turned and ran upstairs. Her heart was pounding and if she stayed down there any longer she was afraid she would give away Abigail's secret. Daniel just stood at the bottom of the stairs watching her. He was scowling with disappointment and confusion. Charlotte didn't want to quarrel with him, but what could she do?
When she reached her room, Charlotte threw herself on the narrow bed. She shouldn't have said anything to Daniel about secrets. She should have known he would start asking questions. And now he was hurt. Why had she promised Abigail not to tell anyone?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Daniel Learns Something New
October 17-19, 1842
The rain had let up when Daniel left the Farm, but it was a damp, clammy evening with a wind that blew right through his jacket. His small lantern didn't give much light and a couple of times he nearly stumbled into a ditch. But it wasn't the deepening darkness and the ditches that made him start cussing; it was thinking about Charlotte Edgerton and why she had hinted at secrets she didn't want to tell. Had she changed her mind about working together? Were women really as changeable as that? He remembered a poem he'd read somewhere;
Must not a woman be
A feather on the sea,
Sway'd to and fro by every wind and tide?
Were women really like that? Daniel had his doubts. His mother was certainly no feather on the sea and he would never have thought of Charlotte that way either. But why had she suddenly refused to talk? What had come over her? One minute she was smiling and herdark eyes were sparkling, then suddenly they were opaque and he couldn't tell what she was thinking.
The next morning Daniel went to the newspaper office to see whether Mr. Cabot had any stories he could cover. When he admitted he hadn't uncovered any news at Brook Farm, he got a cold reception. Grudgingly Mr. Cabot sent him to the court house to find something worth writing about.
Puddles from yesterday's rain lingered in the gutters and Daniel walked carefully to avoid a dead dog stinking up the street. He couldn't afford to step into anything that would ruin his only pair of shoes. It was trouble enough keeping them shined so they didn't disgrace him or the newspaper. As he approached the gray granite courthouse Daniel could see a handful of men standing around the steps waving cigars in the air as they talked.
"Tradesmen to the back door," one of them called out as Daniel started toward the steps.
"I'm with the Boston
Transcript"
, he answered, mimicking the nasal Boston accent. These Boston voices grated on him.
No one stopped him as he walked through the big wooden doors and down the echoing hallway. He was surprised there were so few clerks or lawyers in sight. One young clerk in a bright blue jacket tacking up a broadsheet outside the sheriff's office was the only person he saw, so he wandered over to read the sheet.
"Jailbreak!" was the headline in thick black letters. "Roger Platt wanted by the Sheriff of Suffolk County. This convicted debtor escaped from his cell and is thought to be in the vicinity of West Roxbury. All citizens are required to report his whereabouts if they see him."
Roger Platt—that name sounded familiar. Wasn't the farmer out by the Community named Platt? "Does this man live around here?" he asked the boy.
"I heard he was connected to the Platts out near West Roxbury," the boy answered, "but I don't know where he lives. The sheriff said something about him borrowing money to buy a farm and then never paying it back."
"It's not easy to borrow money for a farm," Daniel said. He had heard a lot of hard luck stories down at the boarding house. "Most of the banks won't lend a cent to a farmer because it's so risky."
"Oh, the banks are no use," the boy agreed. "But there's a lot of rich men in Boston willing to lend at high rates. Rich merchants—ministers too. I think it was the old Reverend Hopewell was the complainant for this case. Times are hard. Lots of people are trying to borrow money
When she reached her room, Charlotte threw herself on the narrow bed. She shouldn't have said anything to Daniel about secrets. She should have known he would start asking questions. And now he was hurt. Why had she promised Abigail not to tell anyone?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Daniel Learns Something New
October 17-19, 1842
The rain had let up when Daniel left the Farm, but it was a damp, clammy evening with a wind that blew right through his jacket. His small lantern didn't give much light and a couple of times he nearly stumbled into a ditch. But it wasn't the deepening darkness and the ditches that made him start cussing; it was thinking about Charlotte Edgerton and why she had hinted at secrets she didn't want to tell. Had she changed her mind about working together? Were women really as changeable as that? He remembered a poem he'd read somewhere;
Must not a woman be
A feather on the sea,
Sway'd to and fro by every wind and tide?
Were women really like that? Daniel had his doubts. His mother was certainly no feather on the sea and he would never have thought of Charlotte that way either. But why had she suddenly refused to talk? What had come over her? One minute she was smiling and herdark eyes were sparkling, then suddenly they were opaque and he couldn't tell what she was thinking.
The next morning Daniel went to the newspaper office to see whether Mr. Cabot had any stories he could cover. When he admitted he hadn't uncovered any news at Brook Farm, he got a cold reception. Grudgingly Mr. Cabot sent him to the court house to find something worth writing about.
Puddles from yesterday's rain lingered in the gutters and Daniel walked carefully to avoid a dead dog stinking up the street. He couldn't afford to step into anything that would ruin his only pair of shoes. It was trouble enough keeping them shined so they didn't disgrace him or the newspaper. As he approached the gray granite courthouse Daniel could see a handful of men standing around the steps waving cigars in the air as they talked.
"Tradesmen to the back door," one of them called out as Daniel started toward the steps.
"I'm with the Boston
Transcript"
, he answered, mimicking the nasal Boston accent. These Boston voices grated on him.
No one stopped him as he walked through the big wooden doors and down the echoing hallway. He was surprised there were so few clerks or lawyers in sight. One young clerk in a bright blue jacket tacking up a broadsheet outside the sheriff's office was the only person he saw, so he wandered over to read the sheet.
"Jailbreak!" was the headline in thick black letters. "Roger Platt wanted by the Sheriff of Suffolk County. This convicted debtor escaped from his cell and is thought to be in the vicinity of West Roxbury. All citizens are required to report his whereabouts if they see him."
Roger Platt—that name sounded familiar. Wasn't the farmer out by the Community named Platt? "Does this man live around here?" he asked the boy.
"I heard he was connected to the Platts out near West Roxbury," the boy answered, "but I don't know where he lives. The sheriff said something about him borrowing money to buy a farm and then never paying it back."
"It's not easy to borrow money for a farm," Daniel said. He had heard a lot of hard luck stories down at the boarding house. "Most of the banks won't lend a cent to a farmer because it's so risky."
"Oh, the banks are no use," the boy agreed. "But there's a lot of rich men in Boston willing to lend at high rates. Rich merchants—ministers too. I think it was the old Reverend Hopewell was the complainant for this case. Times are hard. Lots of people are trying to borrow money
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