The Glovemaker's Daughter

by Leah Fleming

  Mary needed to rest but Liddy mithered for attention, sensing the bitter disappointment and grief. ‘Let Mother sleep,’ I chided her knowing it was up to me to keep the children occupied. ‘Fetch my wooden kist,’ I offered, sitting them round in a circle. We began to take things out of my little wooden chest. Each object was a memory of my past life.

  ‘Here are the certificates of permission to come to America. Look at all those signatures’, for everyone present in the Leeds meeting had signed. I could see each name in my mind’s eye: Zeph, Jacob, Ellinor. ‘Now here is a piece of hanky edged with lace given to me one Christmas by my grandfather, the Judge.’ This was not strictly true, of course. It was just a leftover purchase I had made in Scarperton market. All my treasures were scented with sprigs of rosemary, which took me back to my parents and their burial ground at Windebank farm. Then Liddy picked up the bright ribbons I had worn.

  ‘Me, me!’ She grabbed them. ‘Pretty, pretty me,’ she laughed.

  ‘You can play with them and put them on your dolly.’ The bright red sateen caught the firelight and Liddy had other ideas. ‘Put them here,’ she demanded, pointing to her hair.

  ‘I don’t think we should, not just now,’ I cautioned.

  ‘Yes, me, me want them now.’ She tried to tie them into her hair and darted off to show her mother who was lying listless on the mattress, her breasts bound tight to stop the milk oozing from them.

  The sight of the little girl posing in her finery was too much for Mary. ‘Take them off at once,’ she said.

  ‘No!’ Liddy stamped her foot in protest.

  ‘Take them off this minute or else . . .’

  ‘No, no,’ Liddy ran back to me clinging to my skirt. ‘Joy gave them to me. Mine!’

  ‘No, child, I did not give them. We were just playing in my box in order to be quiet and let Mother rest.’

  Mary was not accepting of my explanation. ‘Now look what you’ve done. How it burdens me to see you clinging on to such worldly stuff.’

  It was then that George pulled out the linen bag in which I kept my golden gloves and waved them in the air. ‘Look at these!’

  Mary stared at them in disbelief. She rose from her bed and snatched them from him. ‘What’s the meaning of these? I never expected to see such fripperies in a servant’s box. Are they stolen goods?’

  Why did everyone think I would steal? ‘They are not,’ I protested, knowing I must retell my sad history and convince her of their personal value. ‘They belonged to my grandmother and were passed down to my mother as a token of reconciliation. She was a glovemaker, not of fancy pairs but plain ones made of leather and wool. She died unaware of them and they were given as a parting gift to me. How can I part from them?’

  Mary fingered the gold lace and the pearls stitched into the gauntlet cuff. She rubbed her fingers over the beautiful doeskin. ‘I gather then you would see us all starve and not sell them?’

  ‘It is but a token of remembrance, that’s all.’ I replied but Mary shook them like a goose feather duster and for one moment I thought she might cast them into the fire.

  ‘Poof! No true Friend would desire to keep these, mother or not. They reek of wealth and rank. You must let them go.’ She paused, looking me up and down. ‘Why am I not surprised at this disobedience? Put them away and when the snows melt we will take them to Philadelphia to be sold. Are our elders aware of thy vanity?’

  ‘They’re mine to keep. I have received no charge to part with them yet. When that time comes I will know.’

  ‘Do as I say and put them out of sight and the ribbons too.’ Liddy was kicking and screaming in protest. ‘Look what these things have wrought. Is it not bad enough to have lost my bairn and now for you to stir up the household even more. Out of my sight, all of you!’

  I knew Mary was distraught with grief and I was in tears of frustration. There was no place to get away from each other in the cabin. We were cooped up like chickens in a pen. I was only trying to help but had now made matters worse.

  Then Joseph returned with a chicken under his arm. ‘I found it frozen. We’ll pluck it for the pot and have a feast.’ He was met with silence. Then he produced three small icicles for the children to suck on. ‘Look what I found.’ Still no one spoke, for the air inside our little cabin was far frostier than the world outside.

  I lost count of the weeks we were confined within these four walls. Every ounce of fleece was carded with brushes by the boys and spun into yarn by me. Mary mended and patched every garment and we had to burn good timber for firewood. The chickens died, the goat’s milk dried and the starving cows bellowed for hay in the barn. Night time was worse for we had no rush lights or candles left and sat by the flicker of firelight. You can get mighty sick of the same company day in and out.

  How I yearned for city streets, stone houses with thick walls, shops and social visits. In daylight I taught Sam and George their letters and script on the slate. We read the Bible and told the famous stories of David and Goliath.

  I tried to do what White Deer would be doing in her hut. How had they survived the ice storm? I knew the men would go fishing on the frozen river. On my last visit she had said it would soon be the season of the ‘clacking stones’ and I had asked the interpreter to explain. It was the time for sharpening tools by the fire as the old men told stories of the great spirits and hunts. When I tried to share all this with the Emsworths, Mary held up her hand. ‘We don’t want to hear about the ungodly.’

  ‘But they believe in the God of all things,’ I assured her. I had seen how carefully they gave thanks for everything they took from the earth and the forest, making offerings back into the soil.

  ‘You see too much of that young woman.’

  ‘But they know so much about how to survive and grow. If you could see how they use animal skins for clothing, shoes, blankets. They will not be as cold as we are. I helped her tan some fur.’

  ‘We have a good tanner here,’ Joseph added in support of his wife.

  ‘I know but he is used to cow hides and sheep. There’s so many other skins to use. Our fur clothing could be so much warmer.’

  ‘And live like savages? We are here to civilise them. If you want fur, there’s a heap of rotting raccoon skins out back. The tanner won’t touch them dirty things.’

  How could anyone guess that this passing rebuke was to change my life in so many ways? Had I not watched the Lenape at work, tanning skins from the piss pot, stretching them out on frames to dry, scraping the insides, working the leather and softening it before stitching furs together to make slippers, leggings and gloves?

  ‘Let me have a go then. The boys can help me prepare them. I shall make us all warm mittens.’

  ‘No one will want to wear such dirty things.’ Mary sniffed. Nothing I did lately was welcome or praised. Her spirit was laid low with sadness.

  ‘Wait and see. I think I know how to make them soft and clean but I will need to use the chamber pot.’

  ‘Aagh! I’ll believe this when I see it,’ was all the encouragement I got for my new venture. Perhaps I would never make gloves as fine as my mother’s or those in my box but they wouldn’t last five minutes in this harsh terrain. No, I smiled, I would start with the lowly raccoon and see if I could remember all the processes. Better to be busy than staring at four walls until spring came. I was pleased with the result of my efforts. Surely, someone would be happy to purchase them when this winter was over? But the Lord tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. Little did we know that with the first melt of snow there would be far more of a challenge ahead.

  We were like bullocks let out onto fresh grass when the first greening of spring appeared; thinner, weary of each other but grateful to have survived the winter storms. The first meeting when almost all the township gathered was a noisy affair of much greeting and few silences. The sap was rising within us and it was so good to catch up with others and meet the strangers who had taken shelter amongst our neighbours. Jacob had taken in a man and woman
from the frozen river boat on their journey towards the Jerseys. They came to First Day Meeting to share their gratitude for the refuge given.

  ‘Come and meet Thomas and his sister here,’ Jacob called over the room to me. He was eager to show off his guests. ‘They have a great story to tell of God’s merciful rescue.’

  I was too busy with Liddy and the other children to take much notice of the strangers in their dark cloaks and tall hats, their faces half hidden by wide brims.

  It was only in the quiet of the meeting that I had a chance to examine them from across the room. I saw nothing remarkable about them until the man stood up to give thanks for the kindness of his host. It was his voice that jolted me out of my daydreaming, a deep resonant tone with an accent common to us all. Where had I heard that voice before? I stared at them now with interest, aware that he reminded me of Titus Cranke, who with his wife Dora was my adversary in Leeds all those years ago.

  How could this white-haired man with the snowy beard and stooped shoulders draped in a jacket that hung from his bony frame be the trickster I once knew? Surely it was not possible that he should be in America? Yet the resemblance was marked. Curious, I turned to the woman beside him. She bore no likeness to that blowsy gypsy rover with whom I once shared a van. These two were shadows of that flamboyant couple. I was mistaken. But when the service was ended I was eager to take a closer look. When I found time from my duties to greet them, they had vanished from sight.

  ‘Who are those two strangers?’ I asked Jacob.

  ‘Brother Thomas Black and his sister, Tamar, sent out from the meeting in Hull but caught in the winter storm. They had a terrible journey across and many perished when their rowing boat left the ship and capsized in the Bay. They clung to the wreckage and were saved. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I thought I recognised them as a couple I once knew in Leeds who did me a great wrong, but they were man and wife. When he got up to speak, his voice took me back to those days. How long are they staying with us?’

  ‘I am persuading them to stay put and make a home in the district. He is an apothecary and now that Gideon Smith has departed this life he might be useful to us.’

  ‘Then I look forward to making their acquaintance at next meeting. How good it is to see so many faces after such a long confinement,’ I added. ‘But I’ve not been idle and made good use of the skills I learned with the Lenape women. Next winter there will be lots of fur mittens to share around so no one’s fingers go black in the frost.’ I was proud of the pile of mittens I had scraped out of the raccoon skins.

  ‘We shall have to make better provisions now we know what must be endured. Penn’s Treatise did not warn us how bad it would be.’ Jacob sighed. He looked weary and drawn. He gave me one of those soulful looks intended to soften my heart towards him but I felt nothing of that nature.

  ‘Did those two bring their certificates to travel with them?

  He looked at me in surprise. ‘When you’re swimming for thy life, there’s no time to bother with belongings. They have relied on the kindness of Friends from Maryland to Delaware but it has taken a toll on their health. The sister hardly utters a word, such is the shock on her, and he never leaves her side. They are such a devoted couple and good company for me in the long nights we shared together. Thomas has travelled all over England and has many stories to tell. How he was once a blackguard having fallen far from Grace but found salvation at a meeting where George Fox preached. I do believe the Lord has sent them to us for a purpose.’

  I thought no more of the strangers for life on the homestead was a round of sowing seed, clearing land, baking, sewing and minding the children. Now the river was flowing again there was the promise of a boat down to Philadelphia soon to look forward to. I could not wait to see real civilisation once more and besides, I had a letter to post.

  26

  The letter to Roger Windebank was long overdue but I had taken pains to find parchment and now it lay sealed and ready to be posted in the Blue Anchor Tavern where some kind soul heading back to England would see that it got passed among Friends until it reached the farm. We landed at the docking station for Philadelphia, excited to be among the throng of sailors and merchantmen who crowded the little port. Joseph would not allow me to walk unescorted into the tavern with my letter, the street being full of women who plied a different trade among the fishermen, but in my sombre cloak and tall hat there was no mistaking I was not of their kind.

  It had taken me hours of thought to compose a suitable letter which might be read out many times before it reached its destination: I filled it with news and praise for the Friends of Good Hope.

  Seven days ago we raised a new barn with the help of Friends. It has three bays and I thought it would be better built of stone as the one of yours that I see in my mind’s eye but stone building is for the future. Everything here is hewn from the forest wood and will ensure safe fodder and shelter animals. Our meeting house is modest and built for shelter as well as worship. Good Hope grows in size apace and with new houses raised in days with the help of neighbours.

  It was a long hard winter but I have not been idle, making use of skills I learned from native women in the camp close by. Please remember me to our dear Friends, to Margery, Mall and Dilly and your good self . . .

  Yours in Christ

  I gave them all the news that would interest them and warned about the hardship of our crossing, the death of dear Ellinor and the sicknesses which plagued us. How could I write of another sickness that filled my mind with longing for those hills of home, the lambs in the pasture and those familiar faces I had once been so eager to leave. Now as a bondswoman I did not have the freedoms I once enjoyed so carelessly but today would be different. Here among the thronging streets I was just myself, free to explore the city’s new buildings and the tree-lined blocks of houses away from the smell of the brickmakers, the tan pits and the iron-smelting furnaces.

  Mary made straight for the open market hall where the bell overhead clanged to say there was fresh produce to sell and buy. There were barrels of fresh and salted fish, racks of strange vegetables, slabs of meat in the shambles, millers selling bags of flour and grain and crowds jostling for provisions. I strapped Liddy to my hand in fear she might get snatched as Mary went rushing off to find linen cloth. We all dawdled along, gazing into the narrow alley of shops with their pretty window panes through which I could see fancy goods, hats, gloves, periwigs and mantles: so much to see and admire but safe in the knowledge I had but a few coins to spend.

  Suddenly I felt such loneliness among the throng. I had been so looking forward to this change of scene, recalling how I had once strode the streets of Leeds in youthful ignorance. I don’t know what made me look up at the sign overhead but the name BOYER took my eye. Could it be the very family that I met on the ship?

  ‘Friend Mary, a moment please. I have to see if this is where Sabine is living.’

  Mary retraced her steps hearing my plea as I released Liddy into her charge. ‘If you must, Joy, but don’t be long. I have a day’s worth of business to do in hours without loitering around these worldly shop fronts.’

  I opened the door of the little shop where the shelves were full of beautiful fabrics, silks, brocades in a rainbow of colours. A young man stepped forward.

  ‘Jerome Boyer?’ I asked and he smiled and nodded. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘I met your wife, Sabine, on the Good Hope. Is she well?’

  ‘Ask her yourself . . . Sabine!’ Out of the workshop to the rear of the shop came my friend and we fell into each other’s arms.

  ‘Joy, ma petite amie. It has been a long time. How are you?’

  ‘I can’t stay long, my mistress waits. I just wanted to know it was you.’ There was so much to say and so little time. Here was a known face who had shared some terrible moments with me on the ship. I no longer felt so alone, seeing her face.

  ‘Come again, come and stay. I was hoping you might come to the city and we know someone w
ho will be pleased to hear you are safe.’ She laughed. ‘The handsome Capitaine Thane has asked after you when he came in for some shirting. I will tell him you called.’

  Just his very name made me flush. ‘Oh, really? I must go.’

  ‘Tant pis, Joy. Come again, promise?’

  I smiled. ‘I will try but my time is not my own.’

  ‘Then we can choose some material and make you a pretty dress so you can walk out with le capitaine.’

  ‘No, Sabine, thank you. It’s not our way.’ We kissed on the cheek as is their fashion and I fled, flustered at the suggestion I might meet the Captain again.

  Mary was hovering in her grey cloak with a face like thunder. ‘I don’t know why you want to make acquaintance with that French woman. Now I’m late so take the boys for a walk while I carry on. Be back at the landing dock when the hour bell strikes.’

  George and Sam were happy enough to chase each other as I strolled behind them wool-gathering, still smiling from meeting Sabine. She looked so much prettier now she was away from the dreadful memories of our journey. Her neat blue gown with its wide collar edged in lace was just what I would like, but of course without the lace. I had noticed that Friends in the city dressed a little more freely than we were permitted to do. I was dreaming of the day when there would be proper cart roads that would allow us to reach the city without having to use the river ferries. I would take tea with Sabine and perhaps purchase some materials. The bale of woollen cloth Margery had given me had made my simple skirt and jacket but gave no pleasure.