At least he hoped he would. Emmanuel Rogers was ancient—at least to Adam—and well into his seventies. He was a bit of a recluse and rarely seen in town. Some folks thought him to be an eccentric, insisting he had some secret past.
Emmanuel Rogers also was the complete opposite of Richard Rasquelle in many ways. He didn’t dress as nicely as the young shipping merchant. He didn’t sponsor big town events like Rasquelle. And he certainly didn’t seem to have the bustling business that Rasquelle had—in fact, Adam figured that with Rogers practically having one foot in the grave, Rasquelle might be the only shipping merchant in town in just a few years.
All of those observations added up to one thing for Adam—an apprenticeship with Rasquelle would turn this “punishment” into a redeeming enterprise, whereas being stuck with Emmanuel Rogers could be like being chained to a sinking ship.
He was instructed to come back with his mother on Wednesday to finalize the papers, so when they arrived at Mr. Robins’s office that day, Mary was a nervous wreck.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to do this.” Her voice was unsteady.
Adam put his arm around her back and squeezed her shoulder. “It’s alright, Mama. Let’s just get this over with.”
She gave him a tense nod. He opened the door to the magistrate’s office and led her in.
Mr. Robins looked up from his desk and took off his spectacles. “Miss Fletcher! Adam! I’m delighted to see you both.” He stood and walked around his desk to greet them.
“Hello, sir,” said Adam. He shook hands with the magistrate.
“I think you’ve come at the perfect time. Your new master will be here in, oh, let’s see”—he strained to see the time on his pocket watch—“about fifteen minutes. In the meantime, we can go over the document you’ll sign. And Miss Fletcher, if you have any questions, please ask away. I’ll do my best to answer them.”
“I do have a question,” said Mary.
Adam looked over at his mother and wondered what she would say. He just hoped she wouldn’t embarrass him. She wasn’t afraid to speak up to authority figures, and Mr. Robins would be no exception.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Explain to me, if you would, exactly why my son has to be apprenticed elsewhere. Why can’t he just be bound to Valentine?”
The magistrate went back around and sat at his desk. He motioned for Mary and Adam to sit in the chairs on the other side, which they did.
“Miss Fletcher, you and I have discussed this topic before. On more than one occasion, as I’m sure you recall.”
Mary nodded. Her face was stern.
Mr. Robins continued: “You have done a remarkable job raising this child alone. You have my respect for all that you’ve done, but your boy, he’s pugnacious. His temper gets him into trouble. You know that.”
She wouldn’t speak. Neither would Adam. He kept his gaze fixed on a stack of papers on the magistrate’s desk. The whole situation felt like a bad dream. He couldn’t believe it was really happening.
“He fights over you, Miss Fletcher. Your boy loves you. He can’t stand to hear anyone speak ill of you.”
“And that’s a crime to you?” she said. His mother’s outwardly tough demeanor was just a disguise and he knew it. It killed him inside knowing that he had done something that was hurting her so deeply.
“I think it’s honorable that his desire is to defend you. Any son worth his salt would do the same. However, I think it’s unwise that he allows himself to be pulled so easily into fisticuffs anytime someone offends him. Granted, most of the time his brawling ends without consequence because it’s with boys of equal status, but this time he broke the nose of Francis Smythe, who just happens to be the son of His Majesty’s Customs Agent Ellison Smythe.”
“Francis baited Adam into that fight! He wanted to get him in trouble! Adam, tell the man.”
“I already have, Mama,” said Adam.
“Indeed he has,” said Mr. Robins. “But nevertheless, Adam took the bait. And if a lesson is not learned in this circumstance, he will always take the bait. Not to mention, if Mr. Smythe returns and I have not punished the boy who broke his son’s nose, he will rightly say that I have been derelict in my duties.”
Mary thought for a moment. “Can’t he just spend a few nights in the gaol?”
The magistrate cleared his throat. “He could, but are you not concerned with the reputation he’ll carry with him if he is incarcerated? He’d forever have a criminal record. As it is, he’s being given the opportunity for an apprenticeship. I have no plans to put his assault in the public record, provided he takes this opportunity and makes the best of it.”
“Is there no other way he could pay his debt, Mr. Robins?”
“No. I’m going to be very blunt, Miss Fletcher, if you don’t mind.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t mind.”
“The boy’s been raised with no father—”
“But, Valentine—”
“Valentine Hodges has indeed been a father figure to you, Mary, but he is not Adam’s father, nor has he raised him as though he were. Valentine runs a tavern. His standards of morality, while perhaps not abysmal, are far from being venerable. Fighting, foul language, drunkenness, occasionally even loose women—all of it—his tavern is full of it. Maybe not all the time, but nevertheless it’s there, and he tolerates it. Your son has grown up around that long enough. It’s only by God’s good grace that you yourself have maintained any semblance of virtue. Many women would’ve surely lost their way living and working in such an establishment.”
“Valentine and Margaret raised me with better standards than that, Mr. Robins.”
“I have no argument with how they raised you, but nevertheless your son’s at a critical age. If he’s bloodying the face of the son of an appointed official today, what will he be doing tomorrow? He needs some strong guidance. He needs someone to keep him in line and teach him wisdom. And that is exactly why I have chosen for him the master that I have.”
Just then the door of the magistrate’s office opened and an elderly gentleman came in.
The magistrate said, “Speak of the devil.” He stood to welcome the man. “Mr. Rogers! How do you do today, sir?”
The old man smiled and nodded. “Very well, thank you, Mr. Robins. And I suppose this lad is my new charge,” he said as he placed his hand on Adam’s shoulder.
“Yes, he is, sir. Adam, I’d like you to meet Emmanuel Rogers, your new master.”
Adam stood and shook Mr. Rogers’s hand. While his body was going through the motions of social formality, his mind was screaming What the hell is happening here? Where’s Mr. Rasquelle?
Mary looked up at the old gentleman and offered a reserved smile. “How do you do, Mr. Rogers?”
“Please pull up one of those and take a seat.” The magistrate motioned to some chairs along the wall near his desk.
The old man moved one of the chairs near Adam. The men all sat down.
Adam glanced at his mother, his face fallen. This wasn’t right, he thought. Emmanuel Rogers? The new master was supposed to be Richard Rasquelle.
“Just before you arrived, Mr. Rogers, I was answering a few questions for Miss Fletcher. I was explaining to her and her son that I believe Adam is at a critical age, one that will require a strong man to lead him in the right direction, along the right path. He needs to learn wisdom and temperance, as well as a set of skills that can benefit him for the rest of his life. I was about to explain that I think you are the ideal man for the job.”
“Oh, well, I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Robins,” said Emmanuel, flattered.
His accent hinted at his English birth. One could tell he had lived in the region a long time, but his manner of speech still reflected the formality and cadence of the language as it was spoken in the old country.
“I do hope that once you’ve had an opportunity to get to know me and the men in my company, you will feel very much at home, as if we were truly your second fami
ly.”
It was becoming apparent to everyone that Mary’s efforts to keep her emotions under control were beginning to waver. Her eyes were starting to look very watery, and she seemed unsteady in her chair. She held her cheeks tense and appeared to be biting the inside of her lip. Mr. Robins immediately intervened by moving the proceedings along.
“Well, now that we have the introductions out of the way, let’s get down to business, shall we?”
Adam’s stomach began to ache. He felt hot, like he might be sick.
What have I gotten myself into?
He had no choice now but to go through with the process.
Mr. Robins explained the document to Mary, Adam, and Emmanuel.
Once the paperwork was completed, Mr. Rogers said, “Take a couple of days to get your things in order, son, then report to my warehouse first thing Friday. Do you know where it is?”
Adam’s face was sullen. He nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Emmanuel looked at Mary tenderly. “Please don’t worry, love. I promise you I will take care of your boy as though he were my own. Please trust that he’s in good hands.”
Mary nodded weakly. She couldn’t speak. Her eyes were watery.
“See you Friday, sir,” said Adam.
Emmanuel nodded. “I’ll look forward to it.” He smiled.
Chapter Five
FRIDAY MORNING BEFORE SEVEN, Adam had just one small bundle, tied up with cord, that held all of his earthly possessions. It consisted of two shirts and two pairs of breeches, an extra pair of socks, a jacket, a thin blanket, a small pillow, and a drawstring pouch with a few coins inside.
“You sure you don’t want to walk downstairs with me, Mama?” he asked.
Mary shook her head quickly, her face tense. It looked to Adam like she was struggling to hold herself together.
Adam tucked his bundle under his arm and gave her a weak smile. “I guess this is it, then.”
She finally managed to speak. “Come here.” She grabbed him in a tight hug. “I love you, child. I always knew you’d leave home one day. I just never thought it would happen like this.”
Adam nodded. “I know.”
She reached up and kissed her son’s cheek, then stepped back and held his hands in her own. He stood a few inches taller than her and she was gazing up at him, her eyes full of sadness. Adam knew her world had always revolved around him, and now he was leaving. It all happened so suddenly, and it felt strange. Knowing he had somehow caused things to turn out like this, he felt pangs of guilt strike at his heart. By being forced to leave in this way, he was hurting the one person who had always cared for and protected him. He wouldn’t be around to look out for her anymore, to stop drunk tavern patrons from harassing her, or to put someone in their place if they disrespected her. Still, Adam was ready to go to Rogers’s Shipping Company. What other choice did he have? Standing here looking at his mother in the terrible state that he’d put her in was more than he could bear.
“You’ve grown so much. You’re a fine young man and I expect great things from you. I know you’ll do me proud.”
He nodded again.
Tears began to pool in her eyes and her voice trembled. “Just remember all I’ve taught you. Do good. Be respectful. Honesty always. And be brave.”
“I know, Mama,” he said. “And listen, don’t forget—I won’t be far. I’ll just be right down the road.”
She nodded.
“I reckon you can come see me there anytime, and hopefully Mr. Rogers will let me have time off to visit now and then, too.”
“Maybe so.” She gave him a weak smile, then urged him out the door.
Adam started to leave but turned back to give his mother one more hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Mama. I’m so sorry about this.”
Adam didn’t have to walk far to arrive at Emmanuel Rogers’s warehouse. It was a huge two-story structure about a mile from the tavern on the waterfront.
As he approached the wide-open cargo doors from the street side, he called out, “Hello!”
“Come on in!” yelled a voice from deep inside the building.
The morning light pouring in from the open bay doors on the waterfront made the dust in the air glisten and cast everything inside into shadowy silhouettes. Adam squinted, trying to make out the voice’s location in the shaded interior.
As he walked into the warehouse, he was hit by the warm fragrance of sawdust, tobacco, and rum. He saw rows of barrels and casks along the walls, stacked high in some places and lined up in a single row in others. Not too far inside the entrance, men were working on shaping barrel staves.
A swarthy, stubble-faced man stepped over to welcome him to the warehouse.
“I’m Boaz Brooks.” His voice was gravelly. “You Adam Fletcher?”
Adam nodded and extended his hand in greeting. “Yes, sir. That’s me.” He looked around. “Is Mr. Rogers here?”
“Yeah,” said Boaz. “I’ll call him down.”
The man bellowed in a loud voice to an upstairs office, “Hey! Emmaaanuel!”
“Coming! I’m coming!” a voice called back from an upstairs room beyond the balcony.
“The Fletcher boy is here. You coming down to see him?”
A sprightly old man finally appeared on the balcony and responded, “Oh, yes, yes, of course! Be right there.”
He made his way down the staircase, which connected the ground floor of the warehouse with the second-floor balcony, then excitedly scurried over and extended his hand to greet the boy.
“Welcome to the company, son. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Yes, sir,” said Adam. He shook the old man’s hand.
“Allow me to introduce you to everybody,” said Emmanuel. “You already met Boaz Brooks, of course.”
Adam nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Very good. Well, you should know he’s my right hand. He does a little bit of everything here.”
Boaz gave a half smile.
“And these men here are Elliot and Joe Salter—they’re cousins—and Martin Smith,” said Emmanuel, motioning to each of the other coopers in turn as Adam shook their hands.
“And then, of course, there’s also the crew of my sloop, the Carolina Gypsy. You’ll get to know them eventually, but as the Gypsy is leaving next Friday and will be gone for several months, those men aren’t here today. For the most part we’re really quite a cozy family here.”
Adam was underwhelmed by this quiet little warehouse, where he’d be stuck spending the next four years of his life. This was not how his apprenticeship was supposed to turn out, and this old man was not who he had wanted for a master.
If only I was at Richard Rasquelle’s company right now, he thought. I’ll bet things are hopping over there. I’m sure he has a bigger, more interesting crew than this dull-looking bunch.
Emmanuel started back towards the stairs and motioned for Adam and Boaz to follow. “I’ll make sure you get a tour of the rest of the place later, but right now I’d like you two to come upstairs with me.”
The three of them walked up the stairs. As they neared the top, Adam was taken by surprise. The sweet fragrance of dried tobacco and stacks of cedar shingles down on the shipping floor permeated the air. It was more noticeable here than it had been on the ground floor near the bay doors. And there was something about looking down on the shipping floor from above that made the place seem more impressive. The bird’s-eye view allowed Adam to get a glimpse of not only the large variety of shipping containers housed inside, but also the expansive space that appeared to be waiting for a pending shipment.
The building always looked so plain and boring from the outside. It also never seemed particularly busy—at least not compared to Richard Rasquelle’s company. Rasquelle was Emmanuel Rogers’s only competitor in town, as well as the man to whom Adam had hoped he would be bound in his apprenticeship. Nevertheless, now Adam was beginning to see that his new master’s company was much busier than he had realized.
�
��Come right on in here,” said Emmanuel, leading the way from the balcony through a door on the left.
They entered a little hallway, which then connected to a whole different section of the building. Emmanuel’s home was hidden within the second floor of the warehouse. The temperature was several degrees cooler in this part of the building than it was in the hallway or out on the balcony thanks to plenty of open windows, which allowed the ocean breeze to blow through from the north, south, and east.
Even more impressive to Adam than the surprising architecture was finding out there was actually a proper living area on the second floor rather than just the bare-bones servant’s loft he had expected. He felt like he’d wandered into a world bazaar rather than an upstairs apartment in a shipping warehouse. Everywhere he looked he saw objets d’art, housewares, and furniture from every corner of the globe.
They had entered the sitting room, which had a large Persian rug in the middle of the floor. There were exotic cut-velvet settees on either side of the rug, and two silk-covered chairs, probably French, beside end tables at the opposite ends. To the side of the sitting area was a square table with chess pieces in suspended play on the board. Adam guessed the set was from the Orient, based on the style of the figures. A long, ornately carved mahogany table with six equally ornate chairs was tucked away at the far side of the room next to what Adam guessed was the kitchen area. The wall hangings around the room were reflective of what appeared to be a lifetime of traveling the world.
Nothing was new. In fact, everything looked quite old, some things even ancient. It was all very well cared for, though, and quite a stunning collection.
Adam noticed that there were other rooms connected to this one with their doors open so that the breeze could blow through. He could only catch a brief glimpse of what was inside them. He was curious to continue the tour, but for now he’d have to wait.
The Smuggler's Gambit (Adam Fletcher Adventure Series Book 1) Page 4