“I didn’t take them. Some outlaw pirate did. I came by them honestly. A gift from your brother in thanks for all you have done.”
“August. If we eat these we shall be guilty.”
He cocked his head at me. “I didn’t say I stole them. And don’t eye me like that, I did not give him a taste of my blade. I traded a sash for them.”
I roasted and salted two handfuls of the cashews, sizzling them in their own oil until the house filled with the buttery fragrance. Then I poured them into a trencher and we all sampled. I said, “I have not tasted these in thirty years. Oh, dear August.” Then I closed my eyes and my mouth for I could say no more. The taste and smell carried me home, long ago, far away. Warm breezes laden with flowers, sea-green lagoons, hot spices, and the murmur of voices from the kitchen as our women shelled and roasted cashews. Tears ran down my face. Cullah spoke to the men while I drifted on a sea of memories.
Before dawn, I made a large breakfast of meats and tomatoes, beans with onions, and Indian flour cakes dipped in treacle thinned with rum. I served also coffee and hot milk with nutmeg across it and lump sugar in the bottom of each cup. My brother and Nathaniel left while it was still dark in order to arrive at home before anyone saw their strange clothing. Cullah waited until they were gone down the road to pick up his leather apron and sack. He said, “Three men will come to take the shipment into Pennsylvania. They will give you the signal of a white feather in their hatbands. Feed them if you will. I trust them, but keep Dorothy in the house.”
“Who is it? Someone we know?” Dorothy asked.
“One of them is one of the Revere boys. The other is your brother Benjamin. The third is a rake and a scoundrel of passing fair. Son of one of the Prescott family. It’s better you don’t see them, and cannot say when last you did.”
Dorothy pursed her lips. “I like Samuel Prescott.”
“Aye. I thought you might. Good day, wee one. Help your mother.”
“Do you not trust me, Pa?”
He smiled with one side of his mouth. “With my life, yes. But with your pretty face before three strong lads on their way to a foreign land, one of them who might lay eyes on a greater prize than what’s in the barn? I’d have to hunt them down and kill one of them and then where would be your uncle’s plan?”
“I’m not a child, Pa.”
“That’s the trouble.”
I put my arm around Dolly as he left and I whispered, “Your presence at the Reveres’ dinner persuaded half the young bachelors of Boston to become Sons of Liberty.”
“As they should,” she said. “I would have no man who did not believe in my father’s cause.”
“I thought you were determined never to marry?”
“I was a child then.”
* * *
After Margaret’s insistent urging, I told her she might be amused to meet Serenity Spencer, who was now living again in Boston while Wallace conducted business. Why, I could not fathom, but though I told Margaret only about my past with Serenity and hinted that I had as a child been enamored of Wallace, her eyes sparkled like diamonds at the prospect, and so she made a date to call upon Serenity provided I would accompany her.
“Was he handsome?” she asked with a sly smirk.
“Very. He is still, I think.”
“The devil, they say, goes about in finery.”
“And if you believe Beelzebub is as cunning as he is attractive, then I think we have found him.”
“Delicious!” Margaret crowed, and clasped her hands to her bosom.
I drove my wagon to August’s house and he came with me to the Gages’ home. He looked the aristocrat in every way except for his darkened skin and the scar on his face, but it made him present as bold, rakish, and dashing to my lady friend. The air was alive with the fire of their attraction to each other. It grew to the point that I felt odd, as if I should excuse myself and let the lovers at it, until I reminded myself that Margaret was married. For her own sake, I stayed in the room to keep them from each other and we sipped Madeira as sweat flushed my face. Thankfully, August found reason to attend to some business or other on foot, and left us alone.
When the door closed behind him, Margaret turned to me with guilty eyes.
I said, “My brother thinks you quite the beauty.”
“Oh? I hadn’t noticed.” Her voice trembled.
“I think, dear friend, you are lying. The air in this room stifles me.”
“Resolute, you shock me.” Margaret blushed and went to a window where she appeared to be watching August walk down the road. “Any woman would be flattered by the attention of so vigorous, so dangerous a man.”
I stared into the bottom of my glass of wine, looking at my fingers through the glass below a filter of red where they appeared as if they were washed in blood. I wondered if anyone could see that I was closer to August in spirit than to any good church woman. Perhaps I was as dangerous as Margaret. I wished I were at home.
Margaret said, “Let us go immediately and call on the harridan of whom you spoke so highly. Imagine, consorting with Lucifer himself, and still whole? She must be unbelievable. If we arrive at two rather than three, we may find out all sorts of delicious things. I know it is just a few houses down, across the street, but I prefer to arrive in style.” As the coachman drove us around the block, I fanned myself and turned my thoughts to preparing to see Serenity. If Margaret longed to search out trouble, she would surely find it there.
Their butler admitted us and showed us to a well-laid sitting room. He scuttled off to find his mistress with a concern on his face that brought a flush to Margaret’s cheeks. She wandered about the room, pausing before large, life-sized portraits of Wallace and Serenity. “He’s quite smart. What say you, Ressie? Are these good likenesses?”
“Good? I would recognize both of them but the artist has been kind,” I said.
“Ah. I do so like a kind painter rather than an honest one. Are they recent?”
“I do not see that it is long past. Perhaps a handful of years.”
The butler arrived with a tea service. “The housekeeper wishes you to refresh yourselves. Madam is delayed a moment more.”
“Thank you,” Margaret said. “We shall pour; you needn’t wait.”
“Yes, madam,” he said, and left.
We drank the tea. We waited. We took a spin around the room, looking at the vases and portraits, the sculpted figurines, the furniture. A clock in a case taller than Cullah sat at one end of the room. It chimed three. Margaret studied it. “Do you think it is correct?” she mused. “Even if we had arrived on time, she has kept us waiting. I say, this one is more than a little trouble. Let’s see the house. Perhaps she is asleep in her ale somewhere.”
I was shocked to see Margaret open one door after another, surprising the cooks in the kitchen, a maid dusting books in a library. I could do naught but follow her, for I had rather be found with her than alone in the sitting room. At the end of the great hall, Margaret opened yet another door, her tiny, gloved fingers still upon the latch when we saw through that breach Serenity, a riding crop in her hand, standing above a young African woman in neat maid’s livery, cringing on the floor. Wallace stood beside Serenity, her arm caught in his hand, the riding crop still poised to come down upon the woman beneath them. Margaret stepped into the room, pulling my skirt so that I followed her, and we watched the scene before us as if it were acted on a stage.
Serenity said, “No more. I will not have it. I will not have her! Do you hear me? No more!”
“What is it to you?” he said, with a low growl in his voice that chilled me. “Mind your business, woman, and leave her to me.”
“After I catch you in the act? My God! In the very act in my private salon! Leave her to you? I would sooner burn her at the stake!”
In all of this, the African showed nothing on her face. Margaret elbowed me and arched her brows.
Serenity struggled against Wallace’s hand, and finding she could not free her arm
, kicked the woman with her foot. “I have guests coming in a few minutes and I will have to entertain all the while knowing what you are about. You make my skin creep! Get her out of my house. Out of my house, now!”
Wallace said, “I paid for her. I’ll keep her.”
“Either get the slut out of this house or get yourself out! Sell her for nothing, the worthless sack!”
“I’ll buy her,” I said.
The two of them turned, red-faced, as Margaret gave a squeal of glee and clasped her hands upon her mouth. I said, “I will take her. How much is her price?”
“I paid twenty pounds,” Wallace said.
Serenity said, “Sixpence!”
I reached through the slot in my gown to the pocket and pulled out a sixpence. “Here,” I said, holding it forth.
Serenity looked from me to Margaret and back to me. “What are you doing here?”
“Mistress Gage asked me to accompany her, to make your introductions.”
“But you are not expected until three.” She shook her arm from Wallace’s hand.
“It is quarter of four,” Margaret said. “We waited to be received by you, but apparently you and your husband had household matters to discuss.”
“Here is my sixpence,” I said. “I insist you give me my girl.”
Wallace stormed, “No, by God, the wench is not for sale.”
Serenity grasped the coin from my fingers. “Sold! Take that tripe from my floor and never let me see her again.” She kicked the woman again and the poor thing curled more into a ball. “Baggage! Slut!” She turned toward Wallace, her lower jaw extended. “Thank you very much. Now I have been made a fool before a new acquaintance, Mistress Gage. What is it about Boston that makes you into such a lusting baboon? I repent the day I married you, you cur!”
Wallace made a smile that was more a sneer and turned to us. “I believe I have enjoyed quite enough female company this afternoon. Mistress MacLammond, please take your purchase and excuse me. Mistress Gage? A pleasure, I am sure. Good day.”
Serenity screamed at him. “Where are you going?”
“Out the door. You will hear from my lawyer in the future.”
Serenity dropped the riding crop and pulled herself to a chair, falling into it. “I hope a carriage runs over him.” After a while, she looked at us. “Get out,” she hissed.
I went to the woman still curled on the floor and touched her shoulder. “Come with me,” I said, motioning. “Come on, dear. Serenity? Give me a bill of sale.”
“Why don’t I throw rotted fruit at you instead?”
I picked up the riding crop and pointed at the desk with it. Her eyes widened and I saw fear in them. “There is paper and a quill before you on that table. Write it. Purchased, this date, for sixpence, one African woman named, what is your name, Miss?”
“Tassie,” Serenity said, curling her lips. “Her name is Tassie.” She scribbled, dipping the quill, dropping blots everywhere and blackening her fingers. “Take this. Take that blackamoor and never let me see her again.”
Margaret and I took Tassie’s arms as if we were three friends, and we led her from the room. At the front door, Margaret asked her, “Do you have anything to get? Combs or stockings? Anything that is yours?”
“No. No, Mistress.”
Margaret looked at me behind Tassie’s head, and motioned with her eyes to the carriage out front. When we had gotten in it, Tassie held her head down without looking around. Margaret said, “Well, Resolute, dear. I meant to meet this Mistress Spencer for some jolly entertainment and I believe this afternoon you have given me enough to fill a shocking novel. At any time if you know some other woman who is even half as frolicsome as Mistress Spencer, do include me in your visitation.” She smiled so it brought dimples to her cheeks.
“I was astounded at what just occurred,” I said.
Margaret giggled. “I loved it!” We drove to her house, then she asked her driver to take me home.
As the coach turned, I feared the girl had fallen asleep. I touched her hand. She jumped. I remembered the goat-whacking stick, that shape and size of a riding crop, and how I would often be so tired after a beating. She sat there in sullen quiet, expecting every touch to be more of the same. “Tassie?”
“Yes, Mistress?”
“Is that your name, the name you were born with?”
“You call me anyt’ing you wants, Mistress.”
“I want to call you the name you choose.” I felt stunned. I had bought a slave. I owned her. My ears made a noise as if waves from the ocean washed through them. I continued, “And, I want to set you free. I do not know how to do it yet. It must be done legally but I know a lawyer who will help us. Do you feel able to speak to him now?” I reached out and with my finger touched a red, welted line across her cheek. “If you would rather rest a few days, I will understand.”
I felt more than saw a mosaic of suspicion and joy playing upon her face. “No, Mistress. Now be plenty a good time.”
“I thought so.” I pulled the bell chain beside the coach’s window. The driver pulled the horses to a halt, and I sent him down a corner toward Daniel Charlesworth’s office. “Where will you go?” I asked.
“Don’ know, Mistress. Home?”
“Jamaica?”
“How did you know?”
“Wallace Spencer got all his slaves from Jamaica. Aren’t you the girl who dropped the wineglass?”
“If you please, I never dropped a glass, Mistress.”
“Oh. I thought I remembered you. You were but a child then. I pretended I had dropped the goblet.”
“I did not break a glass, Mistress.”
“Very well. Do you have any means to get home to Jamaica? Do you have the passage money? Do you have aught to do once you arrive? You must think on those things. You have been a slave. Once you are free, there will be no roof over your head, no matter how miserable. You will have to make your own way. The ways for a woman are few. I could arrange to pay passage for you, but I cannot protect you on the ship or ever again once you arrived there.”
“I need to t’ink on that, Mistress. You mean to let me free?”
“I do.”
“Why would you do that, Mistress?”
“I wish it.”
We stopped at the office where Daniel had worked, though he rarely came in, calling himself retired. A clerk handed me a form of freedom, a transport, an identification document, and said that if I would fill it all out, he would record it then and there. I turned to the girl. “What would you have me put down as your name?”
“Tassie is a slave name. You give me a name, Mistress. I be happy with that.”
“When I was a girl, my best friend’s name was Allsy.”
“That be good, Mistress.”
I started to write Allsy on the line given for the name of “person” and stopped. “Allsy is a slave name, too. Are you sure you want that?”
“Give me a white woman’s name, Mistress. Give me something so white that it feels like snow on glass.”
My eyes opened wider in surprise. “If I change Allsy to Alice? Does that sound good to you?”
“Alice. Alice. It’s the sound of snow.” She smiled, then turned her face from me.
I thought a moment. “It is indeed.”
She nodded, whispering, “Alice.”
I wrote “Alice” on the line. “Do you know how old you are?”
“Maybe thirty. Twenty-nine maybe. I was twelve when Master took me. I—I do not know how to count.”
I wrote on the paper. I handed it to the clerk, and he wrote again upon another form, passed it to me, and said, “That will be five shillings for filing, and one pound more for the stamp tax, madam.”
I reached into my pocket. I had nothing left in it but one of the gold Spanish doubloons I had carried to take to the Reveres’ next time I passed by. “You will have to take this,” I said.
He disappeared for several minutes. Alice held her Free Status paper as if it were a but
terfly that might vanish in her hands. After a while, the man returned and counted out a few pennies into my hand, which I returned to my pocket.
Outside the door, I turned to her. “Alice? I am not cruel enough to say to you that I have done all I can for you and drive away, leaving you on these cobbles, your fate to the winds. You do not have to do anything today. You do not even have to choose what you will do in the future, today. You are free to go, free to come. I need a girl at my house. I will not own a slave, and I do not own you now. You are not bound to come home with me. If you wish to, you may. I am sorry but you may not come as a guest. You would have to work and help me, but I will pay you four pence a day, and I will not ask you to do anything that I do not do also. I have plenty of work. I have a husband, a daughter still at home, and a business weaving and spinning. You could come now, and then decide to leave, and that will be all right. You may want to leave this very moment, and that is all right, too. So I ask you, will you come home with me for a time? Come and see if you wish to stay?”
“Mistress, I want to go home to Jamaica.”
How those words twisted my very fibers. “I know. Do you have family there?”
“Maybe. Maybe they’s alive. I wish it, Mistress.”
“How long since you have seen them?”
“Seventeen years, I t’ink. If I come with you, I can go home tomorrow?”
“Yes. That paper there assures everyone you meet that you are a free woman of color. You keep that sacred as a duppy charm.”
She smiled. She was quite comely. I shuddered, thinking of why Wallace had kept her in the house. Thinking of that day he believed that because I had been kept a slave I had been used so. Alice said, “I come with you, then, tonight. Tomorrow I go home to Jamaica.”
“Tomorrow.”
Alice did not leave the next day. She spent a tentative week, terrified of Cullah, terrified of Roland, even afraid of Benjamin when he visited, and Brendan, too. She scurried about, cleaning, baking breads, sweeping, and washing clothes. She asked me about how she could get passage home to Jamaica. I told her what I knew, and how to find out more later on, should she decide to leave, about what the fare was, and where the boats landed. She was so frightened that it made Cullah troublesome.
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