Seeking Eden

by Ann Turnbull

  I was astonished. I had known nothing of this, nor thought much about Zachary’s life outside the counting house.

  “Antony has a girl,” I said, “the one they took away. That’s why he was so desperate. I wish they might have some hope of freedom.”

  “It’s harder for them. They’re black – folk will see them as slaves, whether they’re freed or not—”

  “Josiah!”

  My master’s summons broke into our talk. I braced myself for trouble and went reluctantly downstairs.

  He was in the office, turning over the ledgers on my desk. His expression was grim.

  “Was my daughter involved in this escapade of thine?” he asked.

  I hesitated, unsure what would be safest to say.

  He banged his fist on the table. “Answer me, boy!”

  I chose the truth. “She knew of it. I would not let her come with me, but I told her what I was going to do.”

  He let out a breath. “I thought so. She was all of a twitch this morning – I wondered what was up with her. So she knew – but she didn’t tell me. She kept thy secret.”

  I stood silent, waiting, afraid to say anything in case I made matters worse.

  “I have allowed thee too much licence with Kate,” he said. “I thought to be tolerant. I saw there was a liking between the two of you, and it seemed natural and right to let it flourish. But thou hast encouraged her in deceit and rebellion—”

  “Kate has a mind of her own!” I retorted, for his words hurt me. I had wronged him, it was true, but not in this.

  “Aye, she has, I know that. But she has never been underhand with me before.”

  “I love Kate,” I began, “and—”

  “Josiah” – he set down the account books on the table with a small thump of finality – “I want thee out of here. I’ll take charge of these books. Thy work with them is finished.”

  For a moment I did not understand. I thought he was referring to the entries I had completed that morning. But when he spoke again there was no mistaking his meaning.

  “I will settle matters with thy father later. The bond … the money … I’ll deal with that. But thou must go today.”

  I began to tremble. There was a hollow feeling in my stomach. I could not believe this was happening. I had expected punishment, but never dismissal.

  “Please,” I said. “Please. Kate will tell thee I never sought to involve her—”

  “But thou did involve her! And thou broke the terms of thy bond, and in the worst possible way. If thou had gone drinking or been slipshod or forgetful I’d have forgiven thee. But this – it was planned, deceitful; it has undermined my business and my standing as a merchant, angered my customer, caused inconvenience to him and much trouble and expense to the sheriff and officers – all of which I will be liable for.”

  “I know I did wrong,” I said, “but I did not mean to harm thee, only to help Antony.”

  “Antony is my property! Thou stole him. Thou crept about my house at night while I was asleep and stole my keys.” He slapped down a document on the desk. “See here, in the bond: ‘He shall do no damage to his said Master… He shall not waste the goods of his said Master… He shall faithfully serve his Master … his lawful commandments gladly do.’ In all this thou hast failed, Josiah. I cannot trust thee again. Thou will come home with me now, pack thy belongings and leave.”

  Kate appeared the moment we arrived at the house. Her expression was wary. “Dad…?”

  “Josiah is leaving us,” her father said.

  I had asked her to be my advocate, and now she flew to my defence.

  “Oh, Dad, don’t do this! Please don’t blame Jos! I would have done the same. I wanted to go with him, but he wouldn’t let me. We both wanted Antony to be free, to find Patience.”

  He grew angry with her then. “I’ve heard enough about those two! Thou had no business making friends with them – becoming that wench’s confidante. Antony will soon be caught and sold, and that will be the end of the matter.”

  “But not for Jos!”

  I shook my head at her, but she continued to plead. I wanted only to be gone now. I knew he would not relent.

  “I’ll go and pack,” I said, and moved towards the stairs.

  “Jos!” Kate made to follow me, but her father forcibly restrained her. “Come, Kate, no more of this,” he said, and steered her into the parlour with him and closed the door. The sounds of their raised voices faded as I reached the second landing.

  Alone in my room, I sat down on the bed, and at last my feelings overwhelmed me. I had lost my work, I had lost Kate, I had lost the good opinion of my master – and probably all for nothing, since the news of Antony’s escape had been cried around the town and he was sure to be recaptured. And now I must go home to my family, whom I had not seen for many weeks, and instead of enjoying our reunion I must tell them of my humiliating dismissal; tell my father that once again I had failed in an apprenticeship.

  Tears stung my eyes, and I sniffed and brushed them away. I had only myself to blame for what I had done, but I felt the unfairness of my master’s accusations concerning Kate. Perhaps it was true that I had influenced her, but I had refused to let her be involved in my plan. I did not feel I had ever behaved improperly towards her.

  I stood up and began to pack. There was little enough to remove. I took my empty bag from the chest and in a swift, angry clearance I threw into it my few clothes, my Bible, journal and writing case. Now there was nothing left of me in the room, and Isobel could change the sheets and make it ready for whatever paragon George Bainbrigg had in mind to replace me with. The thought of that person living here, in the same house as Kate, filled me with a furious jealousy.

  I slung my bag over my shoulder and tramped downstairs. As I reached the hall I heard a clatter of claws on the wooden floor and Hob appeared, wagging his tail. I knelt to pat him, and then I did briefly let a few tears fall as he licked my face and hands. “At least thou still love me,” I said. And I called out, towards the parlour door, “I am going now!”

  I stood up as George Bainbrigg came out. Kate hurried to the doorway, and he allowed the two of us to say a brief, formal goodbye to each other in which our eyes did all the real talking; then he sent her back in and shooed the dog in after her.

  I looked at George Bainbrigg, and thought how well I’d liked this man, how glad I’d been to work for him. He must have caught some of my feelings, for he gave me a fierce, regretful look and said, “I had such high hopes of thee. We worked well together; thou pleased me greatly. But I cannot tolerate this breach of trust.” His hand hovered above my shoulder and he said, “Go well, Josiah.”

  Tokpa

  The forest was cold last night and the earth is still damp. The sun warms me as the day grows full but the ground never dries out. Always there is water in the earth and the air; the green shrubs and leaves are fat with it. I think there could never be drought in this country, nor the baked earth and dusty air that I remember from the dry season at home.

  All day I stay hidden. Once, a young man passes near me. His hair is curly and shines red, like fire, in the sun. I hear him splashing in the stream. He comes back later, and I see that he carries two fish, glinting silver, swinging from a length of string.

  A long way off I hear bells ringing: bells, and shouting that grows louder. Men come crashing along the path with loud voices and sticks to beat the bushes. Dogs run barking beside them. I hide well away from these enemies, in the stream, where the overhanging branches cover me and the dogs can’t pick up my scent.

  I eat the remainder of the bread and meat Jos gave me. When I am sure the men and dogs have gone, I move. Further on, among the trees, I see a hut. A familiar sound comes from it: the ring of metal striking metal. This is a blacksmith’s forge! Now I am afraid. The blacksmith in my village was a powerful sorceror. Sometimes he helped people; sometimes he did harm. People bought charms from him to protect themselves from enemies. Maybe this blacksmith will p
rotect me? But I am afraid and I move further away. I turn towards the west, as Jos told me, and walk on through the forest until I reach the river, and then I take shelter again as night falls.

  I wake at dawn to the sound of voices: two men, who speak low and use few words. I hear a crackle of fire, and smell fish cooking. My stomach yearns for food, but I stay out of sight and listen.

  The voices come again. These men are not speaking English. They are not the men I heard yesterday, shouting, breaking branches as they searched for me. These two talk like hunters, with no words wasted. I part the leaves of my hiding place and look out.

  The men are squatting on the riverbank, wrapped in mantles and sheltered by a windbreak made of branches stuck in the ground. They must have been here all night, close to where I lay.

  And now I see something else: drawn up on the riverbank is a canoe.

  I creep closer.

  Twenty-three

  I was in heavy mood as I walked home, but when I turned the corner into Sassafras Street I saw something that momentarily drove my problems from my mind: our house was finished. In the weeks I had been away in Barbados the builders had moved on apace, and now the structure stood proud: a fine clapboard house of three storeys, with balconies on the upper floors, a shopfront on the street and a workshop extending behind.

  “Jos!”

  Sarah had seen me and came running. She wore a dirty apron and as usual her hair was escaping its cap. She stared at my face. “Did someone hit thee?”

  “Bumped into the privy in the dark,” I said, and she giggled. She walked with me, chattering: “We have moved in, and Betty and I are together, and Mam is very happy now we can wash and cook properly – and we have two cats to keep down the mice…”

  My mother came out of the house, saw me, and called to Sarah to fetch my father from the bookshop. I put down my bag inside the gate. My mother hugged me. I lied again about my injury, and fended off her questions about Barbados. “Show me the house,” I said, as my father appeared. I dreaded telling them my news. The new house could come first.

  My parents and I went in, with Sarah tagging along behind us, through the side entrance into the kitchen and pantry, then upstairs into a spacious room. I saw how pleased my mother was with this new home. She made an expansive movement of her arms as if to display it: “This is the parlour. The balconies face south-west so we catch the afternoon sun. The chairs and settle were made by the woodturner on Fourth Street; he is skilled and reasonable—”

  At that moment we heard footsteps on the stairs and Betty burst into the room and asked, “Jos! Why hast thou brought such a big bag? Hast thou come to stay?”

  They all looked at me – and I realized that my mother had sensed all along that something was wrong.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ve come home.”

  I could not meet my father’s eye.

  My mother turned to Betty. “Go and mind the shop. Thy father is busy.”

  “Oh, Mam!”

  “Now, Betty! And take Sarah with thee.”

  Betty scowled and turned away, and I heard her stomping down the stairs.

  “Sit down, Jos,” my father said. “Tell us what has happened.”

  He and my mother sat side by side on the settle, while I sat opposite them on a bench. It reminded me uncomfortably of our confrontation last year, in London, when I had come home drunk and bloody. But this was worse – much worse.

  I told them the story at length, beginning with our voyage to Barbados and ending with what I had done and how I had been dismissed from George Bainbrigg’s service. They listened in silence. Occasionally, especially when I spoke of Patience and how she had been dragged screaming from the counting house, I saw the shock and distress that I had felt at the time reflected in their eyes. But when I described how I had taken my master’s keys and gone to free Antony, my father shook his head and screwed up his face as if – too late – to try and prevent me.

  I looked directly at him. “So I have lost another apprenticeship,” I said.

  I knew I had failed him utterly. And I thought I could bear his anger, but I dreaded his contempt.

  He said nothing at first. The two of them sat in silence, heads bowed, as Friends should do when strong feelings tempt them to speak angrily.

  When he looked up he surprised me by asking, “What has happened to the young man – the Negro?”

  “I left him in the woods, not far from the forge. I told him to lie low awhile. George Bainbrigg doesn’t know I took him into the forest. He thinks I just set him free.”

  “We heard the bells, husband, remember?” my mother said. “There was a hue and cry, but I was busy and didn’t pay much attention. Oh, I fear they’ll catch him!”

  “They will, and he will suffer for it.” My father’s expression was grim. “But that is what happens when people are made slaves. How can they not try to escape?” He turned to me. “I would probably have done the same as thee.”

  For a moment I thought I had misheard him. Then my mother took his hand in hers and said, “Yes, thou would, husband. I know thou would.”

  I looked from one to the other of them. “You don’t think I did wrong?”

  “Oh, certainly thou did wrong,” my father said. “Thou hast probably done the young man no favour, for he will be caught and punished. And thou betrayed thy master’s trust and injured his business. That is unforgivable and I am not surprised George Bainbrigg has dismissed thee. I wish thou had not acted in that way. If thou had given it more thought—”

  “There was no time to think!”

  He sighed. “No. I understand that. And thou’rt young, and rash. I would have done the same at thy age. Thou acted out of fellow-feeling and out of thy understanding that to enslave a man is a greater wrong.”

  “Yes,” I said. I felt a cloud lifting. He understood, after all. We were not far apart, as I’d feared; we were father and son, and thought alike.

  “I will talk to George Bainbrigg,” my father said. “And no doubt the meeting – the elders – will consider this matter. It may be resolved, and thou back in work again.”

  “He will not relent. He blames me for turning Kate against him.”

  “Was she involved in this?” His voice was sharp.

  “She knew what I was going to do.”

  My parents exchanged a glance.

  “No wonder he was angry,” my father said.

  “But I had to tell her – we were together, and … Dad, I need to see Kate! She must come here. We must talk—”

  “Not yet,” my mother said. “Let things settle awhile.”

  “I can’t! I need to see her! And Antony. I don’t know what’s happened to him. I must find out.”

  “We’ll hear if he’s caught,” my mother said. “The news will be all around. Thou should sleep, Jos—”

  “Sleep!” I was outraged. And yet my head and eyes, my whole body, ached for want of it.

  “Let me show thee thy room. It’s not quite ready yet. We didn’t expect thee home to stay…”

  I let her lead me up to the room, which I scarcely noticed, except that it was new and smelt of pine and had a bed that she quickly made up for me with clean sheets. She left me, and I lay down on the bed, thinking to close my eyes for a moment. I did not open them again until I woke in the early evening.

  Sunlight was streaming in, for there were as yet no curtains and the window faced south-west. Someone had come in while I slept and put my bag down just inside the door. I rose and examined my new surroundings. The room was not unlike the one I’d had at George Bainbrigg’s house: fresh, clean, painted in pale colours. I thought of that room; imagined the bed stripped, all trace of my presence removed.

  There was a knock at the door, and Betty came in.

  We looked at each other.

  “So thou’rt in trouble again?” she said. Then she came and put her arms around me and hugged me. “But thou did the right thing, Jos.”

  I grunted. “I’ve slept all day! Wh
at news is there?”

  “None. They haven’t caught him yet.”

  I could see she was brimming with excitement about all that had happened.

  I thought of the map I’d given Antony; tried to think where he might be. Had he somehow managed to cross the river? Would he find Patience? And if he did, what then? If he approached the house he would almost certainly be caught. My father was right: I had done him no real favour.

  “Thou slept right through dinner,” Betty said. “It’ll be suppertime soon. Mam’s getting it ready.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  But when my mother had set supper on the table I realized I needed to eat, and my appetite returned.

  Later, as the evening darkened, I walked down to Front Street with my father to find out if there was any news of Antony. But to my relief there was none.

  “He may have been recaptured already and returned to George Bainbrigg,” my father said.

  This possibility filled me with anxiety. “We could walk back past their house.”

  “No.” He spoke firmly. I knew he was right, and let him steer me in the opposite direction.

  But it’s first-day tomorrow, I thought. They can’t stop me speaking to Kate after Meeting.

  We were late for Meeting. I had overslept, and Sarah was found to have no clean kerchief to tie over her bodice. I heard my mother scolding, Sarah snivelling, and then an exchange with Betty, who exclaimed, “Am I my sister’s keeper?” and was rebuked for it.

  So we arrived when almost everyone else was seated and found our usual places, a few rows back and facing the Bainbrigg household.

  Kate and her father looked up as we came in and he gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. Kate looked at me with longing eyes, then turned her attention to her clasped hands in her lap. I did the same. For a long time the room was silent except for the sounds of breathing and coughing and the occasional whimper of a child. I looked up again at Kate and found her looking at me. We filled our eyes with each other. I became aware that my mother, beside me, was restless. Suddenly she stood up, and I realized she had been moved to speak.