He grunted, looking back at the page. “Perhaps she could show me hers then?” He nodded down the dock toward several stacked crates that an older man was using as a table. “That’s where I’ll be attending to my paperwork. Take her over and we’ll have a look.” He marched off, contract in hand.
Celeste scooped up their belongings and then looked to Spenser, who helped support Berta as they made their way to the crates.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Just as I thought, someone forged Berta’s signature.” Celeste nodded toward the captain. “But he wants to see what her signature looks like.”
Captain Bancroft gestured toward a piece of paper and a quill on the crate. “Please,” he said to Berta. “I’d like to sort this out once and for all.”
She nodded and extended a shaky hand, doing her best to pick up the quill. Finally, Celeste grabbed it, dipped it in the ink, and then positioned it in Berta’s hand. “Go ahead,” she said.
Berta leaned over with Celeste still supporting her, but her hands were shaking so badly that when she pressed the quill to the paper, she splotched the ink all over it. Trying again, she started to make a “B,” but then she pressed too hard and tore the paper.
“Can she even write?” the captain asked.
“Of course. Since she was a little girl.”
Their parents believed strongly in education and had brought in tutors for all of their children. Berta hadn’t been as studious as Celeste, but she’d certainly learned the basics of reading and writing, in both English and French.
“Perhaps she hired someone to write her name for her,” the older man said. “That happens sometimes.”
“No,” Celeste replied. “There’s no reason she would have done that. She’s quite capable. She’s just very weak right now. Not six hours ago she was nearly incoherent with fever.”
Berta tried again, and this time she managed to write out her name. Sort of. The signature looked familiar, but the letters were wobbly and uneven as if written by an old lady rather than a young woman.
The captain picked up the paper and studied it closely then held it next to the contract, his eyes going from one to the other. “Taking her current condition into account,” he pronounced, “I’d say these are a match.”
“What?” Celeste cried. Berta didn’t even bother to protest. She had collapsed with exhaustion against her sister. Celeste struggled to stay on her feet. “How can you say that?”
He held the pages in her direction. “How can you not?”
She couldn’t deny there was a resemblance. However, Celeste knew Berta wouldn’t have signed it, and yet she couldn’t prove her sister hadn’t.
The older man nodded, seconding Captain Bancroft’s opinion.
“I’m sorry, Miss Talbot,” the captain added, “but it’s time to start the bidding.” He gestured toward a group of men who had lined up along the wharf and seemed to be waiting.
Celeste’s free hand flew to her throat. “We’re to be traded like cattle?”
He frowned. “No. Your indentured servant contracts will be sold in a respectable fashion. Surely you signed your own contract? Or were you kidnapped too?” This time, there was sarcasm in his voice. Celeste swallowed hard, nearly overcome. “No, my contract is legitimate,” she managed to utter. She turned away, her mind in a whirl.
All along she’d pictured the ship landing at Williamsburg and Jonathan being there, searching the dock for her and then sweeping her up in his arms when she disembarked. He would buy her contract himself, fulfilling her financial obligation just as he’d promised he would, and then they would tear it up together.
Now there was no way for him to even know that she had made it to the New World. Somehow, she would have to get word to him, after which he would need to come all the way to Norfolk to buy not just her contract but Berta’s too.
She looked at Spenser. “Stay close to us, would you? You’ll have to be the one who tells Jonathan. Can you do that for me?” He nodded solemnly. “Good. Once our contracts are sold, make sure you get all the information you can about the person who is buying us.”
“No one’s buying you, Celeste. They’re buying your contracts,” he reminded her sympathetically. “You won’t be enslaved. It’s your labor that’s for sale, and only for a specified amount of time.”
She nodded. That was exactly what she had told herself over and over back in England when she’d made the arrangements for herself in the first place. Her hands had been shaking nearly as bad as Berta’s when it had come time to sign her name, but somehow she’d managed to calm down and complete the transaction, driven as she was by the thought of Jonathan waiting for her across the sea.
Spenser led her and Berta away from the old man and the captain, and as they walked he offered them both a piece of bread and an apple. Celeste ate hers as quickly as she could without being unladylike, and Berta managed to take a few bites. They were both filthy, but at least Celeste had been able to comb out her sister’s matted hair, braid it, twist it up on her head, and cover it with her cap.
Soon the men were allowed to come closer, where they began to examine the indentured servants, male and female alike. A middle-aged fellow with a long stride and an air of authority stopped at Celeste and asked if she’d had experience as a maid. “I can fulfill those duties,” she answered. She had never had to clean much herself, but she had instructed the maids in the inn for years.
“These two beauties are sisters,” Captain Bancroft said as he approached the man.
Celeste’s face grew warm. Both she and Berta had their mother’s dark eyes and hair, but Berta was by far the more beautiful of the two.
Then the captain said, “They must stay together.”
Celeste’s heart was warmed at his order. He was watching out for them.
The man crossed his arms. “The smaller one appears ill.”
“She’s just seasick, sir,” Celeste piped up. “Once my sister gets her land legs again, she’ll be all right.” It would be a tragedy if they were separated, and Celeste couldn’t help but be grateful for the captain’s kindness in the matter.
The man nodded and continued on down the dock, inspecting the other young women. But after a short time he returned to talk to the older man who kept the books, nodding toward Celeste and Berta as he did.
Spenser stepped toward the crate. He seemed to have adapted to land right away, no sea legs at all for him. A few minutes later he returned. “His name is Constable Wharton. He has a house up on the last street of the village.”
“You’ll tell Jonathan?”
“Yes, I promise. I’m sure he’ll come to get you—both of you. You’ll be in Williamsburg before you know it.”
Celeste wanted to hug him, but instead she simply looked into his eyes and murmured a soft, “Thank you.”
He smiled down at her and then at Berta. “God willing, I’ll see you ladies again soon.”
Berta managed a smile, and she whispered her own words of gratitude. The two shared a tender look until Constable Wharton directed Celeste and Berta to follow him. They shuffled along behind, trying to keep up. Both wore their cloaks, even though the day was growing hotter by the minute. Celeste hefted up her blanket and the meager belongings it held, missing the small chest she’d started out with, the one that had been stolen. Nervous, she released her sister for a moment and verified with a pat of her hand that the ring, brooch, and money were all secure in the pouch tucked between her petticoat and shift.
The walk along the wharf was a struggle, and they had to stop every few steps. Finally, they made it to the loading area, where the constable directed them toward a wagon.
Celeste had expected a carriage, considering the man’s position. He certainly seemed wealthy. Perhaps he did have a carriage but just didn’t want to use it for transporting servants.
Celeste was helping Berta up onto the bench when someone yelled, “Wait!”
She turned and squinted toward the wharf. Spen
ser waved. Another man, who looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed, was swaggering alongside. The constable also turned and looked, shading his eyes from the morning sun.
Celeste couldn’t imagine what Spenser wanted. She hadn’t forgotten anything. “Is there a problem, Mr. Horn?” Constable Wharton asked as the men drew near.
“No,” the older man replied. He had a tattered felt hat pulled over greasy dark hair, and he wore a wrinkled vest and an old pair of breeches, a small whip hanging from his belt. “But I’d like to talk with you about the young woman who speaks French.”
The constable glanced at Celeste. “We both do,” she said, although Berta, with her ear for sounds, spoke it best.
“Why wasn’t I told?” Constable Wharton asked.
Celeste shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”
“I’m looking for a girl to help at Edwards’s inn,” Mr. Horn said. “His cook only speaks French, or so she pretends.” He scowled. “Edwards needs to take her down a notch or two. He thinks he needs a translator.”
“The ship’s captain insisted that the girls stay together,” Constable Wharton said.
Celeste nodded her head.
Spenser made eye contact with Celeste and said, “The inn is in Williamsburg.”
“Who will get the money for the contract?” the constable asked. “Bancroft or me?”
“Why, you, sir,” Mr. Horn answered.
The constable turned toward Celeste. “I can get another maid in a few weeks. My wife wanted two, but she’ll be happy that whichever one of you who comes with me speaks French. She’s been wanting a tutor.”
“You should go,” Berta whispered. “I’ll stay here.”
“No!” Celeste said. “I won’t leave you.”
“It’s the prudent thing to do,” Berta responded. “I can’t bear the thought of getting back on the ship. Tell Jonathan to come get me as soon as he can.” She coughed after she spoke and dragged a sleeve over her mouth.
“The innkeeper has allowed a fair sum of money. Most likely more than what you bought the contract for,” Mr. Horn said. This time he smiled widely, showing tobacco-stained teeth. He seemed to be some sort of broker.
“I’ll allow it,” Constable Wharton said. “As long as the younger one really does speak French too.”
Berta nodded. “Oui.”
“We’re both fluent,” Celeste said. “Our parents are French. I’m sure my sister would be happy to give your wife lessons.”
Constable Wharton turned toward Mr. Horn. “You have a deal. Deliver the payment when you return.”
“Don’t let Jonathan leave me here for long,” Berta said, a little louder this time.
“Shh.” Celeste hoped Constable Wharton hadn’t heard. “We’ll come back as soon as we can. I promise.”
Berta pursed her lips.
“Go on. Get moving,” Constable Wharton said to Celeste. “We don’t want to waste the entire day.”
She quickly told her sister goodbye and then jumped down from the wagon. Constable Wharton immediately snapped the reins, and the horse took off. Celeste jumped back, a sense of dread sweeping over her. It had always been her responsibility to protect Berta no matter how foolish her sister’s actions were, but this time Celeste had been the foolish one.
Berta glanced over her shoulder, a look of despair on her face, as the wagon bounced over the cobblestones. She gave Celeste a halfhearted wave and then turned back toward the road ahead.
Celeste swallowed hard. It wouldn’t do to cry. Not in front of Mr. Horn and Spenser. Berta had been grateful for Celeste’s care while on the ship, but perhaps now that she was feeling better she would come to blame her sister for her plight. And rightly so. Celeste had led her on a devastating journey whether she had realized it at the time or not.
Mr. Horn started back toward the wharf, but Spenser waited with Celeste, and together they watched the wagon roll down the cobblestone street. It wasn’t until it turned away from the bay that they began walking back to the ship.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Celeste
Celeste stood on the starboard side of the ship, staring at the thick trees that grew nearly down to the river’s edge, shivering in her damp clothes even though the sun was high in the sky and the day was hot. She’d done her best to wash them once she reboarded, but she was still dirty—and now she was cold too.
The river was wide and muddy and slow. Thankfully, enough of a breeze blew that the sailors could catch the wind and propel the vessel upstream.
Creeks and marshes cut into the river, and occasionally a cleared field could be spotted, but mostly all Celeste could see were trees. She couldn’t help but think of the Thames back home and the half a million people living along its banks. What a contrast that was to this wilderness.
Spenser stepped to her side. “Well? What do you think?”
“I grew up in London. I’m not used to living where there are so few people.”
Spenser grinned. “You’ll have to get used to it. There are fewer villages here than in West Kirby, where I come from.”
“West Kirby?”
“On the River Dee, not far from Liverpool. My father moved there from Scotland before meeting and then marrying my mother.”
“You said he was a carpenter?”
“Yes. As are my brothers and I.” He paused a moment and then added, “My father was an educated man. He brought a small collection of books from Scotland and did his best to instruct us. About the Bible, of course, but also about plants and the stars and languages and such.” He grinned. “My French was never any good, although my Latin isn’t too bad.”
Celeste laughed, thinking it had been the opposite for her. “Why didn’t you stay in West Kirby?”
He shrugged. “My parents both died two years ago. When I heard a carpenter outside of Williamsburg was in need of an apprentice, I decided to take the position.”
“But why? I mean, why leave home at all?”
He shrugged. “I’m the youngest of five boys. There wasn’t enough business to support all of us. And I’m the most adventuresome. I’ve wanted to see the New World since I first heard about it. With me gone, that left more work for the rest of them.”
So his choice to come to America had been based on logic and reason—a vast contrast to hers, which had been completely illogical and without reason, driven solely by love.
Spenser continued. “Matthew Carlisle, the man I’ll be apprenticing under, runs a sawmill too. He also needs help with the machinery, and I’ve always wanted to learn more about that sort of operation.”
Celeste nodded. Virginia might not have enough rags to make paper, but it certainly had enough trees for lumber.
“Was there no young woman for you back home?”
Spenser smiled again, leaning against the railing. His hazel eyes sparkled as he looked up at her. “No girl in her right mind would be interested in marrying a fifth son.” He lowered his voice. “I’m hoping to keep that a secret now that I’m in Virginia.”
“Perhaps that sort of thing doesn’t matter here,” Celeste whispered back.
Spenser laughed. “Maybe not. But I’ve heard that there are far more men than women, so perhaps this place has a different kind of competition.”
Celeste agreed, relieved she wouldn’t have to worry about such things.
“How long have you known your soldier?”
“Long enough,” she replied. Her face grew warm even though she was chilled.
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to offend.”
“You didn’t. I’m tired, that’s all. I met him last year.” It had been mid-November when Jonathan first came to the inn. She’d only known him a couple of months, but it seemed like much longer. She’d never felt so alive with anyone before—or so sure that running off to marry him was the right thing to do. Until she discovered Berta on the ship.
Spenser didn’t press her for more details, and when the captain approached, he stepped away.
“I see you fo
und a means to get to Williamsburg after all.” Captain Bancroft stopped with his hands behind his back.
She nodded.
“Good,” he said. “I’ve been feeling horrible about your sister.”
“We’ll soon have it all sorted out.”
Captain Bancroft bowed and then, before continuing on toward Mr. Horn, he added, “We’ll dock in half an hour.”
The two men spoke for a few minutes. Both seemed serious, but then the captain smiled and slapped the broker on the back. Mr. Horn simply nodded before returning his gaze to the forest as the captain left him.
Celeste also turned back toward the trees. A small stream bubbled into the river. A crane landed on the water. A fish jumped, even in the heat. She pondered what the forest might be hiding. Somewhere there were tobacco plantations. And native people.
Farther up the James there was a falls and then a Huguenot settlement, but they wouldn’t go that far. She would become Anglican instead, like Jonathan, and leave her childhood faith behind. Difficult as that would be, it was part of embracing this New World.
Celeste was on the same ship that had carried her across the Atlantic, but this trip up the river with the freedom to remain on deck and so few aboard now seemed like a Sunday adventure compared to the crowded and stormy crossing of the ocean.
Except for the first few days on the ship, before she discovered Berta, this was the first time Celeste had been without family. Growing up, Berta had often embarrassed or frustrated Celeste with her antics. Spying a mouse during services and then climbing up on the bench while screaming. Flirting with George, as if he might be interested in her rather than her older sister. Faking illnesses so she could stay in bed daydreaming instead of doing her chores.
But there had also been times when Celeste lived vicariously through Berta. Except for Jonathan, Celeste had never had the audacity to speak with customers at the inn the way Berta did. Or ask questions of strangers. Or sing loudly during services. Celeste truly believed she should be seen but not heard, while Berta wanted to be seen and heard. Yet Celeste could be truly amused by her sister too, like the time they were at the market and Berta joined a visiting French singer in performing airs de cour.
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