The Promise Read online

  MacPherson had begun to sweat, glancing nervously at Matthew with each new threat. Finally, it was safe and he nodded for the gang plank to be lowered. The instant it was secured, Matthew's coachmen came aboard. Each glowered at MacPherson, and then followed Uriah to the hatch.

  Matthew was still ranting as he stomped off the ship. “And that was none too hastily done.” When he reached the first of two waiting coaches, he turned to glare one last time before heaving his massive size inside. On the seat beside him lay heated bricks wrapped in a blanket. Carefully, he tested the warmth. “Just right.”

  Below deck, Uriah held the candle. One of the men quickly wrapped John in a clean, dry quilt and whisked him away. The man darted up the steps, across the deck, down the plank, and put the boy into Matthew's waiting arms. Gently, Matthew laid the boy on the warm bricks. In only a second, the tired, half starved child was asleep. A second man brought Mary, helped her in the carriage and covered her legs. She glanced at her son, weakly smiled at Matthew, and then leaned her head back. Her eyes drooped, and then closed.

  The strongest of the men carried Elizabeth to the second coach, helped Caroline and Caleb board, and then closed the door. Quickly, he went back to help with the luggage.

  Finally, Uriah was alone below. In the putrid filth of the hold, he lifted the trunk lid, pulled out a long black cloak and felt the lumps in the hem. The jewels were secure. He put Mary’s Bible in the trunk and closed the lid. Next, he bent the top mattress back, grabbed his pistol, draped the cloak over his arm, and went up the stairs. When he walked down the plank and stepped off the ship, the unyielding land made the calves of his legs feel heavy. For a moment, he wobbled.

  Captain MacPherson quickly grabbed his elbow, “Easy, Mister Carson.”

  Uriah jerked his arm away. His eyes filled with hate as he pulled the cloak back just enough to reveal the silver barrel of his gun. He drew his words out slowly and clearly, “I would like nothing more than to kill you.” He glared for a moment longer, walked past MacPherson and climbed into the carriage.

  The coachman closed the door, climbed into the driver’s seat on top and took the reins. Promptly, the coach lunged forward. The hooves of the horses sounded like music against the wooden planks and dozens of street torches lit up the harbor. Tradesmen were putting their merchandise away for the night while young boys peddled newspapers. When the coach left the harbor and turned down the road, the sweet air smelled of wood burning in the hearths of Boston homes.

  “It is not far,” Matthew whispered.

  Uriah chucked. “You need not whisper. I assure you none but the boy could wake Mary this night.”

  “I can well see why. We have met many a voyage from England and this is one of the worst, save the ones with smallpox or Typhus. This is not the first we've seen of MacPherson's treachery. Why he refuses to board ample food is beyond comprehension. What we need is careful regulation of the ships at sea. We complain to the King quite regularly, but as you see, he does nothing.”

  “The King is only happy to be shed of us?”

  “Well, yes.” Matthew rested for a moment before he spoke again, “Good of the old boy to die...Caroline's husband, I mean. I'd have flogged him myself had he lived. He was well aware of MacPherson's ill-repute. Infernal royalty. Haven't got a lick of sense, not a one.”

  “Royalty?”

  “LeRoy Grayson claimed to be the son of Lord Marcus Grayson. Ever heard of him?”

  “Indeed I have, but I assure you, the man has no sons.”

  Matthew rolled his eyes, “I was afraid of that. Despicable braggart! A liar and a thief married my daughter and it will not happen again.”

  “Mister Henderson, do I smell a forest?”

  “I would think you daft if you did not. We are surrounded by forest.”

  John let out a sorrowful whimper and Mary began to stir, but Matthew quickly placed his massive hand on the child. John quieted and Mary went back to sleep.

  At length, the carriages turned up the lane to a large, two-story house. Candles blazed in every window, leaves covered the expansive front yard, and a wide walkway led from the cobblestone drive to the front door. As soon as the coach stopped, the double doors of the house burst open and a flurry of people rushed out. Each of them were laughing and shouting for joy. And still, Mary slept.

  “Over here lad,” Matthew yelled, turning the handle down and pushing the coach door open with his foot.

  A tall, slender teen with bright eyes and a wide grin approached. He was dressed in an oversized black jacket with long tails and rolled up sleeves. He bowed to Uriah, pulled the stopper out of a bottle and reached in his pocket for a glass. The teen poured gold col­ored rum in the glass and handed it to Uriah.

  Uriah accepted the glass and then smelled the aroma. He tipped his hat to Matthew, and then downed the liquid in two swallows. At last, warmth filled his body.

  “Welcome to America, my boy,” said Matthew.

  THE AFTERNOON SUNSHINE filtered through drapes of win­dows that faced full west, and oak logs burned in the hearth of the large, brightly decorated bedchamber. For more than an hour, Uriah sat in a chair near the bed and watched Mary sleep. His hair and sideburns were trimmed, his face was clean shaven and he wore dark blue trousers and a white shirt with billowing sleeves.

  Twice a maid knocked lightly, entered to stoke the fire and urge Mary to sip Matthew's creamy tonic. Each time, Mary quickly went back to sleep. On her third visit, the maid sug­gested they wake her more fully. Uriah nodded and watched the maid rush out of the room.

  Before the maid returned, Mary awoke on her own. She opened her eyes and lazily looked around the room. “I have died. There could be no place as sweet as this, save heaven.” Suddenly, she became alarmed and started to get up. “John.”

  Uriah quickly reached out and touched her arm. “He is fine, Mary. He has been well fed and already his color returns.”

  “He is in need of bathing.” She slowly allowed her body to sink back into the soft bed.

  Uriah chuckled, “A bathing he has long since had with no less than half a dozen women seeing to his every wish. One of them stayed awake all night to feed the boy when he stirred.”

  “And Elizabeth?”

  “Elizabeth is much improved. She has been washed and fed and sleeps in the next chamber.”

  “The fever?”

  “Gone.”

  “Praise God.”

  With a brusque rap on the door, a short, bountiful woman in her fif­ties burst in. Dressed in deep violet with laven­der lace trim, Etta Henderson had rosy cheeks and hazel eyes. Her graying hair was nearly hidden under her ruffled purple bonnet. With three maids right behind her, Etta marched to the foot of Mary's bed. “Well, you are awake, I see.”

  Mary smiled, but her attention soon drifted to the maids. Each wore a different colored frock, their hair was uncovered and their smiles matched that of their mistress. Mary's eyes landed on the one dressed, not in drab brown, but in blue. Jane walked with a slight limp and without instructions, she boldly went to the window and drew back the curtains. In the bright sunlight, the girl looked very young and very, very happy.

  “Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Boston,” Etta Henderson was saying, “that is, if Matthew has not already said. Oh never mind all that. You are the last to wake this day, my dear, and with all the racket we have made, it is a wonder you rest at all. Now let me see. Oh yes, Mason fills the bathing basin and as soon as you are out of bed, these three will wash your hair and bathe you.”

  Mary's gasped, “Bathe me?” She quickly looked from Etta Henderson to her husband, but Uriah covered his grin with his hand. She narrowed her eyes at him.

  Etta gently squeezed Mary's toes. “Matthew has said you are not allowed to bathe yourself...except for the particulars, of course, until your strength returns. Matthew is a doctor, you are aware. Now, I have chosen a frock from Caroline's closet. It should do quite well, al­though you be some taller than my Caroline. I have
set Anna to adding length, and so you see, we will have you lovely as a flower before dinner. Your own clothing, I sadly say, are ruined. They smell of musk from that horrid ship.” Etta frowned, “Were I a man, I would sink that ship! Remind me to have a word about that with Matthew. Oh never mind all that now. What was I saying?”

  Mary started to sit up, “Please do not take the trouble...”

  “Trouble?” Etta came alongside the bed, flopped down next to Mary, grabbed her hand and began patting it. “My dear, Mrs. Carson, I am quite sure there is no one in the world that deserves my trouble more. My Caroline told me, you see. You gave her your allotment of food when there was little to be had.”

  Mary quickly lowered her eyes.

  “So you see, new clothing, all you can eat and a warm bath now and again, is the least we can do. Have we your permission, Mister Carson?”

  “Permission for what?” Uriah asked.

  “Permission to burn all your clothing. Quite honestly, I'll happily see it out of my house, what with the smell and all.”

  “Permission granted,” said he.

  “Good. Jane, Mrs. Carson has not eaten nearly enough. It is up to you, my dear. See that you fatten her up.”

  Jane grinned. With her odd foot not working properly, she substituted a simple nod for a curtsy. “I'll do it.”

  Mary returned Jane's nod and took note...the servant neglected to answer with, ‘Yes, Mum.’

  Etta had not stopped talking. “Sliced fruit and tea, I think. And my dear, who could blame you if you wished to simply stay in bed. What misery you have endured on the most despicable, disagreeable ship in the whole world! I fully intend to speak to Matthew about sinking that ship!” She waved the back of her hand toward Uriah. “Now shoo hus­band. We ladies have much to do.”

  Uriah had only a second to glance back at his speechless, wide-eyed wife before Etta shoved him from the room and closed the door. Grinning, he walked down the hallway and started down the wide staircase. Before he reached the bottom, Matthew appeared in a nearby doorway. “Ah, there you are, my boy. How does she do?”

  “She is much improved, thanks to the kindness of your household. Are they always so friendly?”

  “They are. I cannot think what we would do without them. Come, sit by the fire and I'll fill your glass with the finest Madeira wine in Boston.”

  Uriah found a seat on a royal blue, tufted upholstery settee. Across from him, Caleb sat in a matching chair. Dotted with expensive, highly-polished furniture, the room was painted pale yellow and deco­rated in a variety of colors. Three large windows with lace cur­tains faced the road.

  Caleb asked, “Are all the houses in Boston this grand?”

  Matthew chuckled, “Hardly. It is the same here as in England. Some have and some have not. Boston burned three years ago. As you can see, this house was spared.” He finished pouring the drinks, handed the first to Caleb and winked, “Drunkards set the blaze, I sadly say. We're nearly 20,000 in Boston with more arriving daily. Drink up, my boys. 'Tis the finest wine in all the world.” He gave the second glass to Uriah and then settled into a large chair. “I brought my bride across the sea to Boston in 1748. We nearly starved as well. I've sailed five times since, and never has it happened again. There's not a man brave enough to let people starve while I'm on board.”

  Matthew paused for a moment to take a sip. He savored the taste, swallowed and smacked his lips. “'I blame the voyage for my wife's barrenness. We managed but one child, and not until we were on in life. We...”

  Caleb was only half listening. Instead, he watched through the large windows as row after row of Redcoat regulars marched past, their heads bobbing in unison and their boots kicking up dust. Absentmindedly, he muttered, “Two garrisons at least. I've not seen the likes of these even in England.”

  Matthew downed the rest of his wine, “Of course not, the King sends them all to us! They have been amassing for three weeks and they happily take our sons with them. They march north to fight the French.”

  Uriah was surprised. “The war with the French has ended.”

  “So it has, but the King expects the French to regret the loss of its southern Colonies and reengage.” Matthew began to chuckle and his massive tummy jiggled. “‘Twas a fine war, all in all, and quite necessary to those going west. The French held the western land, you see. With the French set aside, none save Indians prevent settlements across the mountains.”

  Uriah snickered, “None save Indians and the King.”

  “Precisely! The bloody Proclamation Act forbids all mountain crossings. They go nevertheless, you understand. Confounded King. Daily we send inquires. Why not settle the land? Daily he does not answer.”

  “Perhaps the King fears his inability to collect taxes from men he cannot find,” said Uriah.

  Matthew roared with laughter. “A point well made, my boy.” He wiggled forward until he was able to get up. Then he clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace the floor. “The war presented the Colonies with some very fine advantages.”

  Caleb felt more relaxed than he had in weeks, “What sort of advantages?”

  “Well, the war brings Regimentals. Regimentals must eat and the King must buy food from the Colonies, you see?”

  “I do see,” said Caleb.

  “I thought you might. Tell me, have you heard of the flags of truth?”

  “The exchange of prisoners?” Uriah asked.

  “That's it exactly. The British attempted to starve the French by setting up blockades. Yet to exchange a prisoner, the owner of a ship needed only apply to the Governor for a pass and his ship was never searched. Therefore, the French ate abundantly, the prisoners were exchanged and some Colonists turned a handsome profit.” Matthew savored the delight in the eyes of his guests. “Pity the war ended, but the King will bring about a new war. King's always do.”

  Matthew paused to rub his chin. “As you will soon see, the taxes here are unpardonable. We've the Molasses Act thrust upon us in ‘33. It is not the King's latest swindle by any measure, but the one most costly to the Colonies. We are honorable men, but we'll not pay more than the British.” He collected Uriah's empty glass and refilled it. “Smuggling, the Crown calls it. There are small islands all along the coast. Clever Captains simply land on the islands and unload half. ‘Tis why the King sends his Revenue ships.” Matthew handed the filled glass to Uriah, excused himself and left the room.

  As soon as he was gone, Caleb whispered, “Do you believe Matthew Henderson is a smuggler?”

  IN THE COURSE OF THE afternoon, servants came to the door, whispered something in his ear and Matthew excused himself. When he returned, he easily picked up the conversation precisely where he left off. “It is not uncommon for the King’s Privateers to steal a man’s untaxed half. To protect his goods, a careful man must make others believe he is completely ruthless.”

  Now on his second glass of wine, Caleb felt wonderful, “How delightful it all sounds. We hoped to see privateers on our voyage, but we saw no other ships a week after leaving England.”

  Matthew drew back and wrinkled his brow. “You saw no ships at all? Not any?” He slapped his hands behind his back and re­sumed his pacing. “Not so much as a transport?”

  Said Uriah, “I assure you, once the food ran low, we eagerly watched for other ships. Masters said we were off course but MacPherson denied it.”

  “That's it! MacPherson sailed south.” Matthew's eyes lit up and he studied Uriah’s face. “Tell me, what cargo had he on The Benison Felicity?”

  It was Caleb who answered. “The boxes were unmarked.”

  “What sort of boxes?”

  “They were longer than a man's arm and the width of...”

  “Muskets? Could the boxes be filled with muskets?”

  “I suppose so,” Caleb mumbled.

  Uriah closed his eyes and softly moaned, “And the kegs held gun power. I should have guessed.”

  Caleb gasped, “Gun power? We sailed three thousand m
iles on a ship filled with gun power?”

  “We cannot be certain,” Uriah said.

  “Of course we can,” Matthew argued. “Where were the revenue ships when we sailed into Boston Harbor? You're right, my boy, we should have guessed.” Matthew abruptly left the room again.

  When he returned, he poured himself a double portion of wine and sat down. “Smuggled goods sell for lower prices than English goods, then the prices of English goods are lowered and the merchants suffer. They complain to Parliament, Parliament complains to the King and the King sends yet another threat.”

  Jane hadn't bothered to knock. Instead, she walked right in carrying a silver tea service. She grinned at Matthew, set the tray down and began to pour. “Miss Etta don't like you drunk, Matthew.”

  Matthew rolled his eyes. “I know. Let's not tell her, shall we?”

  With a twinkle in her eye, Jane set the tea pot down and turned to him. “A full pound sterling.”

  “A full pound? It cost me but a farthing yesterday.”

  Jane giggled, “A farthing, then, and not a farthing less.”

  “Oh very well.” He dug in his pocket, pulled out a farthing and placed it in the waiting girl's palm. Then he playfully touched the end of her nose with his finger. “You need a husband.”

  Jane blushed. She filled three cups with tea, set a platter of honey bread on the table and left the room.

  Caleb blew on the hot liquid. “How sorely I have missed hot tea. Is Jane indentured?”

  “Not any more. Now there's a source of great consternation. Filthy swine! They post tempting offers all over Europe promising an easy life in America. The people sign the contracts and find themselves in servitude for as long as eight years. I've seen better pig sty's than the houses these sleep in. Once the contract be fulfilled, they are let go without a farthing, they cannot survive and must sign another contract.”