The Gentle Rebel

by Gilbert, Morris

  “But we could be strong, Nathan, in time—”

  “That’s just it, Caleb,” Nathan interrupted; “wouldn’t have time! We’d be little and weak, and one of the wolves would pick us off sure as the world. Can’t you see that?”

  Caleb’s face settled into the stubborn lines that Nathan had learned to dread, so he broke off at once. “Well, I’m sorry if I shamed you, Caleb, coming for you, but I—” The words stopped, and silently the tall young man who spoke so well on some things had no way to say what he felt. He wanted to say, I came because I love you and you’re my only brother and I don’t want you to be hurt. But his emotions were too subdued for that, so he merely put his hand on Caleb’s shoulder and said, “I just want what’s good for you, Caleb, that’s all.”

  Caleb tried for a smile that didn’t quite work. He said only, “I wish we thought the same about this thing, Nathan. I—I don’t want to be against you.” Then he whirled to hide his confusion and began to prepare for bed.

  Nathan’s heart was full, but there was no more to be said. He sat down at the desk and said, “I’ve got to write Father and Mother about this, Caleb. You know that?”

  “Yes. You go ahead.”

  By the light of a candle, Nathan began to write. The scratch of his turkey-quill pen echoed in the quietness of the room. He could hear Caleb’s steady breathing, but knew that he was not asleep. For over an hour he wrote, first about unimportant things, but finally he had to come to what he hated to put on paper:

  Finally, I have bad news for you about Caleb. He is physically well, but I must tell you he has joined himself to the Sons of Liberty—the radical “patriots” led by Sam Adams and others of that sort.

  It will be hard for you to read this, as it is hard for me to write it. Our opinions differ in this matter. But sitting here in the middle of the thing is different from being in the quiet backwaters of our little town. This place is like a powder keg, Father! You know how it is in a powder-making plant, with explosive powder everywhere, how they make people wear soft shoes with no nails that might give off a spark, and how nobody would ever think of striking a match? Well, if you can imagine a powder-making plant where wild, irresponsible men run down the aisles with torches and striking flint to steel right over the powder—that’s what Boston is like!

  The Crown is sick of Boston’s smuggling, and sick of the Sons of Liberty, so to protect Royal officials, 4,000 Redcoats have been stationed here under General Gage. That’s one soldier for every four citizens, and the people refuse to house these men (which they are bound to do under the Quartering Act passed by Parliament). Many of these ill-fed, ill-paid men hire themselves out at menial jobs for low wages, incurring the bitter wrath of Boston’s unemployed. Every day there is a street fight with mobs taunting the troops with cries of “bloody backs!” and all the while it is Sam Adams and his Sons of Liberty maneuvering in the background, fanning flames of revolt!

  I beg you, send for Caleb! He is hypnotized by the “romance” of being in a revolution that could well mean his life. As for me, I would like to stay, but will do as you instruct me.

  Your loving son,

  Nathan

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A NEW CLERK

  When Laddie opened the door of his room to admit Nathan the next morning, the youth saw at once the marks of sleeplessness on his face. But Winslow smiled, saying, “Well, you look pretty good this morning.”

  “I’m fine. Mrs. Nelson fed me so much chicken soup, I’m about to sprout pinfeathers!”

  “You feel like moving around a bit?” The boy nodded, plucked his ragged jacket from a wooden peg, and followed Winslow down the narrow stairs. “You had breakfast yet?”

  “Oh, yes, I’m fine.”

  “Well, we’ll go find you something to wear, then come back for a bite later.”

  Laddie felt very uncomfortable walking with Nathan down the street. Winslow was wearing buff trousers, a crisp white shirt with ruffles, a dark blue waistcoat and a wool cloak of a lighter hue. His auburn hair escaped here and there from beneath the blue and white tri-cornered hat, and he wore highly polished black boots to the knees. I look like a beggar he’s picked up from the gutter, the lad thought, and when he led the boy into a shop filled with good clothing, it was worse.

  “Yes, sir, may I be of help?” A short fussy-looking man with a prim moustache and a pair of silver-rimmed eyeglasses came up at once. He gave Nathan’s figure an approving glance, but seemed not to notice Laddie at all.

  “Yes, I want this young fellow suited out,” Nathan said. He must have seen the supercilious look the clerk gave the ragged figure beside him, for he spoke with an edge to his voice. “I doubt you’ve got anything good enough to suit, but you can try.”

  That challenge seemed to change the man, for he straightened himself to his full five feet five and said indignantly, “You are mistaken, sir, grossly mistaken! We have just what the young gentleman needs!”

  “We’ll see. Now from the skin out, mind you—breeches, shirts, stockings, waistcoat, overcoat, a good hat, underclothes—anything else that’s needed.”

  The light of pure greed brightened the clerk’s narrowly spaced eyes, and he nodded so rapidly that his glasses almost fell off. “To be sure! Clothes make the man! And we’ll have a new man here in no time, won’t we, young fellow?”

  A flash of humor appeared in the youth’s dark eyes, but Laddie only nodded briefly, then turned to Nathan. “I can’t let you spend all this on me, Mr. Winslow.”

  “You can pay it back out of your earnings,” he shrugged. “You’ll have to pass muster for my uncle—and his wife, which will be more difficult. I’ll leave you here for an hour, all right?”

  He gave an encouraging smile; then as he left the shop, the clerk at once began laying out the articles he had mentioned. It was a trying hour for Laddie, for men’s clothing was something she knew little about. But she went at it carefully, choosing items that would be less revealing of the figure underneath. Some of the choices surprised the clerk, and he showed grave displeasure, but when Nathan returned at the appointed time, all the items were in a large bag ready to go.

  “Get everything?” he asked, then at the lad’s nod, asked the price and paid it without comment. “Let’s go back to the Nelsons’ place. I could use a bite now.”

  As they walked along the street, Nathan said, “We’ll have to go out to my uncle’s house, Laddie. I talked to Strake—he’s the general manager—and he says he can use a clerk; you’ll have to satisfy him before we get my uncle’s approval.”

  They turned into The Blue Boar, and went upstairs, but Nathan called out as they went through the bar, “Nelson, let’s have some battered eggs and some fresh fruit if you’ve got any—for the two of us.”

  When they were inside the door, Laddie opened the bag and began laying the items on the bed, saying, “Let me show you what I bought, Mr. Winslow—such nice things!”

  He glanced down at the clothing, grinned and said, “Well, I don’t want to see how they look with the bed wearing them, Laddie! Go on and put them on.”

  Laddie stared at him, and a red flush began creeping up the slender throat. Nathan looked at the boy in surprise and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “N-nothing—but would you—would you mind waiting outside until I—get dressed?”

  “Outside?” He could not have been more surprised if Laddie had asked him to jump out the window. Then he suddenly laughed and said, “Why, Laddie, I think you’re ashamed because you’re so skinny! Well, that’s no matter to me—but I’ll go on down and hurry Mrs. Nelson up with the breakfast. Quickly now, will you?”

  He slammed the door as he left, thinking with a wry smile, Pretty modest for a beggar! But he was hungry and sat down, listening to Nelson tell one of his tall tales about how he’d saved his ship in the Indian Sea once.

  Finally the breakfast was brought out by Mrs. Nelson, and he looked up at that same instant to see Laddie come down the stairs. He was so surprise
d at the change in the boy’s appearance that for a moment he could only stare.

  Nelson, however, was more vocal. He looked up from the mug of ale that he was sipping, and his eyes widened as he said, “Well, now! Lookee wot we got ’ere! A real gentleman is wot we got!”

  Laddie crossed to the table, with no little grain of fear that they might see through the disguise. An examination of their faces drew a sigh of relief, however, for there was no indication of that.

  * * *

  Julie, in the guise of Laddie, had given much thought to the matter of concealing her sex, but the old plan of merely covering up with loose fitting, bulky clothes would not serve for this new life. Her quick mind had seen at once that she would have to dress like a clerk—but that meant wearing clothing much tighter and therefore more dangerous. All the time she had been choosing the clothing, this had been in her mind, and she had done well. She had, first of all, bound her upper figure tightly with a broad strip of cotton cloth ripped from her old clothes. Then she had donned the white stockings and a pair of buff knee breeches, the universal garment of young men everywhere. A light brown waistcoat, as loose-fitting as she dared, was buttoned up to where a white ruffle rose and covered her slender throat. Over all this she wore a dark brown broadcloth coat with wide double lapels and white ruffles from a shirt extending past the cuffs. A pair of high-topped brown boots covered her slender legs.

  What Nathan saw was a thin young man with eyes perhaps too large and features more delicate than most his age, but looking very well in a suit of new clothes. He smiled and slapped his hand on the table. “Stab me!” he cried out with an approving smile, “I think that idiot of a clerk had some sense! Clothes do make the man, don’t they, Nelson?”

  “Why, I could get the lad a post as midshipman on the Victory right this day, sir! He’s a proper gentleman, he is!”

  “Well, and if he’s good enough for the Royal Navy, why, he ought to be good enough for the Winslow Company,” Nathan grinned. “Eat up, Laddie, then we’ll get you gainfully employed!”

  The interview with Laurence Strake took little time. Strake, a tall man with a lean face and sharp black eyes, shoved two papers toward Laddie. “Total up the figures on the one—and write a letter on the other,” he demanded. He sat there and waited, surprise crossing his face when Laddie totaled the figures faster than he himself could have done and got it right. The letter pleased him even more. “Why, it’s a fair hand you have, Smith! You’ve been well trained.” He nodded to Nathan, adding, “I’m satisfied, but you’ll have to gain Mr. Charles’s approval.”

  “No problem there, but we’ll have to go to the house. Come along, Laddie.” They took the carriage and arrived just in time for an early lunch with the family.

  “Now don’t be nervous, Laddie. My uncle isn’t a hard man.” The servant admitted them, and he led the boy straight to the dining room. Charles looked up in surprise, as did the others. “Sorry to interrupt your meal,” Nathan said hurriedly, “but when you finish, Uncle, could we have a word with you?”

  “What is it, Nathan?” Charles asked, looking curiously at Laddie. “Who’s this with you?”

  “This is Laddie Smith, sir—it’s a matter of business, but if you don’t mind . . . ?”

  Dorcas was staring at the pair, and she gave a quick frown toward her mother-in-law, then said sharply, “Get on with it, Nathan.”

  “Well, it’s just that I remembered you and Mr. Strake spoke of needing a clerk last week, and I’d like to recommend this young man.”

  “A clerk?” Charles frowned, then nodded absently. “I believe we did have that in mind.” He looked at Laddie more carefully, then said, “We’d thought of an older man—what’s your age?”

  “Oh, I took him by and Mr. Strake gave him a very strict examination,” Nathan spoke up quickly. “He’ll give you the result himself, but I can say he’s ready to employ Smith at once.”

  “Well, it’s Strake who’ll have to work with him, so you may consider yourself hired, young fellow.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Winslow,” Laddie said breathlessly. “I’ll do my best for you.”

  “By the way, Uncle, Laddie here has been a little under the weather lately, so would it be all right if he started work in a few days—just until he can get his strength up?”

  “He looks frail to me, Charles,” Martha said.

  “Clerks don’t have to lift anything heavier than a pen, Mother,” Charles said idly. “Yes, that’ll be all right, Nathan. Anything else?”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, we haven’t spoken of wages, but if we could find a room here, we could count that as part of his wages.”

  Dorcas suddenly straightened up, her interest piqued. “You are competent with figures—and a fair penman?”

  “I trust so, ma’am.”

  “Charles, Anne is doing very poorly with her studies. I suggest that it might be wise to let Smith have the room over the stable in exchange for lessons for her.”

  Always ready to do anything for his daughter, Charles gave Laddie a quick look, then asked, “Would this be acceptable with you, Smith?”

  “Why, I’m no teacher, Mr. Winslow, but I’ll give the young lady what pointers I can.”

  He put his hand out to Laddie, surprising the boy, and shook his hand warmly. “I’ll have the room put in order at once—and this would be a good place for you to recuperate. Nathan, you’ve done well.”

  Anne jumped up and ran around the table, “Mama, can I show Mr. Smith his room, please?”

  “All right, and tell Else to have it cleaned up.” Dorcas was tight with money, and it pleased her to think that she had managed to wring a free service out of the young man. “You can begin your tutoring at once, young man. And I’ll expect great improvement in my daughter’s work.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Laddie turned to follow Anne out of the room, but paused to stop and say quietly to Nathan, “I must thank you again, Mr. Winslow.”

  After the two had gone, Charles said as he headed for the door, “Seems a fine chap—but a bit frail, as Dorcas says. Known him long?”

  “Oh, not very—but I feel he’ll make you a good clerk.” “You’re very like your father, Nathan—the way you help people, I mean,” Charles said. He paused and looked into his nephew’s face. “I know Adam doesn’t think too much of me, but I must tell you, I’ve long considered him the most honest man I’ve ever known.” He paused; then a cloud crossed his face, and he said with a shrug as he wheeled to leave, “Indeed, perhaps the only honest man I’ve ever run across!”

  * * *

  A warm breeze drifted through the small window of Laddie’s room, bringing in the odor of freshly turned earth and the sound of the martins building a nest outside the window. The iron hand of winter had relaxed a few days earlier, and warm spring winds had stirred the land to life.

  Laddie looked down at the book before her, reading what she had written. Keeping a journal had never been a thing she cared to do, but in the isolation imposed by her secret, it had come to be a pleasure to be totally honest, even if only in a closely guarded journal. She looked back at the first entry, dated, Feb. 18, 1775, and smiled at the words: “

  Here I am, like Jonah out of the whale’s belly!”

  She shook her head, thinking I was pretty dramatic about everything then. But as she slowly turned the pages, it struck her now that there was something dramatic in her life. It was a role she had to play, and unlike real actors who got off the stage and had a life of their own, she was never off stage—except for times like this alone in her room. She had a flair for capturing scenes on paper, and knew that she could write fiction if she turned her hand to it. As she read her own rather breathless accounts—how she had managed to keep up the charade of being a man, how in this case she was almost found out, how in that case she learned another useful trick for adding to the illusion of masculinity—she grew sober, and looked out the window, musing. Sooner or later I’ll be found out. A girl can’t get by with pretending to
be a man forever. Then she gave her head a rebellious shake, and read the entry she’d just made:

  March 20, 1775

  I had a strange thought tonight. Ever since I’ve been here with the Winslows, I’ve been so afraid of being found out! But that seems unlikely. I’ve become a student of masculine behavior—how to walk, for example, which is nothing like the same act performed by a woman! How to listen to male profanity without blinking an eye. I even take a night off at times and return boasting of my conquests over some beautiful woman—which Nathan scoffs at, saying I’m too young for such. I’ve learned to act the role well, but it’s a hard thing!

  But the thought I had tonight—it wasn’t for me. For the first time I found myself worried about someone else. It comes to me now that I’m caught up in the Winslow family—only natural, since these people have become my whole world.

  Charles Winslow is not a good man, perhaps, but he’s treated me fairly enough. He is the half brother to Nathan’s father, and from what I gather the two are not alike.

  But Caleb is in trouble. I’ve seen how he’s been cut out of the family here—and it’s no wonder, since all these Winslows are Tories to the bone! He can’t talk to Nathan, that’s clear. So it came as little surprise when he began talking to me. I’m his age, and the only “man” he can speak to, so I’ve learned a lot from what he’s said.

  Nathan Winslow is the best young man in the world—but he’s so in love with that painted flirt Abigail Howland that he can’t see his own brother is being pushed outside!

  She slammed the journal shut, slipped it into a cloth cover, put that into a box, and then carefully placed it in the false bottom of a small chest packed with her things.