Lexington Anatomy of a Novel-Ch. 28-29

 

Chapter 28

Boston, Massachusetts

October 1774

 

 A MONTH INTO his assignment as General Thomas Gage’s orderly, James Holloway felt confused by his duties. He wasn’t free of his normal soldier responsibilities when it came to watches, marches, loading practice and guard duty — only if and when the General didn’t need him for something of various degrees of importance. On one occasion, Gage saw to it he was relieved of guard duty because he was needed at a social event at Gage’s house.

His meals had greatly improved. Whether in Salem, where the General had moved the headquarters, at Boston headquarters where the General still spent much of time or at General Gage’s home, the food was some of the best he’d ever eaten. Instead of the boring fare, he was given flavorful soups, roasts of many different meats, vegetables and desserts whose sweetness made him smile. No spruce beer but real beer or wine accompanied the meals.

On his days off from the General, which were not predictable, eating back with the other soldiers made him appreciate his good culinary fortune even more.

He was amused that no matter where he ate, the bread his family had baked was better. He had no intention of volunteering this information in case he was assigned to be the new 43^rd Regiment of Foot baker.

It was as if his assignments were only decided by the General’s daily whims.

There were days he had been assigned to accompany Gage’s wife, Margaret Kemple Gage, on errands, including to teas with other officers’ wives. He would wait in the kitchen while the women gossiped. One of the first conversations James overheard was Mrs. Gage’s refusal to move the family to Salem.

“I’ve moved to England. I’ve come back. I’ve upended the children too often. I told him that he could go back and forth to Salem. Find a room near your headquarters,” she was alleged to have said.”

“You’ve three days to change your mind,” the General was reported to have yelled.

“I’m not moving. That’s it.”

The maid who repeated the story imitated the General’s and Mrs. Gage’s voices. James assumed Mrs. Gage won, because the family remained at the Governor’s Mansion.

He found out that the couple were married since 1758. She hadn’t been born in England but New Jersey. He never heard any talk of how they met, but the couple seemed to love each other despite the disagreement about where they would live.

She always asked James how he was, worrying he might be too hot, too cold, hungry or uncomfortable. When one of the couple’s seven children disturbed him, she apologized and shooed the child back to the nursery or room. He heard her tell the governess to be more careful and not let the children slip away.

Like and love, James had discovered were two things. One or both can exist in the same people as they had with his Bess. Every day her image seemed a little fainter. He struggled to bring back the feelings he had when she lay next to him after making love, holding his hand until they were asleep. Some mornings they’d woken still holding hands.

Someday he might like to find a new wife. Maybe she would be a colonist. He would no longer be in the army. Maybe he would have his own bakery. Or he might be a carpenter.

When he became an orderly, he missed the hammering, sawing and fitting of wood. His little experience wasn’t enough to justify establishing his own shop. There was still too much to learn, and he had no way to do it. That didn’t stop him from dreaming, starting with the word someday.

Once the General learned that James could organize whatever needing organizing and do it well, James he heaped new duties on him, including the set up for the first meeting of the new General Council.

“Everything must go smoothly,” General Gage told James so often he’d lost count. The meeting was slated for the State House in the Council Chamber. James had lists of things needed: paper, quill pens, ink and a bell. He had no idea what the bell was for. Tea and small cookies were to be placed on a table on the right side of the room.

On the day that the newly appointed General Council was meeting, General Gage entered the Council Chamber to check if James had everything the way he had ordered.

The Council Chamber had almost floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides with red velvet curtains. At a large oak table polished to looking-glass brightness sat a dozen people. The wooden chairs with their carved backs were less comfortable than beautiful. Twenty matching chairs were lined up against the left wall.

A painting of the former Governor Thomas Hutchinson hung between two of the windows. There were also portraits of other recent governors: William Burnet, Jonathan Belcher, William Shirley and Thomas Pownall.

The only reason James knew who they were was the small brass plate with their names and years of service in the middle of the bottom of the wooden frame. One of James’s assignments was to find a painter to create separate portraits of Gage and his wife. James had arranged an appointment with a local artist, John Singleton Copley. People said he was good.

When the General entered the room, he noticed the portrait of Pownall was slightly askew. He straightened it before saying, “This is a big day, James. Do you know why?”

“I’m not sure, Sir.”

“It’s the first meeting of the new Council since I disbanded the old one.”

James stifled a sigh. He was in for another history lesson.

“When I arrived last spring, I dissolved the assembly because the damned locals were sending delegates to the illegal Continental Congress.”

Before he could explain more, two Council members arrived and mumbled greetings. Teaspoons clattered on teacups as they served themselves. The red-glazed cups and saucers were decorated with a circle showing an English village scene. The cups were so delicate that if held to the light the shadow of the holder’s fingers could be seen through them.

James wondered how there could be so much tea available after the locals had thrown tea into the harbor in December and March rather than pay tax.

“We won’t we need all these candles on the table will we, Thomas?” one of the delegates asked. “It’s 10:30 in the morning and the sunshine coming in the window is warm enough to cook us, never mind give us all the light we need.”

Gage motioned with his hand. The women carrying trays full of teapots put them down and began moving the candles to a side table.

“We will wait for the newly elected delegates,” Gage said.

James sat with his paper, ink and quill waiting to take notes. At 2:30 his paper was still blank as were several seats around the table. His job was to take down only the official discussions. The hope that the new delegates would be more cooperative than the former was dashed.

 

Chapter 29

Argelès-sur-mer, France

June

 

 BEFORE STARTTING TO edit and polish yesterday’s work, Rick I went to the village marché. Although people are drifting back after the pandemic, masks are still required.

The smells of the marché, baking bread, roasting chickens, flowers and coffee from the different sidewalk cafés, tickle my nose.

Luckily we found a table at our favorite café, L’Hostalet. A guitarist and a saxophone player contributed music.

It was Rick’s day (we take turns) to cook lunch. He bought one of the marché chickens with a fresh salad on our patio. That morning our cleaning lady left the house spotless, which meant I can get back to my editing and polishing without any distractions of “I should (fill in the blank).”

Immediately, I ran into a historical glitch.

How many children did Margaret Kemble, General Gage’s wife have?

Three sources told me seven, ten and eleven, respectively. They said nothing about when, how many lived, died and/or were in the Governor’s Mansion with the couple. I only need one sentence.

I’ve written a couple of sources to see why they named the number they have. If they write back, I will adjust. Otherwise, I will use seven as a realistic possibility. If the others existed, they could be off to school, back in England or not yet born. But you can’t have ten or eleven children without first having seven.

I have also turned to Wikipedia, which mentions three: Charlotte, William and Henry. Another source lists more. I found that there were children fathered by General Gage before his marriage to Margaret Kemble in 1758.

Although the children do not play a big part in the novel, mentioning children in the room without going into ages is weaker than a sentence or two about them. The subject of these sentences took me most of an afternoon to identify.

Here’s what could use, but I’m not sure in how much detail yet:

·        Henry born 1761. Makes him 14 in 1775. I will include him. Wikipedia mentions him.

·        John Gage born 1767. Makes him eight in 1775. Although Wikipedia doesn’t list him, based on any other source, I will include him.

·        Charlotte Margaret born 1773. I’m glad I found this. She will be two and I can mention her as a baby. She is listed in Wikipedia and other sources.

There is a gap between children, but General Gage was off fighting wars, which would slow down baby production. If he were home, Mrs. Gage could have had miscarriages, although I can find no records of them.

I’ve decided to leave William out. I can’t find a firm birthdate. Between 1739-1791 isn’t much help. He is listed as a child on Wikipedia. If he were born in 1739 he would probably be Margaret’s stepson. In another novel, that could provide all kinds of tension, but it is not for this novel.

As for Hannah, Louisa Gage, Maria Theresa and Emily, birthdates and mothers are unclear. Their birthdates seem to be before the General’s marriage in 1758. That they existed is confirmed by information on marriages, political or military roles and children, but they won’t play a part in this novel.

I learned that John Singleton Copley painted Margaret’s portrait. I could do a scene about her sitting for him, except it adds nothing to the plot. Maybe it could be a short story — or not. Never before have I found it so hard to stay on track, because it is fun to try and determine what really happened and I let myself get sidetracked.

I want artwork in the book. I love drawings in novels such at Rita Mae Brown used in her Mrs. Murphy mystery series or Alexander McCall Smith did in his 44 Scotland Road books. I took a writing break to get examples of illustrations that I will want my artist to use as a guideline.

I still have found no books about Margaret. I wish someone had written her biography. She seems like a fascinating woman. That she may have sided with the locals is intriguing. That would be more relevant to the plot. I could do a full-fledged fight with her and the General about the patriots. Or I could just have her make a few subtle comments and let the reader pick up her ambivalence.

I keep telling myself, this is a work of fiction, but fiction based on real events.