the half-frozen harbor.

  “I love coming down here,” Joshua said. He slowed his steps to gaze at the mass of boats and docks before them. He braced himself against a railing and looked directly out over the water. “Don’t you ever wonder about all the places those boats have been, all the things that the crews have seen?”

  Lizzie shrugged. “It’s enough for me just to see the things they bring back. Except they don’t bring much anymore.”