“Nothing has changed about how you are going to get to Boston, Gabriel,” Malinda said softly. “You left New York knowing how you would get there. You would walk. That hasn’t changed. The fleeting hope you could join up with Mr. Arnold’s militiamen before you reached Boston doesn’t change anything.”
He knew this was true. “You sure must want me to leave, because you’re doing a good job persuading me I should continue on my journey to Boston.”
“I don’t want you to leave, Gabriel. I’ve only known you for a short time, but you are already a dear friend, and I want you to stay a close friend to me even if you are going to be off fighting in Boston.”
“I will stay a close friend to you no matter where I am.”
“Then you will go on?” asked Malinda.
“Yes, I will go.”
Malinda took Gabriel’s hand. “And I will pray for your safe return”.
H 10 H
A GIFT
Gabriel headed back up to the house with Malinda. Mr. Fleming was already out splitting wood. He put down his axe and wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve as they approached.
“Constance, could you go fetch me a pail of water, please?” asked Mr. Fleming.
Sweat dripped down from Mr. Fleming’s face as the tall, lanky man sat down on a stump and let out a sigh. “Gabriel, life is full of people who let you down and circumstances that turn out to disappoint you. I’ve had a few of both in my life, but there’s one thing you have to remember . . . be true to yourself. Don’t let others discourage you from taking the path chosen for your life. You are the only one who can know that path. Find it, and then hold on to it with all of your heart.”
“Yes, sir,” responded Gabriel, “but the hard part is figuring out what path you are supposed to be on.”
Mr. Fleming chuckled, stood up, and picked up his axe to resume his chopping. He said in a ringing tone, “And this above all, to thine own self be true, and it must follow as the night the day, thou can’st not then be false to any man.”
Gabriel looked with surprise at Mr. Fleming. “I’ve heard that before.”
“You’ll find Shakespeare’s play Hamlet on my bookshelf inside the house, along with other plays and poems he’s written.”
Gabriel nodded, “Hamlet. I knew I had heard that quote before. My mother and father took me to see it when I was little. I mostly remember being scared of the ghost. I have been frightened by the thought of spirits ever since.”
“Shakespeare did like to frighten his audience on occasion.” Mr. Fleming laughed. “But he always seemed to wind a great many truths into his tales. I hope what I told you makes sense, Gabriel. You may take all the time you need to reach a decision about whether you will return to New York, stay here, or travel on. I only ask that your choice be definite and that, once you’ve decided, you’ll not waiver.”
“I’ve already decided I’ll continue on to Boston, sir,” replied Gabriel.
Mr. Fleming took a step toward Gabriel, patted him on the back, and then grabbed his shoulders, giving a firm squeeze. “Well done, Gabriel. Don’t lose heart. When will you depart?”
“I’m afraid if I stay too long, I’ll be tempted to change my mind. I’ll head out in the morning,” said Gabriel. As soon as the words had left his mouth, he wished he could take them back. Somehow, saying them aloud to Mr. Fleming suddenly made leaving real.
“Very good, son. That will give us time to prepare another farewell meal and pack up some food to take with you,” said Mr. Fleming with a broad smile.
Mr. Fleming was true to his word. He left that afternoon and returned with three plump quail. The hunting was still good in the hills near New Haven, and he was obviously a good shot. Gabriel wished he could stay and have Mr. Fleming teach him how to shoot, but he already said he was leaving. In the morning, he would be gone.
He tried to shake this thought from his mind by helping Mr. Fleming pluck the quails’ feathers and then mount them on a spit. Malinda and Constance took turns turning the spit gently over the fire in the hearth. The succulent juices from the birds dripped slowly onto the flames, and a wonderful smell filled the small cabin. Malinda and Constance made cornbread and tea to go with the quail. The meal was quite possibly the best one Gabriel could remember. The quail was the juiciest and most tender meat he’d ever eaten. And just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, Malinda left the table to return with an apple cobbler she’d made.
“I was just getting ready to say the only thing this meal was missing is dessert, but I’d have spoken too soon,” said Mr. Fleming, now sniffing the sweet aroma filling the air, “That, Malinda dear, looks delicious, and I suggest we not delay in finding out exactly how delicious it really is.”
Malinda set the desert down on the table and dished up a steaming portion for everyone. Gabriel ate the dessert, savoring every bite, remembering how hungry he’d been earlier in his journey. Then, as the last bits of apple cobbler were dished out, Mr. Fleming left the table for a moment and returned holding something behind his back. “Gabriel, in addition to this fine meal and the food we have already packed for you, I have something else.”
“Make him guess, Papa!” shouted Constance.
“Guess? Oh yes, very well,” responded Mr. Fleming. “Gabriel, what do you think is hidden behind my back?”
Gabriel had no idea what was hidden behind Mr. Fleming’s back and had to think for a few moments before he cried out, “A new knife?”
“No, guess again,” said Mr. Fleming.
“A
