Becoming Americans (24 page)

      Today was the General Court. The living legend, Old Governor Berkeley, and his Council would decide her father's fate. When King Charles II had come to the throne sixteen years earlier, he'd started off by freeing seven hundred Quakers, but his Parliament wouldn't allow such tolerance, and passed the Conventicle Act in 1664, making it illegal for five or more persons to gather for worship in any form other than that of the Church of England. Virginia's Assembly had made its own laws for suppressing Quakers. Any ship captain caught transporting them was fined one hundred pounds. Richard told Anne that Captain Ingolbreitsen had forfeited his three years income from a ship to maintain his reputation. In addition, fines were levied for non-attendance at church, for unlawful assemblies and a reward of one-half the two-thousand pound fine for non-baptismal of children was given to the informant. Only six months earlier, the General Court had fined her father for that offense to the Crown.

      Most likely, the Court would fine her father again, and possibly, confine him for a few hours in the stocks—an uncomfortable and humiliating position for such a respected man as her father. But that would be better than the cruel treatment in jail that had cost the lives of other Friends.

      Anne's emotions returned to anger at her stepmother Sarah. This woman had brought Quakers into her father's house.

      Sarah Hodges Biggs had been converted by her first husband, and had risen to a position of some respect in her religious community. She hosted Quaker meetings in the home. George Fox, himself, their very
founder,
had spoken in the house when he passed through on the Carolina leg of his American trip in 1673. Anne blamed Sarah for that visit which had "revealed the light" to her father. Sarah was a frequent speaker at Friends meetings. The prominence of women in the sect was scandalous to most people, and the idea that her own step-mother….

      Anne stopped herself in mid-thought. Stepmother Biggs had been more than kind to her. It was Sarah who had proclaimed Richard a hero when he arrived in Lower Norfolk County to claim Anne's hand. Sarah Biggs talked to, and at, her husband until the man relented and announced the engagement of his daughter, Anne, to the new planter, Richard Williams.

      Young Richard had arrived to mixed reactions. Knowledge of his part in the smuggling of tobacco and Quakers was widespread. He was both scoundrel and hero.

      The people of Lower Norfolk and Nansemond Counties seldom spoke violently against their numerous Quaker neighbors. These two counties were the most heavily penetrated by the people who called themselves the Society of Friends. Many of these dissenters were wealthy, and their universal reputation for honest dealings made them reliable tools and allies, on occasion.

      No one dared speak too loudly of tobacco smuggling, either. Nearly all of the planters had made attempts to escape the tobacco tax. It was necessary, of course, to publicly condemn such things, but not so loudly as to draw attention. At a recent militia parade, Anne had sarcastically requested that her servant fetch the pot-pourri, when a leading planter declaimed on the "profane disrespect" to His Majesty by the smugglers.

      So, when Richard Williams—at the tender age of twenty years—arrived a free man, bearing his six servants—and the resulting three hundred acres—he was welcomed to the Southern Branch community. With Anne Biggs's handsome dowry, Richard Williams was a potential force. Anne was proud of her new husband. Even now, she looked back on those first years with pride and flickering hope for more years like them.

      She stepped from the bed onto the dirt floor. Soon spring, then summer, would be here, and the damp floor would feel good to her feet.

Richard and George Dawes stood by the fire that dried a hollow in the fog that rose and drifted from the river.

      "Tomorrow, Tuesday, will be business; today, I deal with family affairs. Meantime, keep your ears open to the rumors goin' 'round. I'll want to know where we'll get our best prices for them pelts, and you might listen for more about the stirrings against Governor Berkeley. From what I can recall of last night's mood, there may be serious trouble ahead, and we'll need to know if Lower Norfolk will be touched. Where does Captain Carver stand?" He'd like to know where his powerful neighbor stood before he said too much himself.

      George grunted.

      "It's the first day of General Court, and James Town is filled with planters and trappers from up the rivers. They, I think, are the most aggrieved by His Excellency's inaction with regards the Indians."

      "They wouldn't like another man any better, would they, now?" George Dawes said. "Not unless he'd lead them out against the savages and wipe them out. Any trouble they bring on won't touch us, I think. It's the greedy frontiersmen who want more land to lord over, isn't it? Neither Lower Norfolk nor Nansemond have to fear the Indians."

      "No, but we've more taxes to fear if militias are called out to fight," Richard said as he walked off. "And don't get too drunk to guard our pelts," he added.

      Richard walked beneath the budding mulberry trees, along the Great Road by the river, then turned right onto one of the short streets leading to the Back Street.

      This had been the "New Town" for nearly fifty years. It was here that most of the substantial, brick houses were being built—at the insistence of Governor and King—in hopes of creating a city, whereby trade and taxes might be better controlled. Most Virginians weren't enthusiastic about the idea, and certainly, there were numerous places better suited for human habitation than this mosquito-infested, low-lying island with unhealthy wells. Lower Norfolk County had deeper rivers and sweet water.

      Mulberry trees lined this street, too. They were another example of the various and repeated attempts by the Governor—at the prodding of King Charles—to diversify the crops and industry of the colony. Governor Berkeley had planted these trees in his first term, before the Commonwealth time, when he'd begun pressing for silk production. But the planters clung to tobacco as their mainstay, and the life of Virginia was centered around a weed that King James had once tried to outlaw. Taxes and minister's salaries were paid in tobacco. Wealth was tobacco. Power, success were tobacco.

      Richard wanted it. He wanted it, and he knew he couldn't have it. His land was not tobacco land. With the new acreage he'd get on this trip, he could farm for, maybe, ten more years. Probably five. Five years to come up with the way to make his fortune and to provide for his Virginia children. Uncle John would be telling Joseph of the richness of plantation life. Plantation life in sweet-scented Gloucester County.

      The fire was roaring at Goodwife Henderson's ordinary when Richard entered. Uncle John and Joseph were already quaffing their morning ale.

      "Poppa!" Joseph called to him. The abandoned son of last evening was grinning ear to ear.

      "Poppa, Uncle John took me to the church this morning! It's beautiful, and it looks so old. And then he took me by the State House where Grandfather's trial will be and we went down to where they were building the fort, and he showed me the cemetery where all those first settlers are buried, and we…."

      "Wait!" Richard pleaded. "Might we start with, 'Good morning?'"

      "Good morning, Nephew. It pleases me greatly to see your boy take such interest in the early days of Virginia, and how we are building. He says he wants to build, too. Didn't you, Boy?"

      "Yes, Poppa! Good morning, Poppa. Yes! I want Lower Norfolk to have fine buildings and streets. Uncle John said the future of Virginia is up to the children."

      "That it is, my son. And it's a good thing it's so," Richard said. "We adults have had little time to think of the future of
Virginia,
these last twenty-five or thirty years."

      "Nephew, I was expecting to see you in the church, this morning, praying for your father-in-law."

      "That might be a little odd, Uncle, praying with a priest for protection of a Quaker. I'd better place my words and money with Harry Edwards, the informer," Richard said.

      "The informer?"

      When his uncle asked the question, Richard knew he had over-spoken. But, so what?

      "Edwards informed on my father-in-law in last June's session of the Court. Edwards was given half the hefty fine assessed Father Biggs for not having his youngest children baptized."

      "Poor little souls." Uncle John's hand went to his chest.

      "Those noisy little souls are my in-laws, Uncle, and good playmates to my children." Richard spoke with a touch of anger.

      "I'm sorry, Richard. I've no personal quarrel with these people. Indeed, they're very few of them in
my
county. But I've lived to see how extremes of religious differences can sunder a community of brothers and neighbors. We are blessed, here in Virginia, with little of it, but our home in England has been torn apart repeatedly in my own lifetime in disputes with Catholics, Puritans, and all the little foppish sects that come and go. In truth, a man may risk his soul to damnation, for all I care, but why
must
they be so silly and persistent in their arrogance!"

      "I'm sure I don't know, Uncle. " Richard looked for the serving wench to bring his tankard.

      "Poppa, some men were in here before you came. They were talking about a war against the Indians. Will we have a war, Poppa?" Joseph asked. "Will they slay us as they did in the old days?"

      "I don't know, Son. What say you to that, Uncle?" He waved at the girl to bring him drink.

      "I pray not," his uncle said.

      "Your Uncle John prays not, Joseph. Our Lord Governor prays not. Still, many people, maybe most, are praying that there
will
be war. I think even the Indians are praying for that. We'll soon see whose prayers will be answered. Anyway, there's no reason for us to worry, down in Lower Norfolk."

      A silence fell over the table as the two men caught themselves falling into a path of conversation and passion that neither wanted to pursue. Talk returned to the wonders Joseph was experiencing, and his two family members watched parts of themselves and of their loved ones appearing in the child's face and mannerisms.

      Then the Williamses walked from Goodwife Henderson's up the Back Street, then over to the Great Road past the cemetery, to the State House.

      Richard could see why Joseph was impressed. The State House, and the four large, brick houses it adjoined, stretched on for well over two hundred feet, facing southward over respected ruins of the earliest settlement, then looked down to the river. The line of heavy brick walls rose for two full stories and was topped by a steep, gabled roof of slate. This southern face looked out with windows of diamond-paned glass that sparkled as the rising sun reflected from the James. Tall brick chimneys flanked a two-story north wing of the Courthouse, while tall, center chimneys punctuated the wider, adjacent houses. The State House and two of the residences had tower-like porches with upstairs rooms. To Joseph it was grand. To Richard and his uncle, the sight was a reminder of sights they'd seen on many streets of Bristol. They saw their past. Joseph dreamed of the future.

      They went through the tower porch, and entered a wide hallway that ran through to tall, closed doors of the shallow north wing. While the men talked to a soldier standing guard by the door, Joseph looked through the open doors of the Council Chamber that took most of the detached end of this floor. A railing separated the large table and grand chairs from narrow benches, back near the doors. The fireplace roared with five-foot logs. As Joseph watched, elegant men and gentlemen in the richest of dress and wigs and sashes and swords and soft leather boots, gathered at their places to hold Court.

      The crowd had grown until Joseph was jostled and afraid of losing sight of his father. The hallway was full of people, and the yard was crowded. Eventually, Richard and Uncle John came from the soldier to tell Joseph that, at least, there would be only a short wait. John Biggs's friends had demanded him an early trial.

      Uncle John pointed out the gentlemen who were assembling. Joseph stared in awe at the old man who first came to Virginia as Governor in 1642. The boy tried to cipher in his head how long ago that was, but gave up. The old man wore an enormous wig of curls, and his eyes flamed like those of Joseph's mother when she was thwarted. The old Governor seemed not to be listening to the men speaking to him, concentrating instead on whatever it was that was upsetting him. Maybe he had a toothache, Joseph thought.

      Uncle John pointed out Colonel Nathaniel Bacon. He reminded Joseph that this man, though a relative of his younger namesake, was in no way sympathetic to the dangerous postings and threats of the young Nathaniel Bacon who seemed to be becoming the leader of this faction of troublemakers on the upper reaches of the rivers. The
upstart
Bacon, though a member of the Council, was not here.

      Mister Ralph Wormley, a neighbor and member of the vestry with Uncle John, was a member of the Council and waved to his friend when he saw the Williamses in the antechamber.

      Grandfather Biggs was led up the steps into the State House by two guards. He walked over to his son-in-law and grandson and reassured them.

      "Thee need not fear for me, my sons. These men know me; they wish me no ill. And they have larger problems at the moment than a poor Friend from the wilderness of the Southern Branch."