The Gentle Rebel Read online

  The new cartographer was a taciturn man named Isaiah Johnson. He was a good workman, but a heavy drinker, so he brought no levity into the shop. Aaron knew a little of the work, and was determined to learn more, and this was, perhaps, the reason why he had left Julie more or less alone. For all his crudeness, he was no fool; a shrewd man, he realized that the girl was profitable.

  More to the point, he had gone into details with Will Spelling, and discovered that his grip on the property was not as firm as he had thought.

  “Your name is on the paper,” Spelling had pointed out, “but so is Julie’s. In law, you and Julie are more or less partners—with you being the junior partner.” The lawyer was a small man with close-set eyes, a catfish mouth, and no scruples. He smiled now, adding, “That’s the way your brother wanted it, Aaron.”

  “Junior partner?” the huge man snorted, a wicked light in his small eyes. “Well, well—junior partner, is it? Well, there’s a way around that!”

  “I’m sure you’ve thought of it,” Spelling said with a small smile. “And the girl’s a likely looking filly!”

  “Aye! And I think she’ll make a better wife than a senior partner to me! Yes, indeed, Lawyer Spelling—I think we’ll be needing to do a little more of your blasted paper work soon!”

  It was nearly midnight when Julie made her way wearily up the steps, her fingers stained with ink and her eyes burning with fatigue. She undressed and washed, and had just donned her heavy nightgown when the door opened suddenly.

  “Julie—we’ve got a little talking to do!”

  Sampson stood there filling the doorway, and Julie’s heart leaped with fear as she saw the cruel smile on his thick lips. Quickly she reached for the robe that lay on her bed, but as large as he was, Aaron moved quickly. He stepped forward, caught her by the arm, and the power of his hand was awesome.

  “Please—” She swallowed and could only whisper, “Let me go, please—we’ll talk in the morning.”

  He said nothing, but his grip on her arm tightened, and then his eyes glittered. His eyes ran over her, and she struggled vainly to pull away. “You ain’t a baby, Julie,” he said thickly. “You’re a full-growed woman!”

  Her ears were ringing, and the rank smell of the man sickened her. There was no one in the house; even if she screamed, no one could hear, and if anyone did, it was unlikely they would come. She stood there trembling and trying to break his grip, but it was hopeless.

  He suddenly pulled her closer, putting his massive arms around her, and said, “You need a husband, Julie! And I’m him!”

  “No!”

  “I say you’re going to marry me, girl, and don’t make no mistake! The law says I’m your guardian—but we can’t live here together alone—why, it wouldn’t be decent!”

  He leered down at her, grinning at the irony in his own words. “I’ll leave!” she cried out. “I’ll give up my share of the shop. I’ll go live with the minister!”

  “No, you’ll marry me, Julie, and that’s final!” Sampson drew her closer and attempted to speak more lightly. “Why, I know you’re young, Julie, and I reckon you’re afraid of men—seeing you ain’t never had no fellows, that’d be natural. But I aim to treat you right—and Silas, he made me promise to do it.”

  “No!” Julie tried to pull away, but his arms held her in a powerful vise. “Father never said that!”

  “Sure he did!” Aaron laughed, then pulled her face up and kissed her. “That’s just a sample, Julie,” he said. “I’ll have a talk with that preacher tomorrow. Don’t think we ought to put this thing off. You don’t need no big wedding. Just have the parson come in tomorrow and do the job—or if he won’t, I reckon I can find one who will!”

  He laughed down at her horror-stricken face, kissed her again, then released her so abruptly that she nearly fell. “You get a good night’s sleep now. I want you rested up, ’cause tomorrow you’ll have a husband to keep happy!”

  The door slammed, and in the silence Julie stood there, tears running down her face. She listened as his footsteps faded, then his door slammed. More than anything she wanted to fall across the bed and weep, but she knew that would be futile.

  Finally, she went to the bed, knelt down, and for a long time she was still. The room was cold and quiet, and there was no sound at all except for a muffled word now and then as she prayed. Thirty minutes passed, then an hour. At last the clock in the hall struck one—a ghostly tone in the silence of the night, a round, mellow tone that seemed to touch her, for she suddenly raised her head, tears making crystal tracks down her cheeks.

  But there was no fear in her dark eyes, and she slowly got to her feet and stood staring out the window into the darkness. The snow on the rooftops had turned to silver through the alchemy of moonlight, and there was not a soul stirring on the street.

  Julie said, “Amen!” and then she knelt again, this time to pull a small traveling bag from underneath her bed. Opening it, she began to throw her clothes into it, her face set like flint. When the valise was packed, she paused, then picked up the Bible from the desk, placed it gently on the top of the clothes, shut the case and fastened it.

  At last she walked to the door, pulled it open firmly, and without a backward glance, passed through the dark hall and out of the shop into the blackness of the night.

  CHAPTER TWO

  RUNAWAY

  Julie climbed down from the Conestoga wagon and, reaching up, took her small bag from the muscular hand of Matthew Perkins. The big man said as he passed it along, “You better think about going on with us, missy. Be right glad to have you.”

  “Do come!” his wife Ruth urged. She was a worn, middle-aged woman with still a few remnants of beauty, and she added a smile as she leaned over her husband to make a final plea to Julie. “You’re all alone, and we’d be proud to share our home with you.”

  Julie looked up and for a moment was tempted, but quickly decided that their home was too close to Philadelphia. They had picked her up as she trudged along in the snow three days earlier, and they were such plain, simple people it had never occurred to them to doubt her story. She had told them that she was an orphan who was going to New York to work and live with an aunt. The lie had pained her, but she finally had said to herself, “It’s almost the truth—I am going to live with an aunt.”

  She had left home with one thin fragment of a plan. Her mother’s sister lived in Portsmouth, on the southern coast of England. The sisters had been close, and even though Julie’s mother had been dead for years, Mrs. Collingwood had written at rare intervals, expressing some interest in her niece. Silas had spoken at times of a visit, but nothing had ever come of it. As Julie had prayed, the thought had come to her, and she conceived the idea of going to New York, there booking passage to flee the Colonies. She knew that Aaron would have the law looking for her, and the New World was a small place in which to hide—but England!

  So she stood there in the snow with the Perkinses, looking very young. But there was a firmness in her voice as she shook her head and said, “I’m so grateful to you both, but—my aunt would be very disappointed if I didn’t come! God bless you both!”

  They said their farewells; then as the heavy horses pulled the big wagon down the rutted street, Julie turned and looked around at New York for the first time. The Perkinses had brought her to a section of town near the harbor, and she passed by a good many inns with names such as The King’s Arms, The Merchant’s Coffee House, The Blue Boar, and The Three Pigeons. It was late afternoon and she had eaten a good breakfast at dawn, but now the smell of cooking meat and fresh bread drifting out of the inns drew her, so she looked until she found a small one with the pretentious name of The Spread Eagle.

  Going inside, she almost faltered. All the customers were men, except for an elderly couple who sat against the far wall. But hunger nudged her, and she took a small table next to the couple. The innkeeper was a rough-looking man with one eye covered by a black patch, but the meal he produced was good—beef and chees
e with plenty of fresh hot bread and yellow butter. She ate hungrily, lingered over the steaming tea as long as possible, then got up and paid for the meal.

  “Is it far to the harbor?” she asked.

  “No more’n a quarter-mile down that way,” he nodded with his head. Then he looked her over and added, “Be dark soon, miss. Best not be on the streets all alone.”

  “Oh, my brother will meet me, thank you.” The words leaped easily to her lips, and she thought wryly, It’s getting easier to lie! Then she hesitated and asked, “Do you have a room I could have for the night—in case I can’t find my brother?”

  “Right, miss. Cost yer a shilling with breakfast throwed in.”

  She gave him a coin. “I’ll take it. Give me the key.”

  “Key was carried off long ago, miss—but I’ll see you right. Don’t allow no fancy tricks in my place! Not likely!”

  It seemed the best thing, as it appeared unlikely that she would find a berth in a ship that evening. The man looked rough, but there was no guarantee that another place would be safer. She nodded and followed him up a small stairway that led to the upper floor. He opened a door, then stepped back, saying, “If you wants hot water later—or a late supper, just you call, miss.”

  “Thank you.”

  Julie waited until he left, then put her small bag on the bed. A pitcher of water and a basin on the table beside the bed beckoned, and she washed her face carefully, then put her coat on and started to leave. She reached the door, then paused suddenly, went to the bag and removed a purse containing most of the money she had. She counted out fifty pounds, dividing it into three parts. She put twenty pounds each in two leather bags and wrapped the other ten in a handkerchief and slipped it into a smaller bag with a long drawstring. This one she placed around her neck, allowing the bag to fall inside the front of her dress. She dared not leave any of the cash in an unlocked room, so she put one of the larger bags in her handbag and the other in her deep coat pocket. As she passed through the main dining room, the one-eyed innkeeper said, “Remember, miss, it won’t do to be on the streets late.”

  She nodded, then walked rapidly down the narrow streets, filled with many more people than she was accustomed to. She saw more foreigners than was usual in Philadelphia—French, Spanish-looking men, swarthy fellows she took to be Portuguese, and many, many blacks, usually accompanying their owners on errands.

  The harbor was a forest of masts, thicker than stalks in a field of corn—far more than most harbors. She wandered down the wharf, wondering how to find a ship bound for England, but there was no such thing as a passenger ship. She knew enough to realize that she would be fortunate to get a compartment on some sort of cargo ship headed back with a load of tobacco, furs, or lumber.

  Twice she stopped men to ask about a ship, but neither of them knew of one. Then a tall man with a wolfish face came up to her, saying, “Hello, darling! Looking for someone?”

  “No!” she said abruptly, then wheeled and walked back along the pier as rapidly as she could without breaking into a run. It was almost dark when she got back to the inn. She noted that a smallish woman with red hair was serving the customers their drinks. The smoke was thick and she felt uncomfortable there, so she ascended the stairs to her small room. There was no light, and when she had to go back downstairs to get a light for the candle on the small table, the red-haired woman looked at her in a sharp, peculiar way.

  The room was cold, of course, with no heat at all except that which drifted up from the fireplace below, so she pulled the covers back and got under the heavy blankets fully dressed. For over an hour she read the Bible, and finally, putting it on the table, she blew the candle out. Sleep came almost at once, but she woke several times, awakened by the raucous laughter and shouts from the inn below, and more than once by bad dreams.

  Finally the noise from downstairs subsided, and she slept an exhausted sleep.

  The sound of the door opening brought her instantly awake—a very small sound, but in the silence of the room it seemed very loud. She sat bolt upright, clenching the covers to her breast as a thin line of light outlined the door as it opened, and in an unsteady voice she cried out, “You get out of here!”

  Then the door swung open and a burly figure filled the opening as the one-eyed man bearing a brass lantern in his hand stepped inside and shut the door. He put his back to the door and said, “Well—looky whut we got here!”

  “You—you better get out of here or I’ll—!”

  “You’ll scream?” he asked with a rough laugh when she could not finish. “Go ahead, see what it gets you.”

  He pulled himself away from the door, and as he stepped beside her, she threw the covers back, and leaping from the bed started for the door. He caught her easily, and for one moment held her by the arm, looking down at her. There was a greedy look in his one black eye, and his breath came faster; then he said, “You’re a pretty little thing, ain’t you now?” He reached out with his free hand and with careless strength held her face. She knew it was in his mind to kiss her.

  Then he gave her a shove and said, “Yer ain’t got no need to fear—not from me. All I wants is the reward.”

  Julie stepped back suddenly as he released her, breathless with relief that he had no intention of molesting her. “Reward?”

  “Aw, you know about that—don’t be so innocent!” He reached into his inner pocket, pulled out a folded sheet and shoved it at her. “Soon as I seen you, I knowed you was familiar, but it didn’t come to me till I was in bed. So I gets up, goes down to the harbor and finds out that I’m gonna make a pile of money of off you!”

  Julie opened the paper and read in large print:

  RUNAWAY GIRL—REWARD

  The description that followed fit her; the handbill offered a reward of twenty pounds, and it was signed by Aaron Sampson of Philadelphia.

  “Easiest twenty guineas I ever made!” the innkeeper laughed. Then he said, “You jes’ come with me and we’ll get going.”

  Julie’s mind raced like a wild thing, and like a flash an idea leaped into her mind. She stood straight and looked right into the man’s face, her voice steely as she said, “You’ll get no twenty pounds—but you’ll get a thrashing and a holiday in jail—that’s what you’ll get.”

  He stopped smiling, surprised at the sudden hardness that had crossed her face. “What’s that?”

  “You see that name—the man who’s offering the reward?”

  “Yeah, I see it—Aaron Sampson. What about it?”

  “You may think you’ve seen some hard men here, but you’ve never run across one as mean as he is.”

  “Who is he?”

  “My father,” she lied easily. “I lied about meeting my brother. I’m going to meet my lover and we’re going to England together and get married.”

  “That’s a lie—but even if it ain’t, your pa, he’ll pay twenty pounds to get you back!”

  Julie made herself shrug and look careless. “All right, have it your way.”

  Something about the easy way she gave in disturbed the man, and he hesitated. She caught it, and said, “What will happen is that I’ll tell him you abused me, and he’ll beat you half to death and then have you put in prison. He’s a magistrate and knows the law—he’s had people put in jail for less.” A shadow of doubt had begun to cloud the single eye of the innkeeper, and Julie said, as though it had just occurred to her, “Of course, there’s one way you can have the reward—and stay out of jail.”

  “How’s that?” he asked quickly.

  “Why, I’ll give you the twenty pounds—if you promise to say nothing. We’ll be gone tomorrow—then I don’t care what you say to anyone.”

  “You ain’t got no twenty pounds!”

  Julie turned and picked up her small bag. Opening it, she plucked out the bag containing twenty pounds and tossed it at the man, who caught it. He pulled the strings opened, poured the coins out in his palm, and counted them. Then he looked up and said with admiration, “You�
��re a shrewd one, you are! Gor!”

  Julie feared any delay, for he could change his mind, so she fastened her small case, picked up her coat, which had fallen from the bed to the floor, and said, “Remember—I want nothing said about this—or I’ll have a story to tell my father that’ll get you drawn and quartered!”

  “If you ain’t something!” The innkeeper shook his head in admiration. “Blamed if you ain’t a bold baggage!”

  Julie left him, sweeping down the stairs and out into the street. The stars burned coldly in the dark sky, but rosy lights were breaking the darkness to the east as she hurried blindly down the street. There was no hope now of finding a ship in New York; the posters made capture almost a certainty. She moved quickly away from the waterfront area, and by the time the pale morning light washed across the streets, she was on the outskirts of town. Every time she passed anyone, she turned her face away like a guilty felon. She expected at any second to be stopped and hauled off to jail. Finally she halted, out of breath and shaky from fear. She found herself on a side street with only a few shops.

  Some wagons were making their way out of town, and she knew her only hope was to get a ride in one of them, as she had with Matthew Perkins and his wife, but the thought nagged at her that the reward posters would be all along the coast, in every port, probably.

  A bench made of a half-log with whittled posts for legs offered a moment’s rest, so she sat down, and for half an hour tried to think of a plan. Nothing came to her, and finally she rose, intending to ask for a ride on one of the wagons, hoping for another miracle.

  Just as she was about to move away, the door beside the bench swung open and a short man shaped like a barrel stepped outside with a shovel in his hand. He stopped upon seeing her, then smiled and said, “Well, you’re here early, miss, but come on inside.”

  “Why, I was just—” she began; then she got a look at the merchandise inside the shop and stopped suddenly. She moved slowly, a thought coming to her, and she entered the shop followed by the owner.