Finally Eben spoke. His voice quavered a little, harsh, and self-conscious, and high. “If I had a shilling,” he said, “I’d ask you all to come up to the Wolfe Tavern and have a glass of beer.”
Dick snorted. “Lot of good a shilling would do you there!” he said. “Ma’am Davenport’s real strict. She won’t sell drink to lads of thirteen.”
Eben wilted for a moment. Then Sally Rose smiled at him, and he squared his shoulders and stood up taller than before.
“I don’t care for the taste of beer,” she said. “Perhaps I see too much of it in Father’s tavern as it passes over the board. But thank you, Eben. It was a kind thought.”
She turned to Johnny, and her voice grew low and soft. “Will there be a moon?” she asked.
He answered her gruffly. “Not till later. Much later, after the bells have rung curfew; after you girls are home abed.”
“Oh—?” answered Sally Rose provocatively.
“Well, here we are, Sally Rose,” said Kitty in a brisk tone, “You said you wanted to come down to the river.”
She looked out at the dark flowing stream with the river barges and fishing smacks and deep-sea-going ships moored on its quiet surface, lanterns in their rigging, their tall masts reared against the sky, and their sails furled tight. Ships home from Virginia and the Barbados, from all over the world, maybe; their holds full of sugar and rice and wine, silks and laces and oil, India muslins, and French knickknacks, and gunpowder out of Holland—even if they carried no tea. Try as they would, the King’s laws hadn’t been able to interfere too much with trade.
“Now that you’re here,” she went on, “what do you want to do?”