Authors: Gilbert Morris
The Gentle Rebel (28 page)
She was twisting the sheet nervously, and suddenly she looked at him and whispered, “Does—everyone know—about me, I mean?”
“No. Just my mother and myself.” He saw the relief in her eyes and was puzzled.
Why should a woman who lives with soldiers even care what people think? Maybe the officers wouldn’t let her go with the troops if they knew her sex.
“I’m sorry to be so much trouble,” she said quietly. “Maybe I’ll be well enough to leave soon.”
“The soldiers won’t be back for at least three weeks, maybe more,” Greene said. He saw the distress that crossed her face
and took it to mean she was longing for the private that had brought her. He searched for his name, found it, and said, “I promised Winslow we’d care for thee until the army comes back through with the guns.”
Greene paused, and there was a change in his face. “Of course, we didn’t know then—” He broke off, not knowing how to end his statement, and to his annoyance found that his own face was beginning to glow. He got up hastily, took the tray, and said, “I’ll bring thee some hot water and towels. I’m sure thee must want to clean up.”
Two hours later, his mother came in. “Well, she woke up,” he said tersely.
There was a shortness in his words that drew her attention. “What’s wrong, Daniel? Something bothers thee about the girl?”
Running his fingers through his crisp brown hair, he shook his head, then gave her an odd look. “There’s something strange about her, Mother,” he said. “She looks so—
innocent!
But she can’t be—not living as she does.”
Carrie Greene was Quaker to the bone, and if she had ever felt that God was moving in her spirit, she felt it now as she stood there staring at her son. He was the joy of her life—strong, as his father had been; from his boyhood, she had seen the fierce desire to serve God grow stronger until now he was, if anything,
too
single-minded. She had wondered once if he was so otherworldly that he gave too little thought to simple earthly things. She longed for grandchildren, but he had never shown an interest in any of the young women who practically announced their willingness to share his life. He was a fine farmer, but he performed those duties routinely, and he cared nothing for the prosperity that had come as a result of his skills.
I’ve not seen him so troubled,
she thought suddenly, watching him pace the floor, and his agitation disturbed her. “I’ll see if she needs anything.” Anything that touched this son of hers touched her, and she could see that the young woman who
lay in their house had managed to break through the tough shell of independence that her son had built around himself.
Slipping into the room, she found the girl asleep, but bathed and with her hair brushed.
She looks so young—and so beautiful,
the woman thought, and then:
No wonder Daniel was shaken by her.
She had lived long enough to know that there was something about a bad woman that drew men, and when one of them was as lovely as this one . . . !
Then the eyes opened, and the girl sat up, pulling the covers up to her chin. “Oh—I must have fallen asleep!”
“Well, thee’ll sleep a lot for a few days.” Sister Greene walked over and put her hand on the smooth forehead, then nodded. “Fever’s gone. Thee’ll get stronger now.” She stared at the square face and into the almond-shaped eyes, trying to see into the spirit of the girl. “I’m Sister Greene. Thee has met my son, Daniel. What’s thy name?”
“They—call me Laddie Smith—” She hesitated; then almost involuntarily she said, “But my real name is Julie Sampson.” She gasped, shocked to find herself telling this, but there was something in the countenance of the woman who looked down at her that demanded honesty. She said hurriedly, “Please—don’t tell anyone my real name. I—I’d be in trouble.”
“I believe thee is already in trouble, child,” Sister Greene said quietly. “But it will be as thee wishes. My son and I will keep thy secret.”
“Thank you, Sister Greene!” Laddie bit her lip, then said, “I’ll try not to be a bother until Nathan gets back.”
“It’ll be no bother.” Sister Greene said, and her eyes suddenly seemed distant to Laddie, and for a long moment she appeared to be listening to some unheard voice. Then she looked into Laddie’s eyes and said evenly, “I believe God sent thee to us. For what purpose, I have no word yet—but I will pray that the Light will be given.” She suddenly stooped and kissed Laddie on the cheek, and a smile parted her lips. “Rest, now, and we’ll talk later.”
She left the room, and while Laddie wiped away the tears that had leaped to her eyes over the unexpected caress—the first she’d had from a woman since her mother had died—Sister Greene went back to find her son staring moodily out the window.
“I can see why the child disturbed thee, Daniel,” she said at once, and there was a furrow on her smooth forehead. “There’s something bound up in her heart.”
“She’s no child!”
“Well, not physically, I know, but there’s a childlike quality in her—and I’ve had just a tiny word about her in my spirit. We must be very careful with this little one, son.”
The two looked at each other, and finally Dan said, “I agree. We spend too much time on the ninety and nine—but this lost sheep has been put in our house for a purpose.” He glanced toward the room where she lay, and added, “She’s in love with Nathan Winslow—that’s plain enough.” The thought disturbed him somehow, and he got up and walked out of the room without bidding her farewell.
He’s never done that before!
she thought, and she too looked toward the room, wondering what changes could be thrust into her small world by the visitor who lay there.
In the days that followed, Laddie was glad that Nathan had left her pack, for it contained her journal—and she found it a relief to pour her heart out on the pages, saying those things that she dared not say aloud. One morning she sat at the table in her room, writing as the first rays of the sun peeped over the eastern hill and cast rosy gleams across her face:
December 27, 1775
It seems impossible that I’ve been here more than three weeks! I remember how weak I was when I first came out of the fever, how Friend Daniel had to carry me to the table to eat; then later he would let me lean on his arm, practically carrying me on short walks across the floor. But yesterday,
I outran him as we walked through the woods! He had a worried look on his face, and he called out, “Thee must be careful!” But I just laughed and called him a slowpoke!
They are so different! All the time I’ve been here, and they’ve never asked why I came here dressed like a man. Sometimes Friend Daniel will almost ask—but then he draws back—almost like he’s afraid to know why I do it.
And it hurts me a lot not to tell them. Maybe I will soon. I guess I’ve been waiting for them to ask, and they’ve been waiting until I was ready—but it’s been a strain despite their kindness.
They love God—both of them. Everything in their lives is based on that. They read the Bible all the time, it seems, and they pray more than I thought anybody could pray! They make me feel so worthless!
And they think I’m bad. That hurts so much! Before I leave here, I must tell them the whole story—I love them so much—and I can’t bear to think they believe such things of me—though I can’t blame them, for I know how it looks.
I went to church with them—only they call it “meeting.” Everyone thinks I’m a man, so I had to sit with Dan and the men, while Sister Greene sat with the women. They both said later that it bothered them, so I don’t think I’ll go back.
We sat there for an hour and nobody said a word! Then a woman got up and said that God had spoken to her, and she gave a talk. Then there was another long silence; then Dan got up and preached. He is a real preacher! He’s so quiet, usually, but he gets louder when he’s preaching, and I felt the presence of the Lord like I never have in church!
I have to write this down. Several times I almost put it in this journal, but it sounded—funny. But now I’m sure.
Friend Daniel is in love with me.
That looks so—so crazy as I read the words, but it’s so!
He doesn’t know it himself—but I think his mother does. She’s worried, and no wonder—her minister son falling in love with a wild girl who runs around with soldiers!
I don’t know when I first noticed this—but I think it started because he took care of me when I was weak. He’d get attached to anything that was helpless! And as little as I know about men, he knows even less about women!
I remember the first time I saw how he was seeing me as a woman. I was staggering along beside him, weak as a cat, and he was guiding me. His mother was gone, and we were both laughing as my rubber legs kept bending and then I nearly fell, and he picked me up like I was a little girl, saying, “Enough of that!” and he carried me to a chair, but just before he put me down, he suddenly stopped and looked down at me, and I saw it come to him—I mean, that I wasn’t a little girl! I was a woman wearing only a very thin robe, and I had my arms around his neck, and both of us stopped laughing. It was so quiet that I could hear my own heart pounding, and my silly face started burning like it always does when I get flustered! And his did, too! He put me down quick—like I was made of white-hot steel—and almost ran out of the room!
Since then, he’s been—different. He talks to me a lot—mostly about the Bible, but he acts so awkward! Seems terrified to touch me!
And I have to put this down, too—I feel strange about him! I’ve loved Nathan so long, and then this Quaker minister holds me one time—and I have to put it down, that I’m just as nervous about him as he is about me!
I wish Nathan would come back! I’m so confused about everything.
Suddenly Laddie dropped her journal, ran to the bed and threw herself across it, her body shaken with sobs. She lay there weeping for a long time, not knowing why, unable to account for the sudden grief and fear that racked her. Finally, she got up, washed her face, and put the journal safely away.
“Laddie? Time to eat breakfast!”
The sound of Dan’s voice came through the door, and her hands trembled as she reached out to open it.
Don’t be a fool,
Julie Sampson!
she thought fiercely. Then, lifting her head, she put a smile on her lips and left the room.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
NEW YEAR
The last day of the year brought no relief from the numbing cold that had frozen the rivers and weighed the trees down with loads of glittering ice, but that did not deter those who had decided to see the new year in with a New Year’s party.
“Thee missed Christmas,” Dan said at breakfast, “which is what happens when thee takes up with Quakers—but I think we can safely go to the party tonight.”
“Why, Daniel, thee has never gone to one of those parties before!” Sister Greene stopped pouring maple syrup over a pancake to stare at him in astonishment. “Some of the men will be drinking.”
“Be a good chance to bear witness against it. I don’t care for such things, but Julie would like it.”
“Please—don’t call me that!” Laddie said instantly, and then she was sorry for her sharpness and added, “It’s just that if you use it to address me, Friend Daniel, you might let it slip in front of someone.”
“Sorry.” He shrugged and said, “Would thee like to go? I understand there’s music and games.”
“Wouldn’t it be boring for you?”
“Oh, it won’t hurt me—Laddie.” He smiled and glanced at his mother. “Maybe thee should go as well, Sister Greene. Taste the fleshpots—see what they’re like. No telling what thee has been missing all these years!”
“I believe I’ll let thee do the tasting, son,” his mother
smiled. “One of us needs to keep in good standing with the Lord!”
Laddie had been bored, and as they walked over the snowy crust to the party, they laughed at a deer who scared itself by coming out of the woods face-to-face with them. It had jumped straight into the air, whirled and gone bounding away in that amazing graceful motion that is half run and half flight.
“Oh, beautiful!” Laddie cried out.
“It is. I can’t shoot one to save my life.” Dan gave her a smile and said, “Funny, I can kill a steer that I’ve raised quick enough—but I just can’t shoot a deer.”
“You would if you got hungry enough, I guess.”
He nodded, then said, “This war—it’s a bad thing for Friends.”
“Bad for everyone.”
“Yes—but some men—” he glanced at her and mentioned the name idly—“men like Nathan, why, they don’t worry about killing in war.”
She shook her head, and there was sadness in her voice. “Yes, he worries about it.”
He considered that, then shrugged. “I suppose thee knows him—but with us, it’s different. We don’t believe in killing.”
“Even to stay free, Friend Daniel?” She stopped and looked strangely at him. “You and your mother are the finest Christians I’ve ever known—but a lot of men are going to die for this new country. And—please don’t be angry with me, Daniel—” She put her hand lightly on his arm, and despite her male garb and short hair, he thought he had never seen anything more lovely than her face framed against the snow. “You will enjoy the liberty that other men died to win for you.”
“I’m not asking them to do it!” He was angry and turned away, but she caught up with him, again pulling at his arm.
“I don’t fault you, Friend Daniel,” she said, and then she smiled in the growing darkness, and added gently, “You and
your mother are closer to God than anyone I’ve ever met. No matter what, I’ll never forget you after we leave here.”
He walked along beside her, shocked at the way her words had rocked him.
After we leave here.
She spoke no more of the war, and he only half heard what she said. He was thinking how empty the house would be without her.
Only a month—and she’s the first thing I look for when I go into the house after being away!
The party was in progress when they got to the school-house. The desks were moved, and a line of tables along one wall was loaded with food and drinks. Over forty people were there, almost all of them young people, and over to one side several musicians were tuning up fiddles and dulcimers.