City of Dreams (45 page)

Christopher glanced over at young Caleb, standing stiffly beside the fireplace, his face as rigid as his body, betraying nothing. “I realize this is a terrible shock to both of you. Particularly coming five days before the wedding. A great shock and a great grief. But you must think how much worse it could be. Your father, Caleb, is my uncle, not my cousin. You and I are first cousins, and you and Jennet are first cousins once removed. It is both unlawful and immoral for you to marry. Your children would be—”

“She hates you, Papa!” Jennet had been sitting beside his desk; now she jumped up and flung the words at him. “Tamsyn hates you. She’d say anything to make you unhappy. Everyone knows she blames you for—”

“For killing her mother. I know. But Tamsyn bears you no ill will, nor Caleb. Besides, she was glad to have the mystery solved. She admitted as much. Even to me. We were close once. It has helped us to understand some of what happened earlier on.”

“Helped whom, Papa? You? Tamsyn? What about me? What about Caleb? Are we to sacrifice our future because of your past? We won’t! We’ll run away and marry. You’ll never see either of us again.” Jennet ran to her beloved, put her hands on his chest, and looked up at him. “Tell him, Caleb. Tell him we will be married whatever he and your father—”

“A savage.” Caleb took a step backward, removing himself from her touch. His voice was barely a whisper. “You’re part red savage, Jennet. That’s why your hair is so black and so straight. I never thought. It never occurred to me. A filthy red savage …”

II

“Marry me instead,” DaSilva said.

“You?”

“And why not?”

“I don’t know. I just never …” Her eyes were red with weeping. And for once she did not seem entirely sure of herself. “I thought … I mean, I just assumed …”

“What?”

“That you were married.” Jennet turned and looked at the redbrick mansion. It was the first week of January and the fruit trees were bare of leaves. The sun shone on the freshly painted white pillars beside the door, and the gleaming white roof balustrade that enclosed four tall chimneys. “It never occurred to me that you would live in a place like that alone.”

“Then you were wrong, for that is exactly how I live there. Except for my servants. Marry me, Jennet. And be mistress of one of the finest mansions in New York.”

She shook her head and pressed her pocket cloth to her eyes once more. The thing was tiny and sodden with tears. Solomon produced a large white linen square. “Here, use this. And forget what I said about being the mistress of a great mansion. I should have known that would hold no appeal for you. Think instead of how much you could do for the poor if you were my wife.”

She stopped crying for a moment, considered, then shook her head again. “It’s no use thinking about it. My father would never agree to my marrying a—” She broke off and her cheeks reddened slightly.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I assure you it does not offend me to be called a Jew. And since you are, let’s see, an eighth part red savage, perhaps we deserve each other.”

“Papa will not see it that way.”

Solomon reached over and took her hand. He had never done that before. What touches there had been between them were accidental. His flesh had burned after each one. But this time he did not allow himself to feel anything. Not yet.

“Look at me, Jennet. Good. Now listen very carefully. I am entirely serious. I want to marry you. I will give you a life far more interesting and exciting than anything you have dreamed for yourself, and I know you have more dreams than most young women your age. Moreover, if you agree—notice I say you, not your father—then his opinion is of no importance. There are other ways to marry in this colony, and they have nothing to do with the crying of banns or the approval of ministers. As for the required approval of parents, that can be avoided if one knows from whom to request the favor.”

She did not reply immediately. DaSilva said nothing more. A minute passed. Two.

“The things I do at the tanneries … Solomon, you said I could help the poor. More than I do now. Would that truly be the case?”

“Truly,” he said with a solemn nod.

More seconds passed. Then she nodded in her turn.

DaSilva had been holding his breath. He let it out. “Does that mean yes? Say it. I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes.” Her head was bent and the single word was almost too soft to be heard.

“You’re sure? You must be sure, Jennet, for I give you my word, once you are mine I will never let you go.”

If she saved a bit of money from the household account it might be possible to buy a lancet and a scalpel of her own. She could send some boy to make the purchase. He could say the instruments were for Christopher Turner. She’d never tell Solomon, of course. He would talk to her about society being intolerant and—

“Jennet, I asked whether you were sure. I’m waiting for an answer.”

She raised her head, turned to him. The blue eyes looked directly into his. “I am sure, Solomon.”

“Very well.” Utterly calm, with nothing of his excitement showing in his voice. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her off, not now when victory was so close. He opened the carriage door on the road side and stuck his head out. “Clemence, come down. I need you.”

The black driver immediately jumped off his high seat, stood at almost military attention, and waited for instructions. “Thank you, Clemence. I must go inside for a moment. I want you to stand right there where you are, beside the carriage. I wish to be sure Miss Jennet is safe.”

“I won’t move, Master.” DaSilva had bought Clemence years before in Brazil. The black man knew exactly what he was being asked to do. He was a big man, and strong. There was no chance that this little slip of a girl would get away while he was guarding her.

DaSilva went into the house. Five minutes passed. He returned carrying two envelopes, waving them in the air so the ink would dry. “Ah, I am relieved that you are both still here. Well done, Clemence. Back to your perch. Quickly. And drive us first to Hall Place.”

DaSilva needn’t have worried about Jennet running away. She hadn’t moved since he left her. She told herself that she was dreaming, that any moment she would wake and discover she had not truly agreed to marry Solomon DaSilva. How could she? He was an old man. Besides, she’d always known she must marry someone who adored her, someone who could be persuaded to see things her way. Solomon was the most extraordinary man she’d ever met, but never for a moment had she considered him someone she could make do her will. And she had certainly not thought of him as a possible husband.

“Hall Place,” she said, as if the familiar words had jerked her back into reality. “But I told you, my father will never—”

“Hush, my dear. You have given your consent”—speaking while he climbed up into the carriage beside her, closing the door as Clemence clucked the white horses into action—“I will now take care of everything. You need think no more about it.”

Clemence delivered the first note to the house beside the barbering pole. Jennet saw Amba take the envelope, and saw her look for a moment at the grand carriage waiting in Hall Place, but if she saw Jennet inside it she gave no sign. The door closed. Clemence returned. They drove on.

Ten minutes more of slow going through the narrow and winding streets of the town, threading their way among the carts and carriages and foot traffic of bustling New York at midday. In less than four months the pox had taken nearly ten percent of the population, six hundred and ninety whites and seventy-two blacks, but the crush seemed no less for that purging. Nor did the people show signs of the grief and terror they’d been through; New Yorkers were nothing if not resilient. Practically every street had a market, and each one was full of customers anxious to buy what they’d come for at the best possible price and hurry home to their dinners.

Solomon reached for her hand. Jennet jumped and stiffened, but she did not pull away.

“Tell me what you are thinking,” he said.

She shook her head. “Nothing of any importance.” They were out of the thick of the crowd now, almost at the edge of the town, a ways north of Trinity Church, at the corner of John Street and the Broad Way. The horses were making better time, their hooves clip-clopping merrily over the cobbles, as if they were pleased to move with greater ease. “Where are we going, Solomon?”

“To the home of a gentleman I know who is in a position to help us.”

“And what is this gentleman going to do for us? And how can you be sure he’ll do it?”

“He is going to marry us. It will be entirely legal, even without your father’s permission. And yes, I am quite sure he will do as I ask. I can always count on my friends, my dear.”

They had drawn up beside a large house, made of wood, not brick, with a wide porch running along the entire front. Clemence secured the reins and jumped from the driver’s seat. Solomon opened the carriage window and handed him the second envelope; Clemence carried it to the door. “Now we wait,” Solomon said. “But not for long.” He smiled at her and touched her cheek with one finger. “In a few minutes, my dearest Jennet, you will be legally mine. And soon after that, truly mine.”

She had no idea what he meant by the second part of that assertion. He could tell as much simply by looking at her. But as to the binding nature of a legal marriage, Jennet was an intelligent young woman; he was quite sure she understood that.

I don’t have to say another word, Solomon told himself. I didn’t force myself on her. I asked and she said yes.
Merda!
Then why is she looking at me like a cornered rabbit with no idea how to get away? “Jennet.” He didn’t know he was going to say it until the words came out of his mouth. “Listen, my dear, there is still time for you to change your mind if you want to.”

She could change her mind. He’d just said so. Yes, she would. I don’t want to be Solomon’s wife. He’s an old man. Well, almost an old man. But Amba has surely already taken the note in to Papa.

She hadn’t asked Solomon what the note said, but she could guess: “I’m marrying your daughter,” or words to that effect. So if she went home now they would think someone else had rejected her. And who would want her once it was known she was an eighth part red savage? Besides, Solomon was a rich man. If she married him, and if she managed her household allowance very carefully, she could ease the lives of the people in the tanneries.

Eventually she’d save enough to buy a lancet and a scalpel and a probe.

Jennet’s hands began to tremble the way they never did when she was actually holding the instruments. She clasped them together in her lap.

As for the getting and the bearing of children … She’d not read all those medical texts for nothing. Besides, crammed together the way they were in Hall Place, she had sometimes heard muffled sounds and stirrings from the corner room where her parents slept. She had a pretty good idea how babies came to be. Well, she would simply close her eyes and endure it as her mother did, as all women learned to do.

She stared at her hands, still folded in her lap. Finally she raised her head. “I have thought about it, Solomon.”

“Very carefully?”

“Yes, I assure you. With utmost care.”

“And?”

“And I do not wish to change my mind.”

“Being a true and valid justice of the peace, and in full and licit possession of the power invested in me by the lawful representatives of our noble sovereign, His Most Gracious Majesty George II, I hearby pronounce ye man and wife.”

Jennet was not sure the man was telling the truth. At least not about what he was doing being lawful and licit.

Minutes after the carriage stopped in front of his house and Clemence delivered Solomon’s note, the justice of the peace had come running out to the street to lead them inside. He had obviously left his dinner to perform the ceremony; he still had a napkin tied around his neck. His fat little wife was standing right inside the door, close enough to be a witness but plainly bored by the whole proceeding, and thinking, no doubt, that her meal was going cold in the kitchen. There had been no grand words about God joining and man not daring to put asunder. Only a lot of legal talk, and references to the king in England. As if His Majesty had the least bit of interest in what Jennet Turner did here in the colony of New York.