The Family Greene Read Free Page A

Master Mauriette, my two tutors. Master Mauriette was to teach me French, and Master Herbert my sums and spelling and English.
    "But I speak English already," I said most rudely.
    "You must learn," Master Herbert admonished, "your grammar and your spelling. We start school next week. In the meantime, why don't you write a nice essay for me about something, so I can see how far you've come."
    "About what?" I asked dumbly.
    "Anything. Make it a little story."
    I looked at Uncle Greene. "Must I?" I asked.
    He shrugged. "He's your tutor, so yes, I suppose you must."
    I gave a deep sigh. "Yes, sir," I said.
    Now that that little matter was settled, the men started talking politics, a subject that I discovered would many times be brought up at Uncle Greene's table, often with a vehemence that grew more and more intense as I grew older.
    This evening it was something called the Stamp Act that caused the meat on their plates to go cold and the forks in their hands to wave in consternation. I could not get a purchase on what the Stamp Act was that night, but I did learn that Uncle Greene was the leader of the Rhode Island Whigs and, as such, was leading resistance to the Stamp Act in the area.
    And that he was supposed to write to Benjamin Franklin, in London, concerning it. But had, for some reason, put off the writing.
    None other than Benjamin Franklin!
Is he putting off writing to him because he knows of his wife's romance with the man? Will they, then, never communicate about this important matter because Uncle Greene is so hurt about Aunt Catharine's "carrying on" with him? Suppose it is not true
that they had an affair? I must find out,
I decided.
Somehow, I must find out.
    "Be careful, darling," Aunt Catharine was saying. "They're still watching the house."
    Someone is watching the house?
Oh, how exciting!
Who?
Why, it is like a romance novel, the likes of which Pa allowed me to read only if I did all my chores.
    ***
    L ATER, WHEN AUNT Catharine came to see me to bed and I asked her who was watching the house, she said, "Nothing for you to worry about."
    "Father always told me things. He said I had the most native intelligence he ever saw in a girl my age."
    "Well, then, I suppose I shouldn't do any less than John Littlefield did with you. All right. The Tories are watching the house, because we often have men who are staunch Whigs come here to see Uncle Greene to discuss Whig things," she said.
    "You mean like the Stamp Act?"
    "Yes. People who disagree with the pronouncements of the Crown."
    "What do the Tories look like? What do they wear? Any special colors? Do they wear the colors of King George?"
    "They dress just like ordinary people, Caty. And they won't harm a girl like you. But I would advise you that if any stranger outside on the street comes up to you and questions you about anything, you should not speak to him. Just come inside the house and tell us. All right?"
    "Yes, Aunt Catharine."
    I dreamed, that night, about King George III pacing up and down outside our house with dozens of pieces of paper, all stamped and paid for by Colonial money, while inside Uncle Greene sat at his desk and started to write a letter to Benjamin Franklin, then ripped it up and threw it into the fireplace, even though he disagreed with the pronouncements of the Crown.

CHAPTER FOUR
    I WROTE THE essay for my tutor. Only it was more of a story, a tale my father had told me one long, cold winter night when I was a child, as I sat in his lap before bedtime.
    My father had two uncles, both named Ephraim. The older was a sailor in the British navy and had been lost at sea, so when the second was born, he was named Ephraim in honor of his dead brother. When the second Ephraim grew up, he settled in New England. And one day he met an old man of the same name and who looked a lot like him. As it turned out, it was his brother Ephraim, who was never lost at sea, and so now the family had two brothers named Ephraim.
    Master Herbert pronounced that