Chapter 5
"Hello Jemmy, how goes it today?"
Again I stood in the shop of the Boston Gazette, Mr. Edes greeting me in
his usual, warm manner.
"Well, thank you," I replied. He looked at me susupiciously. I had made a mistake, as usual. Not even a well-bred lad such as myself
would say "well" and "thank you" in such a polite manner.
"Good, good," Mr. Edes said,
dismissing my speech to be nothing more than a strange queerness on my
part. "Peter has some things you may
help with in the back room."
"Hello, Peter."
"Jemmy," he nodded in my direction,
engrossed in the printing at hand.
"Your father said I might help you,"
I said. Peter had become accustomed to
my refined ways of talking. While I
dropped these ways when talking to friends of Chris, I could never bring myself
to do so around Peter. No doubt he
formed his own theories as to why I spoke so well, but if so he never expressed
them.
"Yes, but first I'd like to show you
something," he said, a mischievious glint showing in his eyes. I could always tell when Peter was feeling
such, as it seemed as though amber specks would appear in his normally
green-brown eyes. I walked to where he
stood, and he motioned to the freshly-printed paper on a desk nearby. It was a political cartoon, depicting the
Governor bowing before King George, and saying he had come up with a new method
of exploiting the colonies. The next
frame showed both men bankrupt in ruins, drinking a brandy manufactured in the
colonies. The King said "Damn the
colonies! Nothing good ever came of
them." I suppressed a laugh, knowing my
girlish giggle would be far too suspicious.
"Do you never laugh?"
"I fear not," I said, feeling a
familiar redness in my cheeks. Oh
bog's breath! Must I always be such a girl?! Peter looked at me curiously, and shook his head.
"Well help me print a few of theses
before my father sees. I fear he would
not approve," he said, a wide grin on his face.
"He would not, would he? A staunch patriot such as himself?" I raised an eyebrow, a talent I had acquired
as a young girl, wanting to imitate the fun-loving older girls I looked up to,
flirting with the men. Mama did not
approve.
"Aye, even such." I laughed.
I could no longer help myself.
Luckily for my identity as Jemmy, Peter laughed as well, his hearty
laugh filling the room and partly blocking out mine. We were good friends, almost the same age. Yet physically, Peter was growing up
quickly. His deep voice was almost that
of a man, while mine, of course, stayed a boyish treble. He towered almost a head above me. None of this stopped our friendship,
though. I was glad for that.
After printing the "scandalous"
political cartoon, we turned to more official printing. A few amused glances exchanged between us,
however, kept us both inwardly laughing for quite a while.
"Why must you always wear that hat?"
Peter suddenly asked, in the middle of another topic of conversation. I always dreaded the day someone would ask
me that, or demand that I take it off. Would Peter understand if I told him the truth? I thought perhaps he might, but did not want
to wish ruining our friendship, as I knew such a confession would do. Even should Peter be accepting of my true
identity, we would never be able to have the same boyish camaraderie we now
shared.
"It's the only one I have," I
replied, biting my lower lip nervously.
"Yes, but it is considered polite to
take off one's hat when inside.
"I-I," what could I say? "I prefer to keep it on, that's all." He could tell I was lying, he knew me too
well by now. He shook his head
silently, and returned to printing.
Things went awkwardly for a while, Peter still wondering why I felt the
need to lie to him. I tried to joke
with him, but he would only half-heartedly laugh and go back to whatever he was
doing. Eventually, however, Peter
lightened up, and almost returned to normal.
"Thank you for your help," Peter
said, as I prepared to leave.
"You know how much I enjoy to,
Peter," I said, and winked slyly, a boyish smirk upon my face.
"Of course, Jemmy. Don't we all," a broad grin spread over his
face, and I laughed and turned to go.
He gently put his hand on my shoulder, turning me to look at him. "I do wish you felt you could be honest with
me, Jemmy," he said, looking beseechingly at me. "I wouldn't tell a soul, if that is what you'd wish."
"I know, Peter," I said. "I wish I could tell you, but I can't. Please try to understand."
"Alright, but remember what I've
said."
"I will. Thank you."
I looked into his hazel eyes, a
swirl of brown and green. I saw
friendship, and even a bit of understanding.
But there was something else, something I could not name. Confusion, certainly, but could it be
concern? Yes, I had a friend who cared
about me, who was afraid for me and did not know for what reasons he should be
concerned. Thank you, Peter. I silently said. His hand remained on my shoulder for a few seconds, until he
realized it was there. Something passed
between us there, something I couldn't comprehend. He felt it too, I know he did.
He looked at me questioningly, bewildered.
He
awkwardly took his hand away and clasped it behind his back.
"I must go."
"Aye," he replied.
"Until tomorrow then."
"Until tomorrow."
