City of Dreams (20 page)

“And you find that acceptable?”

“I find it less unacceptable than some other creeds. There are none starving in this place. And in general, the peace is kept.”

Witherspoon smiled. “A fair measure. The general peace. You are intelligent, barber. And as I said, an Englishman. That is a fortunate combination. I think you will not mistake my meaning when I ask you to keep your eyes open. And to have a quiet word with me if any here in New York seem to be particularly unhappy about His Grace’s rule.”

“What I have been trying to explain, sir, is that the people of New Ams—New York are not much interested in who rules back in Europe. They will be content if you can keep the savages in their place, do not tax them unduly, and let them get on with their lives.”

“Which, according to you, involve largely the creation of wealth.”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough. But if you should note anything else—anything you judge untoward—you will find Governor Nicolls to be most accommodating to his friends, Mr. Turner.”

Lucas calculated rapidly. Seize the opportunity when it presents itself; the concept had served him well before. “There is one man you might wish to keep an eye on. Name’s Jan Doncke. A few months back he was suggesting the Dutch colonists declare war on the English.”

“Thank you. We shall be wary of Mr. Doncke.”

Fair enough. It was something to keep them occupied until they found out Doncke was a doddering old fool and no one paid him any mind. “One other thing as well, Mr. Witherspoon. A question about English legal practice.” The man behind the desk nodded, waiting.

“If a man deserts his wife,” Lucas said softly, “disappears with no warning, and no provision made for her well-being, how long must it be before the woman is declared a widow and free to marry again? The Dutch say seven years. Is English law the same?”

Witherspoon made a tent of his fingers and peered at Lucas over the top of them. “An interesting question, Mr. Turner. Personally, not being schooled in the law, I have no idea what the answer might be back in London. Of course, Governor Nicolls is in complete charge in New York. Here the law is what he says it is.”

The sweat poured off Sally. The contractions were still quite far apart, but when the sharpest of them came she gritted her teeth to keep back the screams. In between she swallowed her moans and clung to Hetje’s hand. The slave never moved from her side. She wiped Sally’s brow and murmured comfort. “You doing just fine, mevrouw. That baby going to be just fine.”

“What about him?” She looked toward the hall.

“I keep telling you, mevrouw. Master not be back yet. He say he not be back until it be time for his dinner.”

“That’s two hours from now,” Sally whispered. “Maybe the baby will be born before then.”

“No,” Hetje said. “You be just at the beginning, mevrouw. A first baby takes a while to get itself born. But you don’t be worrying. Hetje be doing everything exactly like you said.”

“You made the pie? The way I told you?”

The other woman chuckled. “I made a beautiful pie, mevrouw. With pigeon and apples and currants. And good and plenty of mevrouw’s special sauce. The master going to enjoy his dinner today. Oh, yes.”

Sally squeezed Hetje’s hand. “And sleep for hours after it. Enough time to …” Sally couldn’t speak the words. Her eyes filled with tears.

Hetje stroked her forehead with a damp cloth. “Don’t worry, mevrouw. Everything going to be fine. This baby’s going to be fine.”

“Hetje, have you … have you ever had a child?”

“Three, mevrouw. I be eleven first time they put me with a man.”

“They put you. Did you care for him, Hetje?”

“Never saw him except for that one week up in the slave compound. He did it to me, and then they took him off someplace and I never laid eyes on him again. Nine months after, I be having me a little girl.”

“Where is she? What did—” Another contraction took Sally’s breath away. She clung to Hetje’s hand and bit her lips to keep back any sound.

“You got to breathe, mevrouw. Breathe deep each time the pain comes.”

Sally gulped air. Twice, three times. The pain ebbed. “What about your little girl?” she asked. “Where is she, Hetje?”

“Never saw her after she was four,” Hetje said. “That be when they sold her. I never knew where.”

“Oh, God. Hetje, I’m so sorry.”

“Had two little boys, too. One died of the cholera when he be two. The other one got sold when he be five.”

“And each time … The fathers … You didn’t …”

“It always be like the first time. They put me with men when they wanted me to have a baby. That’s how it be in the compound, mevrouw. Men and women live separate. Everyone do their work by day, and by night—” Hetje broke off. The two women looked at each other. “’Course, it might have been different with me,” Hetje added. “I be born to free folk.”

“Truly?”

The black woman nodded. “My mama and papa be having a little farm up in the woods. In them swamplands around Minetta Brook. Governor before this one, Kieft, he wanted folks not be Indians to be living between the town and the trouble. Kieft gave my mama and papa a little ground to work and build a cabin on. Gave ’em papers, too. Said they could live free long as they gave the governor a fat pig once a year. And came into town to work whenever he needed them.”

The slave wiped Sally’s face with a cool cloth. “Thank you, Hetje. I don’t understand. If your parents were free, why—”

“The papers don’t say nothing about children, mevrouw. A man and a woman living free with old Governor Kieft’s papers, their children got to go to the slave compound if that’s where they be needed. That’s what happened to me. I be needed. They said eleven was time enough. They said they needed more stock, so I couldn’t just be let stay fallow.”

Sally squeezed the black woman’s hand. “I’m sorry for all your troubles, Hetje—” She gasped at the next contraction. “Hetje, what if my baby is—”

“You stop worrying yourself, mevrouw. Your baby going to be fine. Sure to be a woman with enough milk for your baby in the compound. They won’t let your baby die. Babies in the slave compound be valuable. Worth a lot of money once they got a few years behind ’em. That be the important thing, mevrouw. You keep thinking on that. Your baby going to live.”

At four
A.M
.—after Hetje tied a sheet to the head of the bed so her mistress could cling to it and scream only silently, after Sally had labored nearly seventeen hours—she pushed her child into the world.

“Be a little boy, mevrouw!” Hetje put the infant on his mother’s stomach. “A beautiful little boy!”

Sally struggled to raise her head. “A boy … Is he all right, Hetje?”

“He be perfect, mevrouw.” The child gave one sharp cry as she spoke.

Sally struggled to sit up. “Hetje, don’t let him make any noise. He mustn’t—”

“You quiet yourself, mevrouw. Everything be exactly how it should be. This baby be fine. Got everything he’s supposed to have, and he can shout besides.” Hetje was tying off the cord in two places as she spoke. “I be going to cut this thing now, but don’t you worry. Ain’t be hurting none.” Hetje put her heavy shears between the two knots and snipped. “There, that be done. You didn’t feel nothing, did you?”

“Nothing.” Sally’s voice was weak with exhaustion. She put her hand on the infant’s back. “A boy,” she whispered. “My son. Hetje, where is the master? Maybe he heard the child cry. Run out to the hall and check.”

“I be out to the hall ten times in the past hour, mevrouw. Mijnheer be sleeping before and he be sleeping now. I told you, he ate that whole pie all by hisself. Didn’t leave even one crumb on the plate.”

“Yes, yes, you told me.” Sally laid her head back. She knew she wouldn’t be able to fight the exhaustion much longer. Hetje reached for the child. “Got to take him now, mevrouw. Got to get him cleaned up and wrapped up.”

“Hetje, is he …” She was too tired to see. Too frightened to trust her judgment. “What color is his skin, Hetje?”

“Nice dark little boy, mevrouw. Blackest hair you ever saw.”

“Good,” Sally whispered. “That’s good. Dark. It will be better for him.”

A few moments later Hetje placed the swaddled child in Sally’s arms. Sally pressed him to her. She could feel his heartbeat against her heart. The way it had been for these nine months. “My sweet baby son,” she whispered. “My darling boy.” The baby was tightly wrapped. Only his face showed, red and wrinkled, and a fringe of straight black hair. Sally kissed his forehead. She hugged him close.

Hetje peered into the dark beyond the window. “Mevrouw, the watchman passed this way a little while past. He be coming again soon. Better if I go before it starts getting to be morning.”

“Yes, I know. Only a few minutes more.” She held the child close. Dear God, how could she let him be taken away?

Hetje went to the door of the bedroom and cracked it open. The only sound was that of the snores coming from the study. “He still be sleeping, mevrouw. This be the best time for Hetje to leave.”

“Yes,” Sally whispered. “The best time.” She kissed her son once more. “Have your life, little one. I cannot raise you, but I swore I would not let them kill you and I have kept my promise.” Then, without another word, weeping silent tears, she gave the boy to Hetje.

“Well now,” Hetje whispered to the child she had hidden beneath her shawl, standing on Pearl Street as the muffled dark gathered itself to fight off the dawn. “Looks like you and me be all alone out here. Only thing has to happen now be for Hetje to decide where to take you.”

There was no moon, only starlight. Hetje opened her shawl a bit and peeked at the face of the infant. The redness of birth was already starting to fade. “A little white boy,” she whispered. “I be telling mevrouw you were a dark baby, because that be what she wants to hear. That be what we were counting on, the mistress and me. Since you had a white mama and a red papa, you were going to be a dark baby and I could slip you into the slave compound and no one ever be sure where you came from. But now … What Hetje be doing with this little boy nobody be wanting? You got any answers for me, little white baby?”

The child continued to sleep.