A Statue for Jacob

by Peter Murphy

  ‘I’m afraid I must begin with a confession. I told you that I was eighty-five years old. That’s what I tell everyone. But now it’s time for me to ’fess up: that’s not exactly accurate.’

  Sam laughed.

  ‘I’d heard various rumours within the family,’ she replied. ‘Anything between seventy and a hundred. My dad’s bet was somewhere around ninety.’

  ‘It’s silly, really,’ Aunt Meg said. ‘I should probably tell everyone the truth, but I don’t want everyone thinking I’m senile, and it’s none of their business anyway.’

  ‘Believe me, Aunt Meg,’ Powalski said, ‘there is not a chance that anyone will think of you as senile.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Powalski. But when you get to my age and your memory isn’t what it was, you start to worry about things like that. I’m actually ninety-four. My birthday was last month.’

  There were some intakes of breath around the table.

  ‘I believed eighty-five every time you said it,’ Powalski replied. ‘I didn’t doubt it for a minute.’

  ‘Are you kidding? I would have believed sixty-five,’ Sam smiled.

  Aunt Meg gave her a brief smile in return.

  ‘Well, that’s very nice of you, my dear. But in fact, I am ninety-four, and that’s one of the reasons I’ve invited you here now. I can’t go on forever, and I’m determined that I’m not going to die without telling you what I’m about to tell you. I’ve put it off for as long as I can, because I wanted to make sure I passed it on to folks I can trust. But now the time has come. Kiah, push that file over to me, would you?’

  I got up and moved the file so that it was directly in front of her.

  ‘I want to show you a document,’ she began. She opened the file and carefully extracted something wrapped in a beige cloth of some kind and tied at its center with red ribbon, fastened meticulously in a clean, tight bow. ‘But first, if you’ll indulge me, I want to give you something of a history lesson. I know it’s rather presumptuous of me, but it’s not the kind of history lesson they teach you in school.’

  She did not unwrap the document immediately, but sat with her right hand resting gently on it.

  ‘It’s easy to think of Jacob’s day as being very remote in time from today,’ she said. ‘That’s why we worry so much about whether we can ever know what went on back then, about whether we can find documents from that time so long ago. But actually, Jacob’s time isn’t remote at all; it’s very close. What if I told you that the document I’m going to show you was written in 1813, a year after Jacob’s death; but that I was given this document by a woman who was given it by the woman who wrote it, a woman who was close to Jacob himself?’

  I have to admit I was taken aback. I’m sure my jaw dropped, and looking around, I saw that everyone was having the same reaction. Sam was rather obviously trying to do the arithmetic in her head while doing her best not to let anyone see the tell-tale movements of her fingers. Powalski was smiling and frowning at the same time; if he was calculating, you couldn’t tell. Arlene was staring at Aunt Meg, her eyebrows raised. My mind wasn’t even letting me calculate yet. I hadn’t got past the point of finding it hard to believe.

  ‘Let me save you all the trouble,’ Aunt Meg smiled. ‘I was born in 1928. I was eighteen years old when I was given this document in 1946. It was given to me by a woman called Joan Harrison. Harrison was her married name. She was born Joan van Eyck, and she was descended from Jacob’s brother Samuel. Joan was born in 1868, so she was seventy-eight in 1946 when she gave it to me. She died two years later. Joan was given the document in 1878, when she was only ten years old. She got it from a woman called Isabel Hardwick, who had known Jacob and had looked after him in his old age. Isabel was twenty-four in 1812 when Jacob died. She was born in 1788, so she was ninety when she gave the document to Joan. She died in 1880.’

  Despite the oppressive warmth of the afternoon, I had suddenly got very cold. I wrapped my arms around me as tightly as I could, but I was shivering and sweating at the same time. I was also staring straight ahead, and I am sure the others had noticed. I hadn’t fully recovered from the experience of standing in the graveyard in which I had stood in my dream. Now I was hearing that the woman I had seen there, and whose name I had somehow known to be Isabel, had existed, and had left us a document from the period. I was rubbing my arms, but I couldn’t get warm again, and my mind seemed to have been numbed.

  ‘Aunt Meg, that’s amazing,’ I heard Sam say. ‘All that time, and yet it’s connected by the lives of just three women.’

  ‘One of whom is still very much alive,’ Powalski added.

  ‘It makes Jacob’s time seem so close,’ Sam said. ‘You can almost reach out and touch it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Aunt Megan said. ‘Time shrinks when you think of it in terms of the human life span, doesn’t it? It makes us see history a little differently. It makes us see that it wasn’t so long ago, and the people of those days weren’t so different from us.’

  I somehow recovered enough to force my mouth open.

  ‘Did you say the woman who knew Jacob was called Isabel?’ I asked.

  Aunt Meg looked at me closely. I’m sure she must have noticed the goose bumps on my arms.

  ‘Isabel Hardwick,’ she replied.

  She looked around the table at all of us in turn.

  ‘This will probably make more sense once you know what’s in the document, but you should know that Joan entrusted it to me on the express condition that I show it to no one until I was sure that it was the right person. She told me that Isabel had entrusted it to her on the same condition.’

  ‘The right person?’ Powalski asked.

  ‘Yes. Isabel meant a person who was not only committed to seeking justice for Jacob, but also had the means to get that justice for him. If Joan didn’t find the right person in her lifetime, she was to pass it on to the most reliable person she could find, with the same instructions: to keep it safe until the right person came along. Despite all our dealings with congressmen, Joan never had confidence that she had found the right person. So she passed it on to me. I guessed she judged that I would take good care of it.’

  ‘She couldn’t have made a better choice,’ Sam said. ‘But… Aunt Meg, that must mean that you and Joan are the only two people who have seen the document since Isabel wrote it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Aunt Meg replied. ‘But now I’m making the decision Isabel and Joan never got to make. I’m passing it on to you, Sam, and I’m doing this because I believe you are the right person, and because with Kiah, Arlene, and Mr Powalski to help you, I believe that at last, you have a chance to do what Isabel intended us to do.’

  There was a silence. Then Sam walked over to Aunt Meg, knelt by her side and put her head in Aunt Meg’s lap. She was crying softly. Aunt Meg quietly stroked her hair and we all allowed some time to pass, listening to the fans as they continued to whir languidly through the humid air. Eventually, Aunt Meg looked across at me.

  ‘Kiah, why don’t you read it aloud for us, so we don’t all have to crowd round trying to read over someone’s shoulder?’

  I slowly reached out and took the file, untied the red ribbon, and carefully pushed the beige cloth aside to reveal the document. It consisted of six pages of parchment, with a few yellowish-brown markings at the edges of the pages, but generally in remarkably good condition. The document was written in black ink. The handwriting was small, and to my mind in a feminine hand, neat enough, albeit scrawling and blotchy in places, indicating the use of a quill pen. It was easily legible. I took a few deep breaths, and to my relief, I felt the suggestion of warming blood beginning to move again through my body.

  42

  I, Isabel Hardwick, being the wife of James Hardwick of Upper Merion Township in the State of Pennsylvania, being of sufficient age and of sound mind, have taken up my pen at ten o’clock in the forenoon, on this third day of Decembe
r in the Year of our Lord 1813, and desire thereby to record the matters following.

  I was born Isabel Johnstone on the fourth day of June in the year 1788, in the early evening, less than an hour after the sun had set, to Ezra and Mary Johnstone of Upper Merion Township in the State of Pennsylvania. I was married to my husband in 1806. In that same year, after my marriage, my father came to me on behalf of his employer, Jacob van Eyck, who lived close by in Upper Merion Township. I was well acquainted with Mr van Eyck, as my father had served him as his bailiff on his lands along the Schuylkill River and elsewhere for many years, and I had been in his presence many times. My father explained that Mr van Eyck, being now of more advanced years, and having no wife or children left alive to minister to him, had need of a companion to assist him in carrying on his domestic and business tasks, in return for which he would make some small payment as his means permitted. My father explained, though I already well knew, as it was generally known, that Mr van Eyck’s estate was much diminished by reason of his generous sustenance of General Washington’s army while it was encamped hard against his lands during the bitterly cold winter before he proceeded victoriously against the enemy.

  With the consent of my husband, I agreed to assist Mr van Eyck, to his benefit, as I was able to perform many household tasks on his behalf, and also to accompany him when he left home, as he was already somewhat frail, though less so than he was to become. My employment also brought me great benefits, not greatly on account of my wages, which as my father had foretold, were modest, but on account of his generosity in other ways. Mr van Eyck took it upon himself, with my consent, to school me. My parents had never done so, it not being the custom of our community generally to school girls, no purpose, according to the general opinion, being served thereby. But because of Mr van Eyck’s generosity with his time, I was instructed in reading and writing, in arithmetic, in the positions, transits, and retrograde motions of the planets, in the keeping of accounts, and in many other matters of business. This instruction, which I have passed on to my own daughters, has benefitted them as much as myself, and enriched my life more than higher wages could ever have enriched it.

  In the summer of the Year of our Lord 1810, Mr van Eyck, who had by now become very frail, desired of me that I should accompany him to Philadelphia, which, with the consent of my husband, I undertook to do. Mr van Eyck had by this time entrusted me with many confidences regarding his affairs. He had confided to me that the cause of his penury was indeed his most generous support for General Washington, which was evidenced by certain papers supplied to him by Congress, recording the amount of his benevolence and the terms on which he was to be repaid. He had been unsuccessful concerning the repayment due to him, no gold being available to repay such a large amount. Mr van Eyck further confided in me that some years earlier, I know not when – he was not specific on this score – in accordance with certain advice offered to him by General Washington, he had personally carried some sixteen such papers to the loan office in Philadelphia. He carried with them a letter asserting that General Washington was much interested in his being recompensed and proposed to assist him with respect to the same, though whether the General had himself written the letter, or whether Mr van Eyck had written it, I no longer remember, nay, I doubt that Mr van Eyck was specific on that score. The official with whom he then dealt required him to deposit the papers and the letter with the office, assuring him that suitable inquiries would be made of the Treasury, and causing him to hope that payment would be forthcoming. However, he received no payment, neither were his papers or the letter ever returned to him, the loan officers later in place, upon his making further inquiry of the office, denying all knowledge thereof.

  Now, Mr van Eyck, having written many letters to the Treasury in the intervening years, to no avail, and feeling that his time to redress his grievances was drawing short, proposed to return to the loan office to press his case. I asked whether it might not be to his advantage to secure the services of an attorney, but he determined to make the effort himself, whether by reason of his penury, or of his personal desire, I know not. It was a most arduous journey, since although it was not one of truly great distance he was not strong enough to travel in haste, and suffered great pain in his bones, and we were obliged to pass a night in an inn. The loan office was in operation yet, though other government business was now also conducted there, the business of the war loans being by that time no doubt largely concluded. Mr van Eyck was courteously received, but once again his intervention was in vain. Plain it was that whatever papers he had delivered to the office, years before, had been conveyed to Washington, but their whereabouts were no longer known. Mr van Eyck was greatly affected by this development, after which it appeared to me that he ceased to entertain any hope of being repaid.

  Upon his return home, Mr van Eyck made of me a most confidential request, a matter on which I was to speak to no one. He entrusted me with the custody of two-and-twenty papers, and charged me to deliver them to his Brother, who had agreed to take custody of them until such time as the Government should agree to deal with them, in circumstances in which they would assuredly be preserved and their provenance proved. I agreed to perform the task he had asked of me, and delivered the said papers to his Brother in Philadelphia at eleven o’clock in the forenoon on the fourth day of September in the Year of our Lord 1810. No acknowledgement of the delivery was provided or requested, Mr Van Eyck having full confidence in the benevolence of his Brother in this regard.

  Now, Mr van Eyck being deceased, and believing that he would have released me from the obligation of confidence I then undertook, I have made this record, so that it may be known what was done with respect to his papers, and so that in due course his fortune may be restored to his heirs, if not to Mr van Eyck himself, when the Treasury shall be able to do so. However, I will keep this record in a secure place, and speak to no one about it unless it clearly appears that some benefit will accrue thereby to Mr van Eyck’s heirs. In the event of my approaching death, if no opportunity shall have arisen to put this record forward in advantageous circumstances, I will entrust it to the custody of a person in whom I have the greatest confidence, on whom I may rely to ensure that the record is preserved and used when the time shall most favourably present itself.

  I declare that this record is true and correct in all points.

  Isabel Hardwick, née Johnstone

  Dated this third day of December 1813

  43

  As I laid Isabel Hardwick’s record back down on its beige cloth, no one spoke. Sam gently pushed herself up, kissed Aunt Meg on the cheek, and stood behind her chair with her hands resting on Aunt Meg’s shoulders.

  ‘Joan always assumed,’ Aunt Meg said, ‘as did I, that the brother Isabel was referring to was Jacob’s oldest brother, Samuel. Not all the van Eyck brothers got on with each other particularly well. There was always some kind of family feud going on, and that hasn’t changed too much even today – that’s one reason the family has never been able to get its act together to get anything done. But Jacob and Samuel were always very close, and Joan was Samuel’s great-granddaughter, or great-great, maybe, I forget, and Joan thought that was one reason why Isabel had chosen her to pass the document on to, and it made sense to me.’

  Powalski leaned forward.

  ‘Aunt Meg, we have the complete genealogy back at the office, so we can trace Samuel’s branch of the family easily enough. Obviously, in the light of this document, that’s where our focus should be. But time is short, and you know the family better than we ever will. It would really help to know whether you or Joan asked any questions based on what Isabel recorded, who you spoke to, and what they said.’

  Aunt Meg nodded.

  ‘Over the years, we both did. We spoke to Samuel’s family when we saw them. Of course, you understand, we had to do it quietly, because we couldn’t give away the existence of Isabel’s document. So it was a question here, a ques
tion there, at reunions and funerals and suchlike. Joan was pretty convinced that none of Samuel’s descendants had the twenty-two documents, and I’m sure she was right. If the family still had them, they would have surfaced by now. Joan thought that Samuel had either hidden them away for safekeeping, or taken them to the Treasury in Washington. Either way, she never did get any clue about where they might be now, and neither did I.’

  Powalski looked at me.

  ‘Kiah, maybe I need to do a road trip, or at least get on the phone, and speak to as many of Samuel’s descendants as I can.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  I had warmed up some during the time I was reading the document, and my mind had begun to work again. Based on what Isabel had written, Powalski’s suggestion was logical enough, but I wasn’t convinced. If Joan and Aunt Meg had come up with nothing over so many years, and if there had been no trace of the twenty-two documents since Isabel had put pen to paper towards the end of 1813, it seemed unlikely to me that they were about to appear magically now, more than two hundred years later. Powalski and Sam were understandably excited by this extraordinarily close link to Jacob, a link which undeniably telescoped those two centuries into a time you could almost hold in your hand, but I didn’t see how it was going to bring us any closer to finding some evidence in the month or so that remained to us. At the same time, I had a feeling that I was missing something, something that seemed tantalisingly close but that I couldn’t quite put my finger on; it was lurking somewhere in my mind, but somehow just out of reach.