They listened all day. Sometimes they could understand what was happening. When the witnesses were talking, they understood. It was when the lawyers spoke that it seemed like a foreign language. Stephen watched the movement of the sun carefully, and when it was time for school to be out, they scrambled down from the crates and took a direct route to the print shop.
William was in court. Stephen and Lydia offered to deliver newspapers without complaining and then went home for supper. Lydia even volunteered to set the table, which she hated to do.
Conversation around the table focused on the trial. Now Stephen and Lydia could figure out some of the missing pieces.
“That was quite an impressive line of witnesses the prosecution brought forth,” William said. “One after the other, they seemed quite certain that Captain Preston gave the order to fire.”
Papa broke off a piece of bread and put it in his mouth. He nodded, then said, “But I understand that John Adams has some impressive witnesses of his own. When time comes for the defense to present its case, he may be able to refute the statements given today.”
“These men were eyewitnesses,” William insisted. “They are men of honor.”
“They are sailors,” Papa said, “who are tired of being forced to remain in Boston to testify.”
“I have confidence in the prosecuting attorney. He has worked hard to gather the evidence.”
“You should not dismiss John Adams lightly,” Papa said. “I have seen him in court before. He does not lose very often.”
After supper, Lydia pulled Stephen aside. “I’m going back tomorrow. I want to hear the witnesses for the defense. Are you coming?”
Stephen hesitated for only a moment before nodding his head. It was exciting to watch the trial, even through a cracked window.
So they went back to their stack of crates the next day, and again the day after that. Stephen had stopped worrying about who might see them and easily settled into a familiar position on the crates. He was absorbed in the activities of the courtroom.
“Stephen and Lydia Lankford! Come down from there immediately!”
Stephen jerked around so hard that he almost upset the delicate balance of the crates. His mother stood below them, and he knew they were in trouble. Mama was furious.
Lydia groaned and began the climb down.
“How did you find out?” Lydia asked.
“I saw Mistress Sommers in the square this morning. Imagine my surprise,” Mama said, “when she asked after your health. Her daughter mentioned last night that you had not been in school for several days.”
“But, Mama,” Lydia protested, “we wanted to see the trial.”
“Obviously,” Mama said, “but you did not have permission to miss school.” She turned to Stephen. “I’m surprised at you, Stephen. This is not like you at all.”
Stephen looked away. How could he face his mother? He had known better than to get involved in Lydia’s scheme, but he had done so anyway.
Mama sent them straight home and upstairs to their rooms. They would have no supper that night. And the next day, Saturday, when they could have attended the trial, they were forbidden to leave the house.
CHAPTER 13
The Verdict
Saturday was a very long day, the longest that Stephen could remember. He was alone in the house with Lydia. The rest of the family had gone to the courthouse to watch the trial. The prosecution and defense were supposed to give their closing arguments that day. Then it would be up to the jury to decide if Thomas Preston was guilty or innocent of murder. Papa was prepared to spend all night at the print shop, if necessary, to publish the results of the trial.
But Lydia and Stephen were left to ramble around the house on their own, with strict instructions that they must not leave. Stephen made up his mind early in the day that no matter what Lydia said to him, he would not disobey his parents’ direct instructions to stay in the house.
To his surprise, Lydia made no suggestions about sneaking out of the house. She pouted all day long, claiming that the punishment was more severe than the crime, but she made no effort to rebel. In fact, she hardly left the window. She could not see much from their front room. In the morning, it seemed that hundreds of people passed by, headed for the courthouse. After that, the streets were quiet while court was in session. Still Lydia watched the window. She wanted to see the first sign of the jury’s verdict that afternoon.
But when the people finally began to stream down the street in the opposite direction, she saw no sign of victory on either side. Everyone simply made his or her way home as if this were a day like any other.
“I don’t understand,” she said to Stephen as they stood together in front of the window. “William was sure that the trial would end today.”
“William can be wrong sometimes,” Stephen commented.
“That was a mean thing to say!”
“But it’s true. William is not in charge of the trial. He can’t promise you when it will be over.”
Even Lydia saw Stephen’s logic this time. When Papa, Mama, William, and Kathleen finally came home at suppertime, they could talk of nothing else but the trial. Lydia pressed them with dozens of questions about every detail that had transpired.
“It is difficult to know what to believe,” Kathleen said. “Two men swore that Captain Preston gave the order to fire, but others swore that he did not.”
“He gave the order all right,” William said confidently.
“I’m not so sure,” Kathleen said. “I think the sentry fired first, after he had his musket knocked out of his hand. Then the others started shooting at random. I’m no soldier, but I would think that if the captain gave the order to fire, all the shots would have come at one time.”
“You have a point,” her father said. “That is exactly one of the points the defense is trying to make.”
“It was hard to hear anything,” William said. “Perhaps they did not all hear him give the order to fire at the same moment.”
“My sources tell me that many people were daring the soldiers to fire, just as many of the witnesses said,” Papa commented. “If the soldiers thought they heard the command and acted upon it, that does not mean that the captain actually gave the command. He cannot be held responsible for the actions of his men if they disobeyed his orders.”
“Captain Preston said that the guns were not even loaded when the troops arrived,” Mama said. She stoked the kitchen fire to start cooking the evening meal.
“Sam Adams believes differently,” William countered. “He is positive the guns were loaded and the bayonets fixed on the ends of them. Sam has plenty of witnesses who would testify to that.”
“All the testimony is over now,” Mama said. “The responsibility is now on the jury.”
Stephen entered the conversation. “If the testimony is finished, why did the trial not end?”
“The lawyers did not give their closing arguments,” Papa explained. “The trial will break for the Sabbath, and then the jury will consider the matter on Monday.”
Sunday was an even longer day than Saturday. At church, hardly anyone paid attention to the sermon. Instead, they pondered the trial and whispered their opinions discreetly in the pews. The minister preached about God’s justice and rewards in the afterlife. Stephen did not think anyone cared about that. They wanted justice right now, not after they were dead.
The Sabbath was a day of rest. Mama had strict rules about observing the Sabbath. The family ate lightly and did nothing that Mama considered to be unnecessary work. She forbade anyone to discuss the trial, which was the only thing they were all thinking about. It was difficult for Stephen to pass the time when he was not allowed to do anything but sit in the front room and read. The day dragged endlessly, and Stephen went to bed early. It was a relief to be able to get up and go to school on Monday morning.
Stephen was sharing a table with Wesley Mason and figuring sums when the word came. The jury took only a few hours to decide the fa
te of Captain Thomas Preston. They believed he was innocent of the charge. Students all over the classroom jumped out of their seats. Some were ecstatic. Others were furious. The teacher dismissed the class, and the students poured out of the little building to join the throngs in the streets of Boston.
“The Sons of Liberty will never stand for this!” Lydia declared. “How could twelve intelligent men come up with such a verdict?”
“Whether the Sons of Liberty like it or not,” someone commented, “the jury’s verdict is final.”
“Sam Adams is a brilliant man—every bit as brilliant as his cousin John,” Lydia insisted. “The Sons of Liberty will think of something.”
Stephen knew only one place he wanted to be at such a moment. He found his cousin Anna in the schoolyard, and together they ran to Uncle Cuyler’s clinic.
“Did you hear? Did you hear?” Anna burst through the door.
Uncle Cuyler cleared his throat loudly. He was behind a screen examining a patient.
“Oops.” Anna giggled. “I’ll get a lecture tonight!”
Stephen and Anna managed to contain their enthusiasm while Uncle Cuyler finished the examination and dismissed the patient.
“It’s wonderful news, isn’t it?” Uncle Cuyler said, grinning.
Stephen could not help but agree. From the scraps of testimony he had heard through the window during the trial and the mealtime discussions with his family, he had come to the silent conclusion that Thomas Preston was not trying to hurt anyone. In fact, he was trying to make sure no one fired a gun.
“What will happen now, Papa?” Anna asked.
“I hope that the intelligent men of Boston will realize that Thomas Preston was given a fair trial. They must honor our system of justice and disgrace him no further.”
Stephen was not convinced. “You think there will be more trouble, don’t you, Uncle Cuyler?”
The smile faded from Uncle Cuyler’s face. He sighed heavily. “I’m afraid the men of Boston are not as intelligent as I give them credit for. Yes, I think there will be trouble.”
The clinic door swung open, startling them all. Uncle Ethan stood there, out of breath.
“Cuyler, I need to speak with you.”
“Not now, Ethan. I’m sure you are disappointed with the verdict, but the jury has spoken. There is no need for us to quarrel about it any longer.”
Ethan was shaking his head vigorously. “It’s not the trial. It’s the baby.”
“The baby?” Stephen’s alarm echoed Uncle Cuyler’s.
“She’s not breathing well, Cuyler. She’s been sickly for a couple days.”
“Why did you wait until now to call me?” Uncle Cuyler thrust his arms into his coat and snatched up his bag of medical supplies.
“Dancy thought it was no more than a bit of a chill. She did not want to disturb your Sabbath. But we can’t calm the baby today. I’m afraid she’s going to turn blue.”
“Let me come with you,” Stephen pleaded. “I was there when she was born. I want to be there to make sure she is all right.”
Uncle Cuyler shook his head. “No, Stephen. Not this time. I want you both to run and find your mothers. Tell them to meet me at your aunt Dancy’s house immediately.”
Uncle Cuyler left. For an instant, Anna and Stephen looked at each other with wide, fearful eyes. Then they started to run in opposite directions.
Stephen burst into the print shop. Mama, Kathleen, and Lydia were all there.
“Mama, Uncle Cuyler needs you right away!” Stephen gave his breathless explanation, and his mother flew out of the shop.
“I want the two of you to stay indoors now,” Papa said sternly. “People are angry about the verdict. I’ve heard rumblings of trouble already. I don’t want you out in it.”
“Where’s William?” Lydia wanted to know. Papa shook his head and looked absently out the window. “I wish I knew, Lydia. I wish I knew.”
“What about the papers?” Stephen asked.
“I’ll do them myself this afternoon.” He turned back to the press. Kathleen laid more paper in the tray, and Papa brought the great bar down to print the next copy.
Lydia pressed her face to the window. “It doesn’t look so bad out there to me,” she commented. “After all, it’s not as if there are any British troops to worry about.”
A crash outside the door, followed by the sound of scuffling feet, brought Papa to the window.
“Stay back!” he ordered. He looked out the window himself. “There will surely be a riot any minute now. We will all stay inside the shop until it is over. Is that understood?”
Lydia, Stephen, and Kathleen nodded mutely.
“Perhaps the riot will be brief this time,” Papa said. “It’s difficult to argue with the verdict of a court of law. People will come to their senses and go home for supper.”
Papa went back to the press, with Kathleen helping him.
“Lydia, Stephen,” he said. “The two of you can start folding the papers and bundling them up. I’ll take them out when this is all over.”
“Yes, sir,” Lydia and Stephen both mumbled. They crouched side by side on the floor and folded the large press sheets into a size that was easier to handle.
At first they worked without speaking. More sounds of struggling came through the walls.
“Aren’t you curious about what is happening out there?” Lydia whispered to Stephen.
“I know what is happening. It’s a riot, just like all the others.”
“I’m disappointed,” Lydia said. “When you came to the courthouse with me, I thought you had finally gotten a sense of patriotism.”
“I have plenty of patriotism,” Stephen hissed back. “I love Boston as much as you do, maybe even more.”
“Nobody loves Boston as much as I do,” Lydia declared, still keeping her voice low. “If I were a boy and a little older, I would join the Sons of Liberty, just like William.”
Stephen did not answer.
“You’re lucky you’re a boy,” Lydia said. “You could go out and do something. You could fight for all the colonies. But you don’t care about the colonies, do you?”
“Of course I do!”
“Then why don’t you prove it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Go and find out what’s happening, who is fighting whom.”
“You heard what Papa said.”
Lydia scowled. “Papa understands why William does what he does. He would understand you, too. It’s me he keeps an eye on.”
Once again, Stephen did not answer.
“Are you afraid, Stephen? Is that it?” Lydia prodded.
“I’m not afraid.” Stephen glanced over his shoulder at his father. Bent over the press making adjustments, Papa and Kathleen had their backs to Stephen and Lydia.
“He won’t even hear you leave,” Lydia said. “Just go out for a few minutes, find out what is going on, and come back and tell me.”
Stephen’s heart started to thunder. Why was he even considering this? He looked into Lydia’s green eyes. They dared him to prove his fearless patriotism.
“All right, but I’m coming right back.”
Folding a paper as he walked, Stephen moved across the room. Papa never turned around. Stephen put his hand on the latch. The sound of the press in action covered the creak of the hinge as he pulled the door open.
Stephen was outside.
CHAPTER 14
Unconscious!
Stephen ran to the tailor’s shop, three doors down, and pressed himself against the brick wall. After a long while, he let out his breath. Was this a dream, he wondered, or had he really snuck out of the print shop on Lydia’s dare?
He could not go back this soon without looking like a coward. Lydia expected him to return with some information about what was happening in the streets. He was not quite sure what she wanted to know or how he was supposed to learn anything. It was not as if he could walk up to John Adams and demand a report of the jury’s discussi
ons. But he would have to try whatever methods he could think of. When he returned to the print shop having completed his mission successfully, Lydia would have to stop accusing him of being afraid, and she would have to stop doubting his patriotism.
Stephen surveyed the street before him. Everyone seemed in a hurry. Many of the shops had closed early. Sensing that the evening might bring danger, the owners had locked the doors and headed for their homes. Even though the evening newspaper had not hit the streets yet, everyone seemed to know the verdict. Stephen’s father often said that word of mouth was the fastest method of communication he had ever seen, but people needed to read a newspaper so they could hear both sides of the story.
William was no doubt disappointed by the verdict. No, Stephen corrected himself, William is certain to be downright angry about the verdict, along with Sam Adams and the rest of the Sons of Liberty. Suddenly Stephen knew what he needed to do to impress Lydia. If he could find William and take back a message to Lydia, she would never call him a mean name again. That was it! He would find William.
But where would William be? He had never shown up at the print shop after the jury’s verdict was announced. He had to be somewhere with the Sons of Liberty. Stephen took stock of his location and mentally mapped a route to the Liberty Tree. He could take the back streets. He would stay out of the way of any mobs that might form spontaneously.
One advantage of Stephen’s smallish size and quiet nature was that people did not always realize he was nearby. He discovered that he could walk without running down the street. If he stayed close to the buildings, he blended into the background. Anyone with a temper to vent tended to walk down the middle of the street. When he came upon a cluster of men at one corner, Stephen pretended to adjust his boot and stopped for a few minutes to listen.
“The prosecution should never have let John Adams change the charge from murder to manslaughter.”
“I know most of the people on the jury, even if they aren’t from Boston. They are Loyalists, I tell you. The jury was stacked with Loyalists.”
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