Midnight

  “How about we use the table in here. It’ll be warmer.”

  She nodded.

  “Is there anything you need me to assist you with? Water? Butter from the cold box?”

  “No, I’ve everything we need. You can sit if you like.”

  So he did and she could feel him watching her.

  He asked quietly, “Is there something the matter?”

  She glanced his way. “I’m just new at this adventure. Not sure where I’m walking.”

  “I see.”

  Faith used her towel-padded hand to brush the ashes from the top of the Dutch oven and peeked inside at the biscuits. They appeared to be done so she grabbed another towel and brought the small vessel to the table and set in on a trivet in the center.

  Going back over to the grate, she placed the bacon, eggs, and potatoes on a platter, and after placing it on the table, she sat opposite him.

  “Everything looks so good. It’s going to be a pleasure not having to eat my own cooking.”

  “Your cooking hasn’t been bad.”

  “You lie well.”

  Amused, she said to him, “Bless the food so we may eat.”

  He reached for a piece of the bacon. “I don’t pray.”

  She studied him as he spooned a generous portion of the smothered potatoes and onions onto his plate. “May I ask why not?” she quizzed quietly.

  He shrugged. “Too much of a sinner, I suppose.”

  She eyed him for a moment longer, wondering what that meant. “Then I shall pray for us both.”

  He bowed his head, she said the words, and when she finished, they began the meal.

  They ate in silence for a while until he asked, “Does my lack of religion trouble you?”

  She shrugged. “My father wasn’t a staunch believer so I’m not shocked by your words, just curious as to what made you give me that reply.”

  “Too much of a sinner?”

  “Yes.”

  “The life I’ve led, the things I’ve done. The things I left undone.” He met her eyes. “Maybe we’ll talk about this one day.”

  Faith wanted to hear more, but decided she wouldn’t press and would wait until he was ready.

  He picked up one of the biscuits on his plate and said. “At the moment, I’d much rather discuss how excellent these biscuits are, Faith Kingston.”

  She grinned.

  “If the bread you’re planning to sell is anywhere near as good as these, the populace will crown you queen.”

  He’d already eaten three and he reached for two more.

  She raised an eyebrow. Of the original nine only four remained. “Planning to eat them all, are you?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he replied, and without a hint of shame.

  She laughed. “May I have another before you do?”

  “Be my guest.”

  “You’re so kind.”

  As she secured one for herself, he grinned and popped another piece of biscuit into his mouth.

  She shook her head.

  After another few moments of silence, he said seriously, “I suppose it’s natural to feel unsure. This is new for us both.”

  She realized he was picking up the unfinished conversation they’d had before she joined him at the table. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to conduct myself.”

  “As a married woman?”

  “Yes, but as a woman married to you. There seems to be a difference.”

  He grinned. “Explain.”

  “This attraction, as you call it. Why don’t I see any of that from other married couples?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe they save it for behind closed doors.”

  She mulled that over. “So in public they are staid and emotionless.”

  “And at home, away from prying eyes, they may walk around nude and make love on the dining table.”

  Her eyes went wide as saucers. “We’re not going to do that, are we?”

  He laughed at her appalled face. “You may enjoy having me strip you nude and have you for breakfast.”

  Heat spread through her. His suggestive voice matched his dark eyes and she found it nearly impossible to breathe.

  He chuckled. “No?”

  “No,” she echoed, scandalized.

  “Remember you said that.”

  Faith almost fell sideways out of her chair. She couldn’t look at him, nor could she look at the table, and so decided maybe the time had come to change the subject. “Let’s talk of something else.”

  Nicholas nodded his agreement but he enjoyed the provocative banter. Beneath her innocence lay a beguiling, sensual woman just waiting to bloom into life, and as her husband it would be his sovereign duty to make certain the ground stayed fertile and wet. “Then let me continue to praise the meal. If this is an example of how well you cook, I’ll be needing wider breeches by summer.”

  “I’m glad you find it pleasing.”

  “I do.” He found her pleasing as well.

  They finished the meal, and as the silence rose between them, thickening the air, Faith fought down her body’s attraction to him, and asked, “When will you be ready to leave for town?”

  “Whenever you are.”

  “After I clean up in here.”

  He nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll go out and get the horse and wagon ready. Join me when you are done.”

  After his departure, Faith took in a deep breath. Who’d ever thought a simple breakfast could have such sensual undertones or that people made love on tabletops. That last had to be Nicholas teasing because she couldn’t imagine anybody doing such a thing. She turned her mind away from her half-tamed intended and began the cleanup.

  After putting the kitchen back to rights she hurried upstairs to fetch her cloak, hat, and gloves. Once she was adequately clothed for the weather she joined him for what would be her first excursion outdoors since the day of the ice storm. Unlike that freezing cold day, the sun was shining and the weather warmer than it had been in months. Spring was on its way, and she couldn’t have been more pleased.

  For the most part, the ride into Boston was uneventful. The bright sunshine made it a great day for traveling. She could see buds beginning to emerge on the birch trees growing beside the road, and as the snow on the ground continued to recede, patches of winter gold grass dotted the open fields. The Concord Road was ofttimes difficult to navigate during the winter due to the uneven hilly terrain upon which it was built. Their wagon encountered flooding in some of the low spots but the levels weren’t deep enough to impede their progress.

  It was slow going. At one point during the journey, Nicholas had to steer the horses to the far side of the road in order to make room for the stagecoach that roared up from behind. The coaches began in 1764 allowing travelers to make it from New York to Philadelphia, the largest city in the colonies, in three days. Now the coaches were much faster and the same trip took only two days. Colonists called the fast coaches flying machines.

  After the passing of the stage, Nicholas got the wagon under way again, and as it seesawed back and forth over the cobbles, he groused, “I’m envious.”

  “Of what?”

  “Their speed,” he replied, indicating the coach pulling farther and farther ahead. “I’m accustomed to being on horseback when I travel. This wagon will us take all day. Makes me feel like a farmer.”

  “You are a farmer.”

  He shot her a look. She grinned and turned her attention back to the passing landscape of trees, taverns, and family farms. They passed a wagon heading in the opposite direction being driven by a man of color. He was dressed in the fashion of the day, including the popular tricorn hat, but his clothing looked old, and on his legs were the blue-striped hose farm slaves were mandated to wear. As he passed, he nodded a greeting and they replied in kind.

  They were soon approaching the section of the road that led past her father’s inn and Faith steeled her heart to keep her emotions in check.

  Nicholas seemed to sense her mood because he
sent a questioning look her way. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. I’m fine.” It was her first look at the place since her banishment. In truth, a part of her hoped to catch a glimpse of her father to see how he might be faring, but sterner parts chastised her for wanting such a thing in the face of his actions towards her. However, he was still her father; her only parent, and deep down inside the love she’d had for him still echoed with pain.

  It was mid morning when they arrived in Boston and because the narrow twisting streets were filled with traffic, they were forced to go slow.

  The walks lining the streets were filled with people beginning their day, and the stalls belonging to itinerant businessmen were being pushed in place. Faith noted the increasing number of shuttered shops, businesses, and taverns. General Gage’s Intolerable Act of closing the harbor to shipping was taking its toll on the goods available for purchase, leaving angry merchants and shopkeepers little choice but to shutter their businesses or contract with smugglers. The hated blockade was devastating what was once the most robust economy in the colonies.

  Up ahead loomed the British custom house which during the 1750s came under attack by the local populace incensed by the Sugar and Stamp Acts. The tax agent was hanged in effigy and an angry mob descended on his place of residence. They broke in, stole everything of value, and destroyed everything else; walls, floors, windows. They were in the process of tearing off the roof when the soldiers arrived and finally put an end to the anarchy. Boston citizens were a major thorn in the crown’s side and they were proud of it. As a result the four thousand soldiers were a looming presence.

  “So many soldiers,” she said to Nick quietly.

  “Yes, they seem to be everywhere.”

  Their red coats made them conspicuous and their strength in numbers made them a significant percentage of the city’s population. They stood in groups on street corners, marched in the streets, and were stoned, cursed, and scorned. Almost as numerous were the signs of rebellion. Broadsides exhorting people to fight blared their message in large letters nailed to the sides of buildings and on doors of shops and taverns. Liberty poles bearing the drawing of the severed snake first seen in Ben Franklin’s paper, the Pennsylvania Gazette, continued to be displayed, no matter how many times the soldiers tore them down. The city was under siege and one could feel the tension in the air.

  “Where are we going?” she asked. They passed a town crier ringing a cow’s bell and announcing that he’d found a lost boy of about six years of age. Faith saw the little teary-eyed child walking at the crier’s side. She hoped his parents would return to claim him soon.

  “I want to see if Prince Hall is at home, and then do a bit of shopping. Where is Charity’s mother’s shop?”

  She told him where.

  “Then we’ll stop there after I talk with Hall.”

  Prince lived in the northern part of the city that had been home to the small free Black community since the 1640s. People were busily moving around in this part of town as day workers headed off to their jobs as cooks, cleaning women, and apprentices, and business owners hurried to their shops.

  He parked as close to the Hall residence as the traffic allowed and stepped down onto the street. “I’ll only be a moment.”

  Faith wondered what he was about but didn’t ask. Although they were to be married, they both had secrets.

  Nick found Hall working in the shed he used as his leather shop.

  “Morning, Nicholas.”

  Nick watched as he rubbed oil into a large square of tanned leather. “What’s that to be?”

  “Skin for a war drum. Hoping to get it done before Gage marches on us. Have orders from a few other regiments wanting new skins, too.” He glanced up. “What brings you around?”

  “Wanted to let you know that the guns for your men will be arriving soon.”

  Prince stilled and studied him for a long moment. “I suppose I shouldn’t ask how you managed that.”

  “No, but I’ll let you know when they arrive.”

  Prince looked away for a moment, then finally shook his head as if amused. “Who are you really, Nick?”

  “Primus’s son.”

  Prince smiled at the simple reply. “All right. My thanks in advance for your help.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They took a few moments to discuss the ongoing drilling and Nick departed.

  While waiting for Nick to return, Faith glanced up and down the street. She knew that Gage had Hall’s residence under surveillance just as he did those of other patriots tied to the rebellion, but she saw no one on the walks who appeared to be serving that purpose. Then she noticed a man standing in the shadow of the doorway of a sweet shop a few doors down and directly across the street. His dirty clothing and face had all the appearance of a vagrant but his eyes, so clear and focused, were riveted on Hall’s front door. When he met her eyes, he smoothly looked away and then staggered drunkenly away.

  Chapter 17

  When Nicholas returned and they were again under way, she said, “I saw a man I believe was watching Hall’s home.”

  Nick nodded. “He knows he’s being spied upon so he’s being very discreet about who he allows to visit.”

  That was good to know. She didn’t want him to suffer Primus’s fate. “Have you made any progress finding Primus’s betrayer?”

  “No. I’ve talked to his friends, but I know little more than I did upon my return to Boston.”

  Faith sighed with the injustice of that. She almost asked if he still considered her father a suspect but kept the question unspoken because after her father’s perfidy, she could no longer be sure about anything concerning him. Nicholas had also asked that they not discuss his guilt or innocence and she continued to think that best.

  They found a place to park and left the wagon to walk across the street to the shop owned by Charity’s mother, Babette Locke. Babette grew up in the French Indies as a slave to a mixed-blood seamstress. She and the mistress left the islands to immigrate to the colonies but the seamstress died on the passage and was buried at sea. Babette spent the remainder of the voyage forging a set of free papers that designated her as the half sister of the dead woman. She entered her new life as a free woman of color, married a free Black man, and became highly sought after by the wealthy women of the colony because of her outstanding needle skills.

  Upon seeing Faith enter she threw open her arms. “Ah, Faith.”

  Faith let herself be enfolded in Babette’s well-bosomed embrace and basked in the familiar hug she’d been receiving since the Lockes moved to Boston when Charity was fifteen.

  “And who might his be?” Babette asked.

  Faith looked to Nicholas. “Mrs. Locke, this is Nicholas Grey.”

  “Primus’s son? The one everyone is speculating about?”

  Faith grinned. “He is the son of Primus. I’m not certain about the speculating.”

  Babette curtsied. “Enchanté, Mr. Grey.”

  Nicholas bowed. “My pleasure, Mrs. Locke.”

  With the introductions done, Faith asked, “What is this speculating concerning?”

  “Which young woman he will choose as his wife, of course.”

  Nicholas smiled but kept silent.

  “He’s chosen me.”

  Babette’s green eyes widened with happiness. “Non!”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh my. I must take your measurements. I will make you the gown of your dreams.” She stopped to gauge Faith critically. “Now for color. Maybe indigo, or a forest green?”

  Faith held up her hand before Babette could work herself into a tizzy. “There won’t be time. We’re to be wed in the next few days, we are hoping.”

  Babette looked between the two of them. “So soon? Does Charity know about this hasty pudding wedding?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Nicholas replied, hiding his smile.

  “Then if you are not here for a wedding gown, how may I assist?”

  “I need some
new shifts.”

  Babette nodded, “Knowing that miser who calls himself your father, you probably need much more.”

  Faith didn’t want to back Nicholas into a corner by making him pay for more garments than he could afford so she didn’t respond.

  But he apparently didn’t mind corners because he asked, “Would it be too much to ask that you provide her with everything? Shifts, nightclothes, and the rest?”

  Faith opened her mouth to protest but Babette was already replying, “My work is not cheap; even with the reduced price you will be receiving due to my love of your intended, the price will be substantial.”

  “Price is not a problem, madam.”

  “As you wish,” she said, beaming, eyeing him in an entirely new light.

  Faith was staring up at him in astonishment. “I simply need a few shifts.”

  Babette, still assessing Nicholas, said to Faith, “Hush, child. Let your man spend his coin as he sees fit. I will get my tapes.”

  A defeated Faith sighed audibly as Mrs. Locke hurried into the back of her shop to get her tools of the trade.

  While she was away, Faith said to him, “This is a waste of perfectly good coin.”

  “Faith, your underwear has more patches than a quilt.”

  Her eyes narrowed warningly, but the return of Mrs. Locke kept her from responding. Instead she stood quietly as the measurements were taken while he looked on, amused. To her further dismay, he asked about purchasing a few day dresses.

  “I have some readymade samples in the back that may fit,” Mrs. Locke said, sizing Faith up. “Come with me, chèrie.”

  Once they were alone, Faith got out of her clothes, and after standing for a few moments in her dingy white shift, knee-length drawers, stockings, and ankle boots, she took the ensemble handed to her upon Mrs. Locke’s return—a soft gray wool skirt and over jacket. Faith stared in wonder. Included was a fine-gauge white blouse with long sleeves and lace-edged cuffs meant to be worn beneath the jacket. The skirt and jacket were piped in strips of black velvet, and they were beautiful, the most beautiful garments she’d ever held in her hands. “How much will all this cost, Mrs. Locke?” the overwhelmed Faith asked.