City of Dreams (18 page)

Sally heard the cart soon after dawn, while she was still sitting at the table. She had sat there since three in the morning. Since she had wakened and realized Lucas had not come home.

In the almost three years they’d lived in this place, this was the first time she’d heard the sound of wooden wheels trundling over the narrow path that led to the cabin.

She stood up, moving slowly, heavy with fatigue and heat and worry, and the weight of her belly. Sally put one hand over her stomach. “Do not fear, little one. Whatever happens, I will not let you come to any harm.”

She walked to the door, opened it, and waited. The approaching vehicle grew louder, then stopped for a time. She heard men’s voices complaining, but she could not make out the words. Apparently the wagon, or whatever it was, had become stuck.

She couldn’t remember any time before now when Lucas had stayed away all night. Always, no matter what he did or where he went, at some point he returned and slept in his own bed.

She’d known no good would follow, known it as soon as he stormed out of the cabin like a man possessed, shouting to her to bolt the door and stay inside until he returned, then began running toward the town as if the demons of hell pursued him.

It was all her fault. She’d told her brother of Van der Vries’s suspicions to warn him, so he’d be on his guard. If instead Lucas fought with the Dutchman, punished him for the terrible thing he seemed to believe, the law would come down on him with all its might.

Dear God, what was she going to do if he was in the stockade? The authorities might insist she couldn’t stay in the cabin by herself, that she should live in the barber shop until Lucas was freed. In town. Where all the
huisvrouwen
could look at her and—

The wooden wheels were turning again. The sound grew louder, it was coming toward her. The morning was already stifling, but Sally reached for her shawl and wrapped herself in it. She thought of hiding, but it seemed pointless. She could not hide forever. Not even for the two months until her baby was born.

A small cart pulled by a single horse drove out of the woods and into the clearing. “Ah, juffrouw, I am pleased that you are already awake. Waiting for me, perhaps. Eagerly. As a bride should.”

Van der Vries. And Minister Goos from the church. Whatever Lucas had done to the Dutchman, it had addled his brain. The physician was babbling like an idiot. Holding the shawl close around her, Sally stepped out of the cabin. “Where is my brother? Why are you both here?”

“Where else should a groom be but with his bride? And the minister is here to marry us, of course.” Van der Vries climbed down from the wagon. “Are you quite ready? If you are, the ceremony will be performed right here. This very minute.”

“You’re mad. Reverend Goos, I am not a churchgoer, but I appeal to—”

“All in Nieuw Amsterdam are my flock, juffrouw. And since Jacob here has informed me of the circumstances, I am in total agreement that the wedding should take place at once. You will be forgiven your moment of folly by both God and man, my dear. You must have no doubt about that. Once the two of you are husband and wife, no one can judge the passion that caused you to sin.”

“Passion? I assure you, sir, I have no passion for Jacob Van der Vries. I despise the man. I—”

“I am sure you feel that way now,” the minister said softly. “But even if he did take advantage once, you cannot quarrel with the fact that Mijnheer Van der Vries is making full restitution. You are to be his wife, have his protection before the law. I do not think you have any choice in this matter, juffrouw.” Goos nodded toward her belly. Apparently, since he’d been told what to expect, its small bulge was enough for him. “Under the circumstances,” he added.

Sally turned to Van der Vries. “In God’s name, what have you told him?”

“The truth. Having repented of my sin, I knew I must confess it.”

“The truth … That you and I … Reverend Goos, he is lying. I swear it.”

“My child, I have seen many women in your condition. There is no point in further prevarication.”

“Where is Lucas? I must see my brother. He would never permit—”

“Calm yourself, juffrouw.” Van der Vries reached inside his coat and brought out a piece of paper. “The matter has been dealt with. Perhaps you’d like to see this.” He held the paper out to her, but spoke to the minister. “A remarkable woman, as I told you. She writes as well as reads. She even draws. Is that not so, my dear?”

Sally snatched the paper from him. “I, Lucas Turner, being the sole and lawful guardian of my sister, Sally Turner, do give my complete and unfettered agreement to the marriage …”

“Where did you get this?” Her voice was weak and her breath came in hoarse gasps. She thought she might faint. “Where is Lucas? Sweet heaven, what did you do to him to get him to—”

Van der Vries flicked at a piece of lint on his lapel. “I did nothing to him. I paid him sixty guilders. To be frank, I offered forty, but he refused and insisted on twenty more. Your brother values you highly, juffrouw.” He looked at her and smiled. “As, indeed, do I. Now, it is growing hotter by the minute. Let us get on with it.”

The minister looked a little confused, perhaps a little sad. Sally turned to him. “Reverend, I implore you. I do not wish to marry this man. Surely I cannot be forced to do so.”

“Juffrouw, I ask you to answer me two questions. Truthfully. With God as your witness. Are you with child?”

Sally stared straight at him. “I am. But this—”

Goos held up his hand. “The second question. Is the signature on that document truly that of your brother and sole guardian, Lucas Turner?”

Despair came over her in waves, as if she had been thrown into the sea and knew that she must drown. She could not breathe. She was dying, and there was no one to help her.

“I am waiting for your answer, juffrouw. As God is your witness, is that the signature of your brother?”

“It is.”

“Then, since your brother consents and Mijnheer Van der Vries wishes it, we will proceed at once with the ceremony.”

Chapter Three

S
HE
’
D BEEN HIS WIFE
for nearly three days, but Van der Vries hadn’t touched her. “I will not claim my marital rights until after you’re rid of your … embarrassment,” he told her. “I’m sure you will appreciate my consideration and act accordingly.”

Sally wasn’t sure what acting accordingly meant until he showed her the room at the front of the house. “Prepared especially for you, my dear. If there’s anything you need that you do not have, tell me.”

Crocks, vials, jugs, jars—a few even of rare and precious glass—dosing spoons and scales, a brazier for heating small quantities and a fireplace for large ones … there was nothing lacking in the manner of equipment. “I have need of plants to simple with.” Sally had made no attempt to keep the scorn from her voice. “Perhaps you have forgotten that, mijnheer.”

“No, mevrouw. I have not. Hetje, come.”

The slave came in carrying a bushel basket filled to the brim with the seed capsules of poppies. “I wish you to make as much laudanum as you can, but be sure and save enough seed for further planting. I’m thinking of buying a field at the end of the road for the purpose. If that is not possible, we will uproot the orchard.”

Laudanum. That’s what this was all about. Her skill in making it and Jacob Van der Vries’s lust for the strange and compelling dreams it induced. As long ago as Roman times herbalists such as Pliny had written of the dangers of sipping the juice of the poppy.
Sweet pleasure that leaves pain and destruction behind
… Laudanum had set them on this road to hell, but Sally saw no choice except to follow it.

At least until the child was born.

Sally knew Van der Vries’s mind as she’d known Lucas’s. Her husband, God help her, intended to kill the baby the moment it left her body. She knew, too, that she would defeat them both. Her child would live. The answer lay in the practice of her craft. The room at the front of the house on Pearl Street would be her refuge.

Lucas tried three times to see her. He picked his moments, watching until he saw Van der Vries leave the house, but twice his knock went unanswered. He was sure Sally was inside and that she knew it was him, but short of breaking in there was nothing he could do. The third time, Hetje came to the door.

“Hetje, thank God. I wish to speak with my sister. Tell her I’m here.”

The slave shook her head. “Mevrouw tell me no, barber. Mevrouw say you can’t come in.”

“She’s got to see me, Hetje. I have to explain.”

“Mevrouw told me to tell you she’s the physician’s wife now. Doesn’t matter to her what a barber thinks about anything. Mevrouw say every barber in Nieuw Amsterdam can drop dead this very minute and it means nothing to her.”

“Indeed. Well, you can tell her the message is clear. How is she, Hetje?”

“Mevrouw be a little tired, barber. She got the ague.”

“So that’s the story Van der Vries is putting about, is it? She has the ague.”

“Mevrouw be well soon. See everybody then.” Hetje spoke the words as if by rote.

Lucas leaned toward the black girl. “Hetje, you and I, I believe we understand each other. We both know that sometimes you have to do things you hate. Tell my sister for me this was one of those times. Say I’m sorry. That I’ll do anything I can to make amends. Swear you’ll tell her.”

Hetje nodded. “I be—”

“Hetje! Shut the door and come inside.”

Sally’s voice. She was probably sitting on the stairs, listening to every word. Lucas tried to push past the slave, but she was ready for him, stiffened against his assault. “Mevrouw say you can’t come in, barber. She say I’m not to let you in.”

Although Hetje was strong, Lucas could easily have overpowered her. But he saw no point. Not until Sally’s attitude softened. After she was rid of the savage’s child. “You’re sure she’s all right? That sod’s not abusing her in any way? If he ever does, Hetje, you must tell me immed—”

“Mevrouw a little tired from the ague.” Hetje was staring past him, looking at some point in the air over his left shoulder.

Lucas turned to go. He was halfway down the path when he turned back. The black girl was still standing in the door, but this time she was looking directly at him. “Hetje, the poppies that grew on my land, near my cabin … After the petals dropped, the seed capsules were all harvested in the middle of the night. That was a few days after my sister married your master. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Mevrouw be a little tired from the ague.”

“Very well,” Lucas said softly. “Tell her what I said. Tell her I’m sorry.” He walked down the long path between the apple trees and let himself out Van der Vries’s front gate and onto Pearl Street.

Hetje watched until the gate closed behind the barber, then turned to look for her mistress. Mevrouw Turner was no longer in the hall. The slave went to the simpling room. “The barber be gone, mevrouw. He told me to tell you he—”

“I know what he told you. I heard every word. And believed not one of them. Pass me that ladle.”

The laudanum was almost ready. The poppy seeds had been steeping fifteen days with ripe apples and dried currants. The brew was semi-liquid and covered in froth. Sally dipped the ladle to the bottom of the crock and lifted a bit of the mixture to her nose. The smell was perfect, rich and heady, with the distinct odor of yeast. “It’s ready for straining. You’ll have to help me with this part. Carry the crock over there to that table. Hetje, where do you buy the doctor’s meat?”

“At the shambles market on the Brede Wegh, mevrouw. I be going early in the morning. Get the very best. You want me to pour this stuff into that cloth?”

“Into the straining muslin, yes. Carefully, so you disturb the sediment as little as possible. From now on you are to buy meat in the afternoon. From the butcher on Hall Place, Hetje. And tell me everything you observe when you’re there.”