Our Own Country: A Novel (The Midwife Series) (7 page)

Jeb was right: by August of ’74, a mere two months later, the Inmans’ party seemed a century in the past. My anger at Papa, while it lasted well through the summer, soon faded in the face of far worse problems. The Royalls fled to Nova Scotia. Back in May, Governor Hutchinson had fled to England and was replaced by General Gage. That month, our own pastor, Reverend Winwood, fled, and Christ Church shut its doors. We were thus compelled to attend the First Parish meetinghouse just next door to our old church. It had a radical parson by the name of William Emerson, whose sermons in favor of independence had been published far and wide. Mama said that only “common folk” went there in their “vulgar homespun,” and that she wouldn’t be caught dead inside its walls. Thus, Papa and I found ourselves without her but with Jeb, who had been attending it for several months.

I could not believe that we would take up arms against our mother country, much less that she would attack us unprovoked. Yet on the morning of September 2, 1774, just as we were finishing breakfast, I heard a rumbling roar abroad. It sounded like the ocean had reached us and that an enormous wave was about to break. We stood up and moved to my father’s study, where we watched through a window. The sound grew closer, more menacing, and in a moment we saw a sea of men pushing and jostling, their fists in the air. Many held sticks; a few held muskets.

“Cassie,” Papa called, “fetch Juno and the coachman.” The two Negroes soon appeared at the front door. This was a novel sight, but Papa seemed not to notice. “Run to the stables,” he told them. “Bring back whatever wood you find. We must nail shut the doors and windows. At once!” The terrified coachman and young Juno fled as if they would ne’er return. But they soon reappeared carrying planks of wood, which they and my father then set to nailing across the doors and windows.

The massive tide of men had grown: I saw neither its beginning nor its end. As I stood by the window, one young farmer stopped, turned, and unleashed something from his hand. A thud pounded violently just to my right. The rock missed the window and bounced off the clapboards. We quickly retreated to the interior of Papa’s study.

“They move. They move!” Papa informed us. “They stop not for us.” Indeed, the tide rolled westward, though we learned of its destination only later, when news reached us that four thousand people had surrounded Lieutenant Governor Oliver’s estate, Elmwood.

As soon as the men had passed our home, Papa went out in search of news. It was near noon when Jeb descended the stairs. In one hand he held an iron poker.

“Where go you like that?” Mama cried.

“To join them, of course.” He then disappeared into the fray.

8

IF MY PARENTS HAD EVER DENIED JEB’S
participation in the rebellion, they could not do so now. Papa watched Jeb through the parlor window and bit his own forefinger, the fleshy part, to keep from shouting. Mama ran to her chamber and did not reemerge till supper.

As I watched my brother disappear into the roiling tide, my heart lurched just as if he had been swept away at sea.

He was being swept away from us, that much was certain. For by August of ’74 he had already met Elizabeth Lee. Within the month, he would leave us forever, to take up residence with his new wife in Braintree, Massachusetts.

Jeb didn’t tell me he had met or fallen in love with Miss Lee, but I saw it for myself one day at meeting. We were sitting in our pew with Papa, who was already fanning himself with his hat, as it was quite close in the meetinghouse. I was doing my best to listen to Mr. Emerson’s sermon when Jeb sneezed so loudly that one could hear it in the back row. A girl directly in front of us turned around, her brown eyes bright with mirth.

“Shh!” she said. But the way she looked at Jeb told me everything he had failed to tell.

The girl with the bright eyes was Judge Lee’s daughter. She and her brother, Harry, lived several estates down the road to Watertown. Our families had never socialized with one another, for Judge Lee was known to be a liberal thinker, sympathetic to the Cause.

In brief, a match with Elizabeth Lee would have been a catastrophe. Jeb must have known as much, and yet the following day, he brought Miss Lee home. Mama did not wish to receive her.

“But you must see that you have no choice in the matter,” I said to her.

“Oh, but I do! I do, indeed!” she cried, wagging her finger at some imaginary solution as she paced the library.

“Perhaps.” I shrugged. “If you’re willing to lose him.”

“Lose him.” Mama snorted. “How could we lose him?” But Mama relented, receiving Miss Lee in the parlor the following day. Mama, Papa, and I sat on one sofa, like grand inquisitors, and Jeb and Lizzie sat on a smaller sofa facing us. Jeb kept putting his hand on her knee, and she kept gently removing it. I tried to catch Jeb’s eye to stop him, but he had no eyes for me.

“And your father?” Mama was asking. “Does he find himself thinking of leaving our shores?”

“Indeed, he leaves on the twelfth.” Miss Lee smiled ruefully.

“That is very soon.” Mama said it as if she would have liked to scold Judge Lee for fleeing so precipitately.

“Too soon,” Lizzie agreed. “But there’s nothing to be done. He must go.”

“You mean you remain here without him?” Mama asked.

“I’m afraid so. My brother, Harry, leaves as well. He is determined to go to sea on a privateer ship.” Lizzie’s voice was sad, but she glanced at Jeb with a tender smile.

While the interrogation of Miss Elizabeth Lee continued, I endeavored to probe the mystery of her cheerful, confident air. Clearly the girl cared nothing for her appearance: Her shoes were scuffed, and she wore a homespun frock. She breathed and laughed far too easily to be corseted, and I shuddered to think that there might be nothing at all beneath her gown. Lizzie’s ample bosom was but partially hidden by a lace neckerchief, and her hair—well! Those thick auburn waves seemed to have been pinned by a witless ape.

All this I saw, yet nothing did I comprehend. Rumors in Cambridge were that Mrs. Lee, Elizabeth’s mother, had been the descendant of a king, yet here her daughter sat, having renounced all the superiority of her class, and corset-less as a milkmaid!

I sat there in my somber crepe gown, feeling old and vulture-like. Indeed, I felt like an old carrion bird beside a cheerful lark, though I was but seventeen. Partly this was because Cassie had pinned my hair so tight against my scalp that a headache threatened, and also because my corset allowed me only shallow breaths. I longed to stand up.

“And what, pray, shall you do with your papa gone? How shall you manage?” Mama was asking.

“My dear,” Papa interjected tactfully, “I’m sure Judge Lee has made provisions.”

“That’s quite all right.” Lizzie smiled warmly. “Papa has many friends.”

“And Lizzie has me,” Jeb stepped in. For the tenth time in as many minutes, he placed his hand on his beloved’s knee. At his incorrigible touch, Lizzie suddenly burst out laughing.

“What’s happening?” Mama inquired. “What is so amusing?”

“Nothing, Mama,” I said gloomily. “Nothing at all.”

“Well? What think you?” asked Jeb, once he had returned from walking Lizzie home. He sat by my side in the library.

“She seems a fine girl, and I’m very happy for you, Jeb,” I began. I hesitated a moment before adding, “But I would be remiss if I did not follow my conscience and say that I am also concerned.”

“About what, pray?” he asked. Oddly, Jeb did not seem surprised.

“I fear you’re about to be drawn into a society from which there will be no returning. I fear we’ll lose you.”

Jeb regarded me. “You’re right, Eliza. But it’s a choice I make willingly. The truth is, it’s been a long time since I felt myself at home here. A long time since I felt that I belonged.”

“Oh, Jeb!” His words broke my heart, though I was not fool enough to think them untrue.

Several days after this conversation, Jeb bounded cheerfully up the path and into our parlor with news to share. “It is all settled. I have spoken to Judge Lee, and to Lizzie herself. What do you know but she has agreed to marry me! I have already written to Uncle Quincy, and he has just replied with a most wonderful offer.”

The name of Uncle Quincy made Papa’s eyes flash. We rarely mentioned the Quincy name in our household. My father was related to that notorious family, though he no longer acknowledged the connection. Apparently the colonel had offered Jeb and Lizzie a cottage on his property, in Braintree.

“We leave immediately after the wedding,” Jeb said. “Oh, Eliza!” He grabbed me and twirled me about. My father, always a gentleman, proffered his hand, which Jeb shook gravely. “Thank you, Papa,” he said. Jeb then approached our mother for a hug, but Mama had turned a cold shoulder. In Lizzie, I knew, Mama found everything she ardently disliked in a woman. Independence of thought, defiance of fashion, an outspokenness that bordered on the scandalous.

I agreed with Mama’s judgment, and yet there was, mixed up in my disdain for Miss Lee, something akin to envy.

“Cassie!” Papa called. “Cassie! Can you fetch us the good Madeira? You know the bottle. The black one, with the thick punt? And some cordial glasses.”

Cassie appeared in the foyer. “What happen?” she asked, confused by Papa’s happy request and Mama’s gloomy countenance.

“Jeb is to be married,” I said.

Cassie flashed a broad grin at Jeb, who lifted her off her feet. “I’m all grown up now, Cassie,” he said.

“I get de Madeira,” she wriggled out of his embrace and departed, returning shortly with the requested items. My father poured four glasses.

“Well, my son, I don’t know that I would have chosen her, but I wish you every joy.” We toasted, and then Jeb embraced Papa. “Oh, Father. Just you wait. You will soon love her as much as I do. She is so—so very lovable!”

“Indeed, indeed. I am sure she is,” Papa muttered.

Jeb kissed me affectionately on the side of my head and rose to leave. Once he was gone, I moved to console Mama, who was in a bad way. She paced and fretted in an agitated manner. “He and this Lizzie person will make the acquaintance of John and Abigail Adams, and the despicable Quincys shall have them round for coffee to discuss us as if we were vermin to be exterminated!” I had nothing to say, believing that Mama was entirely correct in her assessment of the matter.

One week later, we stepped forth for the first time since the riots, to attend Jeb and Lizzie’s wedding. At first Mama refused to attend, but I pleaded with her until she came to her senses. There would be no celebration afterward—the couple planned to go directly to Braintree, for Cambridge was by this time too unsettled.

Without, it was fine and warm, but Cambridge town felt deserted. Saturday was typically a bustling market day. Now the market itself was empty save for a few local farmers selling their early harvests. I walked cringingly, my eyes cast down. At any moment I expected for us to be attacked. But Mama and Papa, in their wedding finery, strode with heads held high.

At the meetinghouse a small crowd had gathered. These were Lizzie and Jeb’s friends from town, young people wearing homespun and brown-stuff suits. Judge Lee stood beside Reverend Emerson, his bearing at once dignified and anxious. Lizzie’s brother, Harry, stood beside his father. He was a handsome, restless youth who kept glancing about him. I turned into a front pew as Papa and Jeb approached. Finally, Elizabeth Lee stepped through the meetinghouse doors. She was dressed in a cream silk gown, with a sprig of fresh lavender in her hair. She smiled warmly at Jeb, whose eyes glistened with tears of joy. My father could barely contain his emotions, and when Mr. Emerson pronounced them man and wife, Papa blubbered like a child.