Prelude to Glory, Vol. 7

by Ron Carter

  “Starting when?”

  “Monday.”

  “What fee?”

  “We don’t know. You tell us what’s fair.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When you do, tell us. In the meantime, Monday morning?”

  The old man’s chin trembled, and then he answered, “I’ll be here.” For a moment he looked at the two young men, and then he opened the door and walked out onto the waterfront and was gone.

  Matthew and Billy sat back down at the desk, and Matthew opened the folder to glance through the papers once more before he turned to Billy.

  “What about the Jessica?”

  “We’d better go see the bank. We can’t afford to lose the ship.”

  Matthew considered for a moment. “This thing about the rivers worries me. I knew the states had their differences, but I didn’t know they had begun seizing ships. We need to know what’s happening.”

  Billy said, “Same with taxes and tariffs. We’re going to be taking Boston goods to Virginia, and Virginia goods to New York. We need to know the tax laws.”

  Matthew nodded. “The buyers and sellers are responsible for that, not us, but it’s our ships that are going to be seized and sold if they make a mistake.”

  “We’ve already got one ship in trouble. Two or three would likely ruin us.”

  Matthew changed direction. “We’ve got to get a crew and get loaded for the delivery in Virginia. I’ve made an offer to Theodore Pettigrew to get the crew and serve as their captain. I worked with him during the war, down in the West Indies. Good man. Can you handle the Jessica trouble with the bank, and check into the tax and tariff troubles?”

  “Yes.” He pointed at the folder on the desktop. “I’ll take the papers to the bank when I go.”

  “Anything else?”

  Billy turned to look at the boxes in the corner. “I better spend some time with those records while you’re getting the crew.”

  “Any objection if Caleb’s among them?”

  “None.”

  Matthew pointed. “The sign above the door says Covington.”

  “I’ll get it changed.”

  Matthew stood. “See you tonight.”

  Billy watched him walk out the door, then turned and for several seconds stood still while he studied the interior of the office, trying to comprehend that he was part-owner of a shipping firm, and that this cold, bare, waterfront room was the heart of it. For the first time he began to understand that going from an employee to an owner was a complicated thing. Ownership had been transferred by the simple stroke of a quill, but making it all a reality was going to take time and effort.

  Outside on the slick timbers of the wharf, Matthew trotted west, then north, into the narrow, winding streets of Boston, to a small home fronting on the Boston Commons. He rapped at the weathered door and waited until a small woman with soft brown eyes and an infant wrapped in a blanket in her arms opened far enough to see him.

  “Matthew! Come in.”

  She swung the door open and Matthew stepped inside and removed his hat as she closed the door.

  “Dora, is Theodore home?”

  “No. He’s over at Winnisimmet. He heard there might be work over there.”

  “When do you expect him home?”

  “No way to know. Why? What’s happened?”

  “We signed the papers for the Covington shipping business less than half an hour ago. We need your husband.”

  Her eyes widened. “The arrangement you and he talked about?”

  “Yes.”

  “Steady work?” She held her breath.

  “Steady. He won’t see pay for more than a month, and even then it all depends on whether this thing works. It could fail.”

  Relief flooded through Dora, and she began to breathe again as Matthew continued.

  “Do you know where he might be in Winnisimmet?”

  “He took the ferry early to see a man named Toolson. He repairs boats. I don’t know where he lives.”

  “I know Zachary Toolson. When Theodore gets home, would you tell him I’m looking for him? I’ll be home later. Tell him to come no matter the hour.”

  “Yes. Oh, yes!”

  Matthew started to turn to leave, but could not resist. “Could I see the baby?”

  Proudly Dora Pettigrew carefully folded back the blanket to reveal a tiny, pink, newborn infant with a shock of straight dark hair, sound asleep. The little soul stirred, and her mouth sucked for a moment, and then she relaxed. Matthew raised a hand, then restrained his impulse to touch the little face, and he looked Dora in the eyes.

  “It’s a miracle every time,” he said.

  Dora beamed and closed the blanket. “I’ll tell Theodore you want to see him.”

  “Take care of the little one.”

  “I will.”

  Back in the streets, Matthew slowed to make a plan, then turned west once again and moved rapidly through the streets, toward the home where he’d grown up. Fifteen minutes later he knocked on the door and pushed inside. Margaret called from the kitchen, “Who’s there?”

  “Me. Is Caleb home?”

  Margaret walked through the archway into the parlor, wiping wet hands on her apron. “Out looking for work. What’s happened?”

  “We just took over the Covington shipping firm. We have work if Caleb wants it.”

  Margaret raised both hands defensively. “Wait, wait, wait just a minute. What do you mean, ‘took over Covington’?”

  “Signed the papers. The banks agreed. We need to get moving.”

  Margaret’s eyes widened. “Does Caleb know about this?”

  “I talked with him.”

  “He hasn’t said a thing here.”

  There was a sense of irritation in Matthew’s voice. “He doesn’t say much anywhere. Know where he is?”

  “In Boston somewhere, looking for work. Maybe on the waterfront. He’s old enough I don’t check on him.”

  “When do you expect him home?”

  “Usually around supper.”

  Matthew looked at the clock—ten minutes before three in the afternoon—and walked back to the door. “Tell him I need to see him, no matter the time. I’ll be either at the Covington office, or home.”

  Margaret strode to the door as Matthew walked out. “I’ll tell him. Are Kathleen and the baby all right?”

  Matthew called over his shoulder, “Fine. John’s working on more teeth.”

  “Say hello for me.”

  At fifteen minutes past three o’clock, Matthew unlocked the door of the Covington office, stepped in far enough to see Billy was not there, then backed into the street and locked the door. He broke into a trot and worked his way through the scattering of men working on the waterfront, past Long’s Wharf, then Clarke’s Wharf, the North Battery, and continued northwest, following the curve of the peninsula to the pier where the ferry docked on its return trip from the small village of Winnisimmet, located beyond the Charlestown peninsula, on the mainland. The winter sun was low, and he could feel the temperature dropping with each passing minute. He paced and pounded his hands together for warmth while he waited for the ferry to plow through the broken ice that filled the harbor and thump into the pier. The gate lifted, the gangplank lowered, and Matthew stood tall, peering, waiting for the familiar lean figure of Theodore Pettigrew among those walking down the gangplank.

  He was not there. Twilight was gathering when the last person stepped from the gangplank and disappeared into the crowd leaving the wharf, and Matthew followed, angling southeast. The evening star was prominent in the east when he once again passed the dark windows of the Covington office, and he thrust his hands in his pockets as he hurried on through the frozen streets to his home. He opened the front door and began undoing the buttons on his coat, waiting for Kathleen’s usual call, but it did not come. Instead, she entered the parlor without speaking.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “Yes. Theodore Pettigrew is waiting in t
he library.”

  Matthew quickly hung his coat and hat, and strode into the library, rubbing his hands together as the slender man stood.

  “Theodore,” Matthew exclaimed. “Thank you for coming. Been waiting long?”

  “A few minutes.”

  “Can I get you something? Hot chocolate?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Matthew pointed and the two sat down before the fire in the fireplace.

  Matthew continued. “Dora told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you still interested?”

  “Yes.”

  Matthew leaned forward. “What about the crew you spoke of? Thirteen men? Are you still in touch with them?”

  “Most of them.”

  “How long will it take you to gather them?”

  Pettigrew considered for several seconds before he spoke. “At least ten of them by tomorrow, early afternoon.”

  “Do they know what we’re offering? They don’t get paid if this project doesn’t work.”

  “They do.”

  “They accept those terms?”

  “It’s better than what they’ve got.”

  “You’ll serve as captain?”

  Pettigrew nodded. “I will.”

  “Does Dora agree?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you and the crew start soon?”

  “I can start as soon as everyone has agreed.”

  Matthew pondered for a moment. “Can you have them at the Covington office by tomorrow at two o’clock?”

  “I think so. Yes.”

  “I’ll have Billy there. Is there anything else?”

  “If there is, we’ll handle it tomorrow.”

  Matthew stood. “See you then. Thanks for coming.”

  The two men walked from the library to the front door, and Matthew waited while Pettigrew wrapped his scarf and buttoned his coat. He swung the door open and the yellow lamplight cast a huge, misshapen triangle out into the frost crystals. Pettigrew paused for a moment. “See you tomorrow.”

  “We’ll be waiting.”

  Matthew watched him disappear into the darkness and listened while the front gate clicked shut before he stepped back into the house to close the door. Kathleen was waiting in the parlor.

  “Did you sign the papers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Theodore willing to help?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you eaten today?”

  “No. Too much going on.”

  “I’ll have your supper as soon as you wash.”

  Matthew was using half a slice of homemade bread to wipe his plate clean when the knock came at the door. He was off his chair instantly, hurrying to the door to throw it open. Billy was waiting. Kathleen stood in the kitchen archway, missing nothing.

  “Come in,” Matthew exclaimed.

  Billy stepped inside and stopped. Matthew gestured.

  “Come sit at the table.”

  “This won’t take a minute.”

  “You talked to the bank?”

  Billy’s face was set. “Yes. They have to present the question of paying the double tariff on the Jessica to their board. That could take some time.”

  There was alarm in Matthew’s voice. “How much time? We’ve got to move on this thing.”

  “Two weeks. Maybe more. But that’s not the worst of it.”

  Matthew set his jaw. “Go on.”

  “They don’t think the board will approve.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  Billy’s voice became brittle. “It might be enough for them to back out.”

  “They can’t!” Matthew exclaimed. “They’ve already signed the papers.”

  “When they signed, they didn’t know that one of the ships was on the Potomac under a tax seizure. They say that’s a material breach. If they’d known, they probably wouldn’t have signed.”

  For several seconds Matthew sat still, frustration plain on his face. He continued. “I’ve arranged for us to meet with Theodore Pettigrew and his crew tomorrow at the office at two o’clock. What do we tell them?”

  Billy shook his head and remained silent.

  Matthew took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right. We sleep on it, and take it a day at a time. I’ll see you in the morning at the office at eight o’clock. Any better idea?”

  “No. See you in the morning.”

  Matthew held the door while Billy walked back out and disappeared into the darkness, then closed it and walked back into the parlor to pace before the fireplace for a time. For ten seconds Kathleen stood still in the kitchen archway, watching him, and then she spoke.

  “There’s trouble with the bank.” It was a statement, not a question. “They might back out.”

  “Can they do that after they signed the papers?”

  “They didn’t know at the time they signed that both Maryland and Virginia had seized one of the ships on the Potomac River. Both states are holding it for taxes. Billy and I learned about it this morning.”

  “That ship on the river? The Potomac?”

  “Yes.”

  “Won’t the bank pay the tax and get it back?”

  “They might not. The whole board has to approve, and that will take two weeks. Maybe more. We don’t have that much time. And if the board refuses, we’re back where we started.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Matthew tossed both hands in the air. “I don’t know. Wait ’til tomorrow and see what we can come up with. I meet with Captain Pettigrew and his crew tomorrow afternoon.”

  Kathleen walked to the table and began gathering Matthew’s supper dishes. She finished washing and drying them with Matthew still pacing in the parlor. For a time she sat quietly at the table, feeling his anguish, not knowing what to do. Finally she went to the bedroom and quietly checked on John, then returned to the parlor.

  “John’s asleep. I think I’ll go to bed. He’ll be up early.”

  Matthew stopped pacing and turned to her. “I’m sorry this has to happen. I just don’t know what to do.”

  “It’s all right. Do what you must.”

  “I’ll come for prayer.”

  He followed her to their bed where they knelt, and Kathleen quietly offered their evening prayer. Matthew added his amen, then stood. “Go to bed. I’ll come when I can.”

  “I know.”

  Kathleen was about to slip into bed when a knock sounded at the front door. She retied the sash to her housecoat and stepped into the darkened hallway, watching as Matthew opened the door. Caleb stood framed in the yellow light, hands thrust into his coat pockets, vapors rising from his breath, and small white spots from the cold showing in his face.

  Matthew stepped back. “Come in.”

  Caleb entered and stood waiting.

  Matthew said, “Mother told you?”

  “The business with Covington? Yes.”

  Kathleen came forward. “You two want to use the library?”

  Caleb shook his head.

  “Would you like something hot? Chocolate?”

  “Just had supper at home.”

  Kathleen nodded, and disappeared down the hallway to the bedroom as Matthew went on.

  “We signed the papers today. Earlier you and I talked about getting a crew. Are you interested?”

  “When?”

  “Now. The next two or three days. You know we can’t pay unless this works.”

  “I know that. Yes. I’m interested.”

  “You know about Theodore Pettigrew? He’ll be the captain.”

  “You told me before.”

  “He’ll meet with us tomorrow at the Covington office at two o’clock. Can you be there?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s been some trouble with the bank.”

  Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “What trouble?”

  A hard look came onto Caleb’s face as he listened to Matthew’s explanation of two bordering states in a tariff war over who owned the rights to the ri
ver that bordered each of them, and both states holding a ship hostage until a double tax was paid. In his mind he was hearing echoes of the taxes that British King George had demanded of his colonies ten years earlier. Those taxes had started a war.

  Caleb’s voice came firm, hard. “The bank won’t pay the tax to save this deal?”

  “We won’t know for at least two weeks.”

  Suddenly Caleb raised a hand. “Wait a minute. You’re getting a crew together tomorrow, and don’t even know if your arrangement is final?”

  Matthew shook his head. “We move now, or lose it.”

  Caleb shifted his feet. “It might be better losing it now than later, after you’ve taken on a crew and a cargo.”

  “We’ll see. Will you be there tomorrow?”

  Caleb drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, thoughtfully. “I’ll be there. I want to hear how you sell this whole thing to Pettigrew and his crew.” He turned and opened the door. “See you tomorrow.”

  Matthew watched until he was gone, closed the door, and thoughtfully walked back to stand at the fireplace, staring into the dying flames for a time, and then he began to pace. At half past eleven o’clock, Kathleen walked into the parlor wearing her housecoat and woolen slippers. Her long, dark hair was in a single braid down her back, and her arms were folded as women do. She came to Matthew, still pacing before the ebbing fire.

  “Come to bed. You need rest.”

  He stopped and faced her. “I wouldn’t sleep. Only keep you awake.”

  She reached to take hold of his arm.

  “Matthew, this will all work out. I know it will.”

  He looked at her, tall, beautiful, with the firelight playing softly in her dark eyes and hair. The Covington shipping business and the banks and the Jessica faded until she was the only thing in his life. He reached to place his fingers against her cheek, and spoke to her softly.

  “I’ll be all right. You go on to bed. I won’t be long.”

  She gazed up at him, and then she said, “Hold me for a minute.”

  For a time they stood before the fireplace, locked in an embrace, he drawing on her strength, she giving as only a wife can give. Finally he released her, and she stepped back, smiled, then turned and walked into the dark hallway.

  * * * * *

  Dawn broke frigid in a clear, cloudless, sky. No breath of air stirred, and by seven o’clock the entire Boston peninsula was a forest of smoke columns rising from a thousand chimneys to climb straight into the blue heavens. At fifteen minutes before eight o’clock, Billy Weems turned the brass key in the door of the Dunson and Weems office, entered, and walked to the coals banked in the fireplace. He set a water bucket on the desk. Another bucket was filled with clean, folded rags. Five minutes later Matthew walked in to help him build a fire in the fireplace. By half past eight they were seated at the old desk, still wearing their heavy coats, shoulders hunched, hands deep in their pockets as they waited for the warmth to penetrate the old, square, bare room.