by H D Coulter
“You look nice, is that-
“I have a meeting for a potential job.”
“What time is it?” Bea sat up in bed and searched for a clock, half of her mind still in a dream world. Her growing bump, which stuck out from under the bedcovers, seemed visibly larger this morning.
“Just after ten – I’d better be off.” He shifted his gaze to her eyes, that were staring back at him. For the first time in a while, they were smiling. He leaned in and gave her a slow kiss on her forehead as she placed her hand on top of his, giving it a light squeeze. He pulled back and made his way back to the small seating area. “I’ll get Ms Huddersfield to bring up some ham and eggs, and a nice pot of tea.” Having a Yorkshire landlady meant it really would be a good cup of tea and a consistently decent breakfast.
“Thank you. Good luck, my love. I’m sure you will impress them.” She smiled at her husband for a brief second before the shifting bump stole her attention once more.
“I will be back soon - rest and eat.” She bobbed her head in agreement, then chuckled as her hand got kicked. He picked up his thin satchel off one of the dining chairs and couldn’t help but grin at the sight of love on his wife’s face and soon to be a mother.
“Someone is awake today.” She said tenderly and looked back at Joshua. “Good luck – I love you.” Today would be the day he’d changed their luck around, for her sake, for his and soon to be family.
“Love you too.” He waved before closing the door behind him.
THE SUN HELD A LITTLE heat today, and the sign of spring in the trees and flowers lifted his spirits. Today was going to be a good day. He ambled up the hill to the nearby stables and borrowed his usual horse. If he got this job, he could own a horse again, and pay for the lodgings, knowing he could indulge occasionally in the long rides he used to. In that aspect Joshua missed the countryside and the familiar fields around his former family home. Each time he looked out towards the distant trees and landscape stretching outward from the city fringes, an image surfaced of their house, and his mother standing outside as if waiting to welcome him home, and with it a winding punch to his stomach, removing all air out of his lungs. He pushed the thoughts back to the corners of his mind, where they belonged, and focused once more on the task at hand. He paid the usual fee and greeted the dark brown mare gently. He trotted through the new streets and watched how the houses changed character as he got closer to the docks. The boarding house wasn’t grand and was in one of the less desirable parts of Beacon Hill, but it was better than these terraces. He studied the grubby children playing in the streets, throwing rocks at a wall in some form of game. Their back-broken mothers were cleaning clothes nearby, with yet another child in their bellies they could not feed. Had he brought Bea from one hopeless situation to another? If he could not secure this job, would this be their fate in a year’s time, once all the money was gone? Instead of owning ships, he would become just another labourer, wringing out an impossible living at the docks, and leaving Bea to raise her baby in a room shared by three other families? Bob Lightfoot flashed into his mind, as did their many late-night conversations about the reform and the fight for equality and the vote. At least Bob was on the brink of achieving something; a lasting legacy, not only for his own family, but for the families of countless others. What had Joshua achieved, apart from turning his world upside down? But today he would change it. He felt luck for the first time in a while.
The narrow streets opened at last to the vast expanse of the harbour. It was larger than both Liverpool and Southampton combined. The horse, nervous at the harsh sounds and constant bustle of the harbour, danced on the spot, flaring at any sudden noise. He spotted the Wentworth Shipping docks almost immediately, the largest wharf by far on the west side, and encouraged his horse over, ignoring a burst of laughter that erupted behind his back as he made his way through the clusters of working men along the walk.
“Mr Mason, here to see Mr Goldstein. I have an appointment.” Joshua left the horse in the stables around the back of the office and warehouse and now greeted the freckled young man in front of him more curtly than he had intended.
“Of course, sir. I am George Carter, a senior clerk here for Mr Goldstein.” George held his hand out and gave Joshua a broad smile. George reminded him of himself in younger years, with an eager smile and ink-stained fingers. “He is expecting you, if you follow me.” He gestured his hand up the stairs and then down the corridor to some larger offices.
“Yes – come in!” a robust voice boomed back from the other side of the plain door.
George slid his head around the opening and held out a hand for Joshua to wait. “Mr Mason is here to see you, sir.”
“Very good, send him in.” George gave a bow in response and then stepped back to allow Joshua to pass, whispering: “Good luck, sir.”
“Mr Mason, come in and take a seat. Coffee?” Joshua nodded. “Get me two cups of coffee, George.” Mr Goldstein seated behind a large wooden desk, sparsely furnished with ink and an impressively thick ledger. He was a broad man, dressed in the finest tailoring, but it was his presence that filled the room.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr Goldstein. May I say how grateful I-”
“I hear good things about you, Mr Mason.” Mr Goldstein gestured for him to sit, and ignored the younger man’s outstretched hand. “Cambridge, then working at various firms in London and Liverpool before taking your place in the family business, under your father. So, what has brought you here? Why leave your family for Boston?” He leant back in the leather desk chair and waited, his hands resting in an arch over his chest, fingertips lightly poised.
Joshua had heard this question almost a hundred times now. He certainly couldn’t reply with the entire truth. But enough to please most preoccupied business owners with only a hint of a lie. “I believe the future of shipping belongs to the Americans. What you have achieved here, by becoming one of the central trading ports, it has changed the industry for good. All other major ports now want to go through America, and Boston in particular. Where better a place to raise my child, to continue my journey in a progressive environment where innovation and ambition are welcome?”
“A silver tongue indeed,” Mr Goldstein muttered to himself. “Very good, Mr Mason,” he remarked in a louder tone. “I need a manager that will oversee the logistics of all our trading routes - make doubly sure there are no unnecessary complications or setbacks. The hours are long, but the pay is fair, and if you impress me, there is plenty of room in the company for advancement. Does that sound reasonable enough to you?”
George bounded in with two cups of coffee that he’d poured a little too generously. He placed one on the desk, and the other he passed to Joshua with a broad smile, who took the dripping vessel gingerly.
“So, you have a family, a wife? Where are you staying now?” Mr Goldstein asked while George made his way back out of the doorway.
Joshua almost choked on his coffee as he tried to swallow and speak simultaneously. “In a boarding house on Garden Street. Yes, I have a wife and a baby on the way. But that won’t...”
“Good, I like a family man. I prefer a family man. More settled, more reliable; shows me he is ready to commit.”
“Yes sir, I am ready...”
“But you can’t stay at a boarding house, that won’t do for my manager. You must find a house; George will help you.”
“I- er... Thank you, sir!” Mr Goldstein was already perusing his ledger and making notes in a small book he had produced from a concealed pocket. Joshua sat awkwardly for a moment, unsure whether the interview was really over so soon.
“Excellent. You can start on Monday. Good day, Mr Mason – I shall expect great things from you.” He lifted his head briefly and gestured towards the door.
“Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down. Good day.” Joshua stood up and bowed, still holding onto his coffee. He left his new superior to his lists, a little stunned that something had actually gone his way. This evening, he
would tell Bea everything was going to be alright, that their new life can begin.
Chapter 4
May 1832, Beacon Hill, Boston
BEA STOOD IN THE KITCHEN, picking herbs from the small clay pots dotted along the windowsill. How she wished they had a small garden, enough space to grow a few vegetables and flowers. The back of the house had a little yard, with two clotheslines for their servant Sarah to use next to the washhouse, but the walls were too high for any sun to last more than an hour, and the plants she had tried to grow lay dead in the larger clay tubs dotted around the hard ground.
You could have fitted the ground floor of her family home into this kitchen as it stretched half the length of the house. There was a backdoor which lead to the yard, and cupboards filled with pans, tins and umpteen dinner sets to host endless dinner parties. In the centre was a large, beaten-up wooden table with four chairs pushed neatly underneath. Bea loved the table, and cooking dinner off it reminded her of her Granda’s one in her family home in England. She chopped up some carrots and onions, and laid them roughly on the bottom of the roasting pan, then stuffed the mixture of fat, breadcrumbs, nutmeg, sage, thyme and a few sprigs of rosemary into the small chicken and placed it jauntily on top. Finally, she rubbed a small nob of butter across the skin and finished with a sprinkle of salt and pepper. The spices and seasonings were such a luxury to her. She never became tired of lifting the lids of each small but precious pot and daintily spooning out a pinch of the magic substances for every meal.
Across the table, Sarah leaned against a wooden stool in her simple tailored dress of golden yellow, the same colour of the almond scented flowers on the gorge bush, with an apron wrapped around her waist. Sown together from the remains of an old dress and a bunch of white Dogwood embroiled in the corner as she peeled the potatoes over a small tin bucket. Her head was wrapped in an astonishing. colourful scarf, to the likes Bea had never seen before, tied with a knot on top. Sarah’s foot tapped the stone slabs in time to the humming tune and got lost in her tasks. Bea listened to her low tunes as she worked; this one was a melody she hadn’t heard before. She would sometimes ask what the song was about, but: “Jus’ an old work song, Mistress,” would be all she received, and then silence. The baby that afternoon was full of excitement, shifting around in her belly, annoyed with the lack of space it now had to endure. It was less than two months until the birth, and Bea still wasn’t ready to welcome it into the world. She had been putting off preparing the nursery, falling in love with the tiny wriggling person inside her, but painfully afraid to look into its face and see Hanley staring back.
Across the kitchen, Sarah knocked over the tin pail as she turned to fetch more potatoes, and a loud crash bounced off the walls. Bea instinctively grabbed the chopping knife again and crouched low to the floor behind the nearest leg of the table, turning pale, her breathing rapid.
“Mistress – mistress – ‘was only me; I knocked the pale to the ground. Mistress?” Sarah crouched down next to her and teased the knife out of her shaking hand, placing it on the table. “Mistress, let’s get you to a seat, hmm?” Sarah helped Bea to rise and guided her to a chair by the warm stove. She picked up a small glass tumbler and poured some water out of the jug, and handing it to her carefully. Bea sat in silence as the colour slowly returned to her cheeks. She rubbed the wiggling bump, repeating the usual soothing series of words in her head.
“Thank you, Sarah, I’ll be alright now. It just took me by surprise, that’s all.” She put the glass down on the table and twisted and spun the piece of lace wrapped around her left wrist. Red and white lines embedded into her skin came through the delicate tiny flowers and leaves, fraying at the edges.
“Yes, Mistress.” Sarah stood to walk back to the spilt potatoes and picked up the handful of skins darted across the floor. She paused. “Mistress, may I speak freely?”
“Of course, you can.”
“Since workin’ for you and Mr Mason, there has been a shadow hangin’ over you. I have watched you take many a wicked spell, turnin’ white as a ghost, wid’ your body shakin’. There is what we call a demon - tormentin’ you. I do not ask to know whad’ that demon is, it is not my place. But I do fear for you mistress – I fear that if you do not find yo’ peace and expel this demon from yo’ mind – learn to live wid’ what has happened to you, then I fear one day it might consume you - and the baby.”
“I thank you for your words, Sarah, but... we- well, we all have demons from our past we do not wish to talk about, do we not?” Bea twisted the lace wrapped around her left wrist until it became a rope coursing against her pearly white line. Her heart slowed to a steady beat, the thread between her fingers.
Bea gazed at Sarah’s dark honey-toned skin, knowing that her own journey in life would most likely have been less than simple, and wondered, just for a moment, how she came to Boston. It was possible she had been born a free woman, but equally likely that she hailed from somewhere else, and had faced hardship to find her place at this table. She guessed the woman in front of her would have her own demons to face, and yet they didn’t seem to bring her down to her knees. She, on the other hand, crumbled in seconds over a fallen tin pail. She felt like a coward, brimming with guilt, unable to control herself.
Sarah nodded. “We do, mistress.” Then she carried on with the potatoes calmly, as though nothing had happened, tapping her foot to a rhythm.
Bea felt the heat off the flames and sipped at her water, repeating the familiar lines in her head and stroked the protruding shape of the baby’s bottom.
“Sarah, would you mind finishing the rest of the dinner? I want to lie down before Joshua comes home. This little one had me up again at all hours last night.”
“Of course, mistress.”
“Thank you, Sarah.”
Bea slowly raised herself from the chair and waddled out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into the tall hallway. They painted the walls in an elegant off-white colour that stretched up to the high ceiling, covered in strangers, and places she has never been to, rented images which had come with the house. She made her way to the stairs and climbed slowly. The simple task of walking upstairs became more difficult with each passing day as the baby grew. The scant breath became harder as the baby pressed up against her lungs. She felt as though she were back home, climbing the fells, instead of a couple flights of stairs up to her own bedroom. Relieved to get to the top, she made her way through the door and towards a small wooden chest. She lifted the lid and was greeted by a ruby red cushion and long pearly white threads with bobbins at the ends. After a month of unfamiliarity in Boston, Joshua had sourced out a little haberdashery shop and brought her enough supplies to start her lace-making again. He had meant it as a helpful distraction, but it only reminded her of what she had lost through the naivety and wilfulness of her own actions. She hid it out of sight and out of mind. But then, as she slowly bonded with her unborn baby, she had developed a notion to create some tiny pieces of lace that she could attach to the baby’s clothing. A simple gift from mother to baby; at least some small token of love. Her fingers started moving in and out as though they had never stopped, and in a few days, she needed more supplies.
Bea had lost all track of time as the baby daisies flourished in her hands. She hadn’t heard the front door open or Joshua climbing the stairs.
“I am glad to see you creating your beautiful lace once more. Can I ask what it is?”
“Evening my love.” Bea smiled up at him.
“Sorry, forgive me - good evening, my darling.” Joshua walked around the side of the bed and leaned in for a kiss on the top of her head. He still hadn’t kissed her, not properly, not since their stilted wedding night. On board the ship, during their crossing, the nightmare haunted her by day, and he knew she saw Hanley’s face everywhere she went. But after the news and the baby bump grew, it was he who had created the actual distance in their intimacy. An arm at night and a kiss on the head was the best she could ask for now.
“It’s a lace ribbon to go round a plain summer dress I bought her weeks ago. Can you see the daisies running along it?” Her fingers continued as he took a step backwards.
“I love watching your hands moving back and forth, weaving in and out. And out of nowhere, a stunning picture reveals itself. I am still touched by that gift you gave my mother, when we were sitting at the harbour that day ...”
Bea could see the pain in his eyes and across his face at the memory, the loss she knew he felt for his family, and his honour. She wanted to reach out to him, pull him closer and comfort him as he had once done for her. And yet, he wasn’t ready for it. Neither was she, and they both knew it. Would their relationship ever return to how it used to be, when they had first felt love, and known the excitement of a free future, with new prospects? He took a step away, out of her reach, and walked through the small side door into his dressing room.
“Sarah said dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. Do you... would you like to join me this evening?” he shouted through the door.
“Yes, I would love to.”
“Only if you think you’re up to it. I don’t want you to tire yourself out on my account.”
The words jolted in her ears, and her heart sank, suspecting he wanted to give her a way out, that he couldn’t even last a meal with her, let alone a whole day.
“I have rested, and I would love your company this evening.”
“Really?” Joshua popped his head around the door frame, half-dressed. Something stirred inside of Bea at the sight of him. She didn’t know if it was the pregnancy, or simply missing her husband’s closeness, and how they used to be. Either way, seeing him standing in front of her now, with his naked chest, she suddenly craved the touch of his skin.