“Did Elihu say anything to the men who arrested him? Did he give them any names?”
“Not in my hearing, ma’am.”
She sat back in her chair. “He’s in no danger so long as he stays silent.” She broke off a piece of cookie, popped it into her mouth, and chewed. “I imagine Anne is in a lather.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said carefully. “She told Becky to pack the trunks for Charleston.”
Lady Seymour shook her head. “I don’t blame her, but fleeing would ensure that the rebels would take everything.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I mumbled. I took an overly large bite of the cookie, certain she would send me back straightaway.
She tapped her forefinger on the table as she pondered, her rings flashing in the light. “Right,” she said firmly, having come to a decision. “I will write a note for you to take to the lawyer’s office before you go home, and another for Anne, telling her that Elihu will be soon set free.”
The Dutch girl came back in the kitchen and said something I could not make out at all. Lady Seymour rose from her chair and motioned for me to stay seated. “Finish those cookies, please, and drink a second glass of milk. You can’t run errands for me unless properly nourished.”
Chapter XIII
Saturday, June 8–Friday, June 21, 1776
I DESIRE YOU WOULD REMEMBER THE LADIES, AND BE MORE GENEROUS AND FAVOURABLE TO THEM THAN YOUR ANCESTORS. DO NOT PUT SUCH UNLIMITED POWER INTO THE HANDS OF THE HUSBANDS. REMEMBER ALL MEN WOULD BE TYRANTS IF THEY COULD…. THAT YOUR SEX ARE NATURALLY TYRANNICAL IS A TRUTH SO THOROUGHLY ESTABLISHED AS TO ADMIT OF NO DISPUTE, BUT SUCH OF YOU AS WISH TO BE HAPPY WILLINGLY GIVE UP THE HARSH TITLE OF MASTER FOR THE MORE TENDER AND ENDEARING ONE OF FRIEND. –LETTER OF ABIGAIL ADAMS TO HER HUSBAND, JOHN
The front door opened the next morning as I walked down the stairs carrying Madam’s chamber pot. It was Master Lockton, back from being arrested. His clothing was rumpled, and he looked as if he’d not slept. He paused when he saw me.
“Tell Becky I require strong coffee and food. Where is your mistress, and what is she doing?”
“Above, sir.” I gripped the handle of the chamber pot tightly. “Packing.”
He stormed past me, bellowing for his wife.
As I dumped and washed out the chamber pot, I gave thanks. ’Twas clear he did not think me a spy.
When I went back inside, there came a ruckus and much shouting from the second floor. I joined Ruth and Becky at the foot of the staircase, the three of us listening with big ears as Lockton and Madam shouted at each other.
“Shhhh!” Ruth said, putting her finger to her lips.
“That’s right, little ’un,” said Becky. “They don’t pipe down soon, the whole neighborhood will turn out to watch.”
Crash!
“Bet you that was the wash pitcher,” she said.
Craaash!
“And the basin,” she added.
“Do they often fight like this?” I asked.
“Often enough,” Becky said. She stopped as Madam cried out in pain. “The master likes to be obeyed. He’s not happy she wants to head for Charleston. And she don’t want to stay here.”
Lockton lowered his voice some, but he was still angry and scolding.
“Should we do something?” I asked. “Perhaps Lady Seymour could calm him.”
Becky shook her head. “’Twould fire him up even more. Best not to discuss these things.”
Ruth stuck her thumb in her mouth.
Once the fighting had ended and the master had been served his meal, I took a cool compress and mug of cold ale up to Madam. As she applied the compress to her swollen, split lip, she scolded me for not scraping candle wax that had dripped on the floor.
“It caused me to fall,” she said. “Do you see what your clumsiness has cost me?”
We both knew it was a lie. There was no wax on the floor. A few drops of blood stained the edge of the carpet.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” she asked.
I didn’t like picking up the blame and carrying it, but I had no choice. I bowed my head. “I beg forgiveness, ma’am, and promise it will not happen again.”
She removed the compress and winced. “It had better not.”
In the weeks that followed, the master had me serve him whenever his companions visited. I listened closely to their conversating, but they blew only hot air, complaining about the Congress and the weather and the effect of war on business. I was relieved to hear that the printer, Inkstained, had fled the city with his wife and children. Lockton was certain that he had told the rebels about the money and the plan to bribe the American troops. My secret was safe.
Becky brought back peas, greens, and gossip from the marketplace: the British fleet was in the harbor, no, the fleet had sailed for Jamaica, no, the Congress had negotiated a peace, no, the British planned to kill us all while we slept.
“Gossip is the foul smell from the Devil’s backside,” that’s what Momma always said. I tried to ignore the wild stories and stay alert for something, anything, I might use to secure our freedom.
Becky had been quite happy to give me the chore of hiking up to the Tea Water Pump every day. After my first few visits, it became the favorite part of my day. The pump was set in a little shed at the edge of the Common, a big gathering place ringed by army barracks, the poorhouse, and the jail. There were trees and fields to the north of the Common and the burying place for Africans. The air was cleaner up there, easier to breathe.
A week after Lockton returned home, Curzon stood with me in the line of servants waiting for water. I was desperate to ask him questions but knew they had to wait until we were alone.
When my turn came, I handed my buckets to the ancient slave who worked the pump handle, a man old as dirt, with stone-gray hair and skin the color of the night sky. He carried a country mark on his face, three straight lines that had been cut into his right cheek when he became a man in Africa. Poppa had a mark that looked close to it. It made me feel kin to the old man, and I smiled and curtsied polite whenever I saw him.
“Thank you, Grandfather,” Curzon said to the man as he handed us the full buckets.
I was surprised. “He’s your grandfather? I didn’t know that.”
The old man chuckled softly and reached for the buckets of the girl standing behind me. “I’m the grandfather of everybody and everything.” He pushed down on the handle of the pump and water flowed. “Mind how you go, missy.”
Curzon waited until we were two blocks down Queen Street before he asked me about Lockton’s affairs.
“He traveled to Fairfield in Connecticut two days ago and came home late last night,” I said. “I thought he was on a parole, that he had to stay in New York. Why don’t they arrest him?”
Curzon looked behind us and from side to side before answering. “They don’t have enough men to follow him,” he explained. “And his aunt has powerful connections, both here and in England. There must be solid proof before they dare arrest him again. Should you ever come in possession of letters sent to him or maps, or—”
“—or if I find the King hiding in our pantry,” I interrupted.
“The Congress would give you a medal for that,” he said with a grin.
“I would rather have passage home on a fast ship.”
“You don’t want to sail anywhere, not now,” he said, doffing his hat and bowing to three officers passing on horseback.
I likewise bobbed in the direction of the gentlemen and waited for them to draw out of earshot before speaking again. “Why not?”
“The Royal Fleet is fast approaching and is eager for battle and spoils. If you sailed now, you’d likely be captured and sold to the islands.”
“Idle gossip and pipe smoke,” I said. “You hear it on every street corner. It’s a wonder we don’t all choke to death on it.”
“Where you see smoke, you find fire, Country. Don’t worry. The day of our liberty will soon dawn. This country is going
to be free, and you and me with it.”
“For a boy with a little head, you sure do have big dreams. I just want what’s owed me.”
“You need to be patient,” he said with a frown. “The army has bigger fish to fry than you and your sister.”
“And I have bigger fish to fry than your army,” I said with a whole lot more confidence than I truly felt.
The sun set later and later in those weeks. The extra light was welcome and put to good use. I aired out our pallet and blanket and tidied our cellar corner. The potato bin was near empty, and Ruth asked to play in it as if it was a little house. I would not let her. Instead, I made her a cornhusk doll, painting a face on it with pokeberry juice and fashioning a gown for it with a piece of cambric from Becky’s scrap bag.
One night, feeling out of sorts and reckless, I crept up the stairs. It was after midnight, and Lockton and his wife slept heavily. I snuck into the library and took a book from the shelves—a story called Robinson Crusoe by Mr. Defoe. I sat by the glowing coals in the kitchen hearth and read until I could hold my eyes open no longer.
When the fat moon rose the next night, I planted the mystery seeds I had taken from Momma’s jar. I did not know what they would grow into, but planting them deep in the cool dirt was a comfort. Thunder boomed in the distance as a summer storm approached. I ought check the cows, I thought. Storms made them nervous. More thunder rolled, and then a third wave.
Fool, I scolded myself. The cows were in our old life, not this one.
The moon climbed higher and the air returned to stillness and waiting. I took myself to bed and did not dream.
Chapter XIV
Saturday, June 22, 1776
LIFE VERY UNCERTAIN, SEEMING DANGERS SCATTERED THICK AROUND US, PLOTS AGAINST THE MILITARY, AND IT IS WHISPERED, AGAINST THE SENATE. LET US PREPARE FOR THE WORST, WE CAN DIE HERE BUT ONCE. MAY ALL OUR BUSINESS, ALL OUR PURPOSES & PURSUITS TEND TO FIT US FOR THAT IMPORTANT EVENT. –LETTER OF CONGRESSIONAL DELEGATE ABRAHAM CLARK TO ELIAS DAYTON
The next day I carried a basket of eels from the fish market to Wall Street, thinking only of hot eel pie for supper. I had not eaten eel pie since Momma died, Miss Mary Finch not being fond of it. But Master Lockton enjoyed the dish, so fat eels weighed down my basket. I fervently hoped Becky would chop off their heads and strip off their skins. It made me go all jumbly in the belly to chop off heads.
I entered the kitchen and set the basket on the table. Ruth hummed quietly to herself, shelling peas into a large wooden bowl, and Becky chopped kale.
Madam walked in from the front hall, her hair half-fallen out of her cap, and stains of sweat under the arms of her dress. She crossed the room, peered out the back door, crossed her arms over her chest, and tapped her foot with impatience, then disappeared into the next room.
“I require you, girl,” she said.
Becky looked at me, eyes wide and warning.
“Ma’am?” I asked.
Madam came back into the kitchen carrying a silver tray. She shoved it into my arms. “You will serve your master and his companions.”
Becky slowly shook her head back and forth. “Are you sure, Madam, that’s what the master requested?” she asked slowly. “’Tis hard to interpret the ways of menfolk, them being so complex and all, but surely when he said ‘Let nothing disturb us,’ that was indeed his true meaning?”
“Be quiet, Becky,” Madam snapped. “You have the manners of a donkey and the voice of a goose.”
Becky said nothing more but chopped faster.
Madam paced back and forth. “The mayor of New York is a supremely important man, could well be the next Royal governor. It is hardly appropriate to welcome him into our home without offering refreshment.”
She turned to me. “You will not put one foot wrong.”
When the tray was loaded so heavily I could scarce lift it, Madam preceded me down the hall and waited by the closed door to the library.
“Go on!” she told me, without offering to help.
I kicked at the door with my shoe and called out, “Wine, sir, and a bite to eat!”
“Leave us!” responded Lockton.
Madam knocked on the door with a not terribly refined fist. “Come now, Elihu, show some graciousness.”
Deep voices in the room conferred, then the door was unlocked and opened. Madam stepped toward the opening, but Lockton filled the frame.
“Thank you, dear,” he said. “The girl can serve us. I’ll send her to you if I am in need of anything more.”
Madam tried to look beyond him to the distinguished guest but could not see through the thick form of her husband. “Very well,” she said, loudly. “I shall be composing a letter to our cousins in London, our cousins who are so well regarded by His Majesty.”
“Excellent suggestion, dear.”
He stepped out of the way so that I might enter.
There were only two men besides Master Lockton—Goldbuttons, wearing a shabby waistcoat of black wool, and the third man, who I took to be the mayor. The mayor had on a fine wig, properly powdered and pulled back, with a curl at the end of his queue, a sable coat and matching breeches, a maroon waistcoat, and a white silk cravat tied loosely around his neck, atop his shirt. The windows were all closed, but sun streamed in, heating up the room to a slow simmer and bringing forth the ripe stink of underwashed gentlemen.
A broad, brightly colored map of the coastline was spread on the master’s desk, weighted at each end by a heavy book. Lockton removed one of the books and the map curled up on itself, clearing the desk for the plate of Gloucester cheese and rye bread and the bowl of strawberries I set there.
“My most sincere apologies for the interruption,” Lockton said. He took a glass of wine from me. “Pray, sir, continue.”
Goldbuttons took a hasty bite of cheese before speaking. “It has proved more difficult to bribe the Patriots to change sides than we anticipated. Those who are fed up with the situation prefer to melt out of the city and walk home to Massachusetts or North Carolina.”
I removed the serving tray and retreated to my corner. The horses in the painting still leapt the fence. I fought the temptation to reach for the adventures of Mr. Crusoe on the shelf. Instead, I centered my eyes on my feet and my thoughts upon a slice of eel pie.
“They turn down the offer of hundreds of acres?” Lockton said.
“The land offered by the King is distant from their farms.” Goldbuttons buttered a piece of bread. “My fellow reports they simply want peace and the chance to get in a good crop of wheat.”
“Idiots,” said Lockton.
“The news from Philadelphia is that Congress is close to declaring independence,” Goldbuttons continued.
I fought the urge to yawn. The master and his friends could complain about the Continental Congress at such length I feared my ears might drop off.
Lockton plucked a strawberry from the bowl and pulled the leaves from it. “And Admiral Howe continues to delay the invasion. It’s maddening. The Crown must smash this rebellion into dust so we can return to our former lives with a sense of order.”
“And higher profits,” Goldbuttons added.
If Madam only knew how dull these gatherings were, she would not have been so anxious to barge her way in. I would have happily chopped off the heads of a barrel full of eels to escape another afternoon trapped with men whose voices droned on and on and on like rumbling, dusty grindstones.
The mayor set his goblet on the desk. “The time for bribery and persuasion is past. This is the hour when we must unsheathe our swords.”
Swords?
Lockton shook his head. “We’ve been over this, David. Our task is to hold this city loyal, nothing more.”
The mayor leaned back in his chair. “Holding is not enough. They’re coming after us, raiding our homes for lead and our stores for anything they desire.”
Goldbuttons wiped the cheese from his fingers with a handkerchief. “I agree with Elihu. A Loyal New York cuts off New England
from the other colonies. The rebellion will wither like a vine cut off at the roots.”
“Cut off a vine and it will grow back,” the mayor said. “You must pull it out of the ground and burn it to ensure it is dead.”
Lockton put the strawberry leaves in the bowl. “Is there a plan afoot to destroy them?”
“Most definitely.” The mayor’s voice was quiet, but steely.
This was not idle prattle about Congress. I stood still as possible.
The mayor scratched at the mustard stain on his cuff. “General Howe delayed the invasion, hoping the revolutionary fervor would die down. On the contrary, independent sentiment now burns as far away as Georgia, as well as the western frontier.”
I am a bookcase, I thought. I am a piece of furniture, not a girl who will remember every word spoken in this room.
“The cry for liberty has proved powerful,” Lockton said.
“The beast has grown too large,” the mayor said. “If it breaks free of its chains, we are all in danger. We need to cut off its head.”
Goldbuttons frowned. “How so?”
“We must kill their commander.”
Lockton drew in his breath sharply.
“With Washington gone, the revolution will collapse,” predicted the mayor. “War will be averted and countless lives saved. Our world will return to the former state of tranquility we enjoyed before all this nonsense.”
The study fell so silent, I feared the men would hear my heart beating. Kill General Washington?
“No,” Lockton said, shaking his head. “Not possible. He is a gentleman. Capture him, arrest him, yes, but we dare not harm him.”
The mayor ticked off the reasons on his fingers. “All of the American leaders have committed treason against the King. You cannot deny that. Treason is the highest offense under English law, worse than murder. And what is the punishment for treason, my friends?”
Chains Page 7
