Lexington: Anatomy of a Novel Ch. 50-51

 

Chapter 50

Boston, Massachusetts

January 1775

 

 

DR. BENJAMIN CHURCH stood outside the Governor’s mansion front door. He stamped his feet and brushed snow off his cloak to keep from tracking any inside to a minimum.

Rather than wait for the maid to answer the door, the General opened the door himself, his hand outstretched. “Welcome, welcome.”

The doctor dropped his medical bag and handed his cloak to the maid standing behind the General.

Church wore his wig, although Gage did not. “I suppose I should take a gander at young Holloway.”

“He’ll be eating with us this evening, Dr. Church.” Mrs. Gage had followed her husband into the hallway. “I’ll add my welcome. I hope you’re hungry.

“Famished. I was in Concord this morning where I had my breakfast but not a bite since then.”

James was already seated at the table with its blue-flowered patterned china and crystal wine glasses. He rose when the Doctor and Gages entered. Because of the heavy oriental carpet covering the parquet flooring, there were no sounds of chairs being pulled out and pushed back as they seated themselves.

The smell of roasting meat wafted in from the kitchen located next to the dining room.

“Will you say grace, Dr. Church?” Mrs. Gage asked.

James was surprised. Since he had been out of bed, he had taken all of his meals with the family. No one had said grace. The four of them joined hands.

“Dear Lord, thank you for the meal we are about to receive. We are grateful for your help in preserving the peace in these trying times. May you grant us the wisdom and strength to persevere to do your mission on earth and to save our precious King. Amen.”

“That was lovely, Dr. Church.” Mrs. Gage rang a small bell to the left of her fork.

The maid appeared with a pork roast surrounded by carrots and onions. She set it in front of the General to carve, which he did with flare. When everyone was served the meal and a red wine poured, he said, “Eat everything, James. You must rebuild your strength.”

“His stomach is still delicate, General. Eat what you are comfortable with, Holloway,” Dr. Church said.

The General had a piece of meat halfway to his mouth. He frowned as if to say, “I’m not used to being corrected. I don’t like it.” Instead, he said, “Let’s not waste any more time. Although we shouldn’t discuss affairs over a good meal, if we wait until after dinner, the snow will make it harder for you to go home, Church.”

James noted that the General did not use doctor in addressing his guest. Over the months that he’d been an orderly, he had observed multiple ways people spoke and positioned themselves physically that were heavy with multiple meanings.

“I appreciate that, Gage. The shorter my stay, if anyone sees me coming and going, they will assume I’m doing my doctorly duty for poor James here.”

“Rather than selling secrets,” James thought, although he doubted that Dr. Church was being paid. Or maybe he was. James did not like the doctor, even if he had taken excellent care of him. Cranesbill and witch hazel had helped early on, although James and the chamber pot had been constant companions until two weeks ago.

During most of his illness, even the idea of eating had made James want to vomit. He accepted the broth force-fed him by Mrs. Gage spoonful by spoonful. Swallowing was preferable to throwing up on the good lady.

For the first time since he had fallen ill, the food on his plate looked a bit appealing. He brought his attention back to the conversation.

“Your letters have been very informative,” the General said, “I do hope that you are disguising your handwriting in case they fall into the wrong hands.”

“And I’m sure you are destroying them after digesting them.”

“Of course.”

The General was lying, James knew. The letters were filed in chronological order, because he was the one who filed them. Some he had copied for forwarding to London. In some cases, the General had added notes, actions taken and recommendations. Perhaps he wanted a record if his superiors in London challenged his decisions. James would never ask. His position was strange enough, and he wasn’t about to take any liberties, although he accepted those volunteered by the General.

Financially, he was being paid extra for his time with the General, which was typical of soldiers serving in officers’ homes as domestic servants. He wondered if he would be paid for staying in bed, acting as a decoy for Dr. Church. He had no intention of asking.

“I’ve news of a new committee being formed.” Dr. Church cut his carrots into smaller pieces. He sipped his wine indicating with a facial expression it was to his liking. “The Committee of Supply. They’re preparing for war.”

“Weapons? Gun powder? “Not planning to steal more cannons? I haven’t heard of any more missing.”

“Yes and no.”

“Which is it? Is there a difference between it and the Committee of Safety?” The General slapped the table so hard with his hand that the wine glasses quivered. “I’m so damned tired of this committee and that committee and all of them against our King.”

Dr. Church nodded. “They’ve only been meeting since November, Gage, the Committee of Safety, that is.”

James noted that Dr. Church was not in the least cowed by the General. Perhaps as a leading surgeon from a respected local family, he felt he was an equal. Or perhaps it was because the government run by the British were losing power to the local governments that were being formed in the different towns surrounding the city. Dr. Church, James thought, was covering himself no matter what happened.

“They’re preparing for a possible war,” Church said.

“They wouldn’t be that damned stupid. Country bumpkins against the power of England. We’ve had a civil war with Cromwell, and we all know that was a disaster.”

“I’m not sure they know of it. It would have been their grandparents or great grandparents or even great-great. Many of the people here now have been here for two, three generations so their awareness of events so long ago in another country …” Church cut a piece of meat, but did not put it into his mouth “… is limited.”

Throughout the exchange Mrs. Gage and James did not move or speak. Their eyes would meet. James wished he could read her mind. He suspected by little things she said or didn’t say that she felt some sympathy for the locals but would not cross her husband.

“And what is this Committee of Safety doing?”

“Not just weapons. Remember almost every person has his own musket. They are laying in salt pork, flour, rice and other foods that will last. Mess bowls. They are looking for tools, shovels, spades.”

The General sat back in his chair. He played with his fork. “I’m not sure what rag tag farmers can do with shovels against our well-trained force.”

“They’re training, too. And they are using your manuals, especially on weapons.”

Again, the General leaned forward. “We must find those cannons. We must destroy their supplies. I don’t see any other way to stave off a conflict.” 

Chapter 51

Geneva, Switzerland

May

I’VE GONE OVER the previous 128 pages and done my first round of corrections before continuing. Because we were in quarantine, there were fewer distractions.

I think I can see the end as we get closer to the April Lexington battle. I know where I’m going with Daphne, Gareth and Florence, although that doesn’t mean I won’t change.

My husband wants to see what I’ve written so he can read it on his flight from Toulouse to Dallas next week. We are out of quarantine in time for him to see his grandkids in Dallas and attend the aviation conference in Florida.

I haven’t told him about these insertions, but he will notice my new working title Anatomy of a Novel: Lexington. I already visualize the cover. I’m curious about his reaction. What will I do if he hates it?