“No again, but it is somewhat of a cross between a tool and a weapon.”
Constance was beaming with glee with the progression of the guessing game. She always loved to make people guess, sometimes over the silliest things.
A cross between a tool and a weapon, thought Gabriel. “A trap for catching animals,” shouted Gabriel.
“I’ll consider that close enough.” Mr. Fleming held out a fishing hook and some fishing line.
Gabriel took the hook and line from him. “Thank you. I’m sure to catch some big fish with this.”
“There are plenty of streams and ponds on the road that runs north of here to Hartford and on into Massachusetts. You should find the fishing good — at least good enough to keep you from going hungry,” said Mr. Fleming. “Now then, why don’t we all enjoy a little music before we turn in.”
Mr. Fleming went to his bedroom and returned with a fiddle and bow. Gabriel sat back in the large rocking chair in front of the fire and listened to the songs flowing from the fiddle. He recognized some of the songs, like “Yankee Doodle,” but he’d never heard many of them. Malinda and Constance rose to dance, when Mr. Fleming began to play a minuet. They motioned for Gabriel to get up and join them, but he just shook his head.
“Come now,” said Malinda. “We’ll teach you if you don’t know how.”
After finally being pulled from his chair by Malinda and Constance, Gabriel found himself trying to mimic a courteous bow and then several steps to the right and several steps to the left. In the process of trying to watch Malinda’s feet instead of his own, his legs became tangled, and he toppled over, falling to the floor. Malinda and Constance laughed and pulled him back to his feet. His face turned two shades of red, but he tried to follow the steps again. None too soon, the song ended, and Gabriel quickly plopped back down into the rocking chair.
“What elegant dancers you all are,” said Mr. Fleming, clapping his hands. Then he picked up his fiddle once more. “One last song, and then it’s off to bed.” Notes began to pour from the fiddle, entrancing Gabriel with a mournfully sweet song. Mr. Fleming sang no words, yet the notes seemed to speak to Gabriel all the same. The melody went on softly until he found himself being gently shaken by Malinda. “Gabriel, Gabriel, you fell asleep. It’s time for bed.”
“Oh, yes, I must have just dozed off.” Gabriel rose slowly from the chair and half-walked, half-stumbled to the bed. He crawled in and quickly fell asleep. As he did, he thought to himself how hard it would be to leave this place come morning.
H 11 H
LEAVING
It was time to leave, and Gabriel knew it. Standing just outside the door to the cabin, the morning sun shone brightly. He had eaten a filling breakfast, but there hadn’t been much conversation at the breakfast table. In a way, he was glad, hoping it would somehow make it easier to leave the Fleming farm.
“Now then,” said Malinda, handing him his sack, “I sewed up the tear in your blanket, folded it up as a pack, and filled it with dried beef, biscuits, and a few bits of maple sugar I’ve been saving. Father found an old canteen that I filled with some tea. All of your belongings are in there, including a beautiful ring and a piece of paper. I’m not sure what the piece of paper is, but I saw it had writing on it.”
“That is a note from my mother,” replied Gabriel.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t read it,” said Malinda.
“It would have been alright if you had. Maybe you would know what its meaning is more than I do. At least I know you understand why I keep it.”
“Yes, I do understand, Gabriel,” said Malinda, handing over the pack. “Don’t forget your drum and these fine drumsticks we made.”
“I can’t forget that,” he said. He picked up his drum and stuffed the sticks down into his pack. He took his special ring out and stuck it into his pocket where he always kept it, and then tied up the sack, slinging it over his back.
Gabriel stood in the sunlight that filtered softly down in front of the cabin. He looked at Malinda, Constance, and Mr. Fleming and was unable to move.
He felt a wet streak begin to move slowly down his cheek. Next thing he knew, he had thrown off his pack and drum and run to Malinda and Constance, giving each of them a hug. Next came Mr. Fleming, who grabbed him with his strong arms and gave him such a tight hug he thought he might suffocate. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he stammered, “You’ll write, won’t you? I’m not sure exactly where I’ll be, but I’ve been told to find a Nathaniel Greene when I get to Boston. I think he’s in charge of the Rhode Island militia. I want to know all that is going on around the farm, just as if I were here.”
“I will write you often, don’t worry, Gabriel,” said Malinda.
Gabriel picked up his pack and drum again. He stood looking at the three people who saved his life, nursed him back to health, and helped him remember what it was like to have a real family again. He struggled to move his feet. At this moment, every inch of him felt like staying. Still, he began to turn away from them.
Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, he was some distance away when he decided to look back. Down by the small house, he saw the three of them still standing there, waving. He fought back tears and walked on back to the road that would take him to Boston.
Gabriel tried to distance himself from Malinda and the Fleming farm as quickly as he could, for fear he would go running back. Leaving
