Gabriel looked at his belongings dumped into the sand. These few things — his note, knife, flint rock, drum sticks, canteen, fishing line and hook, coins, and the ring in his pocket — were all of his worldly possessions. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Of all these things, he picked up the one that was most precious to him, the note his mother had written him. She had written it shortly after she became ill. She was always so optimistic, thought Gabriel. Even when she wrote the note, it was clear she truly believed she would get better.
He read the note often, not just to bring back memories of his mother, but also because he could never quite figure out what it was that his mother was trying to say. He once thought his mother must have had the fever and wasn’t thinking straight when she wrote it, but her handwriting was clear with not one waver of her pen.
His mother had always loved poetry, which accounted for the poetic style of the note, but as with other poems Gabriel had read, the meaning was foggy and seemed to change from one day to the next. Still, reading it always gave him a strange sense of hope.
So Gabriel laid his back down in the soft sand, held the note up to the glittering green canopy overhead, and read it once more.
To my darling son, Gabriel
You are the light of my life, my joy, my peace, my gift from God. In you flows a river of strength that you as yet count to be a mere babbling brook. Just as I grew up watching the rushing waters of the Seine, so too I will spend the rest of my days watching the river of strength grow in you. For it is to the heights of the Seine that you may wish to go one day.
The decision will be yours, my son, whether you will enter the house on the heights that changes stone to silver, rocks to rubies, and water to wine. To pass through that door, there is a price, and one only you can pay. The price was too high for me, and so I find myself here — a sacrifice I have not made, for the joy of my life is priceless. Look at what surrounds me. What more could I want? I pray you may know the same, but soon the choice will be yours, and whatever it may be, my love for you will follow. Gabriel, I have so much to tell you as the seasons turn, but for now, let me tell you this: I love you more than life itself.
Your most loving mother
Gabriel folded the note back up in its wax paper cover and stuck it into his pocket. It did not make any more sense to him now than it had the hundreds of other times he had read it. He knew the Seine was in France, but then there was the “decision” Gabriel’s mother had said he must make about entering a house. That made no sense to him at all. What decision would there be about whether or not to enter a house? Either you walk through the door, or you don’t. What difference would it make? Was this some magical house that could somehow change you once you entered the door?
Still, there was one thing perfectly clear about the note: his mother had loved him dearly. This thought saddened Gabriel. His mother was not able to tell him more as she had promised, because her illness worsened the day after she wrote the note. Her fever intensified, and she died only a few days later. Why hadn’t she told him more? He wished she were still alive and could explain these things to him. But he had wished that thousands of times, and it never came true.
He was tired now. The sand was so soft, he thought of just spending the night here and having a nice fire. It wouldn’t be too long before it was dark, and the thought of venturing on to only find another restless night on hard ground sealed the decision in his mind. He would stay put.
Gabriel gathered some wood and, using his knife and flint rock, soon started a fire. He stuck his knife in the sand and leaned back, watching the growing darkness reveal the heavenly dusting of stars that began to fill the sky. Looking off to the northwest, he could see tall puffy clouds on the horizon. The bright white contours of the clouds were accentuated by the blackening sky. As he watched the clouds, they seemed to grow before his eyes, their tops ascending like a boiling froth of water. The sun continued to sink, causing the clouds to turn shades of pink and purple. Watching the amazing display of colors, Gabriel saw a flash of lightning bounce around in the tops of the clouds. The flash of lightning confirmed what these clouds were: thunderheads.
Well, he thought, I may get wet tonight, but at least I’ll have a soft bed here in the sand.
Gabriel always liked thunderstorms. He found their awesome display of power through lightning and wind fascinating. He could remember times in his room above the bookstore when he tried to stay awake just so he could see an approaching storm. The window in his room faced to the west and displayed the lightning dancing over the rooftops of the city.
Once, he had been woken up by the sound of hail pelting the roof. He ran to his mother and father’s room, not because he was scared, but because he wanted to go outside to collect these marbles of ice that fell from the sky. His mother discouraged the idea but could not thwart his enthusiasm, so she and his father finally consented. He ran about in the street, being pelted by hail but still managing to collect a handful of the ice pellets. They melted quickly, but not before Gabriel could examine the strange rings on them like that on the stump of a chopped down tree. He wondered what caused these rings to form and how it was that ice fell from the sky when it was so warm outside. This was just one more of nature’s strange mysteries he wanted to solve.
On this night, try as he might, Gabriel could not stay awake to view the approaching thunderstorm. The night grew dark, and the fire began to die. He heard the distant rumble of thunder as he drifted off to sleep.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, when he awoke to a loud rumble of thunder and saw another flash in the sky. He felt large drops of rain begin to fall. He grabbed his blanket pulled it over himself as a shield from the rain. He wanted to get a good night’s rest and start out early in the morning to ensure he would reach Marlborough that day. Rather than keeping him awake, the low rumble of thunder and the pattering of the rain quickly put him back into a sound sleep.
An hour or so must have passed, when a loud crack and a rushing sound awakened him. Gabriel felt wetness flowing all around him. As he began to gain his senses, he thought the rain must have been pouring down hard. It was as if he was lying in water. He then felt water flowing into his ears, over his eyes, nose, and mouth. He threw off his blanket and raised his head.
A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, and in the instant of its flash, Gabriel saw he was no longer lying on a dry, sandy beach but was now surrounded by the river. The water was rising so rapidly he felt it working its way up his chest as he sat straight up. A panic suddenly hit him, and he was fully awake. “My drum, my coins, my knife . . . where are they?”
He turned onto his hands and knees, feeling around on the sand beneath the ever-rising water. He couldn’t see or feel anything.
The storm grew more violent. The wind creaked branches overhead, and another bolt of lightning shot from the sky. The glow that filled the sky illuminated a small object that appeared to be floating away from him. “My drum!” he shouted. Without even thinking about the depth of the water or the force of its flow, Gabriel stamped out closer to the middle of the flowing torrent. He could now see the strap of his drum was caught on a branch sticking out of the rushing water. Bobbing up and down, it looked as if it might slide off the branch at any minute.
Gabriel walked further out toward the branch and could now feel the water trying to lift him off his feet. He reached out as far as he could, not wanting to venture any deeper. His fingertips worked their way up the stick. Stretching as far as he could, he bent the branch toward him and grabbed the strap of his drum. As he did, the stick broke. He yanked at the strap and began reeling in the drum. He had it.
Another lightning bolt crashed nearby, and Gabriel could now clearly see the dangerous position he was in. All around him were high banks of the river. He couldn’t climb up out of the water, at least not here. But he knew he had entered the sandy beach without jumping down off a steep embankment, so he decided to try and head back upstream to the beach he h
ad just left. He turned and took a step back the way he’d come, but the force of the flowing water was so strong it nearly knocked him down. He knew that, no matter what, he had to keep his feet under him. If he fell and was pulled under by this flooding river, he would drown.
Gabriel saw the roots of giant oaks overhead sticking out from the banks, so he walked at an angle against the current until he reached the tangle of roots. He grabbed hold and pulled his way from one root to the next. His drum, now slung over his shoulder, bobbed along behind him. The rain still poured down, pelting his face, making it even harder to see in the darkness. He could feel the stony river bottom under his shoes and knew he had not yet reached the beach.
Standing straight up now, Gabriel realized the water had reached his chest. The more it rose, the harder it was for him to move upstream. Soon it would be over his head. He reached the last of the roots that he could grasp. As he looked up, he saw the steep embankment slope down to the water. He took one more step and felt the sandy bottom. He’d have to walk the rest of the way out without holding onto anything. Exhausted from forcing his way through the current, he took careful steps along the sandy bottom. He stumbled on something on the riverbed and began to fall, but he regained his balance by turning himself sideways to the current and spreading his legs wide.
Gabriel felt around carefully with his foot and found the object that had tripped him. Whatever it was, it was sticking straight up out of the sand. Then he realized what it could be. He remembered sticking his knife in the sand just before drifting off to sleep.
To pick it up, he would have to immerse himself in the river — something he had desperately tried to avoid. Still, a knife might be essential to his survival. Without another thought, he quickly counted to three and knelt down into the raging water.
The force of the water knocked him back as he held his breath. He hunched up into a ball and crawled forward, the glow of lightning eerily filtered through the water above him. He felt around on the ground, clouding the water with sand, which now drove into his face, pelting his skin and blocking his vision. All he could do was feel for the knife. He groped on the bottom for nearly a minute and was about ready to give up. He only hoped that when he came up for air, the water would not be over his head.
As he began to push upward off the bottom, his hand touched something. He grabbed it and shot up out of the water. He reached the surface and gasped. The water was to his chin now and sweeping his feet from under him. Desperately, he tried to reach down with his feet. As he stretched out his legs, his face tipped forward in the water. He now felt his whole body begin to float on the current. Gabriel stuck his foot down one last time. It hit the bottom and he pushed off as hard as he could and dove toward the shore.
His body splashed hard in the water. Both his feet found the sandy bottom, and again he dove forward. The water was only up to his chest now, and he clamored up and out of the water. Gasping for breath, he ran senselessly through some brush, away from the raging sound of the flooded river filling the air behind him. Branches whipped his face. Running in the darkness, not once, but twice he ran into a hard tree, which knocked him back. He regained his balance, grabbed tight to his drum, and lunged forward.
A third time, his shin hit something hard. Pain shot up his leg. He collapsed onto the wet ground, landing on some fallen branches that pushed into his gut.
Frightened but alive, he listened for the river, but all he could hear was the pelting rain through the trees. He thought of the warm bed he had at the Fleming’s farm. Malinda’s smile. He started to cry. He did not move again.
H 14 H
THE TELLING
OF THE TREASURE
Gabriel woke to birds singing overhead. His clothes were still soaked, reminding him of what had happened the night before. The sun was already high in the sky, and the air was still, humid, and heavy. He rose. His drum was still strapped around his back and swung to his side. It was dented and waterlogged but appeared to still be playable. He went to lift the strap over his head, but his hand was still grasping something. His fingers were wrapped so tightly around the object that his fingers ached. He held up his hand to his face and saw he was holding his knife. His knife! He had saved his knife. He nearly drowned, but he saved his knife. He lifted the drum strap the rest of the way off his shoulder and sat back down.
He took an inventory of what he had lost. His drumsticks must surely have been swept away. The current would also have carried away the flint rock, canteen, and fishing line. And his coin pouch . . . it would be gone. Without coppers, how could he get food to eat? Gabriel put his head between his hands and gave his thick wet hair a yank.
AHHHHH!” he shouted in frustration, his voice echoing through the trees. “How could I let this happen? How could I be so foolish, sleeping next to a river in a downpour?”
With the torrent gone, Gabriel slogged back through the thick underbrush in his soggy shoes until he came to the water. He found himself conjuring up hateful thoughts against the river that had taken his coins and his flint. What did a river need with coppers and a flint, anyway? The water was still covering the sandy beach, but it was not nearly as deep or swift as it was the night before.
He stepped down into the water. It was murky. All he could do was bend over and feel around for any sign of the coin pouch. Not feeling anything, he knew if the raging river had been strong enough to sweep him off his feet, it surely had the strength to sweep away his coins. The pouch was gone, and nothing could bring it back. Gabriel kicked at the water and stood for a moment looking out over the flowing river. It didn’t know or care that he had lost so much. It just flowed along as if nothing had happened.
Gabriel sloshed back out of the water and returned to his drum and knife. As he walked, he felt around in his pockets. His most precious possessions were still there. His ring. His mother’s note, safe and amazingly dry from being wrapped in wax paper. And he had kept a few shillings out of his pouch that were still in his pocket. “Well,” said Gabriel, “what’s done is done. I can’t go back and change what happened.” Still, he felt foolish for having chosen to sleep so close to a shallow streambed.
He would reach Marlborough before nightfall. Along with having no coins other than the few shillings he had in his pocket, Gabriel had no food and would soon be growing hungry. He stuck his knife carefully between his ankle and his shoe, pulled the drum strap back over his shoulder, and walked back toward the road.
It was nightfall by the time he reached town. A few lights blazed from a tavern window on the main road. He had four coppers to buy enough food to make it to Cambridge. He dried off on his walk from Worcester, but he still must have looked ragged: everyone in the tavern turned to look at him as he stepped through the door.
“Come in, come in,” sang a bright-faced man holding a pewter mug in each hand. Everyone returned to their business as Gabriel looked for a seat. The tavern was packed. There was only one empty chair at a table where a strange old man with a scruffy beard already sat. Gabriel tried not to stare, but he couldn’t help noticing that the man had a large, wide scar that went across his entire face all the way up to his ear, which seemed to have been cut half off.
The bright-faced man set down the mugs at a wooden table surrounded by laughing men. He turned with a chortle and walked over to Gabriel. “Now, what can I bring this fine young man?” he asked, peering down into Gabriel’s eyes.
“All I have is four coppers for food. Bread and dried meat would be best, as I want to return to the road yet tonight. I’m off to join the patriots,” He hoped the bright-faced man would take pity and perhaps give him more to eat.
“Very well, very well . . . I’ll give you a bit of fresh bread and meat for your meal tonight, and I’ve got some cooking bread and some scrap meat I’ll pack up for you.”
“The lad needs a drink, Mr. Fletcher,” said the strange man sitting across from Gabriel in a gruff voice. “Bring him a mug of cider, on me.”
“Very well, Mr. T
ew.” The bright-faced Fletcher turned to the bar.
Gabriel nodded to the stranger sitting across from him. “Thank you, sir,” The man merely stared at him. He tried not to stare back at the large scar.
The two sat in silence. Mr. Fletcher returned to Gabriel with food and a mug. He was famished, but before he could take a bite, the stranger raised his mug to him without saying a word. Gabriel looked at him and slowly raised his own mug. “To you and me,” said the man. “May the good Lord bless us richly.”
The man clinked his mug to Gabriel’s, sloshing some cider out onto the table. Then he tipped his mug up and seemed to drain the cup in one long swallow. Gabriel took a sip. It was hard cider to say the least. It was all he could do to take a sip, let alone a swallow.
“The Lord only helps them which help themselves, my boy. Ye know that, don’t ye” said the stranger, slapping his mug down on the table. Before Gabriel could answer, the man went on, “Boston, Boston, that’s where ye be headed, isn’t it, lad? To seek fame and glory and riches. I was once a lad your age, seekin’ adventures. I found mine on a ship, mind ye, a privateer’s ship. Now, some folks calls us pirates, but we was always gentlemen, so we could rightly call ourselves the king’s privateers. Eat now, lad. Don’t ya let that fine meat go to waste.”
Gabriel, without taking his eyes off the man, slowly picked up the rib of meat on his plate and gingerly took a bite, watching the man as he smiled and peered closer to him. The smell from the man’s breath made Gabriel shake his head and wince.
“Do I scare ye a might?” said the man, pointing to the scar on his face. “Well, there’s nothing to be scared of, laddie. I may have ran a few swords through a fair number of sailors in my day, but at heart, I be gentle as a dove.”
The Drum of Destiny Page 10
