Free The Schoolmaster's Daughter by John Smolens Page B

would have?”
    â€œI imagine that James would think you’d come to your senses.”
    â€œAnd you? What influence do you think it would have, on us?”
    â€œUs.” Abigail felted tricked: the terms were changing. “The school would suffer.”
    â€œIndeed. We pride ourselves on accepting only the boys from Boston’s best families, but what if they did not seek admittance? What if they elected to attend another school?”
    â€œI imagine—” She paused. “I imagine that you could admit girls.”
    She expected him to laugh, but he only drew deeply on his pipe. “Perhaps,” he said. “One day, perhaps. You have learned well. You are as bright as any of the boys that matriculate at the Latin School. It gives you a power, I see it in the way others address you. Some admire you, but others fear you. It is something a father can take pride in, that.” He glanced up at her. “Is that the only result?”
    â€œGeneral Gage would no longer invite you to dinners at Province House.”
    He nodded his head. “True. I enjoy his company.”
    â€œHe is a fair man,” Abigail said.
    â€œMost of our English brethren are.”
    â€œSome, indeed, Father. But if it were a majority, we would not be at such odds.”
    He considered this a moment and, surprisingly, seemed to accept the logic of it. “If I were no longer loyal to the crown, it would be met with great disappointment. It would be seen as giving up something precious, some might say sacred.”
    â€œYou might find that you are free.”
    â€œAh, yes. Freedom.” He smiled as he gazed straight ahead. “Free to do what? I’m doing it now, don’t you see? All that I do is for this, for us. How else could I provide for you, properly provide? I suspect you think I keep my nose close to the pages of my Latin texts and read my pupils’ lessons, but I know how short the walk is from here on School Street down to Long Wharf. I do see this, Abigail.” He pressed her palm into his shoulder. “Sometimes I feel I’ve lost James. Years ago, he drifted away, despite the fact that we work side by side in the school. And Benjamin, I’ve never been able to reach him, not the way I would like. Only you have—you and he have this bond, for which your mother and I are grateful. So I must confess that my fear of losing you is compounded by the fear of losing Benjamin as well.”
    Abigail turned slightly, causing him to hold her hand more tightly. “You would never lose me, Father,” she said. “This is not possible, no matter what our differences.”
    â€œI thank God for that.” He released her hand then. Carefully, he gathered up the eggs from his lap and placed them in her joined palms.
    There came the sound of the kitchen door opening, and Mother called across the yard. “John, Abigail—you must come, quickly!”
    He pushed himself up out of the chair and opened the coop door, admitting a blinding light. “What is it?”
    He ducked out through the door and Abigail followed, and then they both sensed it, standing in the yard: at first, it was felt more than heard, a faint shudder, a rumble, which seemed to come up from the ground. Then there was sound, coming from the street out in front of the house—a rhythmic pounding—and there was dust, rising up above the shingled roof and chimney, obscuring the sun. Abigail rushed across the yard and into the house, placing the eggs in a bowl on the kitchen table, and then she continued down the hall, her parents following after her. She opened the front door and went out onto the stoop. Hundreds of soldiers were marching in formation down School Street, their officers shouting commands.
    Behind her, Father shouted, “They’re headed for the Common!”
    â€œMore soldiers?” Mother asked. “What does it mean?”
    â€œReinforcements,” her