Chapter 13 September 1773
Goodness how time flew by so quickly! The colonies continued to protest against Britain's taxes and lack of representation in Parliament; at least the troops returned home after the Boston Massacre, what a relief that was. Somehow I had managed to keep my political orientation secret from my family, and also my meetings with Charles. However, Meg was always too sharp for me, and suspected something. But she could find no proof, as I well knew-this did not keep me from living in constant fear of her threats. Why couldn't she just go back to Philadelphia, and marry some haughty Loyalist?!
"Miss Atkins, you become more beautiful each time I see you," said a smiling Thomas Melville, as I turned crimson under his gaze. More and more I was learning to be a demure lady. No man of good breeding would accept such a feisty girl as I had formerly been. "And how is your needlework progressing?"
"Well, thank you," I replied. Goodness, wouldn't men get bored with such a prim and proper woman? I kept my eyes upon the ground, and every once in a while batted my eyelashes with seductive yet innocent beauty. And he noticed. What had happened to the man who became amused at my lack of womanly grace? Who had stifled a laugh when I went against my brother? He was the man I found a keen interest for; surely he had appreciated my spirit. But the eyelash-batting had a pleasing effect, amusing enough to suit me for the moment. Every time he looked my way, I saw a scrutinizing interest in his crystal blue eyes. But there was more than interest in those eyes. There was a strong gaze, as if he could see straight through me into my insides. Every time he looked my way, I felt so exposed, so naked. I both wanted to run and hide, and stay rooted in that place forever.
"What do you think about that new tax on tea, Thomas?" My brother noticed the way Thomas looked at me, and he did not like it.
"I think it is damned insolent of them to use these colonies, full of true English citizens, to better their interests, and keep a dying East India Company from going bankrupt." Well said!
A servant came into the room, and with a curtsy, "Mr. Atkins, a boy is at the door, saying he must speak to you immediately. I'm sorry Sir, but he refuses to wait."
"That's alright, I shall see to him directly," Charles replied. "Thomas, please excuse me for a moment."
"Surely."
So there I was, alone with him at last! I suddenly became extremely self-conscious, as I felt his gaze upon me. "Miss Atkins, may I be so bold as to ask how it is that your family allows you to associate with your brother, whose politics they so ardently abhore?"
"In truth, Mr. Melville, they do not. I am supposedly learning how to sew at the home of a neighbor," I reluctantly applied. Will he disapprove? He laughed, a hearty laugh, exactly as he had the first time I had met him; then the brief coughing fit.
"Forgive me, it is very seldom that one finds such a spirited woman in society such as this," he looked apologetic, almost a little pleading. I smiled widely, and forgot to batt my eyelashes.
"May I ask whether spirit is considered a good thing in a lady?"
"Not conventionally, it would seem, but certainly by me. You must forgive me if, at times, it seems as if I am taken in by the common eyelash-batting of girls nowadays, but it seems to be all the fashion. I even had begun to fear that your perfecting that art meant you did not have the vivacity I had thought you to have," he smiled shyly, yet surely. I blushed, and looked away as my brother re-entered the room.
"Hello Abby," Peter greeted me, as I walked into the printing office of the Boston Gazette. After giving up my charade as Jemmy, I still visited this place often, though it pained me to no longer be permitted to help with their treasonous activities. In actuality, I was not even permitted to be aware of these activities, but I was, although I could never speak of it to anyone, even my good friend Peter.
We had become friends on different terms now, Peter and I. He no longer became frustrated when I kept my eyes upon the floor, or when I did not passionately discuss taxation without representation. However, Peter was the one person I could speak freely with who would not regard me with scorn. He never so much as raised an eyebrow when I looked him squarely in the eyes, or expressed my strong political views. And, should I ever find his eyebrows raised at my behavior, I saw curiosity and even impression in those hazel eyes.
I had begun to change my ways, to be the proper lady I was raised to be. Peter remained the one person who I could never face without desperately longing to don my street clothes and run messages again. Only with Peter could I feel completely comfortable and even proud as myself. I wanted our old camaraderie back, his former trust, and the boyish humor he could never show to a lady of breeding. And yet, little by little, I developed a new relationship with my former friend. He learned to trust me more and more each day, and while I knew I could never return to our days of boyish gaiety, I found myself valuing our new friendship above his friendship with Jemmy.
"How goes it this day?"
"Well, thank you. And how goes the business of treason against the King?" He let out a hearty laugh, one I remembered well. I smiled. At least I am still able to make him laugh as I once did, even if in a different context.
"You must remember we are loyal to King George in what we print. It's no treason to write the truth," he replied.
"Of course, Peter, I won't forget."
"And how have you managed to slip out from under the watchful eyes of your mother once again?"
"I am, of course, sewing with Miss Mather," I replied.
"Goodness! You must be the best seamstress in the country by now!" Peter exclaimed. "But, perhaps a more difficult task, how did you escape the watchful eyes of your brother?"
"Aye, it was an extremely difficult task to accomplish. However, I have noticed that my brother feels rather awkward around me as of late, and would just assume that I occupied my hours of freedom in other manners." I was purposely vague, not wishing to explain in great detail the peculiar behavioral triangle between myself, my brother, and his dashing friend. Peter, however, never let my subtle evasions of his questions go unnoticed.
"And why this awkwardness between the two of you?" I blushed and took a strong interest in the floorboards. "Abby, I know my father's floor isn't that interesting," Peter smirked. Oh! Peter's smirk absolutely killed me. I was miffed and flustered beyond belief. "Come on Abby, what now?"
Continuing to blush. Still blushing. "I fear my brother does not approve of my feelings for a certain friend of his." Peter's smirk vanished instantly, and an unreadable expression came over his face before he briefly turned away. He quickly regained his composure, and turned back to speak.
"And does this friend return your sentiments?" he asked, in a tone which I was unable to make out whatsoever. "Does he even know who you are?"
"I believe he does return my sentiments, and of course he knows who I am: his friend's sister and daughter of a Tory family," I replied, still puzzled yet slightly affronted; I almost felt that Peter did not approve.
"No, but who you really are: your spirit, your boldness, your strong views- or does he simply see a beautiful, demure, eyelash-batting girl?"
Now I was most definitely affronted. "You have never seen me bat my eyelashes," I snapped, and walked briskly out of the shop.