The Gentle Rebel

by Gilbert, Morris

  Laddie said what the girl wanted to hear, and as they danced another dance, then a third, she began to be amused. They went to the table several times, and one tall young man attempted to claim Faith, but she said, “Oh, later, Hawk.”

  “Who is he?” Laddie asked. She looked over the girl’s shoulder and got an angry stare from the young man that sobered her. “Is that your young man, Miss Thomas?”

  “Oh, he thinks he is,” she said with a smile; then she shrugged and said, “He’s jealous—but he doesn’t own me.”

  Dan had moved to one of the chairs by the wall, taking a seat by Ezra Parker, who had stared at him in amazement. “Preacher! I never thought I’d see the day.”

  Dan had grinned at him. “Thee won’t come to meeting, Friend Ezra, so I’ve come to convert thee at a party.”

  “Well, fly right at it!” Ezra had a fondness for the young minister, and a deep respect that he gave to few men. He made no claims to be religious, but he had said often, If I ever go get religion—it’ll be the brand that young feller’s got! He sat there, and the two of them talked as the party went on. Several times Ezra excused himself, left the room and came back smelling strongly of alcohol, and most of the young men in the room did the same. As it grew late, Ezra brought Dan some apple cider, saying, “Don’t reckon that’ll hurt yore conscience, will it?”

  “No. It’s fine.”

  He spoke quietly, and Ezra followed his gaze to the couples on the floor. Then he said gently, “That young soldier—he was right sick, I hear?”

  “Very ill, Friend Ezra.”

  The light blue eyes of Parker gleamed, and he said gently, “Well, he’s apt to be a heap sicker ’fore long, Friend Daniel.”

  “What’s that?” The Quaker stared at the tall, lanky man. “What does thee mean, Friend Ezra?”

  “Wal, you know lots of Bible, Reverend, but you ain’t too swift on young folks and partyin’—’course, you ain’t had no practice. You ain’t seen what’s been shapin’ up, have you?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Why, look at that!” Ezra pointed across the room and there was a wicked grin on his lips. “See my boy Hawk? You know he’s been keeping company with Faith Thomas. He’s already busted up two or three pretty strong young bucks when they come a’sniffin’ around her! And looks like that leetle soldier is ’bout to have a dose of the same!”

  Dan looked up with a startled expression, and one glimpse of what was happening across the room brought him to his feet, but quickly as he moved, he saw with dismay that it was too late.

  Laddie had been amused by the situation, but after an hour of it, suddenly it had seemed silly. As the music ended, she moved with Faith to the table, and started to excuse herself so that she could go sit with Dan, but a rough hand suddenly seized her shoulder, whirling her about, and she found herself staring into the icy eyes of Hawk Parker. He had been drinking, and there was a raw rage in his sharp features.

  Laddie struggled to free herself, but there was steel in the grip. “I guess you think that uniform makes you something special?” he said loudly.

  “You’re drunk, Hawk!” Faith said angrily.

  “No, I ain’t drunk—just want to let this here pretty boy of a soldier know he can’t come around here and steal my girl!”

  “Let go of me,” Laddie said, struggling to free herself, and she caught a glimpse of Daniel hurrying across the room with alarm on his face. “I don’t want . . . !”

  “I don’t gave a hoot what you want!” Hawk yelled, and with the speed of a striking snake he whipped his fist around and struck Laddie in the temple!

  Laddie never saw the blow; bright lights flashed suddenly; then she sank into blackness, never feeling the hard floor that she fell back on.

  Hawk stared at her with confusion in his eyes. He was very strong and accustomed to fighting strong men, so when his fist sent Laddie sailing back unconscious, he stood there confused by the cries of the women.

  Daniel got there too late to stop the blow, but the sight of Laddie lying loosely on the floor with her face reddened by the blow triggered a black rage that he had not thought possible. His hand shot out, and he caught young Parker by the arm, whirling him around.

  The liquor had befuddled the young man, and he was glad to see a strong man in front of him. He struck out at the minister wickedly, catching Daniel in the mouth with a tremendous blow, yelling loudly, “You keep out of this, preacher!”

  He expected Greene to go down, for he had hit him as hard as he had ever hit any man, but the blow seemed to have no effect! The Quaker simply ignored it, and then he sent a terrible blow that smashed young Parker between the eyes. It drove the light out of his eyes, sent him hurtling back, and when he struck the wall, he was already unconscious.

  The sound of Parker crashing into the wall brought sanity back to Greene, and he stood there horrified at the way the young man fell to the floor as if he were boneless.

  There was a sudden silence, and then Ezra was beside him, looking down at the still form of his son. There was something like awe in his light blue eyes as he stared at the minister, and then he whistled softly and said, “Well—reckon you done the necessary, Friend Daniel—but I shore never thought any one feller could put the lights out on Hawk with one lick!”

  “Is he—all right?” Daniel asked faintly. He felt sick and wanted to leave, for the shame of his violence seared his spirit.

  “Oh, he’ll have a sore head—but I would have whopped him with an axe handle anyway—for hittin’ the soldier when he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t raised like that!”

  Dan whirled and moved to where Laddie lay. He picked her up and carried her out of the room. Not one word was said until he passed through the door; then he heard the room humming wildly.

  He was so shaken by the incident that he walked blindly down the lane. He had never struck another man in anger, and his mind swirled with the scene: he saw Parker’s face as he reeled backward and hit the wall.

  “Let me down!”

  “What?” He realized that Laddie was struggling, trying to free herself. He set her down at once, and she swayed and held on to him for support. “I’d better carry thee.”

  “No! I—I’m just a little dizzy.” She stood there, holding lightly to his arm, and they could hear a faint sound of music as the fiddles struck up again. She gave a rueful smile and touched her temple. “Never brought the New Year in like this,” she said.

  He looked soberly at her and shook his head. “Neither did I.”

  “What happened—after he hit me?”

  He stood there silently, and the silver light of the moon highlighted his features, painting his cheeks and throwing the hollows of his eyes into shadows. “I hit him,” he said slowly, and he added after a moment, “I didn’t know I had such capacity for hate in me.”

  She didn’t move, but stood there looking up into his face, and what she saw was sorrow. She had heard enough of the Quaker faith to know how important it was for a man never to strike out, and she saw the raw pain in his eyes. “Dan—” she said softly, using his first name unconsciously, “don’t feel bad. It was all my fault! I made a fool of myself!”

  He didn’t answer, and the silence grew heavy, broken only by the sound of a dog barking sharply at some unknown foe. Finally he shook his head and his shoulders drooped. “It’s not your fault. I’ve been tried out before, Julie. All the time I was growing up there were boys who heard that Quakers would never fight—and more than once I’ve taken a blow in the face—and never hit back. Not until tonight.”

  She was shocked to see his firm lips tremble, and she whispered, “Dan—Dan, you were just trying to help me!” The pain he felt was so palpable it seemed to be ripping him apart, and she knew that the ugly incident had shaken his faith. She hated herself for provoking this doubt, and she reached up, not conscious of what she was doing, and put her hands on his cheeks. It was the gesture she would have used to comfort a child that had been terribly hurt, and
she whispered, “Please don’t grieve, Dan! I can’t stand to see you hurt like this!”

  Her eyes, he saw, were filled with tears, and her closeness suddenly shook him. He had long since mastered his emotions, never allowing them to rule any part of his life—but his guard was down. The raw rage that had exploded had left him empty, and now he was aware only that she was lovely in the moonlight, and that she cared for him.

  There was no thought in what he did then. Her hands were warm on his cheeks, her lips half open, and she looked up with pleading in her luminous eyes. He put his arms around her, and she gave him one startled look, but she did not draw back. And when he slowly lowered his head and kissed her, there was a trembling innocence in her lips that shook him. Her hands on his cheeks were suddenly still, but as he held her closer, filled suddenly by a hunger, she put her hands behind his head pulling him close.

  When he lifted his lips, she whispered, “Dan . . . !” and then she gave a sob and moved away from him.

  The kiss had shaken him worse than the fight, and he stood there struggling with his thoughts. Finally he said, “We’d better get on.”

  “Yes!” She gave a half gasp, and they walked without speaking. The only sound was the crunch of snow under their feet.

  Finally they got to the house, and he stopped her before they went inside. “I’m sorry—that I kissed thee.”

  She shook her head, and when she lifted her face, he saw the tears had made silver tracks down her cheeks. “I’m ashamed . . .” she whispered, and then she felt the deep sobs rising in her, and she whirled and dashed into the house.

  He stood there, staring into the house, and finally he went to bed. But not to sleep. All night he lay there with his eyes open wide, staring blindly at the ceiling. He lived out the scene over and over, and the thought rose to torment him: But she’s another man’s woman! He tried to pray, but the heavens were brass. He cried out in agony to God, but his heart felt dead in his breast.

  Laddie wept until there were no tears left, and then she sat staring vacantly out the window at the moonlit landscape. The very peaceful look of the fields and trees were a contrast to the storm that went on inside her.

  When morning came, it was a relief to leave the bed, but breakfast was a quiet, strained affair. They looked at one another over the table, and though they smiled and spoke, Sister Greene went still, for she sensed that something had changed, and it brought fear into her heart for the first time she could remember.

  They were almost finished with breakfast when there was the sound of a wagon stopping outside. Boots sounded on the steps; then a knock came. “I’ll get it, Mother,” Daniel said quickly. “I asked Edward Rollins to come by this morning.” He moved to the door and opened it, but the greeting that was on his lips failed as he stared at the man who filled the doorway.

  “Where’s Laddie?”

  Nathan’s voice was sharp, and then he saw Laddie over Greene’s shoulder, and shoved past the minister, his face breaking out into a wild grin. “Laddie! You’re all right!” He reached out and grabbed her with a wild hug, not noticing her pale face. “I’ve been about crazy, Laddie, thinking you might be dead, and here you are, healthy as a bear!”

  Laddie swayed as he shook her, and with a smile said, “Nathan—I’m so glad you’re back!” Then she turned and looked straight into the eyes of Friend Daniel Greene, and said quietly, “Now I won’t have to be a burden to these good people any more!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  THE GUNS OF TICONDEROGA

  Henry Knox had not lost a pound, insofar as Laddie could tell. She had gone out with Nathan to the camp, and to her surprise, Daniel had accepted Nathan’s invitation to go along. As they approached the site, Nathan pointed to where a group of soldiers were working on an enormous gun on a sled. “Look at the general, Laddie,” Nathan grinned. “This trip has worn all the rest of us down to skin and bone—but Henry Knox stays fat as a seal!”

  “Well, I see you didn’t die, Sergeant!” Knox spotted them, and came to smile down at her. His cheeks were red and he was bristling with enormous energy. “By Harry, if I’d known you were going to live, I’d have had you at work rounding up oxen for me!” He gave a look at the worn animals that stood with lowered heads, eating listlessly.

  “They’re not going to make it, General,” Nathan commented. “We’ve got to have some fresh animals. Maybe General Schuyler can help some more.”

  General Philip Schuyler, a wealthy New York State patrician, had secured eighty specially built sledges and eighty yoke of oxen. But thawed, mushy ground had hindered the caravan, and finally the snow came. The drivers had had to lash their beasts forward, the sledges slipping and sliding on runners. The capricious weather had tormented them, and now many of the oxen were useless.

  “You’ve been here a month, Sergeant,” Knox said. “We need some patriots to help us get these guns to General Washington. Who would that be?”

  Laddie said impulsively, “Captain Knox, I guess you’re looking at him. This is Daniel Greene. I think he could get you some help—and he’s a nephew of General Nathanael Greene.”

  “Well! Let me shake your hand, sir!” Knox beamed broadly and pumped Greene’s hand vigorously. “Your relative is, in my opinion, the best of our young generals—I know that His Excellency shares that belief. Now, Mr. Greene, we must have oxen!” He gave the minister no chance to speak, but pulled him along the line of sleds, pointing out their virtues as if they were his beloved children. “We have fifty-eight pieces—four-pounders to twenty-four pounders. Beautiful, aren’t they? And here is my favorite—” He rested his hand tenderly on one giant and said lovingly, “The men call this one The Old Sow—not a pretty name, but she’ll do to shell the Redcoats out of Boston!”

  “Sir—” Dan tried to speak, but Knox was a hard man to stop.

  “We’ve brought this ordnance two hundred miles through the worst weather and over the worst roads in America! Everyone said it couldn’t be done! And we have twenty-three crates of shot and one barrel of fine-quality British flints—all of which had to be freighted down Lake George in a collection of pirogues and batteaux.”

  “General Knox,” Dan interrupted, “I—I must tell you—that I cannot help in this work.” He gave Laddie a reproachful glance, then added, “I am one of the Friends—a Quaker, as you say. And it is against our doctrine to engage in war.”

  Knox stared at him steadily, then said, “General Greene is a Quaker, but he has thrown himself into the cause.”

  “I cannot answer for him—only for myself.”

  Knox’s good-natured faced reddened. “I’m not asking you to fight—just to help with freighting equipment.” He had spoken harshly, but he caught himself, and said reasonably, “Two groups have suffered much at the hands of the English—the Baptists and the Quakers. The Baptists have thrown themselves into this struggle, for they well know that if we do not free this land from English tyranny, they’ll be crushed. Your own sect has been persecuted in England and in this country as well. If you will not fight, I call upon you to at least help in this way.”

  “I cannot do it.” Daniel turned and walked away, his back stiff and unyielding.

  Knox stared at him, then turned to Laddie. “I don’t know what to make of such men!” Then he shrugged and said, “You two do the best you can. I’ve already sent to the villages close by, but we’ve got to have those oxen! If the British decide to attack, it may all be over!”

  He stalked away, shouting furiously at a private who had let one of the cannon shift, then called back, “We’ll take two days—have all the oxen you can ready by then. Promise them anything—but get them here!”

  “I’ll get my things,” Laddie said, turning to go, but Nathan stopped her. There was a gleam in his light blue eyes and a quirk of humor turned the corners of his generous mouth upward.

  “No, you stay there, Laddie. I’ll scout around by myself—but you can do more good where you are. I want you to make that Quaker fight! Somehow the
re’s got to be a way to make a patriot out of Friend Daniel Greene, and I want you to find it!”

  January 2, 1776

  I’ve tried to talk to Dan about helping us get the guns to Boston, but he won’t do it. Nathan says that the people here won’t volunteer, but he said if Dan would help, others would follow. Dan’s such a good man—but stubborn!

  Laddie stared at the words she’d just written despondently; then she gritted her teeth and began to write again, and there was a grim determination in her face.

  I think I know why Dan won’t help, and it has nothing to do with his religion. Ever since Nathan came back, Dan’s hated me! He thinks that Nathan and I are lovers, and he’s jealous! I’ve suspected for weeks that he has feelings for me, and when he kissed me after the fight, he almost came out and said he loved me. But he thinks I’m bad!

  I’m going to tell him the truth! And I have to be honest about this, hard as it is—I think it might make Dan change his mind about helping with the guns if he knew the truth—but it’s more than that. When he kissed me, I felt—oh, I don’t know how I felt! But I do know that if I wasn’t in love with Nathan, I’d never find a man that I’d be more likely to love than Dan!

  She laid down the pen, carefully closed the journal, and put it away. It was early, but she knew that Dan and his mother took that time of the day to read the Bible and pray. She found them both in the small kitchen and said abruptly, “I have something to tell you both.” They looked up, startled, and Laddie felt her face flush, but plunged ahead, “Last year my father died and left me in the charge of my uncle, Aaron Sampson . . .”

  They sat there staring at her as she narrated her history, including the parts about Caleb’s death, as well as revealing Nathan’s love for Abigail Howland. Finally she said, “It’s been hard, and I should have told you this a long time ago. You’ve been so good to me—even though you both thought I was a lewd woman living with soldiers.”