The Promise Read online

  My husband has found a lovely rock near the falls and has taken me there often. How splendid it is to be alone with him.

  Love Mary

  LETTER FROM MATTHEW

  Boston, 4 January 1768

  I would like to be the first to inform you, if it were possible, that the war with Pontiac has ended. Our King required the Chief to sign an everlasting peace treaty. The Colonies are safe and the poorer for it. Our Men return home to wives and children, as they should. They, which yet live, that is.

  Now comes the Townshend Act. Simply put, the King requires new taxes on glass, lead and tea. My boys, can you hear my sorrowful moan all the way to Virginia? The price of Madeira wine has just risen.

  Matthew

  LETTER FROM MARY,

  Mahala, 23 May 1768

  ...our horses number more than two hundred, yet, our neighbors do not fare well. The Williams find no market for their crops. Grace and her family bid farewell and dare to cross the Appalachian Mountains. The Griffins departed for England Thursday last as did the Osborns. Surely, the King will withdraw his taxes soon. Daily, people come to seek position with us. Daily, we offer a fit meal and send them away. Even Mister Cook struggles to sell his wares and we have taken to secretly leaving supplies outside his cabin door.

  We take careful heed of your warnings concerning the Sons of Liberty. Lately, they have assembled even in Richmond. And with each new report of disturbances, we fear for the safety of the world.

  Not since our first ball has a Redcoat entered Mahala, but on Friday last, just as we began to celebrate John's seventh birthday, a full regiment marched down our lane. The Townshend Act gives full authority for a search, and search they did. Perhaps the Sons of Liberty are right – the King has gone too far.

  We have finished building the new school and retained a school master. Elizabeth claims to suffer vexation merely at the thought of teaching of her own children – poor dear.

  Caroline and Alfred are indeed a very handsome couple.

  Mary

  LETTER FROM ETTA

  Boston, 23 August 1769

  ...two bison, in the Steiner's barn. What a sight to behold! Bison are far larger than I had imagined.

  We at last have a grandson! Young Mister Matthew Worthingham is delightful and Caroline is well. The boy is...

  ...sadly, the cost of cloth for this years balls are beyond the means of even the wealthy. Still, our only reproof for British taxes is not to buy British goods. We simply must manufacture our own, and my dear, one can hear the sound of looms all through the night. Matthew's gone off again in the schooner.

  Love Etta

  IT WAS NOT YET MIDNIGHT on the 26th of February, 1770, when Uriah heard a noise. Trying not to disturb Mary, he slipped out of bed and tucked the blankets around her. Then he hurried to the window. Four torches, two on each end of a fast moving coach, streaked behind a full team of horses galloping down the lane. Quickly, he pulled on his trousers. But before he could button the last button on his pants and get his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, loud banging erupted at the front door. Mary's eyes shot wide open.

  “I will see to it, Love.” He hurried off and reached the top of the stairs just as a servant opened the door.

  Uriah's jaw dropped, “Matthew?”

  “My boy, we have ridden in that crotchety bucket of a carriage for the better part of an eternity. Might we come in?”

  “Of course.” Uriah hurried down the stairs and crossed the assembly room. Behind him, Caleb, Mary, and Elizabeth, peeked over the banisters and then followed.

  Matthew barely had time to move out of the way before Etta, Caroline, and Alfred, stepped in.

  With tears streaming down her cheeks, Etta rushed toward the stairs. “Oh, Mary, never have I been so frightened.”

  Mary quickly wrapped her arms around her, “What is it, Etta? What has frightened you?”

  “The Sons of Liberty thought to hang us!”

  “What?” Caleb gasped. “Why?”

  “For aiding the British, but we have not, I swear it,” Caroline answered.

  Elizabeth took the sleeping baby from Caroline's arms, “Of course you have not, and you are safe now. Come with me. What you need is a good night's rest.” She led the way back up the stairs with Mary and Etta following.

  Matthew handed his hat to the servant and headed for the study. “Frankly, I covet a drop of wine far more than a good night's rest. Have you any left? You've met Alfred, have you not? Of course you have. Come along, Alfred. Etta has lamented all the way from Boston. She cries still.” Matthew walked to the dying embers in the hearth, lifted a log and set it in place. “Not that I blame her, I took quite a fright myself.”

  With his night shirt half in and half out of his pants, Caleb went to the cabinet, retrieved a bottle of wine and four glasses.

  “Reprehensible roads,” Matthew went on, untying the scarf around his neck. “How long can it be until the Colonies have enough wits to build proper roads?” He grabbed a poker and handed it to Uriah. “Stoke the fire, my boy; I am chilled to the bone.” Uriah obliged.

  Caroline's second husband was cut from an altogether different cloth than LeRoy Grayson. Alfred Worthingham had defining features with dark hair and blue eyes. Normally, he was outgoing, but on this night, he remained subdued. He half nodded a greeting, removed his heavy cloak, sat down near the fire, and quietly accepted a glass of wine from Caleb.

  Matthew flew into a rage, “Bloody Sons of Liberty! They happily terrorize the whole of Boston!”

  In a bedchamber on the east side of the house, Caroline tucked the blankets around her weeping mother and leaned over to kiss her lightly on the forehead, “Rest, Mama. There, there, close your eyes.” She waited until the tears stopped and Etta's breathing became even. She blew out the candle near the bed and then followed Elizabeth and Mary out of the room.

  Mary opened the door to the next bedchamber. A fire in the hearth, started only moments before by a servant, was already giving off warmth. “Poor Etta, never have I seen her so distressed.”

  “With just cause.” Caroline took her small son from Elizabeth and gently laid him on the bed. “We could not bring the servants and we know not what's become of them. The last we saw, they were fleeing the house.” She sat down on a chair and began unfastening her shoes. “It is so cold in Boston. Mama imagines them hiding in the forest and freezing to death.”

  In the study, Alfred looked at nothing at all, while Caleb sat down and set the bottle nearby for handy refills. The fire at last rekindled, Uriah took a seat.

  Matthew threw his hands into the air and turned to glare at Alfred, “Feeble minded Sons of Liberty! Not a one with the good sense of a mule.”

  Alfred lifted his eyes. “An hour ago, you blamed the tradesmen.”

  “As well I should. It was the tradesmen who charged us not to buy British goods. They play a child's game hoping to bring the King to his senses. But does the King repeal the taxes? No he does not.”

  Alfred looked away, “'Tis not over yet, Matthew.”

  “Indeed not. In the meantime, men who cannot feed their families seek someone to blame. And who do they blame? Not the tradesmen who raise their prices, but anyone who buys British goods! A man blames his neighbor, his friend, and the maid, whose only crime is to do her Master's bidding.”

  Alfred became defiant, “We should simply pay the taxes, then? Do you enjoy the King's stamp on every paper on your desk?”

  “I enjoy none of it. Not the taxes, not the British, and not the Sons of Liberty.” Unexpectedly, Matthew's eyes lit up. “On the other hand, I did enjoy the Hancock matter. I didn't know the man had it in him, tying up the revenuers, unloading his cargo and stealing away without paying taxes. I even enjoyed it when the British burned Hancock's ship. And there you have it – an eye for an eye.

  But then, to avenge the burning of Hancock's ship, the people ran through the streets of Boston with torches, attacking British officers and stoning their houses.
Not a thought did they give the women and children inside. And to avenge the stoning, the King sends more troops to Boston! Where's an end to it, Alfred?”

  In disbelief Mary asked, “Men with torches?”

  “Great hordes of them running down the streets, each with a fierce countenance as they shouted obscenities and hurled stones. Alfred hid the baby and me in the bushes, and then hurried off to see about Papa and Mama. But by the time he arrived, the crowd had already turned up the lane toward the house. Papa ordered the coach brought round back, loaded Mama and himself, and Alfred climbed aboard just as it pulled away. They stopped to get us and off we went. There was no time. We brought nothing with us.”

  AT LAST, MATTHEW EASED himself into a chair and sipped his wine. He allowed it to linger in his mouth for a long moment before he swallowed. “It is never ending. To avenge high taxes, Colonists smuggle. To avenge the smuggling, the King pays informers. The informers who are caught are unmercifully beaten, or worse tarred and feathered. And now we've the bloody posters. Names of those suspected of informing or buying British goods are posted all over Boston.”

  Elizabeth pulled a clean nightdress out of a drawer and handed it to Caroline, “But surely, Matthew's name is not on the posters?”

  “It must be,” answered Caroline. “Why else would they come for us? New posters are put up every day and no one is given the opportunity of denying the charges. The stevedores fear unloading the ships, the merchants fear selling, and the people fear both the British and the Sons of Liberty. It is complete madness. All manner of people have fled Boston. The Inns along the way were filled to the brim, so we thought we might as well come here.”

  Matthew took another sip of his drink, “The King's landed six garrisons in only two weeks, and all looking to be billeted in our homes. Hear this if you dare. Word spread that a particular gentleman was an informer. Young boys spotted the man, began throwing rubbish at him and followed him to his residence. At first, the man only retaliated by hurling the rubbish back. But fearing for his family, he...”

  Caroline sighed, “He pulled out his pistol and shot an eleven-year old boy.”

  “Oh no,” moaned Elizabeth, “did the boy die?”

  “Aye. Now they think my father is an informer.”

  “But Matthew is not an informer, he is a...” Mary stopped.

  Caroline softly said, “A smuggler? That is what I think, though he does not admit it.”

  Matthew downed the last of his wine and set the glass on the table, “I sent word to MacGreagor. He'll find the truth of it. For all we know, they burned the house and all that is in it.” Matthew narrowed his eyes and glared at his new son-in-law. “What's to become of the Colonies now? How do we stop the madness? What are we to do, Alfred, go to war?”

  IN A MONTH’S TIME, MacGreagor came to get them. The house had not been burned and the servants were safe. Matthew's name had been posted in error and the Son's of Liberty regretted it. But Etta would never be the same. Sometime in the night of their arrival, she suffered a mild stroke and the right side of her face drooped.

  Parliament repealed the Townshend Act in March of 1771, save for a slight tax on tea. The tradesmen lowered their prices, declared the Sons of Liberty far too dangerous, and the Colonies heaved a collective sigh of relief – all but the Sons of Liberty who waited to see what tax the King would impose next.

  At Mahala, the vines finally grew long enough to hide the statue's nakedness, young Jonathan Samuel turned ten, and then eleven.

  Letter from Mary

  15 October 1772

  ...a third set of twin girls. These, Caleb has named Effie and Abby, and Elizabeth vows never to let him in the bedchamber again. Did she not say that the last time?

  Daily we read the sad news of thousands dying in the great famine in India. How my heart aches for them.

  Mister Cook comes often to sell his wares and play his bagpipes. After all this time, he still refuses to enter the house.

  Love Mary

  Spring brought John's twelfth birthday and new colts. As Matthew predicted, most of their customers were Redcoats in need of horses, and in time, Mary got used to them coming to the house. Fall passed uneventfully, and the winter of 1773 promised Christmas with the Hendersons. The Hendersons arrived on schedule and Etta seemed more like her old self.

  Now that they were older, Matthew made a joke of guessing the correct names of the twins. He gathered them and lined them up in front of the statue. Maralee and Roselee were nine, Rachel and Suzanne were six and the “babies,” Effie and Abby, were a year and a half. But the babies would not stay in line. He threw up his hands and headed for the study. “Where might young John be?”

  “In the book room reading,” Uriah answered. “He has Elizabeth's talent for it and can hardly be persuaded to do anything else. Tell me, what news have you from Boston?”

  Matthew watched Alfred find a seat. “Ask him, why don't you?”

  Alfred rolled his eyes and folded his arms, “Papa thinks I have joined the Sons of Liberty.”

  “And have you?” Caleb asked.

  “No, but I am hard pressed to convince him. I was out, you see, when it happened.”

  Asked Uriah, “When what happened?”

  “Have you not heard? Indians raided a British ship and dumped all its East India tea in the harbor.”

  “Oh that.”

  Matthew threw Alfred an accusing look, “Indians, was it?”

  “How should I know, I was not there. But rest assured, Papa, had I been, I would have helped.”

  Matthew slapped his hands behind his back. “So we dump their tea in the bay. What then, Alfred? First, the tradesmen encourage the Sons of Liberty, and then they declare them a danger. Now that their profits are again down, the Sons of Liberty can do no wrong. They cry freedom and Liberty, but it is bluster, nothing more.”

  “We have spoken these same words before, Papa. I doubt we will ever agree.”

  “I doubt it too.” Matthew sat down and looked out the window. “Mark my word, the King will not leave this unanswered. His wrath will be merciless. And what will the people do, send yet another protest to Parliament?” Slowly, Matthew turned to face his son-in-law. “My boy, Caroline fancies you. For that cause, I do hope you are not with the Sons of Liberty. If we are to see blood shed on the battle field, let it not be yours.”

  PART III

  CHAPTER 9

  WAR

  On the fifteenth of May, 1774 the Carson's sailed to Boston. The unrest kept their enjoyment well tempered and on the eve of their last night, British war ships were seen heading into Boston Harbor. As soon as it was dark, Caleb, Alfred and Uriah left the Henderson’s house and went off to watch.

  The remainder of the family sat around the dining room table and waited. Only three candles had been lit in the grand candelabra above. Another, centered on the long dining room table, yielded barely enough light to see faces, and over the windows, hung every shred of dark cloth they could find. Their foreboding was as gloomy as the darkness. Finally, the door opened and the men came in.

  Seated at the head of the table, Matthew's hair seemed even whiter than it had the day before. Over the months, he'd lost weight and wrinkles had collected around his eyes. “Well?”

  Uriah quickly sat down beside Mary and took her hand, “MacGreagor is safe. He sailed away in the night and none gave chase. He left word he will await us in New Bedford.”

  “Praise God. Have the British begun the burning yet?” asked Matthew.

  “Not yet.”

  “How many ships?”

  Caleb sat down, pulled a kerchief out of his shirt and dabbed at the sweat on his brow, “Seven, at last count. They intend to block the harbor and stop all trade until we meet the King's demands.”

  “What sort of demands?”

  Alfred was the last to enter and took the chair between Matthew and Caroline. “We are to pay for the tea. Only then will the ships be pulled back.”

  “How much?”


  “Far more than we can afford.”

  The silence hung heavy in the room for a time before Matthew asked Alfred, “Is this the King's only punishment?”

  “He has appointed General Gage the new Governor and more regimentals are being landed.”

  Matthew sneered, “Do the regimentals now out number us?”

  “I didn't stay to count them, and why is it you blame me for everything?”

  “Two thousand,” Caleb muttered.

  Matthew looked stunned, “Two thousand more regimentals?”

  “I overheard Samuel Adams say it.”

  “Ah, yes, well if Samuel Adams said it, it must be so. Is that not right, Alfred?”

  Alfred narrowed his eyes, “He is a good man who wants what is best.”

  “Best for whom? Tell me, has he admitted burning the Gaspee yet? As I recall, nearly a thousand people watched and none saw who set the blaze. Or was it you, Alfred?”

  “Since when do you object to the burning of a revenue cutter?” Alfred shot back.

  Caroline sighed, “Papa, please. We are frightened enough without your bickering. Go on, Caleb, what else did Mister Adams have to say?”

  “Well, the King demands all Redcoats accused of crimes be tried in England.”

  Said Matthew, “How clever of him. With no witnesses, none of them will be convicted. Go on, my boy, go on.”

  “We are no longer permitted public meetings.”

  At that, Matthew hurled himself out of his chair and began to pace. “And are the Sons of Liberty aware of it?”

  “By now they are,” Uriah answered. “The King's men nailed up posters.”

  “They'll hold their meetings nevertheless, in darkness, in secret, and in caves if need be. And each of us will be suspected. In the end, we will have no other choice. We will be forced to go to war.”