Are You a Patriot Now?

The sixteenth of April, 1775.

Robert Newman walked the streets of Boston, coming home from a small purchase at the bakers. His eyes wandered the street. Up its length, British soldiers strode in a torrent of red. They gleamed in the sun, yet most Bostonians merely looked at them in sullen suspicion. English law enforcement was not welcome here.

Robert averted his eyes from the hated clumps of regulars. Instead, he focused them straight ahead. He turned onto Salem Street. He saw the churchyard of Christ Church, of which he was the sexton, up ahead. Close by was his house. He jogged up the steps and opened the door.

His daughter Anna looked up. “Hello, Father,” she smiled. “Is that fresh bread I smell?”

“Yes,” he answered. He placed the bread on the table. “Did anyone call while I was away?”

Her face darkened. “That awful Whig rabble-rouser, Paul Revere, did.” Then, after a thought, she added darkly, “Your friend.”

Robert sighed. He loved his daughter (and his dead wife’s memory, for that matter), but he often wished his wife had not instilled in Anna so many of her Tory views. Now, Anna clung to them in memory of her mother.

Anna also sighed. Oh, why did Father and herself have to disagree on this one issue? She got up to continue making supper. “Well, I suppose you must go see Mr. Revere now,” she grumbled. “The likes of him cannot, I think, wait for so ardent a Whig as yourself.”

Her father’s eyes bored two holes in the ground around the vicinity of his shoes. He looked more like a chastised child than a proud Patriot. Suddenly, however, he jerked his head up. His eyes flashed with rekindled fire. Drawing himself up, he barked, “No, he cannot wait, you are right. Please have supper layed out properly when I return.” With that, he strode quickly out into the street.

He cursed his dead wife’s political views. Why, she had practically raised Anna to be a God-damned Tory, that was what!

But what might Paul Revere want with him?

Anna slapped the pewter plates down on the small kitchen table. Oh, she thought. How I wish Mother were here. I simply don’t know how to manage Father thinking so different from me.

There was a knock on the door. “Father?” she called, even though he didn’t usually rap. Who was it?

“Goodness, what is this house, some sort of military fort?” A laughing voice inquired. “I’ve just come to deliver your mail, for Heaven’s sake!”

Anna giggled. Jonathan, or Johnny, Lynn often brought letters to the Newman house. He was a handsome young boy with a taste in practical jokes and horses, both of which pastimes he enjoyed doing iin the company of Anna. He had been her friend for years, and was now a favored silver apprentice in a good shop in North Square.

“Come in,” she said, smiling. He entered, his fair hair tied up in a small ponytail at his neck. “Hello, Miss Anna,” he said, smiling. “How do you fare? I’ve got a letter here from Mendon.”

“I’m middling, Johnny. Won’t you stay to dinner?”

“No. I’ve got to get back to the shop. Where’s your father?” Johnny had an annoying habit of actually liking her parent.

Anna sighed. “He’s off at Paul Revere’s. Couldn’t even wait till after dinner.”

“Of course he couldn’t.” Johnny’s politics were opposite hers, too. She glared at him for forgetting.

He flushed. “Oh, Anna, I’m sorry. I forgot all about that . . .” he trailed off.

“Tis all right, Johnny.” But he had thrown down the letter and fled.

She sighed and began slicing the fresh bread. Her feelings for Johnny had of late been so confusing, she had decided to ignore them. It was really too bad that the two people she cared for the most--her father and Johnny--had opposing political views.

Finished with the bread, she put it on a plate, which she placed on the table. She went over to the window to wait.

The door opened again. Her father was back. He hung his tricorn on a peg and sat down. “What’s this?”

“A letter. From Aunt Nancy in Mendon.”

“Oh. Good.” He slit it open and began to read. Halfway down the page, he frowned, his face darkening, eyes widening. He finished the letter and set it down. The silence was heavy.

“Anna,” he said slowly, “Aunt Nancy is very sick. I must go to her.” Anna nodded.

“Darling,” he continued. Oh, how to ask her? “Well, Mr. Revere has entrusted me with a very important task. To hang a signal from the belfry of the church.”

“I see. And now--now you cannot complete this favor because you have to go to Mendon.”

“Yes. Anna--would you--consider doing this for me?”

His words hit her like a rock. “Wh-what?” she stammered. Involve her with Mr. Revere and his Patriot machinations? Was her father insane?

“I want no part in this.”

“Oh, please Anna, darling, listen!” Robert’s voice was strange, pleading even. “Anna dearest. We know the British are planning to march into the countryside, tonight. They wish to seize arms the men of Concord keep safe, in order to defend their homes and families.”

“They hoard them for use against His Majesty’s forces.”

“Yes and no. They are afraid of the regulars, truly terrified. And they are angry, just as you would be if someone threatened our home and your rights.

“Soon, their worst fears will be confirmed. And they will feel more prepared--if someone can warn them. Would you not feel better if you knew your home was to be attacked but had time to plan a defense?

“Mr. Revere asked me to find out which way the regulars will go--by Boston Neck or row across to Charleston. Then, he requested that I hang a signal: one if they go by land, two if they go by sea, in the belfry of Old North Church. Anna. Will you do this for me?” He let the words drop into a void of silence. Anna’s face was unreadable. “Please?” he asked.

Anna’s voice was toneless. “I do not know what to do.” He shifted in his chair.

“If I do, or if I don’t, I condemn either the soldiers or the country people to the possibility of death.” Her voice wavered. “Although,” she said grimly, “I suppose there will be death either way, curse it!”

Her father was pleading. “Please? For me, Anna. For all those people out there. For your Aunt Nancy.”

That was bringing yet another person into this. What if it was her Aunt out there instead of strangers? She would do it for Aunt Nancy, that was true. So didn’t that mean that she should give in and agree? It seemed the Christian thing to do.

“Oh . . .very well. I’ll do it.” But what of her mother’s memory? Would this act be inconstant to Mama?

----------------------

It was dark. A bright moon shone over Boston, illuminating the ships and buildings of the city. An army of red-clad soldiers stood, barely visible, on the waterfront. Bayonets flashed defiantely in the moonlight.

On nearby Salem Street, a window creaked quietly. A figure climbed out on to the ground, wearing an ankle-length cloak and bonnet. Beneath the folds of her cloak, Anna carried two lanterns, unlit. She looked around for the person her father had said would accompany her to the Old North church and keep watch while she lit the signal. “You’ll know him by the red kerchief he will wear around his neck,” Robert had told her as he kissed her goodbye and mounted his horse for his journey to the ailing Aunt Nancy, his sister.

Anna crept along the street, masked in shadows and afraid. A great black bulk materialized out of the gloom--Old North!

Not yet, she told herself firmly. First you have to find out which signal to hang. She knew that if the British wanted to row across to Charleston, they’d board the boats at the very tip of Boston. I’ll go there first and see, she thought. Dear Lord. What if I’m caught? She set her jaw grimly. I just won’t be, that’s all there is to it. And what about mother? Would she condone what I am doing? Am I being unfaithful?

Near the edge of the town, a clamor made her jump deeper into the shadows. What was all that light about? Lanterns were swinging to and fro, silhouetting soldiers milling about; she heard the hushed orders and tramp of feet. “Down to the beach, let’s go, march!” “Move along, men, we have work to do.” “Careful, you’ll have her capsized!”

Unless this was all a great hoax planned by General Gage to confuse a small female Patriot spy and wreak havoc among the Whig strategems, the British regulars would be going by sea. That was the answer, and, armed with it, Anna hurried back to the church. Fear was growing in her, and her conscience was gnawing. Was this the right thing to be doing?

Creeping through the courtyard, she saw no sign of her assistant until she was in the shadow of the wall itself. “Pssst. Hello there,” a voice whispered. The man stepped out of the shadows, tell tale red kerchief tied around his collar. Anna recognized him--his eyes looked familiar--

“Johnny!” she said aloud, blushing. “How--”

“Hush,” he told her. “This is dangerous. If we are caught--well, your father would never forgive me if you were injured. And, well, I wouldn’t forgive myself, either . . .” He stopped. “Well, Anna, just talk in whispers.”

“But how--”

He anticipated her question, saying, “Yes, I met your father earlier this afternoon. He asked me to do this. But you--how did you get in this deep? You’re a Tory!”

“Father--father convinced me,” she explained hastily. “And, oh, Johnny, I don’t know why I ever let him. I--I’m afraid of dishonoring Mother’s memory and I don’t know what to do!” She buried her face in his shoulder and began to cry; the fear of getting caught mixed with the uncertainty about her mother’s memory. “Shhh, shh,” he whispered. “Tis all right.” Hesitantly, he put his arms around his distraught friend and tried to soothe her sobs.

“You’re not being untrue to her memory, Anna. She was a strong woman who believed in individual thinking for oneself. She wanted you to grow up like that. If you want to be absolutely faithful, reason this out for yourself.”

“But she was a Loyalist.”

“Yes, because she felt that was the side that was right. Anna. Did she ever say, ‘Because I believe this, you should too?’ No, of course not. She would be proud indeed if you stopped worrying about her thoughts on the subject and came up with your own.”

“You really think so ?” She questioned him haltingly, her words muffled in his shoulder.

“I do,” he affirmed. “Now. Here are the matches. I will lock you in.”

Her father had told her about this part. In case a regular happened by the church, it had to be locked as usual to avoid suspicion. She registered this outwardly; her head was reeling from Johnny’s insight about her mother.

She tugged on the heavy door, which opened with a squeaking noise, and hurried into the dark void of the sanctuary. The key turned in the lock.

Her father’s instructions rang in her head: Find the staircase up to the gallery. Take the steps up to the spire; they go up halfway. There’s a ladder for the rest.

The stairs creaked as she climbed them quickly, thoughts straying to what Johnny had said again. Was he right?

Here was the ladder, ascending through a trap door and out of sight. It looked fragile and unused. Anna nervously switched the lanterns to one hand and stepped onto the first rung. Now her thoughts centered on climbing. She’d been right about the ladder being rickety. It creaked at every step.

Once through the trapdoor, she could see the belfry high above. Pigeons, startled from their evening roosts, flapped around her before settling down again. Lord be praised, she was there. The floor seemed fairly solid.

All of Boston lay dormant. The only sign of life came from that line of light to the north, too far north to be on land. They were crossing the Charleston!

Anna knelt on the floor, fumbling with the lanterns. I have a choice. One, or two? Will I be Tory or Whig? Mother or Father? Which way is true to myself? Should I send the correct signal, or the wrong one to throw the Patriots off?

Images formed in her mind. She heard her father’s adamant voice: “I will not be taxed by those who know not what my circumstances are and with whom I am not represented!” That had been at the news of the Stamp Act’s imposition.

There were the faces of determined farmers, ready to defend their homes and families, willing to lay down their lives in defense of the liberty their government had stripped away.

The wind whipped around the spire. Both lanterns were lit and waiting.

She placed one on the sill. For my mother.

Anna hesitated. For the last time, the thought of leaving the sole lantern there passed through her mind. No. She reached down, and her hand found the cold metal of the second lantern. One for my father.

Two for me.

The lights sat there, flickering in front of her eyes, for a moment. Fearing someone might see, however, she grabbed both and extinguished them quickly.

Anna practically flew down the ladder. Elation coursed through her; it gave her wings. She felt liberated. She had remained true to her father, mother, and herself. At last, reconciliation between all three!

The door creaked. Johnny jumped. He moved quietly along the wall at the edge of the darkness.

A whistle rose and fell in the alley way. Johnny froze. Anna--

As if in answer to her name, Anna burst out of the sanctuary and shut the heavy door. Johnny took her hand. “We have to leave, Anna,” he whispered urgently. “There are people coming.”

The pair tiptoed in the shadows, along the walls of the church. The voices were drawing nearer. Finally, the wall came to an end. “We’ve got to cross the street,” Johnny said tersely. “Now.”

They scurried over the cobblestones and hid in the shadows on the other side of the street. A man stepped out from the corner of the building. Another minute--but Anna didn’t want to even think of the possibilites. I’m so glad Johnny’s here, she thought.

He led her along the streets of the city at a more leisurely pace until they came to a hill overlooking the landscape. “Johnny,” Anna began, “I--I wish to thank you to helping me tonight. I couldn’t have done it without you, you know. And--you gave me an insight on my mother. I could have hung the wrong signal, but since you told me, I was no longer worried that my remembrance of her would be tainted. For that I am so very, very grateful, Johnny.”

His eyes twinkled happily. “So are you a Patriot now, Anna Newman?”

She looked up smiling. “I do believe I am, Jonathan Lynn. Are you happy?”

He grasped her shoulders and looked her in the eye, then drew her to him. His arms went around her back. Her face tilted up to meet his gaze, her eyes watching his head lower to meet hers. His face nearly touching hers, he answered her question. “Oh, Anna. I am, I am. It is the sweetest thing in the world to know that I have helped you,” he breathed. Their foreheads touched before his lips found hers, softly and swiftly.

After a short while, he pulled back. Renewed and remade, she relaxed in his arms. Together, they looked out on the black silhouettes of houses and the warves for a long time.

Author’s Note: My apologies for STILL not updating this. I know, no one really reads it anyway, or at least no one reviews (wink, wink. reviews would be very much appreciated).

Thanks a million to Arwen the Evenstar for the absolutely, positively, immensely, amazingly wonderful and helpful review!!!! That has to be the best review I’ve ever gotten, of the two I’ve actually received (yep, it’s really sad, please take pity on me). I live near Boston, so it was easier for me to get the right information and to get into the mindset of the 1700s in the city. In fact, the town that Aunt Nancy lives in is the one I live in (founded 1647, or something like that). To answer your question about Whigs and Tories, a Whig is a Patriot (like Paul Revere, Johnny, and Anna’s dad), and a Tory someone who was still loyal to the king of England (like Anna’s mother). I had originally thought that this would just be a stand-alone, but I’ll try to expand it into something longer if you want. Got any ideas about what should happen in the course of the longer plotline? Thanks so much for all your support!

Anyone else out there who’s reading this, please review! It really gives me a boost and helps me to update sooner if I know that people actually want to read this. I hardly get any comments from people who have taken a look at my stuff (that is, if there is anyone looking at my stuff). I’ll review your work if you’ll review mine, so please click that button on the bottom of the screen! Thanks so much--

violinlady13