by Smith, Skye
The difference between the growing horseshoe of colorful women who had already given up their cloaks, and those in drab watching from the stairs and the balcony, was like the difference between hummingbirds and sparrows.
Britta kept losing her nerve to step forward and do her own cloak swirl, but she finally had watched enough women to know how to step and bend for effect. She took a deep breath, kissed Jim on the cheek, and asked him to lead her forward. Jim just had to stand there and take the cloak from her as it swirled off her shoulders, and of course, be ready to catch her if she tripped on the long gown or cloak. Already this night two women had been caught by their men just before they would have crashed to the floor.
She left Jim's arm, and then slowly undid her cloak, all the time turning ever so slowly and kicking the pleat of the cloak outward so the sumptuous purple silk inside it would show. Once the cloak was undone, she flipped her deep hood from her head to show her face and to show that she was wearing a Puritan bonnet. This caused a slight stir in the whispers. Everyone was now looking, wondering why she was wearing drab under the wonderful cloak.
She peeled one side of the cloak off her shoulder and turned so that it swirled out wide and Jim caught the loose edge and she kept twirling slowly until it was all in Jim's hands. There were oohs and ahhs and clapping and not just a few whistles.
Her turquoise gown left bare her honey-colored shoulders and neck. Its neckline teased the men’s eyes with a hint of cleavage, though a border of white lace blocked their view of more. Her honey skin was offset by a necklace of turquoise stones. The turquoise sleeves ran down her arms only to her elbows, and then turned into the sheerest of lace.
The gown had a bodice that pushed her breasts high and hugged her waist tightly. It then went smooth over her hips and there became two parts. The back fabric was stiff like a cloak, while in front was a turquoise silk skirt that hung straight down when she was still, but billowed gracefully when she walked.
She slowed her swirl, and the clapping slowed. Then she reached up to her hair and pulled out the pins that held her Puritan bonnet in place, and lifted the bonnet from her hair. Her long golden tresses woven with turquoise ribbons floated down in soft curls to rest on her shoulders and then cascade down her back. The applause was thunderous. She passed the bonnet to Jim, who was so awestruck by her beauty that he immediately stuck himself with the pins. She did one last swirl and then she half curtseyed, half bowed to the audience, bending just low enough to make all the men catch their breath.
It was over. She hadn't tripped. She had practiced this for an hour with Lydia. She took Jim's arm and went with him to check the cloak at the table. The still cloaked women who waiting for their turn were now jockeying positions trying not to be the next to uncloak. Mercy pushed her way through some gawking men and took Britta's arm.
"Oh my dear. What have you done? Not only is Jim now the envy of every man in this room, but you are now despised by every woman. Good for you. I trust that you are prepared to collect introduction cards and invitations for the rest of the evening."
"Oh, Mercy, thank you so much for inviting me. As to the attention, pah, I would as soon spend the evening at a table sharing a chocolate drink alone with Jim. I have come to see your play."
"He is fine, by the way," whispered Mercy, "my brother Jemmy, he is fine. He ate a good breakfast, today, though not until after midday. He wishes to see you, which should be no problem now that my guards know you. Oh, I am being called. I must away. I've a play to put on, you know."
Britta crushed her skirt against Jim so that she could whisper into his ear. "Oh Jim, I hope the audience is kind to her and welcome her work. She is so proud of it. She would be crushed if they were critical and booed."
"Oh, there will be booing," he replied. At her dismay he explained, "The play is a satire about the corruption of our governor so his character will be booed. Fear not for her. This may be the opening, but months ago it was serialized in one of our newspapers. Everyone already knows the play."
"Well I don't, so stay close to me and explain it," she said.
"Fine," he moved his lips close to her ear and fought the urge to nibble on it. He spoke in a normal voice, for a whisper would have been carried away in the noise of all those around them. "You know that our governor is Thomas Hutchinson. His family and mine have been enemies ever since Hutchinson bribed his way into the job of Chief Justice. He is not even a lawyer.
The courts wanted my grandfather, James senior to be the Chief Justice. Well, I suppose there was more to it than that. The governor at the time was Bernard and he wanted customs agents to carry Writs of Assistance, and he knew my grandfather would refuse to issue them."
"Writ of ... what?" she asked. A young gentleman had secretly passed her his card behind Jim's back.
"It means that an officer has permission to search any property and seize any property without waiting for permission from a judge. In England they were done away with, a lifetime ago in the times of the Dutch invasion of England and the Glorious Revolution. Anyway, Hutchinson advanced from Chief Justice, to acting governor to governor. While being promoted he ensured that his own relatives were placed in every important government position. The Hutchinson family becoming obscenely wealthy."
"Ah, so he is the Nabob of Massachusetts." She broke from his arm for a moment because two young women in black had asked her to swirl her gown for them so that they could see the effect of the two fabrics. She was pleased to comply. Lydia's seamstress must be a wonder with fabrics because the fabric flared as she swirled and then folded neatly again when she stopped.
Jim stood speechless, happy to just watch her, as were all the other men around them. She finished her swirl by hooking his arm so she could come to a stop without tripping.
"I must tell that to my aunt. Your quote about Nabob's, I mean. She hates the corruption and fears it. She wrote letters to the colonial agent in London pleading that he ask Parliament to replace Hutchinson before his nepotism led to violence."
"The colonial what?" asked Britta. She was only half-listening because a marvelous mauve gown had just swirled.
"The colonial agent. Our voice in London. Ben Franklin. But he did nothing. Even after Mercy's warnings to him proved true and the massacre happened. He is an intellectual fop."
"A massacre. Oh dear, what happened." She turned her ear back to him. She had been watching a young couple demonstrate the latest dance from Austria. It was called a waltz and was delightful to watch.
"Well there are many stories, but basically there was a demonstration against Hutchinson, and some soldiers got scared and shot into the crowd."
"So that is why the Otis family are so political. What about Sam Adams? How does he fit in?" she asked.
"Oh, well that is a totally different story from a time before Hutchinson. His family are malters and brewers, and at one time were quite wealthy. Sam's dad and some of his friends were angry about the profiteering of the money lenders and banks, so they opened their own land bank. It was a small local bank and they loaned money at good rates to small farmers and tradesmen.
The land bank was run under Puritan ideals, the ideals of common wealth. Well, the land bank did so well, and grew so quickly that it threatened the profits of the moneylenders and the big banks. The big banks have powerful friends in London, and the moneylenders have violent men working for them locally. Between them they ruined Sam's father."
"So your family hates the local governor, and Sam's family hates the big banks." She turned at the sound of a bell. The drabs in black were moving towards their seats, but those in gowns were ignoring it. "What is happening?"
"The bell was a signal to take our seats, " he said. "The women in gowns will wait until the last minute so that they can make an entrance when they go to their seats. We have a few minutes yet. Did I tell you that we are invited to the cast party afterwards?"
She stood on her toes and put her hand behind his neck so that she could reach higher and
she kissed him full on his lips. "Thank you, Jim Otis. I cannot believe I am really here, really doing this, really dressed like this - oh thank you, thank you, thank you!"
* * * * *
Britta found the play boring in the extreme. It was written in poetic language that was hard to follow, and it was satirizing events that she knew nothing about, so she did not understand the humor. She had kept herself awake by watching the other women in the audience, and clapping when everyone else clapped, and booing when everyone else booed.
The party was for the cast and the crew. There were no women dressed in drab or black at the party. Jim and Britta felt out of place and left as soon as they were sure that they would not be insulting Mercy's generosity.
Once back at the coffee shop, she invited Jim up to their rooms above the shop to give him the treat of helping her to undress. Of course Lydia had waited up, wanting to be told everything about the evening out. That made Jim very self-conscious, and so he left quickly while Britta was still fully dressed.
Britta was already very tired from the play and the cast party, and now Lydia wanted to hear every detail. Not of the play mind you, but of the people and the clothes and the party. For the first half hour she talked and talked, as Lydia helped her to undress, and refold the gown carefully for storage. For the next half hour she propped herself up on Lydia's bed, half asleep, and tried to answer Lydia's endless questions. She decided to sleep with Lydia that night, so that she would not wake Jon, with whom she shared a room.
Just before she fell asleep, Lydia kissed her on the cheek and said, "I thought that you had chosen Jim for your husband with your head. Instead it seems that you have chosen him with your heart. They are two very different things. I have always admired how you are strong-willed amongst men, but with Jim, I fear you have no defenses. Very soon you will be begging him to deflower you. Tomorrow I must go and speak with his parents."
* * * * *
The next morning the shop stayed closed. Jon borrowed the landlord's cart to drive them to the Otis house. Both women dressed in Puritan drab. Britta was so nervous that she said not one word the entire trip. Lydia would not allow herself to be nervous.
Just before Jon helped them down from the cart, Lydia whispered to Britta, "Some of the things I will say to them may not be quite factual. I may tell white lies for effect. You are not to correct them. Just nod. You will understand why afterwards. Promise me." Britta promised.
They were shown directly into the parlor by Rachel, who led Britta by the hand and whispered that Jim had told her all about their night at the theatre. Mr. and Mrs. Otis came into the room and introduced themselves as Jemmy and Ruth, and sent Rachel to find Jim.
"My name is Lydia Caldwell. I am recently widowed and I am with child from my late husband. I am in Boston waiting for a decision from the courts about his will. Britta is my bond servant, my maid. She is an orphan, so I must fulfill the role of both mother and father for her. I am here to talk about two things that concern your family."
"Thank you for coming," said Ruth. "Shall we wait for Jim before you start?"
"No need, I will start with the thing that concerns you, Mr. Otis. My husband suffered from the same sickness as you. For two years we fought it together. We thought he had beaten it, but we were wrong." She looked at the stubborn look on Ruth's face. "Your duality, Jemmy, your depression, your bouncing between confidence and weakness, are due to the opium."
Ruth spoke slowly. "I don't know what Britta has told you, madam, but the opium syrup is medicine from a physician. It was an accident that he was overdosed, and we are deeply thankful for Britta's fast action to reverse it. She is a remarkable young woman."
Lydia ignored her and kept her eyes on Jemmy. "You get headaches, and with just a little opium they go away. The physician tells you that his syrup is curing the headaches. After the war ended, it took my husband six years of using the syrup before he realized the truth. The lack of the opium was causing the headaches. If you do not take the opium, the headaches get worse. Eventually you surrender to the opium."
Jemmy looked at her. His head was heavy, his eyes were heavy. He was having trouble concentrating. "Sometimes the headaches are so bad that I cannot think. Light hurts my eyes. It is as if I had a bad fever, but there is no fever."
"This has gone far..." started Ruth.
Lydia turned to her and said, "Ruth, if you love his man you will be still and allow me to finish." Then she turned back to Jemmy. "Do you know how my husband died? You must never breath a word of this to anyone, for I lied to our pastor. He committed suicide." She gave Britta a hard stare and Britta sat still. "The headaches beat him down and fighting them caused depression. We eased him off the opium using Peruvian tea and Indian tea. We thought we had won. We thought we had beaten the demon. We were, ah, premature.
When he was depressed he would put himself into harm's way. He would take foolish risks and then dare the good Lord to take his life, or not. He committed suicide not by his hand, but by the lack of his hand. When he stood on the edge of high places he would be drawn forward towards the emptiness, waiting for the good Lord to send him a sign.
That last day, he was cleaning his pistol and blowing the powder out of our upstairs window. He was drawn forward into the emptiness. All he had to do was release the pistol with either of his hands and steady himself on the frame. He didn't." Lydia hid her face. "I told the pastor that he tripped. That it was an accident. It was no accident."
Britta now understood why Lydia was twisting the truth about Robert's death. She was trying to shock this man into saving his own life. Lydia should have been on the stage last night, for she was a wonderful actress.
Ruth and Jemmy were quiet. Lydia said, "It will take both of you. Ruth, he will need your strength. He cannot be allowed to dose himself, ever, if you are trying to reduce the dosages. By himself he will always take more. If he becomes very distressed, then you have reduced too quickly. Until we discovered the Peruvian tea, the coca, it was too difficult. The coca, however, numbs the stomach to the pain of reducing. With the help of the coca my husband could function again, run the farm, do business, go on trips."
"And the Indian tea?" asked Jemmy.
"To allow him to forget. But only when he was feeling good, feeling positive and happy. Never when he was depressed."
"Will our physician know more about this?" asked Ruth.
"Your physician is an opium merchant. Opium is a wonder drug for surgeons, but a gold mine for physicians. No matter how they dress it up in a fancy bottle, it is very addictive, and very poisonous, and yet they pretend it is safe. They hand it out as if it were tincture of slippery elm. Our physician wanted to give my first baby an opium-based baby syrup for his croup. My husband ran him off the farm with a bull whip."
Jim came into the room quietly and sat beside Britta. She felt his warmth beside her and wanted to impress him. She spoke out. "The best reason to hate the East India Company, is because they own the poppy farms of India. Opium is the seed of all of their trading around the empire."
"Who told you that?" asked Ruth, skeptically.
"John Brown of Providence," replied Britta. "Gaspee burning bloody John Brown."
"You know John Brown, the patriot?" Jemmy's eyes suddenly focused on her.
"John Brown the patriot of opportunity. John Brown the opium smuggler. I know him well enough to run away when I see him," said Britta. She looked directly at Jemmy and softened her tone. "If you want, I will help you get started with reducing the opium. I know how to select the coca, and how to spread the doses of opium, and how to prepare the teas." She smiled warmly at Jemmy. "Well, think about it. If nothing else I can teach Rachel or Mrs. Otis."
Jemmy looked at his Ruthy, and frowned. "I cannot start until after I give my speech, but then I want to start. Will you help me?"
"Of course, husband. Why do you need ask?" Ruth replied without conviction.
"Now that Jim is here," Lydia changed subjects, "I would like to ask
his intensions with Britta."
There was a long silence. Everyone looked at Jim and Britta sitting together, leaning against each other. Britta nudged him.
"I want to marry her."
"No, I forbid it," said Ruth.
"You are too young, Jim," said Jemmy. "Britta is exactly the right age for a woman to marry and start a family, but you are ten years too young. You haven't formed yet. You have not found your path yet. Would you walk away from your studies at Harvard for, for, for puppy love? No, you are too young."
"I am of age and as for..." Jim began.
Lydia interrupted him. "You see my problem, Ruth. Britta has defended her honor against lecherous and dangerous men and it has made her strong. But with Jim she has no defenses. She loves him. He need but ask and she will give him all. He will be her undoing."
"My son will not be the undoing of any bond girl," replied Ruth curtly, "his bloodline is one of the longest in Massachusetts. He has been brought up with wealth and privilege and the bible. He will go to Harvard and forget all about her. She is beneath even his notice."
"Ah, of course," Lydia said softly. "But then you were not at the theatre last night."
"What does that mean?" asked Jemmy.
"Ask your sister," replied Lydia.
Ruth fired an appalled and angry look at Jim, "You went together to Mercy's play. You did not tell me you were taking her."
"She took me, mother. Mercy gave the tickets to her, not to me. And that was before she saved Father's life. Oh you should have been there to see. She stole the show. She was like an angel from heaven. She was so stunning that if you go quilting today, your ladies will be talking of nothing else." He took Britta's hand and held it.
"I loaned her one of my gowns." Lydia said and then patted her belly. "I could not attend. And now I must beg your leave. I have a business to run if I am to survive long enough to gain my inheritance. Kiss his cheek, Britta, and then fetch our cloaks."
