Authors: Julie Doherty
Chapter 26
Edward stepped out of the mire and onto a stone footpath. It was market day. Amid the frenzy, rows of itinerant vendors flanked the mucky street and stretched eight blocks west. The city’s shopkeepers added to the melee by piling their wares outside their doors and obstructing foot traffic.
Oxen and horses drew wagons up and down High Street, but the bricks of the causeway built for their use were disappearing under the mud heaved up by the heavy traffic. Throngs of livestock and new immigrants flowed toward the market house. Most would not return.
“Wait,” he shouted to Donald and Henry, now well ahead of him. “I’m thirsty.” He caught his breath at a water pump in the shade of City Hall. Its handle was still hot from a day in the sun, and as he pumped it up and down, it deepened the pain of his broken blisters. He leaned down to take a drink and winced. Two weeks of hard labor and nights chasing sleep in alleyways took their toll on a man. Once they collected their wages from the merchant, though, they would have enough for Mary’s fare and the supplies needed to get all of them through the coming winter.
“Hurry, Father,” Henry said, approaching, “or we risk missing Conyngham’s agent.” He had energy to spare, thanks to love, the most powerful of all motivators.
“It is market day. The agent will stay open late. We have time.” Edward took another draw from the pump’s stream. He wiped a trickle of water from his chin and observed his son, who stood on the footpath as limber as new hay, his body untouched by the pains of age.
The blessing of youth. How long since my last pain-free day?
Henry’s eyes were wide and pleading. “But, Father, Donald says we will need to see the magistrate, too, and his office will close soon.”
Edward scowled at Donald, who grinned apologetically. Near him, a vendor sold nuts from a wagon, hickory nuts and chestnuts among them, a worrying observation that reminded Edward of winter’s fast approach. He had not expected a two-week delay in Philadelphia. They should already be at William’s cabin.
Edward nodded toward a downtrodden crowd of foreigners being herded toward the market. “See yon group of folk there?” Their shoulders hunched as if heavily laden. “Germans, and all of them are heading to the market. And see that group o’er there?” He gestured to another group of gaunt strangers. “More Germans. The mayor has a lot of signing to do on market day. He will be open well into the e’ening.”
In spite of his argument, Edward hurried. He would be glad to find Mary and put Philadelphia and its ugly slave trade behind them.
In a grimy section of the city, they found Conyngham’s impressive office incompatibly situated between a wheelwright’s shop and a blacksmith’s forge, and surrounded by broken wagon parts, mounds of wood, and manure from horses waiting to be shod.
A servant washed soot from the front window of the merchant’s office, something Edward guessed was a daily chore. She returned his smile as they passed and entered the building.
A man stood up behind a counter.
Edward recognized him as the clerk from the brig.
“Ah, the McAdamses, and Pemberton,” the clerk said. “I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten your wages.” He pulled some papers out of a drawer. “But then, folk never forget their money, do they? They forget to pay, certainly, but they do not forget to collect. How are you enjoying our fair city?”
“Very well,” Edward replied.
The clerk flipped through his papers. “Yes, yes, here we are. Two pounds each. We are fortunate to have coins when most rely on paper money. One of the many perquisites of transatlantic trade, I suppose.” He snapped coins onto the counter in front of each of them.
Edward felt Henry’s elbow jab his side. The lad had no patience!
“Pray, tell me, sir,” Edward asked, “are there passengers remaining on
The Charming Hannah
? We have no woman, and a man needs to eat, as ye well know.” He laughed, and the clerk laughed with him.
“Yes, I myself cannot toast a slice of bread without turning it to shoe leather.” The clerk grew animated, fueled by the possibility of a sale. “Let me look.” He slid his finger down a page. “Yes, yes, I have several girls left. Hmm, yes, but they will be of little use to you for a few years yet, and”—he scanned Edward from head to toe—“there is the matter of their education. ’Twill be costly if they cannot be taught at home.”
“Nay,” Edward said, “no wee lassies will do. I am in no position to educate one, and more importantly, we need someone sturdy enough to bear the rigors of frontier life. Mind ye, I am unopposed to taking on a sick one, if all she needs is time to heal. Not much will be required of our woman until we are established.” He tapped a finger on his chin. “There was a lassie offloaded at the pesthoose who did nae look all that sick. What about her? What was her name, Donald, was it Pinkerton?”
“No, I think it was Patterson, Mary Patterson.”
“Patterson, you say. Why does that name sound familiar?” the clerk asked no one in particular. He shuffled through more papers. “Oh, why yes, here she is. Oh, gentlemen”—he cocked his head—“I’m sorry, she was bound two days ago.”
“What?” Something sliced open Edward’s belly and flung his guts to the floor.
Henry threw himself against the counter. “That canny be. She was ill, with two fares to pay. Check again.”
“Yes, she was ill, she was. Says so right here.” The clerk rotated the paper and pointed to a line partway down the page.
Edward felt faint as he stepped closer to read it.
Mary Patterson,
committed to the pesthouse
. Released from the pesthouse on the 29
th
day of August, 1755, assigned to George Gibson and his assigns, of Lancaster County, servant eight years, £6, customary dues.
“Six pounds, sir?” Edward’s question had barely been audible.
“Yes, that is what it says.”
Henry’s face turned to sun-bleached linen. “Six pounds? Ye sold her for six pounds?”
“She was ill. It is better to sell at a discount than pay for extended care. A physician’s cost borders on madness these days.”
“But six pounds?”
“You may think the price for her contract quite low, but sometimes buyers prefer a low price over a long indenture, which was the case here. It is fortunate for her, as she could have been held accountable for the cost of her father’s passage on top of her own. She fared better than she had reason to hope, all things considered, and Mister Conyngham as well, as he is no longer charged with her care.”
Henry turned on his heels, then rubbed his forehead and looked at the floor.
Donald rushed to comfort him.
The clerk tried to remedy his unhappiness. “Do not despair. We will find you a woman. A brig is expected from Rotterdam in a few days. German women are stout and hardy. Perhaps one of them will suit your needs.”
Henry shrugged Donald’s hand off his shoulder and paced. “I canny believe it. We had six pounds afore we set foot on this bloody province. We should have come here first. I knew we should have come here first.”
Donald strode to the counter to inspect the paper. “Sir, what of this Gibson? I see his name here many times.”
“He buys indentures inexpensively and takes the servants inland for selling on at a profit.”
Dear God, a soul driver. My father’s granddaughter has been sold to a soul driver.
“There is naught we can do but head west,” Edward said to Henry, who sat brooding at Donald’s feet with his face pressed into his hands. “Lancaster County is on our way, about two days from here. I say we head oot at first light, find Gibson, and make an offer for Mary. We know what he paid for her. He’ll likely want double, and double we have, e’en after we buy our seed and supplies.”
Donald’s face bore the extreme concern Edward felt. “Yes, but the paper only said Gibson is
from
Lancaster County. There is no way to be certain that is where he is taking her, and great Jehovah, how big is Lancaster County?”
“It is all we have, and it is where we must start.”
“We should leave now.” Henry’s hands muffled his words. “We can walk by the light of the moon.”
Though the sun was far from setting, a pale full moon already hung in the eastern sky. The night would be a bright one for traveling.
Edward was ready to agree when a thought occurred to him. “A man from the backcountry does nae get into the city often. He would make the most of his trip, especially this time of year when a man stocks up for winter. Gibson bought Mary’s indenture only two days ago. He would nae leave and miss market day.”
“And the souls he could purchase at a discount there,” Donald said. “All those Germans we saw were heading for auction.”
“We should look around the market,” Edward said. “We need to buy our own supplies anyway. If we canny find her, then we’ll rest for a few hours and leave by the light of the moon.”
Henry rose to his feet with a brick-red imprint of his hands stamped on his unhappy face. His earlier vigor had succumbed to exhaustion, the kind Edward knew well. He recalled the heaviness of grief after Elizabeth’s death, when the simplest things turned burdensome.
“We’ll find her,” he said to Henry, knowing it didn’t help, and knowing it was a lie.
He would do his best to find Mary, but if they didn’t soon head for William’s cabin, neither of them would be left alive to look for her. They’d already sacrificed a fortnight that should have seen them cutting firewood and getting seed in the ground. Edward anticipated a fight when the time came to give up the search for Mary. Surely he could make Henry see the recklessness in blindly scouring the countryside with winter nipping at their necks. They would have to hole up and resume their search in spring.
The severity of frontier life would leave little time for a broken heart. Henry would heal in the isolation. The long winter would give Edward time to plan Mary’s rescue.
They made their way up High Street, now a rutted swamp. In the middle of the road, a stocky man struck an ox’s hindquarter with a piece of lumber, but the beast refused to budge. It rolled its eyes to their whites and lowed miserably.
“Go to the market and look for Mary,” Edward said to the boys, not taking his eyes off the ox. “If ye canny find her, ask men standing about the auction if they know George Gibson. Meet me back here at sunset.”
“Are you coming along?” Donald asked.
“Nay. I’m gonny try to buy us supplies, and that ox.”
The boys jogged away, Henry’s spirit visibly renewed by the hope of finding Mary with Gibson at the auction.
Edward picked his way across the mud and manure to the ox handler. The man took off his hat, then swiped his sleeve across his brow. He threw down the board and glared at the animal, then punched its cheek. When the ox didn’t shift, he shouted something in German and hauled on the rope attached to a ring in the animal’s nose. The ox braced its front legs and mooed pitifully. When the German tugged harder, the ox struck the man with one of its capped horns.
The German fell to the muck, coughing and holding his ribs while the ox snorted blood-tinged slime above him. The man crawled to his feet, full of rage and covered in filth. By the time Edward made it to the causeway, he was picking up the board again and roaring what could only be German obscenities.
“Hold on there.” Edward held up his palm. “Ye canny move him wi’ your fists. Ye’ll only earn his hatred.”
“Vat business is it of thine?” He bore the upright stature and defiant expression of a native-born American, something Edward had not yet grown used to. They met every person they encountered, be he servant or nobleman, with an air of equality that he found shocking.
“I do nae mean to be at odds wi’ ye. I saw your trouble and thought I could help.”
“Zee only help he needs is a cut across his throat. Vorst animal I ever bought.”
Edward quickly scanned the ox’s physique. He could not see its hooves, but its bone structure was superior and its eye intelligent. It watched Edward carefully while chewing its cud. The animal was terrifyingly underweight, with its pelvic bones threatening to burst through the lackluster hide covering them. The sores seeping on its neck and shoulders served as evidence of hard labor performed under an ill-fitting, unpadded yoke. It was no wonder the ox was irritable.
“Are ye taking him to the auction?”
“Nein.
I’m heading to zuh shambles. He’s only good for a butcher’s hook.” He kicked the ox’s flank and muttered something in German.
“How much will ye get for him?”
“Nossing if I cannot get him to move!”
“A pound, and I will take him off your hands.”
“You vill never get him out of the street!”
“That is my hard luck, then. Will ye take a pound for him, or are ye gonny to let him block the road and cause a commotion?”
“You are as crazy as he is.” The man shook his head. “If I sell him to you, you vill only come back to me for your money once you find he is not vorth the price you paid.”
Edward stroked the ox’s cheek.
The animal exhaled softly and curled up its tongue to clean out its nostrils.
“I will nae come back to ye. I make the offer knowing he’s the devil incarnate.”
The man considered him for a moment, then spat on the ground and nodded his head. “Ulstermen are a foolhardy lot.
Ja
, I vill take a pound for him, Gott save you.”
The two men shook hands. Edward reached into his pocket to withdraw a coin. He handed it to the German. “Edward McAdams.”
“Jacob Sigler. My thanks, sir.” He pocketed the coin and tossed the ox’s lead rope to Edward. “And my sympathies.” He whirled away, mumbling and shaking his head.
Edward and the ox considered each other. “Now, ox.” He ran his palm across the animal’s forequarter. “Am I as big a fool as your former master says I am?” He pulled a pear from his pocket and let the ox take a bite of it. Drool dripped in long strings from the animal’s mouth as it chewed. Edward held the pear an arm’s length away, and the ox stretched its neck to take another bite. Unable to reach it, the beast stepped forward. Edward gave it another bite of pear and patted its neck.