The Pilgrim Song (4 page)

“I got into a fight.”

“That’s not a jailin’ matter.”

“It is when you beat up the son of the attorney general for the state of New York.”

“Och, man, you tell me you did that?”

“I didn’t know who he was. It was just a fight over a girl, but I found out pretty quick that he was the wrong man to pick a fight with in this state.”

“Do you know anythin’ aboot gardenin’?”

“Not much. I know something about farming, though.” Clint grinned. “I followed a mule long enough to know how to go about that.”

“Weel, you look strong enough, but I’m the gardener here, and ye’ll do what I say, mind you.”

“It beats going to jail.”

“I’ll have no loafers, mind!”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry. That Miss Winslow would be sure to have her father throw me out if I didn’t work.”

“Weel, she might do it.” Jamie nodded and smiled. “She can bend her father around her little finger, but in case you do stay on, I got a room here. Where are your things?”

“A friend of mine is holding them.”

“Come along. There’s still time to get some work done today. See if you got anythin’ in you.”

****

As soon as Lewis entered the front door of his house, Jenny appeared before him. “Dad, we can’t have a criminal working for us!”

“Oh, he came, did he?” Lewis took off his coat and hat and handed them to Gerald Mason, the butler. He turned back to Jenny and said, “I promised his uncle we’d give him a try. He may not work out, of course.”

“But he’s a
criminal,
Dad! Think about Kat. What if he assaults her—or me?”

Lewis stopped and turned to face Jenny. “Did he seem like a criminal type to you?”

“He looked like a tough. He’s been in a fight. I can tell that.”

“That was the trouble. He beat up the wrong man.” Lewis explained the situation to his daughter and said, “I’ll have to give him a try, Jenny. He’s the nephew of a very dear friend of mine. As a matter of fact, if it hadn’t been for Fred Davenport, I might not even be here now.”

“What do you mean?”

“He pulled me to safety when I was in a place where I shouldn’t have been—a place full of bullets. They for sure would have picked me off if Fred hadn’t pulled me out of the way. So, you see, his nephew has to stay.” He smiled and patted
Jenny’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. If he doesn’t work out here, I’ll find another place for him. What did you do with him?”

“I took him out to Jamie’s cottage. Hannah said you wanted him to help the gardener.”

“I’ll just go out and have a word with him.”

Lewis left the house and went to the gardener’s cottage. He knocked on the door and it opened after a moment’s hesitation. “Hello, Jamie.”

“Ah, Mr. Lewis, I suppose you’ve come to see the new gardener.”

“Yes.” Lewis stepped inside and looked at the man who had risen from a chair. “Clinton Longstreet, I believe?”

“Yes, sir.”

Lewis put out his hand, and it was almost swallowed by Longstreet’s massive hand. “I’m glad to meet you,” Lewis said pleasantly. “Your uncle saved my life back in the war.”

“He thinks a lot of you, Mr. Winslow.”

“And I think a lot of him as well.” Lewis shot a grin at Jamie and said, “If you get in another fight, just be sure you don’t choose the son of the attorney general.”

Longstreet had been stiff, not knowing what sort of a man he might be facing, but now he smiled. “Yes, sir, I’ll be sure of that.” He had a soft voice with a distinct southern accent. There was an alert look about him, and his skin was bronzed deeply by the sun.

“I understand you’ve been at sea, Mr. Longstreet.”

“Yes, but I’ll never go back.”

“Didn’t like it, eh?”

“I guess I thought it would be like in the old days of the clipper ships, where you hauled the sails up. Instead I was belowdecks shoveling coal ten hours a day. No future in that.” Then he added, “I appreciate what you’ve done for me, sir.”

“Oh, it was little enough to do for an old friend. Why don’t you work things out with Jamie? I’ll pay you ten dollars a week until we see what you can do.”

“That’ll be fine, sir.”

Lewis nodded and left, and as soon as he was gone, Jamie said, “Weel, I reckon Miss Jenny wasn’t able to get her father to run you off.”

“I was expecting it.”

“I was too, to tell the truth. Weel, man, are ye hungry?”

“Yes, I guess I am.”

“Come along and we’ll have a bite. We always eat in the kitchen. You’ll like the food. Cook is as good as you’ll find.”

****

Clint said little as he ate with the other servants at the big table in the kitchen, listening in on their conversations and learning their names. Seated around the table were the butler, Gerald, a tall man with thin features, and his wife, whom everyone called Cook. They both appeared to be in their midforties. Alice Cookson was a maid with dark brown hair and snapping eyes that she put often on Clint. He learned that the attractive maid with dark hair and dark eyes, Marie DuPree, was from France. The other maid present was Mabel, a very young woman with blond hair and shy blue eyes who hardly said a word. Finally there were Jamie and Earl.

Earl made it a point to announce that the newest member of the staff had been delivered by the police. He dared Clint with his eyes and made several disparaging remarks about jailbirds. Clint studied the burly man, knowing that Crane would never be happy until he had demonstrated his strength, but it was too early for that.

Alice asked, “Where are you from, Mr. Longstreet?”

“You don’t have to call a jailbird ‘mister,’ ” Crane said, grinning.

“That’s right, ma’am. Clint’s good enough,” he said. “I grew up in Tennessee.”

“A real farm boy, I bet, are you?” Crane laughed as though he had said something witty. “Well, clean your boots off before you come in the house.”

Jamie watched Clint carefully. He took note when his new
helper had finished his meal, then took his dishes over to the kitchen sink.

As Clint left the kitchen, Cook put her eyes on Crane and said loudly, “Well, he’s got better manners than some I could name.”

“Yeah, but you’ll have to watch him. He’ll probably try to steal the silverware.” Crane reached over and squeezed Mabel’s shoulder. The girl drew away from him, and he laughed. “Someday you’re going to like me just fine, Mabel.”

When all the servants had finished their meal and gone back to their duties or their quarters, Cook and her husband finished cleaning up. “What do you think of that new man, Gerald?”

“He looks able enough. Poor Jamie needs all the help he can get.”

“I’m surprised that Mr. Lewis would get somebody out of jail.”

“There’s more to it than that.” Gerald shook his head and said, “You know, I’m not so worried about the new man as I am about Crane. He can’t keep his hands to himself.”

“I agree he doesn’t fit in here.”

“Frankly, I’m uneasy about both him and Longstreet here together. They’re bound to come to blows.”

****

After breakfast the following morning, Jamie led Clint out to a section of the formal garden and said, “This all has to be dug up and wheelbarrowed over into that bed over there.”

“All right,” Clint said. He noticed how painfully MacDougal seemed to get around, and the younger man began to work diligently.

MacDougal watched closely for two hours and saw that Clint was a good worker, handling the shovel like a toy and tossing the dirt as if it were made of air. He filled the wheelbarrow quickly, wheeled it over, dumped it, then came back
and immediately began again. Finally Jamie said, “You’re good with a shovel, Clint.”

“I had a lot of experience on that steamer.”

“’Twas not a good job, now, was it? I don’t see how a man stands it doon underneath, cut off from the sun and all that God has made.”

“It’s not for me,” Longstreet agreed, resting for a moment on his shovel and wiping his brow with his sleeve.

At ten o’clock Alice came out with a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses. “I thought you might be thirsty,” she said, batting her eyelashes at Longstreet.

Jamie grinned. “Well, you’ve never worried aboot me before. Must be some other attraction.”

“You leave me alone, Jamie.” She smiled and poured the glasses full. She watched as Clint drank his tea and said, “You’ll like it here.”

“I think I will. Nothing like easy work and pretty girls to bring you iced tea.”

“Oh, you’ve kissed the Blarney Stone!” Alice giggled. They chatted for a few moments before she returned to the kitchen.

Jamie laughed shortly. “You made a conquest there. Pretty lassie too.”

“I doubt if I’ll be doing much partying around here.”

The two men sat down under one of the trees, and Clint asked, “Have you been here long, Jamie?”

“Not long. Two years. Before that I worked for Mr. Vanderbilt.”

“Fast company.”

“Yes, not a good man to work for, but Mr. Winslow, now, he’s fine.”

“Do you have a family?”

Clint saw that the question disturbed Jamie.

“I have a son and a daughter,” the gardener said slowly. “My boy’s a veterinarian in Pennsylvania. He’s got a fine wife there.”

“Where does your daughter live?”

The question brought a bleak look into MacDougal’s eyes. “New Jersey.”

“Is she married?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Just curious.”

Jamie did not answer for a time, but finally the words came out reluctantly. “I have nothing to do with my daughter. She has shamed the MacDougal name.”

Clint took a big swallow of the cold tea and studied the older man. “What’d she do?”

“She ran away with a man—an actor.”

“That must have been hard for you, MacDougal.”

“Weel, they did marry finally just a year and a half ago.” Then he added, as if it hurt him to speak the words, “They have a child now, a wee boy.”

Clint drained the glass and crunched the ice between his white teeth. “What’s the boy’s name?”

“Same as mine.”

“She named the boy after you?”

“I suppose so.”

Clint put the glass down and turned to face MacDougal. “How long are you going to hold your daughter’s mistake against her, Jamie?”

“It’s none of your business!”

“I guess it’s not, but I have to say it seems that your reaction is a little harsh.”

“You would understand if you were a father.”

“I hope I wouldn’t hold a grudge, especially against one of my own children.”

MacDougal stood to his feet, gave Clint a furious look, and said, “Finish your work!” and stalked off, his back rigid with anger.

****

“How’s Longstreet working out, Jamie?” Lewis asked the next day as he approached the old gardener.

Jamie had been trimming the rosebushes, one of the jobs he was still able to do. The gardener scratched his chin thoughtfully and looked up at Lewis. “Weel now, I’ll have to say the man’s a fool for work.”

“Is that right?”

“I never seen a harder-workin’ man in all my life, and tough as boot leather, ’e is.”

“I’m glad to hear that. How have the servants taken to him?”

“Very weel—except for Earl. He’s all the time pokin’ at him for bein’ a jailbird.”

“Maybe I’d better have a word with Earl.”

“It would go amiss, Mr. Lewis.”

“Well, I need to deal with that, then. Earl always seems to have a chip on his shoulder. But you say we should keep Longstreet on?”

“Aye, sir, I think so,” Jamie replied. “I know I’m not much good to you,” he said quietly, “but I’ve got the knowledge, and this young man’s got the strength.”

“You’ll stay with me as long as you want to, Jamie.” Lewis smiled. “Don’t you worry about it.”

“Thankee, sir.”

As his employer left, Jamie stood for a long time thoughtfully staring at the ground. He had not been able to forget his conversation with Longstreet concerning his daughter. In all truth Jamie MacDougal was a good man and a Christian as well. He had long known that he was entirely in the wrong. His daughter had written him several times begging for forgiveness, but he had stubbornly refused. Clint’s words had been like a sharp needle, and he had slept poorly.

Finally he threw the shears down and stalked back to his cottage. He sat down at the table, pulled out a sheet of paper, and picked up a pen. He sat very quietly for a time and then said, “Good Lord, please forgive me. I have wronged my daughter and wronged you.” He began to write slowly and painfully:

CHAPTER THREE

A Matter of Pride

October swept into New York, bringing cold, crisp air in the early mornings. Thin streaks of white clouds raced across the sky, and the pale sun threw out little heat. Veteran New Yorkers, recognizing the signs, began to dig out heavy winter clothes and stock up on coal and wood. Soon winter would come and bring with it paralyzing cold that the poor could not easily escape but from which the affluent could take refuge in their elaborate, well-warmed homes.

Clint had taken an interest in the small vegetable garden Jamie had planted outside the kitchen door in the spring and had gone out to dig the sweet potatoes. Kat, who had become an almost constant companion, had joined him. When she was not at her studies, she would often put on her worn overalls and ragged straw hat to follow him while he worked. Clint had discovered that the girl had a feel for growing things, and since he had the same gift, he enjoyed her company. Now he drove the turning fork into the ground and pulled up a forkful of loamy earth. When he turned it upside down, the potatoes spilled to one side, and Kat snatched them and put them into a large basket.

“I love sweet potatoes,” she announced. “I’m going to have Cook make a sweet-potato pie.” And then without any change of inflection, she asked, “Do you have a wife, Clint?”

Accustomed to her abrupt changes of subject and also her pointed questions, Clint straightened up and met her gaze. “Nope, no wife.”