Journeyman

by Mark J Rose

  “Did you find what you lost?” Will asked.

  “Not really,” Matt replied, not knowing how else to answer. “Maybe I’ll find it in Richmond.” Will gave him a puzzled look, waiting for some explanation, but Matt was already lost in thought, trying to plan his next move.

  *********

  The city surrounded them once they were in view of the James River. Houses lined the bank of the waterway and barges floated gently on its surface. Will drove the carriage across a bridge and they entered a business district. Some shops were painted white or green and others had the grey of natural wood weathered over a number of years. All were closed for the Sabbath. They passed by an apothecary and then a silversmith shop with a sign that said “Jewelry for Sale” in the window. Will stopped the cart in front of a shop with a sign that read “Samuel L. Smith, Accounting.” The sign hung on hinges, flapping in the wind. Will jumped down and looked up at Matt. “I’m to meet with Mr. Smith,” he said. “Do you mind waiting?”

  “Not at all,” Matt replied. “Is it okay to leave the carriage and walk around?” He welcomed the opportunity to window shop.

  “’Tis a reputable street,” Will replied.

  Matt glanced at the silversmith shop and then down at the college ring weighing heavy on his finger. It had been a graduation present. His father had driven a limousine for a man who owned a jewelry conglomerate. It was custom-made, an elaborate carving of Independence Hall on one side and an eagle with a snake in its talons surrounded by decorations on the other. In its center was a ruby-red stone. Matt was mostly sure it was not a ruby but had never asked. Surrounding the stone were the words Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and these words each had two diamonds interspaced between the letters. His dad drove this jeweler for a long time, so Matt was sure that he bought it at a discount, but he suspected it was still worth a sizable sum. Matt didn’t generally wear the ring unless he was visiting his father. It had been in his shaving kit from his last trip. Matt was sure his father would understand the need to sell it, considering his present circumstances.

  Will was turning to leave when Matt said, “Do they take dollars in this town?”

  “What are dollars?”

  “That’s what I thought,” Matt replied. He held the ring up for Will to see. “How much do you think this ring’s worth?”

  Will stepped closer, then stared into Matt’s face as if he didn’t want to answer. “You sure you want to sell?”

  “It’s a large ring that I don’t normally wear,” Matt replied. “I need money to travel home.”

  Will motioned for Matt to hand him the ring, then hefted it a couple of times. “It’s heavy,” he proclaimed. “Those diamonds are worth something. What’s this structure on the side?”

  “It’s called Independence Hall.”

  “Independence Hall?” Will looked at him. “Independence from what?”

  “That’s a long story for another day.”

  “Maybe forty pounds, give or take a few shillings.”

  “How many shillings in a pound?”

  Will stared. “Are you serious?”

  “I don’t deal with money much,” Matt replied. “Another long story.”

  “Twenty shillings to a pound.”

  “You don’t have a shilling and pound on you?”

  “You’re a colonist and you’ve never seen money?” Will asked in disbelief.

  “We barter where I come from,” said Matt. He was pleased with himself for thinking of this very plausible explanation on the spot.

  “Seems exceedingly strange,” Will replied. He slowly pulled out a gold and a silver coin and gave them to Matt. Matt turned them in his hand, feeling their weight. He returned the coins and watched Will secure his purse.

  “One other thing,” Matt said. “How much would your father charge for one of those prize horses he had on the wagon today?”

  “Mares sired by Shadow,” Will replied. “Anywhere from forty to sixty pounds each.”

  “Thanks,” Matt said. He hopped off the buggy, walked to the silversmith and knocked. A middle-aged man with greying hair and some girth around his belly immediately came to the door. He wore a weathered leather apron that covered most of the front of his body.

  “’Tis the Sabbath,” the man said through the door window. “I’m closed.”

  “Can you open the door?” Matt motioned towards the knob.

  The man opened it a crack. “Son, I told you, the shop is closed.”

  “I have a gold ring with diamonds you should look at,” Matt said, holding the ring up.

  “That a ruby?”

  “I think,” Matt said, thinking it best to play dumb.

  The silversmith opened the door wide. He rubbed his hand on his pants under the apron and stuck it out. “Jacob Berkley.”

  “Matt Miller, from Philadelphia,” Matt said as he shook his hand. “I’m a friend of William Taylor, who is doing business across the street.”

  “Doing business?” Berkley said. “More like indentured servitude.” Matt smiled and shrugged. “Come and sit,” the silversmith said, pointing to a stool at a counter near the window. “Let’s see it in the light.” Matt sat down opposite the silversmith, facing the street. He handed the man his ring and watched as he went through the examination. “Those diamonds must have cost a pretty penny,” Berkley said. “Where did you get this?”

  “My father gave it to me as a graduation present.”

  “Graduation?”

  “The Philadelphia College of Science.”

  “Makes sense,” Berkley said, looking at the words around the red stone. “Is this the Pennsylvania State House?”

  “Yes,” Matt answered. Most people from Philadelphia knew that Independence Hall was originally called the Pennsylvania State House.

  “The carving is intricate.” Berkley continued turning the ring in his hands and then said, “I’ll give you thirty pounds.”

  “Thirty pounds!” Matt exclaimed with contrived indignation. “I could never take that!”

  “Thirty-five, but ’tis the highest I will offer.”

  “Surely you can do better than that.”

  The silversmith looked back at him and was silent.

  Matt said, “It’s a heavy gold ring with four diamonds and a ruby. Surely it’s worth more than thirty-five pounds.”

  The silversmith inspected the ring again. “I can’t be sure it’s a ruby. The stone has a flaw.”

  “What flaw?” Matt asked.

  “’Tis dull in its center,” the silversmith said. Matt motioned and the silversmith handed it back. He looked carefully at the red stone.

  “Oh,” Matt said, remembering. “The crown.”

  “The crown?”

  The Crown Jewelry Company did a lucrative business providing championship rings for the world’s wealthiest sports teams, but two challenges had appeared the last couple of years. Cheaply made rings from legitimate overseas competitors were appearing on the market as well as replicas of real championship rings from unknown manufacturers. The company had tried to combat this by using a laser to engrave a crown on the underside of the primary stone. It was etched in a way that made the crown float in the very center of the gem. No other manufacturer had figured out how to replicate this proprietary process. It made for a dramatic effect once you knew where to look. Matt handed the ring back to the silversmith.

  The silversmith put a magnifying glass up against the ring to look at the stone. “That’s incredible,” he said. “’Tis a likeness of the king’s crown. How’d they do this?”

  “Looks like it took a lot of skill to get it right,” Matt replied.

  “You tell me a price,” the silversmith said.

  “Sixty pounds,” Matt replied.

  “Sixty pounds?” Now it was the silversmith’s turn to be incensed. “Too much.”

  The silversmith returned the ring and Matt stood up to leave. He hadn’t even thought of the whole “king’s crown” angle, and maybe the stone was a ruby. It
could be worth much more to the right customer.

  “Sit, please.” The silversmith motioned to the chair. “I don’t know how much your ring is worth, but I’m not willing to front sixty pounds. I have a number of contacts in the Pennsylvania government. These men are wealthy collectors of luxuries and adamant supporters of the king. They may be interested in such an item. Let’s arrange a consignment. If it sells, we split the proceeds by half.”

  “Half?”

  “Half,” the silversmith repeated. “I have associates who deal in silver pieces and jewels. You would never convince a stranger to purchase this ring.”

  Matt saw the truth in this, but he needed money now. “I think half is a lot. I want some small sum up front, with the rest split fifty percent once the ring is sold. How about ten pounds in advance?”

  “Seven is as high as I’ll go.”

  “Fine,” Matt replied reluctantly.

  Berkley went to the back room and returned with parchment and a quill pen. As he sat, he glanced out the window and noticed that Will was now sitting in the buggy. The silversmith went to the door and motioned.

  “Good afternoon, fellows,” Will said, entering the shop.

  “Mr. Miller wants me to sell his ring,” Berkley explained. “We desire you to be a witness to the contract.” The silversmith sat down and wrote out the terms, then copied them exactly on a separate piece of parchment. Both men signed each document and Will signed as a witness. When they finished, Berkley went into the back room and returned with seven gold coins for Matt. Matt fingered the coins to determine their authenticity and then laughed, realizing he had seen them for the first time only an hour before. He accepted the coins, folded up the agreement, and placed it all into his inner jacket pocket.

  “Where do you take lodgings?” the silversmith asked.

  “I’m staying out at the Taylor farm,” Matt replied.

  “How shall I contact you?” Berkley asked.

  “I’ll let Will know where I’m staying when I leave,” explained Matt. Matt turned to Will. “Would you mind? I’ll buy you dinner in town once the ring sells.”

  Will nodded and said, “I look forward to a costly meal!”

  “Keep your distance from this one,” Berkley said, smiling, “unless you care naught for that gold in your pocket.”

  The three men shook hands and Will and Matt left the shop. Matt was seven pounds heavier.

  9

  Lunch at King’s Tavern

  They drove slowly past shops and homes, stopping often to let people, horses, and buggies pass. Will was in no hurry and took every opportunity to shout and wave heartily at people gathered outside. As promised, a number of these revelers were beautiful young women in formal attire. Will stopped the carriage in front of a crowded churchyard. “Let’s say good day,” he said. Will tied the reins, slipped to the ground, and motioned for Matt to follow.

  They walked into the courtyard and people turned immediately to greet them with boisterous handshakes and smiles. “Meet my new fellow, Matthew Miller,” Will said. “He’s visiting all the way from Philadelphia.” It was initially awkward for Matt since he had no idea whether he was supposed to kiss the women’s hands. He watched Will and realized that in most cases he was only lifting hands as he talked, rather than kissing. One exceptionally beautiful woman named Graine Martin lingered with Matt after finding out where he was from. She complimented him on his accent and asked many questions about Philadelphia and how he made his living. She seemed to grow increasingly interested as they spoke and gave the distinct impression that she was flirting.

  Will wandered over after a while to join their conversation. “Good afternoon, Miss Martin,” he said. “I see you’ve met Mr. Miller.”

  “He’s been gracious enough to tell me about his life in Philadelphia,” she replied.

  “Hopefully not bragging about his wealth,” Will said, winking at Matt.

  “He’s been gracious and very humble.”

  “We are on our way to a meal at King’s Tavern,” Will said.

  Graine turned back to Matt. “Mr. Miller, I’ve enjoyed speaking with you.” She offered her hand higher this time, so Matt leaned down and lightly kissed it. He waited with some humor for her to slap him, but only a smile came. She curtsied and said, “Until we meet again.” She turned with a swish of her dress and walked back into the crowd.

  “I think she likes you,” Will said as he motioned for Matt to follow him back to the buggy. “A beautiful lady, but I pity the man she marries. She spends her father’s money like there’s no end.”

  **********

  It was a ten-minute buggy ride to King’s Tavern. There was a picture of a crown on the tavern sign, which Matt thought an appropriate omen. The quiet façade didn’t prepare him for the merrymaking that hit them as they entered. The revelry was entirely unlike the sedate impression he had expected of Colonial America on the Sabbath. People crowded along a long bar, and in the corner, a flute player, a drummer, a fiddler, and a singer with a stein in his hand played a bawdy song about French girls.

  Will waved to the bar as they entered and a woman rushed over to greet them. To Matt’s surprise, she headed straight to Will and planted a kiss on his cheek. She took him by the hand and guided them deeper into the tavern. No one paid any attention, so Matt assumed this was a common occurrence. They moved past the band and into the back room. The noise was less intrusive there and Matt could hear conversations around them. The woman pointed them to their table and they sat down.

  “Is there a menu?” asked Matt.

  “A menu?” questioned Will.

  “A piece of paper that lists the food and the prices.”

  Will looked at him questioningly. “There’s no, what did you call it, minu? Is that French? You can usually rely on the cook here to make an excellent meal of what they’ve selected this day.” He smiled in anticipation. “You want ale?”

  “It would make me groggy,” Matt said. “I don’t want to tour Richmond hazy and tired.”

  “I thought you were a drunkard.” Will had a smile on his face.

  “As does your sister,” Matt said, resigned. “But it isn’t true.” Not entirely, anyway.

  The server returned and Matt noted her traditional English barmaid’s outfit. He could attest now when he returned to his own time that the buxom bar wench wasn’t just a Halloween costume.

  “Two ordinaries?” she said.

  “Perfect,” replied Will, “and also, a flagon of fresh water and a pot of tea.” The waitress quickly brought the water and tea. Matt wasn’t normally a tea drinker, but from the first sip, it was like a magic elixir. He hadn’t had caffeine in a few days and the withdrawal was adding to the pain in his already throbbing head. When they finally were able to speak again, Will said to Matt, “How do you fancy our farm?”

  “I like it fine,” Matt said. “You have a good family.” Matt remembered Will’s previous comment about his family at the church, so asked, “Why do they need a diversion?”

  “From their grief, of course,” Will said. “Father has been overwhelmed since my sister Kathryn died. He’d never allow it, but he favored her. He’s not accepted her passing and he’s not used anyone the same since.”

  “How old was Kathryn?” Matt asked.

  “Twenty-two and pledged in marriage.”

  “It must take a while to recover from the death of a child.”

  “They reenact it every evening. I loved my sister Kathryn as anyone.” He paused. “Ah! What is it that you say? It’s a long story.”

  Matt changed the subject with a question. “Why did you move to Richmond?”

  “I’m apprenticed to an accountant,” Will said.

  “You decided not to go into the horse business?”

  “Nothing of the sort,” Will replied. “When I finish, I’ll return and continue what Father has begun.”

  “Will!” a pretty redhead exclaimed from across the room. She approached the table and to Matt’s surprise immedi
ately sat down on his lap and made herself comfortable. Her hair tickled Matt’s face and it was hard not to breathe her in. She smelled good.

  She looked across the table at Will and said, “Who’s your fellow?”

  “His name’s Matthew Miller,” Will said. “He has lodgings at our farm.”

  “Is he wealthy?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Will said to the girl, “but he may be pledged to my sister.” He chuckled.

  She looked over her shoulder at Matt and said, “Yet another obsessed with Miss Taylor. I’m sure there’s something that can be done.”

  “You’re welcome to try, Ciara.” Will laughed.

  “Does he talk?”

  “I talk,” Matt said. “I’ve been too overwhelmed by your beauty.”

  “What accent is this? Are you very wealthy, Mr. Miller?” She said it in a seductive tone, but before Matt could think of a sufficiently witty reply she was off his lap and walking away. She looked over her shoulder and purred, “If you gentlemen should want for anything, please.” Then, she disappeared from the room.

  “First generation Irish,” Will said. “That’s truly one where you must watch your purse.” Matt reached down without thinking and fingered the coins in his pocket. The commotion had attracted some attention, and Matt saw a man who was eating with two younger men stand up and head toward their table.

  “How does it, Will?” he said, extending his arm. Will stood and shook his hand.

  “Quite well, Nathan. This is Matthew Miller from Philadelphia.” Matt stood to shake.

  “Nathan Payne,” he said before Will could introduce him. “What brings you to our fine city, Mr. Miller?”

  Matt couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about the man’s manner told him that there was more to his question than good will. His instinct told him to say no more than necessary. “I’m visiting the Taylors while I do business here in town.”