The Indentured Heart Page 7

  “What sort of changes do you have in mind, Saul?” William asked.

  There was a line of concentration around Saul Howland’s eyes. He had always been a serious man, and was so much older than his cousins that they had always looked upon him as the businessman in the family. Now he stated carefully, “Basically, we ought to guard our interest in the fur trade by expanding as much as possible into the Ohio River Valley—but there’s a danger in that. The fur is plentiful, but the French are going to give problems.”

  “You think there’ll be a war?” William asked.

  “Yes, I do, but nobody can say how soon. Fur’s a good business, so we need to keep our interests going. But we must diversify.” He turned suddenly and smiled at Charles, saying, “Charles has been a godsend! I’ve never seen a young fellow who caught on to business so quickly. Tell them about the ideas we’ve been working on, will you, Charles?”

  It was clear that Saul was grooming his cousin for leadership in the family, and Charles was equal to it. He stood up and said easily, “Of course, these are all Saul’s ideas, but they make sense. What we plan to do is buy land and develop it. There’s no way that the price of land can go down, and we can protect ourselves against any reverses in the fur trade.” He went on smoothly, speaking with a confident grace, and Adam was amazed at how his brother had matured.

  Charles drew out a map, pinned it to the wall, and pointed at several spots that had been considered. Finally he said, “There are two plots that Saul and I think will be safe and profitable. The first one is here in Virginia.” He pointed to a spot on the map, saying, “It’s cheap land because it’s not really developed, and we can get it for almost nothing. The owner’s in trouble and has to sell.” Then he moved the pointer to a spot east of Boston. He gave a wide smile, looking at Adam. “Adam, you ought to be interested in this—as a matter of fact, you’ve probably been over most of it hunting, from what William has told me.”

  “That’s the Hunter place?” Adam asked. “It’s pretty run down, Charles. Gone back to woods—and a lot of it’s in timber.”

  “You know it, do you, Adam?” Miles asked, giving his son a sharp look.

  “Yes, sir. Everybody knows the place.”

  “Well, William is going to Oxford,” Miles told them, then smiled briefly, adding, “Nobody expects you to be a businessman, William, and I’m glad that we’ve got a Winslow preaching the Gospel. Edward would have been very proud of you—and Grandfather Gilbert, too.” He paused as some memory rose out of the past, swept across his mind; then he shook his shoulders and stated decisively, “Adam, Charles is going to go to Virginia and start our work there, and we would like you to learn to operate the Hunter place.”

  Adam grew still, always awkward when called upon to say anything in public. He knew that what he was going to say would sound ungrateful, and yet he could think of no way to agree.

  “I—I’m not cut out for farming,” he said, then hastened to add, “I’ve seen enough of that life to know that you have to have a gift for it—and you have to like it.”

  Martha’s lips tightened, and she snapped in a waspish tone, “You ought to be grateful for the opportunity—but you always were an unthoughtful boy!”

  Saul silenced her with a look, and answered, with just a trace of displeasure in his voice, “It’s a trade, Adam. A man can learn it, as he could anything else.”

  “I think, Saul,” Rachel said quietly, “that Adam is right. We don’t want a man there whose heart’s not in it. He would please neither us nor himself.”

  “But, Adam, you have to have a profession,” Charles argued. “And we’re not talking about just being a farm laborer; it will be the family business—your business, actually. You can get rich if you work at it.”

  Adam felt the pressure growing and he looked around, seeking assurance, but even William offered no encouragement. He said, “I want to be a blacksmith,” he stated firmly. “It’s what I’m good at.”

  “You can do that, too, Adam,” Miles affirmed. He looked across the room at Adam, and there was a plea in his tired old eyes. He knew that he had failed with this strange dark son of his, and he knew that he had little time to rectify the mistake. “I ask you to do this thing, Adam, for the family, of course—but it’s really you I’m thinking of.”

  It touched Adam suddenly, this plea coming from his father who had never asked him for anything. They had not been close, but now he saw that his father was reaching out for some way to help, and doing so in the only way he knew. And he longed to agree, but he could only say, “Father, it wouldn’t be good for me or for the family if I did this.”

  The pressure grew, and for fifteen minutes Adam was urged to follow the line pointed out by Saul. Martha finally sniffed and said loudly, anger rising in her voice, “Well, I’d think there’d be a little gratitude in you, Adam! After all, it isn’t as though you had a great deal of talent! Heaven knows we’ve all worried about what would happen to you if you had to take care of yourself!”

  Then Rachel stood up, her thin face drawn with anger. “All of you, be quiet!” Esther and Saul looked at her with shock, and even Martha blinked. Rachel rarely raised her voice, but when she did, it was like a storm cloud, and there were none in the family who cared to confront her when she was roused.

  Going over to Adam, she put one hand on his shoulder, raised his face with the other. Her eyes were bright with indignation as she spoke, “Adam, do what you want to do!” She leaned over and kissed him, and her kiss burned like fire on his face.

  Then she stood up and stared down at him. “Let me suggest this—and you tell me to mind my own business if you don’t like it, all right?”

  He smiled suddenly and said, “All right, Aunt Rachel.”

  “Most of the farming today is done with tools that haven’t changed since Gilbert Winslow got off the Mayflower, isn’t that right? Well, why don’t you make better ones, Adam?”

  He stared at her in bewilderment. “Me? Make better farming tools?”

  “Well, as I remember it, you’ve spent most of your life making things—the cannon, for example?” She laughed as his face burned with shame, but she cried out, “What’s the matter? The thing worked, didn’t it?” Suddenly Miles laughed loudly—a rare thing, indeed. “Certainly it worked! Nearly wiped out a whole species—the Black Winslow Banty!”

  William joined his father in laughter, then suddenly stood up, his face alive with excitement. “Why, of course! Why didn’t I think of it? You can do more good that way than doing the work yourself, Adam. I’ll bet you’ve got a dozen ideas right now about how to make a better harrow or a new way to cut brush quicker with some kind of a new blade? Isn’t that right?”

  Adam suddenly was filled with excitement. “Why, I can do that!”

  A murmur of pleasure ran around the room; Miles stepped over and put his arm around Adam, an act that embarrassed both of them, and stated, “That’s it! We’ll get a good overseer—and you can oversee him—and make all the inventions you want!”

  “And keep on with the gunmaking, too,” Charles laughed. “When a war comes, there’s nothing like a munitions-maker to make a family rich!”

  They all laughed, and for the first time in his memory, Adam felt like a member in good standing of the Winslow clan!

  * * *

  A week later, William and Adam stood at the rail of the schooner Rosebud, watching the coast of America grow dim. Adam had gone back to get his clothes. His assignment was to go to England, to spend three months studying the most advanced methods of farming, and visit as many manufacturers of farming equipment as possible in that time.

  Now William remarked, “Well, brother, life is odd, eh?” He laughed and clapped Adam on the shoulder, adding, “You thought you’d be looking for a woodpecker egg—but here you are on the high seas—a businessman!”

  Adam rubbed his jaw ruefully. “Mary will never forgive me, William! When I went back to get my clothes, she gave me fits for leaving her!”

&nb
sp; “She’s a bright girl,” William smiled. “But it’ll only be a short time, and she’ll have you back again. Charles will have the house ready for you and an overseer hired. He’s a brilliant young man, that brother of ours!” Then he squeezed Adam’s muscular arm and laughed, “But I’ll bet he can’t bend a horseshoe or make guns like you!” He looked at his brother and added gently, “I know you’re a little afraid of all this new responsibility—but you can do it, Adam. In this New World we don’t have a long time to be children—girls are married at fifteen, and boys, not much older. It’s a new land, and we’ve got to grow up in a hurry.” He would have said more, but finally he merely smiled and put his arm around Adam’s shoulder.

  The land dropped out of sight, and the two walked slowly around the ship, coming to the bow. Standing there peering into the misty distance, Adam mused, “It’s a long way to England, isn’t it, William?” Then he leaned on the rail and murmured, “Mary told me to get her something pretty in London. Wonder if she’d like a doll?”

  “As smart as that one is, you’d do better to get a set of reference books!” William laughed.

  “No, a doll would be nice,” Adam decided with a gentle smile on his broad lips. The two stood close together staring across the deep waters, each seeing a vision of his own.

  CHAPTER SIX

  MOLLY

  “I hate to abandon you like this, Adam,” William told his brother for the third time, a worried look on his face. He stood blocking the door of the coach. The driver had already called down twice for him to get in. He bit his lip nervously, looked around at the hustling mass of humanity that filled the Cheapside Street, then grabbed Adam’s arm. “I must go to Oxford—but this is a wicked city, and a country lad like you could be easily taken in!”

  “Get on the coach, William!” Adam grinned. “Every night since we’ve been here you’ve kept me awake warning me about the dangers of this iniquitous place. I promised to trust no one—especially handsome females with painted faces!” He laughed aloud at the alarmed look on his brother’s countenance, then gave him an affectionate slap on the shoulder. “On with you! I’ll be in no danger. I’ll be looking at farms and factories; there’ll be no tricksters or fancy women in those places!”

  “Be you goin’ or not?” the driver yelled, leaning over the edge of the coach, his yellow face wrinkled with impatience. “Either get yerself in—or get out of the way!”

  “You have my address!” William yelled, as he piled in and the coach rolled off. “Write often, Adam—and don’t forget to go to church!”

  Adam waved, then turned and made his way down the busy streets. He had been afraid of the city at first; it was so big and boisterous, but as he threaded a path through the vendors that cluttered the walks and spilled over into the narrow street, he was seized by a spirit of freedom that was intoxicating. There was no one to tell him what to do, and for the first time in his life he was responsible to no one except himself.

  They had disembarked from the Rosebud four days earlier after a fast crossing, and had found a room for Adam in a two-story half-timbered house near the center of the city. That same day they had gone to the bank, Lloyds of London, and presented the letter of credit. The funds were in two parts—one sum for William to draw on for his expenses at Oxford for the year, the other for Adam.

  “I feel strange with all this money, William,” he had said as they left Lloyds. “Three hundred pounds! That’s a fortune!”

  “It won’t seem like it if you buy all that new-fangled farm equipment, though. Saul expects you to get good value for that cash.”

  The plan had been laid out for Adam. He was to buy as much equipment as he could and have it shipped to the two plantations, but there had been objections from Esther and Martha about his ability to handle money. Miles had raised his head and spoken with a tone of finality: “Adam must learn to handle business, and there’ll be no more said about it!”

  As Adam made his way to the first of the factories he planned to visit, he felt again the warmth that had flooded him at that moment. He had not known until then how much he had longed for the approval of his father. Now dodging carts and coaches that thundered down the street, he vowed he would not let his family down. He passed by men, women, and children—some dressed in the sooty rags of chimney sweeps, others arrayed in the gold and gaudy satin of the aristocracy. Porters sweated under their burdens, chapmen darted from shop to shop, and tradesmen scurried around like ants pulling at Adam’s coat as he fought his way through the human tide that flowed and ebbed on the street.

  He found the factory on the edge of the city, and the owner was not too busy to show him around. It came as something of a shock to Adam to see the primitive methods used in the production of the equipment, and he thought with a start: Why, I could do as well as this—better! But he only looked, made notes, and thanked the owner.

  Adam visited two other factories that day, finding one of them to be quite advanced. He stayed until late afternoon, making drawings, and by the time he made his way back to Cheapside, he was hungry. He went in to a small, smoky inn called “The Eagle” for a meal. He had eaten with William, and devoured a steak and kidney pie with gusto.

  As he left The Eagle and started back to his room, a voice startled him—a tiny, thin voice that came from his left.

  “Sir? Will ye buy a handkerchief—only five bob!”

  A young girl not more than ten or eleven years old stepped out from the overhanging shadow of an apartment. She held out a fragment of white cloth, but he shook his head, saying, “I don’t need any handkerchiefs, Missy, thank you.” Already hardened to the infinite pleas of vendors and beggars, he would have passed on, but she took a quick step forward. There was a note of panic in her small voice as she pleaded, “Oh, please, won’t yer tyke a bit of fancy work to yer lady, sir? Yer can ’ave it fer four bob!”

  He looked down at her, intending to shake her off, but paused when he saw the fatigue in her face. She had large eyes that looked gray in the fading light, and the smudges under the lower lids made them look larger. Her face was thin, her lips drawn with either pain or fatigue, and the finely-etched planes of her face with high cheekbones and a sweeping jawline did not seem to go with the ragged clothes that hung on her thin body. Most of the young beggars had faces blunted by ignorance and eyes dulled by the monotonous life of poverty they led; this girl, for all her rags, had something that was delicate and sensitive.

  “I don’t have a lady, Missy,” Adam said gently; then suddenly she reminded him of Mary Edwards back in America, and he put forth his hand to pat her head the way he had often done with children.

  “Don’t—!” the girl cried. Dropping the handkerchief, she threw her hand up over her face, cowering back against the wall.

  Adam stood there staring at her, then an anger flared up inside and he bent to pick up the handkerchief. It was a finely done piece of work, now stained where it had touched the filthy sidewalk. He looked at her, then reaching into his pocket, he drew out a coin and held it out, “I’ll take the piece, Missy.”

  She dropped her arm, swallowed convulsively, then stepped forward to take the coin. “I—I ain’t got no change—”

  “You can keep it, Missy.” He looked at it, then lifted his eyes to her face. There was a sudden relief in her features, and he suspected that she had saved herself from a beating by the sale. “Did you make this? It’s very fine.”

  “Oh, me mother made it, mostly—but she’s a’ teachin’ me.”

  Darkness was falling fast, so that he had to lean forward and strain to see her features. “It’s getting dark, Missy. You’d better get home.”

  “Yes, sir, I be goin’ now.” She looked around at the man now made faceless by the dark, and asked in a tiny voice, “Sir, be yer goin’ down ter ’auberk?”

  Adam’s rooming house was in Hauberk, and he nodded. “Come along.” As she fell into step beside him, he adjusted his steps to suit her. Glancing down at her as they walked, he wondered t
hat such a small girl was allowed to roam the streets of a city. “How old are you, Missy?”

  “Ten, sir.”

  “My name is Adam Winslow. What do they call you?”

  “I’m Molly.”

  He found out that she had two brothers and three sisters, and lived in a run-down section filled mostly with the very poor. When he asked her what her father did, she said with a shrug, “Oh, he’s a bricklayer—only there ain’t no work nowadays.”

  They left the main business district, then coming to a side street that led off from Adam’s street, she said, “I live down here aways. Thank you, sir.”

  “Oh, I’ll see you home, Molly,” Adam replied quickly. She did not protest, and led him down a street that degenerated quickly into a gin lane. The houses were decayed, held up in some cases by long poles. Derelicts stumbled along, bleary-eyed and loose-lipped. Several times along the way, men dressed in rags shambled out of the shadows and approached Adam, eying him slyly. They did not miss, however, the strong, muscular figure nor the direct stare in his dark eyes, and offered nothing more than a plea for money, which he denied.

  He wondered grimly what could protect a child like the one beside him, and he realized with a shock that his little world in Amherst where children were safe on the streets lay thousands of miles away. London was a world of predators, feeding on strangers—or on one another when there were no other victims.

  “There’s me ’ous, Mr. Winslow,” Molly said. The two-story house she led him to faced the street and, like the others, was in a state of decay. A strong smell of garbage and sewage rose from the trench in the middle of the cobblestoned street. A single lantern cast feeble yellow beams over several young children playing in the front. A woman who was leaning against the wall straightened up as the two approached, calling out “Molly?” in a thin voice.