Chapter 60
French Autoroute
THE DRIVE FROM Geneva to Argelès takes between six and eight hours depending on potty stops, meals and/or sightseeing.
My
husband and I listen to music. I nap and/or we chat. One topic today was a
problem I’m having with Anatomy of a Novel: Lexington, the new working
title. He still hasn’t read the manuscript which is far too rough. We’ve
discussed various plot ideas and my historical finds. He has pointed out
reference material to me.
I
tell him that I was able to do a show/tell combination with Lt. Col. Alexander
Leslie, reporting his failure to find the missing cannons on his mission to
Salem. James was witness to Leslie's report so he could convey the scene in
real time.
My
husband is always quick to encourage, but he is also quick to point out what
needs to be better too. He needed more information. "So? What's the
problem?"
"I
need the story to cover what James was doing between February 1775 to the April
battle in Lexington. I suppose rather than deal with the history, I could build
on his interest in either Mollie Clark or Sally Brewster, but I don't want to turn
the novel into a romance."
We
were having this discussion on a beautiful sunny day as we made good time on
the French autoroute. At Grenoble we came to a tunnel running through a
mountain. We stopped talking as my husband traversed the tunnel. On the other
side, it was pouring. Only when it let up did we renew the discussion.
"Did
James go to Lexington prior to the battle?" he asked.
I
had written about James doing some spying in Boston earlier in the novel, I
told him. "He accompanied General Cage on trips to Salem and communities
surrounding Boston, but never to Lexington."
We
then started playing with possibilities. Why not? James is a fictional
character. As long as the history is correct, James can do whatever I want him
to do. That is the fun in writing. I can bend the characters to my will as long
as it rings true.
1. James could stop at
the Wayside Inn. Since being back in Argelès, I've checked to see if that was
the name of the Inn in 1775. It was probably called Howe's Inn. I need to
mention that the inn was not named Wayside when James was there. A single line
should do it.
2. By having James stop
at the Inn, it would also deepen the relationship between the modern part of
the novel and the historic.
3. I could have Dr.
Benjamin Church, Gage's spy and member of the Committee of Supply, be there and
recognize James. Writing how both react can build tension.
4. As much as I would like to go into Longfellow's Tales of a Wayside Inn, it is not time appropriate and would look like I was trying to show off my research.
Chapter
61
Boston
to Lexington, Massachusetts
March
5, 1775
Not with me,
James thought. The horse was a beautiful specimen, but he could think of many
reasons not to choose him and not just because he would be too much for him to
handle. With his lack of horsemanship skills, he would never have qualified for
the cavalry.
Thomas could have brought
this animal under control. The thought of his lost friend made him forget for a
moment why he was choosing a horse. He shoved the tide of grief aside to
concentrate on his mission. General Gage has ordered him to go to Lexington and
Concord to find out if the cannons were there. He was to dress in farmer’s
clothes.
A farmer would
never have such a high-quality animal. “I need a regular horse, maybe one a
little bit, but not too much, past its prime.” He wanted to add, who is
gentle and won’t mind that I’m not a very good rider, but he didn’t.
The stable smelled
of horse shit. It needed a good mucking out, James thought. The snow has
melted, but there were no buds on the trees or grass sprouting. The horses had
been mostly kept inside their stalls since November with an occasional outing.
The stablemaster
led James up and down the rows of stalls, citing the merits of each beast. When
he came to a stall with a mare, he said, “This is Cranberry. She’s gentle.
We’ve used her to give children rides. We were trying to convince them
lobsterbacks aren’t terrible.”
The stablemaster
spat. For the first time James noticed he’d been chewing tobacco. Must have
been a very small chunk. It was a habit he’d never taken up. He’d tried once
and found the taste not only disgusting, but it lingered the way taking a bite
of a raw onion would stay in his mouth for the rest of day.
“I need a non-army
saddle, bit and rein.”
“You aren’t thinking
of deserting, are you boy?” The stablemaster, James guessed, was probably in
his late fifties, if his gray hair and wrinkles were any indicator. The man
limped, which meant he wasn’t fit for active duty, although he wore the
regimental uniform., which bore the 10th Regiment of Foot buttons
and insignia. Probably his role as stablemaster kept him in the regiment.
He had no written
orders to show the stablemaster. Gage had said that would compromise his safety
if the rebels captured him. Outside Boston was almost all rebel territory.
“Absolutely not.”
“Then you must be
on a spy mission.”
“Shh.”
******
As James rode Cranberry through the
countryside. He could hear birds singing. Perhaps they were beginning to build
their nests.
Cranberry’s
preferred speed was an amble, which James appreciated. If the General was angry
with the amount of time James took to complete this mission, James would claim he’d
taken time to talk to people although he was halfway to Lexington before he saw
anyone to talk to. Mostly he was riding through unsettled land. Farms were
outside the villages. Despite it being almost April, the ground was still too
frozen to be tilled.
He passed a farmer
fixing the stones on his wall. “Hello there.”
“I don’t know your
face,” the man said.
“Nor I yours.”
“Not from around
here.”
“Beyond Worcester.
Heard that the militia might need some recruits.” James hoped the man wasn’t
pro-English.
“Stupid idiots.
You can’t fight the Crown.”
James didn’t know
how to answer. He had guessed wrong about which side the man was on. He looked
to the man’s house. A woman was hanging sheets on a line. Two small children ran
in circles. He would have to report the people who were loyal to the Crown for
future help.
“Do you know of
anywhere to eat around here?”
“There’s Howe’s
Tavern, up the road in Sudbury. Big red building. If you keep on this road for
about a half hour, you can’t miss it.”
The man was right.
The two-story building had a double chimney.
James was relieved
to get off his horse. His rear and inner thighs ached.
There were several
horses tied to a hitching post. After letting Cranberry drink at the trough, he
fastened her at one end of the post.
Inside, the inn
was dark and smokey. Almost every table was filled with men deep in
conversation. He could tell by the way they were hunched toward each other.
There was the
smell of roasting chicken and beer. As James walked toward the bar at one end,
he saw Dr. Benjamin Church at the same time Church saw him. The doctor stood.
“William! Over here!”
Had Church
forgotten his name or was he talking to someone else?
The doctor walked
over to him, put his arm around James’ shoulder and led him back to the long
oak table where he’d been sitting. “Go along with what I say,” he whispered. At
the table where Church had been sitting, he said with a voice that could be
heard throughout the room. “Friends, meet William Smith. Has a farm beyond Worcester.
Used to live in Boston. I operated on his mother. How is she?”
“As good as new,”
James said. He had no idea where the conversation was going, but if Church
wasn’t going to reveal his real identity, he wouldn’t reveal Church’s.
“There were six
men, all dressed as farmers, sitting at the table.
“What are you
doing way out here?” the man who looked the oldest asked.
“I want to find a
wife. There are almost no unmarried women near me or if they are I haven’t
found one for me.”
“I know someone
you might find appealing. I’ll introduce you after we eat. Join us?” Church
looked at the men. “We’ve talked about everything we need to, haven’t we?”
Four heads nodded
and two voices said, “Yes.”
“Three men crammed
together to make room for James. He swung his leg over the bench without kicking
anyone.
*****
Unlike Cranberry, Dr. Church’s horse
was a young, brown gelding. Its coat had been brushed to almost a polish. “Follow
me,” he said.
As soon as they
were out of sight of the inn, Church signaled that James should dismount. “This
is fortuitous. I need to send a letter to the General. Carry the letter as fast
as your horse can travel.” He patted Cranberry on her right flank.
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