Seeking Eden Page 6

  I drew breath, desperate to speak; but he would not let me, and I was obliged to listen, clenching my fists, waiting, wanting only to interrupt.

  “He offers a five-year bond,” my father continued. “Thou would live in his house, with all found: clothing, food, drink, lodging – and he’d pay thee a small allowance. Thou would learn to do the accounts, write letters, and all the general work of the business. In addition, thou would accompany him on trading voyages and, after a year or two, be encouraged to undertake such ventures alone, trading on his behalf. There would also be the opportunity to trade for thyself and so begin to make some money of thine own.”

  My mother opened her mouth to speak – but I jumped up. “Father, this isn’t what I want! I want to earn – now! I don’t want to take thy money for the bond. I want to help the family – to be independent, to be a man! I went down to the waterfront on my own, to look for work for myself. Why didn’t George Bainbrigg speak to me?”

  To my embarrassment, I felt tears of frustration spring to my eyes, and dashed a hand across my face. “He treats me like a child!” I said.

  My father put a hand on my arm. “Sit down, Jos. Sit down,” he said, more gently than I’d expected. “George Bainbrigg came to me because he could not offer thee what thou wanted. An apprenticeship is different and must be arranged through the father. Thou know’st that.”

  “I had an apprenticeship before, and let thee down over it,” I said, scowling, as I sat down. I felt angry. I’d asked for honest work and they had gone over my head and wanted to tie me down to a bond. “You can’t afford it,” I said, looking at the two of them. “You need my wages.”

  My mother spoke then. “Jos is right, husband. We surely cannot afford to apprentice him to a merchant?”

  “George Bainbrigg asks only for a bond of ninety guineas,” said my father – and her eyes widened.

  The sum was low. In London, to be apprenticed to a merchant, even one in a modest way of business, would cost four or five hundred guineas. Even the apprentice my father and Nat Lacon took on at their print shop in Stepney had been bound for two hundred.

  My mother asked, “Is he – this man – a successful merchant? Does he thrive?”

  “He does,” my father reassured her. “He has been trading along the eastern seaboard for some twelve years or so and has many connections. Costs are lower in America. That’s why people want to come here. Ninety guineas is a reasonable sum, and I believe we can find it. But only if it is what Josiah wants.”

  They both looked at me.

  “I want to pay my own way,” I said. “I want to be independent.”

  “That’s as it should be,” my father agreed. “But bear in mind thou hast no training and can only seek low-paid work – and that may become tedious. Thine only small experience has been in the printing and stationery business. Would’st thou prefer to work for me? I think not?” I shook my head. “A man who is not skilled has no real independence, Josiah. One day thou might want to marry, support a family…”

  I felt uncertain and deflated. My plans for finding paid work for myself had come to nothing. And yet I saw that my father was right, and I would have better prospects with the apprenticeship. I ought to be glad of it. I’d hoped George Bainbrigg would offer to take me on, and he had, and in such a way as would set me up in a career of my own.

  “I’d travel?” I said. “Trade on his behalf in a year or two?” That appealed to me. It might not be paid work, but he’d give me an allowance, and all found. And I’d be out in the world, away from home, as I’d wanted.

  My father said, “That’s right: New England, Maryland, the West Indies…”

  My mother’s face betrayed her anxiety. I knew the thought of me at sea must make her fearful; but she said nothing.

  “We’d need to look into the cost,” my father said. “It could be done, I’m sure. He would clothe and feed thee, and that would be a saving.”

  I tried to imagine becoming a merchant. Could I do such a thing? Buying and selling, dealing with other traders, making decisions that could lead to wealth or ruin? Supposing I didn’t succeed, and disappointed my father again?

  “No need to decide right now,” he said. “I told George Bainbrigg we’d give him an answer next week. That allows us all time to reflect and consider, and for me to talk to Friends who know him – for we must be sure that the two of you are suited.”

  “And we will wait in silence,” my mother said, “and be guided by the inward light.”

  But there was to be no silence yet. Betty’s slippered heels appeared at the top of the ladder, followed by her backside draped in a gathered skirt of brown wool with blue apron ties hanging down. She was already talking as she reached the floor and turned round. “Jos, thou must be mad to hesitate! Think what a life thou’ll have! Sailing to the other colonies, to the West Indies, maybe to Portugal or Spain—”

  “Betty—” my mother began, then caught my father’s eye and let her run on.

  “Thou might see Indians; they live in villages along the Delaware, Lars says. And there are trappers, and fur traders. Or thou might go to Boston, or New York, or Barbados. And thou’ll live in the merchant’s house, with space to thyself, and no insects coming in through knotholes in the planks, like we have here. Thou’rt so lucky! I’d like to go!”

  I listened to her with a grin on my face. She was only Betty, my silly, excitable sister, whom it was my duty to tease. And yet her words struck home. She knew me, and knew what I wished for, in my heart.

  “Don’t be too proud,” she urged me later, as we talked together in low voices. “Let them spend the money on thee. They don’t want thee sweeping floors for a living.”

  I did not sweep any floors, but for the rest of that week I dug the garden, stacked wood, and fetched provisions from the town, while my father waited in the shop for the few customers who came in. Clearly the shop would not make our fortune; many people could not read or write, and even those who could had little time for it.

  “This is a young country,” my mother said. “People want ploughs, spades, bricks … not books.”

  But my father looked to the future. “Before long Philadelphia will be a city, and there will be a need for books and printing. And when that time comes we’ll be here, set up and ready for them.”

  For that, I knew, we must make haste to build our permanent house and print shop, and that would cost money; and yet my parents had looked at their finances and agreed that they could afford to apprentice me to George Bainbrigg, if I wished it. When we met together in silence it seemed clear to all three of us that a way had opened for me and that I should follow it. My father sent word to the merchant and the bond was agreed. George Bainbrigg offered to accept the money in two instalments, the first part to be paid after the month’s trial period, the second a year later. My parents were grateful; this would ease their burden considerably.

  The following first-day, after Meeting, when people had risen and were talking to their friends, I saw George Bainbrigg moving towards us through the throng. At his side was a girl of about my own age.

  He drew her forward. “My daughter, Katherine,” he said.

  She was a little below the middle height, not plump yet sweetly curved. Her gown was of plain dark grey wool, her fair hair tucked away under a linen cap, only a few curls brushing her cheeks, which had turned a faint, becoming pink on meeting us.

  My father began making introductions. When he said my name, Katherine looked directly at me.

  Her eyes were light in colour – green or grey – and they gave her face a liveliness and energy that instantly attracted me. I held her gaze, tongue-tied. I was taken by surprise. I had not thought that George Bainbrigg might be part of a family, like our own. Now I envisaged a wife, perhaps younger children – a busy household into which I must fit. And this bright-eyed daughter, who was looking me over and no doubt thinking me a fool with nothing to say.

  “Josiah,” she said. “I am happy to meet thee. A
nd thee, Elizabeth. And Sarah.” She had the same broad north-country way of speaking as her father.

  I thought her demeanour very womanly, with none of that shyness that girls usually show. Such confidence was intimidating. I stumbled over words of greeting, and asked, “Hast thou lived here long?” – a question I immediately regretted since Philadelphia had only been founded last year and no one could have lived here long. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Betty watching me and trying not to giggle.

  Katherine answered, “Only a year. Though I have been three years in the New World; in Maryland. But you” – she turned and included my sisters in her question, and a note of eagerness came into her voice – “you are from London, aren’t you? I should love to go to London.”

  This was more promising. But no sooner had we begun talking than the three girls were drawn away into a circle of women for more introductions.

  George Bainbrigg turned to me.

  “Kate is my only child,” he said, his glance lingering on her. “She has no mother. It is good for her to meet other young people. Well, Josiah” – he gave me his full attention now – “to business. Matt Peel leaves me at the end of this week, and I propose that the following week thou come a-liking for a month, to see if we suit. Thy father agrees. How say thou?”

  “I thank thee, George Bainbrigg,” I said. “I shall be pleased to come.”

  Tokpa

  This place is strange. Tall huts are crowded together in rows. They have many windows like eyes and they watch us as we drive along the track.

  I am near the driver, the Bassa man. He sees me trembling and says, in the demons’ language that we all learned on the ship, “Don’t be ’fraid, boy.”

  “What they do?” I ask him. “They kill us?”

  He laughs. “Kill you? No! You worth too much. You slave. You work in fields.”

  In the fields. At home, it is women who work in the fields, planting and harvesting rice. Men hunt, or clear the ground for planting, or forage for nuts and berries in the forest.

  But I would rather work like a woman than be killed.

  And now we come out of the crowded village and see, all around, huge harvested fields full of chopped-off stalks – thick, heavy stalks that only strong men could have cut with great labour. Further on, we pass big huts with smoke and steam coming from them. There is a strange sweet smell, and a terrifying noise – thunder? or demons fighting? – like nothing I have heard before. This noise never stops. I think these huts must be full of evil spirits. The sides are open, and I see rows of people working. I don’t know what they do, but the evil spirits roar and men with whips go up and down the rows, striking at any who slacken. Carts are lined up outside, and men load them with heavy boxes shaped like drums.

  In the distance is a great hut – high, wide, with many doors and windows. It is a chief’s hut, I think.

  “What this place?” I ask. “What it call?”

  “This island? It call Barbados.”

  Eight

  And so, in the second week of November, I moved into George Bainbrigg’s house in Walnut Street to begin my apprenticeship.

  The household consisted of my master, his daughter and two servants: Isobel Judson, the cook and housekeeper, and a maid, Mary Sutcliff. I was surprised at first that there was no manservant for George Bainbrigg or lady’s maid for Katherine – for the house was the size of a gentleman’s house, though plainly furnished, and George Bainbrigg seemed to have a thriving business – but I soon realized he had no time for such vanity. He had made money, but he did not waste it; any excess would go to the charitable purposes of the meeting, to help poor settlers or Friends in need.

  I left our cabin on Sassafras Street in the late afternoon of the day before I was to start work.

  “I’ll be home in my free time,” I told my mother. George Bainbrigg’s house was no more than ten minutes’ walk away.

  The novelty of our cabin, with its cramped space, had already begun to pall, and I was looking forward to having a room of my own again.

  It was Isobel, the housekeeper, who took charge of me when I arrived.

  “Mary’s fettled up thy room,” she said as she led me up two flights of stairs to the second floor, where candles in sconces were already lit against the early dark. “All swept and dusted, and the bed made ready. Here we are…”

  She opened a door and led me into a small room containing a curtained bed, a table and chair and a fireplace where a fire had been lit to take off the chill.

  The floorboards were new, clean and pale, the walls painted light blue. There was a red and grey rug by the bed, a chest and some shelves for clothes, a washstand in one corner.

  I looked out of the window and saw an unfinished back garden and a small building I assumed was a privy or tool shed.

  “There’s nowt much of a view,” said Isobel.

  “It’s a fine room,” I said. “My sister will be jealous.”

  A hint of a smile softened her features. She was an austere-looking north-country woman, wearing an old-fashioned large linen collar, her grey hair drawn back under a plain cap, her hands gnarled and red from much housework.

  “They’re in a log cabin, thy family?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “Aye, folks mostly start that way. It’s hard if you’re used to city life. Mind, those cabins can be fine and cosy if you get a good fire going… Well, I’ll leave thee to settle thyself. I’ll be in the kitchen if thou need aught – downstairs, at back. They’ll have supper soon; I’ll call thee.”

  Left to myself, I took out my few possessions and put them away. The room was almost dark, but I did not want to waste the candle, so I managed without light. My notebooks and journal I placed in the chest, under my clothes, my Bible on the shelf by the bed, next to the candlestick. I had brought little else with me. Since leaving Stepney I seemed to have been gradually divesting myself of worldly possessions, as if in preparation for finding Eden.

  There was no trace in the room of Matthew Peel, who had presumably slept here before me. I had found the former apprentice somewhat unfriendly, but now I reflected that he seemed also to be a capable and hard-working man, and I guessed that George Bainbrigg must have been pleased with him. I wondered whether he would be equally satisfied with me.

  I sat on the bed a while. I meant to wait on the inward light, but was too restless, and instead thought of my new undertaking, my new master and this new home – and the presence of Katherine. She disturbed my thoughts, as she had done ever since I met her.

  It was now quite dark in the room. I rose, opened the door, and stepped out onto the landing. I supposed Isobel and Mary must also sleep up here. There were several doors. One was open onto what was clearly a linen cupboard. A narrow stair led to the attic.

  I went down to the first floor, wondering which of the rooms there was Katherine’s.

  The house was quiet, though I detected a murmur of voices and movement from somewhere below. Then I heard a door open downstairs, and Katherine’s voice, saying, “I’ll do that, Izzie!” – and the next moment she was on the bend of the stairs, looking up at me.

  “Josiah, will thou join us for supper?”

  She spoke formally, but there was a playful note to her voice that I found inviting. I smiled and thanked her, and followed her downstairs, admiring the tendrils of blonde hair that had escaped her cap and hung on the nape of her neck.

  My master was waiting for us in the parlour, where a log fire was burning. The table was set for three with bread, cheese, cold meat and pottage. As we went in, I heard a swift rattle of claws on the wooden floor and a dog – a leggy, rough-haired hound – appeared. It sniffed me thoroughly, wagging its tail. I patted its head and felt a wet nose pushed against my hand.

  “Ah, Josiah! Welcome!” George Bainbrigg said. “Hob, sit!” The dog settled by the fire. “Sit thyself down, too, Josiah. Thou hast everything thou need in the room, I hope?”

  “It is all most convenient, I thank thee,”
I said.

  I felt extraordinarily shy and unsure of myself. Even pulling out a chair to sit down was an ordeal; I was aware of its scrape on the floor, my own awkwardness, the feeling that father and daughter were watching me, sizing me up. I had been much more confident when working in the counting house.

  When we were all seated we bowed our heads in the customary pause for shared silence. I breathed slowly and tried to steady my nerves.

  We ate mainly in silence, as I was accustomed to at home, speaking only to pass dishes around the table; but this made me more aware of the sounds I made swallowing or picking up cutlery. Then I reached and cut off a piece of cheese, which, to my horror, shot off the table. I went to retrieve it, but the dog was there first, moving in one swift bound to intercept and swallow the morsel almost before it hit the ground.

  Katherine gave a little yelp of laughter and put a hand to her mouth. I burned with embarrassment.

  “Hob doesn’t miss a trick,” George Bainbrigg said. He pushed the cheese dish nearer to me. I felt more at ease, and managed to smile in return. The dog had moved to sit beside my chair and now had his hopeful gaze trained on me. An occasional sigh escaped him.

  “I bought him as a puppy from an Indian,” George Bainbrigg said, “back in seventy-four. We’ve travelled a fair way together since then.” He sent the dog back to the fireplace, where it lay down.

  When we had eaten, my master and I sat by the fire, the dog between us, lying half on George’s feet. Katherine took a seat by the table, moved a couple of candles closer, and brought out some sewing. She was near enough to hear everything that was said.

  Her father asked me about my family and our former life in London. We spoke of the sufferings of the English meetings – ours in east London; his, fifteen years or more ago, in Skipton, Settle and Halifax, places I had heard of, though my sense of where they were was vague.