The Indentured Heart Page 8

  “Aye, Ma, it’s me,” the child answered. Adam paused in the street, and heard Molly say, “This ’ere gentulman, Mr. Winslow, ’e bought the nice lace, Ma. And ’e lives in ’auberk, so ’e let me walk with ’im.”

  “Why, thank you, sir,” the woman said. “It’s late for a little one, and that’s a fact.”

  “Glad to be of help,” Adam replied. He touched his hat, a gesture that brought a sudden quick look from the woman, as if she had forgotten such manners existed. He turned to go, but she stalled him, “Mr. Winslow? I—I wonder if you be needin’ any cleaning done—or like your clothes done up nice and clean?”

  “Why . . .” Adam paused, then before he could answer, he was interrupted by a raspy voice.

  “Wot’s this now!” A thick-bodied man, tall and hulking in the dim light had come up from somewhere down the street to take a stand behind Adam. He had a loose-jawed face with piggish little eyes, and there was something threatening in the way he stood there, his arms held out from his sides and his massive fists clenched.

  “Tom! This is Mr. Winslow—he just bought one of my pieces from Molly—and I was just askin’ him if he had any cleanin’ to be done!”

  The woman’s voice was threaded with fear. Her hands twitched nervously on the shawl she held as she stepped forward to put herself between her husband and Adam.

  The man paused, relaxed his fists, and a loose smile spread across his face. “Oh, yer bought somethin’, is it? Well, let’s ’ave the cash!” Molly held out the coin, which he took. Holding it up to the light and grunting with satisfaction, he slipped it into the pocket of his vest. “Now, that’s ’andsome of yer, sir.”

  “Not at all,” Adam shrugged. “It’s very fine work.”

  “Ah, yer ain’t from ’ere, then? America, I tyke it? Burns is me name, Mr. Winslow—Thomas Burns. And be yer ’ere fer long?”

  “Three months, more or less.”

  “Aw, now, Mr. Winslow, ’ow is the brick business in the Colonies, do yer say?”

  “Very good. Quite a bit of construction in Boston.”

  “Do yer tell me that?” Burns said in surprise. “It’s been in me ’ead to try me luck over the waters. This ’ere place is dead, it is! Nothin’ fer an honest workman!”

  He laughed and came forward to stand toward Adam; he was of average height, but massive as a draft horse. The gin on his breath was a raw stench in Adam’s nostrils as Burns said, “Well, I got me some business, Mr. Winslow. Yer let me little woman do yer cleanin’, yer see? And later me and you can talk some more about workin’ in the Colonies, yer hear me now?”

  Adam took the huge paw the man held out, and instantly found his hand collapsed beneath the power of Burns’ grip! He caught his breath, leaned forward against the pain of it—then tightened his own grip. Burns was peering at him out of a pair of muddy eyes, and Adam realized it was an old trick with the man—but he closed his hand and Burns’ mouth sagged open as Adam began to exert power. The sinews of his forearms and fingers had been transformed into flesh as hard as the iron they had wrought on the forge, and Burns was out of condition. Slowly the balance shifted, and Burns, instead of crushing Adam’s hand, found his own caught in a viselike grip that was paralyzing his nerves. Pain began to run up his arm, and he wrenched his hand away with a mighty effort, then stood there glaring down at Adam.

  “Be glad to talk to you any time, Burns,” Adam offered without a sign of exertion in his face. “Mrs. Burns, my room is with Mrs. Havelock—next to the green grocers. I won’t have much cleaning, but you’re welcome to do what there is.”

  “I’ll be by every Tuesday, sir,” Mrs. Burns said.

  Adam said goodnight, turned and made his way home. He went to bed at once, but could not go to sleep. Too much was happening, and he lay awake thinking of the factories and the machinery he had seen, trying to plan ways to improve the equipment.

  Finally he dropped off to sleep, but tossed fitfully, dreaming of the events of the day. Several times he seemed to see a pair of enormous gray eyes and hear a reedy voice saying, “Oh, please, sir, won’t yer tyke a bit uv fancy work to yer lady, sir?” Finally he woke up, remembering how Molly Burns had flinched from him; he thought of the massive hands of Thomas Burns leaving their marks on the child, and anger ran so strongly through him, he could not sleep for a long time.

  11 November, 1744

  Dear Father,

  I have seen in the past three months practically every factory in central England that makes any sort of farming equipment, and have made up a list of such machinery along with the prices for your consideration. There have not been very many, but there are a great number of gunsmiths, and I must confess that I have spent much time there!

  I have not missed a single Sabbath going to church, but I must say that the preaching here is frightful! I know you are opposed to Mr. Whitefield and the Revival, but if you had to sit through one of the sermons delivered by Church of England pastors, you would perhaps change your mind.

  I have made few friends here and am looking forward to arriving home. I have taken passage on a small freighter, and should arrive home by the first of the year.

  Your devoted son—Adam

  Adam sat back in his chair, arched his back, and thought how difficult it was for him to write to his family—and how easy it was for him to write to Mary. He took a fresh sheet, and with a sudden laugh thought, I’m about on her level, I suppose! I wonder if I’ll ever be able to talk to adults? He began the letter, which, unlike the one to his father, ran several pages. The mails were so slow that he never expected answers; thus his letters amounted to a journal. He had included descriptions of the vivid side of London life for Mary, and had taken pleasure in letting his experiences reshape themselves on paper for her eyes. He was unaware of how he used the child for a sounding board, a confidant on whom he could try out his ideas—one to whom he could speak freely with no reservations.

  He wrote steadily for over an hour, then put the quill down and leaned back to read the letter. He was surprised to discover (not for the first time!) how much of his thoughts were taken up by the Burns family. The week following his first meeting with Molly, he had told Mary in an earlier letter, she had come to his door for his washing. He had invited her in, then while gathering up his scarce wardrobe for washing, he had encouraged her to talk. She had been more open than on the street, and it ended by their having tea together. Then he had told her stories of America, which she delighted to hear.

  She was, he discovered, quite ignorant, but not stupid. Her questions were sharp, and a voracious appetite for learning lay beneath the surface. He had read to her from some of his books, and her face was a picture of contentment and delight as she sat there in his straight-backed chair drinking it all in.

  He put some of his feeling about the family into his letter to Mary:

  I have told you quite a bit about the Burns family. I know all the names of the children by now. Molly is your age, but you would find her quite ignorant. She cannot read a word, but she delights in books. I wish she could spend some time in your company, Mary, for she is a warmhearted and loving child who could do well if she had the opportunity.

  Alas, there is no chance for that! Her mother is a good woman, but worn out with work and dominated by her husband. I can say nothing good about that one, for he is a brute who lives on the labors of his wife and children. Worse, he mistreats them frightfully!

  I have seen the bruises on Mrs. Burns and on the children, and pray that I will never be present to witness the thing! I had an awful battle once with a man who was mistreating his dog, and I do not think I could stand to see a woman or a child beaten!

  Keep me in your prayers, and remember me to your parents and your dear sisters and to Timothy. I long to see you, and when I return the first of the year, I will expect to go egg-hunting with you, though the snow be five feet deep!

  Your friend and admirer,

  Adam Winslow

  William’s black robe billowed in
the cutting December wind, making him look like a monstrous bat fluttering across the grounds of Oxford. He broke into a run, casting off his dignity, and reached the relative warmth of the vine-covered three-story building where his quarters were. Climbing to the top story, he shoved his way into the room, then stopped dead-still. A fire snapped in the fireplace and Adam stood there beside it, his face a patchwork of blue bruises and half-healed cuts.

  “Adam! What in the world happened to you?”

  “I was in a fight.” Adam smiled but that was painful, for one of the cuts ran from his cheek right across the right corner of his lips, so he said with a grimace, “You were right about London, William. It’s a dangerous place.”

  “Sit down, and I’ll make some tea while you tell me about it.” William nudged his brother into a chair and picked up the brass kettle. “Was it highwaymen—or what?”

  “It was a monster named Tom Burns!”

  William paused, shooting a quick look at Adam. “The father of the girl you’ve taken under your wing?”

  “The same.” Adam leaned back and there was a fire in his dark blue eyes that matched the glow of the coals in the grate. “I’ve told you he mistreated his family? Well, up until two days ago I’d only seen the bruises on Mrs. Burns and on the children. But I stopped by there on my way home last Tuesday, and that’s when it all happened.”

  “He was cruel to his wife?”

  “He knocked her against the wall with his fist, the rotter!” Adam stormed between clenched teeth, his face contorted with the memory. “He was drunk, of course, as he usually is. Up till then he’d behaved himself around me. But he’d lost some money gambling, and I was just leaving when he came roaring in, demanding more from his poor wife! When she gave him the few small coins she had, he doubled up his fist and struck her in the face, cursing her for not having more!”

  “That must have been hard for you, Adam,” William remarked. He listened intently, saying little as his brother went on. There was, however, a deep anxiety in him, for he knew that any Colonial that got into trouble with a citizen of England was in danger of prosecution. He handed Adam a cup of tea, then sat back waiting for the rage that filled the young man to pass. “What happened then?”

  “Well, I saw red—so I started to leave, but then he took Molly by the arm and started shaking her so hard I thought her neck would break! I grabbed him and pulled him away—but he almost knocked my head off, William!” Adam touched the cut on his mouth and said, “It’s a wonder I’ve got a tooth left in my head! The man’s a bull! He knocked me right out the front door, then came roaring out to finish me off!”

  “I would guess you went at it with him?”

  “Well, I really think he would have killed me, William. Fights in that part of town turn into kicking matches, and I reckon he’d have kicked my head off if I hadn’t fought him.”

  “He’s a big man, you say?”

  “Tremendous—not tall, but strong, you know, and very slow! Quite out of condition, and I began to give him a few belts in his belly; that slowed him down! But it was a brawl, William! Lasted over half an hour, and we cut each other to ribbons!”

  “What about the law? Did anyone fetch a sheriff?”

  Adam laughed shortly. “That’s not their style, William! No, everybody on the street came to watch, but no law.”

  William sipped his tea, then asked, “Well, I take it you didn’t agree to be friends after it was over?”

  “He didn’t agree to anything!” Adam’s face showed a grim pleasure, and he even chuckled. “It’s hard to agree when you’ve been beaten unconscious! I was just about as bad off, to tell the truth, but I staggered home and had to stay in bed all day, I was so stove-in! You ought to see what my ribs look like!”

  “Well, what’s next?” William asked.

  Adam slammed the cup down, then stared his brother in the face. “I can’t tell you—because you’d tell me not to do it!”

  After a long period when William reasoned with Adam, he finally discovered that Mrs. Burns had come to his room in terror. She had told him that her husband could not move from his bed, so badly was he beaten, but he had sworn that he would beat her and Molly to death when he was able to get up. And she had asked Adam to take the girl away!

  “Take her where?” William asked sharply.

  “Anywhere so long as that monster can’t find her!”

  “That’s kidnapping, Adam—a hanging offense!” William snapped. “Get it out of your mind!”

  “Well, I can’t do nothing, can I?”

  William put his cup down and said quietly, “I’ll go back to London with you. We’ll see. I have a few connections here at Oxford—influential men. Maybe they can help. But what a man does inside his house is pretty hard to regulate, Adam. There’s no law against a man beating his wife and children.”

  Adam’s eyes were hard, harder than William had ever seen them. It was not the gentle boy that William had grown up with who stood there glaring into the fire! No, this was someone he had never seen before, and it sent a streak of apprehension tingling along his nerves as he saw that Adam was not going to be talked out of this. He breathed a quick prayer, then said, “We’ll do something, Adam. God won’t let us down!”

  * * *

  But God did let him down, or so Adam thought bleakly two weeks later. His ship was due to sail in less than five days, and he had spent most of that time trying to work something out for Burns. He had let the paper work on the machinery go, spending all his time either going around to lawyers with William, or hanging around the street where the Burnses lived, trying to keep some sort of watch over the family.

  But nothing had come of it. William had said in despair, “Adam, there are some things in this world that we just can’t change, and this is one of them. You’ll just have to accept it!”

  William had gone to see a judge who was a son of one of the dons at Oxford, hoping that perhaps he could offer a solution, but not having any real hope.

  Adam walked around the streets, ignoring the biting cold, and finally, he set his jaw and stalked up the door of the Burnses’ house. Mrs. Burns’ eyes widened as she opened the door, and she tried to keep him out, “Go ’way, Mr. Winslow! You’ll just make him worse!”

  “I’ve got to talk to him! There’ll be no trouble! I think I can help.”

  She opened the door, a weak futility on her thin face, then led him to the small room off the rear of the main room. All of the children were in the large room, huddled beside a small fire kindled in the grate, and he smiled at Molly as he passed.

  When Tom Burns looked up from where he lay in the bed, a light blazed in his dull eyes, and he sat up with a groan and a curse, but Adam cut him off sharply. “Shut your foul mouth, Burns!” he snapped and when he moved close, Burns’ huge bulk shrank back in sudden fear.

  “You leave me be, Winslow! I’ll have the law on yer!”

  Adam picked up a chair, placed it firmly beside the bed, then sat down in it, staring straight into Burns’ face. “How would you like to have a large sum of money, Burns?”

  The question caught the big man off guard, but at once a crafty light leaped into his muddy eyes. “Well, I guess yer see you wus in the wrong!” He rubbed his hands together with satisfaction and began to say, “Now, I figure—”

  “Shut up!” Adam snapped. “I will make you an offer, and I will make it only one time. If you don’t agree at once, I will walk out of here and you’ll never see a penny. I won’t bargain, you hear me?”

  “Wot’s yer offer, then?” Burns asked sullenly.

  “Two hundred pounds cash.”

  It was practically all the money Adam had, and it would be a direct violation of his trust. He dared not think what Saul and Charles would say, but he had no other choice.

  “Why, that ain’t enough—”

  Adam got up instantly and made rapid strides to the door. Burns saw a fortune slipping through his hands, more money than he’d ever seen, and he cried out loudly,
“Wait now, don’t go runnin’ off, Winslow!”

  “Yes or no—which is it?”

  Burns saw the square jaw of Winslow set firmly, and the light in those cobalt blue eyes told him there would be no bargaining. “Well, yes.”

  Adam came back and sat down. “Now, this is the way you will get the money, and once again, I will not bargain! I will give you one hundred pounds in cash. I will leave the other one hundred pounds with a reliable party in this city. You may do what you please with the first hundred, but the second hundred will be closely supervised by a man I will choose. He will see to it that the money is doled out over a period of time for food and clothing for your family. He will be certain that it is spent for that and not on gin for you. That is the bargain. Do you agree?”

  Burns could hardly bear the thought of his family spending money for food when he could use it for gin, but he saw that he had no choice. “All right, I agree.”

  Mrs. Burns said suddenly, “He’ll beat the girl, Mr. Winslow!”

  “Shut yer mouth!” Burns screamed. “I’ll show yer—”

  “You see?” she said in a rare defiance. “He’ll have to let us have the food, but he’ll beat me and Molly. You’ll have to take her away or he’ll kill her.”

  “I intend to do just that. Burns, in exchange for the two hundred pounds, you will sign a paper—”

  “Wot kind o’ paper?” Burns’ eyes squinted in suspicion.

  “A paper saying that for ten years Molly is a bound girl,” Adam stated.

  “Wot’s that mean?”

  “It means that for ten years she’ll be under an obligation to serve me, but at the end of that time, she’s free.” Adam realized that Molly would have to be protected until she was grown.

  “Take her to America, Mr. Winslow!” Mrs. Burns cried, tears making a track down her cheeks. “She ain’t got no show here! Maybe she can be somebody over there!”

  The room was small, but when Adam raised his voice and called the girl, Molly came at once into the room, her eyes enormous in her pale face.