The Rebel's Return (2 page)

For a lingering instant after the reading had concluded, the silence hovered over the crowd, as if each individual expelled his long-held breath in unison. Then all at once a great cheer broke out among the throng. Men threw their caps in the air, women hugged one another, and here and there pistol shots rang out from the uniformed soldiers.

There!
Phoebe thought triumphantly.
There! We made history, and I was part of it, in however small a way. But for how long? Can we really survive apart from Great Britain?
She thought of the ragtag army in New York, her own brother and Rhoda’s brothers, facing the might of a world power. It was a fearful picture. And was it even right to rebel against the king? She knew what the Bible taught about obedience to the government and other authorities. Her parents had taught her well in childhood, and she had read the passages herself as an adult. When was it proper to submit, and when was rebellion the correct response to tyranny and injustice?

“Can you tarry?” Rhoda asked, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the cheering voices. “My father said Mr. Jones brought a whole keg of cider to share, and there will be games this afternoon.”

Phoebe was sorely tempted, but the image of her mother’s ire returned her sense of the responsibility. “I cannot.” She shook her head with a sigh. “I’ve been gone too long already.”

Rhoda frowned but did not argue. Phoebe waved farewell to her friend and began to weave her way to the entrance of the yard. She had to elbow past clusters of young men in high spirits, one of them slightly tipsy, too preoccupied to move aside for the shabbily dressed young woman. Unwilling to call attention to herself, Phoebe tried to squeeze between two noisy groups, and as she ducked under their elbows, she ran smack into an officer’s uniform coming the other way.

“Excuse me, sir,” Phoebe mumbled, trying to slip past him without looking up.

“Phoebe?” the male voice said. “Phoebe Fuller?”     

Startled, Phoebe raised her eyes from the row of coat buttons to the man’s face. She saw a young man of about twenty-five, a tanned, rather square face, wavy brown hair sun-streaked with blond, pulled back and tied at the nape with a blue ribbon. His eyes were a sparkling hazel, laughing eyes. Not tall, she judged, no more than average height or a bit less, but still a good eight inches taller than Phoebe, who was small for a woman.

“Nicholas!” She recognized him now. His family had once lived on the same street as the Fuller family, until his father accumulated enough from his trade to purchase a country estate, raising the family to the status of gentry. His sister Lavinia had been Phoebe’s best friend when they were both children.   

“How many years has it been?” Nicholas asked. “I remember you as a tiny girl—I barely recognized you.”

“I don’t know; these six years at least.” Phoebe rubbed her palms against her petticoat, suddenly conscious of her grimy appearance.

She was jostled from behind, and Nicholas grasped her arm and pulled her aside to a quieter corner of the yard.

“This is a rather rough crowd for you, Phoebe. Did your family let you come alone? ”

“Nay, I—I sneaked out.”

She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, but he laughed heartily, his eyes narrowing and crinkling at the corners.

“So how old are you now? Fifteen?”

Phoebe swallowed hard and looked away. She knew, of course, that she was barely the same height as her ten-year-old brother Kit, with a figure only slightly more developed. She knew that her movements were quick as a bird’s, not graceful as a young lady’s should be, that her voice was often too high-pitched, and that her countenance displayed her every emotion like the changes of a kaleidoscope. She knew all these undignified facts about herself, yet she was still mortified every time a stranger thought her much younger than she actually was.

She said in a voice that she hoped sounded normal, “I’m eighteen.”

“Indeed!” His face reddened just for a moment with chagrin before he recovered. “Aye, indeed you are, I should have remembered. You were friends with Lavinia, and she will be eighteen in November.”

Phoebe smiled up at him, hoping to dispel his embarrassment. “Everyone thinks I am younger than I am.”

“You will be pleased by that someday,” he assured her with a grin. “Do you still hear from Lavinia?”

She shook her head with an expression of regret. “Not these two or three years. We used to write, even to visit, then we lost touch. Are your family all well?”

He shrugged slightly. “They were well the last time I saw them. And yours? I believe I saw George once with the army in New York.”

She smiled with pride. “Aye, he is with Washington’s army. As you are as well, I see. Are you an officer?”

“I am a lieutenant under Lord Stirling, but I ride courier for whoever needs me. Which is why I find myself in Philadelphia now, actually. How lucky, to be here today of all days! Although I’m sure the Declaration will be read to the army as well.”

“Aye, it is so exciting,” Phoebe agreed with a glowing countenance, but as she glanced over her companion’s shoulder she was suddenly distracted by a familiar figure on the edge of the crowd. “Why, there’s Edmund, after all!”

“Who?” Nicholas twisted around to follow the direction of her gaze. “You know him?”

“Aye, Edmund Ingram, Alice’s beau. They have been keeping company several months now.”

“I see.” Nicholas studied the figure thoughtfully and then turned back to Phoebe. “Would I be imposing if I escorted you home? I should like to renew my acquaintance with your family.”

Phoebe forgot to conceal her eagerness. “I’m sure they would all be very happy to see you again, sir.”

He grinned at that, then took her arm in a commanding way and led her out of the State House yard and into the street toward her home. As they walked she told him about her ploy to escape the house that day, and her fear of her mother’s reproach.

“Perhaps with a guest present she won’t scold you so much,” he suggested.

Phoebe sighed. “Aye, I hope not.”

A carriage dashed by, and as it passed drove through a mud puddle, splattering them both with mud. Phoebe exclaimed in disgust and jumped backwards.

“How rude,” Nicholas frowned. He turned and, following the carriage a few steps, suddenly pulled his pistol from his pocket and fired it into the air. The carriage horses began to neigh and rear, and as heads turned on the street Nicholas calmly replaced his pistol and strolled back to join Phoebe.

“Nicholas!” Phoebe exclaimed, torn between laughter and horror. “Why did you do that?”

“Next time he’ll watch his manners,” Nicholas grinned, and in spite of herself she had to laugh.

They reached the Fuller house after a fifteen minute walk. Phoebe paused with her hand on the latch, wondering if she could sneak back to her chores without her mother noticing. But with Nicholas that would be impossible. She took a breath and lifted the latch.

The cloying smell of strawberries and sugar met her nose as she and Nicholas stepped into the parlor, dark to Phoebe’s eyes after the bright afternoon sun. Her father’s desk stood against one wall with the finer chairs that the family owned, and Alice’s harpsichord held the place of honor on the other side. The kitchen door opened and her mother’s head appeared in the doorway.

“Phoebe! So you’re finally back! Whatever possessed you to deliver that medicine today when you know we have all these strawberries—” She broke off as her gaze fell on Nicholas, and recognition dawned. She opened the door wider and stepped into the parlor. “My goodness! Is that Nicholas Teasdale? What a surprise!”

Nicholas removed his cap and bowed. “I met your daughter on her errand in town and she was kind enough to invite me to call on the family.”

“How lovely! It is so good to see you again. It has been so long since I’ve heard from your good mother! How is your family? I hope you left them in good health?”

“I believe so. It has been awhile since I have heard from them myself. I am with the army in New York, at the disposal of my superiors. I haven’t been home since last summer.”

“Of course. What a fine uniform you have. I’m sure George is not wearing anything half so grand. Alice,” she turned back to call through the kitchen door, “we have a guest. You’ll never imagine. Come and see if you recognize him.”

Alice appeared in the parlor, missing the large apron she wore on workdays, her petticoat fresh and clean. Phoebe knew she had discarded the apron quickly at the voice of a guest in the parlor. She wished she could run upstairs and change her own clothes, but it was too late for that.

She glanced swiftly up at Nicholas and saw his eyes light up at the sight of her pretty sister. 

“Of course I remember,” Alice greeted him with a laugh. “All the mischief you made as a little boy! How could I forget the time you stole the gingerbread I had baked for company and ate it all? I found the empty pan full of crumbs in the kitchen window.”

Nicholas bowed again. “I hope you have forgiven me for that. I would be grieved to think that my childhood sins are making me unwelcome today. As I recall, it was very good gingerbread.” His tone was serious, but, stealing a glance at him, Phoebe saw that his eyes were dancing.

They all laughed. Sarah Fuller asked, “How long can you stay? If you could join us for supper, my husband would have a chance to visit with you too. I know he would enjoy that.”

“I fear I can’t tarry today. My duties call me elsewhere. But please give your husband my greetings. Perhaps I will see him another time.”

“You must be sure to call on us whenever you are in Philadelphia.”

“Indeed, I would be very pleased to,” he assured her. “I have to pass through Philadelphia often in my duties, and it would be pleasant to have friends to visit.”

“I hope you will consider our house your second home,” Sarah said. And Phoebe found herself unaccountably happy at the thought of Nicholas frequently dropping by.

*     *     *

That night the events of the day were still replaying in Phoebe’s mind even after she had undressed down to her shift and snuggled under the sheet of the bed she shared with Alice. Two adventures in one day! Hearing independence declared, and then meeting Nicholas! She did not often enjoy so much excitement at once.

She watched now as Alice unhooked her petticoats and slipped out of them, then unpinned her hair and began to brush it out. Alice had a perfect figure, neither tall nor short, straight and graceful. She wore her corsets to bed, while Phoebe often tried to escape without hers even in the daytime. Alice’s hair, unpinned, fell to her waist, and shone in the candlelight, pure gold. Phoebe’s own hair was almost brown, with streaks of silver-gold that showed up only in the sunlight.

She rolled onto her back, staring up at the rafters moodily. Nicholas had seemed quite struck by Alice’s beauty that afternoon. Could it be that he planned to visit the family to see more of her?

Aloud, she said, “I wonder if Nicholas will return soon.”

“I don’t know,” Alice replied, not looking around. “He said he planned to.”

“He’s very good-looking, don’t you think?” Phoebe asked wistfully.

“Not exactly.” Alice began to rapidly pin up her hair. “He’s too short. His brother Philip was the handsome one, if I remember rightly.”

Phoebe turned to stare at her. “He’s not short! He’s taller than you are.”

Alice shrugged. “To my mind a man is not really tall if I can look him in the eye.”

Phoebe digested this in silence. To be sure, Nicholas was not as tall as Edmund, and his features were not so perfect and regular. But he was still attractive. Alice was so beautiful that she could afford to be very choosy. And yet, even as she spurned them, the men kept pursuing her. What would it be like to be Alice, to never anger her mother, to never neglect her duties, to attract men without even trying? Phoebe sighed. She would never know, for she would surely never be Alice.

Chapter Two

Nicholas returned the next day at tea-time, and two days later in the evening. He would be in Philadelphia for a few weeks on a particular errand, he said, and he hoped they would not tire of his presence before he needed to rejoin the army in New York. He addressed these remarks in particular to Alice, and she assured him he would always be welcome in the Fuller household. Indeed, as the week passed and his visits continued, he gave more and more of his attention to Alice, and in spite of her earlier comments to Phoebe, Alice did not appear to find his company irksome. Of course, Alice was always a perfect lady; she would never wear her heart on her sleeve as Phoebe often did, and she would never lower herself to flirt, or anything so vulgar. Still, watching the two of them together, Phoebe had to conclude that Nicholas would not be completely unreasonable if he decided that his attentions to Alice were welcome.

Edmund Ingram also continued to call on Alice, but fortunately for both men and especially for Alice, they had never yet chosen the same evening to come courting. Phoebe knew Nicholas was aware of Edmund’s existence, for she had told him herself, and wondered when Edmund would discover that he had a rival.

Toward the end of July Nicholas came for supper and as he visited with the family, he told them that he would be leaving the next day for New York. Phoebe felt her heart drop in her chest and hoped her feelings were not displayed on her face. She glanced at Alice, but her sister was polite and smiling as always.

“We’re sorry you have to leave,” she said, “especially with a war going on. That must be frightening.”

“When is the war going to start?” demanded Jonathan, a tall husky boy of twelve. “I wish I could go off and fight.”

Sarah threw an alarmed glance over her shoulder as she rose to refill the pitcher in her hands. “Nonsense! You’re much too young! It’s bad enough that your brother wanted to turn soldier.”

Nicholas smiled at the boy. “He’s no smaller than some of the drummer boys with the army now. But no, Jonathan,” seeing Sarah’s expression, “you’d better stay at home till you’re a little older. Your mother would worry. Unfortunately, the war won’t likely be over before you have your chance.”

“He’s big for his age,” Sarah returned, “but he’s too young. I don’t want him to get any ideas.”

She began to clear the table, stacking pewter plates with little bangs and thumps, and Phoebe rose to join her. The males of the family filed out of the kitchen.

“I need to take leave of you now, Mrs. Fuller,” Nicholas said. “Thank you for your hospitality these last few weeks, and for this fine supper.”

He smiled at Sarah and then at Phoebe, a quick, engaging, mischievous smile with those little crinkles around his eyes. Phoebe smiled in return. She saw him speak softly to Alice, and the two of them disappeared through the door together. Phoebe bit her lip, swallowed hard, and began to fill the basin with hot water from the fire.

She couldn’t blame Nicholas for choosing Alice as the object of his interest. It was surely the most natural thing in the world, and although she could not observe the developing relationship without a few pangs, they were pangs of sadness rather than resentment.

I suppose Nicholas is not for me, Lord,
she prayed silently as she began scrubbing the plates and cups. In these last few weeks, he had never once distinguished her by any particular attention.
Lord, I suppose this means there is another man for me somewhere—if I ever do marry, that is—and after all, I don’t know Nicholas very well. He is attractive and charming, but that doesn’t mean he is the sort of godly husband that I would want.

She resolved to put Nicholas out of her mind—at least while he was out of town—and was assisted in this worthy resolution at the end of July by another unexpected arrival. The family was gathered around the supper table one evening when they heard the front door open without a knock, then heavy footsteps in the hall. Sarah called sharply, “Who is that?” and Phoebe exclaimed, “George is home!” just as her brother burst through the kitchen door.

There were cries and embraces all around, beginning with her mother, followed by Phoebe and her little sister Sally. Alice rose to offer her brother a light kiss, and her father gave him a quiet smile and patted his back as he joined the family around the table.

“Here, fill your plate, you must be hungry after your trip,” Sarah told him, bustling to bring the platter of turnips and the pot of lentil soup. “Sally, run and fetch your brother a cup of buttermilk; he’s thirsty. Surely you didn’t walk all the way from New York?”

“Nay, and I’m thankful, for that would have used up my whole leave, and I’d need to turn right around as soon as I got here.” George laughed as he broke off a hunk of bread and lathered it with thick yellow butter. “I was fortunate enough to meet up with a trader a few miles outside of New York, who offered me a ride in his wagon for a few shillings. But now I’m completely penniless, and half-starved to boot. I can’t remember when I’ve tasted anything so good,” he added, gulping down the soup with relish.

“You look thinner,” his mother frowned with a crease between her eyes. “We’ll need to fatten you up while you’re home, and send you back with something to keep your soul in your body, if such a thing is possible.”

Phoebe thought her brother looked thinner too, and altered in a way that had little to do with nourishment. He seemed leaner, tougher, harder. Perhaps a soldier’s life changed a man that way.

“Tell us about the war, George,” piped up Jonathan, and Kit added, “Did you shoot any redcoats?”

“Not yet.” His brother gulped his mouthful of soup. “But I’ll likely have an opportunity soon enough. We’ve been digging fortifications all over Manhattan and on Brooklyn Heights, and Admiral Howe arrived with his fleet just this month. They want to blast us out of New York, and it will come to fighting within weeks, I reckon.”

Phoebe saw a sudden look of fear cross her mother’s face.

“Especially now that the Congress has signed that foolish Declaration of Independence. Gracious, what were they thinking of? The King will never forgive us for that.”

“We had to do it, Mother. There’s no reconciling with England now; things have gone too far. But New York is so full of Tories, the British will no doubt feel right at home there, if they ever get in, that is.”

Phoebe leaned toward her brother, her eyes alight. “You’ll shoot them down the same way they did at Bunker Hill.”

“Aye, I hope so. That was a great battle to hear everyone tell about it. I wish I had been there. But I’ll surely have my own chance soon enough.”

Alice shivered as she patted her mouth with her napkin. “I don’t understand how anyone can be excited about fighting in a war. It sounds dreadful to me.”

George grinned at her. “That’s why women don’t go to war. You have your own battles at home.  But tell me what is happening here. Is that Ingram fellow still coming around, paying court to Alice?”

“Alice has two beaus now,” Jonathan boasted. “Nicholas Teasdale has been tarrying with her as well.”

“He’s not my beau,” Alice returned with dignity.

“He’s Phoebe’s beau,” Kit said, and Phoebe started.

“He’s no one’s beau,” their mother scolded, “just an old friend of the family. You remember the Teasdales, George; they used to live three houses down until they moved to the countryside. His mother was a friend of mine.”

“Aye, I remember them. I’ve seen Nicholas in New York on a few occasions as well. He’s an officer, so we aren’t of the same rank, and he has a different set of friends. I believe he is connected to Lord Stirling.”

The next several days were almost like a holiday, for Sarah Fuller found so much pleasure in her son’s company that she abandoned all work but the most necessary chores to keep her family clothed and fed.  Friends and relatives dropped by to see George, and the adults in the family went visiting more than they normally did. One day Phoebe’s aunt, uncle, and cousins came for dinner and lingered for the rest of the afternoon, reminiscing over old times, playing dominoes and cribbage. The next evening George accompanied Alice and Phoebe to a party at the home of friends, where they spent the evening singing and dancing, and returned home after midnight.

The next day George expressed an interest in visiting the Kirby family before he returned to the army, and Phoebe offered to accompany him. As they entered the Kirby house George joined the men of the family in the parlor and Rhoda’s mother told Phoebe that Rhoda was upstairs in the girls’ bedchamber. She climbed the steep narrow stairs to the familiar room and through the open door heard voices deep in conversation.

“I couldn’t do it, Rhoda. I just couldn’t marry someone my parents disapproved of. What do you think? What would you do in my situation?”

Phoebe stepped through the door of the cluttered bedroom with the two beds and the profusion of boxes and chests littering the floor. Her friend was curled up on the bed next to Tom Kirby’s sweetheart, Betsy Snow. Betsy wore a troubled expression that didn’t completely disappear as the two girls looked up and saw Phoebe.

“I suppose it is different for me, because my parents aren’t as religious as yours,” Rhoda said, speaking as freely in front of Phoebe as she normally did. “We go to church most Sundays, but my parents wouldn’t care much which church I belong to. They wouldn’t be bothered if I married someone from a different church.”  She patted the red and blue nine-patch quilt beside her in a gesture of invitation to Phoebe. “What about you, Phoebe? Would your mother object if you didn’t marry someone from the Methodist society?”

Phoebe perched on the edge of the bed with the two friends, pondering the question. “I’ve never actually asked her. And I’ve never had anyone want to court me yet. Of course, my mother didn’t object when Tom wanted to court Alice—” She broke off with a glance at Betsy, but Tom Kirby’s new love interest seemed engrossed by her own distress and ignored the reference to Alice.

“Your parents don’t care so much about religion, but they do care about politics,” Betsy pointed out to Rhoda. “Just imagine if you wanted to marry a Loyalist. Wouldn’t your father object to that? I’m sure he would.”

“
I
would object to marrying a Tory myself,” Rhoda laughed. “My father wouldn’t need to say anything against it. But if I met someone I really cared for, and my parents objected to him, I’d find a way somehow, you can be sure of that. I wouldn’t take no for an answer. And I really believe, if I were sure of my own mind and my parents saw that I knew what I wanted, they would agree in the end.”

Betsy stretched out full length on the bed and rested her pale, pretty face in her hands. “I’ve always believed I should obey my parents in everything that isn’t directly a matter of conscience. That’s what I’ve always been taught. You don’t agree with that?”

Rhoda leaned on her elbow, pulling her yellow petticoat down to cover her ankles. “Couldn’t you say that marrying Tom is a matter of conscience?”

Betsy still frowned in spite of her friend’s attempt at humor. “I don’t see it that way. There’s nothing in the Bible that says what person I should marry. So if my parents tell me not to marry him, shouldn’t I take that as an answer from God? That my first duty is to obey my parents?” She glanced up at Phoebe as if searching for agreement. “Don’t you think so, Phoebe?”

Phoebe opened her mouth to speak. It was a question she had wrestled with as well, although she had never yet needed to make such a choice.

“Don’t ask Phoebe’s opinion.” Rhoda bounced on the straw mattress, tossing her head impatiently. “She would never do anything to upset her mother. Even if it were a matter of conscience, as you say.”

Phoebe turned to her friend with an expression of surprise, bordering on indignation. “Why should you say something like that?”

Rhoda shrugged. “Don’t be angry, but ’tis the truth. You’re so worried about displeasing her. I can’t imagine you defying her in anything.”

“I think Phoebe is like me,” Betsy said. “We aren’t rebellious at heart. We both want to please our parents. You, Rhoda, you are much more independent.”

“Nay.” Rhoda shook her head. “Phoebe is different from you, Betsy. You obey your parents because you believe it is the right thing to do, because you believe God has told you to. Phoebe obeys her parents because their approval is important to her and she is afraid to lose it.”

Phoebe turned to stare at Rhoda in surprise. She had never heard Rhoda express this opinion so plainly before, although perhaps she should have guessed. She knew her friend did not mean to be critical of her, but she also knew the remark was not a compliment. Dejected, she traced the line of quilting on the bed cover with her finger.

“I think I displease my mother a lot,” she frowned, “usually without trying to.”

Rhoda laughed again. “That’s the truth. You displease her in little things, without trying. But you would never disobey her in something really important. Like choosing a husband, for instance.”

Phoebe turned to study Betsy’s troubled expression with sympathy. “Your parents don’t want you to marry Tom, and Rhoda thinks you should anyway.”

Betsy sighed. “They like Tom. But he’s a soldier and we’re Quakers. I don’t know what to do.”

Phoebe nodded. “And I don’t know what I’d do either. In your case, Betsy, maybe you need to decide whether you really agree with the Quakers in their attitude about war. Are all wars really wrong? I don’t believe they are—I think there are parts of the Bible that support war. But if you believe they are, maybe you shouldn’t marry Tom—if you disagree with him about something so important.”