A Girl Called Samson (13)

“I have ten sons . . . and war is coming. God help us.”

“I need more time,” I said, though I was not really speaking to her at all. “I’m not ready.”

“I’m not ready either,” she said, “but no one ever asks us.”





4

DISSOLVE THE BANDS

One night, weary and rushed, I sat down to compose a letter to Elizabeth and wrote the entire thing in my journal before I realized my mistake. The journal was brand new, a present from Reverend Conant for my fifteenth birthday, and to rip the pages from the book would damage the binding. Plus, my orderly, exacting self could not abide the thought of a missing or torn page right at the beginning. So I left it, copying the words I had written onto loose paper the following day.

The letter to Elizabeth, there at the front of my journal, was an odd beginning to the book, but in many ways it captured my life and circumstances better than any essay or bit of self-reflection could, and I found the format freeing. I began with the salutation from then on, addressing Elizabeth and often copying bits of my entries into the letters I sent her, the diary becoming a more honest, unfiltered draft of what I could not say to her . . . or to anyone.

I was still careful. I was growing up in a house full of boys who were endlessly curious about what I was scribbling, and I knew better than to write anything that would devastate me were someone to read it. I resented that, but I had never been a fool. To be a fool required a level of fantasy no one had ever indulged in me. The only privacy I truly had was in the space between my ears.

But that night, even at the risk of having it discovered, I recounted the scene with Nathaniel in my journal and considered, for the first time, a future with each of the brothers, from Nathaniel down to Phineas. I felt ridiculous doing it. Nathaniel said they were all a “little in love with me,” but I’d seen no evidence of that. Part of me was convinced Nat was pulling a cruel prank, though he’d never been prone to such things before.

Whatever Nathaniel had said to Phineas, it must have worked, because Phin didn’t leave. At supper, with his eyes averted, he stiffly apologized to me for his “roughness,” and promised it would not happen again. Benjamin, seated beside him at the table, clapped him on the shoulder, as if to comfort him. The conversation then moved to redcoats and blue skies, and if any of the boys were green with envy over Nathaniel’s sudden interest, they didn’t let on.

Nathaniel seated himself beside me at the table, and from the searching gazes of his brothers, I suspected he’d consulted with them. Deacon and Mrs. Thomas too. Nat had a private conference with his parents when supper was over, which I was thankfully not invited to. I did my evening chores, fled to my room, and bolted the door, needing the comfort of my letters and the clarity that came with writing my thoughts down.

I was as honest as I could be in my assessments, dissecting each brother’s attributes down to the smallest thing, but when I finished, I felt no closer to a preference than I had when I started. On paper, Nathaniel made the most sense. He was the oldest. He was also handsome, hardworking, and the most ready to make a commitment. And he had kissed me.

But I wasn’t sure Nathaniel and I would suit. He was always trying to make me still, and stillness wasn’t in my nature. Nathaniel might make me unhappy. Even worse, I might make him unhappy.

Benjamin had a stillness all his own, and he didn’t try to force it on me. It just moved with him, making him easy to be around. I liked that about him and wondered if I should ask him to kiss me so I could make a full comparison. That thought appealed, and I made a note to find a moment alone with him. Of course, if I made Benjamin unhappy, he would never say, and that too was unacceptable.

I could not imagine kissing Francis or Edward or Elijah. I thought that might be a crucial piece, though I could easily list their strengths and weaknesses. The thought of kissing Phineas made me laugh. We would argue about who kissed who the best and end up in some sort of match to settle it.

My laughter sounded a bit like a sob, and I shoved the list aside and began a letter to Elizabeth. I dearly needed a woman’s advice, a woman other than Mrs. Thomas, who would not be able to see clearly through my dilemma. She was their mother, and Nathaniel, especially, was the apple of her eye.

Elizabeth had told me once about her courtship with John. “I never doubted him for a moment. We were young, but he was so handsome and so confident, but without the bluster or arrogance of the other Yale boys.”

They’d married when he was twenty and she was seventeen, and for her, it had been an easy decision. It would not be an easy decision for me. I would not be seventeen for a while yet, and perhaps that was the only difference. But I didn’t think so.

When a soft knock interrupted my musings, I ignored it, pretending I was asleep. I had not yet recovered from one interaction with Nathaniel and feared it was him.

“I can see the candle flickering beneath the door, Rob. I know you’re awake.” It was Phineas. I rose, abandoning the letter I was composing to Elizabeth, and cracked the door.

His hair was mussed and his shirt untucked, and he looked as wretched as I felt. Wordlessly, he handed me my cap. It was soiled and the ruffle was torn, and looking at it made me even more forlorn.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Can you fix it?”

“Of course.”

“You can fix anything, can’t you, Rob?”