Read Online The Color of Freedom by Michelle Isenhoff - Free Book Online
Authors: Michelle Isenhoff
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boomed.
"Certainly! Certainly!" Salizar beamed, "but only after you join us for a bit of supper."
Salizar closed up shop and set out several cold, boiled potatoes, a large cake of cornbread and several thick slices of ham, washed down by cups of cold water drawn from the common's well.
Midway through the meal, Duncan approached and licked his lips appreciatively. "I recognize the fare of good Mrs. Campbell, bless her soul. A fine hostess she proved, indeed!"
"You're too late for grace, preacher," Salizar ribbed. "John Blackburn did himself right proud in your stead, but help yourself to the grub anyway."
"During the spring rains is an odd time of the year to hold meetings, isn't it, Duncan?" John questioned after introductions had been made.
"Not at all. In the outlying areas, there's always someone wanting to be married proper or to have a baby christened. The call for a minister's services cannot be dictated by the seasons, so I follow my route faithfully."
"True enough. Funny, though, I've never met you before," John shrugged. "Got any objections to a pint of cider, preacher?"
Duncan smiled expansively, "Sometimes it's the very thing to warm one in winter or cool one in summer."
"And in early spring?" Meadow asked caustically.
Duncan laughed heartily, and within minutes the four of them sat around a table in the Yellow Dog tavern. A young blond woman brought mugs of amber liquid and scuttled about the room removing dishes and filling tankards from a pewter pitcher. An apron covered her skirts and tied tightly at her middle, emphasizing her slender waist.
Meadow envied the girl's long tresses and her sweeping dress. She wished she could escape her disguise and drop her coarse manners even for one brief night and enjoy feeling feminine once again. Instead, she gulped down black coffee and chuckled heartily at some foolish comment her companions made.
As the season was still early for planting crops, several restless farmers joined the townsmen for the evening's socializing. They left dripping overcoats and tricorne hats steaming beside the hearth. A curly-haired dog snuffled noisily at some crumbs that had dropped beneath a table then lied under its master's chair.
The conversation hummed about the low-ceilinged room and came to rest, predictably, around British aggression. It grew louder and more animated as the night wore on and the men filled themselves with liquor.
"I say we organize and stick it to the redcoats now, before they have a chance to prepare," bellowed one hothead who was missing several teeth.
"You speak foolishly of civil war, Edwards. You must not forget most of us have English blood in our veins. It would be brother against brother," a calmer voice reasoned.
"That's right," spoke another. "I have a brother-in-law wearing the uniform of the British regulars and no wish to make war against him."
"Then you have my sympathies, Jackson, but not my regrets. With Boston Harbor closed, I have to ship my corn and barley all the way to !Salem to see them aboard ship. It cuts into my profits and it's a ruddy pain in the arse . I'd like to see every one of them blasted Lobsterbacks on a leaky ship back to England, including your brother-in-law!"
"Curb your volume, Edwards. What would your poor wife do if you lent your neck to a rope?"
"Blast it all, Simms! I don't care. I won't take any more of their meddlin ' in our affairs," he roared.
" Them's British ships you set your crops on," Jackson spoke again. "How will you make a profit without a vessel to ship on? The king abuses us, 'tis true, but consider the future. We'd do best to reconcile our differences in a civilized manner."
"The time for civility's passed!"
"If they take military action against us, I will stand with you," Jackson admitted, "but the situation calls for cooler heads than yours, or we are all dead men."
John Blackburn spoke in a low voice to those who shared his table. "Jackson speaks for most, hereabouts. They complain
"Certainly! Certainly!" Salizar beamed, "but only after you join us for a bit of supper."
Salizar closed up shop and set out several cold, boiled potatoes, a large cake of cornbread and several thick slices of ham, washed down by cups of cold water drawn from the common's well.
Midway through the meal, Duncan approached and licked his lips appreciatively. "I recognize the fare of good Mrs. Campbell, bless her soul. A fine hostess she proved, indeed!"
"You're too late for grace, preacher," Salizar ribbed. "John Blackburn did himself right proud in your stead, but help yourself to the grub anyway."
"During the spring rains is an odd time of the year to hold meetings, isn't it, Duncan?" John questioned after introductions had been made.
"Not at all. In the outlying areas, there's always someone wanting to be married proper or to have a baby christened. The call for a minister's services cannot be dictated by the seasons, so I follow my route faithfully."
"True enough. Funny, though, I've never met you before," John shrugged. "Got any objections to a pint of cider, preacher?"
Duncan smiled expansively, "Sometimes it's the very thing to warm one in winter or cool one in summer."
"And in early spring?" Meadow asked caustically.
Duncan laughed heartily, and within minutes the four of them sat around a table in the Yellow Dog tavern. A young blond woman brought mugs of amber liquid and scuttled about the room removing dishes and filling tankards from a pewter pitcher. An apron covered her skirts and tied tightly at her middle, emphasizing her slender waist.
Meadow envied the girl's long tresses and her sweeping dress. She wished she could escape her disguise and drop her coarse manners even for one brief night and enjoy feeling feminine once again. Instead, she gulped down black coffee and chuckled heartily at some foolish comment her companions made.
As the season was still early for planting crops, several restless farmers joined the townsmen for the evening's socializing. They left dripping overcoats and tricorne hats steaming beside the hearth. A curly-haired dog snuffled noisily at some crumbs that had dropped beneath a table then lied under its master's chair.
The conversation hummed about the low-ceilinged room and came to rest, predictably, around British aggression. It grew louder and more animated as the night wore on and the men filled themselves with liquor.
"I say we organize and stick it to the redcoats now, before they have a chance to prepare," bellowed one hothead who was missing several teeth.
"You speak foolishly of civil war, Edwards. You must not forget most of us have English blood in our veins. It would be brother against brother," a calmer voice reasoned.
"That's right," spoke another. "I have a brother-in-law wearing the uniform of the British regulars and no wish to make war against him."
"Then you have my sympathies, Jackson, but not my regrets. With Boston Harbor closed, I have to ship my corn and barley all the way to !Salem to see them aboard ship. It cuts into my profits and it's a ruddy pain in the arse . I'd like to see every one of them blasted Lobsterbacks on a leaky ship back to England, including your brother-in-law!"
"Curb your volume, Edwards. What would your poor wife do if you lent your neck to a rope?"
"Blast it all, Simms! I don't care. I won't take any more of their meddlin ' in our affairs," he roared.
" Them's British ships you set your crops on," Jackson spoke again. "How will you make a profit without a vessel to ship on? The king abuses us, 'tis true, but consider the future. We'd do best to reconcile our differences in a civilized manner."
"The time for civility's passed!"
"If they take military action against us, I will stand with you," Jackson admitted, "but the situation calls for cooler heads than yours, or we are all dead men."
John Blackburn spoke in a low voice to those who shared his table. "Jackson speaks for most, hereabouts. They complain
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