Johnny Tremain

by Esther Forbes

  'In ten minutes, sir.'

  He walked into the kitchen. There was nobody about, but he could smell bread rising. He looked in the birth and death room. It was once more used for storage. It seemed strange beyond belief that he had ever lain so long in the room. And in a way he had died in that room; at least something had happened and the bright little silversmith's apprentice was no more. He stood here again at the threshold, but now he was somebody else.

  Then he went outside to the little back yard with the coal house, the privy, and the old willow. Underneath the willow sat a British sergeant of marines with Madge Lapham in his arms.

  He had rather guessed the Laphams would side with the Tories, but this was fraternizing with the troops at a great rate.

  The sergeant was not half as big as Madge, but he was holding her in his lap. It is hard to hold even a small child very long in such a position. Johnny thought the sergeant must be very tough. They heard his feet and both looked up at him. Johnny laughed, as did the sergeant and Madge. She said, 'Just so it isn't Mother,' and she twisted and yearned down into her small lover's eyes. The bigger they come, thought Johnny, the harder they fall. Madge certainly likes that sergeant.

  'Sergeant, dear,' she said, 'I'd like to make you acquainted with an old friend of the family—but, Johnny, how you have grown! I don't know whether to introduce you as Johnny or Mr. Tremain.'

  Johnny had grown. Much of the last year had been spent out-of-doors and on horseback, and now he was always out in the sun and wind.

  'Just Johnny.'

  'Sergeant Gale, dear, this is Johnny Tremain.'

  They both agreed they were glad to meet. Gale, whose legs must have been badly cramped, picked up Madge as though she were a pet cat and sat her down beside him. The little man must be prodigiously strong, thought Johnny, and he liked his ugly, lined face. He looked just about as tough as they come, even in the marines. Madge, whom he had always liked the least of the Lapham girls, was rosy, glowing and beaming. He had always heard that love was a wonderful thing. If it could make Madge Lapham so pleasant, he was ready to agree.

  'Sit down, Johnny, and tell us about yourself.'

  'There's not much to say. I'm making out.'

  'Isn't Isannah in luck? Taken right into the family like a little sister.'

  'Like a pet poodle dog,' Johnny said firmly.

  'My! you haven't changed much. You always were sort of jumping on other people.'

  'I still jump. How's Mrs. L.?'

  'Don't mention her,' said Sergeant Gale.

  'Ma says I've got to marry Mr. Tweedie. He doesn't want to and I don't want to. Oh, Johnny, you're too young to understand and I guess Ma's so old she's forgotten. I can't, can't marry Mr. Tweedie—not since I met Sergeant Gale.'

  'I'll say not,' said the marine. 'Madge—in case you've been wondering—is going to marry me ... aren't you, you toothsome, plump, suet pudding?'

  The skinny little red rascal evidently liked his ladies plump.

  Johnny went back to the shop, paid Mr. Tweedie for his work, and buckled on his spurs. He had enjoyed his visit to the Laphams. Mr. Tweedie had bowed to him, called him 'sir,' and rubbed his hands in gratitude for even this small favor. Madge, so pleasant, and the smell of Ma's good bread rising.

  Goblin, tied to the head of the wharf, was pawing, turning toward him and nickering. As he settled himself in the saddle and the horse moved off down Fish Street, he thought it had been a nice visit—but he would not go again. That was all over.

  5

  Mrs. Bessie, that 'monstrous fine woman' who cooked for the Lytes, always had an eye out Thursday afternoons for Johnny, and she usually could manage that Cilla was free then, for she was housekeeper as well as cook. This Thursday, as Johnny drew up, she shook her head.

  'You come in, Johnny, but I guess today you'll have to put up with just me. Your little sweetheart'—Johnny's stomach turned over—'will be needed in the parlor. We've got nine or ten of those British officers in there and Miss Lavinia wants to put on a good show for them.'

  Johnny had often noticed before how disrespectfully Mrs. Bessie spoke of Lavinia. And she was always telling Cilla that she needn't jump so fast when the bell rang for her. 'Let her blow her own nose for once,' she'd say. Johnny knew that it was no good omen that the old woman had no loyalty toward her mistress, whom she had known since her motherless infancy. In his heart he knew there was something unlikable about Lavinia Lyte. Mrs. Bessie knew what it was. And Cilla now knew. But she wouldn't tell him. Now, when he wanted to talk about Miss Lyte, she would veil her eyes and look at him from out of the corners, and say nothing. But he knew Cilla knew.

  'All they in the parlor are fixing up to go to a ball at the Province House General Gage is giving tonight—masquerade. Miss Lavinia is going like the black Queen of Spades and all her special admirers are going as kings or knaves or jokers out of the pack. Isannah's going too.'

  'Isannah?'

  'Yep. Where Miss goes these days, that child goes too. Izzy'—no one had ever before called the little girl this—'goes dressed as a two-spot, holding up Miss Lavinia's train.'

  Cilla shot into the kitchen looking bright and excited.

  'Johnny, I thought you might be here. They are trying to make a scepter for the Queen of Spades out of tin. I told them you could do it. Miss Lavinia said show him in.'

  The elegant dove-gray, lavender-and-yellow drawing room was in what Mrs. Lapham would call 'a state.' The officers seemed to have counted on their lady's help with their costumes, but they had also brought with them a military tailor who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, stitching at a black-and-yellow striped jerkin for a knave.

  Miss Lavinia looked half in and half out of her costume as Queen of Spades. For a moment Johnny was confused. It was not because she had less clothing on than he was accustomed to, but because she was so beautiful. He had never seen her so happy, so animated before. She was laughing hilariously, as she attempted to fasten two flat surfaces of cardboard painted with two spots onto Isannah. But Isannah had on nothing but her undershift, her little pink legs bare to the middle thigh. Ma would die if she saw her daughter like this. Johnny did not care about that, but he could not bear to think of poor old Mr. Lapham turning over in his grave. Johnny paid no attention to the hilarious Miss Lyte. He went up to Isannah.

  'Look here, girl. You go upstairs and you put some clothes on.'

  Isannah stared at him, her beautiful, soft, brown eyes so blank she looked almost blind.

  'You know your grandpa is just about flopping over and over in his grave. You weren't brought up to act like this.'

  Isannah said, 'I'm too young to be lascivious.' She was evidently repeating what she had heard some adult say. Johnny slapped her. Not for himself, but for her grandpa. She went down in a heap, upended over a pile of finery brought down from the attic. While standing up, it was possible she did not have on quite enough clothes for mixed company, but upended she did not look to have on any. Then everyone began to laugh. Lavinia was wiping her eyes. Lieutenant Stranger—for it was he who picked the child up—was reduced to painful gasps...'Oh ... oh ... oh...' There was a ma jor in a corner who was vowing he was going to die. Only the military tailor never lifted his eyes, but went on with his stitching.

  'Oh, Johnny,' Miss Lavinia managed at last, for the first time calling him by name. 'Will you come to the ball and slap all the ladies you think are underdressed? Oh ... lah! I've burst a stay string. Give me ... Cilla, fetch...'

  Cilla evidently knew what would be wanted. She came running with smelling salts, but she got it too close to her mistress's nose. Miss Lavinia was gagging.

  'Oh, you stupid, stupid girl! You've half-killed me. There, take it away.'

  Isannah ran up and hid her flushed face in Miss Lavinia's lap. She was half-frightened at the attention she had been receiving and half-squirming with delight at being the center of so many eyes. As Miss Lavinia was scolding one sister for a clumsy servant, she was fondling the flying, s
oft yellow hair of the other.

  Suddenly Johnny saw red. He hated Miss Lavinia and the giggling officers and Isannah. He had already guessed that the two sisters were treated very differently, but he had not before actually seen the situation with his own two eyes.

  Cilla had backed out of the picture, standing aside ready to serve if called upon, or ready to be of no more importance than a piece of furniture if not spoken to. Johnny went to her.

  'Cilla,' he said, 'don't you stay here any more. I don't want you to. These people are nothing—just a pack of playing cards—tear them up and get out. And that goes for the whole collection of them—Miss Lavinia and Izzy too.'

  Miss Lyte had regained her composure.

  'I will not have Isannah called "Izzy" by my servants.'

  'I'm not your servant, and if she acts like an Izzy, she gets called Izzy. But as I was saying, Cilla...'

  'I will not have my servants intruding their personal affairs into my drawing room. Priscilla, if you are not satisfied here, I can arrange for your return to your mother, but you are not ever to bring in street boys, horse boys, riffraff...'

  'You told me to fetch him in.'

  'I did not tell you to fetch him in.'

  'Yes, you did.'

  'I said a clever metalworker and you came back with this boy ... this saucebox, who couldn't do the work anyway, because he...'

  Johnny waited grimly for her to finish her sentence. If she dared say what was in her mind—because he has a crippled hand—he was going over and take her by her long throat and shake her—even if she did look pretty well defended by His Majesty's forces. Her eyes wavered and she did not finish her sentence.

  'Now, Cilla, I want you to go to your room and lie down. You are too tired. If you had not been, you would never have been so impudent as to contradict me.'

  'Yes, Miss Lyte.'

  'And you'—she turned to Johnny—'get back to the gutter or wherever boys like you keep themselves.'

  'Yes, Miss Lyte,' he said, mimicking Cilla.

  Mrs. Bessie said nothing, but she evidently knew what had been going on in the drawing room.

  'There, Johnny,' she said mildly, 'you sit. This is not real tea, but I've put just a mite of brandy in it and it's good and hot.'

  'Miss Lavinia is just about making a monkey out of Isannah,' he said at last.

  'Nobody can make a monkey out of anyone who isn't a monkey to start with.'

  'Is Cilla happy here?'

  'Oh, happy enough. What do you expect? She knows she's lost Isannah. At first she used to cry, but now she accepts it. It's exciting for her and there's always a flurry and goings-on. The ball tonight—and next week we move out to Milton for the rest of the summer. We won't stay long.'

  'Why?'

  'Because the Sons of Liberty there are out to get Mr. Lyte. That's why they haven't yet been rough with Tories out there. Hope to tempt him to move out, same as usual. They are going to get him and tar and feather him. They are going to ride Miss Lavinia out of town on a rail. They are going to smash his great country house down—once he's inside.'

  'But the girls ... won't they get hurt?'

  'I'll be there. It's my secret, so I suppose I can tell you, but I'd take it kindly if you'll keep your mouth shut. If there were Daughters of Liberty, I'd be one. You ask Sam Adams about me. I've been helping him secretly for years.'

  Johnny had taken it for granted that an old servant in a Tory house would also be a Tory. They usually were. He looked at Mrs. Bessie with admiration.

  'The Lytes will stay in Milton about a month,' she whispered. 'You mark my words.'

  VIII. A World to Come

  IT WAS by chance Johnny saw the Lytes' ruby coach trundling slowly down Orange Street, heading for Milton and a little country air. The bright sun glittered on the gold eye, rising on the coach door, on the black sheen of the strong horses. He half-wanted to stop the coach—Don't you go to Milton, Miss Lyte, they are lying in wait for you out there. He could not bear to think of her tossed about by rough men, ridden on a rail. He could see her profile through the window. Cilla sat facing her. Isannah, as befitted her higher station in the household, sat next to Miss Lyte. Only Isannah was staring about, observing the 'lower classes' milling about in the street. She looked straight at Johnny and he at her. Neither gave any sign of recognition.

  It was not by chance Johnny next saw that ruby coach. Late in August, word was spread through Boston that Merchant Lyte 'had got it' or was 'going to get it' out in Milton. If driven from their country house, there was but one safe refuge for them—behind the British lines in Boston.

  Toward evening, Johnny began to hang about the gate. The farm carts, carrying food and fuel to Boston, were still coming in over the mud flats connecting the town with the mainland. These the British guard at the gate (nearly two hundred men were kept stationed there night and day) let pass, but when night really fell, the gates were closed and most of the soldiers returned to the barracks. There were a few sentries on duty and a handful of men, with a corporal, in the guardhouse. Johnny settled down to wait. He had been dozing, but woke quickly, hearing the sentries yell and the corporal commanding the gates to be opened.

  Then, coming closer through the still summer night, the clatter of hoofs, the rumble of a coach, was a sickening, hair-raising howl ... the howling of a human wolf pack. The corporal had not had time to get his tunic on, but he recognized the situation—another of His Majesty's loyal supporters fleeing to Boston with the mob at its heels.

  'Torches only,' he was crying to his men. 'No muskets. Death to any man who fires!'

  The unarmed soldiers ran out to meet the coach with great flaring torches in their hands. The mob already had stopped and was drifting back from whence it came. Through the canopy of shaking orange light and through the smell of burning pitch black horses, whitened with lather and dragging a heavy ruby coach, slowly crawled to the safety of the gates. The gates shut behind them. The coach seemed disabled, the horses were almost spent. A torch flared up onto the coachman's face. It was twisted with fear.

  'Mr. Lyte yourself, sir,' the young corporal was saying, as he opened the door of the coach, 'let me assist you, sir. You've lost a wheel off your coach. Please to come into the guardhouse while you wait for another vehicle.'

  Mr. Lyte, helped by the corporal, but even more by Miss Lavinia, did crawl from the coach. He tried to smile, but his lips drew back from long, yellow teeth. Johnny had seen the identical expression on the face of a dead woodchuck. He was a desperately sick man.

  Lavinia's face showed no fear—only concern over her father's condition. Now she was telling the corporal that a doctor must be fetched—and she wanted Doctor Warren.

  'I know he's a rebel—but do get him for me. He's the best doctor we have in town, and Papa—Papa must have the best.'

  Her father safely inside the guardhouse, Miss Lavinia came into the street a moment, gazing blankly at the disabled coach and at the men carrying from it, into the guardhouse, such of their most precious possessions as they had had time to rescue from Milton. For the first time Johnny saw Cilla. She had been sitting on the box with the coachman. Now she went to Miss Lyte.

  'Somehow,' she said, 'the silver got left behind.'

  'The silver?' Miss Lyte did not seem to be able to take in anything but her father's sickness.

  'You told me to pack it up, but just as I had begun we heard the mob coming and then Mr. Lyte had a fit...'

  'Oh, yes ... I remember ... all that silver ... well...'

  She was standing there in the street, watching for the sight of Doctor Warren's chaise. Isannah, very good and quiet, was snuggled close to her, her hand in that of her patroness.

  'Oh, never mind, child,' she said, with absent-minded kindness. 'At least we are all safe, and if only Papa is well and...'

  'I'm going back to Milton, Miss, to get that silver before the riffraff steal it.'

  'Most like they have it already.'

  Doctor Warren's chaise was d
rawing up beside the guardhouse. He was getting out. Miss Lavinia had no more thought of her silver.

  Johnny went up to Cilla.

  'Look, Cil,' he said, 'I'm here.'

  'It was so mixed up at the end.' The girl seemed to be trying to explain her error more to herself than to Johnny. 'Mr. Lyte turned purple and fell. The mob was getting closer. It came earlier than Mrs. Bessie warned us.'

  'Mrs. Bessie?'

  'Yes. She found out some way in the village.'

  Johnny liked the old woman all the better that in the end she had been unable to see a considerate master, whom she had served for thirty years, a young woman whom she had taken care of since she was a baby, humiliated, tossed about, torn by a mob. Sam Adams might respect her the less for this weakness. Johnny respected her the more.

  'Johnny—I've got to get back to Milton. I'm going to save that silver. It was my fault.'

  'But Miss Lavinia didn't seem to care. She didn't scold you.'

  'If she had, I wouldn't go.'

  'She thinks it has been stolen already.'

  'No. After smashing the gates and some windows, the mob left the house to chase us. We didn't dare leave by the front drive. We started out through the haying fields, but they heard us and caught up, and we were getting away all right until just on the Neck a wheel came off the coach. It was terrible. I've got to go back, though—and now.'

  'I'll go with you. But looks like we'll need a horse and chaise. It's seven miles.'

  Doctor Warren was standing on the guardhouse steps, telling Miss Lyte that her father must be allowed to finish the night out on the bed the soldiers had made up for him. He was not to be moved, and never again must he be so upset over anything. From now on, as long as he lived, as she loved him, he was never to be angered or worried. The handsome girl was nodding, promising these impossible things. She went back to her father, still clutching Isannah by the hand, and Johnny went to the doctor.

  Obviously, Doctor Warren did not want to lend his horse and chaise. He did not care what happened to the Lyte silver, but he was a generous man. He let Johnny have his rig and also wrote him a pass which would prevent any molestation from the Whig mobs and told Cilla to get a similar pass from the British soldiers. Then they would be safe from either side. So at last the gates once more swung slowly, heavily, in. Beyond was darkness and a dreary waste of land and sea. The Doctor's little rabbit-eared mare flung herself forward. It would not take such a fast pacer long to get to Milton.