None of them had the slightest suspicion it would be her last.
But no tender memories would she take from this bare skeleton of a room, no comfort. Mariah had voiced the truth when Rose first stepped inside. Their home had indeed been robbed—of all its grace and charm.
Every wall hanging and crystal lamp, every porcelain piece, stitched tapestry, and doily had been stripped from the parlor. Even the prized Chippendale table. Rose had managed to find room in the pony cart for that one last elegant piece. And should Papa but open the music cabinet, he would discover the absence of Mariah’s violin, Lily’s flute, and her own mandolin. The windows stood bereft of their fine Belgian lace curtains; only the heavy velvet drapes remained for privacy’s sake.
The room looked as utterly cold and dreary as her journey home had been.
Charles’s voice interrupted her brief reverie, sounding every bit as overwrought as their father’s. “You should be aware, sister, that we arrived here just in time to prevent Mariah from going after the constable.”
A tremor coursed through Rose. She clasped her hands to steady them as she turned to her father. “‘Twould not have been his first visit here this day.”
Paling frightfully, Papa sat up rod straight and clutched his knees.
Rose’s brothers and Mariah also stiffened as if frozen in place. Only their eyes moved as they looked from one to the other. They had not realized how desperate their situation truly was.
Lily returned at that moment, carrying a tea tray with cups for all. Her guileless expression gave no import to the everyday crockery used in place of the fancy china now missing from the kitchen. “I thought we all might enjoy tea.” She placed the tray on the low table in front of the settee and began to pour from the pot.
Rose appreciated the few moments’ reprieve while Lily served everyone. But before she managed even a second sip of the comforting brew, her father interrupted. “Rose. We’ve waited quite long enough. Enlighten us now, daughter.”
Slowly, deliberately, Rose set her cup and saucer on the table beside her, placing the spoon just so along the side in vain effort to delay the telling. After inhaling deeply, she began. “‘Tis most fortuitous that our house sits on the line between the jail and your shop, Papa. Constable Bradley stopped here first, on the chance you were still at home.”
As she related their exchange and explained her promise to the official, Tommy broke in, wariness ringing in the boyish pitch of his voice. “I did not see the pony cart in its normal place. Where is it?”
“I’m most sorry to say I had to sell it, Tommy.”
“Surely not!” He sprang to his feet, his fists knotted. “But Corky! Surely you did not sell Corky along with it!”
“Sit!” Papa commanded with uncharacteristic harshness.
Rose’s chest tightened with pity for her father. This terrible trouble should not have befallen such a kind, gentle man, much less her baby brother. The pony had been the lad’s pet, his bonny companion. She attempted a sympathetic smile.
“Not Corky.” Tommy crumpled into his seat, his chin quivering.
Charles cleared his throat, looking as if his passion hovered on the verge of erupting. “Continue, Rose.”
“As your eyes can attest, I loaded everything I could carry and drove down to the Bristol docks, hoping to sell it. This could not wait for market day.”
“Or for Father’s approval, I daresay.” Charles’s accusatory tone effectively placed the blame squarely on Rose’s shoulders.
She ignored his comment. “Nonetheless, I was able to make more of a profit than I had even hoped. As Providence would have it, three ships were in port. They were loading cargo for the American colonies, and you know how eager the colonists are for some of our more civilized articles. Oh and Mariah, I’m very sorry to confess I also had to sell our few pieces of jewelry and our most fashionable gowns.”
Her sister gasped so violently, Rose surmised that had a crystal lamp remained in the room, its dangling pendants would have been set to tinkling.
Notching her chin a touch higher, she continued. “Some healthy competition started between the captains, and by the time all the bartering and dealing ended, I walked away with forty-three pounds sterling, two shillings, and a sixpence for our possessions.”
Papa let out a weary breath. “I say, my dear. You did exceedingly well to obtain such a goodly sum. However, I must avow ‘tis barely a third of what I owe the gold supplier.”
“So Mr. Solomon informed me. He refused to accept any less on account than seventy pounds. So Mariah’s dowry of twenty pounds had to be sacrificed as well. He left me no other choice.”
A low, mournful whimper issued from her sister.
Perhaps Mariah was at last beginning to comprehend the necessity, Rose decided as she tore her gaze from her middle sister and rested it on young Tom. “You do understand we couldn’t allow the constable to take Papa to debtors’ prison. Such a horrid fate would be punishment far beyond what should be imposed upon him.” She then turned to Charles, whose stone-hard expression had yet to yield to the gravity of the situation. “Brother, even on the chance that you possessed enough of Papa’s skills to fashion most of the pieces on order, no supplier would give you credit for gold bullion or for cut gems once they learned of Papa’s imprisonment. And you know the only way to get someone out of that unspeakable place would be to pay off all creditors in full. No more bargaining, no more promises. We would be out on the street, forced to sell the very roof over our heads.”
Charles turned to Papa. “See what comes of your relying so much on Rose.” He wheeled back to her, his jaw set tighter than before. “Had you come to us before running off in typical female panic, we would have told you Father was in the midst of arranging a mortgage.”
Papa raised a hand, effectively silencing any further outburst. “Son, I had hoped to spare you, now that you’ve your own family to be concerned about. I did obtain a loan, that much is true. But not nearly as much as I requested. And since the gem cutter was pressing harder at the moment, I had to use the funds to pay him.”
Rose hurried to further her own defense. “So you see, there was no recourse left to me but to sell even the pony and cart, as well as …as …”
Every eye focused on her, waiting.
She took firm hold of the chair arms for support and met her father’s stare as the remainder of the news poured from her lips like water over a precipice. “I suppose there is no easy way to tell you this, Papa. After I sold the cart and pony, I still lacked four pounds. And Mr. Solomon was not to be bargained with. He’d accept no less on account than the agreed upon sum. The constable was waiting. The afternoon was dwindling away. So I—” She swallowed. When she spoke again, she could barely manage a whisper. “I …sold myself.”
Chapter 2
It took the huge vessel Seaford Lady six interminable weeks and four days to carve a passage through the vast, dark waters of the cold Atlantic Ocean. Rose doubted she would ever forget them. But once she’d recovered from the seasickness that laid her low for the first week, she found the voyage somewhat more enjoyable as she watched the crew dealing efficiently with monstrous sails, changing winds, and strong sea currents. Yesterday’s first glimpse of land had thrilled her, and on this last night aboard ship, she wished she had more time to prepare herself for what lay ahead …four years of servitude as an indentured servant.
At least the crossing had been without mishap. Surely that was a good sign. She had to trust that this voyage to the American colonies was God’s will, not merely her own rash choice. She could hardly bear to look back on the pain and sorrow in her father’s eyes when he bade her a last farewell. Even now she blinked away stinging tears and suppressed the lingering doubts that had plagued her during the entire trip.
The fragile promise of dawn began to show through the porthole of the overcrowded ship’s cabin. In the faint light, Rose slipped from the bottom bunk and onto the narrow wooden floor between two sets of cots s
tacked three high. The thought of a few moments of solitude on deck, breathing air she did not have to share with five other travelers, left her almost giddy. She plucked her cloak from the foot of her narrow bed and snugged it around her, then pulled on her slippers and tiptoed out the door, careful to close it without waking her cabinmates.
She padded along the lantern-lit passageway then out onto the wide deck of the three-masted merchant ship. A chilly breeze billowed the huge sails, which swelled and flapped, their gentle motion causing little stress to the scores of ropes and spars. The vessel plowed slowly north into the deepest reaches of Chesapeake Bay, heading toward the tobacco port of Baltimore.
When the Seaford Lady first entered the bay yesterday, one of the seamen had informed Rose that the inlet cut between the mainland and a peninsula for a good two hundred miles. He certainly had not lied, because after these many hours, the ship had yet to reach its destination.
She stepped to the starboard railing to view the coming dawn. A pale pink glow illuminated the treetops along the ragged eastern shoreline. So close she could almost smell the scent of pine. The cool air that brushed past her cheeks felt surprisingly pleasant for the first week of May, reminding her that the ship sailed the same latitudes as southern Spain.
Spying a dot of light onshore, Rose felt her pulse quicken. Not so far away, some woman had likely risen in the quiet hush to begin another day. No doubt she was in the kitchen stirring banked embers at the back of the hearth, bringing the morning’s cook fire to life. By tomorrow, Rose might very well be tending just such a hearth, if the captain had spoken truthfully. According to him, colonials always came to the dock whenever his vessel arrived to bid for the bondservants he’d contracted.
“Good morn to ye, Miss Harwood.” A lone sailor made his way from the bow. He sidestepped some lashed-down barrels, a jovial grin revealing a gap in his front teeth.
“Good morning, Seaman Polk.” Rose quickly tucked her long night braid inside her hood. Remembering her state of undress, she scrunched in her toes in her bed slippers beneath the dark folds of her cloak’s hem. He would think her most common indeed, with barely covered feet.
“We should make port in an hour or so.” He paused beside her. “Ye might be wantin’ to tell the other womenfolk to start gatherin’ their belongings together. Soon as the cap’n reports to the harbor master, he’ll be wantin’ to …to see you folks on yer way.”
Rose knew the seaman wanted to spare her feelings by avoiding the plain truth: that Captain Durning would soon be auctioning off the lot of them to the highest bidder as if they were nothing but cattle or sheep. She managed a smile. “We packed our things last eve, but I suppose I should awaken them soon. They’ll all want to look their best.”
The sailor’s sunburned face brightened. “That won’t be no work a’tall for you and your sisters, Miss Harwood. ‘Specially Miss Mariah.”
“That’s most kind of you to say,” Rose assured him, though the words came hard as she turned back to the railing. She had argued bitterly against Mariah and Lily accompanying her to this new land. But indeed, their contention had been as sound as her own when she had bargained away the family assets. Mariah insisted that if she and Lily left with Rose, Charles would be able to move his young family to Harwood House, thereby eliminating the need for Papa’s business to support two homes. Contemplating their logical, if somewhat disheartening reasoning, their father finally relented.
Rose smiled to herself as she recalled Lily’s personal reason for coming along. The girl could not suffer the thought of her older sister going to the colonies all alone. After all, Rose had mothered her from her earliest memories.
Mariah, on the other hand, had a far more practical purpose. She had heard that the lines between the classes were less distinct in America and more crossable. She felt she might do quite well for herself amongst what was rumored to be a rather provincial people. Despite her own impoverished circumstance, she truly believed her beauty and charm alone to be a more than sufficient dowry. She’d spoken of little else from the moment the three had set sail.
No doubt about it, Mariah would have to be closely watched.
“Rose! Mariah!” Lily rushed through the cabin doorway, her cheeks positively glowing. “Captain Durning says it’s time for us to go ashore. I daresay, I cannot abide such excitement.”
“Nevertheless,” Rose said quietly to calm the younger girl, “he advised us to remain here until his business with our cabinmates and the German family from the adjoining quarters has been concluded.” She recalled with distaste the conspiratorial wink he had given Mariah as he related his reputation for “saving the best for last.” Rose would have much preferred being present during the earlier transactions for some idea of what she and her sisters might expect, but the man had been most insistent.
Now that the moment to disembark had arrived, her insides quivered uncontrollably. Her one slim comfort was the promise she had extracted from Captain Durning to sell the three of them together.
She glanced around the cabin, noticing how much less crowded it appeared once their luggage had been taken ashore. “Search under the cots, Lily. We shouldn’t want to leave anything behind.”
Mariah, already in the doorway, swung back. “For pity’s sake, Rose. Don’t be such a mother hen. We’ve checked the room from floor to ceiling, and as you can see, not a lock of our hair is out of place, nor has a single wrinkle dared crease our skirts.” She whirled out into the corridor with Lily chasing after her.
Compelled to make her own final inspection of the cramped quarters, Rose could only agree. Both her sisters were impeccably groomed. Mariah was stunning in her royal blue taffeta, shawled in white lace—a combination which enhanced the deep indigo of her eyes and her shining black hair. Her wide-brimmed bonnet sat at a tilt as blithe as the girl herself. The blue satin ties and white under-frills would help contain her bountiful curls.
Lily’s finely woven wool in muted pink accented her more delicate features and light gray eyes. Her hair had yet to darken from flaxen to golden brown as Rose’s had by the time she’d reached her fourteenth year. Mayhap Lily’s would remain blond, since her eyes were several shades lighter than Rose’s blue gray, and her complexion so fair it burned and freckled in the slightest sunshine. The two of them favored the taller, slender Harwood side, unlike Mariah, who had their mother’s more rounded figure.
Rose sighed. What would Mother have thought of her daughters’ present circumstances? She’d had such high expectations, such fine hopes for all her children. Her last words had concerned them as she’d extracted a vow from Papa to see the girls safely through the pitfalls of this earthly walk, and she expressly urged Rose, as the oldest, to remain faithful to her Christian upbringing as an example to her siblings.
Now such unforeseen changes lay ahead. But no matter what they entailed, Rose intended to keep that solemn pledge. In this she would not fail her mother.
With a last smoothing of her gloved hands over a daygown of nut-brown linen edged with natural lace, she left the safety of the ship’s cabin in search of her sisters. Surely they hadn’t gotten too far ahead in the few moments’ time since they’d dashed off.
Descending the wooden walkway from the ship to the quay, Rose surveyed the sprawling city with amazement. From the accounts she’d read in the English newspapers, she’d expected the ports to be little more than provincial villages. Yet from this high vantage point, she could see rows and rows of substantial buildings stretching inland. On either side of the Seaford Lady a veritable forest of masts jutted up from their moorings, while seagulls circled and darted low, their cries piercing the salt-laden air.
The wharf itself teemed with as much activity as any Bristol dock. Such clamor greeted her after so long at sea, and such an array of smells. Loaded wagons rumbled and groaned beneath heavy loads as they rattled across the wooden planks. Horses clomped and whinnied, while their drivers yelled curses and hawkers shouted their wares. Rose had to smile. On a
wharf, every day was market day.
Unable to find her sisters in the crowd, she stepped aside for dockworkers busily off-loading the ship, while a customs agent inspected the cargo manifest. Amid all the hustle and bustle, red-coated king’s men kept order. This new land was every bit as civilized as her own England, Rose concluded. She relaxed and took a deep breath, catching her favorite smell, a whiff of the hundreds of hard rolls being baked to supply the outgoing ships.
Rose’s gaze lighted on a cluster of men dressed in the attire of tradesmen and merchants. In the center stood Captain Durning and her sisters. She hardly recognized the man, decked out in his best powdered wig, ruffles, and feathered, three-cornered hat. Obviously he wanted to impress the more simply dressed gathering. How sad that his ill-fitting coat puckered between its brass buttons, spoiling the image. With curt motions, he beckoned Rose to join them.
Hesitant to leave the safety of the ship, she waited for the captain’s more insistent gestures. When she could delay no longer, she moved toward him …toward a very uncertain future. Her pulse quickened upon reaching the landing. Have faith. The Lord is looking after us. Papa always said that—even when the opposite seemed true. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way through the gathering to join her sisters.
Captain Durning leaned close, looking none too happy with her. “Tardiness is not a virtue,” he rasped into her ear. He pursed his thick lips and stepped onto a platform made of sturdy boards placed on nail kegs. Head and shoulders above the crowd, he scanned his customers as his loud voice rang out. “Gentlemen! As I promised, I have saved the choicest for last. These three young lasses have been schooled in all the social graces, as well as the art of fine cooking. They can also read and do sums. Any one of ‘em would make an ideal lady’s companion or children’s governess.”
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