The Rebellion of Jane Clarke Read Online Free Page B

differently.
    Phinnie was better at the business of kissing than Joseph Woollen—he didn’t cling as if he were drowning; his lips were neither liverish nor cold; he tasted as if he’d drunk a tot of rum, not bathed in it. After a time his hand slipped down to the ribbon tying up the neck of her shift and after a very little more time she could feel his man’s part, as solid as the bedpost, through both their clothes; it was there Jane began to think about the consequence to the sin of fornication as she’d been taught it at meeting. If Phinnie got her with child he would have done so under her father’s eye and would find himself married in a fortnight, whether he wished it or no, but if she gave birth to a babe before the full nine months of marriage they would be required to stand up at meeting and confess their premature coupling.
    All this spun through Jane’s mind while her laces were being undone, perhaps in no great compliment to Phinnie, but such was the world she lived in that these matters needed to be considered ahead of time. She might have considered them a little farther ahead of time if she’d thought of them ahead, but as she hadn’t . . . And there a new thought occurred to Jane. It would be Phinnie’s babe as much as hers, his trip to meeting, his long life with Jane beyond. Had he considered these matters ahead? Was he considering them now? Or did his mouth and hands and man’s part carry him along without any thought at all? Jane didn’t know. There was so much to Phinnie she didn’t know. But she had her father’s essay on Phinnie’s character to reassure her, and she also had her father’s dislike of Woollen to add to the sum—to find him in such perfect accord on the matter of Woollen allowed her to double the value of his assessment of Phinnie. She might also add to the sum the fact that Phinnie’s hand had left her breast and traveled under her skirt to cause a sensation which certainly helped to explain all those meetinghouse confessions. And so Jane had now arrived at the fateful crossroads; she might follow that sensation down or she might back away from it, but if she wished to back away from it she needed to do it now, while she still kept firm grip on the reins.
    Reins. Horse. Winslow.
    Jane pushed Phinnie away and sat up. “I should like you to tell me something. You said ‘’tis true’ tonight when my father talked about the soldiers. What did you mean? Do you think the stories in the paper are true, that the soldiers beat and rape the inhabitants?”
    Silence. Jane could see nothing but the dark shape of him lying beside her. She poked his arm, and Phinnie rose up on an elbow. “Let me be clear. You’re asking me . . . Are you in truth asking me about the behavior of the soldiers in Boston?”
    “The ones sent by the king to keep the peace. I want to know if you think the newspaper reports are true, that the soldiers beat and rape the inhabitants.”
    Phinnie dropped onto his back. “I think all soldiers beat and rape.”
    “So you don’t agree with my father that the newspapers lie?”
    “I think all newspapers lie.”
    “You can’t think both.”
    “Perhaps all ardent suitors lie.”
    When Jane didn’t speak he rose up on his elbow again. “Why do you ask me this, Jane?”
    “I want to know what you think.”
    “Ah! Then I shall tell you. I think we should get married very soon. And I think if talking is to be the thing, then that’s the thing we should be talking about. Your father has shared some ideas with me that want discussion, for one.”
    “When you came through the village did you hear something said of Winslow’s horse?”
    Silence.
    “Did you?”
    “I did.”
    “And did you hear it said my father was behind it?”
    Phinnie dropped onto his back again. “Jane. Jane. I know how this talk of Winslow’s horse must distress you. For that reason it distresses me too. And for both together I see no gain in continuing the