Our Own Country: A Novel (The Midwife Series) (8 page)

9

IMAGINE SILENCE, INTERRUPTED ONLY BY THE CREAK
of old stair treads, and darkness. The scenes of happy ruckus and chases, the laughter and shouts punctuated by stern parental warnings, were now but a memory.

The silence and darkness were real. My parents and I seemed to have acquired a genteel distaste for one another, and I spent my days in Cassie’s kitchen or in my chamber. As for the light, we didn’t dare waste our candles on anything save the evening meal—if bread, butter, and a little tea can be called such a thing.

Without, nature was hardly kinder to us. Ceaseless snow and rain, rain and snow, all that autumn. Or perhaps Nature condoled with us, sending down her ceaseless tears.

At least Jeb was a faithful correspondent. He wrote us twice per week, letters addressed to all three of us. These letters were happy but vague, written to avoid offending rather than to impart information. For what could be said of Braintree, or of Lizzie, or the Quincys and Adamses, without giving offense? He thanked Mama and Papa for their wedding gift of Star, a beautiful Narragansett pacer whom Lizzie already put to good use, and he shared news of their various crops.

Toward the end of December, I received a letter addressed to me alone. In it, Jeb allowed himself to express his truest feelings:

Dearest Eliza,

Dare I speak of the firelight, and of the view over the sea from our window? You have never seen such beauty, I assure you. The Quincys are very kind—you would adore them. The colonel can be blustery, but he is sensible on all subjects concerning our present state of affairs, and most generous with his firewood and provisions of every variety. Lizzie misses her brother greatly, as he has recently set sail on the
Cantabrigian
and she doubts whether she shall have a letter from him anytime soon. I have met Mrs. Adams but not Mr. Adams, as yet, though I’m told he returns for Christmas. Mrs. Adams is a very useful sort of woman, unafraid of farm work. Her mind is equally active, and little escapes her shrewd attention. Yet she has a warm and passionate heart. I think you would like her a great deal, Eliza . . .

“Like Mrs. Adams!” Mama, who had been reading over my shoulder, exclaimed.

“Can you not give me a moment’s privacy, Mama?” I shoved her slightly and continued reading.

But I must leave off now, since I think I hear the Great Lady herself at the door . . .

“You see. It is just as I predicted. The situation is most dire. Great lady, indeed!”

I set the letter down upon the hall table and turned to my mother. “Dire? Why, he sounds quite happy, Mama.”

“Yes, well. We shall see how long
that
lasts.”

It snowed all Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I was languid with boredom, which remained unbroken by any sort of feast, games, or song. Nor was there a special meal to delight the senses, though Cassie did make an excellent stew. But a few days after Christmas, I received a most remarkable post. It was an invitation to a party in honor of the queen’s birthday, addressed to me personally—by none other than Mr. Inman!

I was relieved that he harbored no grudge against me. I thought to decline the invitation, but the idea that I might enjoy good and plentiful food decided me in Mr. Inman’s favor.

Mama, having been so fearfully burned in her previous attempts to marry me to Mr. Inman, affected indifference.

“Go if you like,” she said. “Or don’t.”

“I think I shall go.” I smiled at her. “Since he was so kind as to invite me.”

On the morning of January 19, 1775, I found myself standing on the wet path before the house, basking in the sunshine. Indeed, it was so warm and bright it felt like spring.

Mama said I should wait indoors for the carriage, but I wished to feel the sun on my face, the warmth on my body. It had thawed, and great torrents of water continued to pour down from the trees and rooftops.

I arrived before Mr. Rowe’s house around noon. Mr. Rowe was Mr. Inman’s uncle and now employer. This house, which stood on Pond Street overlooking the harbor, was newly built and gleamed with fresh white paint. A party approached from the other direction, and a lively group—two boys, two girls—descended a carriage. They nodded to me coolly, and I recognized Hannah Appleton, the girl of the emerald-green gown, and the handsome black-haired boy with the hazel eyes. We went into the house together, I going slightly ahead. I heard the girls giggle behind my back. What did they laugh at? From within came the smell of savory cooking; my stomach growled. A butler took our capes and bonnets as we entered, and I looked about me: the parlor was prettily appointed with rich Turkey carpets and mahogany furniture. If there was starvation in Boston, one saw no sign of it here.

Mrs. Rowe, a plump, cheerful woman aged fifty or so, greeted us warmly. Then she announced, “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, children, but Mr. Inman has taken ill and does not leave his bed—it is only a cold, but it came on too suddenly to send word to anyone.” A murmur of disappointment went up among the small crowd. But Mrs. Rowe said, “Do stay. There shall be merriment and good things to eat. We mustn’t let it all go to waste.” Sighs of relief sounded all about me, and my joy at this news, so unfortunate for Mr. Inman, was very great indeed. The situation seemed to have been designed by Providence: excellent food and cheer and no Mr. Inman.

Almost the moment Mrs. Rowe left us, I was approached by the handsome lad with the hazel eyes, which now looked at me bemusedly.

“Hello,” he bowed. “I’m Tad Hutchinson.”

“Yes. You were at Mr. Inman’s party.” I curtsied, gave my name, and then inquired, “Would you be related to our former governor?”

“He’s my uncle. Mama’s brother.”

“Ah. Well. I hope he had a safe journey?” There was nothing else to ask under the circumstances. The governor had fled in haste to England, having become—like all those then in power—a target of the people’s rage.

“He did. We received word of his arrival only yesterday.”

“It’s a shame about Mr. Inman,” I changed the subject.

“Indeed,” Mr. Hutchinson replied. “It seems that illness, given this dreadful weather we’ve been having, is impossible to avoid. I expect he’ll be up and about in a day or two.”

A servant brought round some dressed oysters on a silver tray. I took one. It was savory and delicious. I took another, wishing that I could claim the entire tray for myself. Just then, the invalid appeared in the entrance to the parlor. He wore his robe and nightcap, and cut a silly, almost endearing figure. Miss Appleton and her friend pouted their sympathies for him.

“Dear friends,” Mr. Inman announced with a wan smile. “Welcome. I’m most dreadfully sorry for this inconvenience, which I hope is more to myself than anyone else. This blasted cold has robbed me of the pleasure of your company. Please make free to enjoy yourself. I suspect that a few of you might be perfectly happy without me.”

He cast his gaze about the room as the well-mannered young Tory children smiled and tittered. Mr. Inman suddenly withdrew a handkerchief from the pocket of his robe and sneezed into it. “Excuse me. I shall remove to my lair, so as not to importune you with my excretions.” Espying me at last, he singled me out with almost ostentatious fondness: “Eliza, how good to see you. I see you’ve met my good friend Tad.” I could not help but wonder why I, of all people, merited such kind attention, having treated Mr. Inman so unpardonably. Perhaps he was not so bad as I had thought.

“Yes. We’re just now getting acquainted,” Tad replied. Here, I caught what seemed to be a knowing look between himself and Mr. Inman.

Once Mr. Inman had returned to his chamber, Mr. Hutchinson excused himself with a bow. I thought he had gone off to flirt with the other ladies, but he surprised me by returning with a glass of wine.

“Why, thank you,” I said. “You’re very kind.”

He then whispered conspiratorially, “Look.” From behind his back, Mr. Hutchinson produced an entire plate of oysters.

“Oh, aren’t you clever!” I cried.

“My tutors at Harvard didn’t think so, alas,” he laughed.

“How did you accomplish this?”

“The cook fancies me,” he said wryly.

“Shocking!” I laughed, lips already closed indecorously about the oyster.

We continued in this easy vain, like old friends. Then, at a quarter to one, Mr. Rowe called for the carriages, and the party retrieved their hats and cloaks. We would all ride the short distance to the state house and then return from thence to our own homes. People exited in a bustle of excitement, for the ships would offer a grand salute at one
o’c
lock.

“A moment,” Mr. Hutchinson said. He made his way down the front path toward the waiting carriages. He said something to my coachman and then returned to the house. “Your Negro shall meet us there by and by. I’ll take you in my own carriage. There is something I wish to discuss with you before we join the crowd.”

By now I was puzzled but by no means alarmed. That this young man, nephew to our former governor, chose to single me out, flattered me. Perhaps he wished to ask me something of a personal nature, such as whether he might call upon me in Cambridge. With a gloved hand touching the small of my back, he led me up the stairs.

“Why do we go up?” I asked, turning round. The servants were nowhere in sight. Presumably they had gone to the kitchen below stairs to enjoy a moment’s peace, now that everyone—or so they believed—had gone.

“I thought we might cheer the poor patient up. But there
is
something most particular I should like to ask you, Miss Boylston.”

“Indeed?” I smiled. “I shouldn’t like to miss the cannons.”

“Oh, you shan’t miss the cannons. Mark my words.”

We had arrived at a chamber door halfway down the hallway. Mr. Hutchinson opened it. Before we entered, I thought,
Why has he not knocked?

Mr. Hutchinson planted a kiss on my lips. My eyes were open, and I saw Mr. Inman in his dressing gown.

“Mr. Inman!” I objected, but instead of intervening on my behalf, he reached out and grabbed me roughly from Mr. Hutchinson. I screamed, but there was no one to hear. The servants were far below stairs. After a moment, Mr. Hutchinson said, “That’s enough for you, chap,” and drew me back to him. He leaned me against the bed, but I would not stand. My knees bent, and I sank to the floor. Mr. Hutchinson then fell directly upon me, and his hands moved roughly to pull up my petticoats. Mr. Inman stood up from the bed. He said, grim-faced, “Easy there! Enough!” I thought he would then stop his friend, and that this absurd prank, or whatever it was, would end.

It did not.

The chamber was warm from the fire. The shutters were closed upon the window, and the candle gave a lurid cast to the red Turkey carpet, upon which I lay. I felt the room spin above me as Mr. Hutchinson fumbled with his breeches buttons and then fell upon me.

“Oh, get off! Get off!” I cried.

But he would not budge. He held my wrists hard to keep me from pounding and scratching at his back. I shall never forget how he continued to smile with pleasure, even shutting his eyes at one point, as I sobbed and continued to shout my protest.