The Gentle Rebel

by Gilbert, Morris

  There it was. Nathan felt his face flush, for he resented the fact that his father had never put much stock in his call to the ministry. Ever since that day when Nathan had told his parents that he felt God wanted him to be a minister, the wall between him and his father had grown thicker. Now he said quickly, “Well, Father, I don’t think it will do a minister any harm to know something of business.”

  “I suppose not.”

  Mother pulled at Father’s arm, saying, “We’d better hurry if we don’t want to be late for service, Adam.” Then she smiled at Nathan and there was a gleam in her gray eyes as she said, “And it wouldn’t look very good for you to be late, Nathan. Rev. Patterson might feel your dedication is lacking.”

  Adam snorted and there was a flash of anger in his dark eyes. “I wish he’d preach the gospel instead of singing the praises of King George!”

  “He’s not doing that, sir!” Nathan said, and was sorry at once.

  Adam stared at the tall young man, his face settling down into an angry look that made Nathan wish he’d kept his mouth shut.

  “Nathan, the man is no more than a mouthpiece for the Crown! He has a right to speak his mind, but he uses his pulpit for attacking loyal men in these Colonies—and he has no sense of justice!”

  “Sir—I think that’s not fair!”

  “Not fair!” There was a thick silence in the room, and Nathan saw that they were into another of their arguments over politics. Adam Winslow had fought in the French and Indian War under Colonel Washington and sympathized with the group led by Sam Adams who were out to challenge English authority. And it saddened Nathan, for his father was not an unreasonable man—quite the contrary. But he’s just as blind as the rest of that crew who want to push us into a war we can’t win! the boy thought.

  “You think I’m unfair?” Adam demanded, stepping closer to Nathan. “Why, Patterson has branded my friends traitors from his pulpit! And you don’t think it’s unfair for a minister to use his office for a political platform?”

  “You don’t say that about those ministers who use their pulpits to demand freedom, Father,” Nathan shot back, but over his father’s head he saw his mother shaking her head violently, and it brought him up short. He realized that if his father got angry, he’d not let them go to Boston, so he said, “Oh, Father, I’m sorry we got into this. Let’s drop it and go to service.”

  Adam was caught off guard with the sudden apology, and Nathan’s mother came forward quickly, saying, “Yes, we have to go, Adam.”

  “All right, Molly.”

  Nathan and Caleb went quickly to hitch the team and saddle their own mounts. Nathan drove the wagon out of the stable to the front gate, and held the lines until his father helped his mother into the wagon. “Don’t race those horses, boys,” he said as he took the reins. “Not on the Sabbath.”

  Nathan said, “No, sir,” then went to where Caleb sat on his horse. He mounted easily, and the two of them started down the road. As soon as they were out of hearing, Caleb said, “Why’d you have to start fighting with Father? If you’d kept on, he wouldn’t have let us take the trip to Boston.”

  As they approached the white church just outside the village, Nathan thought of how his father had looked strangely at him when speaking of the founders of their family. Gilbert Winslow, the first of the family to come to America, had been a great and honored man, according to the family tales, as had his son Matthew. But once, in an unguarded moment, Adam had said to his son, “You’re too much like Charles, Nathan.”

  As he pulled his horse down and allowed Caleb to catch up, Nathan thought about his uncle. Charles Winslow was the half brother of Adam, and there’d been some sort of scandal in his life, but Nathan could never find out exactly what it was all about. His uncle was a very successful businessman in Boston, and on the rare occasions when he’d come to Virginia, Nathan had been very impressed. He remembered him as a tall, handsome man with fair hair and bright blue eyes, and that he’d always given generous gifts to him and to Caleb. Slipping from his horse, he tied him to the post, thinking with excitement of the trip. Though he was older than Caleb and had gone to Harvard for one brief term of ten weeks, he was as excited as the younger boy about the trip, and some of it was the expectation of seeing his uncle again.

  His parents pulled up fifteen minutes later, and his father said, “I told you not to race those horses, Nathan.” There was displeasure in his dark eyes, and he led the way into the white frame building to their customary pew, speaking little to anyone.

  Rev. Patterson was a short, broad man with a full, fair face and a strong Bristol accent. Nathan, although he agreed fully with the pastor’s political sentiments, hoped fervently that his sermon would stay inside the covers of the Bible. His hopes were dashed, however, for the text was taken from that section of the Scriptures that teaches men to be obedient to those in authority. And those in authority, of course, were of the Royal House of Hanover—King George and his court of ministers.

  Rev. Patterson was a man of strong opinions, and his displeasure with those who chose to challenge the authority of the Crown was intense. His eyes lingered longest on Adam Winslow, though there were many others in the congregation who were more adamant in their stand against royal policy than he.

  Halfway through the sermon, Nathan heard Caleb snort and say under his breath, “Big jackass!” He dug his elbow into Caleb’s ribs, hoping that nobody had heard, but there was a sullen “amen!” that came from his father, and Nathan slumped into his seat, wishing only that the service would end and they could get away.

  After the sermon, Rev. Patterson posted himself at the door, and when the Winslows stepped up, he said with an angry light in his eyes, “Mr. Winslow, you should keep your sons in order!”

  “Rev. Patterson, you should keep your sermons in order.”

  There was a sudden hush in the church, the humming of talk stopped abruptly. The position of a minister in the community was an elevated one, and few men would speak so harshly to one of them as Adam Winslow had just done.

  “Sir, you are impertinent!” Patterson’s face flushed richly, and he added angrily, “It’s obvious, sir, that your rebellion against the Crown has been expanded to include disloyalty against your church!”

  Adam Winslow was an even-tempered man, but he had sat through a long line of political harangues masquerading as sermons, all directed at himself and some of his friends. Now the pastor chose to make the thing personal by singling him out, and it stirred him to anger. There is something dangerous in him, Nathan thought, and it startled him. He had seen his father aroused only once, years before. A large man had been mistreating a horse, and Nathan never forgot how his father had exploded into wrath, thrashing the bully so quickly and thoroughly that the story still lingered in the town.

  “Rev. Patterson, when you preach the gospel, I am a faithful member of your flock. If you choose to depart from your calling and turn your pulpit into a political arena, I cannot respect you.”

  He might have said more, but Molly suddenly was there. She put her hand on his arm and said, “Adam—please!”

  At once, he looked at her, and then said, “This is no place for argument. Excuse us, Pastor.”

  Nathan followed his parents, but the minister grasped his arms. “Nathan, you must try to talk to your father.”

  Nathan shook his head. “There is nothing I can say, Pastor. He just gets angry with me.”

  “I understand you’re going to Boston.”

  “Yes, tomorrow.”

  “Be careful, Nathan!” Patterson’s full face was still angry, and he added as the boy pulled away. “That’s where all Sam Adams’ gang is, and they’ll pull us into a war if something isn’t done!”

  Nathan hurried away; this time he and Caleb followed the buggy down the road. As he expected, Caleb began to berate the minister. “Why, that preacher ought to be tarred and feathered!” he exclaimed. “I’ll bet he gets his pay from ol’ King George himself.”

  �
��Caleb, you’re crazy!”

  “No, I’m not!”

  “You’re just a kid—and not too smart at that!” The anger that had gnawed at Nathan spilled out, and he glared at Caleb, saying loudly, “What do you know? Oh, sure, there have been a few unfair taxes, but what do you think we can do about it?”

  “We can fight!”

  “Why, you are crazy, Caleb!” Nathan snapped. “England’s the strongest nation in the world—and you think a few farmers like us can fight her?”

  Caleb’s dark face was stubborn. “England’s thousands of miles away, Nathan, and this is a big country. All of us can shoot, can’t we? How long can we stand for being treated like slaves?”

  Nathan was shocked, for he had known men put into the stocks for saying less. “Caleb, that’s treason!”

  “It’s the same as Father thinks!”

  There was so much truth in Caleb’s reply that Nathan was speechless. He shook his head in despair, and listened in silence all the way back to the house as Caleb talked endlessly about the matter.

  Finally he said as they unsaddled the horses, “You’d better not say any of this to Father, Caleb. He’d never let you go to Boston with me.”

  “Yes, he would,” Caleb argued, but caution kept him quiet, and the house, though filled with a certain restraint that evening, was unbroken by any political talk.

  * * *

  Molly lay quietly as the crowing of a cock broke through the silence of the morning. She felt the tension in Adam’s body, and reaching out, touched his cheek. “You didn’t sleep much.”

  “No.”

  “Neither did I.”

  He rolled over and peered at her in the dim light, then gave a quick laugh. “We know each other pretty well, don’t we?”

  “I guess when two people love each other like we do,” she smiled, “their moods get all mixed up. When you’re happy, so am I. And when you’re troubled, I can’t rest.”

  He shook his head, threw back the cover and got out of bed. Pulling on his clothes, he was silent, but when they were both dressed, he turned to her and said, “Should I let them go, Molly?”

  “Yes.”

  He suddenly laughed. “You’re always so certain of everything. I wish I were!”

  She was almost as tall as he, so she only had to pull his head down a couple of inches to kiss him on the lips. “They’ll be all right. They’re good boys.”

  He stared at her, and there was an indecision in him that she had never seen. “Are they? I hope so.”

  “You’re worried about Nathan, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am.” He hesitated, then said, “He’s too impulsive, Molly. Too much like Charles.”

  “No, he’s not like Charles.” Molly half turned to the window, then turned back, a thoughtful look on her face. “Oh, he looks like him, of course, and there’s some of that wild Winslow blood, but deep down he’s like you, Adam. I know you can’t see it—but I can.”

  He struggled with the thought, then finally smiled and said, “You’re right, I can’t see it. So I’ll just have to go on your judgment, Molly.” He put his arms around her, and a fond light replaced the anxious look in his face. “It’s been a long time since that first time I saw you. I think of that time often. How old were you?”

  “Just eleven—and I thought you were the handsomest thing I’d ever seen.”

  “Will ye buy a handkerchief—only five bob!” He smiled at her, and added, “That’s the first thing you ever said to me, wasn’t it?”

  “And you bought it, didn’t you, dear?” Molly laughed and added, “If you’d known what you were getting into that morning, I think you’d have run away like a deer!”

  “No. No, I wouldn’t have. You’ve been my life, Molly.”

  She stood there, surrendering to his quick embrace, thinking of the strange manner of their courtship. She’d been an unfortunate child of eleven on the streets of London, mistreated by a drunken father. He’d been there on his first trip from home, and he’d been so moved by her plight that he’d paid her brute of a father all the money he had, getting her under his care as a bound girl—an indentured servant. She remembered how he’d been in love with Mary Edwards, and how, as the years had rolled by, Molly had been in love with him. And she remembered the shock in his eyes when he at last saw her as a woman—and fell in love. Since that time, they’d been truly man and wife, in spirit as in flesh.

  Now she said, “Nathan will be all right. He’s your son.”

  He stared at her, and his face relaxed. “We’ll trust God to take care of them.”

  When they went downstairs, they found Caleb and Nathan had already fixed breakfast, a feat which amused them both. “Well, if I’d known a trip to Boston would produce this sort of thing,” Adam smiled, “I’d have let you go long ago!”

  Both boys were champing at the bit, anxious to go, so they ate a quick breakfast, and then it was time for them to leave. The wagons were loaded and the teams were in the village ready to go, so there was nothing to do but say goodbye.

  But it was hard for Molly. Despite her brave words, it was the first time her boys were leaving to go farther than the small village, and there was a lump in her throat that would not go away.

  She took Caleb’s quick hug, and kissed him, then Nathan stood before her, a little embarrassed, as always, at showing affection. She pulled his head down, kissed him soundly, and said, “Take care of your brother, Nathan! Take very good care of him!”

  “Ah, Mother,” Caleb said with a wide grin. “It’s me as will take care of him!”

  Then the boys stood before Adam, and for once for some reason, Nathan did not feel intimidated. He looked into his father’s eyes and saw there for the first time in years, an approval that he had always longed for.

  Adam sought for words, but could only say what Molly had said. “Nathan, take care of your brother.”

  “Yes, sir.” Nathan put his hand out awkwardly, but it was ignored and suddenly Adam put his arms around both boys, drawing them in with a powerful hug that took their breath, then released them.

  “Get on your way now—and take care of each other.”

  They left, and all the way to town and for a long time after that, Nathan heard the words that his parents had spoken: “Take care of your brother.” And he always remembered the strength of his father’s arms in that last powerful embrace.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  COUNTRY COUSIN

  Ice glittered on the backs of the horses, and their frosty breath rose like miniature clouds of incense as Nathan pulled them to a halt in front of the two-story building that fronted the harbor with the sign THE WINSLOW COMPANY over the door.

  “Wake up, Caleb.” He nudged the small mountain of blankets huddled close beside him, and a smile touched his lips as a groan of protest emerged from the depths. “We’re here—come out of there, boy.”

  “What is it?” The blankets parted, and Caleb reluctantly surfaced from the warm cocoon. He wore a black wool knitted cap pulled down to his eyebrows, a red and blue scarf swathed his face, so that all that could be seen of him was a sleepy pair of dark eyes.

  “Go see where they want the load,” Nathan said. “Looks like they might be closed.” He watched with amusement as Caleb climbed down stiffly, then waddled across the snow to the big double doors. He looked like a walking barrel, for he hated cold and wore every garment he’d brought on the trip, in addition to a buffalo coat of Nathan’s.

  Been a hard trip, Nathan reflected as he watched Caleb disappear into the depths of the warehouse. Bet not even Father could have done better! Ice glittered in the short red stubbles of his beard, and he shook his head ruefully at his pride, knowing that his father would have made the trip faster.

  But it had been a hard journey. Winter had closed like an iron fist, freezing the roads to slick ribbons, and near-blizzard cold had punished the horses terribly. Caleb had begun well, but for the last week he had done nothing but hug the fire at night and swath himself into eve
ry garment he could find during the day’s trek. They had met with few travelers, and Nathan could not resist a heady gust of pride as he realized that he had brought the furs through when most men had sought the warmth of fire inside snug cabins.

  As the big double doors swung open, he glanced down at his large hands, blue from the cold and calloused from handling the lines, and was pleased. There had been doubt in his father’s eyes when they had parted, but the good feeling of accomplishing a hard task was a solid feeling in Nathan. “Hup, Babe—Dan!” He guided the team into the dark interior, climbed down and stamped his feet, which had no more feeling than the iron ring he tied up to.

  “Mister Winslow didn’t look for you.” A thick-bodied man with a face blue from cold and red from drink stared at Nathan, and there was some resentment in his clipped New England speech as he added, “Don’t have no help this time of day fer unloadin’.”

  “It’ll wait for tomorrow.”

  “Them horses won’t wait!”

  If the man had been more civil, Nathan would have helped unhitch, but he was bone-tired and both he and Caleb were half-starved. “We’re going to my uncle’s house. How far is it?”

  The big man’s face flushed, but he said, “Three miles back down the old Turnpike—you must’a passed it comin’ in—big white house with pillars.” He gave them instructions in a grudging voice, then grinned sourly. “You’ll have a nice little walk—may get there by dark.”

  Nathan stared at him, then said, “Caleb, we’ll take Babe and Dan.” The two brothers unhitched the horses, put a pair of hair hackamores on them, and led them outside. Nathan said tersely to the heavy man, “Get those other two animals unhitched and fed!” He mounted easily, but Caleb had to lead Dan to the watering trough and use it for a platform as he scrambled aboard, not without groaning.

  The horses were just about played out, but three more miles would not kill them. As they plodded down the frozen road, the light beginning to fail, Caleb asked, “Uncle Charles won’t be looking for us, will he?”