He slouched and looked down at his feet.
Malinda looked at him, turned her head slowly to the pond, and then smiled and exclaimed, “I know!” She took off, running to the bank of the pond where tall reeds stood in shallow water. The next thing Gabriel knew, Malinda was wading into the water.
“What are you doing?” he asked, chasing after her. “Are you looking for frogs, or what?”
Malinda didn’t respond. As Gabriel reached the bank, she was working on pulling out a couple of the sturdy river cane reeds. These were the same kind of reeds often used as arrow shafts. She finally pulled two reeds from the water, their muddy roots still dripping. “Come on,” she said.
Next thing Gabriel knew, Malinda was sprinting back toward the house. By the time he caught up with her, she had her father’s axe in her hand. She laid one of the reeds down on a piece of wood and let the axe fall, cutting the reed off smoothly so it was about a foot long. She did the same to the other reed and then handed the pair to Gabriel. He stood there, looking puzzled at the reeds.
“Drumsticks,” Malinda said brightly. “Hurry up and go get your drum.”
Gabriel went inside, picked up his drum, and brought it back out into the warm sunshine. He put the sling for the drum around his neck and then slowly set one of the reeds down onto the surface of the drum. It gave a quick clean pum sound. “Hit it harder,” said Malinda. “Haven’t you ever seen someone beat a drum?”
He hit the drum harder, trying to create a rolling rum-pum-pum-pum sound, but it just sounded like a bunch of racket. Constance might as well be beating pots and pans in the kitchen with a wooden spoon, he thought as he struggled with the drum.
“Try it again,” said Malinda. “Things like this take practice.”
Gabriel tried, but he couldn’t get it right. He could barely keep a simple beat on the drum. His frustration grew.
“Well, no matter,” Malinda said with a smile. “You’ll get it figured out. At least you have a pair of drumsticks now.”
Gabriel smiled back, but he wasn’t too sure having a pair of drumsticks was a good thing, after all. Captain Arnold and his militia would likely be leaving for Boston tomorrow, and the man might ask him to play. The thought filled him with both joy and fear. Any man marching along to the beat of his drum would have to drop his gun and cover his ears. And who could know what kind of effect his clambering rhythm would have on the horses? They may rear up and buck off their riders.
Benedict Arnold would quickly conclude he was no drummer boy. Gabriel would have no excuse other than to claim his sickness had somehow affected his playing ability. For all Gabriel knew, that may be true.
Hopefully Captain Arnold’s militia already has a drummer boy, thought Gabriel. One that can teach me how to play.
“I’d better get back inside and help Constance with supper, and you’d better go back in and lay down a bit,” said Malinda, starting up toward the house. “You need to look as fit as you can if Mr. Arnold is going to take you with him to Boston tomorrow.”
Just the thought of marching along with Captain Arnold’s men on the way to Boston filled his heart with joy, and for the moment, he forgot he didn’t know how to play the drum. He stuffed the drumsticks in his back pocket, and before Malinda could turn to run up to the house, he caught her by the arm.
“Thank you,” he said. “I needed those drumsticks, and you were clever enough to find a way to make them.” He looked at Malinda’s eyes and remembered what she had told him about the eyes being the mirror to the soul. He realized then he’d heard that saying before. He suddenly wanted to know where Malinda had heard it. “Where did you get that bit about the eyes being the mirror to the soul?”
“My mother read it to me from a book. I can’t remember the name of it, but it’s something I’ve always remembered, because it’s true.”
Gabriel looked away as a memory of his own mother suddenly overwhelmed him, “The eyes are the mirror to the soul . . . Les yeux sont le miroir de l’ame.”
“What did you say?” asked Malinda.
“My mother was French. She spoke to me in French and taught me to read and write in French, too. I knew I had heard that saying before, but I didn’t remember until you told me about your mother reading to you. My mother told it to me a long time ago. So long I had almost forgotten. Thank you for reminding me.”
“I love those kind of memories of my mother, too,” said Malinda. She turned and hugged Gabriel. “Don’t ever forget them.”
Gabriel and Malinda both turned to head back into the house. Mr. Fleming came in shortly afterward and made Gabriel lie down in bed. He did as he was told, even though he felt like running into town to show Benedict Arnold he was well. He felt like it was Christmas Eve! He was so excited about the next day, he could hardly get to sleep. Finally, he managed to drift off by thinking of the march. One last night in the comfort of the Fleming home.
Gabriel awoke the next morning to the smell of frying bacon filling the Fleming farmhouse. He pulled the quilt back, stepped out of bed, and quickly got dressed. He wanted to leave no doubt in the mind of Captain Arnold he was fit enough to march to Boston. He would be dressed and ready to go by the time Arnold arrived.
Gabriel walked into the small kitchen
