Read Online The Color of Freedom by Michelle Isenhoff - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michelle Isenhoff
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loudly, but still wish in their hearts for a peaceful return to the way things used to be. The time is fast approaching, however, when they will no longer tolerate the abuses heaped on them. Even now the land is a tender box, easily set off by the slightest provocation. Moderates could be pushed to take views as hard as Edward's, or worse."
"More's the pity no tavern can be found large enough to accommodate the whole divided empire," Duncan began, holding up his mug and turning on the charm. "By morning, brew this good might search out common ground between us all."
He consumed many pints and joined heartily into the tavern's conversation. Salizar encouraged him in his story telling, and he plunged into a humorous tale about a meddlesome woman. Soon the little table swarmed with locals hanging on his words.
"'Next time you think up such a cockamamie accusation,' the constable said, 'whisper it in this broken bucket before you come see me. Then maybe it will leak out onto the ground before you get here and give us all some peace.' And with that, he slapped the bucket onto the widow's table," Duncan finished, sending his admirers into gales of laughter.
"Ah, no more, Duncan lad," Salizar pleaded, holding his chest. "My palpeations !"
Meadow withdrew from the company and settled beside the hearth to rid her clothing of its clinging dampness. John joined her. "Hard-drinking preacher, ain't he? Asks a lot of questions and spouts complaints not fittin ' with a traveling minister's position."
Meadow frowned. "He's charmed them all."
"All but two," he said pointedly.
He yawned and stretched, his muscles taut and extended. He reminded her of a tomcat awakened from a snooze.
"The hour grows late. Take care on your journey tomorrow. Danger grows as you near Boston." With those words, John excused himself.
∗ ∗ ∗
The next morning, Meadow found herself crowded among the varied wagons of another farmer's market. After milking every last penny from his customers and receiving no invitations, Salizar pulled out of the town quite late. Meadow perched beside the little man in the wagon, and as had become his habit, Duncan rode alongside, showing no sign of the liquor he had consumed the night before. He whistled cheerfully, if out of tune, but the noise of it grated on Meadow's nerves like a droning gnat.
"Do you have to do that?" she snapped.
"Do what?"
"Whistle that confounded tune."
"I could sing it if you'd rather," he grinned, and broke out in chorus, "Yankee doodle keep it up. Yankee doodle dandy. Mind the music and the step and with the girls be handy."
"What a horrid song!" she exclaimed. "You mock the colonists!"
"Surely not I. It's a British song, but catchy," he twinkled.
She could see he enjoyed provoking her and it made her angrier. "Don't you have somewhere you need to be getting along to?" she suggested. "Somewhere far from here?"
"Well, now you've done it. You've hurt my feelings!" he exclaimed in mock dismay.
"Wynn, be kind to our guest!" Salizar reprimanded, but she had just begun.
"You've long since worn out your welcome. You eat our food but contribute nothing but talk, talk, talk. You may charm others into doing whatever you please, but I can see through you. You're a lazy, drunken excuse for a preacher if I've ever seen one, and I believe it's time we part our ways."
Meadow could see a real flush of anger begin low on Duncan's neck and spread to his cheeks.
"Wynn!" Salizar repeated, shocked. "You've no call to go saying that to our guest."
"No, it's all right," Duncan stated, but his voice had lost its lightness, and a new glint replaced the humor in his eye. "I do need to be getting on, and your rig travels a mite slow. I'll be taking my leave of you both." He tipped his hat and bowed low over his mount. With a show of dignity, he turned to Meadow. "Wynn, my good lad, I will be in much prayer over the state of your soul."
She felt color creeping up her own neck. "And I, sir, will be certain
"More's the pity no tavern can be found large enough to accommodate the whole divided empire," Duncan began, holding up his mug and turning on the charm. "By morning, brew this good might search out common ground between us all."
He consumed many pints and joined heartily into the tavern's conversation. Salizar encouraged him in his story telling, and he plunged into a humorous tale about a meddlesome woman. Soon the little table swarmed with locals hanging on his words.
"'Next time you think up such a cockamamie accusation,' the constable said, 'whisper it in this broken bucket before you come see me. Then maybe it will leak out onto the ground before you get here and give us all some peace.' And with that, he slapped the bucket onto the widow's table," Duncan finished, sending his admirers into gales of laughter.
"Ah, no more, Duncan lad," Salizar pleaded, holding his chest. "My palpeations !"
Meadow withdrew from the company and settled beside the hearth to rid her clothing of its clinging dampness. John joined her. "Hard-drinking preacher, ain't he? Asks a lot of questions and spouts complaints not fittin ' with a traveling minister's position."
Meadow frowned. "He's charmed them all."
"All but two," he said pointedly.
He yawned and stretched, his muscles taut and extended. He reminded her of a tomcat awakened from a snooze.
"The hour grows late. Take care on your journey tomorrow. Danger grows as you near Boston." With those words, John excused himself.
∗ ∗ ∗
The next morning, Meadow found herself crowded among the varied wagons of another farmer's market. After milking every last penny from his customers and receiving no invitations, Salizar pulled out of the town quite late. Meadow perched beside the little man in the wagon, and as had become his habit, Duncan rode alongside, showing no sign of the liquor he had consumed the night before. He whistled cheerfully, if out of tune, but the noise of it grated on Meadow's nerves like a droning gnat.
"Do you have to do that?" she snapped.
"Do what?"
"Whistle that confounded tune."
"I could sing it if you'd rather," he grinned, and broke out in chorus, "Yankee doodle keep it up. Yankee doodle dandy. Mind the music and the step and with the girls be handy."
"What a horrid song!" she exclaimed. "You mock the colonists!"
"Surely not I. It's a British song, but catchy," he twinkled.
She could see he enjoyed provoking her and it made her angrier. "Don't you have somewhere you need to be getting along to?" she suggested. "Somewhere far from here?"
"Well, now you've done it. You've hurt my feelings!" he exclaimed in mock dismay.
"Wynn, be kind to our guest!" Salizar reprimanded, but she had just begun.
"You've long since worn out your welcome. You eat our food but contribute nothing but talk, talk, talk. You may charm others into doing whatever you please, but I can see through you. You're a lazy, drunken excuse for a preacher if I've ever seen one, and I believe it's time we part our ways."
Meadow could see a real flush of anger begin low on Duncan's neck and spread to his cheeks.
"Wynn!" Salizar repeated, shocked. "You've no call to go saying that to our guest."
"No, it's all right," Duncan stated, but his voice had lost its lightness, and a new glint replaced the humor in his eye. "I do need to be getting on, and your rig travels a mite slow. I'll be taking my leave of you both." He tipped his hat and bowed low over his mount. With a show of dignity, he turned to Meadow. "Wynn, my good lad, I will be in much prayer over the state of your soul."
She felt color creeping up her own neck. "And I, sir, will be certain
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