by Peter Roop
Henry was gone. Samantha had offered to take him to Williamsburg, but he turned her down, saying he had someone to meet on the way. She marveled at his stamina. He came home well after she had turned in. Even her sister Martha’s restless muttering in the bed they shared hadn’t kept Samantha awake last night.
When the first cardinal called she was eager to be off to Williamsburg. But now she had to wait for James to wash before Mama would serve breakfast.
Samantha walked up to the house. The smell of hot johnnycakes and maple syrup greeted her. She dipped a finger into the syrup and quickly licked it before Mama could catch her. Mama did, and she frowned at her youngest daughter.
“Is James ready?” Samantha asked, innocently.
“He’s changing,” Martha answered, sneering at her. “Samantha, you aren’t going to Williamsburg looking like that, are you?” she asked.
“Have you ever sailed a skiff in a skirt?” Samantha retorted.
“Mama, make her dress like a lady. I’ll die of embarrassment if any of my friends see her,” Martha complained.
Samantha made a face at her 17-year-old sister. She would be glad when Martha finally married—if any man would have her.
“Samantha, Martha’s right,” Mama said. “Change into your dress when you to get to Sarah’s house,” Mama ordered.
“But, Mama,” Samantha protested.
“Do as your mother says, Samantha,” Papa said, coming in behind her. He smelled of horses and hay. “It is only for the day.”
Samantha thought of the tight teal-colored dress hanging in her sister Sarah’s house. The color reminded her of a male mallard’s head, but the thought of wearing the breath-killing corset took away that pleasure. At least she could keep on her comfortable moccasins. They would be hidden under her long skirt.
“I’d sooner stand in the stocks than wear a dress all day.”
“I’m sure that could be arranged,” Mama said, bending over a pot of porridge bubbling in the fireplace.
Papa hid a smile behind his hand as he pretended to yawn.
It was useless to argue. If she persisted, she might not even be able to go to town. All of her hard work gathering oysters and crabs, trapping turtles, hunting game, would be wasted if she couldn’t get to town. Her dream of putting silver pennies into Papa’s hand to help buy land or to help send James to William and Mary would fizzle like rain-dampened gunpowder.
Samantha smiled to herself. I’ll wear the dress, she thought, and I’ll be the best-behaved young woman in Williamsburg. That will shock them.
James sat down at the long pine table. He had combed his hair and put on his best white linen shirt. He would ride to town with Mama, Martha, and Papa in the wagon pulled by Jasper, their plow horse. James would spend the day with his friend George Lee at William and Mary.
Martha chattered away about the friends she would meet, many of whom she hadn’t seen since they last visited Williamsburg. As she ate, Samantha thought of what a pleasant day that had been: eating, laughing, talking at Sarah’s home. Pleasant except for having to wear her dress. And for the men’s talk of Lord Dunmore.
“Dunmore is nothing but a pirate,” Sarah’s husband Lem had complained. “First, he steals our gunpowder, then he hides away on his ship on the York River and raids honest Virginia farmers. He threatened to bombard York. Now he’s inciting slaves to join him in his pirating.”
Papa had agreed, adding, “They pressed men and boys against their will to man their five ships.”
“I heard tell of a lad not much older than James and Samantha who drowned trying to escape from the Kingfisher,” Lem continued. “Something must be done to stop them. Are we Virginians going to do nothing while our cousins in Massachusetts shed their blood at Concord and Bunker Hill fighting against similar outrages?”
“But what can we do?” Mama had asked. “Lord Dunmore is still the Royal Governor of Virginia.”
“We can declare Virginia’s independency from England!” Papa exclaimed. “We’ll choose our own governor. Someone like Patrick Henry!”
This talk about war with England bored Samantha. She didn’t care who governed Virginia or any of the other 12 colonies. She wanted to be free to hunt, fish, and roam the woods and waters. Live and let live.
“I can join the militia,” James chimed in.
“You are not old enough,” Papa told him. “You have to wait until your 16th birthday.”
Samantha knew that was not necessarily true. Her 15-year-old cousin Matthew marched with the militia whenever the call to arms came. He’ll certainly be in town today, she thought. Maybe he’ll come back with us.
Matthew liked nothing better than to be with Samantha in her skiff, hunting, fishing, and trapping. However, his father, Papa’s older brother, John, a wealthy Williamsburg merchant, usually needed Matthew’s help at his store.
James dropped a spoon. The clatter startled Samantha out of her daydream.
“I’d better get started,” she said. “I need to be in town early to make the best deals. And the tide is running my way.”
“I wish you would let me carry some of your goods in my wagon,” Papa offered.
Samantha shook her head. “You have enough in your wagon already, Papa.”
“You’re as stubborn as your Ma,” Papa said, shaking his head.
Mama cleared her throat and looked at her husband. “Stubborn runs on both sides of the stream in this family,” she remarked. Then she looked at Samantha. “I expect you in your dress,” she said, arching her eyebrows.
Samantha stood and curtsied. “Yes, Mama,” she said sweetly.
Mama shook her head as Samantha grabbed her musket. She was out the door before Mama could scold her. She ran down the hill to their dock. Red-winged blackbirds balanced on the tops of reeds, swaying in the morning breeze. Ripples ran up the creek on the incoming tide. With the current and the wind going her way, Samantha would be in Williamsburg before the sun reached the treetops.
She bent down to untie the rope to her skiff. There was no rope.
Her heart dropped. There was no skiff!
The Fish Hawk was gone!
Chapter 5
Samantha anxiously searched the creek banks. No Fish Hawk. She had double hitched the painter rope last evening after fishing. If the rope had worked loose, the skiff would have drifted downstream on the outgoing tide last night. It could be anywhere now! Maybe even out onto the choppy waters of the James River.
“Where’s my boat?” she shouted.
A heron, startled at her outburst, winged its way over the water. Blackbirds lifted off the reeds. Tears welled up in Samantha’s eyes. She fought back the tears. The Fish Hawk wouldn’t have gone far. The drag of her crab pot would slow the boat, maybe even anchor her. She might even be grounded on a mud bank.
Papa’s old dugout canoe lay upside down on the bank under the wharf. Carefully setting her rifle on the dock, Samantha climbed down to the canoe. She dragged it to the water, stepping in over the tops of her leather moccasins. She didn’t care. She had to find the Fish Hawk.
Water seeped into the canoe through a crack running from bow to stern. She snatched a long stick, climbed into the canoe, and poled away from the shore. If the canoe sank, she would swim after her boat.
The incoming tide, her ally going upriver, was her enemy now, fighting her, pushing her opposite the way she wanted to go. Gritting her teeth, she jammed down the pole and strained against the stream. Slowly, she conquered the current and made headway.
She poled around one bend, then another. She struggled past a towering cedar, topped by an osprey’s nest. Her eyes darted along the shore, hoping her own osprey, her Fish Hawk, had stopped drifting.
The crack of a gun rode the breeze from around the next point. Someone hunting.
She dug the pole in again and again. Her arms ached, the muscles protesting at her determination.
She rounded the point and saw the Fish Hawk.
A man scrambled up the shore. Sama
ntha stared as he dashed into the dark forest. A bright red splotch of blood spread on his right shoulder.
“Sam!” a voice yelled.
She turned and looked back over her shoulder. Henry rammed a new ball down his musket. He had shot the man stealing her boat.
Samantha couldn’t stop now. She poled across the current and slid the canoe into the mud next to her skiff. She leaped from the dugout into her boat. A quick survey showed nothing damaged. Even her crab pot had been carefully pulled and stowed, the crabs crawling around in it looking for an escape route.
But who had taken her boat? And why?
Henry’s voice came over the water. “How about a ride home?” he called.
“I’m coming,” she hollered. She got out, shoved the skiff into deeper water, tied on the canoe, raised the sail, and within minutes had taken Henry aboard.
Chapter 6
“I winged him,” Henry said as he settled into the Fish Hawk.
Samantha poled the boat into the channel and cleated the sail. The breeze, along with the tide, pushed them upstream.
“Thank goodness you did, or he would have gotten away with my boat. Who was he?” Samantha asked. “Why was he stealing my boat?”
“I’m not sure,” Henry answered. “But there was something familiar about him.” Henry swatted a mosquito as it settled on his arm. “I reckon I don’t know why he was stealing your boat. Maybe he meant to sell your stuff down Newport way.”
“Your shot should teach him to keep his thieving hands off my boat,” Samantha stated.
“I’ve seen him somewhere,” Henry puzzled. “Just can’t recall when or where.”
Samantha had the same feeling that she had seen the man before but couldn’t recognize him. He wasn’t from any nearby farm or plantation. Strangers were rare in these parts, but with the unrest spreading …
Her thoughts were cut short as Henry suddenly shouted, “I know where I saw him. He was riding with Wormley on his hunt!”
“But you weren’t around during the hunt,” Samantha said.
Henry smiled. “I was keeping an eye on James until you got him under your wing again. I almost shot Wormley myself when he shot at James.”
“Why didn’t you?” Samantha asked, her anger flaring.
“You don’t think Wormley really tried to hit James, do you?”
Samantha thought for moment. “No, but he came dangerously close.”
“He wanted to scare James and scare Papa in the process.”
“Papa doesn’t scare.”
“But Wormley knows Papa wants some of his land, and he doesn’t plan to sell any to Papa. When Wormley leaves for England, it won’t make any difference.” Henry said that last part as if he knew a secret.
“Why are you so sure he’ll leave?” Samantha asked.
Henry grinned. “The Sons of Liberty have ways of persuading him,” Henry said mysteriously.
Samantha wondered what they were, but a gust of wind brought all of her attention to bear on keeping the Fish Hawk in the channel. They rounded the last bend before their wharf.
“Mind if I join you?” Henry asked. “I was meaning to go to Williamsburg later today.”
“I’d love it,” Samantha exclaimed, eager for more of Henry’s company. “I need to stop, leave Papa’s canoe, and fetch my musket.”
Samantha and Henry rode the wind and the tide towards Williamsburg. They watched the wilderness around them. Deer drank at the creek’s edge, their footprints crisscrossing the mud. A muskrat was building a lodge. Samantha planned to trap it later in the fall when its pelt was thick.
A blue heron cried, “Kraannkk. Kraannkk,” and flew downstream. Usually Samantha enjoyed the flight of the herons. Today, however, her thoughts returned to the strange man stealing her boat. “Henry, do you think Wormley was trying to get Papa angry by having his friend steal my boat?”
“Don’t rightly know. Makes sense to me. He’d like nothing better than to get Papa riled so he would have an excuse for doing him some more harm.”
“Why does Wormley hate Papa so much?”
“Has something to do with the French and Indian War. Papa and Wormley served in the same brigade. They were close friends then. But something happened that turned them into enemies.”
“It’s not Papa wanting independency and Wormley being a Tory?” Samantha asked. “After all, that war ended in 1763, when I was just a year old.”
“It goes deeper than Papa wanting the British out of Virginia,” Henry explained. “It has something to do with Papa’s leg wound.”
Samantha meant to ask Papa about this when they met in Williamsburg.
Henry turned his gaze upon Samantha. “Sam, it would be best if you didn’t say anything to Papa about the boat being stolen and me shooting that stranger.”
“But …” Samantha protested.
Henry continued. “You can tell him later, after I’ve had time to check something. Promise me, Sam.”
Samantha hesitated, then said, “I promise. It’s the Sons of Liberty, isn’t it?”
Henry nodded.
Samantha adjusted the sheet, pretending to trim the full sail even though it didn’t need it.
“Listen,” Henry said, pointing upstream.
Samantha cocked an ear. At first she did not hear a sound. Gradually, she heard faint cries punctuated with the bleating of sheep. They were near Williamsburg, and the fair was well under way. They rounded two more bends. Samantha saw the red brick buildings of the College of William and Mary.
“I’ll tie up at Uncle John’s pier,” Samantha said, steering the Fish Hawk with one hand while she released the sheet, spilling the air from the sail. The boat glided the last few feet to the dock, bumping it gently. Henry leaped out, the painter in his hand. He quickly tied off the boat. With Henry’s help, Samantha unloaded the Fish Hawk in less than five minutes.
“Hey, Sam,” someone called. Samantha looked up and saw her cousin Matthew coming her way. “I’ll help you with those things.”
“I’ll see you at home this evening, Sam,” Henry said.
Henry turned, smacked Matthew on the back, headed up the dirt path into town, and disappeared into the crowd.
Matthew said, “Anything here for Pa?”
Samantha’s mouth dropped open like a gasping fish.
Thomas Wormley melted into the crowd behind Henry.
Chapter 7
“Matthew, stay here and watch my things,” Samantha ordered. “I’ll be right back.” Samantha was gone before he could protest. She ran up the bank and stood on her tiptoes to try to see Henry. Too many people blocked her view. She pushed past housewives and cooks doing their day’s shopping. Farmers stood by baskets of eggs, tubs of butter and cheese, and live chickens. Vendors called out their wares. One sold fresh fish. Another hawked oysters and crabs. Some had freshly slaughtered or live cattle for sale. On fair day, one could buy or trade everything from apples to bullet lead.
Children dashed here and there, chasing dogs or being chased. Pigs in makeshift pens grunted. Sheep bleated noisily. There were puppet shows and cockfights. On the green, someone was tuning a fiddle.
After the quiet on the creek, the noise of the fair overwhelmed Samantha. She darted hither and yon looking for Henry’s brown weather-beaten hat. She also kept her eyes peeled for Thomas Wormley.
After half an hour of searching she gave up. As she walked back she hoped Matthew had stayed with her things. He had. Much to her pleasure he had even carried the perishable items up the bank. He stopped when he saw Samantha coming.
“Sam, where in the world did you rush off to?” he asked. “You ran off like you’d seen a ghost.”
Samantha hesitated, not sure just how much to tell Matthew. Besides Henry and James, he was the closest person she had to another brother. “Oh, we had some trouble with Thomas Wormley yesterday. Then today someone stole Fish Hawk. I saw Wormley trailing Henry, but I could not catch either one.”
“Let’s shift this stuff,” sa
id Matthew. “I’ll help you set up a place outside Father’s store like you usually do. If you can sell most of this by noon, we can spend the afternoon enjoying the fair.”
“Thank you, Matthew,” Samantha said, knowing full well that Henry and Wormley might not be in Williamsburg by then. They could be in a tavern discussing trade or arguing. As a girl she could not enter a tavern to find them.
If only she were a boy.
Together Samantha and Matthew lugged the turtles, crabs, oysters, and other things she had to sell. Matthew had placed a long board across two barrels outside his father’s store.
“Can you sell while I change my clothes?” Samantha asked Matthew. “Mama will have a fit if she sees me in these clothes. She, Papa, Martha, and James should be here soon. I won’t be long.” Samantha picked half a dozen of her best crabs out of the pot and dropped them in a burlap sack.
“I’d be glad to, Sam,” Matthew said. “Father doesn’t need me today. Says I’ll just get underfoot.”
“Thank you,” Samantha called over her shoulder as she ran down a side street and up an alley to her sister Sarah’s home.
Samantha stood on the steps for a moment, catching her breath. She pushed thoughts of Wormley and Henry out of her head. She took a deep breath and lifted the latch. She had to leave the world of the woods behind and become a proper young woman. It was easy for Samantha to switch roles. It didn’t last long, and she made a game of it. But oh, that corset would be the death of her. Maybe she could get away without wearing it, she thought, or at least persuade Sarah not to tie it too tight.
The smell of bread hot from the oven greeted Samantha as she opened the door. She stood her musket in the corner as her niece and nephew tumbled around her like puppies.
“You smell all smoky,” said Luke, the older child.
“That’s from a campfire in the woods to scare off the bears,” she growled at him.
“You don’t look like a girl,” Luke’s sister Mary said.
“That’s because I’m both a boy and a girl,” she said. She bowed like a boy, whisked off her hat, curtsied like a lady, and showered her red hair over her niece.
