Becoming Americans Read online

  He hurried now. He wanted to be dressed before the others returned. He slipped the new shirt on top of the long, colorless under-shirt he wore. He pulled the breeches from the chest and held them out for a quick look before stepping into them. All around the waist were ribbon loops that hung like a coarse, silken fringe. The breeches were gathered into dozens of pleats at the waistband and flared out at the knees like a full skirt. The cream-colored lining fell to the knees an inch below the hem, like a petticoat. Clumps of ribbons fell by the side of the knees.

  He pulled his embroidered stocking to the knees and rolled them over his garters of matching ribbons. He put on his leather shoes with the high heels and the shoe roses on top that were made of more blue-ribbon loops.

  Richard was tying the falling band around his neck when Edward came back into the cabin. Edward stood in the doorway, his mouth agape.

  "You didn't tell me," was all that Edward could say.

  "Tell you what?" Richard tried to sound surprised by his friend's reaction.

  "You didn't tell me," Edward said.

  "Will they let you?" he finally asked. Then he became excited by his friend's daring to dress in clothes so far above his station.

  "The old folks—and the minister! —They're going to have fits when they see you! You look like a duke! I wager Mister Ware's sons don't have a suit between them that will match it!" He walked up to Richard and touched the fine wool.

  "Where did you get it?" he finally asked.

  "Uncle Edward bought it for me before we left, telling me to be sure everyone knew he was sufficiently successful to afford it. He wants more planters to use him as their agent in England."

  "Father will…" Edward began.

  "I hope your father won't be too upset with me because, to tell the truth, I've nothing else to wear but the other dirty set of work clothes he gave me." Richard didn't want to anger Harper, but he was proud of the suit and he wanted to wear it.

  One of the men who lived in the cabin stepped inside and saw the boys.

  "I thought you were the young master!" he said to Edward.

  "I am the young master!" Edward said defensively.

  "Of course, he is," Richard said, grinning.

  Edward rode to the church aboard the shallop with his father and the Ware family. Richard rode in a long canoe that carried four other servants as well as the two men rowing. A procession of other canoes followed, bringing all of the plantation's workers who were not sick.

  The day would bring people from miles around for two days of preaching and playing. With All Saints' Day falling on a Monday this year, most planters in the area were taking advantage of the two holy days for an extra harvest celebration. It had been a good year and, with the relaxation of immigration laws, new labor was flowing into the country at an unprecedented rate. With the help of God, next year would be even better.

  Nearly two dozen canoes and shallops were floating by the riverbank or tied to the small pier in front of the church. The frame building was new, but temporary. It had been hastily built when times were not so good as now. The Lancaster parish was even looking for a second minister, Old Ned told Richard— Mister Ware was a member of the vestry—and they should be getting one, soon. Reverend Cole shared his ministry with the Chapel of Ease in the northern part of the county. There were only ten ministers for the fifty parishes in the colony, but Lancaster parish had no trouble in keeping a pastor in the pulpit. Word had reached England about the "sweet-scented parishes." Every minister was paid the same—four thousand pounds of tobacco in cask—but if you were the minister of a parish that grew the expensive, sweet-scented tobacco…. Soon they would build a fine brick church.

  Not everyone was happy about this clerical prosperity.

  "If it won't for the sweet-scented," Old Ned told him, "the people here would be allowed to sin in peace, like most everybody else in Virginia."

  Not only were there just ten ministers for the fifty parishes, their bishop, the Bishop of London, allowed them to use the old Book of Common Prayer instead of the new, official one issued under the Commonwealth. That was another surprise to Richard, because people were severely punished for using the Old Book in England. The Lord Protector's puritanical Church let the Virginians keep their Prayer Book, and was generally tolerant of their Anglican and Royalist leanings. In return, the colonists got little support from the Church of England— they lacked ministers and they had no local bishop to guide and nurture their spiritual welfare.

  "Thank God for small favors," Old Ned added. "The last thing we need is a bishop and a herd of priests. It's the men of God arguing with each other what's made England a land of orphans these fifteen years!"

  Richard knew that well enough.

  The wind was blowing cold today and he kept his full cloak wrapped around himself for warmth. He stepped onto the riverbank and wandered off from Old Ned and his friends. He saw Edward and Harper standing on the deck of Mister Ware's boat, being introduced to Ware's neighbors. He turned away so that he wouldn't be seen and have to confront Harper in his new clothes. Richard was uncomfortable about looking finer than his master's family. It would embarrass Harper if people knew.

  Richard walked to the other side of the church. Small groups had gathered, sheltered from the wind and warmed by bright sunlight. The sight was stunning to him. Silks and satins and jewelry glittered. Cloaks were discarded altogether, or rakishly thrown over one shoulder—"Like a ruffian," Uncle Edward used to say. Everyone was on display. It was much more colorful and gay than the church crowds Richard was used to in Bristol. Freed from the heavy oversight of severe church officials, Virginia congregations used the opportunity of gathering together to act their finest, most elegant and mannered. Many of the planters came from prosperous families in England. Most of them still viewed life in the colonies as a temporary thing, intending to remain here long enough to secure their fortunes, then to return home in style. Sundays were an occasion to remind themselves, and others, of their origin, of their place in society, their social standing.

  Richard strolled slowly past the clusters of people who were chatting and laughing and admiring each other. Some of the women were so beautiful that he stopped and stared until he realized what he was doing, then he looked away and walked on. Their dresses were bright colors. Some skirts were lifted and secured high on the sides to reveal embroidered petticoats. Necklines were low and rounded, revealing hints of soft flesh. Their sleeves—full and puffed—fell to just below the elbows. Sunlight flashed from the gold and silver adorning a few of the ladies and hanging from the ears of some men.

  Sunlight flashed from the handles of men's swords. Two gentlemen wore jeweled buckles on their shoes. Richard removed his cloak and held it over one arm, pretending to be looking for someone as he walked through the crowd, smiling as he passed.

  He soon sensed that he was being watched, and stepped behind a tree, suddenly afraid that one of the gentlemen or gentry would come to reprimand him for his costume. But instead, he saw that young women from two different groups had edged forward so that he was no longer hidden. And then he knew that the stares were not those of accusation, but of admiration. He pretended to be pensive, studying an unfamiliar nut he picked up off the ground. He walked again, nervously at first, then with feigned confidence, imitating the swagger he'd noticed in the young gentlemen of Bristol.

  "Too beautiful for words."

  Richard whipped around, humiliated by the public confrontation. It was the girl, Anne Biggs, who spoke. Her words were mocking him, but her eyes were not.

  "Thank you, Anne Biggs. It's nothing, really…."

  "Who are you?" the little girl asked. "You're not Master Harper's servant. Who are you, in truth?"

  "Indeed, I am his willing and obedient servant until I reach my maturity. My family are not paupers, though, and my Uncle Edward—a wealthy factor in Bristol—saw no reason to pretend otherwise. I'm here to make my fortune, like your grandfather."

  The little girl lo
oked at him, studying him and his clothes.

  "But for now you're just a servant? What makes you think you'll live until you're twenty-one. Most newcomers don't, you know."

  "What has that to do with me? You don't place me with the rest of the newcomers, do you Little Miss?"

  Richard looked into her eyes, smiling at her obvious interest in him, and intrigued by his own fascination with her arrogant manner.

  "I think you shall learn to know your place, Servant Boy. My father would whip you if you were his. I would ask him to!"

  Anne walked on, as if she'd only paused to inspect a curiosity. Richard turned away and caught the eyes of people looking at him. Blood rushed to his face and then it drained. He turned back and saw Anne speaking in whispers to another little girl.

  He reached for his rabbit's foot. Her lovely dress was the same blue as his suit. The very same blue. Maybe the material had come from the same bolt of cloth! It was an omen. An undoubted omen of his future. Had she noticed? He hadn't even told her how remarkably lovely she was. The bud of a lush flower in the wilderness. They were intended for each other, it was clear. This omen. Now. In the churchyard. It was God's plan. It couldn't be clearer. She was still a child and he not much more, but it was in God's mind.

  The congregation drifted into the church. Richard waited to enter and to sit with Old Ned. He stood out among the servants in their rough kersy breeches and leather buff coats. Others in the back were nudging each other and pointing him out with questions on their faces. But Richard's eyes were focused on a box of pews near the front, where Mister Ware sat with his family and guests. Edward looked back to find him and smiled a greeting. But Richard's gaze was locked on the blue dress and the beautiful little girl he would make his bride.

  She would have a handsome dowry, of course, and Richard would have, somehow, earned enough to buy servants and a plantation. They would have a brick house as large—larger than—Mister Ware's, and they would entertain guests from all over the colony. His Uncle Edward and his cousins would visit from England and be jealous of his wealth and beautiful wife. He would be called "Mister," and be chosen to serve on the vestry of the church. He'd have horses and a boat—a large shallop. He'd let Edward borrow it sometimes, because Edward wouldn't be as rich as he.

  And then the service was over. Richard hadn't heard a word, but he'd planned the rest of his life. He could see it all.

  The chatting congregation filed outside, and Richard went to the lucky spot where Anne had approached him. He made a wish. He wished that he would always be as happy as he was today.

  "Richard! They've got horse races this afternoon and Father said we could go with Old Ned after we eat!"

  "On Sunday?" Richard told Edward that he must be wrong.

  "It's true, Richard! Things are different here. Did you notice they used the Old Prayer Book, even!"

  Horse racing on Sunday? He'd heard that in the days of King James, Sunday games were encouraged, and that Sunday had been the best day of the week until Oliver Cromwell and the Puritans had won England. Lancaster County was a long way from London.

  "I'll find you after I eat," Edward said, and went back to the area of tables reserved for the planters.

  The tables of food for the servants and slaves were as laden, and nearly as elaborate, as those for the masters. Richard had never seen so much food, and on another day he would have tried some of everything, but he was too excited to do more than chew on a turkey leg. He felt self-conscious again, as he became aware of the other servants watching him.

  "I heard Anne Biggs tell her grandmother that he comes from moneyed people in Bristol." Richard heard a servant woman talking to another. He was proud again, and even more certain, now, that Anne Biggs would grow up to be his own.

  "Richard," the voice was low, almost sad. He turned to see Francis Harper standing by his side.

  "Yes, Sir," Richard said, and held the turkey leg by his side.

  "You're to return at once with Mister Ware's, Tully. I'm most disappointed in you, Richard." Harper returned to where his hosts stood with a forlorn Edward.

  At least his master hadn't made a public scene. That was all that Richard could think of. He'd expected something; this wasn't so bad. He hated to miss the races, but there'd be others. He just had to get to the canoe without being noticed. Most of these people wouldn't know—they'd simply remember a handsome gallant—but had she seen?

  He turned to find that Anne and her friends were sucking on oranges and playing with a little dog. He hurried to the waterside.

  The man, Tully, hardly spoke as he rowed downstream to the Ware plantation. Richard helped him pull the canoe ashore, then Tully went to his cabin and his ailing wife and child. Richard was alone on the huge plantation. He'd never felt so alone before. He heard a baby crying and a dog was barking in the woods, but he saw no one. He went to the cabin where he'd slept and took off his doublet and breeches. Tully had splashed water as he rowed, so Richard laid his wet breeches on the bed to dry. Then he put on the work clothes he'd worn when he arrived.

  Old Ned's jug of rum sat in a corner of the room. Richard hesitated for a moment then went to the jug and half-filled a flagon that was beside it. He was nearly made sick with a first gulp, so then took smaller sips.

  He took the flagon and stepped outside, down to the shed where the hogsheads of tobacco were lined up. He leaned against the handle of the giant screw press and pictured the process that would occur here in the next week or so. A ship as big as the one that brought them to Virginia would dock at the pier in front of him. Goods that Mister Ware had ordered from his factor in England would be unloaded and, in exchange, the hogsheads of tobacco would be rolled from the shed—after an official weighing—onto the ship. When the tobacco arrived in England, Mister Ware's factor would credit his account with the value. Richard wondered if his Uncle Edward were Mister's factor in Bristol. The new suit had made opposite the desired impression.

  Richard sipped his rum and looked at the giant hogsheads. He moved to inspect them. They were poorly made, and tobacco poked out from between uneven, loose staves. He tore off some leaves and stuffed them inside his sleeve to smoke or chew later. He could make better hogsheads than these himself, he thought. His best friend in Bristol was apprenticed to a cooper. Richard had spent many hours watching his friend plane staves, or struggle with them in the settingup hoop, even making the dowels that held the pieces together for the head. These hogsheads were just thrown together.

  Richard sipped the rum. It was Sunday, but it was Halloween, too. Surely, his master wouldn't keep him from celebrating tonight. Richard was looking forward to tonight. He wanted noise and laughing people, contests, food and tricks.

  He should use this time alone to devise a surprise! Everyone played fun on Halloween. Perhaps he could repair some of today's embarrassment. Anne would be impressed.

  He sipped the rum.

  These hogsheads were dangerous, even. Richard unhooked his sleeve from a broken hoop. The huge barrel was coming apart. Pressed tobacco from inside, and the arching green staves were pushing it open.

  Richard looked at the other packed casks. Several hoops were splitting and about to break apart. The hogshead would never make it through the transit back to England, if they made it aboard ship.

  He pulled at a hoop with his hands, but it held. He found a wedge of iron by the ramp and forced it between the hoop and a stave. A slight tapping on the wedge forced the wooden circle to snap with a sharp noise that Richard found exciting.

  He sipped from the flagon.

  The next cask required harder tapping with the wedge but gave a louder retort. The remaining faulty hogsheads were more or less easy, and by the time Richard had popped all the splitting hoops, he had also emptied the flagon.

  He sat on the edge of the shed floor, dangling his feet. He squinted at the river as the sun settled down towards it. He leaned his head back against the corner post.

  How lucky for him to have noticed the poor
hogsheads. When he reported this, Harper would reflect the glory of Richard's discovery. Mister Ware would be delivered from potential disaster and Richard would be honored before young Anne Biggs.

  When he awoke, it was dark for but a distant bonfire and the torch held to his face by Harper.

  "Richard! Richard!"

  Edward was shaking him. Richard forced his eyes to stay open, and tried to concentrate.

  "Edward…. I did it again! The rum…. Is it over? Is Halloween over?" Had he slept through the celebration?

  "We were getting worried about you," Edward said.

  It grew darker as Harper moved the torch toward the hogsheads he now noticed.

  "Did you do this?" he demanded of Richard.

  Richard was not yet awake.

  "The broken hogsheads! Did you do that?" Harper's anger was rising.

  Richard turned to see most of the casks in mid-collapse. The unseasoned staves had forced apart the hoops, uneven staves had slipped out, then others fallen. Tobacco now spilled onto the floor of the shed.