Becoming Americans (36 page)

      "I would not have made these arrangements if I thought there was hope. He is my only son. Mary's only son. There are provisions in the will, should a miracle happen, but it is empty gesture, made for appearances."

      John Williams's words were spoken from a shattered heart.

      "Should I pass before John comes of age, Mary will continue as executrix of my small part until John's majority. Should God act as he did with Lazarus, Thomas would assume the position his mother and I have prayed for. My life has not been without sin, Nephew. I'm afraid God has placed this melancholy on my Thomas as some punishment to me."

      "You're a vestryman in a sweet-scented parish! You're no sinner!"

      "I think, as added pain, I may outlive my son. He fares badly. In which case…."

      "You'll outlive us all! Please live long, so I can have the helpful hands of my boy for many years to come."

      It came to Richard that he couldn't tell the boy of this prospect for the future. To live as a planter in Middlesex was his son's dream. He'd develop airs. There'd be resentment from the other children. Richard needed full attention and work from the boy for making pipe staves and tar.

      "I'd rather we not tell the boy of your plans, Uncle. He's too young to have his head filled with such notions. Notions that may not develop, anyway. Lazarus
did
arise, Uncle."

      Drum rolls brought the men back into formation. There was some business to be taken care of. Fines were to be paid, a benefactor to give a new set of colors was solicited—Mister Boush, Senior, offered his backing—the services of retiring militiamen were commended, new men welcomed and training resumed.

      Captain Craford led the men to the eastern end of the neck of land, so that the sun was to their back and the marsh and expanse of the creeks and headwaters of the Eastern Branch were before them. The families trailed behind, some still eating fruit or fried pies. At the far edge of the neck, just feet from the creek and marsh, a wooden target—crudely shaped to represent the figure of a man—stood in wait about fifty paces away. The soldiers were to try their skill at shooting—the moment that John had been waiting for. Joseph nudged his way to the front of the massed spectators.

      Volley fire was a potent force and awesome in its destruction when directed at a formation of European forces, but Captain Craford and the other officers with experience knew that a more immediate threat than foreign invaders was the prospect of Indian raids again, or—worse—of servant and slave revolts. Such battles wouldn't call for massive volley fire, but on individual marksmanship. The individual musketeer must hit his individual mark.

      For nearly two hours the men, firing singly, tested their aim at the wooden target. Occasional misfires brought laughter from the crowds and from the soldiers too, except for the unlucky and surprised musketeer. The greatest crowd response came when an unlucky duck fled from its hiding place in the marsh. Thomas Nash was aiming for his third target-shot but, when the bird rose before him, instinct made Thomas raise his aim to fire and down the bird. Even Captain Craford joined in the laughter and round of applause.

      John's three shots—all three—hit the target, his final shot shattering the head of the target, to whoops of applause from the spectators. He searched the faces of the Boush and Thorowgood boys, but they were unfazed by the "swampboy's" accomplishment.

      The troops were reassembled and dismissed. Much of the crowd quickly dispersed, except for those who had arrived by ferry and now waited in gaggles for their turn aboard. Richard, Thomas Nash, George Dawes and many other men stayed on the field for games. Tongue-tied Charles Shaw offered to accompany Anne back to Deep Creek. Matthew Caswell, who had won Richard's land, stepped into the boat with John Biggs and Sarah. Caswell seemed to be particularly attentive to their older daughter, Margaret. That shook Richard. Margaret was younger than his Edy. He'd be needing to think about a dowry for his daughter before long.

      He waved to his family and turned back to the field. Now the fun could begin.

      Uncle John had gushed in his praise of John and was moving in his kind words to Richard and Anne, but left to return with Captain Thorowgood to that plantation, though Thorowgood's oldest son remained with the tent as a site for four tables of cards. A square had been drawn up in the dusty and deserted practice ground. The knife fights would be there. These were popular, but everyone suspected they were rigged in advance. Screeches of caged cocks rent the air as birds roused themselves to fighting spirit, knowing that their time was coming. Bulls for baiting, and dogs that were to fight, filled the air with roars and growls and yaps. The excitement rose as more pipes of wine and cider were opened and drained and the men relived the day.

      Richard wore a broad smile, basking in the camaraderie of men before they are completely drunk. Life was good. Though troubled, he'd never had brighter prospects. His life was far from over. A bright future beckoned. Earlier, old mistakes were turning out to be blessings—even his wretched land would be useful. His estrangement from Uncle John was worked out. He'd never felt so confident. He'd never felt so lucky. The old rabbit's foot was nearly worn of any hair, but Richard touched it now and gave it thanks for his luck, so far.

      He looked for a game.

      Richard's winning bets on the knife fights and the first five cockfights were a sure streak. A sign. But then his luck slipped away, and he desperately grasped at it with larger bets to recoup his losses.

      By dawn, Captain Ingolbreitsen was trying to stop him. But the wide-eyed Richard wasn't hearing. He grew calmer and more sober as the sun brightened the glow inside the tent filled him with a desperate drive.

      By the time the sun was reaching noon that day, Richard looked as white as though the light had never touched his face. His losses had been staggering. He was saved, temporarily, by Captain Ingolbreitsen, who paid off the losses in tobacco notes in a separate deal with Richard.

      He now owed a debt to his savior, Captain Ingolbreitsen, of four thousand pipe staves and twelve barrels of tar; profitable goods for the Captain's runs to Barbados and the Indies, where pipes for molasses were in great demand. That number was more than Richard had, or could expect to make in a year. Four thousand pipe staves would make about one hundred pipes, so all the pipes he'd made, and all the staves he'd paid to have made were still far from what he'd need to pay the debt. It was as large a debt as that which lost him three hundred acres of land to Matthew Caswell.

      All of Anne's hopes would be destroyed. The children would go another year without their needs met, and Edy…. She'd be an old maid before he could afford a dowry.

      He wouldn't tell Anne. It was not a woman's place to concern herself with the husband's estate. It was her place to bolster him in hard times. The losses had been paid on the spot. His debt and gratitude were owed only to Captain Ingolbreitsen—an old and patient friend.

      Anne was taking in the laundry that was dry, scattered over myrtle bushes and across clean limbs of trees, when Captain Ingolbreitsen's ketch lowered sail and drifted to her dock. She called to Edy to leave the wet things in the pot, to come and take the linens from her arms.

      It must be Richard with the captain. Richard had bet and lost his horse! That's why…! She calmed herself. There'd be a new horse to look for. Things were going to work out. Yesterday had convinced her. Life was going to get better for everyone. The new Norfolk Town, Richard's new emphasis on cooperage and stave-making. Maybe they would be able to send one of the younger boys to school back in England. As her father had done for her half-brother, John. Edward should go to school. Maybe he could become a priest. Richard, Junior would do well enough on his own.

      She reached out to Captain Ingolbreitsen to welcome him. She noticed how pale her husband was.

      "Captain, welcome. I see you've brought back the prodigal son. And we're to be getting a new horse, soon, I gather?"

      She embarrassed the silent captain.

      "Well, Richard, dear, it's more than the loss of that nag that has you so ashen. Might there have been bad cider at your revelries?" Her tone of voice was more teasing than chiding. They'd gone through worse than the loss of a horse.

      "The prodigal son? Was he ever anybody's little boy, your Richard?" The captain teased with Anne, and kissed her on the cheek.

      "Thank you, Captain," Richard interrupted. "We will see you again, soon."

      "Yes, Richard. I must hurry back to the ship. We leave on the next tide for Barbados. We'll talk when I return."

      "But, Captain…." Anne insisted on offering hospitality.

      "I must go. I look forward to our next visit, when I'll eat twice as much," he said.

      Richard had little to say, and only ate a piece of bread before he fell asleep. Anne removed his filthy shoes and breeches and told all of the children to stay out of the house.

      The next afternoon, George trimmed the rived planks before he handed them to Richard.

      "It's back to the swamp, Dickie-boy. You're going to have to get some fast, cheap workers to pay that off. The swamp men can cut logs to measure and then cut out the middles. They can do that, at least. We can do the planing. Do you know how long it'll take us to make four thousand staves?"

      Richard didn't like George calling him "Dickie-boy." No one else had ever called him anything but "Richard." He knew it was George's way of equalizing their status, making up for the fact that George had been his servant and still worked for him.

      "I'll worry about that tomorrow," Richard said. "Today, I'm worrying about tonight's cutting."

      "I've been thinking," he went on. "This will be no surprise to Captain Craford. He's got men everywhere. Not just his servants and slaves, but he's got the whole Elizabeth River parish under him. There'll be somebody who'll talk. There's always somebody got it in for somebody else. Craford's men will be all over his fields."

      "You can't think like that, Richard," George said. "If Craford knows, the whole country knows, and we'd know that. Now, wouldn't we? One of our friends would warn us."

      "Maybe," Richard said, "but we're going to take precautions. We'll do our cutting a little differently, so it won't be noticed."

      "Who's not going to notice a field of tobacco falling on its side?" George asked.

      Richard pulled his knife from his belt and stuck it into the ground, just beneath a rising stalk of Anne's hollyhocks. The plant shuddered slightly.

      "The ground is soft from last night's rain. We'll be cut-worms, slicing through the tap root. The plants will stand until the next day. Craford's men will be in the fields and not suspect a thing. They'll be carrying torches to keep the cutters away, and they'll go to bed in the morning proud of their well-done job. They'll be well-lit; we'll be crawling amongst the rows, hidden in the dark."

      George pulled out his knife and went over to a stalk of Richard's sicklylooking home-grown. He knelt and pushed his knife into the hilled dirt. He felt the knife-point hit the root and pass through. The stalk still stood.

      "Richard, you're too smart for an honest man," George said as he wiped his knife clean and replaced it in his waistband.

      Richard went back to his draw-knife, shaving into the rived plank, shaping it into a concave stave.

      Anne had been gentle in her words, last night, about the horse. She wished that he'd not gamble, she said matter-of-factly, but it had been a fine day. She was proud of him. She was proud of John. She looked forward to the promising business in staves. And there were shingles to be sold, too, she reminded him. Maybe they could build a mill, one day, on the creek for grinding corn and, later, for cutting lumber. They'd be needing lumber for the town. The tidal waters of Deep Creek were perfect for damming-up to a mill. She'd gone on, speaking of the glory days ahead—even suggesting that young Edward might, one day, go to England for schooling. The boy could stay with his cousins in Bristol. Uncle John was flattered by John's name. Now he loved the boy. Uncle Edward's sons—now Richard's factors—might take in
his
namesake.

      Richard had been silent. There would be no schooling for Edward, no mill on Deep Creek. There'd be no dowry for his loving daughter. Anne would never forgive him—when he found the words to tell her. He tried to imagine the ways she'd find to punish him.

      At least, there was a future for his John. And, eventually, when he'd repaid Captain Ingolbreitsen, there'd be a future for them all. He'd find a way. He always had. Carolina was the future. He was sure he'd decided that. He needed tobacco land.

      Before the sun was down, Anne was already closing windows to keep out the mosquitoes. The cloudy sky had made the day end early, and the night would be black, inviting flying critters into the light-filled room.

      "I'm going to see a man about a horse," Richard said. He sat in the only chair, pulling on an old pair of leather breeches and a funny-looking pair of old boots. He'd won them off a Dutch carpenter when he was building the courthouse. Back before he was married and burdened with responsibilities.

      Anne laughed. That could really be the case tonight—it had better be the case tonight!—but, "I'm going to see a man about a horse," usually meant he was off to a cock fight, or to taste some neighbor's newly-tapped pipe of wine, or— Anne knew this, too—sometimes he was off to see some wench. She looked at her husband's sunken eyes and his rude clothes and relaxed from that thought. He wasn't even recovered from the Grand Muster, yet. He'd be home before midnight. She'd bet on that!