Friends of Liberty by Beatrice Gormley

Author:Beatrice Gormley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co.
Published: 2013-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

That night Sally was the first to go to bed. She was still thinking about what Ethan had said, and it disturbed her. He’d spoken of Tory “informers” as if they were just as bad as Tories who shot innocent lads, or Tories who drove families into poverty. And Hannah had accused Sally of “informing” on Tom.

Sally turned over restlessly, remembering against her will that scene in the farmhouse. Hannah had also accused Sally of not wanting to give up “Miss Lawton.” Well, of course she didn’t want to give up her friendship with Kitty, and she would not! Feeling for the ring in her pocket, Sally took it out of the pouch and slipped it onto her finger.

Outside on Winter Street, the night watchman called, “Nine of the clock and all’s well. Wind in the west.” The men in the neighborhood took turns standing watch; tonight the watchman was Silas Ward, the tailor down the street.

Wearing Kitty’s ring made Sally think of Kitty wearing her mother-of-pearl heart. Sally had always loved to gaze at the brooch’s shimmering colors. She wondered if those colors had any connection with the rainbow light radiating from James’s prism. That array of hues hidden in the white light — it was as if a twist of white embroidery silk could unravel into separate strands of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet! Sally would have liked to ask James what he thought about the brooch and its mother-of-pearl colors, only of course she couldn’t let him in on her secret with Kitty.

Sally was drifting off to sleep when a sharp sound nudged her awake. She sat up and peered out of her niche. Mr. Gifford, locking the shutters, paused and looked toward the workshop door. Ethan, halfway up the ladder to the loft, also stopped to listen.

Knocking. Knocking outside the workshop, at the street door. Could it be a customer? But surely shoes were never urgent enough to roust a family out of bed.

Taking a candle from the table, Mr. Gifford carried it into the workshop. Ethan backed down the ladder and waited. Mrs. Gifford poked her head, already wearing a ruffled nightcap, out of the bedroom door.

Sally heard her father ask a question. Then there was a scraping sound as he lifted the bar to open the street door. A man’s voice, polite but serious. Mr. Gifford answering: “You’d best come in.”

Sally sat up in bed. As the two men entered the kitchen, her father’s raised candle showed a gentleman behind him, wearing a starched white linen neckcloth outside his fawn-colored coat. Edmund Lawton. Sally slid back down under the covers, afraid — of what?

“I must apologize for disturbing you at this late hour, Mr. Gifford,” said Mr. Lawton, “but something strange and distressing has come to my attention.”

Looking mystified, William Gifford gestured toward a kitchen chair, inviting the other man to sit.

“Thank you,” said Mr. Lawton, “I prefer to remain standing. I have reason to believe that your daughter has taken — has in her possession, that is — something belonging to our family.

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