by Ann Rinaldi
I stayed in the parlor. The candles sputtered in the pewter holders. I would have given an arm if Mother or Father had been in the room so I could discuss John’s homecoming and what it meant to me. I was unbearably happy, yet unbearably sad at the same time.
“Jemima.”
Becky had left to see to the baby but now stood in the door of the parlor looking at me. “Jemima, I don’t want to go through this with you again. I thought you had sense enough to spare us a second time.”
What was she saying?
“I think sometimes you do things just to provoke me.”
“Rebeckah, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Don’t pretend. You’re no longer a child.”
“That’s news to me, coming from you. You always treat me like one.”
“Perhaps because you insist on acting like one. How can you be anything but a thoughtless child when you invite him to stay here as long as need be?”
I felt every part of me come alert. “He’s staying, Rebeckah. As long as need be.”
“He has his own place.”
“He’s sick. He needs looking after and tending.”
“And you’re just the one to do it, I suppose. Wouldn’t that look nice getting around town?”
“Becky, how can you? Are you afraid it wouldn’t look proper in front of your Tory lady friends who have nothing better to do than gossip? John is sick! There is nothing improper in this. Lucy is here with me. She’ll do most of the tending.”
“I have a baby in the house. We don’t know what diseases he carries.”
“Oh, Becky, don’t say that again. You just don’t want him here, admit it.”
“All right, I will. Why should I have him under this roof? My husband is serving in the British army. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. And you invite a Continental soldier to stay in the house.”
“This is John, Rebeckah. Our friend! He isn’t just any soldier. And if he were just any soldier, I’d do it anyway. They starved for us, they died. You heard him.”
“Fools.”
“You would say that. What those men went through for us nobody can make up to them.”
“I strongly suspect you’re about to try.”
I whirled on her. “Now what is that supposed to mean!”
“You’ve been making a fool of yourself over him all through supper. It isn’t seemly, betrothed or not.”
“Isn’t seemly! I suppose it was seemly to have the Hessians and British in the house! You act as if the war never happened!”
“Oh, I know the war happened. But I feel it my responsibility, as your older sister, to keep this a decent Christian home.”
“A decent Christian home is what it is. It’s what Mama would do, taking John in.”
“Mama! Don’t talk to me of Mama or what she would do. I’m sick of your endless prattle about Mama. You’re just like her, for heaven’s sake!”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“You don’t know?”
“I fail to see anything wrong with it, Rebeckah.”
“You really don’t know, do you? They never told you.” And she laughed that bitter laugh of hers. “It’s right you should know. It would take you down off that high horse of yours.”
“If you have something to tell me, Becky, I think you ought to say it plain.”
“All right, I will. She was responsible for Father’s death.”
A candle went out on the small round table in the corner. My mouth went dry. “What are you saying, Becky?”
“The truth. Father was killed, not for refusing to sign the loyalty oath to the King. Not even for serving on the Provincial Congress that voted for independence. He was killed because of those essays Mother was writing for the Gazette.”
“You lie, Becky.”
“Do I? The British killed him after they traced the letters to our name. The British, not the Hessians. They lured him out of town with that note to deliver supplies to the militia. That note came from the British, not Dickinson’s militia. There were copies of Mama’s essays pinned to his body when he was found in the shop the next day. They never told you, that’s all.”
“It isn’t true.”
“Isn’t it? Ask the Moores. They know.”
I sat down, trembling.
She went on. “Why do you think Mother went mad? It’s from guilt. She can’t forgive herself. She was told by Grandfather Henshaw to stop, but she wouldn’t listen. Her precious principles were too important to her. She was a fool, getting involved in things a woman has no right getting Involved in. And you’re turning out to be just like her!”
“Stop it, Becky!”
“I won’t! It’s time you were told! You’re spoiled. You always were. Mother and Father spoiled you. By the time they realized it, it was too late. They had to turn you over to John because they couldn’t do anything with you anymore. There are plenty of things you don’t know, Jemima.”
My head was spinning. So this was what Mama’s courage had wrought! What good was it all? I felt everything I believed in destroyed. No wonder Mama had gone daft. How did a person live with such a thing on her conscience?
Becky went to the door. “They should have told you a long time ago. I suggest you pray on it and act accordingly.”
“Accordingly?” I looked at her.
“Learn from it. I also suggest you tell John in the morning to go home. There are indentured servants he can get to care for him. Or he can pay servants. He has money. If you don’t, Jemima Emerson, within three days I will leave with the baby. Make your choice. Grow up, finally, or have us on your conscience.”
She left the room.
I sat there a long time. The other candle in the corner went out. It was late, and the only light in the room came from the dying fire. It grew colder, but I still sat there, for the cold was mostly inside me.
CHAPTER
35
The next morning when I visited John he was sitting up in Daniel’s bed, sipping something hot and steaming out of a mug. He looked rested but still weak. “Whatever it was that Lucy gave me last night helped. The fever is down.”
“It was Mama’s medicine.” I felt a stab of remorse talking of her.
“It does me just as good to see you looking so bright and pretty this morning. Where are you off to so early?”
“To the Moores’. To see Mama.”
“If I were up to it, I’d ride over with you on such a fine day. Look at that sky out there. It makes a man feel good to be alive.”
“You aren’t up to anything, John Reid. Lucy says you’re to stay in bed today and rest or you won’t be alive. We’ve sent for Dr. Cowell to come have a look at you.”
“The devil you have. I won’t have it.”
“I’m afraid you must.”
He took my hand, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Is that how you take advantage of your tutor when he’s had his horse shot from under him?”
“Yes.”
“You always did want a way to get back at me, didn’t you, Jemima Emerson?”
I kissed his forehead. “Yes, I have you now and you’ll listen to me for a change.” I smiled at him wishing I felt as sure as I looked walking out.
The Moores were in their barn. They came out when I rode into the barnyard. “That’s a bit of hard riding for someone who should be in the shop this time of day,” Mr. Moore said. “Is it not?”
I didn’t have to pretend with the Moores, which made me glad. “I’ve come to see my mother,” I said.
“Thee can see her anytime thee wishes,” Ruth said.
I stood in the September sunlight looking at those two good, dear people who loved me as their own. “I have to ask you something, both of you.”
They nodded and glanced at each other, waiting.
“Is it true about my mother and the letters? That my father was killed because of what she did?”
Mr. Moore looked at the ground. Ruth reached and touche
d my arm. “It is the truth,” she said. “We hoped thee wouldn’t have to hear it.”
“Who told thee?” Mr. Moore asked.
“My sister, Rebeckah.”
“I knew it was only a matter of time before that happened,” he said. “We would have told thee, but we thought thee had enough to weigh down thy spirit.”
I nodded. “I’d like to see my mother now, please.”
“Would thee be telling thy mother what thee has learned?” Ruth asked.
“I would be. But it doesn’t matter. She never pays attention to anything I say.”
“Then why must thee tell her?” she insisted.
“I don’t know. I just know I have to.”
“Sometimes I think thy mother hears with her heart,” she said. “Go. Thee knows where to find her.”
“I don’t know what to do with Becky, Mama. Things are just awful at home.”
I sat at her feet on the braided rug in the sun-filled parlor. I had learned, over the long summer months, not to let her blank looks bother me. The Moores had encouraged me to talk to her and tell her what was going on at home. So I usually chatted with her as if she were perfectly normal.
“John Reid came home. You know I told you we were betrothed now. But he’s sick. Lucy had to doctor him with your medicines. I told him he could stay at our place until he was well. And Rebeckah wants me to put him out.”
She was sewing a petticoat, not looking at me.
“Mama, we had the most awful argument. She accused me of being like you. She said the trouble with you was that you couldn’t give up your precious principles. And it was those principles that were the cause of Father’s death.”
I had never spoken to her of Father, not once in all my visits. But her face never changed, nor did she stop stiching.
“She said, Mama, that Father was killed because you wrote all those letters to the Pennsylvania Gazette. She said copies of the letters were … pinned to him when he was found.”
There was silence in the room. Through the open window a bird sang and sounds of an autumn day drifted in the window. I heard a horse whinny from the barn.
“I always wanted to be like you, Mama. When I found out you were writing those essays, I wished I could be like you and do something to help the army. I thought you were so brave. But now Becky tells me it was stupid and that I’m the same way because I want to keep John in the house until he’s well. She’s given me a choice, Mama. She says that either John goes or she goes with the baby in three days. And I don’t know what to do. I know they haven’t anywhere to go. I’d be turning her out.”
She was still sewing.
“Oh, Mama, I wish you could help me! I wish you could tell me what to do! I don’t want to turn Becky out. But she’s being unreasonable. And John is so sick. And if something happened to him, I’d die!”
I ran my finger along the braided rug. The sunlight was warm on my back. I felt better for having told her. It would be a long ride back on Bleu, and oh, I did feel so forlorn and tired. Wearily, I got to my feet. I leaned over and kissed her. “Well, Mama, thank you for listening. I must go now. That’s a lovely petticoat you’re making.”
I walked to the door. “Goodbye Mama.”
I was in the hall when I heard her voice. At first I thought I was dreaming it.
“Jem.” So soft at first, and then louder. “Jemima.”
I flew back into the room. She knew me! Never before had she called me by name!
“Yes, Mama?”
“Come, here, Jem, sit down.”
I was shaking and I sank down like a sack of flour. “Yes, Mama, I’m here.”
She kept right on stitching that petticoat. For a while she said nothing, and I thought I had lost her again. But soon she spoke.
“I sit here, day after day, Jem, and I think of what I did. And there are days when I know it was right. And days when I know it was wrong. What you must realize is that your heart breaks in life no matter what decision you make Just make one. It’s worse not to.”
I looked into her eyes. “But, Mama, that’s what you did.”
“I know, child. I’m not here in this room because I’m not right in the head from what I did. I couldn’t have you go away thinking that. I’m here because my heart is broken and I can’t face the world. I can’t do it anymore, Jem. I choose not to. The Moores have given me shelter until I feel I can face the world again. You mustn’t tell anyone, Jem. I need more time.”
“Oh, I won’t, Mama. I promise.”
“There are days I can’t even talk to you. I knew who you were, Jem, right from the beginning. I just couldn’t …” She started to cry.
Dear Lord, I hadn’t wanted to make her cry. “Oh, don’t cry, Mama, please!” I held her until she stopped.
When I had quieted her, she dried her eyes.
“I didn’t want you to think I was out of my head from what I did. I couldn’t have you afraid to do what you have to do.”
“Thank you, Mama. I’m not afraid. But I don’t know what to do.”
She touched my face. “Yes, you do. Do what you know in your heart is right. Whatever decision you make, you’ll feel bad. Life does that to us sometimes. Do what is right.” She smiled. “You are a lot like me, Jemima. But you can learn from me. You can learn to live with your decision. That’s what you must learn. If I can teach you that, I won’t feel so bad.”
I knew when I got home that day what I would do. As for whether I could live with my decision, well, that remained to be seen.
CHAPTER
36
Three days later my sister left our house for good. It was a beautiful day in late September when the carriage pulled up in front and she took her leave with the baby and the servant girl.
She would not say goodbye to me. The two days of her preparation to leave turned out to be a nightmare. I had been unable to sleep or eat. John Reid was still sick upstairs in Daniel’s room. The doctor had come and gone and told us that sleep, care, and good food would put him on the mend again.
The house was so silent after they left. I couldn’t believe that I had done what I had done or that she had carried out her threat and left.
So now I was indeed like Mama, with something on my conscience. For two days afterward I walked around like a ghost, doing my chores in the shop in a daze. I left my food untouched at the table. I snapped back at Lucy when she told me to eat, ordering her to leave me be.
On the third day I came in through the center hall after I had closed the shop.
“Jemima, come in here.”
John was in Father’s study, fully dressed. I was startled to see him downstairs, to hear his voice so firm and normal again. I stood in the doorway, staring.
“John, are you well enough to—”
“Come in here and close the door, please.”
I closed it and stood against it. “What is it, John?”
He sat perched on the edge of Father’s desk. “What’s been going on, miss?”
“Why, nothing, John. Whatever do you mean?”
“Lucy tells me you’re walking the house at night. You snap at her when she tells you to eat your food and order her to leave you alone. Now tell me, what is it?”
“I think Lucy must be imagining things.”
“And I think you are lying to me.”
“John, would I—”
“Yes, you would. Come here.”
There was something of my old tutor in the way he said it. I raised my chin defiantly. “I was just about to clean up for supper.”
“You were just about to come here.”
There was no sense in upsetting him, since he’d been so ill lately. I went to him. I raised my eyes innocently, but he would have none of it.
“Now tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing, John. Heavens, can’t a person be out of sorts?”
“Jemima Emerson, you may well lie to the saints on Judgment Day and get away with it, but I know you too well. What are you keeping
from me?”
I smiled sweetly at him and fastened two buttons on his waistcoat.
“I quarreled with Rebeckah before she left to visit with her friend in New Brunswick.”
“A quarrel with Rebeckah would bother you as much as a quarrel with a chipmunk. I see you are determined not to tell me.”
“John, we women all have our little secrets. Won’t you let me have mine?”
He moved away from the desk. He coughed. “I think that I shall move back to my quarters on King Street tomorrow.”
“But why?” I felt alarmed.
“Jemima,”—he looked at me—“I am only a human being and so are you. It isn’t good for us to be under the same roof like this until we marry. You may not admit it, but I will. I appreciate your hospitality, but it’s time to go.”
So that’s what he thought was wrong, that I was languishing about because he was under the same roof with me! Well, let him think it, then. Better that than know the truth.
“But you can’t go. You aren’t well yet!”
“Oh, and you’re telling me what I can and can’t do now, miss?” He coughed again. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“You won’t be fine! And I shall worry about you!” I stamped my foot and my lips trembled. Didn’t he see? If he left now, my quarrel with Rebeckah would have been for nothing! I had stood up to her and done the right thing for the first time in my life. On my own. And for what?
For nothing. And I had Rebeckah on my conscience now, too. But I couldn’t tell him that!
He stared at my outburst, open-mouthed. “I should be completely on my feet in a month, Jem,” he said. “By that time your grandfather will be home. We can marry in October. What do you say?”
“If you leave, John Reid, you can marry yourself in October!” I burst into tears and ran from the room crying.
Of course it was childish and I knew it. And of course he left. He was too much of a man to allow a woman to tell him what he could and could not do. He stood in the hall the next morning and put his arm around me, humoring me like the child I still was.
“I’ll be over tonight to court you properly, under Lucy’s watchful eye,” he teased.
