“Think of all of England as your family, and the king as the father who can no longer take care of the family.”
“I see what you are saying now,” Daniel said. “Massachusetts and the other colonies are the children who need to help support the family.”
The teacher raised his eyebrows above his glasses. “I see you understand my point.”
“Yes, sir, I understand the comparison. But I believe it is flawed. With all respect, sir, may I explain further?”
“Go right ahead.”
“If my father were to ask for my contribution and I were given the opportunity to give it gladly, there would be harmony in the family and all would be well. But suppose my father were to sneak into my bedroom at night and forcibly remove the earnings I have saved without my consent. Justice would suffer greatly, and the family might never be happy again.”
“And you believe this is what King George has done—forcibly taken what you have saved, without consent?”
“Yes, sir, I do. Parliament has passed a law forcing us to make payments to the king without having asked us first if we would be willing to do so. This is taxation without representation. And it is a moral wrong.”
The teacher reached into his pocket for his watch and examined it.
“Perhaps we can probe this further another day, Mr. Taylor. While such political debate doubtless is better for the mind than what you will engage in once class is dismissed, I am compelled by the statutes of Boston to release you now. Class dismissed.”
As Lizzie gathered her books and slate, she glanced over at Joshua. He had wasted no time in seeking out Daniel Taylor, no doubt to hear more of Daniel’s opinions about the Stamp Act.
Lizzie did not want to hear more political talk. She had come to believe her father was right. No one wanted a war. The Patriots simply wanted justice, and they would try to achieve it peacefully. In the meantime though, tension was growing in Boston. Remembering her father’s warnings not to walk alone after school, Lizzie quickly collected her light spring shawl and waited on the steps for Joshua.
Spring rains had finally given way to the promise of summer.
The day was clear and bright. But Lizzie could not enjoy it. Inside, she was twisted up and confused. If everyone wanted justice and no one wanted a war, why was there so much anger and bitterness in Boston?
When Joshua arrived a few minutes later, he poked her from behind, making her jump.
“Joshua!” She slapped at his hand. “Must you make a joke of absolutely everything?”
“Isn’t that Daniel Taylor something?” Joshua said, ignoring Lizzie’s irritation. “He really understands the political issues. You should listen to him talk.”
“I did listen to him talk, silly.”
“No, I don’t mean in class. You should have heard the things he said afterward. I believe someday he will be elected to the Massachusetts legislature, maybe even become governor.”
“Yes, I suppose he’s bright enough.” Lizzie did not want to encourage further conversation on politics.
But Joshua had a one-track mind, and on that day the track was politics. “I wonder what his father thinks about all this. He’s a blacksmith, after all. He talks to people all day long.”
“He talks about shoeing their horses,” Lizzie said flatly.
“Ah yes, but what do they talk about while he is putting the shoes on? He’s in a perfect spot to find out what people are thinking.”
“Most people just leave the horse and come back when the job is done.”
“But not everyone leaves. Some people stay and talk. I’ve seen them. He could probably write an article for Papa about what people are saying.”
Lizzie did not answer. Perhaps her silence would make Joshua find another subject to talk about.
They came around a corner and found themselves at the back of a large group. About twenty people had stopped to watch what was happening across the street, where a bigger crowd was circling a tree.
“What’s going on?” Joshua asked, craning his neck to find the focus of attention.
“Over there,” someone said. “Under that tree, across the street. Sam Adams is giving a speech.”
“Really? Sam Adams?” Joshua asked. Lizzie could hear the excitement in her brother’s voice. “What is he talking about?”
“What he always talks about,” said a woman. “Freedom. Liberty. How the colonies are in bondage to England and it’s time to break free.”
“I’ve never heard him before,” Joshua said.
“He’s an earful, that’s for sure.” The woman moved along, having lost interest.
“We should keep going,” Lizzie said, nudging Joshua. “Papa will be waiting.”
“Just a few minutes,” Joshua said, fixing his gaze on Sam Adams across the street. “Look at the way he stands, as if he were the preacher in the finest church in England, instead of standing under a tree that barely has its spring blossoms.”
Joshua struck a pose that looked remarkably like Sam Adams. He stood with his feet solidly apart and his hands in the air, elbows up.
“How’s this?” he said, grinning at Lizzie.
She smiled. She had to admit his imitation was accurate.
“That is really good, Joshua. Now you just need a tattered black coat. Can we go?”
Joshua did not answer. He was busy capturing the gestures of the outdoor speaker. He mimicked the way Sam Adams emphasized his points by thrusting his fists through the air and then pushing his arm straight up over his shoulder with only one finger raised.
“You’re quite amusing, young man,” said a mother struggling to keep a toddler under control.
“Where did you learn how to do that?” asked someone else.
Lizzie put her head back and rolled her eyes. Joshua had an audience. Now they would be there until suppertime. “Joshua!” she hissed.
But he paid no attention to her. He put his fists on his hips, threw out his chest, and surveyed the crowd, just as Adams was doing across the street.
“You’re very good, Joshua,” Lizzie said. “Quite convincing. Now can we go?”
“The only problem is that I can’t hear him. I don’t know what his voice sounds like.”
“I’m sure it’s just an ordinary voice.”
“No, the voice of a man who gives speeches has a certain quality.”
“He’s just a man.”
“Let’s go across the street and get closer.” “Joshua, no, we can’t do that!”
“Why on earth not? The man is just giving a simple political speech. This is Boston. People give political speeches all the time.” He started to cross the street. Given her father’s instructions to stay with Joshua, Lizzie had no choice but to follow. Joshua barely glanced over his shoulder to see if she was there as he worked his way up to the front of the crowd.
“We are not children,” Sam Adams was saying when they got close enough to hear his words. “We are mature, educated men of sound minds.” He punctuated his sentence with another thrust in the air.
Joshua did the same as he silently echoed Adams’s words.
“Joshua, this isn’t funny anymore,” Lizzie pleaded. “Please, let’s go.”
Adams continued to talk. “What is one letter from the Massachusetts Assembly to the king of England? Neither New York, nor Pennsylvania, nor Maryland has seen this letter. If the assemblies in these colonies have also sent letters to the king, what does that matter? We have not seen their letters. We may plead one argument while they plead another. In such division there is weakness. The king is right not to be concerned with such disorganization.”
Joshua looked at Lizzie. His expression had sobered, and his arms hung motionless at his sides. “You’re right; this isn’t funny anymore. But we can’t go, not yet.”
“Joshua, please,” Lizzie whispered.
“I think what he says makes a lot of sense, and I want to hear it.”
“You know as well as I do that Papa thinks Sam Adams goes too
far,” Lizzie warned. “He won’t like it when he finds out we were late because you wanted to listen to Sam Adams talk under a tree.”
“Lizzie, you’re only twelve. But I’m nearly fifteen. I have to make up my own mind about these things.”
“Suppose, however,” Adams said, “that we were to unite in our objections to the king.” He seemed to be looking directly at Joshua. “Suppose that instead of receiving a half-dozen different arguments, each of them weak in itself, King George were to receive one forceful document laying out all of the claims of the colonies. In such a circumstance, he would not dare to treat us as ignorant children.”
“One letter to the king!” Joshua exclaimed. “Remind me to ask Papa if that has ever been done before.”
“It hasn’t,” Lizzie said flatly.
“How do you know?” Joshua seemed to doubt that a twelve-year-old girl could know much of anything.
Lizzie shrugged. “I’m not as idle as you think. I listen to what is going on. I heard Uncle Blake and Papa talking about the same thing. It would be something called a congress.”
“A Continental Congress!” Sam Adams said emphatically. “We must take the first step toward giving the colonies the freedom they deserve and the liberty they have earned.”
Lizzie pulled as hard as she could on Joshua’s elbow. “Joshua, you’re keeping me in bondage. Now let’s go.”
“All right,” he finally agreed, “but only because I have some questions for Papa.”
CHAPTER 6
The Shooting
The pile of newspapers landed in the back of the cart with a thwack. Joshua pushed them to the corner and checked to make sure the string around them was tight.
“How many more?” Lizzie asked. The glare of the summer afternoon sun made her squint.
“Two more trips.” Joshua disappeared back into the print shop to tie up more copies of the afternoon paper.
Lizzie inspected the hitch that linked the cart to the horse. Satisfied that Joshua had hitched the cart properly, she turned her attention to the horse.
“Well Merry,” she said, stroking the side of the mare’s head, “another round of deliveries. I’m not sure you really need Joshua and me. You’ve been doing this so long that you know exactly where to go.”
Merry neighed softly and moved her head about, nuzzling Lizzie’s hand.
Lizzie laughed. “You’re looking for sugar, aren’t you, girl? I’m sorry, but sugar is hard to come by these days. Mama says sugar is getting too expensive for people, much less for a horse. I do have an apple.”
Lizzie produced the fruit, and Merry accepted it enthusiastically.
Joshua appeared with another stack of newspapers. He scowled at Lizzie.
“I don’t think playing with the horse counts as part of helping with the route,” he said sternly.
Lizzie made a face. “I’m making sure Merry is ready.”
“Merry has been doing this since we were babies. Believe me, she’s ready.”
“Let me drive today,” Lizzie said.
“Aw Lizzie!”
“Come on, Joshua. Merry is gentle. She knows the route. Nothing will happen.”
“I could do this without you, you know,” Joshua said.
“And I could do it without you. But Papa said to stay together.”
Joshua surrendered. “Turn the cart around while I get the last stack.”
Gleefully, Lizzie hiked up her skirts and climbed into the seat of the carriage. Twelve was a strange age, she had decided. She was old enough to know how adults behaved, and her parents expected her to behave like an adult. Yet she was young enough to enjoy the simple pleasure of riding in a cart and making the horse go where she wanted it to go. This was the first summer that Papa had let her drive the cart for more than a few yards, and she had been practicing for weeks. The sense of responsibility made her feel even more grown-up. She maneuvered the cart around so that she was facing the street and waited. A moment later, Joshua appeared with the last stack of papers. He threw it into the cart, then climbed in the back and sat on top of the stack.
“Ready?” Lizzie asked brightly.
“I’m never ready when you’re driving,” Joshua muttered.
Lizzie ignored him and nudged Merry with the reins. The old mare needed little encouragement to begin her trot down the main streets of Boston. They would stop periodically to drop papers off for agents to sell or sometimes stand on a corner and sell papers themselves.
“Good day, Mr. Kearney,” Joshua said as he tossed a small pile off the cart.
“G’day to ye both,” Mr. Kearney answered. “And how be the wee ones at home?”
Lizzie smiled. “Olivia and Emmett are just fine. Thank you for asking.”
They trotted on.
“I’m going to give Uncle Philip a double stack today,” Joshua said. “He told Papa that more and more people who come by the clinic want to read the paper.”
Lizzie narrowed her eyes and looked straight ahead. “Joshua?” she said softly.
“Did you hear what I said about Uncle Philip?” Joshua persisted.
“Yes, he’s the next stop. But, Joshua, look.” Lizzie pulled on the reins slightly, and Merry broke her rhythm and stopped.
Joshua clambered over the piles of newspapers to look out the front of the cart. Two British soldiers stood poised on the street corner, squaring off against a dozen or more young colonists. “What’s going on, Joshua?” Lizzie’s stomach churned. Joshua shook his head. “I can’t tell from here. Get closer.” “I don’t think we should.”
“Lizzie,” Joshua said impatiently, “you said you wanted to drive. Now drive!”
Reluctantly, she got Merry started again, and they drew up closer to the encounter.
“Why don’t you redcoats leave us alone and go home?” a man shouted.
“We did not come to stir up trouble,” one of the soldiers said. “We simply want to pass this way to go to the docks.”
“Why do you need to go to the docks?” another voice challenged.
Lizzie nudged Joshua. “Isn’t that Daniel Taylor?” Joshua nodded silently.
“With all due respect, we have jobs at the docks, and we are late already. Please let us pass.”
“You don’t need to work at the docks!” Daniel Taylor shouted. “You already have a job. The king pays you to do his bidding.”
“The pay is not enough, and if you people in the colonies would recognize that, we would have no quarrel between us.” The British soldier was clearly losing his patience.
“Let’s all take pity on the redcoats,” Daniel said in an exaggerated tone of voice. “They have only one set of clothes, after all.” Daniel turned to his friends for encouragement, and they began shouting at the soldiers.
“Go home to England to get a real job!”
“If you leave us alone, we’ll leave you alone!”
“Go home to your precious king and tell him your troubles. We don’t want to hear them.”
The soldiers glanced at each other, then started to force their way through the roadblock the young men had set up.
“Don’t you shove me!” one of the young men shouted. And then he swung his fist at the nearest soldier.
“Joshua!” Lizzie cried. “Do something!”
“I’ll try to talk to Daniel and get him to call off his friends.” Joshua looked sternly at Lizzie. “You stay right here. Do you hear me? Don’t move.”
Lizzie nodded. She was too frightened to move. Where did he think she would go?
Joshua jumped down from the cart and dashed toward the group on the corner. He pushed past several young men until he found Daniel Taylor.
“Daniel,” Joshua started. “Daniel, please, what are you doing?”
“This is none of your business, Joshua,” Daniel said.
“I just don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Joshua said. “Please, tell your friends to go home. There is no need for a fight.”
“Is that what you think?” one of th
e other young men said. “If you get in our way, that means you are siding with the redcoats.”
“I’m not siding with anyone!” Joshua exclaimed. “I just don’t think there is any need for a fight.”
The man pushed his fist up under Joshua’s chin.
Lizzie gasped, and as she did so, she let go of the reins. Merry started moving again.
“No, Merry, no!” Lizzie cried, scrambling to pick up the reins.
The old mare paid no attention to Lizzie’s pleas. She continued her trot and walked right past the corner where Joshua stood. Desperately, Lizzie looked back over her shoulder at the fracas on the corner. Joshua ducked just in time to avoid being punched in the eye.
“Joshua!” Lizzie screamed. “Merry, stop! Stop!” Leaning as far forward out of her seat as she dared, she grasped for the loose reins. Finally, she had hold of them again. Immediately, she pulled Merry to a stop, jumped down, and tied the reins around a post. Then she scrambled back to the corner where she had left Joshua.
To her surprise and relief, Uncle Philip had just come out of his clinic and was trying to break up the fight. Fists and foul names were flying everywhere. Lizzie could hardly keep track of which arms belonged to which bodies.
“Joshua!” she called out as she ran toward him.
Uncle Philip heard her scream and turned toward her. Just at that moment, one of the strongest young men in the bunch swung a board. The side of Uncle Philip’s face and the board collided. When she heard the crack, Lizzie could not tell if it was the board or Uncle Philip’s skull that had broken. He slumped to the ground.
“Uncle Philip!” she screamed. “Joshua, help him!”
“Lizzie, stay out of this!” Somehow Joshua’s voice rose to the top of the chaos. But Lizzie could not keep out. She ran toward her uncle. Just as she reached him, Uncle Philip sat up groggily. He held his head in his hands.
“Uncle Philip, are you all right?” Lizzie knelt beside him and gently touched his face.
Uncle Philip groaned. “I’m all right, Lizzie. You should do what Joshua says and get away.” “I can’t leave you here like this.”
“I’m all right, Lizzie. You must be careful for your own safety.”
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