The hesitant March daylight was slipping away. Franklin knew firsthand that shipbuilding done in weak light sometimes had to be redone. “I guess that’s it,” he said, arching and twisting his back. He wiped down the adz and the unfinished strake, covered everything with canvas, then anchored the canvas with rocks.
“Payday tomorrow?” Ethan asked. Hunched against the wind, he jammed his hands in the pockets of his greatcoat. The snowflakes dodged crazily in the shifting breeze. “Did Gilchrist come up with what he owes?”
“You’ll get your wages. Don’t worry.”
“I don’t know about that fellow. You may need another buyer.”
“If I do, there’ll be one. There may even be a bidding war,” Franklin smiled. “She’s going to be a beauty.”
Ethan said good night as Franklin stored the hand tools in the mule shed. He was about to take Oatmeal out when he heard his name. He turned to find Alec beckoning him.
“The rent’s not due for another week,” Franklin said as he neared his tall, fair-haired landlord.
“And a damned shame that is,” Alec said with a smile. “Early payments are always welcome, of course.” He nodded at the frame under canvas. “You need a hoist. Why don’t we set one up there tomorrow?” He started walking toward his shipyard office, gesturing for Franklin to follow.
“That’s a generous offer,” Franklin said, “but Ethan and I are doing fine.”
“A brilliant designer like yourself shouldn’t be muscling strakes around. You could use some more hands too.”
“True enough, but I’ll be needing to find a pot of gold for all that.”
“Ah,” Alec grinned as he opened the office door. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”
The office, smoky from a poorly vented wood fire, was lit by two lanterns. Franklin was surprised when Alec’s father, Robert, greeted him with a one-armed embrace. “My God, lad,” Robert said in his booming voice, “it’s a curse! You look more the spit of your old man every time I see you. I trust you’re not acquiring his vile disposition.”
Franklin couldn’t help but grin. “I’m sure my father returns your good wishes.”
Robert offered barley beer in a tankard, which Franklin accepted. “Death to our foes,” the older man toasted.
When they were seated, Franklin asked Robert, “You’ve got something on your mind?”
“Aye, that we do. But this is Alec’s program. I’m just here to hold the purse.”
Alec sat forward. “We’ve got good word that the British’ll be leaving Boston. They’re already boarding their ships.”
Franklin smiled broadly and leaned back. “I’ll be damned.”
“You boys at Bunker Hill did better than you knew. They’re running away, taking their Tory friends with them.”
“We did our share of running that day,” Franklin said. He shook his head. “I’ll be damned.”
“So, this has got us to hurrying up a thing we were on about already.” Alec said the rebellion would stretch on now. The British, stung by this defeat, would fight even more fiercely, that much was sure. With the British out of Boston, New England ship captains wouldn’t need to be smuggling their goods in fast boats, but another line of business would boom now.
“Privateering,” he said with emphasis, the color coming into his face. “Grabbing British cargoes and selling them for ourselves, dividing up the booty. There’s money to be made there. That’s where the smart boys will go.” The state government, he said, was issuing privateering papers. With the British out of Boston but still needing to sail through New England waters, privateering would surge.
“That makes sense,” Franklin said, “though it’s never seemed much different from piracy.”
“Franklin, such words from a man who fought at Bunker Hill? We’re fighting to win our independence. They’ve got a navy that spans the blasted globe. We’ve got nothing like that, so we have to be clever, use the weapons we’ve got at hand, one of which is privateering.”
“Which just happens to include getting rich by taking other people’s cargo.”
“You and I don’t make the rules for wars. If we’re helping the cause, where’s the crime in helping ourselves? We’re going to do both.”
“You’re going into privateering?”
Alec nodded.
“And you want my ship for it?”
“We do,” Alec sat back. “It’s a good size. A small crew can handle it. It can hide in coves along the coast, but it’s big enough to take on a lot of the supply boats.”
Franklin waited.
“And it has to be fast. There’s going to be British warships to outrun.”
“It’ll be fast. Don’t worry about that.” Franklin scratched a cheek with one knuckle. “But I’ve got a buyer, a man named Gilchrist from Bath.”
“We bought him out.” Alec held out a paper. Franklin took it.
After looking it over, he said, “This doesn’t say what you paid.”
“That shouldn’t matter to you. He confirms that we’re the owners.”
The McDonnells, Franklin figured, must have got wind of Gilchrist’s troubles, which were no secret, then swooped in with a cash offer that he jumped at. “Why don’t you build privateers here? Why buy mine?”
“We’ve got other contracts to fill. And we like your design.”
“And you don’t take any risk if the British show up. My yard’s the one they’ll burn.”
“Aye, there it is,” Robert burst out, “that miserable German suspicious streak. Straight from your old dad. Listen, son, we’re not trying to take advantage, not of you. We’ll take out the letters of marque from Massachusetts—in our names, the McDonnells, big as life. We’ll buy the bond to be posted with the state. We’ll share out the equipment you need and get you more workers so you can get this one on the water, quick as six jiffies. We’ll take the same risks you do. Maybe more.”
Franklin took a few moments. Getting equipment and more hands for building, that part sounded good. But he knew he’d be losing control over the project. “What do I get? Other yards will want this ship too. Old man Wilson, or Storer, or any of ‘em.”
“By speeding up the project,” Alec said, “you get your money sooner and can move on to build more. And we’ll give you five percent of whatever the ship clears.”
“Do you have a captain?”
“Some villain from Salem, James Corcoran by name. He’s reputed to be crafty and vicious both. When the ship’s ready, we sail to Boston for the papers, then pick up Corcoran in Salem. If Corcoran’s luck holds, this won’t be the first ship we put out there. We’ll be wanting more. If his luck’s bad, you’ve still done fine for yourself.” When Franklin was quiet, Alec added, “There’s other ships we could get, but we like yours and we like you. We’d prefer to keep this in the family.”
Franklin figured a sharp businessman sitting where he was sitting—a man like Alec, for example—would haggle over his share of the booty, but Franklin wasn’t of a mind to. What they offered would move the sloop’s completion ahead by months. He could build another ship while still having an interest in the sloop’s profits. It would, as Alec said, all be in the family. And there was that connection to Salem, which was near to Lynn, which put the whole business in an even better light.
He stood and held out his hand.
* * * * * *
Franklin rode Oatmeal across the Medomak where the ice was thickest. His mind kept cycling back to his trip through Salem the year before, and his days at the Bellamy household. Jane would be surprised to find him on her doorstep again, already building ships for the cause like he said he would. Perhaps he could name the sloop the Jane. He smiled. He was getting ahead of himself.
A hundred yards from Mayflower Hof, the smell of sausage reminded him that he was hungry. His father was enjoying some success now. The elegant cabinet he made for Leichter had spread his name among the gentry who craved fine pieces but cringed at Boston prices. So the Sunday before had b
rought a butchering party at Mayflower Hof, with a fiddler and dancing in the front room and food in the kitchen. The men had lined the hog pen, wielding axes and knives. They took pride in every splash of pig’s blood on their clothes, but mostly they drank beer, smoked, and told stories. Johann, who liked to share his good fortune, had insisted that Franklin come back for the blood sausage towards the end of the week.
“Franklin!” “Franklin!” “He’s here!” Shouting and laughing, his little sisters and brother Karl burst from the house. The placid Oatmeal ignored the children and also the three dogs barking at his knees. After dismounting, Franklin scooped Karl up for the short walk into the barn, with dogs and Liesl in hot pursuit. Lena said she’d look after the mule, so Franklin veered off to the kitchen door with Karl on his shoulders, his arm around Liesl.
“There’s big news, little Liesl,” he said.
“Tell me first! Tell me first!”
“Everyone at once.”
Catherine was at the fireplace oven, peering at something that smelled miraculous. “Close that door! It’s freezing!” she shouted. Thick slices of blood sausage sputtered in a large skillet. A second skillet sizzled with sliced apples and potatoes. Franklin kicked the door shut while setting Karl down.
Catherine gave Franklin a bear-hug greeting.
“I have an announcement for everyone,” he said. “In the front room.”
“If you want your dinner,” Catherine answered, “you’ll wait a few minutes for me, and for your father to come in.” She shooed them out of the kitchen, handing baby Klara to him.
Promptly, Franklin was on the floor portraying a wild bear while Karl, Liesl, and even Klara climbed over and under him, shrieking with tickles and pokes and growls and roars.
Johann and Hanna came in through the kitchen, both carrying wood. Franklin called his greeting from the floor.
“A fine thing,” Johann said. “With all of these young, strong arms and legs, they send an old man out in the snow for wood.”
“Hanna!” Catherine’s voice came from the kitchen. “I need you! And where is that Lena when I need her?” Hanna leaned down to kiss Franklin and hurried to the kitchen. Johann knelt to rebuild the fire.
“Papa,” Franklin said, crossing the room on his knees. “Let me do that.”
Johann leaned back. “An excellent idea.” He produced his pipe and began to scrape it out, then packed the bowl and lit it. When the tobacco smoldered, he moved to the rocker he had made for Christiane years before. It was everyone’s favorite chair, but Johann had first claim on it. “So,” he said, “when will we see you playing with some babies of your own?”
Wiping his hands against each other, Franklin shrugged. “You and Walther don’t need my help with that, Papa.”
“We have a whole continent to fill.”
“Soon enough. I have news, Papa.”
“Yes?”
“For everyone.”
Johann rolled his eyes. “Then we wait for Frau Overstreet.”
“Mama,” Karl called out. “Franklin says you should come.”
Following thumps and clashing noises, Catherine and Hanna entered with Lena behind them. “So,” Catherine said, “what is it that can’t wait for dinner?”
“Nothing much,” Franklin said as he sat up on the floor, then stood. “Except I’ve just learned from the McDonnells that the British are abandoning Boston. We’ve won!”
When the cheering and hugs subsided, Johann enlisted Lena to help him tap a fresh keg of beer. Liesl asked Franklin, “Does that mean the war is over?”
He shook his head. “No, but it means we’re winning. And we can celebrate with this grand meal that Catherine and Hanna have made.”
“How,” Catherine asked, “do the McDonnells know this before everyone else?”
“That’s their business, knowing things first,” Johann said as he entered with two schooners of beer. He handed them to Catherine and Franklin. “Don’t underestimate those two. They’ll make money from this.”
After a noisy meal that bordered on the riotous, Franklin and his father sat together in the front room. Catherine was putting Karl to bed while the girls cleaned the kitchen.
“Tomorrow,” Johann said, relighting his pipe, “we can tell this news to Walther and Joanna when they come by.”
“You’ll have to do that, Papa. I’ll be at the yard.”
Johann puffed for a moment, the narrowed his eyes. “Alec and Robert, I’m thinking they shared this news for a business reason?”
“Turns out they’ve bought the rights to my sloop and they want it finished faster. So tomorrow we’re moving a hoist over from their yard and we’ll hire more men.”
Johann grunted. “That reminds me,” Johann said, switching to English so the others wouldn’t understand, “I have new orders for two large tables, good work. I have some cherry wood for them. Can I get you for a few days, maybe three? You’d be working inside, near the fire.”
“Sorry, Papa. We need to get this ship on the water.” Franklin was glad to have a solid reason for saying no. Johann often insisted that only Franklin’s touch would satisfy his clients, but Franklin hated neglecting the work in his shipyard.
Johann chose not to press the matter. “Don’t let the McDonnells rush you. What matters isn’t that you finish it two days faster, but that it is excellent, that everyone sees that when it sails by and says, ‘Who built that beautiful ship?’”
“Like an Overstreet cabinet, eh, Papa?”
“It’s the same, yes. What we have is our work.” He pulled his pipe from his mouth. “So, what are the McDonnells really up to?”
“Where is your trust in your fellow man?”
“I’ve known Robert and Alec longer than I’ve known you. They’re up to something.”
“They’re going into privateering.”
“Not with you as captain?”
“No, no. I’m just the shipbuilder. They have a captain from Salem.”
“Will this bring danger?”
“The letters of marque will be in their names, and they’re arranging the bond.”
Johann puffed for a moment. “Keep your eyes open, Franklin. Privateering is risky. Maybe even for the shipbuilder.”
“Don’t worry. They say it can be a rich business.”
“Oh, yes, it can be that, but more for men like Robert and Alec, not for men like you and me.”
“We’re so different?”
“Yes. Yes, we are.”
The girls arrived at the same time as Catherine. “Did I hear something about the ship you’re building?” Catherine asked.
“You see what I tell you,” Johann said with a smile. “This woman has a nose for business.”
“Yes, there’s a new purchaser, and they want it more quickly so they’re paying for more shipwrights and a hoist.”
“You’ll build it faster then,” Catherine said.
“Yes, much faster.”
“Do you know what you’ll name the boat?” Liesl asked.
“Ach, my sweet Liesl flower, how do we raise such romantics in this house?” Johann said. “Franklin is in business. The boat will have whatever name the buyer wants.”
Franklin didn’t contradict his father, who was probably right.
When Franklin went to mount Oatmeal, Hanna carried the lantern for him. Though she was only three years older, they both acted as though the difference was a decade, a gap created from their motherless years. Like Liesl, she had their mother’s slender poise, the cool grey-blue eyes, the attention to everything around her. At least that’s how Franklin remembered their mother. After so long, his memories had dwindled to a few feelings—her touch when she helped him, the calm she brought into a room. He could still feel her voice in his ear, vibrating through her warm breastbone as he snuggled close. Her voice had been deep for a small woman.
“Liesl is learning English,” Hanna said.
“Isn’t she the clever one! Does she understand when Papa and I speak?”
He smiled at her. “Our mother would approve.”
“I know Mama could understand, but I don’t remember her ever speaking it. I think she liked it that way. She knew what people said when they thought she didn’t.”
Franklin patted Oatmeal and turned to Hanna. “You’ve been doing that for years.”
Hanna smiled and shrugged. She switched to English. “But I have no one to speak it with. Catherine and many of the women don’t know it.”
“You can speak it with me, and with Liesl.” Franklin cocked his head. “Wait. I’m being stupid. Someone’s courting you now, in English. That’s it?”
She blushed slightly. “Not courting, I don’t think, but how he acts, I think, well, maybe he will, maybe soon.”
“Does he have a name?”
“He is old. He has children.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Andrew Sherwood.”
“The sailmaker? He’s not so old. He has two boys?”
She nodded again. “They are small yet.”
“He was at Papa’s party. Do you like him?”
“I think so. We have not had much time with each other.” She looked up at him. “What do you know of him?”
“Not a lot. In the yards, they think he’s reliable. Honest.” Franklin shook his head. “I’ve been a bad brother, not noticing this right under my nose. Shall I speak to Mr. Sherwood about his intentions?”
She smiled and held up a warning finger. “Not a word to Papa. We must see how Herr Sherwood goes.”
“He would be a fool not to come see you, and to see Papa. I don’t think he’s a fool.”
He reached for the reins, but she held them back. “And you? Did I hear that you go to Salem with this ship? Do you go to that girl there?” Hanna was the only one he had told about Jane. She could keep a secret. “You will go see her, right?”
The New Land Page 30
