America: Chapter 8
The Abernathy Trilogy
Abernathy, Abandon, America
by Kristen
America
Chapter 8
September, 1773
Brian
"Come in, Mr. Kent."
I enter the bedroom, where the weak but nonetheless vigorous Lord Frye lies, papers strewn around him on the blanket. I reach for my usual chair, pulling it up to the bed. He pats my hand lightly, a fatherly gesture, one of many that he has adopted of late.
"You know the emergency," he says soberly.
"Yes," I reply. The calamity to which he refers is that of several of his commissioned merchants, who have been attacked by local tea traders. Episodes of this type are becoming more and more common, since Britain made duty concessions to the East India Tea Company this spring.
The act, intended to improve business for British tea exporters who were in trouble, has infuriated smaller, colonial-based tea merchants. As a result, violent skirmishes are breaking out, and Frye (who has loyally worked with the Tea Company, and thereby benefited from the concessions) has had to deal with sabotaged shipments, boycotts, and violence toward his men. The atmosphere in Baltimore is one of a palpable, growing tension, which even the most conservative of loyalists cannot deny.
"It's that incendiary Adams," says Frye bitterly. "He's got all the wrong ideas, and these know-nothings are all too eager to hear them."
I nod supportively. Samuel Adams' speeches are the talk of the city, and one can barely walk down the street without hearing his name mentioned. Often with disdain, by those (typically older) men, who are still vehemently loyal to the crown. But mostly with reverence, and awe. Caches of young colonials, who wear their hair naturally and unpowdered, and who have never even seen the shores of England, talk wistfully of Adams and the other radicals as though they were on a mission from on high.
"I trust you to stay on top of things, Mr. Kent. I don't usually put my trust in such young men, but you're not like the others here. I can see you have a good heart. These people," Frye continues with acid in his voice, "are like spoiled children, who care nothing for the good of the family, only of themselves. This is the way I think of the British Empire, Mr. Kent, a family. Just because we are far from home, we are no less responsible to it."
"Yes, sir," I say as usual, too grateful for his kindness and generosity to disagree with this feeble old man.
"Ahh," he sighs, leaning back against his pillows. "I think often of family these days. I worry about my Henrietta. She's such a beautiful girl, and smart as a fox. I don't like to think of what will happen when I die, if she is left unmarried."
"She won't be destitute, surely?"
"No. I've made provisions for her, as much as I'm able. But she will lose the way of life to which she has grown accustomed: the house she grew up in, her beloved horses, and Rachel--her handmaiden that she has known dearly since childhood. She should be allowed to keep these things, but, instead, my fortune must be liquidated and divided among my business associates. Simply because she is unmarried. Of course, this is the way of things."
"It's most unfortunate, sir," I say with honesty. I do like Henrietta, and wish a better fate for her.
"Yes..." he laments wearily. "If only she were to marry... Then I could leave her--and her husband--everything. He would be a very fortunate man, in many ways. To be so well set, and have such a lovely wife..."
The unspoken suggestion is made, as clear as though he had written it on the very walls of the room.
Justin
"It's quite simple," Amos explains. "You merely stand about on the corner here, and shout the headlines at everyone you meet."
I clutch the large stack of Baltimore Advertiser papers to me, sheltering them against the drizzling morning rain.
"Sometimes I put a little inflection in my voice," he continues, "Make it sound more interesting. See, you could read it like this: 'Lord North Issues New Writ of Taxation,' but that's boring, isn't it? Instead, I'd say something like: 'North Sticks It to Us Again!'"
I chuckle, and try for myself, bellowing as loud as I can: "That Bastard North Sticks It to Us Again!'"
"There, now that will sell papers!" says Amos, laughing. And indeed it does sell, as a few passersby stop to buy some.
"How much is Beszick giving you?" Amos inquires.
"A farthing against every paper."
"Hoo..." he whistles. "That's a rub. But that's because you're only selling the dailies now, and they're just penny and a half. If you do a good job, he'll move you up to the special papers, and you can earn more by them."
"It's alright," I say, honestly. "In truth, I'm just cheered to be working."
"Well, be glad it's a choice for you. Remember we don't all have rich gents to keep us in satin breeches!" he teases, and I punch him lightly on the arm.
"I do appreciate your getting me this job," I say. "It's awfully decent of you."
He gestures away my thanks. "We're mates, aren't we?"
I nod in agreement, glad for his affirmation. In truth, I thought he'd be angry with me for cutting out on him at that tavern a while back. When I went to apologize, he said that HE was the sorry one. He'd assumed I'd been on the lookout same as him, and didn't know I was "as serious as all that" with my "gent." Thankfully, we worked it out simply and have been good friends since.
"Well, I'd best be getting to my own corner," he says, tucking his own stack of papers under the arm.
"Meet for supper after?" I ask.
"Naw," he shakes his head in apology. "I have a special 'engagement ' tonight."
"Does Beszick know about your other occupation?" I ask, laughing.
"Know?" he says incredulously, "How do you think I met him in the first place?"
He winks slyly at me and trots off down the street, shouting his own colorful version of the headlines along the way.
J,
I'm glad you have found a job, and hope it suits you. I've heard of this Simon Beszick; I only ask that you keep your eyes open with him. He's been in trouble with the law, you know. It's said he's sympathetic to the radicals. I don't know for sure, but do be chary with whom you take company. One can never be too careful.
This young friend of yours too...I hope he is not indiscreet. You know we cannot afford such an association.
I'm sorry I've been so occupied lately; you know the reason why. But it grows intolerable, and I miss you. I'll be there the moment I have a free night.
B
B,
Beszick is an odd sort, but I find him a good man. He's been very generous to me, and I ask that you trust me to know my own judgement. As for Amos, I might remind you that he is more often available to keep me company than you are, and he has done nothing to deserve your distrust.
I'm sorry if I sound cross; I'm only ill at ease with being apart so long. Swear you'll come as soon as you're able. I miss you too.
J
Abernathy, Abandon, America
by Kristen
America
Chapter 8
September, 1773
Brian
"Come in, Mr. Kent."
I enter the bedroom, where the weak but nonetheless vigorous Lord Frye lies, papers strewn around him on the blanket. I reach for my usual chair, pulling it up to the bed. He pats my hand lightly, a fatherly gesture, one of many that he has adopted of late.
"You know the emergency," he says soberly.
"Yes," I reply. The calamity to which he refers is that of several of his commissioned merchants, who have been attacked by local tea traders. Episodes of this type are becoming more and more common, since Britain made duty concessions to the East India Tea Company this spring.
The act, intended to improve business for British tea exporters who were in trouble, has infuriated smaller, colonial-based tea merchants. As a result, violent skirmishes are breaking out, and Frye (who has loyally worked with the Tea Company, and thereby benefited from the concessions) has had to deal with sabotaged shipments, boycotts, and violence toward his men. The atmosphere in Baltimore is one of a palpable, growing tension, which even the most conservative of loyalists cannot deny.
"It's that incendiary Adams," says Frye bitterly. "He's got all the wrong ideas, and these know-nothings are all too eager to hear them."
I nod supportively. Samuel Adams' speeches are the talk of the city, and one can barely walk down the street without hearing his name mentioned. Often with disdain, by those (typically older) men, who are still vehemently loyal to the crown. But mostly with reverence, and awe. Caches of young colonials, who wear their hair naturally and unpowdered, and who have never even seen the shores of England, talk wistfully of Adams and the other radicals as though they were on a mission from on high.
"I trust you to stay on top of things, Mr. Kent. I don't usually put my trust in such young men, but you're not like the others here. I can see you have a good heart. These people," Frye continues with acid in his voice, "are like spoiled children, who care nothing for the good of the family, only of themselves. This is the way I think of the British Empire, Mr. Kent, a family. Just because we are far from home, we are no less responsible to it."
"Yes, sir," I say as usual, too grateful for his kindness and generosity to disagree with this feeble old man.
"Ahh," he sighs, leaning back against his pillows. "I think often of family these days. I worry about my Henrietta. She's such a beautiful girl, and smart as a fox. I don't like to think of what will happen when I die, if she is left unmarried."
"She won't be destitute, surely?"
"No. I've made provisions for her, as much as I'm able. But she will lose the way of life to which she has grown accustomed: the house she grew up in, her beloved horses, and Rachel--her handmaiden that she has known dearly since childhood. She should be allowed to keep these things, but, instead, my fortune must be liquidated and divided among my business associates. Simply because she is unmarried. Of course, this is the way of things."
"It's most unfortunate, sir," I say with honesty. I do like Henrietta, and wish a better fate for her.
"Yes..." he laments wearily. "If only she were to marry... Then I could leave her--and her husband--everything. He would be a very fortunate man, in many ways. To be so well set, and have such a lovely wife..."
The unspoken suggestion is made, as clear as though he had written it on the very walls of the room.
Justin
"It's quite simple," Amos explains. "You merely stand about on the corner here, and shout the headlines at everyone you meet."
I clutch the large stack of Baltimore Advertiser papers to me, sheltering them against the drizzling morning rain.
"Sometimes I put a little inflection in my voice," he continues, "Make it sound more interesting. See, you could read it like this: 'Lord North Issues New Writ of Taxation,' but that's boring, isn't it? Instead, I'd say something like: 'North Sticks It to Us Again!'"
I chuckle, and try for myself, bellowing as loud as I can: "That Bastard North Sticks It to Us Again!'"
"There, now that will sell papers!" says Amos, laughing. And indeed it does sell, as a few passersby stop to buy some.
"How much is Beszick giving you?" Amos inquires.
"A farthing against every paper."
"Hoo..." he whistles. "That's a rub. But that's because you're only selling the dailies now, and they're just penny and a half. If you do a good job, he'll move you up to the special papers, and you can earn more by them."
"It's alright," I say, honestly. "In truth, I'm just cheered to be working."
"Well, be glad it's a choice for you. Remember we don't all have rich gents to keep us in satin breeches!" he teases, and I punch him lightly on the arm.
"I do appreciate your getting me this job," I say. "It's awfully decent of you."
He gestures away my thanks. "We're mates, aren't we?"
I nod in agreement, glad for his affirmation. In truth, I thought he'd be angry with me for cutting out on him at that tavern a while back. When I went to apologize, he said that HE was the sorry one. He'd assumed I'd been on the lookout same as him, and didn't know I was "as serious as all that" with my "gent." Thankfully, we worked it out simply and have been good friends since.
"Well, I'd best be getting to my own corner," he says, tucking his own stack of papers under the arm.
"Meet for supper after?" I ask.
"Naw," he shakes his head in apology. "I have a special 'engagement ' tonight."
"Does Beszick know about your other occupation?" I ask, laughing.
"Know?" he says incredulously, "How do you think I met him in the first place?"
He winks slyly at me and trots off down the street, shouting his own colorful version of the headlines along the way.
J,
I'm glad you have found a job, and hope it suits you. I've heard of this Simon Beszick; I only ask that you keep your eyes open with him. He's been in trouble with the law, you know. It's said he's sympathetic to the radicals. I don't know for sure, but do be chary with whom you take company. One can never be too careful.
This young friend of yours too...I hope he is not indiscreet. You know we cannot afford such an association.
I'm sorry I've been so occupied lately; you know the reason why. But it grows intolerable, and I miss you. I'll be there the moment I have a free night.
B
B,
Beszick is an odd sort, but I find him a good man. He's been very generous to me, and I ask that you trust me to know my own judgement. As for Amos, I might remind you that he is more often available to keep me company than you are, and he has done nothing to deserve your distrust.
I'm sorry if I sound cross; I'm only ill at ease with being apart so long. Swear you'll come as soon as you're able. I miss you too.
J