Dedication
To Marilyn Kriney
Contents
Dedication
I The Sailor Man
II A Story
III Dr. Crider
IV Time and Work
V The House on Philpot Lane
VI Out the Door
VII Night People
VIII A Piece of Luck
IX A Great World
X The Sea Adventure
XI The Hold
XII Near the Sea
XIII The Devil Doll
XIV Brass or Gold?
XV The Storm
XVI Ashore
XVII The Island
XVIII The Smallest House
XIX A Fire at Night
XX A Quarrel
XXI Waiting for Jemmy
XXII The Other Side of the Island
XXIII The Lion’s Head
Historical Note
Excerpt from The Sword in the Tree
About the Author
By Clyde Robert Bulla
Copyright
About the Publisher
I
The Sailor Man
On a February morning in the year 1609, a small, thin-faced man made his way over London Bridge. He wore a leather jacket and a blue wool stocking cap. His clothes were splashed with mud, and mud sucked at his shoes. He could hardly see for the cold rain in his face.
He had been looking for Fish Street, and here it was, at the end of London Bridge. Now he was looking for a house on Fish Street—a great stone house not far from the bridge.
Here was one with tall chimneys and many windows. It must be the house, he thought. He went around to the back.
A plump, pretty maid opened the door.
“Would this be the Trippett house?” he asked.
She looked at his muddy clothes. “What do you want?”
“A word with Mistress Freebold, if she’s about.”
“Mistress Freebold? Oh, you mean Annie. You can’t see her,” said the maid. “She’s sick abed.”
“Could you just let her know there’s someone here from America—?”
“America?” The maid stared into his face. “Then you must be—” She was gone. He heard her crying out, “Amanda, Amanda!”
Someone came running. Someone cried, “Father!” and a girl was there. She looked no more than ten or eleven—a pale little thing with great, dark eyes.
She stopped. She said in bitter disappointment, “You’re not my father.”
“I shouldn’t think so,” said the man.
“Ellie said you were from America, and she thought—I thought—”
“So you’re James Freebold’s girl,” he said.
“One of them. I’m Amanda.” She asked quickly, “Do you know my father?”
“I do, and I saw him not many weeks ago. We were together in America, in the colony of Virginia. I’m a sailor, you see, and my ship was there—”
“And you saw him.” Her eyes were bright again. “Was he well? What did he say?”
“He was well enough, for all I could see. He’d built a house in Jamestown. That’s the only town there. When my ship sailed, he asked if I’d stop for a word with his family in London. He thinks of you each day. He prays you will all be together before another year is out.”
Tears came to her eyes. “When you see him, will you tell him—?”
“I’ll not be seeing him again,” the man broke in. “It’s a long, hard voyage to Virginia. I’ll not be going back.”
“Oh,” she said.
Someone was calling, “Amanda!”
“You’re wanted,” he said. “I’ll take my leave.”
“But you’ll come again?”
He shook his head. “I’ve told my tale. Good-day to you.”
He left her. He was gone, and she didn’t know his name or where to find him again, and there were a hundred things she hadn’t asked. She hadn’t even said thank you.
She took a step after him, but Cook’s voice called her back. “A-man-da!”
She closed the door. She went down the long, cold hall and into the kitchen.
Cook was at the table, beating eggs. Her face was red. Her cap was over one eye.
“Who gave you leave to stand in the door and talk all day?” she said. “Who was that man?”
Ellie the maid came out of the pantry. “Oh, Amanda, was it your father?”
The door to the back stairs opened. A small boy put his head out. “Was it Father?” he asked.
“Jemmy!” cried Amanda. “You know you’re not to come in here. No, it wasn’t Father.”
His head disappeared, and the door closed.
Amanda told Cook and Ellie, “It was a sailor man back from Virginia. He saw my father there. He talked to him. Father is well—and he’s built a house— and he thinks of us—”
Cook gave a snort. “He does, does he? He thinks of you so much that he sails off and leaves you for three whole years.”
“Oh, that’s cruel!” said Ellie.
“Hold your tongue, miss,” said Cook, “and Amanda, you get back to your work.”
She went off into the pantry.
As soon as Cook was gone, Amanda opened the door to the back stairs. The small boy was sitting on the steps. A smaller girl sat beside him.
“It wasn’t Father. It was a sailor man,” Amanda said. “But he saw Father. Just think of that. I’ll tell you about it tonight.”
“Will it be a story?” asked the boy.
“It will be like a story,” said Amanda, and she shut the door.
II
A Story
Mistress Trippett and all her family had had their supper. The servants had been fed. Amanda was in the kitchen alone.
She had just washed the pots and pans and hung them over the fireplace to dry. She looked in at her brother and sister on the back stairs. They were asleep. Jemmy’s head was against the wall. Meg’s head was against his shoulder.
It hurt her to see them there, like two puppies that nobody wanted. Why couldn’t they come into the kitchen and be warm?
But Cook wouldn’t have it.
“They’d be under our feet,” she said. “They’ve got their own room. Let them stay in it.”
Amanda had stood up to her. “They’re not to be shut away in a room all day. It’s bad enough to leave them on the stairs. But at least they’re next to the kitchen where they won’t be so lonely.”
She looked at them sleeping there. Jemmy was getting to be a big boy. He would be a fine, strong man like his father. But Meg was too small, too thin.
Amanda woke them. She gave them their supper—beef stew with bread and butter.
“Eat,” she said, “while I go to Mother.”
Mother was in a room down the hall. Once all four of them had lived in the room. It had been almost like a home.
Now it was a sickroom. The little ones could not stay there. Mistress Trippett had put them into a tiny room in the back of the house, and they slept there at night.
Sometimes Amanda slept with them. Sometimes she sat up all night—half-asleep, half-awake—by her mother’s bed.
She carried a lighted candle to the sickroom. Mother lay with her eyes closed. She had not left her bed since the day before Christmas. That was the day she had fallen on the stairs.
But she had been ill long before that.
Amanda sat by the bed and took her mother’s hand. She began to tell her about the man who had come from America, but she soon stopped.
“Why do you talk to her?” Cook had said. “It’s like talking to the wall. She doesn’t even know you’re there.”
And it did seem to be true.
Ellie looked in. “Do you want me to sit for a while?”
Amanda went back to Jemmy and Meg. They had eaten their supper. She took them to their room.
They had a pallet for a bed. Mistress Trippett had given them some covers. One was a piece of red velvet curtain, faded and old. Jemmy liked to wear it for a cloak and play the fine gentleman.
Amanda put the candle on the floor. She sat in the middle of the pallet. Jemmy and Meg lay down on either side. She tucked the covers about them to keep out the cold.
“Now,” she said, “I’ll tell you a story.”
“About Father and the lion?” asked Jemmy.
“I’ve told you that,” she said. “I’ve told you and told you.”
“No, you haven’t,” he said. “Not for a long time.”
So Amanda began, “Once a man came to London to seek his fortune.”
“That’s Father,” said Jemmy.
“Yes,” she said.
“His name was James Freebold,” said Jemmy. “That’s my name, too. That’s my real name.”
“He met a beautiful maiden with golden hair—”
“That’s Mother,” said Jemmy.
“—and they were married and had three children.”
“Three fine children,” said Jemmy.
“James Freebold was a carpenter. He could build houses. Do you remember the house we used to have? He built it for us—”
“I know,” said Jemmy. “Tell the story.”
“There is a land called America,” said Amanda. “Some call it the New World. It’s across the sea, and it’s a beautiful land with rivers and trees and birds. Indians live there, and they wear feathers and shoot with bows and arrows. Some men asked Father to go there with them to help build houses. They were going to build houses and towns and live in America in a place called—”
“Virginia,” said Meg.
“Yes. You like that name, don’t you, Meggie? Father said even if we were poor in London, we would be rich in Virginia. We would have our own fields and gardens. Remember the song he used to sing?” She sang very softly:
There are lands a-calling me
From across the wide, blue sea,
And I’ll find a home one day
In a fair land far away.
“Tell the story,” said Jemmy.
“Well, you and Meg and I had to wait with Mother. Virginia was a wild place. It wasn’t ready for women and children. Father went ahead, and we moved to Mistress Trippett’s, because Mother worked there.”
“You didn’t tell it all,” said Jemmy.
“Yes, I did.”
“No. You left out the lion.”
“Oh,” said Amanda. “There was a door knocker on the house where we used to live. Before Father went away, he took it off and gave it to us.”
“He gave it to me,” said Jemmy.
“He gave it to us all. It was a lion’s head. He said it was a lion to guard us while he was gone.”
Jemmy said again, “He gave it to me.” From under the covers he took out a small lion’s head made of brass. A brass bar hung from its mouth. He swung the bar back and forth.
“Don’t you want to hear about the sailor man?” asked Amanda. “He was here today. He’d been to Virginia, and he saw Father there. Father has a house, and he wants us to come.”
“When?”
“We have to wait.”
“Why?”
“For Mother to get well. Now go to sleep. You, too, Meg.”
She waited until they were asleep before she slipped out of bed. She picked up the candle and went back to Mother’s room.
III
Dr. Crider
Ellie said the next morning, “It’s been awhile since Mistress came downstairs. This might be the day.”
At least once a week Mistress Trippett surprised them in the kitchen to make sure that all was neat and no one was idle.
And just after breakfast, they heard the click of her heels on the front stairs.
“I told you!” whispered Ellie.
The servants stood like soldiers. Mistress Trippett came down into the kitchen. She looked small, even in her high heels and her tall, red wig. Her eyes were like little black beads.
She swept through the kitchen. She peered into the pantry and the cupboards. She opened the door to the back stairs.
Amanda held her breath. Jemmy and Meg were there. Once Mistress Trippett had called them idle brats. But today she almost smiled as she shut the door.
“The children have grown,” she said. “How old is the boy?”
“Eight, ma’am,” answered Amanda.
“And the girl?”
“Only five, ma’am.” Suddenly Amanda felt bold. “Do you think they might come into the kitchen?”
“Why, certainly,” said Mistress Trippett, and she swept off upstairs.
Cook’s face was like stone. “I’ll not have those brats under my feet.”
“You will if Mistress says so,” said Ellie.
Cook struck at her with a spoon. Ellie jumped out of the way.
Cook suddenly shouted at Amanda, “Don’t stand there like a noddy. Fetch some water!”
Amanda took up the water pail and ran.
The pump was on the street, two doors down. She pumped the pail full. It was a heavy, wooden pail. Filled with water, it was as much as she could lift. Every few steps she had to put it down.
Someone came up beside her. “Amanda!” said a voice.
A man was there. He was dressed in black. His beard was gray, and there were little lines about his mouth that gave him a friendly look.
“Good-day, Dr. Crider,” she said.
“Child, you can’t carry that.” He tried to take the pail, but she held on to it with both hands.
“Thank you, sir, but they wouldn’t like it if you carried the water.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“Cook and Mistress Trippett.”
“They needn’t know.”
“Mistress looks out the window. She might be looking now. Besides, it’s my work.”
“Why?”
“I’m taking Mother’s place.” Amanda carried the pail a few steps and set it down again. “Are you here to see Mother?”
“Yes,” he said. “How is she?”
“Better, I think. Today she looked brighter.”
“Amanda, don’t you have a father?”
“Oh, yes,” she answered. “He’s in America.”
“America! I never knew that,” he said in surprise. “Did he go to the colony in Virginia?”
“Yes, sir. He’s in Jamestown.”
“America. The New World,” said Dr. Crider. “That’s an old dream of mine. If I were a young man, I’d be there today.”
“We are all going there—my mother and brother and sister and I,” she told him. “We’re going as soon as Mother is well.”
“Are you, indeed?” he said. They had come to the house, and they parted there. He went to the front door, she to the back.
It was more than a week before she saw him again.
Late one afternoon she thought she heard his voice in the hall. She asked Ellie, “Is the doctor here?”
Ellie looked at Cook. They both looked at her, and neither spoke.
“I want to see him,” said Amanda. “May I go?”
“Finish your work,” said Cook.
The kitchen began to grow dark. Amanda was lighting candles when Dr. Crider came into the room. He looked tired. The lines in his face were deeper.
“Amanda—” he said.
“Yes, sir?”
“Will you come with me?”
She went with him into the hall. They were alone there.
“I must tell you something,” he said.
She looked into his face.
“Amanda, your mother is dead.”
She stood still.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I did what I could.”
She felt as if she wer
e choking. She put her hands to her mouth.
“Did you hear me, child?”
She nodded.
“Do you want me to tell your brother and sister?”
She tried to speak.
He asked again, “Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“And shall I tell your brother and sister?”
She spoke then. “No, sir. It’s for me to tell them.”
IV
Time and Work
Mistress Trippett said, “It’s a sad thing, but time and work will help you forget. Time and work, Amanda.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Amanda.
She did her work. That helped her through the days. But at night she lay awake. She tried to think, and she asked herself, What’s to be done? What’s to be done now?
One day she went out back to feed the chickens. Jemmy and Meg were at work in the garden, clearing off the dry weeds and sticks. Jemmy had been raking. He had left the rake in the path, and Amanda tripped over it.
“Why don’t you watch where you leave things!” she shouted. She caught hold of Jemmy and shook him.
His mouth fell open. He looked hurt and surprised.
She ran back into the house. She was almost crying as she bumped into Ellie in the hall.
“I shook Jemmy,” she said. “What ever made me do it? I’m the one to look after him and Meg, and I—”
“You do look after them,” said Ellie.
“No! I don’t mend their clothes. I never talk to them anymore—”
Ellie said, “Don’t be putting blame on yourself. Life is hard for you now. When you lose someone it’s like—like having to find your way again.”
Amanda grew quiet. It was true, what Ellie had said.
That night, in bed with Jemmy and Meg, she left the candle burning. She said, “Who wants a story?”
“You said you didn’t know any,” said Jemmy.
“I didn’t, but now I do.”
“Is it about Father?” he asked.
“It’s more about two sisters and their brother.”
“That’s you and Meggie and I,” he said.
“And one of the sisters was a crosspatch,” said Amanda.
“That’s you,” said Jemmy.
“She’d lost her way,” said Amanda.
A Lion to Guard Us Page 1
