The Gentle Rebel (7 page)

He was very partial to Anne, so he carefully explained how that some years ago, he and his brother Adam had divided the family business—with Adam moving to Virginia to handle the fur trade while he himself stayed in Boston to take care of the other aspects and the shipping. But Paul knew there was more to the separation than that; there had been almost no contact between the two families, and there had to be some reason.

He was still pondering on the matter when footsteps sounded and he looked up to see two young men enter. One was tall and fair, and looked so much like his own father it gave him a small shock. The other was short and dark.

“Well, here they are!” Charles stood up and waved a hand toward the two, saying gaily, “This is Nathan and this is his brother Caleb. Let me introduce you to your relatives, nephews. This is my wife, Dorcas; and my mother and your father’s stepmother, of course, Mrs. Martha Winslow. This is my son, Paul, and my daughter, Anne.”

Paul rose to his feet and walked around the table, saying with a smile, “Strange we haven’t met—but better late than never, eh? Come now, you two sit down and eat.”

Nathan and Caleb sat down, both feeling awkward, and as the black servant placed food before them, Nathan said, “I apologize for our clothing, but—”

“It’s quite all right,” Dorcas said in a tone that implied just the opposite.

“Did you see any Indians?”

Everyone laughed, but Anne’s question eased the tension, and Nathan said, “No, Anne, it’s too cold out for Indians,
but I’ve seen lots of them back home, and I’ll tell you some scary stories about them.”

“You eat up now, and then you can tell us about Adam and Molly,” Charles urged.

The food was good, and after Nathan and Caleb finished, Charles plied them with questions about Virginia—some about the family, but more about business. Nathan answered as well as he could, and his answers pleased their host.

All might have gone well, but suddenly Martha Winslow asked, “And has your father gotten rid of his erroneous ideas about the King?”

Before Nathan could answer, Caleb said loudly, “Why, ma’am, I expect my father’s opinions on King George are about what any honest man’s are—that he’s a fool and not in the least interested in the freedom of his subjects in these Colonies!”

He’s done it now!
Nathan thought, but even as he tried to come up with some way to smooth the situation over, Paul Winslow took over. He said easily, “Now, Grandmother, we won’t have any political arguments!” Getting up with a smile, he walked around and stood behind his mother and grandmother, and placing a hand on each of their shoulders, he said, “My cousins are probably worn out from a hard trip—and we have a lot of things to do in the next few weeks. There’s a ball tomorrow night at Uncle Saul’s and I want to show off my Virginia kinfolks. We’ll have some of these pale Boston maidens falling at your feet, I can assure you!”

He went on easily, and Nathan drew a sigh of relief.
He knows how to handle them!
he thought with envy.

Later that night, when he and Caleb were finally in bed, he said, “You nearly ruined us with that rebel talk, Caleb. Keep quiet, you hear me?”

“You better worry about all those ‘pale Boston maidens’ Paul is going to throw at you,” Caleb muttered faintly, then fell into a sleep so sound that he did not hear Nathan’s drowsy
reply. “You keep your mouth shut and I’ll take care of the pale Boston maidens!”

“Oh, Abby, can’t you hurry? The music’s already started!”

Abigail Howland looked up from the French mahogany dressing table at Ellen Alden and gave a languid smile. “It will be the same crowd we’ve had for months, Ellen.” She looked back into the mirror; then a thought struck her and she lifted a pair of hazel eyes to the tall girl who was pacing nervously back and forth across the room. “But I suppose you’re thinking of Daniel being with Mercy Williams, aren’t you? He’s been giving her some pretty hot glances lately. If you don’t make him propose to you pretty soon, she’s going to get him.”

Ellen was a slender girl with earnest brown eyes and auburn hair. “I—I wouldn’t have a man I had to
force
into a proposal!” she said tightly.

“Mercy isn’t as choosy as you, I think.” Abby gave her shining brown hair a pat, then rose and led Ellen out of the room. As they went down the curving stairs, she said, “I can tell you how to get a proposal out of Daniel.”

She spoke softly for a few moments; then suddenly Ellen’s eyes opened wide and she cried, “No! I couldn’t do
that!
—and neither could you, Abigail!”

“Men fight for land, for money, for power,” Abby said. “But women fight for men!” She suddenly paused and nodded her head toward the milling crowd below. “There’s Daniel—and I’ll give you one guess as to who’s dancing with him!”

“It’s her!” Ellen moaned. “Oh, Abby, I love him so!”

“Well, let’s see what can be done,” Abby smiled. For the next half hour she busied herself with pushing Daniel Mains into the proposal that Ellen wanted to hear. Actually, it meant nothing to her, but Abigail Howland was bored with Boston, and it was a challenge to her. She herself had turned down more proposals than most girls ever had, but then she was
beautiful, witty—and her father, Saul Howland, was one of the wealthiest men in Boston.

She enjoyed the only game possible for a woman—men; and it gave her some pleasure to maneuver the hapless Daniel Mains. In the space of thirty minutes she had devalued the character of Ellen’s rival, elevated his opinion of Ellen herself, and when she left the two alone it was obvious that if she played her cards right, the tall girl had her fish hooked.

“At it again, Abby?” She turned with a smile to face Maury Simms, come to claim her for a dance. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man of twenty-six, who had been her suitor for a time, but had given up in despair. Now as they danced he said with a grin, “Giving Ellen a little help, are you?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Maury,” she said, but there was a smile on her red lips and she laughed aloud, saying, “Men are such fools!”

“Yes, we are, aren’t we?” Maury had gotten over her, and it was one of her pleasures to be with a man who wasn’t stalking her or her father’s money. “But not all of us. Paul Winslow’s no fool—not like me. I don’t think you can maneuver him as you do the rest of us.”

“Oh, I don’t want to maneuver anyone, Maury.”

They finished the dance, then joined a group at the long table crowded with wine and food. Emily Rauter was one of them, and she smiled briefly, saying, “Your dress is beautiful, Abby.”

“Thank you, Emily—you look wonderful.”

Maury stood there with a broad smile on his face, thinking,
They hate each other so well—both of them would like to tear the other’s face to rags with their fingernails.

But that wasn’t true—not so far as Abby was concerned. She knew that Emily wanted Paul Winslow desperately, but it didn’t bother her. She had taken more than one man away from Emily.

“Who’s that with Paul?”

They all looked across the room to see Paul Winslow
coming toward them, accompanied by a very tall young man with red hair. “Oh, that must be Paul’s country cousin,” Maury said. Then a thought struck him, and he said with a smile, “Better leave that one alone, ladies—he’s not available.”

As he had suspected this statement made both women raise their eyes for a closer look at the tall man. “What does that mean, Maury?” Emily asked.

“Oh, well, in the first place, according to Paul, he’s probably a frightful patriot—which makes him ineligible right off—but even worse, he’s a minister. Parson of some sort.”

“He may be a minister,” Abby smiled, “but he’s a man.”

“Better leave him alone, Abigail,” Emily said smoothly. “Paul might not like your paying attention to his cousin.”

“We’ll have to see, won’t we, dear?” Abby smiled, and moved across the floor to meet the pair.

“Well, we don’t need tigers in this country,” Maury smiled at Emily. “Not as long as you girls are around to eat each other alive.” Emily did not listen, for she was watching carefully as Paul introduced his cousin to Abby.

“And this is the most beautiful woman in Boston, Nathan, Miss Abigail Howland.”

“Pay him no heed, Mr. Winslow,” Abby smiled and held on to Nathan’s hand for a second longer than necessary. “You can’t believe a word this man says—but a Virginian like yourself, why, a girl could trust you, I think.”

Paul lifted his eyebrows; then a saturnine smile crossed his lips. “Well, I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. And I forgot to tell you, Nathan, you two are kinfolks.”

“What?” Nathan stared at Paul in confusion.

“Oh, I’ll explain all that to you while we dance,” Abby smiled up at him brilliantly and drew him into the dance. “My! It’s so nice to dance with a really
tall
man!”

“What—what’s this about our being kin to each other?” Nathan’s thoughts were disjointed, for he had never seen a girl half so lovely. She wore some scent that seemed to paralyze him. As they moved through the dance, from time to time
her body would brush against him, and he could not keep his thoughts straight.

“Oh, that’s true enough,” she said, and she spoke so softly that he had to bend down and put his face close to hers in order to hear. “Paul explained it to me once—he didn’t want me to think that there’d be any—problem, with us being close kin.” She laughed, and let her hand rest on his arm where it seemed to leave a mark. “Let’s see, now—my grandmother was Rachel Winslow. She was your grandfather’s sister. His name was Miles Winslow, I think. Oh, Nathan, that was ages ago.”

As they floated across the floor, Nathan felt somewhat bewitched. He had spent little time with girls, and never with one this attractive, so he moved like a man in a dream for the next hour.

Paul was standing beside the wall, looking on when Emily came up and claimed him. “There are too few men here for you to be an observer. Dance with me!”

He agreed readily, and soon she had him laughing. She was a witty young woman, and it was not long before he found himself telling her of Nathan. Finally she said, “Well, he’s a most attractive man, Paul. I’m surprised you let her dance for so long with him.”

“Well, you know Abby, Emily. She’ll do what she pleases.”

“A woman should do what her
man
pleases, I think!”

He nodded. “I’ll vote for that, but look, Nathan may not last long. Abby’s taking him over to meet the officers. That’s sort of like introducing the sheep to the wolves!”

Nathan did feel intimidated, for he was surrounded by a group of scarlet coated British officers. Miss Howland knew them all well, it seemed, and one by one he shook their hands; then they began shooting questions at him. A fine-looking man of forty, Major John Pitcairn, asked at once, “Well, Mr. Winslow, how blows the wind in the South? I know Mr. Washington. Is he going to get involved in this rebellion that seems to be brewing?”

Before Nathan could answer, a short, fat man with small, squinty eyes grunted, “Nonsense, Pitcairn! There’ll be no rebellion! These Colonists are stupid, but not stupid enough to go up against the strongest power in the world—the British Empire!”

“Colonel Smith is correct!” A portly man with a bluff manner and bright brown eyes spoke up. This was General Thomas Gage, commander of the King’s forces in Boston. “Washington is a gentleman, and I believe he’s a loyal man. It’s Sam Adams and Hancock who keep the pot boiling!”

“What do you think, sir?” Major Pitcairn asked Nathan. “Will there be a rebellion?”

Nathan felt every one of the King’s officers watching him closely, and he cleared his throat before saying carefully, “As for me, I believe a revolution would be a disaster. I have to add that not all my family thinks in this way—”

“Good man!” Smith said at once, and the others nodded agreement.

“You must come with Paul to our mess, Mr. Winslow,” Major Pitcairn said warmly. “He’s there often, and we’d like you to join him.”

“At your service, Major,” Nathan said; then he felt a small hand close on his arm, and turned to find Abby.

“It’s time for the refreshments you promised me, Mr. Winslow.”

He followed her to the table, and she asked with an arch smile, “I understand you are a clergyman. Does that prevent you from taking a little wine?”

Actually it did, for Adam felt that wine was the first step to being a drunkard, but looking into her eyes, Nathan could not refuse, so he took a glass of wine and she toasted the King.

The one glass was a mistake, for it seemed to have so little effect that soon he was taking another. Dance followed dance, and each was punctuated by sparkling glasses of wine.

Nathan had never felt so wonderful in all his life! He was a fine fellow—a devil of a chap, really! And as the wine went
down, his shyness fled, and soon he was laughing and talking with the most beautiful woman in Boston as if he’d done it all his life.

Hours later, he found himself with Abby in some sort of alcove, where she was showing him a picture of their mutual ancestor. He gazed into the strong face of Rachel Winslow, and then when he looked down to comment, Abigail’s face was lifted. Her lips were red and she swayed against him. His head was swimming, but he could not stop himself. He took her in his arms, lowered his head, and then he kissed her. It was a powerful moment, for she did not draw back, but shared his kiss.

Then, she pulled away, and her voice seemed to come from afar as she said, “For a minister, you are quite a man, Nathan Winslow!”

Then she vanished into the crowd of dancers, and he suddenly discovered that for the first time in his life, he was drunk. He found that he had difficulty walking, for the floor seemed to shift and tilt under him, and he was acutely conscious of too much wine rolling around in his stomach.

Paul came to his rescue. Seeing his cousin’s difficulty, he got him out of the house just in time for him to lose his supper, bundled him into a buggy, and finally helped him stagger upstairs. And it was Paul who said gently to the sleeping giant with the flushed face, “I think, Nathan, that Boston has been a little too much for you—or maybe I should say that Abigail Howland has been too much!”