Read Online The Schoolmaster's Daughter by John Smolens - Free Book Online

mouth. He winced as he swallowed, but then he took another pull on the rum.
    â€œSir,” Benjamin said. “If you won’t let Mr. Dawes pass, perhaps I could go to Roxbury and convey a message to his aunt.”
    Dawes raised his head from the horse’s mane. “No, lad, that won’t do,” he said sternly, yet helplessly awash in emotion. “It’s very kindly of you, but it wouldn’t be the same.”
    Fredericks raised his lantern and gazed hard at Benjamin. When he lowered his arm, the light cast deep shadows upwards on his face. After further consideration, he took a last pull on the rum and handed the bottle back to Dawes. “No, Billy,” he said. “The boy cannot go in your place. It wouldn’t be right, for your aunt, I mean.” He looked out across the marsh toward Dorchester Heights. “It’s not right, is it? I had a sister died last fall. Her lungs, you know. I didn’t learn of it till January—near three months later, an’ all’s I gets is a letter from me mum. Priscilla was her name, me sister, that is. Had two little ones and a husband that’s a cooper. Don’t much care for ‘im, never did, and I worry about them kids, ’avin’ no mum, an’ all.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Fredericks.” Dawes jammed the cork in the bottle and then held it out for the corporal. “At least keep this, to get you through the night. Fact is, I’ve had enough.”
    â€œI can see that, I can.” Fredericks tucked the bottle inside his coat pocket. “Well now, Billy, you just be on your way before it’s too late.” He turned and raised his lantern as a signal to the two soldiers manning the gate. “Rider comin’ through,” he called out. “Open ’er up, boys.”
    â€œAre you sure?” Dawes asked.
    â€œIt’s only right.” Fredericks placed a hand on Benjamin’s shoulder and giving him a firm squeeze. “And, like you said, this good lad should be on his way ’ome. In fact, it’s well past me suppertime, so I may accompany ’im to that tavern there on down Orange Street so’s I might take my evening repast.”
    â€œYou are most kind, Fredericks,” Dawes said. He straightened up in the saddle and walked the horse on as the gate was being swung open.
    â€œNow, Ben,” Fredericks said. “I will just inform me men that I’m going off-duty. It’s a dark night and a lad such as you shouldn’t be out alone.”
    â€œMuch obliged, sir.”
    Frederick’s hand remained on Benjamin’s shoulder a moment longer, squeezing tighter, and then he went back into the gatehouse and spoke to another soldier, handing over the lantern.
    Benjamin was tempted to turn and run. Fredericks would never catch him. But the young soldier standing in the gatehouse doorway looked barely sixteen, and if he couldn’t run as fast as Benjamin, he might be a fair shot.
    So Benjamin stayed put, waiting for the corporal to return.
    As he looked toward the gate, Dawes and his sauntering horse disappeared into the night.
    When Abigail let herself into the house, there were the two candles, which her mother always left on the table by the front door. Benjamin had not yet returned home—his tricorn was not hanging from its peg. She climbed the stairs, but at the landing she sat in the window seat, blowing out the candle and placing the holder on the sill. The darkness was scented with melted wax and the house was silent, except for the sound of her father’s snoring in the room at the end of the hall. Suddenly, she was exhausted, so tired that it would take too much effort to climb the rest of the stairs to her bedroom. Since her youth, the window seat had been her favorite place in the house, and she could dwell there for hours, reading, dozing, or merely gazing out the window. Now, leaning her back against the paneling, she curled her