The Redcoats are Coming! Page 3

  “Indeed, I’m sure of it,” Sybil said. “Beth can sleep in the trundle bed in my room.”

  Sybil got a quilt. She gave Beth a lantern to carry. Then she led the cousins outside to one of the buildings.

  Patrick looked up at the night sky. The darkness was blacker than it was back home. There were no electric streetlights. Instead, thousands of stars twinkled like lights on a Christmas tree.

  Patrick’s teeth started to chatter. It was a chilly night.

  Sybil opened the stable door and took the cousins inside.

  John Hancock’s carriage was parked in the middle. Horses stood in the stalls on either side of it. Patrick heard one of them stamp its hooves.

  Sybil took the lantern from Beth. She hung it on a post. It gave out a small circle of light.

  Sybil climbed up a ladder to a loft above. Patrick and Beth climbed up too.

  A large pile of loose hay sat on the loft floor. At the back of the loft were stacked piles of hay. They reached almost to the ceiling.

  Patrick looked up. The roof rafters were exposed and looked like giant wooden ribs.

  Sybil spread out the quilt on the hay.

  “This will be a nice soft bed,” she said. “You’ll get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Can we leave for Boston first thing in the morning?” Patrick asked.

  Sybil shook her head. “You can’t be going tomorrow,” she said. “Father expects you to join us at our meeting. Tomorrow is Sunday. Nobody travels on Sunday.”

  “We don’t have time to stay another day,” Patrick said.

  “You’d be stopped and questioned along the way,” Sybil said. Then she said good night and climbed down the ladder.

  “It’ll be all right,” Beth said as she climbed down after Sybil.

  Sybil took the lantern from the post. She and Beth left the stable.

  Now Patrick was all alone. In the dark. He felt his way to the quilt. He sat on it. The hay felt soft underneath.

  Patrick stared into the darkness and sighed. This adventure wasn’t going the way he thought it would.

  A noise broke into his gloomy thoughts. Pitter patter. Pitter patter.

  Mice? he thought. Or rats. Rats the size of mountain lions. That’s crazy! He pushed the image out of his mind.

  The noise stopped.

  He waited. Whatever had caused the noise was still now.

  The sweet smell of hay soothed him. The heat from the horses below warmed the stable loft. It was much warmer inside. He was surprised at how cozy he felt now.

  Patrick took off his jacket. He took the letter out of his pocket. It was too dark to see anything.

  He put the letter away again and folded his jacket. He placed it beside him on the hay.

  He wrapped himself up in the quilt. He closed his eyes.

  He thought about the noises around the stable. A snort from one of the horses. A distant hoot from an owl. A barking dog.

  Then he thought of the rats again. And the snakes under the stairs.

  Patrick didn’t like to admit he felt scared. But what if those creatures crawled over him while he slept? That was enough to keep him awake. If only for a few minutes.

  Then he fell asleep.

  Clang. Clang. Clang.

  Patrick sat up with a start. The loud noise sounded as if someone were hitting a pan with a stick.

  “Breakfast!” a voice shouted.

  Patrick rubbed his eyes. He sat up and yawned. Then he stretched.

  His hand brushed against a piece of hay in his hair. He took it out and then shook his head quickly. A few more stray bits fell to the ground.

  He reached for his jacket.

  That’s strange, Patrick thought. The jacket wasn’t where he remembered putting it. It was a few feet farther away.

  He also thought he had folded his jacket in half. Now it lay flat and spread out.

  Patrick stood up and put on the jacket. He buttoned it. One of his buttons was missing.

  He reached inside his pocket for Paul Revere’s letter.

  Where is it? he wondered. How could it be gone?

  He remembered taking the letter out of the pocket. But he also remembered putting it back. Was he wrong? Had it fallen out when he folded the jacket?

  Patrick lifted up the quilt. Nothing. He dug through the hay with his cane. Still nothing.

  He checked his pocket again. Empty.

  He checked all his pockets. They were empty too.

  He climbed down the ladder and looked around. He saw three deep shoe prints in the dirt.

  “Patrick!” Beth called from outside.

  How was he going to tell her? He’d lost the letter to Paul Revere.

  Emergency!

  Beth stood at the front door of Reverend Clarke’s house. Inside, everyone was rushing back and forth. Mrs. Clarke was busy getting the children ready for church.

  “Patrick,” Beth shouted again. “Breakfast!”

  She looked across the large grassy area. Sybil had told her it was called Lexington Green. Beth noticed big buildings on the other side.

  The stable door opened. Patrick appeared.

  Beth thought Patrick’s face looked pale. He was either sick or worried. Maybe both.

  Sybil came up behind Beth.

  “We must hurry, or we’ll be late for meeting,” Sybil said.

  “Come on!” Beth shouted as she waved at Patrick.

  He waved back to Beth and ran to her. By then his face had turned red. “I’ve got to tell you something—in private,” he said.

  “There’s no time now,” Beth said. “We’re about to eat breakfast.” She gave him a small smile and turned toward the house.

  She and Patrick walked inside.

  Beth went to the kitchen area to help. She scooped hot oatmeal out of a pot. She put it into heavy pewter bowls. There were a lot of children to feed!

  Beth joined the crowd around the table.

  Patrick sat with the men. Reverend Clarke stood and prayed.

  He sat down again when he finished the prayer. Everyone began to eat their warm oatmeal and lumps of cheese.

  Beth forgot about Patrick after breakfast. Again she was too busy to talk to him. There were hair ribbons to tie. And old-fashioned shoes to button.

  Later, one of the children banged on a pan. Everyone gathered and made their way to the Lexington meetinghouse.

  Beth came alongside Patrick to walk across the green. But she couldn’t talk to him to find out what was wrong. They were surrounded by Clarke children. Patrick even let one small boy climb on his shoulders.

  They made their way inside the square gray meetinghouse. Wooden risers were arranged in rows facing a podium. Beth sat down on a seat and sighed with relief. Unfortunately, Patrick sat across the aisle from Beth.

  We’ll just have to wait, she thought. I hope the sermon isn’t too long.

  Reverend Clarke walked up to the pulpit. He wore a long black robe. Beth thought he looked like a judge.

  Reverend Clarke preached about the power of God over governments. He said that Christians are in His hands. God knows when we suffer. He sees the cruel hand of King George. We must be grateful when times are good. And we must remember that God is present in bad times.

  Beth felt her heart stir with pride for her country. But Beth’s teacher at school wouldn’t have liked it. She said talking about politics in church was un-American.

  No one here would agree with that! Beth thought. Not Reverend Clarke or his large family. Not John Hancock or Samuel Adams, who sat nearby. Not the little children or the teenagers. Not even the people older than her grandma.

  For these people, freedom was something God gave them. They weren’t going to let a king take it away.

  This is how America started, Beth thought. Christians are involved. Churches are involved. For freedom. For liberty. For America.

  Reverend Clarke pounded on the pulpit.

  Beth suddenly remembered what Sybil had said about gunpowder. It was stored underneath the
pulpit. She wondered if it could blow up when Reverend Clarke pounded. She hoped not.

  Reverend Clarke paused and lifted his head as if he heard something. Beth heard a clatter of hooves coming from outside. All eyes went to the windows facing the road. A man galloped toward the meetinghouse.

  “It’s Paul Revere!” someone whispered. “Something must be wrong!”

  The Search

  Reverend Clarke stepped away from the pulpit. “The meeting will be dismissed,” he said. “You may leave in order and quiet.”

  Everyone stood up. Beth hurried over to Patrick.

  “You can give Paul Revere the letter,” she said to him.

  Patrick frowned and shook his head. “That’s what I wanted to tell you,” he said. “I can’t find the letter.”

  Beth winced. “You lost it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Patrick said. “When I woke up this morning, it was gone.”

  “Did you drop it in the carriage? Or maybe it’s in the corncrib,” Beth said.

  “It was in my jacket pocket before I went to sleep,” Patrick said.

  Everyone was now outside with Paul Revere. Beth and Patrick were alone.

  “How could it just disappear?” Beth asked.

  “I think someone stole it,” Patrick said.

  “Who? Only Sybil and I knew you had it,” Beth said.

  Patrick shook his head. “And the two strangers. They saw me put the musket balls into the saddlebags,” he said.

  “You showed it to them?” Beth asked.

  Patrick shook his head again. “It fell out of my pocket,” he said. “I know they saw it.”

  “You think they followed you back to the Clarke’s house?” Beth asked. “And that they sneaked into the stable last night to steal it?”

  Beth thought it sounded like a wild idea.

  “Yes,” Patrick said. But he didn’t sound as sure as he had a moment ago.

  “We’ll run back to Reverend Clarke’s home,” Beth suggested. “We’ll search again.”

  “It won’t be there,” Patrick insisted. “Those two men stole it.”

  “Let’s look again,” Beth said. “Then we’ll be sure.”

  Patrick looked at her and then nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  Beth and Patrick hurried out the door. The crowd of people pressed around a man standing next to a horse. Beth guessed it was Paul Revere. She and Patrick needed to find that letter fast.

  They ran back to Reverend Clarke’s house. Patrick hurried away from Beth and ran toward the stable. “I’ll check the stable again,” he shouted. “You check the house.”

  Beth ran through the front doorway. She headed straight for the round dining table.

  First she pulled out the chair where Patrick sat that morning. Next she looked where she thought he’d sat the night before. Then she bent down to look underneath the table.

  She heard a sudden noise behind her. Beth whirled around and looked toward a window. A man stood half hidden behind the long curtains.

  Beth let out a shriek.

  The man stepped out. He held on to his belt. Beth wondered if he thought his trousers might fall.

  “Did you lose something?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s no business of yours,” the man said.

  Beth made a sudden rush for the front door.

  The man moved quickly. He grabbed her arm and then let out a small laugh.

  Beth stomped on his foot and twisted free. He grabbed for her again. She dodged him and moved behind the dining table.

  The man muttered under his breath. Then he threw himself across the top of the table. Beth scrambled underneath it.

  Beth pushed past the chairs. She half crawled and half ran for the door. She lifted the latch and pulled it open.

  The man came up behind her. But she was faster. She sprang toward the stretch of grass ahead.

  Beth raced in the direction of the corncrib. She had an idea.

  The man started after her, but she heard him grunt loudly. She glanced back and saw that he’d slipped and fallen. She raced around the corncrib. She came to the cellar door in the ground.

  She grabbed the door handle and pulled up as hard as she could. The door didn’t budge.

  The man was coming toward her. She took the handle with both hands. She gave the door a mighty heave. This time it flew open.

  She scampered down the cellar stairs. She took care to skip the third step. She reached the bottom and stopped. She turned around and looked up at the door frame.

  The man came into view. His face was twisted in a sneer. He was red-faced and puffing loudly. “Now . . . I’ve . . . got you,” he said between breaths.

  He hitched up his pants with his hand. Then he took a step. And a second. He kept his eyes on Beth as he reached up and straightened his hat.

  Then he put his foot on the third step.

  Crack!

  The wooden step broke under his weight.

  “Aaah!” he cried out as his leg fell through the step. He waved his hands in the air.

  His other leg was still on the second step. His weight broke that step as well. He disappeared below the wooden staircase.

  “I’ve hurt my leg!” the man shouted. Then he gave a little cry. “What’s this?” he called out.

  Hiss-ss! Hiss-ss!

  “Snakes!” the man shouted.

  Beth could hear the man thrashing around. Then he let out a long howl.

  Beth didn’t wait to find out what happened next. She raced up the stairs as fast as she could. She leaped over the broken steps to the outside.

  Bony Fingers

  Patrick searched the stable again. He checked inside the carriage. Nothing.

  He climbed up the ladder to the loft. He used his cane to spread the hay. Nothing.

  Patrick climbed down the ladder again. He saw the three deep footprints in the mud. He had assumed they were his and Beth’s and Sybil’s. They had all been in the stable the night before.

  Patrick placed his foot over one of the footprints. It was too large for his foot. And it was too large for the girls’ feet.

  “The men were here!” he said to himself.

  Patrick heard a bang at the far end of the stable. A tall, thin man stepped out from the shadows. It was one of the men who’d questioned him outside the white church. Patrick remembered his name was Ross.

  Ross held a pitchfork and walked toward Patrick.

  “Tell me where the musket balls are,” he said, “or I’ll run you through.” He shook the pitchfork at Patrick.

  Patrick thought about running for the door. But he was afraid Ross would catch him. So he climbed the ladder.

  Ross dropped the pitchfork and came after him. The tall man shook the ladder as he climbed.

  Patrick reached the top of the ladder. He stepped onto the loft. He turned and saw two hands with bony fingers gripping the top rung. Ross’s face came into view.

  “Where’s my letter?” Patrick demanded.

  Ross took one hand off the ladder. He opened his coat flap. “I don’t have it,” Ross said. “Come look inside my coat.”

  Patrick came a few steps closer.

  Ross suddenly reached forward to grab his leg. Patrick stepped back and stumbled over a mound of hay. Ross climbed the rest of the way up the ladder. He clenched his fists as he stood in front of Patrick.

  Patrick pushed himself farther back into the loft. He swung his cane wildly at Ross. The man easily sidestepped it. Patrick backed into a pile of hay.

  Patrick spun around and climbed up the piles of hay. If only he could get to the top. Then he could climb into the rafters.

  Suddenly Patrick felt Ross’s strong hand grab his right ankle.

  “No!” Patrick shouted and kicked hard. His leg came free.

  He continued his climb to the top.

  But Ross clawed his way upward too. He was tossing handfuls o
f hay out of the way.

  The stack of hay began to shrink. Ross was getting closer.

  Patrick heard Ross sneeze. The hay must have tickled his nose. The sneeze made Ross jerk backward.

  He slid down the stack.

  Patrick jumped, tumbling down the stack on the other side of Ross. He fell into the corner of the loft floor. The boards groaned and came loose as he landed on them.

  Patrick felt dazed. He clutched his cane and looked for Ross. A cloud of dust made it hard for Patrick to see.

  Ross had fallen back toward the ladder. He was getting to his feet again.

  Patrick was truly cornered. He could tell that Ross saw it too. The man grunted with a look of satisfaction and stood up.

  Patrick was lying flat on the floor and spotted a loose board. He thought he might use it as a shield. He yanked up the board, and two more came with it.

  The missing boards left a large opening. It looked large enough for him to slip through.

  Ross must have noticed the opening too. He rushed at Patrick.

  Patrick lowered himself through the hole feet first. He prayed he wouldn’t land on anything pointed.

  He fell into a pile of old hay and compost.

  Squeak! Squeak!

  Rats exploded out of the pile. They ran everywhere. A rat as big as a cat scampered over Patrick’s leg.

  A terrible smell engulfed Patrick like a cloud. His eyes watered from the odor of rotting food and dung.

  He looked up. Ross peered at him through the hole above.

  “I’ll get you,” Ross said through clenched teeth. Then he disappeared from view.

  Patrick guessed he was headed for the ladder.

  Patrick crawled to his feet. His hand rested against something small and hard. Then he realized it was the brass button from his coat! He put it in his pocket.

  Then Patrick flung himself at the stable door. It burst open, and he nearly ran into Beth.

  “Patrick!” Beth shouted. “I caught the spy! He’s in the snake pit!”

  Patrick now heard cries of “Help me!” from the direction of the cellar.

  Just then Patrick heard Ross inside the stable.