Daughter of Liberty

A Garden Meeting

Lane's family estate was on the outskirts of Boston and was therefore afforded an abundance of space. The gardens especially were generous. She leaned against the stone railway. The sound of the balls revelry played loudly behind her.

She wanted water. Anything to burn down the fire in her throat. Not half an hour into her first social greeting and she was falling apart, defeated in battle. A killing blow that man dealt her.

But instead of blood, salty unwanted tears protruded. She pressed her forehead against the smooth stone. Her planning was now of escape. She knew the servant halls very well and would just need to avoid the head ladies to make it back to her room. This was surely a retreat.

Before Lane was able to act upon her plan, she saw a glimpse of a red coat. There was someone in her gardens. Overcome with curiosity, she stepped off of the Dias and onto the gravel, quietly making her way to the tall maze- like hedges.

She saw a man. Then another. They were walking farther into the gardens at a quick pace. Lane found herself plunging in after them. As she did, the men began to multiple. She had to pull farther back to avoid having anyone sneak up on her.

Finally, she found the center of their congregation. A group of five or six men were huddled under the crab apple tree.

"This is rather audacious of you, Adams," one man whispered. "What ever possessed you to call a meeting at this place?"

Lane's eyes widened. Did she hear that correctly. Adams. As in Samuel Adams. He was a strong radical voice against British Rule ever since the Stamp Act and the troops moving in. She had been but a baby when he began printing his ideas.

Crouching behind a brambled bush, she listened. "We are here because we need to take action quickly. Dartmouth, Eleanor, and the Beaver are set to dock in two nights time. We will all be back in Boston at this time-"

"You are proposing what, Samuel?" Another voice asked. Lane recognized this one. Benjamin Edes. One moment he was talking up her loyalist father and the next he was using the man's gardens to overthrow the government. She smiled at their bravery.

Adams cleared his throat, but then his words grew quieter. Lane could not hear him. But she knew a place where she could. They were just up against the garden wall and she knew just how to get to the other side.

Lane backtracked a bit, to get a clear path to the wall. Every step in the gravel pained her. Perhaps slippers were convenient. They certainly silenced her steps more than a pair of boots.

If she had not spent her life hiding in these gardens, she would have assuredly lost her way. As the party was indoors, the garden had been neglected to be illuminated.

Lane heard a footstep in front of her. Her heart skipped a beat. She could not go backwards. Before the stranger turned the hedge, Lane found safety behind a small fountain. She bent down, peering over the lip.

The person carried light. A lantern. The light spread across the gravel. Lane looked up to a very familiar face. Her father carried a stone cold expression on his face. His hand rested on his side. Though there was no weapon there, she had learned it was his precautionary stance.

He walked past her, farther into the garden. He would come upon the rebels in their meeting. Lane watched him leave.

No.

"Father," she called out loudly. Her voice carried through the garden as she jumped out from behind the fountain and brushed the dirt off of her skirt.

Theodore stopped in his tracks. "Linnea, what are you doing here in the gardens?"

"I saw you from the ball room and was wondering if I could help you in any way," she said sweetly.

He sighed, "You could help me find where Lady Carrington hid the rum." Linnea reached for her father's arm and carried him away from the garden. Her heart raced. She had just aided rebels.

"Check the silverware drawer," Linnea advised her father at the door. She pushed him through, but did not follow. Instead, she ran back to the garden.

She took the same turns, "He is gone now!" She called out. "No one saw you." When Lane entered the clearing, it was empty. She took a deep breath and did a full circle. No one hid behind the crab apple tree. Her hopes were dashed.

Lane turned to leave, but a shadow waited at the exit. "Who are you?" It asked. A young man's voice. For a moment, the governors son flashed in her mind. Lane clutched her fan.

"If you come closer to me, you'll regret it," her tone was much more confident than she felt.

The shadow faltered, "No..I would... I would never." The boy stepped into the moon light. He had strong red curls and big eyes. He was lanky and scrawny. Lanes fear slid away. She could take him in a fight.

"Let me go," she commanded.

He crossed his arms, "I can't let you snitch. What you heard in the garden was nothing."

So the revolutionists had left a young boy to deal with their supposed spy. "I know what I heard."

"And who would believe a lady?" He challenged. "You are unchaperoned in the gardens with a young man."

Lane rolled her eyes, "Is that your offer of a marriage? I'll pass."

This only flustered him further. He pressed his palms against his brown pants. They were a little scruffy. "I can't let you tell anyone what you heard."

Tired of seeing how he'd go about that, Lane put a hand out, "I wasn't planning on it. I wasn't spying on them. I was curious."

He cocked his head, "Curious?"

"I believe I'd agree with the Revolutionists if I was given the option to hear their argument," she mused. "Who are you anyways?"

He shoved a hand in his pocket, "The name is Henry, Linnea." Henry moved closer and disclosed a pamphlet in his hand. He handed it over to Lane

"You are the spy, then?" Lane laughed. "But you've got it wrong. Refer to me as Lane unless you'd like me to treat you in the same regard as my father or Lady Carrington."

Henry moved to the side, "You should return to your party, Lane. Who know who lurks in the dark." He winked mischievously before slipping off.