The Color of Freedom by Michelle Isenhoff Read Free Book Online Page B

breezes. Hidden life awakened as the snow receded. Early yellow buttercups and wild violets popped up in unexpected places, and blood red buds sprung up on every tree.
    They stopped at several towns and a multitude of farmhouses, winding their slow way to Boston, and the closer they came, the more the reconciliation-minded majority became infused with the radical notions of John Blackburn.
    Meadow listened to the talk without involving herself. Though the inspiring words of liberty struck a chord in her heart, she was certain of the strength of the British. These notions were futile and treacherous. And the more she heard, the more terrified she became that these hot-headed colonists might try something foolish. Then came a day when her heavy mood unexpectedly lightened.
    Pulling onto the emerald common of a small town, they opened for business. Meadow fetched objects and collected money as Salizar entertained and scrapped with his customers.
    The day was profitable. Salizar's little room was crammed with sacks of rags and bones. The wagon bed held a fine rocking chair he had taken in trade, and he was shaking a small leather pouch of coins and beaming with happiness when a heavy, work-worn woman approached. Her mouth puckered as if she'd been sipping vinegar.
    "How much fer the kettle?" she asked roughly, pointing to the largest one.
    Salizar smiled expansively. "Ah, a fine choice. The best I have to offer."
    She cut him off. "I don't want ta hear yer blatherin ', I want ta know yer price."
    Temporarily at loss for words, Salizar turned to Meadow. "Wynn, be a good lad and fetch the kettle for us."
    "So don't take all blessed day about it," the woman snapped. "I have a boardin ' house ta run. Name yer price."
    Meadow stopped to watch as Salizar fumbled about his brain for a figure. He named one much too high, and the woman turned abruptly away. As she left, Salizar amended loudly, "But that is just a humble estimate. What would you say it was worth, in your wise opinion, ma'am?"
    The woman snatched the kettle from Meadow's hands and inspected it closely. She snapped out a price, and Salizar's face flamed red. "Surely you mean to rob me, woman!"
    "You asked my opinion and I gave it to ya ," she maintained staunchly.
    Meadow rested her chin on a corner of the wagon and grinned at the exchange. Not often had she seen her employer on the losing end of an argument.
    After a long, heated battle, the lady stalked off in triumph, kettle clutched tightly beneath her ample arm.
    Salizar slumped against the wooden stays of the wagon bed, flushed and perspiring. "Let's close up shop for the night, son. Another customer like that and my poor heart might go into palpeations ."
    Salizar led the way to a nearby tavern and demanded a tankard of cider before ordering his dinner. Chugging half of it down in one quick motion, he soon regained his equilibrium. Grinning widely, he said, "There, my boy! Now I can manage anything. Order what you like. The treat's on me."
    As they ate their dinner, the pub began to fill with townsmen and farmers. Meadow washed her meal down with coffee. She'd become rather accustomed to it. Suddenly, a voice rang out. " Salizar ! Is that you?"
    Meadow turned to find a thin, scholarly-looking man peering at them down the length of a very long nose.
    "Doc?" Salizar asked, his head bobbing with delight. "I say! How are you?"
    The friends shook hands and the newcomer sat down. Salizar made introductions. "Wynn, this is Charlie Baker, the village doctor."
    "How do you do?" Meadow asked politely.
    "Fine, fine, lad. Even in the midst of all this conflict, folks still require remedies. I claim neutrality and patch up both sides." Then he grinned. "But I must admit, my coin purse is light while my larder overflows with eggs and rotting apples."
    Salizar turned the conversation to suit his interests. "So tell me, how is it in Boston?"
    "Still blocked up tighter than the bowels of a colicky horse."
    "Can an enterprising merchant