by Ann Turnbull
“And George Bainbrigg is pleased with thee?” my father asked.
“Yes. And I work hard, Dad. Thou need not fear. It’ll be different to Thomas Green’s. The work is interesting, and I like George Bainbrigg well.”
“Good.” And then his eyes brightened like a boy’s, and he said, “We had some excitement of our own this week. The Proprietor – William Penn – came to the shop!”
“Thou met him?”
“I did! And introduced him to thy mother and sisters. I had never met him before, though I was more than once at a meeting in London when he spoke; and of course we used to sell his books and pamphlets. Ours is the first bookshop in the colony, so he was interested to see it.”
His words were restrained, but I knew it must have been a great occasion for him, William Penn having been such a hero of his for as long as I could remember.
“He is a very learned man,” my father said. “His mind is extraordinarily agile and wide-ranging. He is full of ideas – has great plans for the colony.”
“And did he buy any books?” I asked, grinning.
“He did! And ordered some. And was most encouraging about the prospects for a printer’s. And he told me he had met the leader of the German Friends, Francis Daniel Pastorius – another scholarly man – and would recommend me to him. Those people have set up their own township, Germantown – nearly all of them live there, some way north of Philadelphia.”
I listened, but was not much interested in scholarly Germans.
He saw this, and said, “We heard news of the public vendue. A week today, isn’t it?”
“Yes. You must come early, if you want to see the goods.”
But he knew that. He’d been to auctions in his youth, he said, with his father. My grandfather Henry Heywood had been a wool merchant in Shropshire.
I said, “Betty and I thought we’d walk up to the Kites’ – find out if word of the auction has got around.”
I felt sure it had, but I needed a walk, and wanted to tell Ben my news, and I knew Betty wanted to escape before our mother found some task for her. “She’s always so busy on seventh-days,” she said, “rushing about working so that she can rest on first-day. If you can call it resting: sitting in Meeting all morning, and then hours more in the afternoon…”
As we set off, she asked, “Will Katherine come to Meeting tomorrow?”
“I suppose so.”
“Dost thou like her?”
“Yes … yes, I do.” I hoped she wouldn’t tease me. I was so caught up in my fascination with Katherine that I didn’t think I could tolerate it.
But Betty wasn’t thinking about me. “I shall go and talk to her again after Meeting,” she said. “Mam says if I want to make friends I must speak to other girls. And Katherine will be with thee, so that will make it easier.”
Betty was right. From now on, as George Bainbrigg’s apprentice, I was obliged to go to Meeting with him and his family and servants. It felt strange not to be sitting with my family, but to see them across the room: my father, tall, lean and scholarly-looking, with an open Bible in his hands; my mother, held in that calmness that hides her impulsive nature; Sarah lolling against her, chewing a strand of hair and gazing up at the roof beams. And Betty, dark-haired and slim, and already taller than our mother, looking around and watching people. She caught my glance at her and gave a discreet wave.
Isobel, next to me, who I’d thought was immersed in her Bible, murmured, “Thy sister?”
“Yes. That’s Betty.”
I saw Isobel studying the rest of my family and wondered if Katherine was doing the same. We could not look at each other, for her father sat between us – and, besides, the meeting was beginning to draw together.
Much later, when Meeting was over and people had begun to move about, and my master was engaged with another merchant, I saw Betty standing alone and trying to catch my eye. Betty talks a lot and seems confident, but deep down she is shy. I saw that she would not approach Katherine herself, so I called her over and brought them together.
“Betty!” Katherine exclaimed. “I’m glad to see thee again!”
Betty brightened at this; and the three of us, released from the long silence of Meeting, began to talk animatedly to one another. Soon we were chatting and laughing so much that older Friends near by turned round and frowned at us in disapproval.
We lowered our voices a little, but continued to talk about London and Maryland, our families, our new life in Philadelphia. When Katherine heard that Betty was to be employed in our father’s print shop, she was envious.
“I wish I could work! Paid work, I mean, not household things. I like to be busy. I can do accounts. And I’m studying languages – French and German – but it’s hard on my own. I help in the kitchen—”
“She makes excellent caraway buns,” I told Betty.
We all laughed. We would laugh at anything now; the long meeting had left us full of high spirits, and it felt good to be in a youthful group together. The diffidence I usually felt when I was alone with Katherine disappeared.
Katherine asked Betty about the bookshop, and Betty began describing it: “the smallest bookshop in the world”, she called it, squeezed into the end of our log cabin, with books piled in heaps – and all the family living in such a small space. She made it seem much funnier than it really was. “We can just about edge past one another now Jos has gone and isn’t sitting there with his big feet sticking out.”
Katherine, giggling, said, “I must come and see it. No, don’t laugh – I mean it! I like books, and we don’t have many in our house.”
“Oh, yes, do! We’re on Sassafras Street, near the corner of Third. Jos can show thee the way…”
Ten
“You young ones were merry after Meeting,” my master said, when we came down for dinner.
At once I was anxious. “The fault was mine—” I began, but Katherine said, “Oh, Dad! It was not unseemly, surely? I did enjoy meeting Josiah’s sister.”
Her father looked at the two of us in puzzled amusement. “I said you were merry – nothing more. Why so much guilt? I was glad to see it. Thou need to be among young people, Kate. Oh, I’m sure a few older Friends thought you were too noisy, but I like to hear youngsters laughing together.”
I felt relief. He looked from one to the other of us, and I think perhaps it was at that moment that he began to realize something between us that we had not yet acknowledged ourselves. I hastened to add, “My sister misses her London friends. I sought to bring her and Katherine together. She is a little younger, but more grown-up than many girls of her age – though thou might not have thought so this morning…”
“She wants me to visit their bookshop,” Katherine said. “She reads a great deal and can advise me what to try.”
He smiled. “I think it a grand idea, Kate. The walk will do thee good and you can talk about books or whatever else girls talk about.”
I felt pleased with this outcome, and could see that Katherine did, too. Perhaps, I thought, I might offer to take her there on my half-day off.
But I knew none of us would be free for some time. The public vendue was to be held next seventh-day, and preparations would keep us busy all week.
“I’ll give thee time off in lieu the week after,” my master promised when we began work the next day.
Tom Appleyard, whose counting house was next door, was also involved in the auction. We made more leaflets, and Tom’s apprentice, David, and I took them around the town, and talked to shopkeepers and artisans. The town crier went about, and word was sent to Germantown and the older settlements along the rivers.
I worked hard. The day before the sale, all the goods had to be brought down and laid out for display in the sales area. I helped Zachary with this work, the two of us carrying boxes and furniture down the stairs, and George Bainbrigg directing where each item was to go. Under his orders we partially unrolled a few lengths of cloth and pegged them so that they draped and showed to advantage. T
he chairs, stools and cabinets were set out as if in a house, the china in an open box. I made a numbered ticket for each lot and entered the numbers and details in a book.
Katherine and Isobel, under the guise of bringing us refreshments, came to look at what was on offer. Even Mary came to see. The women were particularly interested in the woollen cloth, having a mind to make winter gowns. Katherine was drawn to the pretty painted china, but her father dismissed it as “vanity” and doubted whether any Friends would buy it. He had been disappointed in that part of the consignment; it was not what he’d expected. “But these things happen when folk act on your behalf,” he said.
Next morning I rose before dawn and went to the counting house to open up and make ready. I swept the floors and checked that everything was clean and orderly. Zachary and my master arrived soon after. The event was to take place outside, run by an auctioneer hired by the two merchants. I was to be employed with Zachary in bringing our lots forward, while my master would keep the tally.
It seemed that the notices I’d made, and the voice of the town crier, had done their work, for in no time the first customers began to arrive. The auction would not begin until noon, but many people wanted to look around first and decide what to bid for. My family and the Kites were among them, but we scarcely spoke because I was kept busy talking to customers, showing them the goods and keeping an eye open for thieves. Soon people from further afield began to arrive: farmers in dusty clothes who must have driven or walked in from the outlying areas; men who looked like trappers or hunters; a group of Pietists from Germantown in their black hats and sober clothes, similar to those of Friends.
A wooden platform had been placed outside, between the two counting houses. At twelve o’clock the auctioneer’s boy climbed onto it and rang a bell to open the proceedings. Immediately a tide of people surged towards us. I could feel their eagerness for the sale to begin.
Now I had to be quick on my feet and responsive to my master’s orders. Zachary and I brought up some of the furniture and placed it on the platform, and the auctioneer began the bidding. He was a sharp-eyed, energetic man with a voice like gunfire, and he never missed a hand, a call or even, it seemed, the lift of an eyebrow. The crowd soon became excited, jostling and pushing, hands shooting up, hats waving, voices striving to outbid one another. I trudged to and fro all afternoon, along with Zachary and David, bringing up lots to the stand. The tools and hardware items were especially wanted, as was the woollen cloth, and people were set one against another to obtain them. Towards the end of the bidding a frenzy seemed to grip those involved, and I felt something frightening in the power of the crowd – the clamour of voices and the fierce looks – and it seemed to me almost as if the auctioneer were possessed by some malign spirit, whipping up souls to covetousness and envy. I knew this was a normal way of selling, and yet I did not like it.
At last all – or nearly all – was sold. Even the furniture, the paper and the box of Bibles had gone; and one of the wealthy merchants had bought the painted china dishes. My master and the auctioneer went off to the office to settle accounts, while Zachary and I helped some of the buyers to load up their carts, then returned to the counting house to sweep the floors. My whole body ached. I stretched and groaned, and Zachary laughed and said, “You’ll get used to it, lad.” He was an old man of perhaps fifty, yet he seemed less tired than I.
When I walked back to the house with George Bainbrigg, he said, “Thou did well, Josiah. We’ll go through the transactions on second-day and I’ll show thee how everything is entered twice. I’m hungry now! And thou?”
“Starving,” I said, with feeling. We’d had nothing but a pie and a mug of beer at dinnertime.
“Isobel will have an early supper ready,” he said.
He gave me the afternoon off on third-day. Katherine was there when he told me, and I saw her take a small breath, and then look from one to the other of us.
I seized my opportunity. “I’m going home, and could escort Katherine,” I said, “if she wishes to visit my sister and see the bookshop.”
“I do,” said Katherine.
“If you both wish it, then I agree.”
He approves of me, I thought; and he trusts me with his daughter. It made me feel more determined than ever to do well in this new situation.
On third-day afternoon I took the china jug from my washstand down to the kitchen and asked Mary for more water for washing. I was glad Isobel was not around; she would have commented on such unusual cleanliness. Back in my room, I not only washed, but dressed more carefully than usual. I put on fresh linen, cleaned my shoes and brushed my coat. There was a small mirror in the room, intended for shaving. I looked at my face, and combed my hair, which hung to my shoulders, and put on my hat, carefully adjusting the angle. I liked this hat, the extra height it gave me, and its dark colour that matched my eyes and hair.
When Katherine appeared she was wearing a sage-green gown, a cloak, and a hood of fine wool, simple in style but becoming. Beneath its soft folds her face was fair and smiling.
We stepped outside into a cold north wind, the first breath of winter.
“I thank thee for thy company, Josiah,” she said.
“It’s a pleasure.”
We were both shy, and now that we had this little space of time together, we did not know what to say and took refuge in formalities. I tried to slow my pace to spin out the walk, but it was too cold to dawdle.
As we turned the corner into Third Street, the wind hit us with full force. Katherine squealed as her hood flew back. Strands of loose hair whipped across her face and she struggled, laughing, to tuck them away under her cap, then pulled up the hood and rearranged it.
She turned to me. “Is my hair tidy? I cannot meet thy mother looking wild.”
“Thou don’t look wild. Thou look…”
She pulled the hood close. “Plain?”
“Plain. The hood is plain. My mother will approve.”
We both laughed.
“My father is pleased with thee,” she said, holding on to the hood as we walked on.
“I’m glad. I like him well. He is a good master. And the work interests me.”
“So thou’ll stay on when thy trial time is over?”
“I think so, yes … if he’ll have me.”
“Oh, he will! But thou sound unsure?”
“No. Only… It was not what I thought I wanted…” I tried to explain to her my longing to be independent, to find work on my own, without the help of my father. “But my parents persuaded me. And now” – I glanced at her upturned face – “I find that I want to stay.”
“That’s good.” She looked down, as if embarrassed at revealing her thoughts, then said, “Thou never told me why thou sought work in the shambles in London to annoy thy father.”
“And I won’t tell thee now!”
“Why not?”
“Because we have arrived. Our plot is there – see the log cabin?”
I led her into the yard, where my mother and Sarah were clearing stones from what would be the garden. Near by, I saw several chickens pecking among the weeds.
“Those birds are new,” I said.
“Jos!” My mother sprang to her feet. Her face was pink from the wind. “We didn’t expect thee today! And Katherine, too! Thou should have told us.” She brushed at her dirty apron. “I’d have made puddings…”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. I looked around. “All these chickens…”
Sarah caught one of the hens and brought it to us. “This one is called Mercy.” She offered the bird to Katherine, who took and held it.
“She is tame, this hen,” Katherine said, “not frightened of me at all. I like hens. What are the others called?”
Sarah scurried around after them. “This is Speckle; that’s Faith; that’s Dot…”
“We bought them from a neighbour of Judith’s,” my mother said. “Six hens and a cockerel. Katherine, welcome to our home. Will thou take small beer? I’l
l warm some for us… Sarah, take the hen from Katherine and let her come in.”
She ushered us into the house, glancing between Katherine and me. I knew she was wondering about the two of us here together, what it signified.
Betty appeared from behind the bookshop screen. “Jos! You’ve brought Katherine!” She stood there, shy and pleased.
“I wanted to see thee again,” said Katherine, “and Josiah had the afternoon off.”
My mother took our coats and hats and hung them up, and set a jug of beer to warm near the fire.
“Will thou come into the bookshop, Katherine?” Betty asked. “I’m minding it. We haven’t had many customers but I need to be there. Dad’s gone to look at house plans.”
They disappeared together.
“Thou look very fine today, Jos,” my mother said, as I took off my hat. “Is it Katherine who has wrought this change in thee?”
I would not rise to this, and said, “I thought thou’d like it.”
At once she was contrite. “Oh, I do! I’m sorry. I should not tease thee.”
We sat down, and she began questioning me about my work, how the household was run, whether George Bainbrigg read to us all from the Bible each evening, as my father always did. Was I attending to the inward light? Keeping my journal? Was Isobel feeding me well? I reassured her on all these points.
“We have chosen a house plan,” she said. “It’s a house with workshop and saleroom – and we hope at least to get the post holes dug before the ground freezes solid. It’ll be a wooden house – clapboard…” She looked pleased and yet anxious. I knew she was remembering the Great Fire.
“Clapboard is good,” I said. “George Bainbrigg’s house is clapboard. It’s strong, well-built, comfortable.”
She nodded. “Well, it will be cheaper. God has given us wood in abundance, so we will use it and trust in him.”
