American Dream

by Colleen L. Reece

  Joshua moved to the window and peered outside. “Street gangs, you say?”

  “Yes. This time it was Douglas Taylor’s son and his rowdies.”

  “Daniel?”

  “Yes, that’s his name.” Aunt Johanna gratefully accepted the tea that Mama poured.

  “Are they out there now?” Joshua asked.

  “They were a few minutes ago. Down the street a bit. They had no clear purpose that I could see.”

  Scenes from her own encounter with Daniel Taylor’s gang flashed through Lizzie’s mind. “You did the right thing to come here,” she said, “especially when you had Charity with you.”

  “You mustn’t take any chances,” Mama said as she offered her sister-in-law some precious sugar for her tea.

  “This is all the fault of Sam Adams!” Aunt Johanna exclaimed.

  Joshua wheeled around. “What do you mean? Sam Adams is not part of that gang.”

  “No, but he has his own gang, and their presence in Boston grows stronger every day. Other people start gangs to be like him.”

  “Daniel and his friends just like to push people around. Sam Adams is trying to get something done.”

  “Their activities look very much alike to me,” Aunt Johanna insisted.

  Joshua was not satisfied. “I’ve never heard Sam say anything about terrorizing women and children in the street.”

  Aunt Johanna sipped the tea. “He doesn’t have to say that in so many words. If he would stop standing under that silly Liberty Tree giving speeches, Boston might settle down.”

  Joshua looked away and said nothing.

  Mama lowered herself into a chair next to Aunt Johanna. “I heard that the Shreves were forced to house two British soldiers against their will.”

  “Have you seen those soldiers, Constance?” Aunt Johanna asked. “They are nothing but boys who are too far from home. If it were Joshua, you would be glad to have someone take him in and give him a decent meal.”

  “But the Shreves have five children of their own, and they can hardly keep them fed as it is. Now they have two more full-grown men to feed. I can’t imagine how they are going to do it—especially since Levi Shreve is one of the most outspoken Patriots in Boston.”

  “Oh Mama, you haven’t heard, have you?” Lizzie said. Instantly she wished she could take back her words.

  “Haven’t heard what, Lizzie?”

  Lizzie’s fingers twisted around the ties of her apron. “The Shreves don’t have to house the soldiers anymore. One of the gangs—”

  “Don’t tell me!” Mama exclaimed. “One of those crazy gangs broke into the Shreve house and threw the furniture around.”

  Lizzie nodded mutely. “There isn’t much left. I saw Mr. Shreve’s daughter Alyce outside the print shop yesterday. She won’t be able to come back to school. They have to move away.”

  “But the house, the furniture—none of that belongs to the British soldiers. What is the point in destroying personal property needlessly?”

  Aunt Johanna shook her head. “Do you see what I mean now?”

  “You don’t know for sure that Sam Adams is behind those activities,” Joshua said. “Sam is trying to unite the colonies in an organized protest against Parliament. That’s the only reason he goes around town talking.”

  “Sam Adams is doing far more than talking,” Aunt Johanna said. “Talking doesn’t hurt people. But families are being destroyed. People are losing homes that they have worked hard for—homes their parents built. I am on my knees every night asking God to bring an end to this madness.”

  Lizzie needed to keep herself busy while she sorted out what she was hearing. She stood up abruptly and started straightening the chairs around the table. Aunt Johanna had always been the person Lizzie could turn to when she was most confused. But right now, Aunt Johanna sounded just as confused as Lizzie was herself.

  “I’m going to check on the children,” Mama said.

  “I’ll just take a look down the street,” Joshua said casually.

  Aunt Johanna and Lizzie were alone. Lizzie’s mind burst with questions she wanted to ask. She hardly knew where to begin.

  “Aunt Johanna?” Lizzie stopped her fidgeting and stood with her hands on the back of a chair. “Yes, Lizzie, what is it?”

  “Do you think Sam Adams is in charge of Boston?”

  Aunt Johanna smiled and sighed. “You remember what we talked about at Christmas, don’t you?”

  Lizzie nodded. “But you seem different now.” She dropped into the chair beside her aunt. “Back then you seemed to know that nothing bad was really going to happen because God was in control. But now … now you seem as angry as everyone else in Boston.”

  “You may be right, Lizzie. These last eight months have been such a strain. Why, look at what happened to you and Joshua only a few days ago.”

  “And Uncle Philip.”

  “I thank God you were not hurt and that Philip suffered only a bad headache. But I can’t promise you that no one in our family is ever going to be hurt. So yes, sometimes I am frightened and angry.” She laughed. “I guess I must sound quite ridiculous going on about Sam Adams, as if he were mightier than God Himself. No, Lizzie, I do not think Sam Adams is in charge of Boston. God is still in charge.”

  “Then why is everyone angry all the time?”

  Aunt Johanna sighed slowly. “That is a question I cannot answer. But God will work this out. I am sure of that.”

  Mama reappeared in the kitchen doorway. “Lizzie,” she said, “perhaps you could take the children out in the garden for a little while. It’s such a beautiful day. I’m sure if you stayed in the back, near the house, you would be quite safe.”

  Lizzie looked from her mother to Aunt Johanna. Her aunt nodded. “Go on, Lizzie. I would like it if Charity could play in the fresh air.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Lizzie said, and stood up. She pushed her chair in neatly under the table.

  At moments like this, she hated being twelve. Mama and Aunt Johanna were going to have a discussion that would no doubt be more interesting than playing with three small children. But she would not be allowed even to overhear it from the next room.

  Olivia, Emmett, and Charity charged past her and out the back door into the yard. Lizzie reluctantly followed. Outside, she sat on a tree stump and surveyed her surroundings.

  The yard was quite pleasant, actually. The children could play in a large square of grass, hidden from the street. And beyond the play yard were the flower gardens. Her mother had worked hard all summer to make the flowers grow, and they were in full bloom. Their colors melted from one shade into another and cascaded across the property. Behind the flower gardens was the vegetable patch. Soon it would be time to pick the beans and squash and store them for the winter. Lizzie had been helping with that process for as long as she could remember. At the back of the lot, the ground sloped up, forming a stubby hill for winter sledding.

  Lizzie shook her head. How could she be thinking about flowers and vegetables, knowing that her mother and her aunt were sitting in the kitchen discussing the hazards of life in Boston? Her uncle was still tending a wounded British soldier and being criticized because of his decision to care for the man. Her father was under pressure to use his newspaper and printing press in a revolt against the Stamp Act. Yet she was longing for fresh vegetables and white, smooth snow.

  She looked up at the frolicking children, who were chasing each other around the enclosed yard. Olivia had recently graduated out of the clothes of toddlers and into the dresses of older girls and women. But she was unconcerned with ladylike behavior at that moment. She tackled Emmett, and they tumbled to the ground, squealing.

  Lizzie sincerely hoped that all the children thought about was flowers and vegetables and when they would next be able to play together. Olivia was boisterous, and it was not always easy to tell what she was feeling. Emmett had a sensitive spirit; he probably understood more than he talked about. Charity was full of common sense. If she were a few years
older, she would no doubt have her own opinions about how to solve Boston’s problems in the way that made the most sense.

  “Where is Joshua going?” Emmett’s fragile voice broke into Lizzie’s musings.

  “What do you mean?”

  Emmett pointed. Joshua was closing the door carefully behind him, making sure it would not slam. He carried a small leather pack. Lizzie jumped off her stump.

  “Joshua?” she said loudly.

  He put a finger to his lips to hush her. She gathered up her skirts and ran over to him before he could get away. “Where are you going?” she said in a half whisper. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

  “That’s ridiculous, Joshua.” She stamped her foot. “Tell me where you are going.”

  “Lizzie, this is not your business.”

  “You’re my brother. Of course it is my business.”

  Joshua looked toward the kitchen window. They could see their aunt and mother still engrossed in conversation.

  “Aunt Johanna is wrong,” Joshua said. “Sam Adams is not responsible for what happened to us the other day.”

  “Oh Joshua, she was just letting out her frustration. She was frightened. Can you blame her?”

  “No. I don’t blame her for being frightened. But she’s wrong about Sam Adams.”

  “Where are you going?” Lizzie asked again.

  Joshua shook his head. He was not going to tell her.

  “Why are you taking your pack?” Lizzie persisted.

  Again, Joshua only shook his head.

  “Something is happening tonight, isn’t it, Joshua?” Lizzie said. “Aunt Johanna is frightened for a good reason, isn’t she?”

  “Lizzie, please, I’m not going to say anything more. Please let me be!” He turned to go.

  “Joshua?” Lizzie said softly.

  With a groan of frustration, Joshua turned to face her again. “Take care of yourself.”

  CHAPTER 9

  What Joshua Saw

  Punching her pillow, Lizzie wondered what time it was—again. Then she answered her own question. It was ten minutes later than the last time she had punched her pillow and wondered what time it was. Her bedding was a tangled mess. Across the room, Olivia slept serenely. Lizzie could hardly believe that anyone, even an exhausted child, could sleep through the night that had just passed. Lizzie herself had not slept a minute all night.

  When Joshua had not arrived for supper, her mother and father had turned their attention to Lizzie. They were convinced that she would know where to find him. Since Lizzie and Joshua had been instructed to stay together when they were walking around town, her parents reasoned that she had been everywhere that Joshua had been in recent days. Lizzie reminded them that although she had been forbidden to go out alone, Joshua was still free to come and go as he pleased. Surely he had had many opportunities for conversations or activities that Lizzie knew nothing about.

  Mama had burned the supper, and no one ate much. The silence at the table was broken only by Mama’s occasional coaxing to get Olivia and Emmett to eat a few bites. Lizzie had cleared the table and washed the dishes without being asked. Hardly noticing her efforts, her parents went out looking for Joshua. By then he had been missing for several hours. Lizzie tucked Olivia and Emmett into bed—over their protests about the absence of their parents—and sat alone in the front room. She tried to focus her thoughts on the usual sounds of a summer evening: crickets in the grass, horses clip-clopping on the cobblestone, boys playing with sticks and rocks in front of the house next door. But she did not hear those sounds. Carriages rumbled past the house, one after the other. Their tumult drowned out the crickets’ song, and the boys were shouting patriotic slogans instead of keeping score on their game.

  Something was going on in the street that night. Every few minutes, Lizzie got out of her chair to part the drapes and peek outside. People ought to be finishing supper and settling in for the night. Why were so many people running around the streets? Even if she could muster the courage to investigate, she dared not leave Olivia and Emmett alone in the house to go find out.

  And what did Joshua know about all this? For surely he had known before this all began. His steadfast refusal that afternoon to tell her where he was going had been the beginning of her suspicion.

  When the light grew dim, Lizzie did not bother to light a lamp. She simply sat wondering where Joshua was and what he was doing, and worrying about what her parents might find.

  As best she could, she prayed that Mama and Papa would find Joshua and bring him home safely. She wanted to believe, as Aunt Johanna did, that they were all in God’s hands, whether what happened was good or bad. Lizzie sat in the dark, listening to her heart pound and wondering if she could ever believe that.

  Mama and Papa came home at last. They were alone. They had covered a dozen square miles in their search, and Joshua was nowhere to be found. Once again they questioned Lizzie, and once again she could tell them nothing.

  “What is happening out there?” she asked them. “Why are so many people moving about the streets at such a late hour?”

  Mama and Papa looked at each other. Mama put her hands to her temples and closed her eyes. Papa put one arm around his wife’s shoulders and met his daughter’s questioning face.

  “We’re not sure what is happening, Lizzie. The streets are in chaos. We were concerned only with finding Joshua. But everywhere we went, we heard people talking about Sam Adams.”

  “Joshua is with Sam Adams, isn’t he?”

  Papa nodded. “That’s what we think. We couldn’t find him. We’ll pray he comes home safely in the morning when all this is over.”

  “But what if he doesn’t?” Lizzie cried. “We’ll pray that he will.”

  Mama had ordered Lizzie to bed at eleven o’clock. She had heard the town clock strike every hour since then. Twice she had gotten up to check on Emmett in the room next door. Both times she had seen that her parents still had a lamp burning downstairs. They did not come upstairs all night. Between concern for Joshua and the commotion in the street, sleep was impossible for Lizzie and her parents.

  At long last, light filtered through the curtains of Lizzie’s bedroom. She judged the time to be about five o’clock in the morning, still too early to get out of bed without being sent back to her room as soon as her mother saw her.

  Then the front door creaked open. Lizzie heard the muffled voices of her parents greeting Joshua with both relief and anger. When they moved through the hall and into the kitchen, she could not hear anything. She lay still and waited, wondering if they would send Joshua straight up to his room. Finally, she could stand it no longer. Lizzie got out of bed, wrapped a light shawl around her shoulders, and crept down the stairs.

  Downstairs, she pressed herself against the wall of the dining room so she could see Joshua through the doorway without being seen by her parents. He sat in a chair pulled back from the kitchen table. He was covered in soot, his breeches were torn, and he was so tired he could hardly hold his head up. But Lizzie barely noticed all that. What she saw was the fire in his eyes, the excitement, the passion. Wherever he had been, whatever he had done, he had been changed by the experience.

  “You can come in, Lizzie,” her mother said.

  Lizzie stepped into full view. “I’m sorry, Mama. I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been worried all night.”

  “I know. Come and have some tea.”

  Lizzie sat across from Joshua and let her mother set a teacup in front of her.

  “Joshua,” Papa began, “you have to know we disapprove of these street riots. I cannot imagine what possessed your mind to think you should be involved in one.”

  “Please let me explain, Papa,” Joshua said. “Let me tell you what happened.”

  Mama pressed her lips together and then said, “All right, tell us what you saw.”

  “It’s true that I knew something was going to happen,” Joshua said, “but I didn’t know when. I had heard rumors for several days. Then, when
Aunt Johanna said she had seen Daniel Taylor and his gang just down the street, I knew that the day had come.”

  “The day for what?” Mama asked. “Street riots have been common in Boston since the Stamp Act was announced. Why was this day different?”

  Joshua turned to his father. “Papa, did you see the effigies hanging from the Liberty Tree yesterday?”

  “Effigies?” Lizzie asked. “What are effigies?”

  “Effigies are like full-sized puppets,” Papa explained. “Dummies of real people.”

  “Right,” Joshua said. “Did you see them?”

  “Yes, I did. One looked like Andrew Oliver, who is supposed to distribute the stamps.”

  “And the other was Lord Bute, the king’s adviser,” Joshua explained. “Sam Adams has been talking about those effigies for a while now. But I didn’t see them until I went out in the afternoon.”

  “They burned them, didn’t they?” Mama said. “I saw the smoke last night when we were looking for you.” “Do you approve of this, Joshua?” Papa asked. “Papa, I don’t think burning a bunch of paper made up to look like a person hurts anyone. I don’t think the stamp tax is a fair one, and the people have a right to protest.” He sighed and looked down at his hands. “If only it had stopped there.”

  “But it didn’t, did it?” Papa said sharply. “It never does.”

  “Daniel was in the middle of it, Papa, suggesting all sorts of terrible things—tearing up people’s houses, burning ships, things like that. I thought if I could talk to him, make him see that he was accomplishing nothing, perhaps he would go home and leave well enough alone for the night.”

  “And did he?” Lizzie asked.

  Joshua nodded. “Yes, after they burned the effigies, he told his boys to go home. But they were just a bunch of boys, Papa! There were so many men out there—real men—that it hardly mattered that Daniel went home.”

  “We heard the racket for half the night, Joshua,” Mama said, “but you might as well tell us everything that happened.”