Lexington: Anatomy of a Novel Ch. 60-61

 

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

 

 “THIS IS THE best horse we have.” The stablemaster stopped at the stall of a brown stallion who was moving about as much as the space allowed. “He needs some exercise.”

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 10^th 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.