Where Freedom Lies
True revolution begins in the heart.
By Julie Williams
Chapter 1
18 April 1775 ~ Lexington, MA
Hannah drew in her elbows and prodded King to a faster gallop, keeping her half-length lead on Andy—no small feat considering the pie she balanced in her lap. Next month they would turn another year. He would come of age—maybe join the minutemen, and she’d be what—consigned to domestic rote? Until that time, she’d exploit every ounce of freedom Mama permitted. She cast a triumphant grin back.
Andy snatched at her skirt and shouted. The pounding of horse hooves trampled his words, but not their meaning.
This win went to her. She gave tension to the reins and eased King to a walk, allowing Andy to bring Prince alongside.
“Ahead. In the road.” Andy nodded to where four mounted figures rode abreast in the fading light. “We’ve a message to deliver. No need to broadcast our mission.”
“Ha.” She shot Andy a wicked grin. “Everyone’s playing at secrets tonight.”
“Sure, but ours came from Portsmouth.” He patted his jerkin pocket. “It’s important.”
“Then stop wasting time and get it to Papa.”
One of the men in front of them twisted in his saddle. He waved a hand and all four turned their horses. Uniforms flashed in the fading light, three red, one yellow.
Regulars.
Hannah’s pulse raced like the rumors. The Army planned a raid on Concord—as early as tonight. These must be scouts. With a little coaxing, she might turn gossip into intelligence.
“Come on, Andy. We’ll have some sport.” She tapped her heels to King’s side, urging him back to a trot.
“A little sense—”
“Don’t play Papa. If you’re scared, I’ll carry the note.” She stretched out her palm. “They would never search me.”
“No. The army isn’t interested in girls.”
A lack of three weeks would not define her as a child. “We’ll see what sport this woman can instigate.” She pranced King straight toward the soldiers.
“You want adventure?” Andy whooped a laugh and charged ahead.
The soldier in command raised his hand. “Halt. State your name and purpose.”
Andy trotted Prince right up to their line. “Pardon, sir, you seem to be blocking the road.” He made to keep going and Hannah squelched a giggle.
The officer angled his horse, blocking Andy’s way. “Name and purpose.” His hand settled on the butt of his pistol. A second soldier blocked Andy from the other side.
Her little scheme evaporated. Hurling insults about the Crown was one thing, but twisting the lion’s tail? The people in Boston felt that sting several years ago when they watched five of their own die. Perhaps she incited Andy too far this time.
A little charm would defuse the tension. Who could stand in the way of a mission of hospitality? She cradled the dessert in her arm and joined the men. “The Griffin’s with a pie for the reverend.”
The captain kept his eyes trained on Andy, as though he alone posed a threat. A sneer flickered across his craggy face. “Reverend Clarke has houseguests. He ought not be disturbed.”
So they knew about Hancock and Adams. Maybe the Regulars’ mission boasted more than the guns in Concord. She glanced at Andy, careful not to let her eyes betray the hiding place of the secret communiqué.
“Neglect not to do good.” Andy sounded just like Reverend Clarke. He nudged the outside soldier aside with Prince’s bulk.
The drummer advanced on Hannah, his uniform half gold, half grey in the setting sunlight. He could be no less than a year her junior, with a nose much larger than his face required. His hand shot out, grabbed King’s bit, and yanked her alongside him. The cloth covering the pie fluttered to the ground. The oldest soldier hemmed her in from behind.
Clever words with which to protest failed her. Never had she been this close to Regulars. She squared her shoulders and glanced to Andy for help. No way would she let these bullies know how they intimidated her.
His left eye was half-closed—a good sign. He’d think of a way to get them out of this scrape without Papa finding out.
“Griffin, you say?” The captain looked through her to the old one. “Where do we know that name?”
Andy started to speak, but whatever fabricated yarn he intended faded into commotion.
The boy thrust grubby fingers into the center of the pie, nearly toppling it from her hands.
Warm juices dribbled across Hannah’s thumb and down King’s sleek black coat. He stamped in place. She gripped him tighter with her knees and kept her body erect.
“Berry.” His words slurred around a mouthful of crust. “My compliments.”
If only she had something to make this a fight, she’d prove more than her horsemanship. She scowled at the miscreant—so close she could topple him off his horse, grab his—no, he bore no weapon either.
The captain chuckled and gave a dismissive wave. He and his men turned their horses. “Give the reverend and his guests our regard.”
The old soldier clapped the drummer on his shoulder as he passed Hannah. “Well done, Billy, my boy.”
The Regulars retreated into the gathering darkness and the little fool had the audacity to turn a berry-faced grin on her. Each peal of their raucous laughter chiseled away at Hannah’s prudence.
The set of Andy’s jaw said he wouldn’t let this irreverence go unchallenged, either. He sprang forward, but Hannah outpaced him. “Here, have it all.” She gripped the edge of the tin and flung the mangled contents.
The drummer’s horse hopped a little jig. The boy screeched and wheeled his mount around.
She should do the same. Flee. But her mind would only consider how well blackberry and canary yellow looked together.
Andy surged past and slapped King on the haunch. “Pass through. We’ll lose them in town.” He squeezed between two soldiers with such ferocity their horses snorted and reared.
Already gaining speed, the drummer failed to turn his mount again. He reached toward Hannah as they passed.
She thwacked his hand away with the pie dish, then backhanded his father on her way past. Close on Prince’s hooves, she followed Andy down the streets of Lexington to a flutter of last year’s discarded leaves.
The crowd in front of Buckman’s tavern stared, then jumped back as King and Prince flew by.
She ignored their shouted questions. Two lefts and a right, away from Reverend Clarke’s house. King nearly collided with Prince when Andy reined to a sudden stop. The thundering still sounded in her ears. She turned in her saddle and waited. Not hoof beats, the exhilaration of a good chase. She beamed at Andy.
“Home, then?” He grinned.
“What of the message? The rider said it was important.”
Andy fished it out of his pocket and did the unthinkable. He unfolded it. “Look to Concord.”
“That’s it?” Hannah snatched it from him. All this fuss for three words and a signature?
“Old news.” He took the page back and stuffed it in his pocket. “I’ll leave it on Father’s desk.”
Hannah rode at his side in silence allowing the vague message to nettle her. If it warned of the Regulars’ suspected movements, why had the rider come from Portsmouth and not Boston?
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