by Smith, Skye
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MAYA'S AURA - Destroy the Tea Party by Skye Smith
Chapter 11 - Discovered
"Okay, I give up," said Maya to her great grandmother.
Nana looked up from her notes. "Oh dear, have you hit another nightmare."
"No, its all these recipes that Britta is teaching to Winnie. Like, it's good in a way because I am learning too. I mean, at the health food stores they still sell a lot of the herbs and spices. I give up on the word TEA. Like everyone uses the word tea for so many different things. I just get so confused."
"Well," replied Nana, trying to guess at what was confusing the girl, "the only real tea is the leaf of the tea plant from China. I mean, in Britta's day it grew only in China. The plant wasn't smuggled out and grown in India until after 1800. If you age and ferment the leaves it becomes black tea. That is what I drink with milk and sugar. Dried, unfermented tea, is green tea."
"Right, like, black tea is Indian Tea and green tea is Chinese Tea."
"Not at all dear. Weren't you listening. In Britta's day there was only one source of both black and green tea, and that was China."
"But they keep talking about Indian tea," complained Maya, "and like, they are not talking about infusions made from native plants and herbs."
"At the time, I suppose most Americans would have called the fragrant and tender leaves and flowers of the hemp plant Indian Tea. You know, marijuana. At the time the plantations of Georgia were growing massive amounts of hemp for ships rope. Presumably it would be so cheap and plentiful that smugglers would not be interested in it. No profit margin you see. The 'tea' from India with the biggest profit margin would have been the sap of the poppy, you know, opium."
"Opium, are you sure? I've just read a lot of articles about the Boston Tea Party on the web, and they are all about the taxes on Indian Tea, and the monopoly that the East India Company had on it."
Nana smiled knowingly. "Oh I'm very sure about the opium. The peace treaties of 1763 that gave England the trading monopoly to a quarter of the globe, including India. Anything coming from India passed, at some time or another, through the Company's hands. The Company was the biggest pusher the world has ever known. The opium, the Indian Tea, was what the Company traded in China for real tea."
"So why don't the web articles just call it opium rather than mixing people up by calling it Indian Tea."
"Because historians try to use the wording of the original documents, so as not to risk a translation error. Now, tell me more about your latest crystal memory, before it slips your mind. Ummm," she checked her notes. "Britta was training a pie girl called Winnie to work with her in the coffee shop."
Maya closed her eyes to better capture the visions.
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Britta found that rather than reduce her workload, training Winnie increased it, at least in the beginning. Before she could work in the shop, they had to get her clean, and mend one of Britta's old smocks to fit her, and show her where things were, and even teach her how to wash dishes properly so that the dishes never ever touched a bowl of filthy dishwater.
Two days later, Britta sat and watched critically as Winnie clumsily pushed her way between the standing and sitting men with a small tray of cups. Six months ago, that is how Lydia must have seen her. An illiterate bumpkin of a girl, with few skills and no manners and a slatternly way of speaking and moving. Britta sighed, and decided she had no choice but to make Winnie into a polite teen if she was going to be of use in the Anchor Coffee Shoppe.
All week there was standing room only inside the shop. Another ship had arrived from England, with yet more parcels and more newspapers. It was as if the wealthy men of Boston had decided that this shop was the best place to gossip about England. Some of them were so wealthy that they did not even bother picking up their change from the cost of a chocolate.
Only on Sunday was there any break from being endlessly busy. There was even trouble with that, because Winnie, now used to being warm, clean and well dressed, did not want to go back to her own home on Sunday. Britta tried to trick the girl by sending her home with an invitation for her mother and the other pie ladies to spend the afternoon at the shop. She hoped that once Winnie was home, her mother would realize that the message was a ruse, and keep her home for the day.
She was wrong. The pie ladies leaped at the chance of getting warm and getting clean. Their sloop the 'Johan Bee' had left earlier that day for the cod banks. "It's a stoopid name for a boat," said the mother, "but for Brian to rename it Edith, after me, would have meant paying the registry fee, and frankly we have better uses for the coin."
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The popularity of the shop caused another problem, one that Britta and Jon had feared, but had decided there was nothing they could do about it. It was inevitable that someday some man who knew them from their short time running the tavern in Providence, would walk into the shop.
The first time it happened, Britta spotted the man before he recognized her. She sent Jon to hide, and asked Winnie to see to the man. Winnie was pleased because this was the first time she had been asked to do anything other than the cleanup. It was lucky that it was a market day, because on market days Britta dressed in Puritan drab because wives would often stop by to wait for their husbands. She pulled her bonnet forward to hide most of her hair and then was careful never to look directly towards him. It was a very long hour until he left.
The second time did not go as well. They were getting ready to close and the shop was almost empty. Mercy and Sam were still in the meeting room with one of Sam's cousins, John Adams, who was one of Mercy's best friends.
This time Britta immediately recognized the man as one of the agents that met ships on Providence dock on behalf of John Brown. He was well-dressed and kept looking around as if he were expecting someone. Jon went upstairs to hide. Britta was in a bodice dress, too reminiscent of her tavern dress, so she sent Winnie to serve the man while she ran upstairs to change into a pinafore and bonnet.
Britta, keeping to the galley, had a bad feeling as the shop emptied. She had hoped the man would have left by now. Once everyone else was gone from the shop, she sent Winnie to tell the last man that the shop was closing. She heard a muffled call and a scuffing of shoes, so she had not choice but to leave the galley to see what was happening.
The man had pulled Winnie onto his lap. He had one hand over her mouth and the other way up her skirt touching the young girl in private places. Britta called out, "Let go of her. She is only a child."
"Then come over and take her place," he replied, pushing his hand even further up the child’s skirt.
"All right then, I will." She took off her pinnie so that her cleavage came into view. Then she walked towards them both while undoing her bonnet. "Let her go."
The man pulled his hand out from under the girls skirt and put it on the table so that he could push himself around and face Britta. "Don't I know you/" he said, entranced as the comely young woman removed her cap and pulled some pins so that her long luxurious blond hair fell down around her shoulders.
No backing down, no fear, Britta repeated to herself over and over. She dropped both her hands. One holding the bonnet. The other slammed a formidable hat pin down onto the man's hand. She watched the result in horror. She had expected it to prick his skin and perhaps the first layer of muscle and thus hurt him enough that he would leave go of Winnie. Instead the long pin went clear through his hand and lodged itself deep into the table top.
Well, it did cause him to let go of Winnie. The man screamed in pain and horror at having his hand pinned to the table. Britta jumped forward and pulled Winnie out of his reach, and into the shelter of her arms. In the next moment the meeting room door slammed open and the two men rushed out. John Adams was holding out the smallest pistol that Britta had ever seen.
John looked at the crying child, and her skirt still halfway up her legs, and at Britta looking lovely in
her rage and fear, and then saw the hat pin. He pointed the tiny pistol at the man's crotch and hissed, "Pull the damn thing out of your hand and get thee gone before I lose my temper, and you lose your balls!"
The man screamed in agony as he wrenched the hat pin free. Still screaming he ran to the door. As he pulled the door open he looked straight at Britta and yelled, "I know you! You'll be sorry!"
John aimed at the man's head and hissed. "Never come near here again." The door slammed and the man was gone.
Mercy ran to Britta and Winnie and pulled them back towards the meeting room, in case there was more trouble. "What did he do?"
"He was molesting the child," Britta replied.
Mercy called, "Sam, wasn't he the Providence lawyer you were talking to about forming a committee there?" She hugged Winnie to her, "How does he know you, Britta?"
Britta moaned. "His is one of John Brown's agents. I think he is the one who pays the custom's bribes for Brown. Wonderful, now bloody John Brown will know were Jon is."
"That is unfortunate," said Sam looking at her.
"Unfortunate," moaned Britta, "Jon is the witness that could put a noose around Brown's neck and you call it unfortunate that he will now know where to find him."
"Actually," Sam muttered, stopped talking, and then decided to be truthful with her. "Actually, I meant that it was unfortunate that John threatened him with his pistol."
"The man is a child molester," John said defending himself. "The only unfortunate thing was that I didn't shoot his balls off when I had a bead on them."
"Hallelujah to that," chanted Mercy.
"I will have to go and find him, and apologize," said Sam, and went to get his cloak.
Mercy and John looked at each other and then Mercy called Sam back for an explanation.
"I knew he was Brown's agent when I was speaking to him. He came here from Providence at my request. I am trying to gain Brown's support to help our movement grow in Rhode Island."
"I don't believe you did that," Britta hissed. "You knew that Jon and I are hiding from Brown. Jon told you the whole Gaspee story. Did you not understand what we have told you about Brown? He gains enormous wealth from running guns and slaves and opium. He leads violent men. He profits from wars and the misfortune of others. And yet you invite his agent to our shop, our home. How could you?"
"It had to be done," Sam explained, "We know that the governor is not above using force of arms even against peaceful demonstrations. If things turn violent we will need men like Brown on our side. As you said yourself, he runs guns and leads violent men. Not only that, but he already has government men in his pocket, and his own ring of spies, and a lot of money. We needed to be sure he is with us, or at least not against us."
Britta slapped him across the face as hard as she could. "I thought you were our friend, we trusted you." Sam turned the other cheek, so she slapped him again.
"Britta, love," Sam said turning his cheek again. "It was not my decision. The committee decided. Many of them applauded Brown when he burned the Gaspee. Some of them are smugglers themselves, or are merchants who profit from selling what Brown smuggles."
John Adams saw that his cousin was about to be slapped again so he grabbed Britta's hand and shoved his pistol into it. "Here, shoot him instead. He deserves it." Mercy cried out. Sam froze in disbelief.
Britta looked at the tiny pistol in her hand. For something so small it was very heavy. For something so small it was deadly. "I've never held one before," she said and then looked at Sam. He was making no move to defend himself. She handed the pistol back to John. "Go and find him, Sam. Find out the cost of his silence. Make it so that Jon and I are safe again."
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That Sunday, after church, Daniel did not turn the cart towards the shop to drop them off. Instead he went the other way. To Jon's obvious question of 'where', Daniel replied, "A polite request from Mercy." When Mercy made a polite request, it was best to treat it as a command. "She wants Britta to be trained in guns. We are going shooting at a nearby farm."
John Adams swung open the farm gate for them. They all spent the afternoon breathing gun smoke. Jon already knew guns from Lydia's farm so he just practiced his aim. John and Daniel hovered around Britta teaching her the types of guns, how to load them, and how to deal with the weight and the kick. Before an hour had gone by, Britta had to give up. Her shoulder was bruised, her arm was bruised, her hand ached, her hair was singed, and her cheeks were black with soot.
John handed her his tiny pistol. "Here, I will loan this to you. It's a handy little thing because it keeps its prime when not cocked. It is small enough to carry in a reticule, so if nothing else it will make your reticule heavy enough to be swung like a club."
Daniel reached forward and pushed the pistol away from Britta. "No, I protest. A pistol that size is only dangerous if fired without warning. She will never do that. Men will simply take it from her and use it against her."
"Perhaps you are right, Dan, she might just be carrying her own undoing."
Britta reached forward and snatched the pistol. "I promise I will not show it without firing it, either into the ground to cause a noise, or into a leg so that I can run away." Daniel looked at the resolve on her powder-smudged face and relented. John reached behind him for the pistol's small storage box and showed her the cleaning kit and powder horn and tiny balls, and then he wanted to show her how to disassemble the pistol for cleaning.
Daniel had her empty it by firing it into a fence post less than two yards away. She just barely hit it. "You see," he said, "It is a pop gun for starting horse races. It has no range and no accuracy because of the short barrel. If you need it, then cock it in your purse and shoot it through the purse so he does not see it. Aim at one of his thighs, pull the trigger, and then do not linger to see if you hit him, just run."
"I will have to start carrying a larger purse. A cheap one of thin fabric that will not stop the ball."
"Don't be a fool," said John, "Store it in your galley in the box. Tell your landlord that if he hears it's pop gun sound, that you need urgent help."
"Jon can carry it when he picks up the bakery goods first thing in the morning. If Brown's men mean mischief towards him, that will be the time they will choose. He is alone then, and the streets are empty."
"Then load it again, girl," ordered Daniel, "while I fetch Jon." Once he had walked away, John turned Britta's face into the low sun and took his fine linen handkerchief and cleaned the smudges from her face and neck. He took his time and was very gentle, and even cleaned skin that was not smudged just so his touch could linger on her skin. He had to keep looking away so that he could control his desire to kiss her. The whole while he kept reminding himself that she was betrothed to Mercy's nephew Jim, the lucky bugger.
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Jemmy was so angry with Sam about Brown's agent that for a week he would not sit with his friend nor talk with him even if they were in the same room. Meanwhile, Sam had found Brown's agent and had reached an arrangement with him.
"I told him mostly the truth," explained Sam. "I find it always works the best in the long run. I told him that Winnie was from a family of dangerous men, knife men, and suggested that if he kept quiet about seeing Britta, then Winnie's family would not hear about what he had tried to do to her. He was quite amenable to the solution with one change. He wanted to be able to attend meetings at the coffee shop."
"You said no, I hope," said Britta. "for that would risk his seeing Jon."
"I said yes but only if he sent a messenger ahead to ask your permission each time. I told him that if you sent the messenger back with a refusal it would be because Winnie's family were in the shop."
Britta thought about it and agreed. She smiled about Sam's 'truth'. It was not so far wrong. Winnie's uncles and brother would definitely have carved the man up with their wickedly long cod filleting knives. "That still does not alter the fact that you are seeking to befriend John Brown for political reasons. That wil
l not end well." She was surprised that this didn't bring a comment from Jemmy, who just walked away back to his letters and his matea.
"He is still angry with me for publishing governor Hutchinson's letters. You know, the ones that Ben Franklin was kind enough to send to us. Ben made it very clear that the letters were sent as a favor to Jemmy and were not to be published, else it would cause Ben problems in London. "
"But Jemmy hates Hutchinson more than he hates the devil," replied Britta. "Why should he be angry that you have published them?"
"Because of his respect for Ben. He worships the man, and now through me, he has broken a trust that has built over a lifetime."
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Neither Britta nor Jon were invited to Lydia's wedding. Nor could they have attended if they had been. They needed to open the shop every weekday in order to pay the rent and to pay Lydia her weekly pound. Luckily, the first few months without Lydia had been busy due to the arrival of the early spring ships carrying newspapers and dispatches. They were now some pounds ahead, but very aware that those pounds could disappear quickly if they had unforeseen expenses.
They were working such long hours, that Mercy finally spoke out to Britta. "You do realize that the committee is far more successful than we had ever hoped, and that is due, in no small part, to the Anchor Coffee Shoppe. We need this shop to remain a healthy business, so be aware that we are willing to help you through any troubles, even money troubles."
"Well," mused Britta, "business is slowing. It was so crowded here last month that we lost some of our regulars, and it is the regulars who pay the rent. And not just male regulars, but the women as well. Now that it is slower, it would help if the women came again."
"Oh my darling, why didn't you say something? Instead of begging friends to host poetry readings for Mrs. Anonymous, we will hold them here. You would be doing me a favor. Every time a friend hosts one, I end up owing her an evening at my house. I am far too busy for that kind of favor swapping."
Britta knew that Mercy published many of her works anonymously, and that she had a wide following with he literate women of Boston. Women customers made for good for earnings. Men tended to order simple cheap drinks. Women, on the other hand, liked the fancy and expensive creations that Britta was becoming known for. The profit margin on spiced frothy coffee and chocolate was huge.
