American Dream

  “They went to Andrew Oliver’s private dock in the harbor.”

  “To the stamp building?” Papa asked.

  Joshua nodded. “They tore it apart, board by board. It wasn’t even finished being built yet, but they tore it down. Just because it was supposed to store the stamps. I stood there feeling completely helpless! I don’t agree with the Stamp Act any more than any of the other people down there, but it was a mob. They tore down a building. I couldn’t get anyone to listen to me. Tearing down a building is not going to stop the stamps from coming. They’ll build another building or rent one from a Loyalist.”

  Papa put his hand on his son’s shoulder. Joshua put his elbows on the table and lowered his head into his hands.

  “After that,” he continued, “they went to Oliver’s house and started tearing up his garden. A lot of the men wanted to break into the house, but Lieutenant Governor Hutchinson arrived with the sheriff, and that slowed things down a bit. Some of the people went home then. But a lot of others just stood there yelling and making threats. Finally Oliver came out.”

  “He came out into that mob?” Lizzie could not believe what she heard.

  “Well, not right out into the mob. There’s a balcony on his house. He stood on the balcony and promised to resign as stamp distributor.”

  Mama sighed. “That won’t stop anything either. The authorities in England will appoint another stamp distributor.”

  “Yes,” said Lizzie, “somebody like Ezra Byles, who doesn’t care what anyone thinks about him.”

  “Things settled down after that,” Joshua said, winding down his story. “I heard people saying that they might go after Lieutenant Governor Hutchinson next.”

  Mama shook her head. “When will this madness stop?” “When the British leave,” Joshua said resolutely. “Oh Joshua, that’s an extreme opinion,” said his mother. “We’re British, after all.”

  “No, Mama, I don’t think so. Not anymore. We’re Americans, and it’s time that the British treated us as equals.”

  “You may very well be right, Joshua,” his father said. “I have heard some of the wisest men in the colonies make such a suggestion.”

  “You’re a man of sound thinking, Papa,” challenged Joshua. “Don’t you agree?”

  Duncan Murray looked from his son to his wife to his daughter. Then he sighed heavily. “Yes, I believe I do agree.” “What does that mean, Papa?” Lizzie asked. “It means that Sam Adams is right—about some things. He is right that taxation without representation is unjust, and the colonists have good reason to resist. And it means that if the king continues with this course of action, the British Empire itself will be torn apart.”

  “You are right about that, Papa,” Joshua said. “I don’t want a war. I don’t even want any more street riots. But I do want the colonies to have the freedom they deserve. I believe Sam Adams is the man who will make that happen. I want to be with him when it does.”

  And the fire in his eyes burned bright and vigorous.

  CHAPTER 10

  Mischief at the Print Shop

  Mama, I’m hungry.” Mama, Papa, Lizzie, and Joshua all turned to see five-year-old Emmett standing in the doorway.

  “Can I have some breakfast?” Emmett asked, twisting the hem of his nightshirt.

  “Of course you can,” Mama said. “I’ll warm some bread for you. I’ll just be a few minutes.” She turned to the others. “How about the rest of you? Are you hungry?”

  Lizzie shrugged, and Joshua shook his head. Neither of them felt like eating yet.

  “I’d better eat something before going in to the shop,” Papa said. “I’m sure today will be busy.”

  “Joshua?” Emmett asked as he climbed into a chair next to his brother. “What happened to you?” His brown eyes were wide with questions.

  Joshua touched his hand to his face and smeared a streak through the soot. He glanced at his mother, who met his glance with raised eyebrows. “Well, Emmett, I had a very long night.

  I was trying to stop a fire.” “Did you?”

  “No,” Joshua said sadly. “I didn’t. A building down at the harbor burned last night.”

  “Mama and Papa were angry when you didn’t come home for supper.”

  “I know. I’ve told them I’m sorry for worrying them. Everything is going to be fine.” He stroked Emmett’s head gently. “Ooh, you’re dirty! Don’t touch me!” Everyone laughed.

  “Why didn’t anyone wake me up?” Olivia burst through the door, rubbing her eyes with one hand. “It’s still early,” Lizzie said.

  “But everyone else is up. I don’t like to be asleep when everyone else is awake.” She blinked and looked at her oldest brother. “Joshua, did you fall into the cinder box?” She stuck a finger in his cheek and inspected the soot that rubbed off.

  Lizzie and Joshua laughed.

  “He was putting out a fire,” Emmett said proudly.

  “Really?” Olivia’s eyes grew wide with excitement. “Are you a hero, Joshua?”

  “Hardly. I was just trying to help take care of Boston.”

  “Heroes do that. Like Sam Adams. You always tell me that Sam Adams is a hero.”

  Lizzie watched as her father and her brother looked at each other.

  “How about some breakfast, Olivia?” Papa said, changing the subject. He swooped her up and set her in a chair. “Constance, let’s slice some more bread. We should all have something to eat.”

  The bread was soon on the table along with a pot of steaming tea and a chunk of butter. Mama produced some honey and rationed it carefully.

  “Mmm. I love bread and honey,” Olivia said emphatically, licking her sticky fingers.

  “I should probably get to the shop early today,” Papa said. “After last night, there will be a lot of activity to report on.”

  “Like the fire?” Emmett asked.

  “Yes, like the fire.”

  “Are you going to write that Joshua was a hero?” Olivia asked. Her sense of adventure was in full swing.

  “I think your hero needs to go clean up,” Mama said, giving Joshua a motherly look. “You’re getting cinders all over the table.”

  “Sorry, Mama.”

  “You should get some rest,” Mama said as she looked from Joshua to Lizzie. “Both of you.”

  Joshua nodded. “I’m exhausted. I’ll clean up and go to bed. But don’t let me sleep all day. I have some things I need to do this afternoon.”

  Lizzie wondered what business Joshua had that was so urgent. But to her surprise, neither of her parents pressed Joshua on the point. Lizzie sighed as she watched Joshua leave the room. No doubt Sam Adams was going to hold a meeting of the Sons of Liberty to discuss their activities of the night before, and Joshua planned to be there.

  “You should go back to bed, too, Lizzie,” Mama urged.

  Lizzie shook her head emphatically. “I just know I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I want to go to work with Papa.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea today,” Mama said. “He’ll be very busy.”

  “That’s why I should go. I can help.” “Duncan?” Mama turned to Papa.

  He nodded. “It’s all right. She’ll rest when she’s ready. In the meantime, I could use another hand around the shop. She’s pretty good with the typesetting.” Papa winked at Lizzie.

  They did not speak as they rode the carriage from the house to the shop. Merry trotted along cooperatively. She showed no sign that she sensed anything was different about this day. But Lizzie knew that the day was different. Joshua had made a decision from which he would not turn back. Even her parents seemed to recognize that his actions had not been a boyish impulse, but a decision of manhood.

  With only two years between their ages, Lizzie and Joshua had played together as small children and watched out for one another as they grew up. They had been inseparable, the way that Olivia and Emmett were constantly together now. But today Joshua had taken a step ahead of Lizzie. He was going to a place where she was not rea
dy to go. And she felt strangely lost without the comfort of his presence.

  When they arrived at the print shop, several of the people who wrote stories for Papa were already out front, eager to give firsthand accounts of the night before. Lizzie could tell just by looking at them that they had been up all night. Although they had cleaned up a bit, they were haggard, and their clothing was not on quite straight. Most of all, they had the same fire in their eyes that she had seen in Joshua’s.

  Papa unlocked the shop and let the eager writers in. He left Lizzie to get Merry settled until they would need the mare again. Lizzie looped the reins around the post in front of the shop, then stroked Merry’s head.

  “Did you hear anything last night, girl?” Lizzie asked. “Were you frightened?” Merry nuzzled her hand. Lizzie fished in her pocket and came up with a sugar cube.

  “Mama doesn’t know I have this. I’ve been saving it for you.” She laughed as the horse took the cube and licked her hand, looking for more. “I have to go inside now. I said I would help, so I’d better get to work.”

  Lizzie and her father worked peacefully side by side for several hours. Lizzie tried to guess what Papa would need before he needed it—more paper, more ink, a tray of brass molds for setting the type, even a drink of water every now and then. They worked hard, and by lunchtime the day’s edition was ready to print. Mama had packed some bread and ham and apples for them, and they allowed themselves a few minutes to relax and enjoy their food.

  “Let’s get the press going,” Papa said, wrapping the remains of their lunch in some old paper.

  Lizzie knew what to do next. She reached for the jar of thick black ink and started smearing it on the rows of metal type. Her father dampened some paper, laid it on the inked type, and got ready to bring the weight of the press down on it. He pulled down on the iron bar, and the ink on the rows of type was pressed onto the paper. Lizzie lifted the sample page and held it up for inspection. She ignored the fact that the lead story was about the burning of the effigies the night before. Instead, she simply took pride in the work she had done.

  “Perfect!” she said.

  Papa nodded. “It looks pretty good. Let’s do the rest.”

  A spray of pebbles hit the window, startling them both. Outside, Merry neighed loudly.

  “What’s wrong with Merry?” Lizzie asked, losing interest in the sample sheet.

  Papa nodded toward the door. “Go check on her.”

  Lizzie pulled open the shop door and gasped. A group of little boys, not more than nine or ten years old, were gathered around Merry. The horse was obviously distressed by their actions.

  “Leave her alone!” Lizzie cried.

  “Redcoat!”

  “Lobsterback!”

  The boys ignored Lizzie and formed a circle around Merry. One threw a rock that bounced off Merry’s hoof. The boys laughed as the horse lifted her foot and neighed again.

  “Get away!” Lizzie shouted.

  “We’ll show you that we are not idiots! You cannot treat us like children.”

  “We have a right to govern ourselves.”

  “Light the torch!” one of the boys commanded.

  “Stop!” Lizzie screamed. This time she forced her way into the circle of boys, pushing two of them off balance. Around Merry’s neck hung a paper cutout that was crudely shaped like a man and suspended by clothing lines.

  “What do you think you are doing to my horse?” Lizzie demanded.

  “Didn’t you hear about last night?” one of the boys said. His excitement was obvious. “They burned the stamp distributor.”

  “They burned something made to look like him,” Lizzie corrected. “Mr. Oliver is quite well this morning.” In one emphatic motion, she ripped the paper cutout from around Merry’s neck and threw it at the boy.

  “He deserves to be burned in the flesh,” the boy retorted.

  “Why would you say such a thing? That’s cruel.” Lizzie soothed the restless horse with a stroking hand.

  “It’s what my father says. He was there last night and saw the whole thing. He even got to carry the effigy for part of the time.”

  Even Lizzie was surprised when a big hand reached into the group of boys and grabbed the shirt of the boy who was speaking.

  “Do you think that is something to be proud of?” Papa asked.

  Lizzie had not heard her father come out of the shop, but she was glad he was there. She leaned her face against Merry’s, receiving as much comfort as she gave. Her eyes darted nervously from boy to boy.

  “Sure it is,” the boy asserted. “My father is no coward. He is not going to stand around and let King George do whatever he wants with the men in the colonies.”

  “Young man,” Papa said, “I know your father. It is true that he is a free thinker and makes up his own mind about what he believes. No one tells him what to think.”

  “That’s right!” the boy said proudly.

  “I suggest that you learn something from your father. You have your own mind, too. Use it to decide what you think. Standing around the street pestering an innocent animal is no act of courage.”

  The boys looked at him, stunned. Papa looked them in the eyes, one by one.

  “Now go on about your business and leave the horse alone,” Papa said. The boys scampered away in several directions. Merry calmed down. But Lizzie was still nervous. What if Papa had not come out when he did?

  “Thank you, Papa,” Lizzie said as they went back into the shop.

  “You were doing just fine, Lizzie. You stuck to the facts, and you remembered that cruelty is no virtue.”

  “It’s stupid for a bunch of boys to act like a horse is a tree!” Lizzie cried. She hated to think what could have happened to Merry if the boys had tried to light the effigy they’d hung around her neck.

  “They’re just children,” Papa reminded her. “They were only imitating what they see and hear adults doing.”

  Joshua’s breakfast account of the night before was still vivid in Lizzie’s mind. If those boys had heard their fathers and brothers tell the story, too, then they knew enough details to spend the whole day imitating what they had heard.

  “Papa, last night … what does all this mean for Boston—for the colonies?”

  Papa guided Lizzie to sit in a chair and took one of her hands in his.

  “Lizzie, you’re growing up, trying to understand things for yourself. That’s good.”

  “But I don’t understand,” she insisted. “Joshua seems to know everything, but I don’t understand why this has to happen.”

  Papa shook his head. “Sometimes I don’t understand either,”

  he said. “Things are changing. We cannot deny that. Joshua reminds us of that every day. But I can tell you this. Boston will settle down again. The people of this city are proud of what they have accomplished, and they want a good life for their families.”

  “I’m afraid Joshua will get hurt like that soldier that Uncle Philip took care of.”

  Papa nodded his understanding. “I worry about that, too. People are doing things that you and I think are crazy. In his heart, I believe Joshua thinks their actions are crazy, too. But he believes in their purpose. And I respect him for acting on what he believes.”

  Papa pulled Lizzie to his chest for a long hug. She nestled her face against her father’s shoulder, and suddenly her head felt as heavy as a stone.

  “Papa?”

  “Yes, Lizzie?”

  “I’m tired.”

  Papa chuckled. “You can sleep on the cot in the back room.” Lizzie stumbled into the back room, laid down up on the cot, and immediately gave in to the blackness of her exhaustion.

  CHAPTER 11

  Rooms for Redcoats

  I always thought you were a fair man, Papa!” Joshua slumped into a wooden chair and tried to control his frustration. His jaw was set tightly, and he glared at his father through narrowed eyes.

  “You may think what you like about me, Joshua, but I have made up m
y mind.” Duncan Murray could be every bit as stubborn as his son. He could remain calm and even-tempered no matter how much Joshua ranted and stormed about the print shop.

  Lizzie sat on a stool, listening. She was setting the headline type for that afternoon’s edition of the newspaper. Her father and brother seemed to have the same discussion every few days. Lizzie continued working as she listened.

  Boston had settled down for a few days after the riot Joshua had witnessed. But there had been other riots. Some of the mobs were more organized than others, but they had all tried to draw attention to their cause by actions that the public could not ignore. Lizzie had seen Daniel Taylor hanging around the street corners with his followers. Daniel had not returned to school when classes resumed in the fall. Apparently, he had decided to devote all of his time to being patriotic.

  Joshua went to school and, in the afternoons, helped in the shop, but from time to time he mysteriously disappeared. He never again worried his parents by staying out all night, and he insisted that he thought the violence was wrong. But Lizzie knew that he would often take a detour when he was delivering papers in the afternoon. He wanted to spend a few minutes under the elm tree in the center of town—Sam Adams’s Liberty Tree.

  Lieutenant Governor Hutchinson’s home was invaded, as Joshua had predicted. His furniture had been thrown out the window and the house itself nearly destroyed. He and his family had escaped with only the clothes they wore and what little they could hurriedly gather and carry. While Joshua continued to agree with his parents that the violent actions were wrong, he also continued his friendship with Sam Adams. He believed in the changes Sam wanted to bring to Boston and all the colonies.

  “Sam Adams only wants what is fair,” Joshua said as he continued his dispute with his father. “Surely you can appreciate that.”

  “Of course I can,” Papa said calmly. “But do you think what the Sons of Liberty did to the Hutchinson house was fair?” Joshua had no answer.

  “Hutchinson publicly opposed the Stamp Act,” Papa continued, “but the mob attacked his home and family simply because he is an agent of the government in England. That, I assure you, is not fair.”