Becoming Americans (7 page)

      Richard strolled slowly past the clusters of people who were chatting and laughing and admiring each other. Some of the women were so beautiful that he stopped and stared until he realized what he was doing, then he looked away and walked on. Their dresses were bright colors. Some skirts were lifted and secured high on the sides to reveal embroidered petticoats. Necklines were low and rounded, revealing hints of soft flesh. Their sleeves—full and puffed—fell to just below the elbows. Sunlight flashed from the gold and silver adorning a few of the ladies and hanging from the ears of some men.

      Sunlight flashed from the handles of men's swords. Two gentlemen wore jeweled buckles on their shoes. Richard removed his cloak and held it over one arm, pretending to be looking for someone as he walked through the crowd, smiling as he passed.

      He soon sensed that he was being watched, and stepped behind a tree, suddenly afraid that one of the gentlemen or gentry would come to reprimand him for his costume. But instead, he saw that young women from two different groups had edged forward so that he was no longer hidden. And then he knew that the stares were not those of accusation, but of admiration. He pretended to be pensive, studying an unfamiliar nut he picked up off the ground. He walked again, nervously at first, then with feigned confidence, imitating the swagger he'd noticed in the young gentlemen of Bristol.

      "Too beautiful for words."

      Richard whipped around, humiliated by the public confrontation. It was the girl, Anne Biggs, who spoke. Her words were mocking him, but her eyes were not.

      "Thank you, Anne Biggs. It's nothing, really…."

      "Who are you?" the little girl asked. "You're not Master Harper's servant. Who are you, in truth?"

      "Indeed, I am his willing and obedient servant until I reach my maturity. My family are not paupers, though, and my Uncle Edward—a wealthy factor in Bristol—saw no reason to pretend otherwise. I'm here to make my fortune, like your grandfather."

      The little girl looked at him, studying him and his clothes.

      "But for now you're just a servant? What makes you think you'll live until you're twenty-one. Most newcomers don't, you know."

      "What has that to do with me? You don't place me with the rest of the newcomers, do you Little Miss?"

      Richard looked into her eyes, smiling at her obvious interest in him, and intrigued by his own fascination with her arrogant manner.

      "I think you shall learn to know your place, Servant Boy. My father would whip you if you were his. I would ask him to!"

      Anne walked on, as if she'd only paused to inspect a curiosity. Richard turned away and caught the eyes of people looking at him. Blood rushed to his face and then it drained. He turned back and saw Anne speaking in whispers to another little girl.

      He reached for his rabbit's foot. Her lovely dress was the same blue as his suit. The very same blue. Maybe the material had come from the same bolt of cloth! It was an omen. An undoubted omen of his future. Had she noticed? He hadn't even told her how remarkably lovely she was. The bud of a lush flower in the wilderness. They were intended for each other, it was clear. This omen. Now. In the churchyard. It was God's plan. It couldn't be clearer. She was still a child and he not much more, but it was in God's mind.

      The congregation drifted into the church. Richard waited to enter and to sit with Old Ned. He stood out among the servants in their rough kersy breeches and leather buff coats. Others in the back were nudging each other and pointing him out with questions on their faces. But Richard's eyes were focused on a box of pews near the front, where Mister Ware sat with his family and guests. Edward looked back to find him and smiled a greeting. But Richard's gaze was locked on the blue dress and the beautiful little girl he would make his bride.

      She would have a handsome dowry, of course, and Richard would have, somehow, earned enough to buy servants and a plantation. They would have a brick house as large—larger than—Mister Ware's, and they would entertain guests from all over the colony. His Uncle Edward and his cousins would visit from England and be jealous of his wealth and beautiful wife. He would be called "Mister," and be chosen to serve on the vestry of the church. He'd have horses and a boat—a large shallop. He'd let Edward borrow it sometimes, because Edward wouldn't be as rich as he.

     And then the service was over. Richard hadn't heard a word, but he'd planned the rest of his life. He could see it all.

      The chatting congregation filed outside, and Richard went to the lucky spot where Anne had approached him. He made a wish. He wished that he would always be as happy as he was today.

      "Richard! They've got horse races this afternoon and Father said we could go with Old Ned after we eat!"

      "On Sunday?" Richard told Edward that he must be wrong.

      "It's true, Richard! Things are different here. Did you notice they used the Old Prayer Book, even!"

      Horse racing on Sunday? He'd heard that in the days of King James, Sunday games were encouraged, and that Sunday had been the best day of the week until Oliver Cromwell and the Puritans had won England. Lancaster County was a long way from London.

      "I'll find you after I eat," Edward said, and went back to the area of tables reserved for the planters.

      The tables of food for the servants and slaves were as laden, and nearly as elaborate, as those for the masters. Richard had never seen so much food, and on another day he would have tried some of everything, but he was too excited to do more than chew on a turkey leg. He felt self-conscious again, as he became aware of the other servants watching him.

      "I heard Anne Biggs tell her grandmother that he comes from moneyed people in Bristol." Richard heard a servant woman talking to another. He was proud again, and even more certain, now, that Anne Biggs would grow up to be his own.

      "Richard," the voice was low, almost sad. He turned to see Francis Harper standing by his side.

      "Yes, Sir," Richard said, and held the turkey leg by his side.

      "You're to return at once with Mister Ware's, Tully. I'm most disappointed in you, Richard." Harper returned to where his hosts stood with a forlorn Edward.

      At least his master hadn't made a public scene. That was all that Richard could think of. He'd expected something; this wasn't so bad. He hated to miss the races, but there'd be others. He just had to get to the canoe without being noticed. Most of these people wouldn't know—they'd simply remember a handsome gallant—but had
she
seen?

      He turned to find that Anne and her friends were sucking on oranges and playing with a little dog. He hurried to the waterside.

      The man, Tully, hardly spoke as he rowed downstream to the Ware plantation. Richard helped him pull the canoe ashore, then Tully went to his cabin and his ailing wife and child. Richard was alone on the huge plantation. He'd never felt so alone before. He heard a baby crying and a dog was barking in the woods, but he saw no one. He went to the cabin where he'd slept and took off his doublet and breeches. Tully had splashed water as he rowed, so Richard laid his wet breeches on the bed to dry. Then he put on the work clothes he'd worn when he arrived.

      Old Ned's jug of rum sat in a corner of the room. Richard hesitated for a moment then went to the jug and half-filled a flagon that was beside it. He was nearly made sick with a first gulp, so then took smaller sips.

      He took the flagon and stepped outside, down to the shed where the hogsheads of tobacco were lined up. He leaned against the handle of the giant screw press and pictured the process that would occur here in the next week or so. A ship as big as the one that brought them to Virginia would dock at the pier in front of him. Goods that Mister Ware had ordered from his factor in England would be unloaded and, in exchange, the hogsheads of tobacco would be rolled from the shed—after an official weighing—onto the ship. When the tobacco arrived in England, Mister Ware's factor would credit his account with the value. Richard wondered if his Uncle Edward were Mister's factor in Bristol. The new suit had made opposite the desired impression.

      Richard sipped his rum and looked at the giant hogsheads. He moved to inspect them. They were poorly made, and tobacco poked out from between uneven, loose staves. He tore off some leaves and stuffed them inside his sleeve to smoke or chew later. He could make better hogsheads than these himself, he thought. His best friend in Bristol was apprenticed to a cooper. Richard had spent many hours watching his friend plane staves, or struggle with them in the settingup hoop, even making the dowels that held the pieces together for the head. These hogsheads were just thrown together.

      Richard sipped the rum. It was Sunday, but it was Halloween, too. Surely, his master wouldn't keep him from celebrating tonight. Richard was looking forward to tonight. He wanted noise and laughing people, contests, food and tricks.

      He should use this time alone to devise a surprise! Everyone played fun on Halloween. Perhaps he could repair some of today's embarrassment. Anne would be impressed.

      He sipped the rum.

      These hogsheads were dangerous, even. Richard unhooked his sleeve from a broken hoop. The huge barrel was coming apart. Pressed tobacco from inside, and the arching green staves were pushing it open.

      Richard looked at the other packed casks. Several hoops were splitting and about to break apart. The hogshead would never make it through the transit back to England, if they made it aboard ship.

      He pulled at a hoop with his hands, but it held. He found a wedge of iron by the ramp and forced it between the hoop and a stave. A slight tapping on the wedge forced the wooden circle to snap with a sharp noise that Richard found exciting.

      He sipped from the flagon.

      The next cask required harder tapping with the wedge but gave a louder retort. The remaining faulty hogsheads were more or less easy, and by the time Richard had popped all the splitting hoops, he had also emptied the flagon.

      He sat on the edge of the shed floor, dangling his feet. He squinted at the river as the sun settled down towards it. He leaned his head back against the corner post.

      How lucky for him to have noticed the poor hogsheads. When he reported this, Harper would reflect the glory of Richard's discovery. Mister Ware would be delivered from potential disaster and Richard would be honored before young Anne Biggs.

      When he awoke, it was dark for but a distant bonfire and the torch held to his face by Harper.

      "Richard! Richard!"

      Edward was shaking him. Richard forced his eyes to stay open, and tried to concentrate.

      "Edward…. I did it again! The rum…. Is it over? Is Halloween over?" Had he slept through the celebration?

      "We were getting worried about you," Edward said.

      It grew darker as Harper moved the torch toward the hogsheads he now noticed.

      "Did you do this?" he demanded of Richard.

      Richard was not yet awake.

      "The broken hogsheads! Did you do that?" Harper's anger was rising.

      Richard turned to see most of the casks in mid-collapse. The unseasoned staves had forced apart the hoops, uneven staves had slipped out, then others fallen. Tobacco now spilled onto the floor of the shed.

      "It was the hoops…" Richard started to explain.

      "I'll sell you!" Harper shouted. "I'll beat you to near death, or I'll sell you!"

      "Father…." Edward tried.

      "Your Uncle Edward Williams will hear of this! Do you realize how much time will be added to your indenture to repay me for the costs of this deed? You'll be swinging my broad ax for the rest of your life! Vain and arrogant. Evil! The Devil is in you, Boy."

      Harper's open hand slammed against Richard's head, then hit again. Richard held his breath. He'd not known such fury could come from Francis Harper. He made no attempt to defend himself, to point out that this seeming destruction was, indeed, a blessing for Mister Ware.

      "Go to your sleeping cabin! You will be summoned."

      Richard returned, and waited in the dark, listening to the shouts and laughter from around the roaring, distant, mid-night bonfire.

      "Father will see you now." Edward stood in the doorway. His lighted candle threw deep shadows across his face. His eyes were wide with fear and anticipation.

      Francis Harper and Mister Ware were flanking the parlor fireplace when the boys entered. Harper dismissed his son and Richard stood alone before them. Their faces were drawn tight with the serious situation, and red with the long day's festivities of food and drink.

      "Richard." Harper spoke calmly now. "Mister Ware and I have inspected the damage you inflicted on his property. It is serious and you will be punished accordingly. It falls to me to make good the damage. The court will add that to your contract of indenture. At Mister Ware's suggestion, I have decided to allow the vestry to decide your punishment. You will face them after the All Saints' Day service tomorrow. And, Boy, best begin your prayers this night, for you will be in agony tomorrow night."

      Richard remembered Harper's rage and he remembered the beatings he had witnessed when his apprentice friends had angered their masters.