The Schoolmaster's Daughter Read Free

“I must go.”
    â€œFather will be upset. It appears we will both miss our supper.”
    â€œFather is always upset.”
    â€œUsually, at least.”
    Benjamin looked at her then, and it was there in his eyes, if only momentarily: he was again the boy who not many years earlier would come to his sister’s bed, frightened by a reprimand, or a nightmare. On such nights she would draw him to her beneath the warmth of the counterpane and hold him tight.
    â€œWhere are you going, Benjamin?”
    â€œCan’t say. You understand.”
    â€œI do. But I worry—I worry that you’ll …”
    â€œDisappear.”
    â€œDear Benjamin, you have been finishing my sentences since we were children.”
    â€œWe both have.”
    It was true. When they had been very small, no one in the family could understand what Benjamin was saying, except Abigail, and they all looked to her for an interpretation.
    â€œIt’s Ezra,” he said. “You’ve not heard from him?”
    â€œNo,” she said. “Not since he left Boston two months ago. I am beginning to wonder—”
    â€œIf he means to disappear. From you.” She stared at her brother, afraid, exposed. “You chose him, Abigail. So you run the risk, but I don’t think he’s disappeared because he doesn’t love you.”
    â€œSometimes in such matters, in matters of the heart, we have no choice.”
    â€œI suppose not.”
    He started up the alley, but paused and turned around. It was almost dark now and she could barely see his face. He pulled his hat down snug on his head, causing his long hair to curl out over his ears. “I think it’s beginning finally, tonight.”
    She went to him, taking ahold of his hand. He looked down, and she almost thought he was going to walk home with her to dinner, hand in hand, like they did when they were younger. Gently, though she knew he didn’t want to, he pulled his hand free. He turned and ran, his familiar loping strides, the sound of his boots reverberating down that narrow cavern of weathered clapboards.
    There was no choice now.
    Choices had been made, for all of them.

II
    Sympathetic Ink
    P ROVINCE H OUSE HAD A WELL-TENDED ORCHARD AND GARDEN, and sentries stood guard on the wide front steps. Abigail walked around to the back of the property, where the carriage house gates opened onto Governor’s Alley. Inside the wrought iron fence she saw a boy of about ten, beating a row of horse blankets on a clothesline with a stick. When she motioned to him, he came to the gate.
    â€œDo you know a groom named Seth?” she asked.
    â€œHe’s my father, Ma’am.”
    â€œI wish to speak to him.” He gazed through the bars at her and didn’t move. “Please tell him I have something for him.”
    The boy ran across the yard and entered the carriage house, which itself was a handsome building, with a fine cupola. A moment later, a man came out and walked toward the gate. He had no hair, and his round forehead shone in the faint light. On the right side of his head there was just a small nub of flesh where there should have been an ear. “You have something for me?” For a man with such broad shoulders, he had a voice that was high and quite musical. His accent was Caribbean, which was heard frequently in the port of Boston.
    â€œYour name is Seth?”
    He nodded.
    â€œI’m to deliver a letter.”
    â€œJames Lovell sent you?”
    â€œYes, he’s my brother.”
    Seth opened the gate, allowing Abigail to slip inside.
    â€œYou should not have come until it is completely dark,” he said.
    â€œOdd. I’m usually admonished for refusing to not stay indoors at night. Or perhaps you would have me taken for the sort of woman who sells her wares in the dark?”
    â€œI speak not of your honor, Mistress, but of necessity.” He studied her with a bold eye, which made her