Becoming Americans

by Donald Batchelor

  "He still can't plead 'rite of clergy' for his crimes," Mary would tease him in front of friends.

  From their mother, the boys had learned to have great fear of God. Their father taught respect for the Church.

  James was curious and he was angry that it had not been he who'd been first with a woman.

  "Weren't you ashamed? God knew what you were doing. Ugly hags. I've seen the whores about the docks. I'm sure she was an ugly hag."

  "She was beautiful, James. And she knew what she was doing. Taught me a lot."

  "What could she teach you that you'd need to know with a Christian girl? A decent girl would be disgusted," James said. "The girls at church will be disgusted when they hear of it."

  "How will they hear of it? Will you tell?" Stephen asked.

  "They'll learn the same way Mother did. Mistress Manning saw you and Uncle Richard as you entered the whore house. She was in Norfolk Town to see her sister. Did you think no one would see you, fool? Did you touch her breasts?"

  "I kissed them," Stephen said.

  "Jesus," James whispered, then, "Dammit!"

  Outside the church, Joseph and Mary Williams circulated among their friends before going in. James and Stephen were surrounded by militia friends who revealed their knowledge with winks and nudges and raised eyebrows. The unknowing girls had smiled and flirted with him as usual until others came to them and whispered in their ears. Some seemed stricken and looked at him with grief. Some turned their heads away in disgust. Some gasped, but then stole glances from behind their fans. He didn't see Nancy Manning until they were inside.

  In church, the Williams family sat towards the rear, behind the boxes and pews of wealthy parishioners. The Manning family sat across the isle, Mistress Manning staring straight ahead. Nancy Manning sat beside her mother, still refusing to acknowledge Stephen's pleading eyes.

  The warden read the scripture and spoke to the congregation about the search for a new minister. Money was needed for inducements. For two years they'd been searching, he said, as the morals of the parish had collapsed. Stephen was certain that the warden had looked at him as he said that. From the corner of his eye he saw his parents, both, turn red.

  After the service, Stephen and James were left alone. Their friends had been herded away by their parents, and the two boys created a pathway when they walked through the crowd.

  As they sailed back to Deep Creek, the family was hushed, waiting for some direction from Joseph or Mary. Daniel Bourne and Richard Williams, alone, seemed not to notice the atmosphere of tension. They sat in the bow telling each other stories and laughing loudly. Grandma Bourne made soft grunts of displeasure every time Grandpa Bourne laughed. Stephen sat in solitude as James worked the sail for his father. Mary Bourne stared into space. She was as embarrassed as she was angry, and would not speak of the matter publicly with her brother-in-law. Joseph knew that she was dangerously angry.

  At home she was not so reticent.

  Mary Williams didn't raise her voice, but fury came from her throat through clinched teeth, like a growl. Stephen and James were outside the hut, but could hear her talking to their father.

  "None of your brothers have been worth their salt!" she said. "John was nothing but talk. Edward was an invalid who became a fool. And Richard is a black cloud who brings trouble! Everywhere he's been there's been trouble. He's a curse! Machapungo. Ann's baby. The fire. And now, Stephen. He's corrupted my son!"

  "You'll not speak of my brothers, woman! They have all treated you as a sister. Richard is here to help us—he has helped us. His miseries in Carolina were no fault of his own, nor were our tragedies. With Stephen…. I'll not defend what he's done but to say it's not uncommon for an uncle to help initiate his nephew into such mysteries. I will speak to him, but it is not the place of a wife…."

  "It is the place of a mother to protect the soul of her child."

  "He is not a child, Mary. He enrolls in the militia this summer. He will be a tithable. You don't want your baby to be a man, but he is. He's been moping around here for months, acting surly. Maybe now that he's experienced manly pleasures he'll act as a man."

  "Those pleasures are reserved for the married state!" Her voice rose.

  "You want him married at his age? I think you do not! If I'd had an uncle to sponsor me at his age, I'd not have jumped into the marriage bed so quickly!"

  James and Stephen heard something fly into the dried branches of their hut's walls. They hurried away as their father stepped outside.

  James hurried back to his work site, but Stephen waited and then went into the hut. His mother was spreading fresh straw in the corner sleeping space he shared with his brother. She stopped crying when she saw him, but said nothing.

  "I know I've disappointed you, Mother. I wasn't thinking…."

  "No, you were not thinking. You have sinned! In my mind I see you roasting in the fires of hell and I can not help. You are becoming a man and I can't protect you from the evil temptations that face a man."

  Her crying resumed and Stephen went over and put his arms around her, towering above the tiny, graying woman. Her fears infected him, and his thoughts went to the picture she'd painted. God would punish him for his act of sin and for the hurt he'd inflicted on his mother.

  "Pray for me, Mother, to be stronger."

  Mary sank to her knees on the straw pallet and pulled her son down with her. She prayed for Stephen, and the vision of his tortured soul in hell banished the exciting memories of his night of revelation.

  A fortnight after the trip to Norfolk Town, word came to the Williams men that the John was anchored at the mouth of Deep Creek. Work stopped and cheers went up from the mill and from the house. Joseph and Richard drank a toast in celebration, and hurriedly paddled downstream to the waiting ship. They called up to the deck, announcing themselves, then climbed the rope ladder that was lowered.

  Edward Williams had died on his return voyage, the captain told them, just days after meeting with his cousins at Goodwin's Coffee House. The shipping business fell to Howard Williams, his youngest and only surviving son. Howard Williams had known little of his Virginia kin, and had decided not to extend the hefty credit to them that was necessitated by their order for sawmill equipment. He had, though, sent the grinding stones for a grist mill.

  Everyone at Deep Creek was stunned and disappointed. Even Stephen was sad for his mother and his brother. Oddly, his Uncle Richard seemed the least upset.

  "It is God's will," was all he said.

  "No," his brother said defiantly. "Mayhap it was God's will that Cousin Edward die, but it is stupidity and greed that rules the son. This Howard does not know us! How dare he alter the business of his father!"

  "It is his business, now," Richard said calmly.

  "And what are we to do?" Joseph asked. "Our lives are controlled by ignorant and greedy men in London and Bristol!"

  Richard puffed on his pipe. For some time he had been uncomfortable in the partnership with his brother. It had begun as an exciting venture, but with time—and renewed exposure to his sister-in-law—he had come to regret his promise of support. Without the prospect of a water-driven sash-saw his incentive to remain was gone. Within days after the arrival of the John he had bargained with Thomas Biggs to assume his interest and obligation to the mill, and he was planning his return to Chowan.

  Stephen saw this as an opportunity to escape the tyranny of his father and the controlling disapproval of his mother. He knew, too, that there was no chance, now, of winning Nancy Manning. He could make a life in Carolina, where his family had connections and no shadow hung over him.

  Stephen's father shook his hand, as did his brother, while his mother sobbed and held her swollen belly. His grandparents stood by silently, watching Sister Mary swing Jimmy in wide circles. Willy Biggs leaned on his ax. Dick Harbut held his arm around Ann's shoulder as Stephen climbed into Thomas Biggs's boat and stood beside his smiling uncle.

  "It's only Carolina," Stephen said. "I've
been there before. I'll be back to visit."

  He pushed the boat away as firmly as possible. He was eager to be gone from this. The boat drifted into the stream as the crew clamored with the oars to turn her and head downstream to the Elizabeth River.

  In late afternoon they tied up to Scuppernong's shaky dock. Robert Fewox rushed down to welcome them.

  "Richard! It's been half a year! How are you? Welcome. And Thomas. And young Stephen. Welcome, all. Mother will be most happy."

  "Robert! It's good to be back in Albemarle."

  Richard embraced his step-brother and patted the two dogs that were with him. Thomas's men secured the boat and went to rest in the shade as the family members went inside to see the mother.

  Anne Fewox was seventy years old, with a face that was browned and wrinkled by the sun, but her eyes showed life and humor as she greet her brother, her son, and her grandson. Richard held his mother for a long time; ashamed again that he'd neglected her.

  Stephen looked about the house. It was the same house that he remembered from his visits as a child. It had been built in haste and was showing signs of decay. The smell of grease and smoke had sunk onto the log walls even though gaps in the mud caulking let in air. A catbrier vine poked through the wall and reached out, searching for light. Tiny spots of light flickered through the roof and Stephen knew the rain must find those same holes.

  "Catherine Knight tells me that Thomas Carman is alive," Anne said. "He looks terrible, she said." Anne laughed and the others who knew Carman laughed. His looks were no news to them.

  "He was ill-favored, but he loved my Edy," Anne said. "I'll always love him for that. He was good to me, he was."

  Anne was alert to everything, and she was very glad that her brother, Thomas, was in partnership with her son, Joseph. She fretted about Stephen leaving home, but expressed relief that he was in the hands of the youngest son, Richard.

  "Richard takes after his father," she said. "He can take care of himself."

  When told about the house in Deep Creek burning down, she was nonplused.

  "It wasn't a good house. Just thrown together and added on to. Our first house was a good house."

  It was a rushed visit—not worthy of the name, Anne said—because Richard was in a hurry to get back home. He had neglected Pathelia, too, while pursuing an ill-conceived plan. So, early the next morning, they sailed north across the Albemarle Sound and entered the Chowan River, passed the growing village on Matencomack Creek, and passed the house of Edward Moseley. The river and the countryside were familiar to Stephen; he felt at home already.

  Pathelia Williams had cut her foot while trying to extract a bee sting. She sat in the shade on a stump that she'd placed by a tree. Her foot was propped on a log as she leaned against the tree repairing tears in a small pile of clothes. She tried to rise when her husband appeared, but she tottered before Richard caught her and lifted her to his height.

  "Welcome back, Stephen," she said. "And Thomas. Welcome. I'm sorry I can't properly attend to you. Jolly!" She called to the slave that she'd had for many years.

  "Jolly, fetch our visitor some cool cider."

  The old black man went to the root cellar and returned with a damp earthenware jug for his thirsty master.

  Pathelia hobbled about, supervising the preparation of a suitable meal to welcome back the master and his kinsmen. Richard relaxed, relieved to be under his own roof, with his wife, among the things and slaves that were his own.

  Richard only had three slaves, and one of them was old Jolly. The other two were strong, grown men that had cost him dearly. He'd taught them the ways of extracting and preparing tar and pitch, but it would be years, he knew, before his investment would pay off. He couldn't do it on this small patch of land.

  Neighbors had arrived by dark, and they feasted on roasted goose and broiled fish, roasted pig, peas, dried corn, squash and bread pudding. When most of the guests were gone or sleeping, Pathelia fell asleep, herself, before the table had been cleared. By morning she was wet from fever and was talking gibberish. Throughout the day neighbor women bathed her with cool cloths. Some prepared poultices and brews. For two more days they watched as a red line started at her cut toe and grew in length. Some time around dawn on the third morning, Pathelia Williams died.

  Thomas Biggs sailed to Scuppernong and returned with Anne and Robert. Anne tried to console her son, but it was too soon for consolation.

  "You'd think it would be easier, the second time," he said to his mother.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  It was early winter before Richard was able to leave the Chowan plantation and return to the Machapungo. The house still stood, but pine saplings and weeds were reclaiming the cleared land around it. The burned-out forest was rank with pine saplings, too, and the unburned acres were waiting to be tapped. The shallow graves of his wife and child had caved in; his daughter's bones were visible. There was ample evidence that the house had been occupied. Empty, broken wine casks lay about. Unfinished food was on the table. Bedclothes were left, stained and ruined. Richard remembered his sister, Sarah Alice, sitting on that bed with his wife, Jean.

  Old friends who'd survived the Tuscarora War came to visit when they saw smoke rising from the Williams chimney, and Richard soon found able men to clear the fields, tap the trees, and guard his slaves while he and Stephen went to Bath Town.

  The town was prospering, and had already recovered from the upheavals of a few years earlier. Governor Eden resided here, as did other members of his government. Tobias Knight had recently been named Chief Justice and lived in a fashion that suited his high office and displayed his years of power and accumulated wealth.

  Stephen went with his uncle to visit the Knights on a crisp morning in November. Little black boys were raking leaves in the front yard, their mothers washing clothes behind the house in a steaming kettle they stirred with long paddles.

  "Thank you for the hams, Williams. Your mother's hams are the best in the colony. It's the spices." He winked at Richard. "Of course, old Fewox always had ready access to spice merchants."

  Stephen wondered why they laughed.

  "And thank you for sending Captain Teach," the Chief Justice said. "He served his king well during the late war with Spain, and I think he'll do well by the residents of Carolina. Certainly, he can provide service to us that we might not have, otherwise. He has recently brought…merchandise to our port of which we are sorely in need."

  Mister Knight took a pinch of snuff from his jeweled snuffbox and quickly sniffed it up his nose. He sneezed and seemed greatly relieved by that action.

  "I understand you've returned to your seat here in Bath, Williams. You suffered greatly from the Indian unpleasantness, I'm told. And you've recently lost your second wife. You'll find another, no doubt. And this young man is your nephew?"

  Richard introduced Stephen to the Chief Justice, pointing out that Captain Teach had met the boy and invited him to join his crew.

  "Well, if my friend Teach thought so highly of you, Boy, maybe I can find something for you to do," Knight said.

  "Thank you, Sir," Stephen said. "But I'll be working with my uncle."

  "Very well. The offer stands."

  Catherine Knight came into the room and stood by the door.

  "Richard. It's so good to see you. I head the cruel news of your loss. I am so sorry."

  Richard and Stephen rose from their chairs

  "Thank you, Mistress Knight, for your kind thoughts. May I present my nephew, Stephen? He's the youngest son of my brother, Joseph."

  "Your mother has mentioned him, I believe. Welcome to Bath, young man. And how is your mother, Richard. I think of her often."

  Before Richard could continue pleasantries with his mother's friend, a liveried servant of Knight's appeared in the doorway and stood, waiting to be recognized.

  "Yes, Enoch?" Knight asked.

  "A runner come, Sir. Say Captain Teach arrive by the dock."

  "Tell the man that we
'll await the captain for dinner," Knight said.

  Stephen was surprised that a man like Captain Teach would be welcome at the table of the Governor's Secretary and Chief Justice. Knight was a powerful man. Captain Teach must be a powerful man. But, Stephen remembered the stories he'd been told about Mister Lawson. Lawson had entertained Carman and his Aunt Edy. That would be impossible in Virginia. He tried to imagine his Grandpa Bourne in the Governor's Palace with Governor Spotswood. In Carolina, the gentlefolk and the people weren't so different.

  They walked from the Knight house to Hannah Lawson's. A dozen houses faced the river where half that many large sloops were anchored. Stephen thought it was like a small Norfolk Town, with a mill, boat builders, ordinaries and taverns and merchants who thrived on commerce—legal and illegal.