The Gentle Rebel (38 page)

“I hope so, Paul.”

“Honor.” Paul seemed to taste the word, then smiled sadly. “It’s been just a word to me, I’m afraid. I’ve laughed at those who thought it was worth living for—or dying for. But lately, I’ve had to wonder if
I
wasn’t the one who was wrong.”

“Nathan, I want to go home!” Abigail uttered, her voice distraught, her face very pale.

“All right, Abigail. I’ll take you,” Nathan said.

He moved from his place, but Paul cried loudly, “Nathan, you’ve wondered who betrayed you when you went to Abigail?” The question stopped Nathan in his tracks. Paul said evenly, “I turned you in.”

“You!”

“Yes. I was in love with Abigail and you seemed to be winning her.”

“Paul!” Charles’s face seemed to be bloodless, and he cried out, “You betrayed your own flesh and blood?”

“Yes. But how did I know he was there?”

“I never told you that!” Abigail said loudly.

Paul reached into his pocket and pulled out several pieces of paper. “Nathan, you know Abigail’s handwriting—here’s the note she sent telling me you were coming to her house—and here’s the one I got later that says our affair will have to stop—for a while—because she needs you to keep her from falling into the hands of the patriots.”

Nathan took the notes, read one, then the other. He lifted his eyes, so filled with pain that Julie wanted to cry.

“I couldn’t help it!” Abigail cried out, and then her face twisted and she ran out of the room sobbing.

Paul moved back and said with a hollow smile, “I’m sorry for you, Nathan, but not as sorry as I am for her—nor for me, because I love her. I know what she is—and I love her anyway. She would have ruined you, Nathan!” Then he turned and walked out of the room, and they heard the door slam as he left the house.

Nathan reached out and touched the notes to the tip of flame that rose from a candle, then put them into a silver dish. He watched the paper turn into blackened ash; then he looked at the silent group and said, “Uncle Charles, I hope you won’t think too badly of Paul. When a man loves
a woman—he’s likely to do strange things, I guess.” After a pause he asked quietly, “Are we ready to go home now?”

Adam and Molly came quickly to stand with him, and then he said, “Julie? Will you come with us?”

“Yes, Nathan, I’m ready,” she whispered, and together they left the house.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

THE FIERY TRIAL

The morning after the disaster at Charles’s house, Adam sent Nathan on a mission to collect some cannon and powder from a post in Rhode Island. When Molly pressed him, he said, “I could have sent someone else—but Nathan needs to get away.” He grimaced and clapped his hands together in an abrupt gesture, exclaiming, “Molly, when he realized last night what that girl had done, it was like he’d taken a bullet in the brain!”

“I know, Adam.” Molly’s eyes were tired, and she tried to smile. “I think it’s just as well for him to go away for a while.”

“He was so depressed I was afraid he’d desert. His enlistment is up in two weeks—by that time we’ll be moving on to New York for sure.”

When Molly told Julie later that day what Adam had done, she had said quietly, “It’s best that way. He was hurting so!” The older woman gave her a compassionate look and thought in her heart,
And so are you, child!

As the days passed, Julie said little, but the thought of Aaron’s return was never completely out of her mind. She ate little and her cheerful smile was rarely seen. There was little work for her to do, so after cleaning the house she spent long hours beside the small pond, sitting under the canopy of tender gold-green leaves. For hours she would read the Bible, especially the Psalms; then she would walk around the pond, praying silently. Praying and thinking. Fear would strike her
like a knife, but each time it did, she would seek God, and a peace would settle over her.

Except for Molly, she saw almost no one, which was a blessing, for the inward journey she was struggling with required all her attention. She wondered at times about Daniel Greene, for the gentle Quaker had disappeared. Once she had asked Adam, but he had said, “Well, he was getting pretty close to his uncle, General Greene. Nathanael’s a wandering man—maybe he took the young fellow off on one of his scouting trips.”

Privately Julie thought he’d gone back home, and was disappointed, but as she became more and more engaged in her search for God’s will, she thought of him fondly, but not often. Molly was a blessing, for the dark-eyed woman had the blood of the Covenanters in her veins, and knew what waiting on God was. Sometimes Julie would sit for hours listening as Molly read in a soft, firm voice out of the Bible, and although she said little of meaning or interpretation, there would be those times when she would read a verse, then pause for a long moment with her eyes closed—and then she would smile at Julie and comment on the meaning so that the verse would suddenly come alive to the girl.

It came as a surprise to her when Paul Winslow came down the path as she was walking late one afternoon. He stopped in front of her, saying, “Sorry to intrude on you, Miss Sampson.” Fatigue had dulled his neat features, making him look older, and his manner was subdued. “Perhaps you’d rather not talk to me—I should not blame you.”

“Would you like to walk with me, Mr. Winslow?” she asked, and her gentle answer brightened his eyes.

“Thank you.” He stepped beside her, and for several minutes he said nothing. She could see he was changed; he was struggling with his thoughts, attempting to say something that came hard for him.

“You feel badly about Nathan, don’t you, Mr. Winslow?” she said quietly, sensing that it was this that had brought him.

He stared at her, then smiled and nodded. “You’re a very discerning young woman!” He bit his lip nervously, and threw his hands out in a helpless gesture. “What can I say? Father won’t speak to me—and he’s absolutely right . . . !”

His conscience, Julie saw, had been cutting him to pieces, and the light spirit that had bubbled out of him was gone. She said little as they walked and he spoke of his life, for she saw that he was looking for someone to hear his confession.

Finally he paused and said in a hopeless voice, “I—I don’t know why I came to you with all this. Actually, I’m not much of a man to speak of myself about such things. I—I guess I wanted to tell Nathan how sorry I am, and you caught it instead.” He had been staring down at the ground. Now he lifted his head, looked into her eyes and said, “Well, I’ll leave you to—”

“Don’t go, Paul.” She called him by his first name unconsciously, for there was something young and vulnerable in him as he stood there. “Let’s talk some more.” He brightened, and for over an hour they walked, and this time she shared with him her struggle to find peace. As he listened, the simple faith in her voice held him. She made little of the precarious state of her life, but he knew of it, and admired her quiet courage.

Finally he left, saying, “You’ve been a help, Julie.” Then a trace of his old humor touched his eyes and turned his lips up in the first smile she’d seen since he’d arrived. “You know what I’m going to do for you?” He paused solemnly and said firmly, “I’m going—to let you pray for me!”

She smiled at him. “I haven’t waited for your permission, Paul.”

He blinked, nodded, then turned abruptly and left. Later that night she told Molly of the visit.

“He’s lost his way,” Molly said. “But Winslow men have a habit of getting pulled out of the miry pit.” Then she shook her head, saying, “That girl! She could have had one good man—but it wasn’t enough for her!”

“Molly,” Julie asked suddenly, “Doesn’t the Scripture say
we are to pray for those who despitefully use us? Are you praying for Abigail?”

Molly said, “Yes—but it’s not hard, Julie. She hasn’t used me ill.”

“But the way she treated Nathan—?”

“She would have harmed us all much more if she’d married him, Julie!” Then she smiled and said, “And you mustn’t forget—she’s a Winslow, too! Oh, the blood’s thinned some—but her grandmother was Rachel Winslow—and
her
great-grandfather was Gilbert Winslow.” She paused and said thoughtfully, “I think about those people a great deal—and it’s hard to keep in mind that they weren’t gods—just people like us. But Gilbert threw his life on the altar for God, and Rachel went to the brink of death at Salem out of a love for God—so I’m not giving up on Abigail!”

Julie leaned against the wall, hands behind her. The quiet days had thinned her face, hollowed her cheeks somewhat, and her eyes were clear and speculative. “I feel so strange, Molly. The world is falling apart—trouble everywhere. And all I’ve done for days is walk around a pond.”

“There never has been a time, Julie,” Molly answered with a nod, “that the world
wasn’t
falling apart. Gilbert Winslow saw his world fall apart when half of the Firstcomers died that first winter at Plymouth. His son, Matthew, was in prison with John Bunyan in the shadow of the gallows. That’s the kind of world we live in—and it won’t ever change.” Her lips were relaxed as she spoke, and she added thoughtfully, “As for walking around a pond—you’ve been doing more than that, child. You’ve been trying to find out who you are to God—and who He is to you. And that’s the most important job in this little life we have!”

“That’s right, isn’t it?” A look of wonder came into Julie’s eyes and she whispered, “That’s what God’s been saying to me all this time—‘Trust me!’ ” She laughed shortly, adding, “I was expecting some sort of lightning bolt to strike me—maybe fall out—like Adam said He did when he got converted.”

“He did!” Molly laughed. “It was at one of George Whitefield’s meetings, and Adam had tried just about everything—was about ready to give up—and all of a sudden, he just folded up. He got up looking stunned—and he’s been walking with God ever since. So for some it’s falling down at a meeting—for others, God speaks in a still, small voice—perhaps when walking around a pond!”

Two days after this conversation, Julie answered a knock at the door, opening it to see Dan standing there dressed in the uniform of General Greene’s company. She stared at him in astonishment, and he laughed before she could move, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Well, here I am, Julie,” he smiled ruefully. “See what thee has done to a poor humble Friend?”

“Daniel! I can’t
believe
it!”

“Neither could Mother! But she’s not going to disown me. I just came from home, and thee know what, Julie? She wasn’t surprised—said the Lord had already told her about it.” He laughed in embarrassment, adding, “I wish He’d told
me!
”

“How in the world—?”

“Oh, my uncle had gone through the same struggle, thee knows. And officially I’m a chaplain—but that doesn’t seem to mean much! I think when the fighting starts, there’ll be at least two fighting Quakers in General Greene’s company!”

She pulled him inside, glad to see him, pushing him into a chair, and demanding the details. They drank a pot of tea as he spoke of the great change that had come to his thinking. The china cup looked small in his large hands, and he sometimes spoke quietly of the inner struggle that had shaken him—then his eyes flashed as he spoke of the new vision that had caught his spirit. He didn’t call it a
vision,
yet it was so strong that it made his eyes glow as he spoke of the emerging nation.

“It’s not just a little movement, Julie,” he said finally. “God is up to something with this country! The old world is tired—and the church of the living God is bound in chains. But in
this land, why, it can be a place where we can all seek God in any way we choose!”

Finally, he caught himself, laughed and said, “I sound like a recruiting sergeant, don’t I? But that’s not why I came, Julie, although since thee is a part of what’s happened to me, I wanted to share it with thee.”

“I’m glad you came. I’ve missed you, Dan.”

He stared at her, then said simply, “Did thee, Julie? Well, that may mean something, but I guess thee knows how I feel. I know thee thinks thee are in love with Nathan—but I finally decided that I could either keep my mouth shut—or I could say what I’ve been thinking.”

“Dan—!”

“Don’t stop me now, Julie! I’m a plain man—always will be. Not at all romantic or exciting.” He considered this, and it was characteristic of him that he was anxious to be fair, even at such a moment. “So—I want thee to marry me.”

Julie stood very still, and he added, “Maybe I’ll never have what thee had to give the other fellow. I’ll never ask for that. I can’t give thee what he could—but I can give thee my name—and my love.”

The clock ticked loudly on the shelf, and tiny motes floated in the brilliant sunshine that fell through the windows in bars that seemed almost solid. Tears rose to Julie’s eyes and she said, “I can’t let you do that, Daniel. It wouldn’t be fair.”

He nodded and there was a faint regret in his eyes—but a stubborn set to his jaw. “I may not be romantic, Julie,” he said, “but I’m hard to discourage. I’ll not bother thee, but thee are pretty likely to find me underfoot for a spell.”

“You’ll be off at the war.”

“Woman, thee are talking to the only living
nephew
of General Nathanael Greene!” His eyes twinkled and he said proudly, “Why, dear Uncle Nathanael practically
insisted
that I take a good leave! So here I am, Julie—and like I say, I’m a hard man to discourage.”

Julie shook her head, but though she often asked him to
leave during the next three days, he settled down in a room close by, ignoring her urgings. He said nothing more about marriage or about Nathan, and his presence, for all her protests, was a comfort to her.

On a Friday afternoon, Adam came in with bitter news. The moment he entered the room and said “Julie!” she knew what it was.

“My uncle is back, isn’t he?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Molly asked quickly, “Adam, isn’t there anything we can do?”

“He’s got the papers—and Judge Evans says that Julie will have to go with him.” He came up and tried to smile, saying, “Child, this isn’t the end. We’ll get a lawyer—a good one!”