Isaac Bull was met by his landlady as he came into his lodging house. He was perspiring heavily from the noon heat, his shirt clinging to his body, his waistcoat soaked through.
“Mr. Bull,” she said, taking the letter from her pocket, a trace of chagrin on her face. “This letter,” she said hesitantly. “It came two days ago. I put it into my apron pocket, you see. It was my intention to give it to you when you came in, you see, but you were late and I was sleeping. And the next day I put on a fresh apron, as I always do.”
Taking the letter, Isaac looked at his name on the outside. He did not recognize the handwriting.
“It was only today when I was putting the apron in the wash,” said the woman, still trying to explain.
“No harm, I’m sure,” said Isaac, putting the letter in his pocket. He smiled at her and she relaxed a bit.
“And there’s more,” she said. “You’ve a man waiting for you. Claims to be a friend of yours, said he’d wait in your chamber. I trust I did the right thing to let him stay there. The door was unlocked, you know.”
“Did he give his name?” asked Isaac.
“A Mr. Clutterbuck.”
Isaac smiled. “He is a friend. It’s good you let him stay.”
“Then that’s a relief,” said the woman. “It’s hard to know what’s best to do when a stranger asks a favor. Do you wish any refreshment, Mr. Bull? A little ale sent up?”
“Yes, that would be good. Just the thing.”
Isaac went up the stairs with a bounce in his step and threw open the door of his room. Sam Clutterbuck was asleep on Isaac’s bed, though he awoke at the sound of the door being opened and sat bolt upright as if he were in the danger of the woods.
“Too cheap to get your own lodgings?” said Isaac, going over to shake his hand.
“The door was open,” said Sam.
“I’m afraid it always is,” said Isaac. “It’s the mark of a poor man that he leaves his room unlocked.” He took off his waistcoat and threw it over the end of the bed, then pulled off his periwig, replacing it with a cool silk turban.
“What do you mean poor?” said Sam. “I thought you had the worth of two slaves to your credit.”
“That and little else. But I don’t keep my money here. It’s locked in John Hawkins’ counting house, most of it. The rest I took with me today, looking to buy a horse.”
“A horse?” said Sam. “And what good’ll a horse be to you? A perfect waste of your money.”
A boy brought in a tankard of ale and set it on a table beneath the window and went out again.
“A man on horseback cuts a better figure than a man afoot,” said Isaac. “More opportunities come his way.” He poured some of the ale into the one pewter mug he had in the room, keeping that for himself and giving the large tankard to Sam. “To good company,” he said, raising his mug. Sam raised the tankard and they drank.
“A horse’ll not do you much good in Indian country,” said Sam, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. “Nobody there cares what figure a fellow cuts. A horse is good for packing, true enough, but Indians hire cheaper.”
“I’ve been thinking of staying in town a while longer,” said Isaac, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I want to see if I can raise my stake a little before I go back up to trade.”
Sam shook his head. “You ought to be going back with me. There’s things you need to learn up there. You’ll not be a trader until you speak the Creek language and know how things are done amongst those people.”
“But if I’ve nothing to trade, what’s the use?”
“You’ve got the worth of those two slaves you sold. Another year of trading and you can double your money. And the next year double it again. Providing you live close. If you don’t go buying horses. Next thing I’ll hear, you’ll have bought a coach, and not a road in Carolina you can drive it on.”
“I’ve not bought the horse yet,” said Isaac.
“But you went looking.”
“I heard a fellow out west of town had one for sale. But I worked up a sweat for nothing. It was the sorriest horse I’ve ever seen. I’d heard it was a good one, too.”
“You’re bringing London standards to Carolina, I allow.”
Isaac smiled and drank down the last of his ale and held out the mug for Sam to refill it from the tankard. “What news do you bring?” asked Isaac. “Has Ramsay been back to plague you?”
“All’s quiet up there,” said Sam. “I heard the biggest news here today at the Indian Queen.”
“What news is that?”
“Y’aint been out taking in the gossip today?”
“I was at the Indian Queen last night. What news do you mean? It may be old to me.”
“Not this,” said Sam. “Fresh out of the mill. Seems Henry Hawkins has taken a wife of a sudden. Last night it was, like as not while you sat at your supper in the Indian Queen.”
Isaac stared at him. “A wife?”
“You look like you been knocked in the head,” said Sam. “He ain’t dead, just married is all. To that pretty cousin of his.”
“God in heaven,” murmured Isaac, and he lay back across the bed.
Sam reached out and took away the mug of ale before he could spill it. “Now you look as though I shot you,” he said. “You’ve got a concern in this, I think.”
Isaac made no reply. He closed his eyes, pressing the palm of his hand against his forehead. Then he sat up suddenly and reached for his waistcoat and took the letter from the pocket. Breaking the seal, he quickly read it—only a few short lines asking him to meet her in the garden. He pushed the letter under his waistcoat and lay back again. So she had meant to tell him about it beforehand. He was just as glad to have missed that scene. He closed his eyes again.
“It ain’t no business of mine,” said Sam, taking a long drink of ale. “Though I hate to see you suffer so. She always was Henry’s, you know. There weren’t never any question of that.”
“No,” said Isaac without opening his eyes. “There never was.”
“It would have taken a gentleman of means to have courted her away from him. Not that you’re no gentleman. I ain’t saying that. You’re more a gentleman than Henry, if you want to cut it that way. But if you don’t mind my saying so, you ain’t got the money to back it up. Not that you’re a poor man. God knows, you got more than me. But then that ain’t saying much. I ain’t got a pot to piss in. Just that scrubby little farm on another man’s land.”
Isaac opened his eyes. “You don’t have to say anything, Sam.”
“But you look in so much pain. I hate to see you suffer so when there’s no cause for it. She always was Henry’s.” He looked at Isaac. “Unless there was something ‘twixt the two of you I never knowed about. Not that I’m asking, you understand. It ain’t no business of mine.”
“No, there was nothing,” said Isaac. He lay still for a moment staring up at the ceiling. “But wasn’t she a lovely thing?”
“That she was,” said Sam. “And still is, I’m sure. Marriage makes women go to fat, I know, but she ain’t been wed but a day.”
Isaac sat up and drew in a long, deep breath. “I believe I’ll go back to Indian country with you, Sam, stay at your trading house if you’ll have me. You told me once that it takes two or three years to learn all there is to know.”
“Not even I know all there is to know,” said Sam. “But three years’ll make a trader of you, I promise you that. And there ain’t nobody I’d rather have in my trading house. You can forget all these other troubles. I’ll fix you up with a pretty little Indian woman.”
Isaac nodded, but said nothing.
“They make good wives,” said Sam. “Better than any white woman.”
Isaac looked around for his mug. “Let’s change the subject.”
Sam handed him back his mug, and Isaac took a long drink. They sat in silence until finally Sam shook his head. “Damned if it ain’t hard to think of something else when you got on a woman your mind.”
“What about horses?” said Isaac.
“You’re not buying one?”
“Not now. But one of these days, when I get a little ahead.”
So they settled back and spoke of horses and then of the Indian trade. And whenever the tankard of ale got low, Isaac rang the landlady for another.