Seven

I was hungry by the time I reached home. There was a smell of cooking in the cabin, and Betty exclaimed, “At last! Now we can eat! Mam! Jos is back!”

My mother had made a pottage of venison with onions and pumpkin, and we sat on boxes while she set out plates on the packing case. After we had given thanks in silence, everyone looked at me expectantly, but I made them wait until I had eaten a few spoonfuls. Then I told them about my afternoon’s work and the people I had met. My parents were pleased, and I had the unusual experience of being both the centre of attention and the subject of their approval. I scooped up the rest of my pottage. “This is good! Is there any more?”

My mother refilled my plate. “I wonder, should thou continue to look around, or wait and see if the merchant comes back to thee?”

“I’d say wait a little,” my father said. “Thou can help me set up the shop, Jos. The sooner that’s done the sooner we’ll make some return – though whether it’ll be cash or barter I don’t know. It seems there’s very little money in the colony; it’s all tied up in goods and land.”

I was glad my father wanted me to wait, for I felt sure I’d hear more from George Bainbrigg.

Within a few days our bookshop and stationer’s was stocked and open for business. We arranged some of the books by subject matter on the shelves: religion, science, medicine, history, poetry, books written in French or Latin. Many more remained in labelled boxes. We stood the pamphlets upright in boxes on the floor, and set out the stationery on a crate near the makeshift counter at the front.

I painted a sign saying WM. HEYWOOD – BOOKSELLER & STATIONER and hammered it to a post on the roadside; and we hoped any customers would not mind tramping across our muddy plot to reach us.

George Bainbrigg was one of our first callers. When he came, my father was minding the shop. I was outside with my mother and sisters, helping to clear the ground for a hen house and some vegetable planting. Lars and Gunnar had cut down a couple of large trees for us, and Lars was showing me how to chop them up for firewood – something I had never done before and found surprisingly satisfying. Betty had paused to watch us – or rather, to watch Lars, for I suspected it was he she was interested in. My mother must have guessed too, for she called Betty away, back to the weeding; and Betty moved reluctantly, then brightened and exclaimed, “Oh! A customer!”

I looked up. “It’s the merchant – George Bainbrigg!” I told my mother. I felt nervous at the thought that he might want to speak to me. “Should I go in?”

“Wait,” she said. “They may call thee.”

I brushed at my clothes. I was covered in a film of sawdust. It was in my hair, on my tongue – everywhere. “I feel dirty,” I said.

“No matter. Thou look as if thou hast been working, and there is nothing to be ashamed of in that.”

She herself was, as always, uncaring of her workaday appearance, her skirts caught up above the ankle so that she could dig, her hair tucked under a plain cap.

But they did not call me, though George Bainbrigg stayed some time. As soon as he left, carrying a small parcel, I put down my axe and hurried indoors.

My father was standing by the counter, looking thoughtful. I could tell nothing from his expression.

“Dad? What did… Did George Bainbrigg say anything…?”

He turned his attention to me. “Yes. He did. He made me a proposition, and I must think on it. We all must. I’ll talk to thee later, with thy mother.”

“Oh, Dad! Tell me now – please. Did he offer me work? Thou didn’t call me in,” I added, reproachfully.

“Later!” he repeated – and went on to say how George Bainbrigg had looked all around and been impressed with the shop, and wished our venture well, and spoken of his terms for purchase of stationery, which sounded most reasonable.

“And he bought a book.” My father smiled. “Our first book sale!”

“What did he buy?”

“Robert Barclay’s Apology. Said his copy had been damaged by sea water on a voyage. I think he bought it mainly as a kindness – to encourage me in my venture.”

I nodded – but I had grown impatient again. “Dad – when wilt thou say…?”

“This evening. When I’ve shut up shop.”

I went back to report to my mother and sisters. Betty was laughing at something Lars had said and did not notice me. And my mother, with infuriating calmness, said, “In God’s good time, then, Jos.”

But after supper she put the dishes aside to wash later, and sent the girls up to the loft with a candle. “You may read, or write in your journals,” she told them.

Betty protested; she wanted to know what was going on; but my mother insisted, so she followed Sarah reluctantly up the ladder. I felt sure she would perch at the top, out of sight, and listen.

My parents and I sat down on boxes around the fireplace.

“Now, husband,” my mother said.

“George Bainbrigg was pleased with Josiah, and would like to offer him work…” my father began; and I gave a little jolt of satisfaction.

He turned to me. “But it is not as simple as that, Jos. He has an apprentice, a young man of twenty-one, who is about to leave him at the end of his term. George Bainbrigg will then need another person to work for him. He could take on a clerk – a man of some experience – or he could take another apprentice…”

I saw where this was leading, and said, “I want—”

My father raised a hand to silence me. “George Bainbrigg’s problem is cash. There is not much money in the colony. There is work, land, abundance of everything in nature; there are goods to be had cheaply enough. But the merchants – their wealth is tied up in goods. And, Jos, although George Bainbrigg took a liking to thee, thou’rt a youth, and inexperienced. He would prefer to take thee on as an apprentice.”

I drew breath, desperate to speak; but he would not let me, and I was obliged to listen, clenching my fists, waiting, wanting only to interrupt.

“He offers a five-year bond,” my father continued. “Thou would live in his house, with all found: clothing, food, drink, lodging – and he’d pay thee a small allowance. Thou would learn to do the accounts, write letters, and all the general work of the business. In addition, thou would accompany him on trading voyages and, after a year or two, be encouraged to undertake such ventures alone, trading on his behalf. There would also be the opportunity to trade for thyself and so begin to make some money of thine own.”

My mother opened her mouth to speak – but I jumped up. “Father, this isn’t what I want! I want to earn – now! I don’t want to take thy money for the bond. I want to help the family – to be independent, to be a man! I went down to the waterfront on my own, to look for work for myself. Why didn’t George Bainbrigg speak to me?”

To my embarrassment, I felt tears of frustration spring to my eyes, and dashed a hand across my face. “He treats me like a child!” I said.

My father put a hand on my arm. “Sit down, Jos. Sit down,” he said, more gently than I’d expected. “George Bainbrigg came to me because he could not offer thee what thou wanted. An apprenticeship is different and must be arranged through the father. Thou know’st that.”

“I had an apprenticeship before, and let thee down over it,” I said, scowling, as I sat down. I felt angry. I’d asked for honest work and they had gone over my head and wanted to tie me down to a bond. “You can’t afford it,” I said, looking at the two of them. “You need my wages.”

My mother spoke then. “Jos is right, husband. We surely cannot afford to apprentice him to a merchant?”

“George Bainbrigg asks only for a bond of ninety guineas,” said my father – and her eyes widened.

The sum was low. In London, to be apprenticed to a merchant, even one in a modest way of business, would cost four or five hundred guineas. Even the apprentice my father and Nat Lacon took on at their print shop in Stepney had been bound for two hundred.

My mother asked, “Is he – this man – a successful merchant? Does he thrive?”

“He does,” my father reassured her. “He has been trading along the eastern seaboard for some twelve years or so and has many connections. Costs are lower in America. That’s why people want to come here. Ninety guineas is a reasonable sum, and I believe we can find it. But only if it is what Josiah wants.”

They both looked at me.

“I want to pay my own way,” I said. “I want to be independent.”

“That’s as it should be,” my father agreed. “But bear in mind thou hast no training and can only seek low-paid work – and that may become tedious. Thine only small experience has been in the printing and stationery business. Would’st thou prefer to work for me? I think not?” I shook my head. “A man who is not skilled has no real independence, Josiah. One day thou might want to marry, support a family…”

I felt uncertain and deflated. My plans for finding paid work for myself had come to nothing. And yet I saw that my father was right, and I would have better prospects with the apprenticeship. I ought to be glad of it. I’d hoped George Bainbrigg would offer to take me on, and he had, and in such a way as would set me up in a career of my own.

“I’d travel?” I said. “Trade on his behalf in a year or two?” That appealed to me. It might not be paid work, but he’d give me an allowance, and all found. And I’d be out in the world, away from home, as I’d wanted.

My father said, “That’s right: New England, Maryland, the West Indies…”

My mother’s face betrayed her anxiety. I knew the thought of me at sea must make her fearful; but she said nothing.

“We’d need to look into the cost,” my father said. “It could be done, I’m sure. He would clothe and feed thee, and that would be a saving.”

I tried to imagine becoming a merchant. Could I do such a thing? Buying and selling, dealing with other traders, making decisions that could lead to wealth or ruin? Supposing I didn’t succeed, and disappointed my father again?

“No need to decide right now,” he said. “I told George Bainbrigg we’d give him an answer next week. That allows us all time to reflect and consider, and for me to talk to Friends who know him – for we must be sure that the two of you are suited.”

“And we will wait in silence,” my mother said, “and be guided by the inward light.”

But there was to be no silence yet. Betty’s slippered heels appeared at the top of the ladder, followed by her backside draped in a gathered skirt of brown wool with blue apron ties hanging down. She was already talking as she reached the floor and turned round. “Jos, thou must be mad to hesitate! Think what a life thou’ll have! Sailing to the other colonies, to the West Indies, maybe to Portugal or Spain—”

“Betty—” my mother began, then caught my father’s eye and let her run on.

“Thou might see Indians; they live in villages along the Delaware, Lars says. And there are trappers, and fur traders. Or thou might go to Boston, or New York, or Barbados. And thou’ll live in the merchant’s house, with space to thyself, and no insects coming in through knotholes in the planks, like we have here. Thou’rt so lucky! I’d like to go!”

I listened to her with a grin on my face. She was only Betty, my silly, excitable sister, whom it was my duty to tease. And yet her words struck home. She knew me, and knew what I wished for, in my heart.

“Don’t be too proud,” she urged me later, as we talked together in low voices. “Let them spend the money on thee. They don’t want thee sweeping floors for a living.”

I did not sweep any floors, but for the rest of that week I dug the garden, stacked wood, and fetched provisions from the town, while my father waited in the shop for the few customers who came in. Clearly the shop would not make our fortune; many people could not read or write, and even those who could had little time for it.

“This is a young country,” my mother said. “People want ploughs, spades, bricks … not books.”

But my father looked to the future. “Before long Philadelphia will be a city, and there will be a need for books and printing. And when that time comes we’ll be here, set up and ready for them.”

For that, I knew, we must make haste to build our permanent house and print shop, and that would cost money; and yet my parents had looked at their finances and agreed that they could afford to apprentice me to George Bainbrigg, if I wished it. When we met together in silence it seemed clear to all three of us that a way had opened for me and that I should follow it. My father sent word to the merchant and the bond was agreed. George Bainbrigg offered to accept the money in two instalments, the first part to be paid after the month’s trial period, the second a year later. My parents were grateful; this would ease their burden considerably.

The following first-day, after Meeting, when people had risen and were talking to their friends, I saw George Bainbrigg moving towards us through the throng. At his side was a girl of about my own age.

He drew her forward. “My daughter, Katherine,” he said.

She was a little below the middle height, not plump yet sweetly curved. Her gown was of plain dark grey wool, her fair hair tucked away under a linen cap, only a few curls brushing her cheeks, which had turned a faint, becoming pink on meeting us.

My father began making introductions. When he said my name, Katherine looked directly at me.

Her eyes were light in colour – green or grey – and they gave her face a liveliness and energy that instantly attracted me. I held her gaze, tongue-tied. I was taken by surprise. I had not thought that George Bainbrigg might be part of a family, like our own. Now I envisaged a wife, perhaps younger children – a busy household into which I must fit. And this bright-eyed daughter, who was looking me over and no doubt thinking me a fool with nothing to say.

“Josiah,” she said. “I am happy to meet thee. And thee, Elizabeth. And Sarah.” She had the same broad north-country way of speaking as her father.

I thought her demeanour very womanly, with none of that shyness that girls usually show. Such confidence was intimidating. I stumbled over words of greeting, and asked, “Hast thou lived here long?” – a question I immediately regretted since Philadelphia had only been founded last year and no one could have lived here long. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Betty watching me and trying not to giggle.

Katherine answered, “Only a year. Though I have been three years in the New World; in Maryland. But you” – she turned and included my sisters in her question, and a note of eagerness came into her voice – “you are from London, aren’t you? I should love to go to London.”

This was more promising. But no sooner had we begun talking than the three girls were drawn away into a circle of women for more introductions.

George Bainbrigg turned to me.

“Kate is my only child,” he said, his glance lingering on her. “She has no mother. It is good for her to meet other young people. Well, Josiah” – he gave me his full attention now – “to business. Matt Peel leaves me at the end of this week, and I propose that the following week thou come a-liking for a month, to see if we suit. Thy father agrees. How say thou?”

“I thank thee, George Bainbrigg,” I said. “I shall be pleased to come.”