Chapter
7
I awoke in the morning to find an
infuriated father, demanding to know where I had been. He not only wanted to know where I was
yesterday, but each day I had been missing before then. "All right, if you won't talk, I'll have to
find some way to make you," he said, as he reached for the switch. He picked it up and started to hit me with
it, then stopped. "I've been using the
switch on you for a while now, and it obviously isn't working," he smiled at me
maliciously, as I cowered below him. "I
cannot lock you in your room, because you always manage to escape. So, you may be locked in your closet until
you decide to tell me where you've been going these past weeks".
I didn't flinch. I calmly allowed him to drag me into my
room, and put me into my tiny closet, where I kept my finest dresses and
shoes. I sat there for what seemed like
forever, not banging on the door, not crying out nor shedding a tear, and
refusing to tell my Father where I had been. When I was finally let out of my meager prison, I was watched closely by
some member of the household; so closely, that I was not even able to send a
note to Chris, telling him I was alright.
"So Miss Abigail, your Mama tells me
that you are an excellent pianist. Would you mind playing a piece for us?" the young British officer spoke
to me for the first time this evening. After three days of being kept under a very watchful eye, I was forced
to attend a dinner party Mama was holding for a few British officers
"What shall I play for you,
Officer?" I asked sweetly, glad to be
excused from the table.
"Why don't you play Yankee Doodle
for us," he said, in his pompous, snooty voice and spotless uniform. I was overcome with anger, and would have
lashed out at him, but thought better of it, remembering what Chris had once
told me. If someone makes a joke
about you, use it to your advantage. Take Yankee Doodle: the lobsters made that up to taunt us, but we've
infuriated them, by using it for marching our militias.
Oh, how I wished to see Chris. I was overcome with a sinking feeling, that
I'd never be able to see him again. I
gritted my teeth, and played Yankee Doodle, keeping Chris' words in mind.
When I returned to the table, they
applauded, and began talking about the insolence of the so-called "Americans". I had taken no note of the conversation,
until one of the senior officers brought up an incident of which he had just
recently heard. "Just this afternoon, a
young street rat was 'horribly murdered by a lobsterback'. In fact, the young sprout, along with a
whole crowd of them had been throwing chunks of ice at the poor Regular, and he
was only-
Before he had finished his sentence, I was upon my
feet, asking Mama if I might retire to my room. She agreed, and I rushed up the steps and into my boy's clothing. I ran through the streets to the printing
shop, and pounded on the door until it was opened, by Peter Edes. "It was Chris, wasn't it?" I asked, although
I already knew the answer.
"Yes, I'm afraid it was," Peter answered. I said
nothing, just stood there staring at him, not believing what I heard. All the time I had been pouting, thinking
I'd be stuck in my home forever, and that I'd never see Chris again, I hadn't
been so wrong. I would never see him
again, but oh, in such a worse manner than I had predicted!
I remembered the last time I had seen him, as he had
tenderly dried my tears, and looked at me with that longing, pleading look, as
if he knew that his love would never be satisfied.
"Jemmy, is that you?" a man asked from behind Peter. "We tried to find you, but then realized
that Chris was the only one to know where you lived, or even your last name,
for that matter." As he spoke, he stepped forward into the light, his piercing
blue eyes boring holes into mine. By
some twisted chance of fate, my brother Charles stood in the doorway, looking
down upon me.
I ran, for the second time, from my brother. I ran as fast as my legs could take me, but
he was faster than I, and not exhausted by 3 days of being constantly
watched. After running through alley
upon alley, of which Chris had so faithfully taught me, he caught up to me, and
grabbed my wrist. "Jemmy, I know this
comes as a shock to you, but running is not the solution," he said softly, still
grasping my wrist.
"I'll thank you to unhand me," I croaked, overcome
with fear and grief. I glared up at
him, praying that he wouldn't recognize me as his sister.
"Alright, but you mustn't run away," he began to let
go of my wrist, but suddenly grasped it, and stared at my shirt cuff. After a while, he shook himself, as if
awakening from a trance, and released me. I started to run, but he called out to me. "Please, Abby! Chris
wouldn't want you to go off on your own," he was pleading now, begging me not
to run from him again.
I turned then, knowing no amount of running, or
denying the truth would convince my brother. But I stared at him blankly, as if I had no idea why he had called me
"Abby". "My name is Jemmy, Mr.
Atkins. I don't know who Abby is, but
perhaps you ought to go home and lie down. No doubt Abby will be waiting for you there," I said, knowing my denial
would do no good.
"No, Abby, don't contradict me now. This isn't the time."
"Mr. Atkins, even if I were this Abby of who you
speak, you would have no way of knowing, and much less proving this fact." I
said, glaring at him, hoping that my green eyes were piercing holes as deep in
him as his blue were boring into me.
"I began to suspect when I first met you. The way Chris looked at you-" he paused for a moment, expecting me to understand, but when I didn't, he continued "it wasn't how one friend would look at another. Had it come from someone other than Chris, I would have cast my suspicions away, but I'd never seen such tenderness in his eyes. In those deep-set, determined eyes, that look was unnatural, even if it was for a beautiful young lady. And as he was dying, Chris asked for Jemmy again and again. Even in his delirious state, he did not use your real name. He wouldn't tell us where to find you, knowing it would only bring you trouble."
I was sobbing by now, the tears streaming down my
face. O Chris! You gave up your last farewell to the girl
you loved, to protect her from a simple beating! Charles noticed my sobbing, but continued to talk.
"By this time I knew that you were not a boy, but I
still did not know who you were. This
night, when I grabbed your shirt, or rather my shirt, it all became
clear to me: you were missing because you'd been locked in your closet by ol'
Captain, as I had heard from your brother, John. Yes, John. We see each
other every now and then, despite our politics." He stopped now, and offered me
his handkerchief.
"What are you going to do?" I asked, drying my
tears, as they still poured out at twice the speed I was able to mop them
up.
"What do you mean, Abby?" he asked, looking down at
me with brotherly concern.
"Chris always said you'd got a fierce temper, and
wouldn't be happy when you found out." I said. He was silent for a moment, and then he suddenly threw back his head,
and let out a deep, rumbling laugh.
"You may think this is funny, but I certainly
don't. I get enough punishment at home,
you know, and they aren't even aware of where I'm always disappearing to, or
what I am doing." I said indignantly, quite taken aback by his reaction to this
new discovery.
"I'm not angry, Abby, and if I were, you'd be right:
you get enough punishment at home. But
I mustn't see you in these clothes again. If you must sneak out of the house, wear proper clothing, if only for
Chris' sake." He said, watching me
tenderly.
"But that's just it. For Chris' sake, I have to continue sneaking out in these." When he
didn't seem to understand, I continued. "Do you think Mr. Revere would let me run messages for him if he knew I
was a girl? He'd say it wasn't safe for
me to be out and about, and he'd probably be correct. But in my boy's clothing, none of the soldiers would approach
me."
"They approached Chris," Charles pointed out.
"No, Chris approached them. Knowing Chris, he was probably throwing ice
chunks at them, with screams of 'go home, bloodyback!' and 'lobsters for
sale!'" I looked up at him, wishing he would understand.
"Charles, if I don't do something, I'll go mad! I can't just sit at home, listening to the
officers ask me to play Yankee Doodle, and being all sweet and innocent. They killed Chris! Am I supposed to just forget that?"
"They'll kill a lot more people before they're
through here, and I just don't want you to be one of them!" he was angry now,
angry with me for not being a little innocent doll, bowing to his every
command. "God's teeth, Abby! It's not safe for you to be out, and it's
entirely improper to be out in those clothes!"
"Charles, I'll go mad if I don't do something! I need to do something!" now I was
angry. I should have known that
there isn't really a single reasonable person in my family. I thought.
"What you need, is a good whipping!" he said, his
face was white with rage, as I learned what Chris had meant when he said that
Charles Atkins had a fierce temper.
"You needn't do that, Charles." I said quietly. "In case you'd forgotten, I'll get that when I return home."
"I'm sorry, Abby. I was not aware of that." His face softened, and the color began to
return to it. "Although I suppose I
shouldn't be surprised, whipping having been a daily occurrence for me as well,
but I never thought he would whip his daughter."
"Ah yes. God forbid he might whip a daughter! Them womenfolk are so weak, she'd never survive it," my sobbing had subsided partly, but now increased again, to twice its original force. "I may not look very strong right now, but nor would you if you found that your best friend was dead, and not only that, but after you'd been locked in a closet for 4 days, and tormented almost to death for 3 more!"
I screamed these words, as I collapsed onto the street, bawling violently, and I must have passed out shortly after my head hit the ground. The last thing I remembered was my brother Charles bending over me, looking at me fondly, as if he just found something he had lost long ago, and had forgotten it was missing until now.