Chapter One
March, 1695
“That
son of yours is incorrigible, Mary,
and if he were home today I’d be tempted to beat him with a horsewhip.”
Johanna
was perched on the settee, carding
wool in one end of the long parlor, and when her mistress swept into the
room she tried
to make herself as invisible as
possible, knowing from experience that the sharpness of the lady’s eyes
was matched
only by her tongue. But fortunately
at the moment both the lady and her companion were too preoccupied to
notice the downstairs
maid, and spoke as freely in front
of her as if she possessed no greater powers of observation than the
loom and spinning
wheel she often employed.
Mary
Hopkins said, “Well, Brother, what has Tom done this time that you’re so upset about?”
Johanna
peeked at the pair from the corner
of her eye. Mary may have been a beauty in her day, with her fine dark
eyes and well-chiseled
nose and mouth, and even now could
be called a handsome woman, in spite of the touch of disdain in her
countenance. Her green
silk gown, worn on a weekday and not
the Sabbath, proclaimed her social position, as did the waistcoat, knee
breeches, and
silver buckles on the shoes of her
companion. The man who had followed her into the parlor now dropped into
a chair and stretched
his long legs toward the fire. His
dark eyes and fine features resembled the lady’s, but his expression was
grim, and
when he spoke his voice was more
subdued.
He
said, “Farmer Dawson spoke to me
today on his way to market. He told me that Tom has been inveigling his
daughter’s
affections. She’s been sneaking off,
and the neighbors have spotted them together, alone.”
“Oh.”
Johanna, glancing at her again, saw
Mary lift one shoulder in a barely perceptible shrug. “And what did you
tell him?”
“I
told him that I would speak to Tom,
which of course is impossible, now that he’s run off to New York again.”
Johanna
thought she perceived a hint of irony in the man’s tone, but her mistress ignored it.
“I’m
sure Tom has no serious intentions toward Rachel Dawson, after all.”
“That’s
exactly the point, Mary. Her father
could bring charges against him, and I won’t have the least bit of
sympathy for
him if he does.”
“Oh,
I wouldn’t worry about Andy Dawson,
Justin. In my opinion he just needs to keep his daughter under better
control.”
Justin
opened his mouth as if to speak,
then seemed to reconsider. For a moment he sat in silence, then kicked a
stray wood chip
toward the fire. Finally he said, “I
do wish you hadn’t sent Tom to New York again. He has far too much
freedom
there and doesn’t use any of it for
good.”
“Young
men his age need some freedom. You
were always too serious for your age, Justin. Tom will settle down in a
few years.”
“He
gambled away that money I gave him to pay for the lumber, and never had to pay it back.”
“What
difference does it make? It will all be his someday anyway.”
“Aye,
and he'll lose it all.”
Johanna
peeked up at the two of them, framed
by the lintel of the huge fireplace, silhouetted by the light of the
fire like a handsome
painting of colonial gentry. But
Mary Hopkins was apparently all too ready to change the subject and at
that precise moment
happened to glance around the room
and spy her servant peering around the edge of the settee.
“Johanna!
What are you doing here?”
Johanna
rose to her feet, hoping by her
downcast eyes to appear meek and dutiful. “Carding wool, madam.”
“You
don’t need to do that in the parlor. Get back to the kitchen where you belong.”
“Aye,
madam.”
Johanna
was halfway to the door when her
mistress stopped her. “And another thing, Johanna. I noticed when you
scrubbed the
pots yesterday you rearranged them
all in the kitchen.”
“Aye,
madam, I was trying to put them in order by?”
Mary
cut her off. “Johanna, there’s no
reason for you to be changing things, when I give you a job to do. Go
back to
the kitchen now and put them back
the way they were.”
Johanna
bit hard on her lip and turned on
her heel to hide her expression, her thick yellow braid bouncing on her
shoulder as she
stalked to the kitchen door. She
opened the door, resisting the urge to slam it as the pungent odor of
baking shad assaulted
her, and she heard the man named
Justin ask, “Is she a new servant?”
“Aye,
I got her last month from New York,
and I think her first mistress must have been terribly lax with her. If I
don’t
tell her exactly what to do, she
just does what she pleases. Imagine using the parlor to card wool! But
she only cost me five
guineas with sixteen months left on
her indenture, so it was a good bargain: seven shillings a month. And
she’s a good
worker when she bothers to listen…”
Johanna
marched to the wall beside the
fireplace and pulled all the pots into a heap, hoping her mistress could
hear the clatter from
the parlor. Patience, the kitchen
maid, turned to watch her.
“Johanna,
what are you doing?”
Johanna
scowled. “The Duchess didn’t like
the way I arranged the pots, so I have to put them back the way they
were. 'There’s
no reason for you to be changing
things,’” she mimicked.
Patience
giggled. “I told you she would make a fuss.”
“Why?
I thought they looked better this way. Didn’t you?”
“It
ain’t that,” Patience said. “She don’t like nobody to do nothing without asking.”
“My
old mistress wasn’t so bossy.”
“Oh,
Mistress Hopkins ain’t so bad,” said
Patience. “After all, she hardly ever beats us, unless she’s
really provoked.”
“I
suppose.” Johanna sighed, and began
to replace the pots. “It’s just the way she talks to us, so superior,
like she’s Queen Mary herself.”
Johanna laughed suddenly at the unexpected pun she had made.
Patience
giggled again. “You wouldn’t believe it to see her now, but her father was only a joiner.”
“A joiner!” Johanna exclaimed, and almost added,
“Why, my
father was more genteel than that!”
but she stopped herself in time. She had learned, since coming to the
Hopkins household,
that the other servants did not take
kindly to references to her background. They were mostly from the
uneducated laboring
ranks; many of them could not read
or write. During her first week here one careless display of her book
learning had earned
her the reputation for being uppity.
So now she was careful to downplay it whenever possible.
And
it was true that, although her
family had been educated, they were certainly not wealthy. Her father
had been a Dutch Reformed
minister, but barely more affluent
than the poor villagers which composed his flock. Johanna remembered
wearing her cousin’s
old cast-off clothes, and weeks when
the same scanty food would appear on the table night after night, and
even some times
in the winter when their fuel had
run out and the children had bundled up in cloaks and scarves to keep
warm. Still, it had
been a happy childhood, the happiest
part of her life so far. As a girl she had taken the privations for
granted, and it was
only when she was older that she
realized how poor they really were - when her parents were dead and she
had nothing to rely
upon but the providence of God, the
charity of relatives, and her own good sense.
Life
as an indentured servant was
certainly no life of ease and luxury, but still, she told herself when
she was tempted to question
her past choices, it was better than
life as a poor relation. At least now she knew that she was earning her
own keep, and
she did not have to concoct a false
gratitude for the privilege of being treated as a servant. And she was
one of the luckier
ones, as Patience had said. There
were cruel masters and mistresses, ones who beat their servants and
abused them in other
ways. Johanna’s first mistress had
become rather fond of her and treated her almost as a companion, which
was why this
new one seemed difficult. But she
could handle Mistress Hopkins's sharp eyes and critical tongue, if she
had nothing worse
to suffer.
She
said to Patience, “If her father was only a joiner she’s certainly come up in the world!”
“It was her marriage,” Patience explained. “Her
husband was the one with the money. The master now - he was a hard one. ’Tis certainly been more pleasant around here since he died. Though
perhaps ’tis wicked to talk that way about a dead person.”
“What
was he like?” Johanna asked, her curiosity aroused.
“He
had a terrible temper. Mercy! You
should have seen him when he got angry! He used to beat us for any
little reason. And the
children, too. And,” she lowered her
voice, “there was one time when he was drunk I saw him knock the
mistress
to the floor.”
Johanna
winced. “What did she do when he did that?”
“Do?
What could she do? She was afraid of him, like everybody else.”
“I would have done something,” Johanna said. “I wouldn’t
let anyone treat me that way.”
Patience
shrugged. “There wasn’t much she
could do. And I suppose for money a person puts up with a lot.”
“Not
me,” Johanna said firmly. “I
wouldn’t marry someone like that, not if he were the richest man in the
world.”
Patience
laughed. “Me, I wouldn’t mind having the chance.”
Johanna
laughed too. Then she was silent a
moment, thinking, as she carefully placed a pot on its hook on the wall.
Finally she said, “I really don’t care so much about
being rich. I don’t particularly want to be poor, either. But if I had a nice comfortable home - not so fine as this - and a good husband who
loved me, that’s all I’d want.”
Patience
glanced up, raised her eyebrows, but
said nothing, and Johanna knew she had made another error. She knew she
was not really
prettier than the other girls—she
had the sort of looks that some men seemed to admire and others
completely overlooked.
But she guessed that something about
the way she talked and carried herself exuded a confidence that she was
destined for
a better life than being a serving
maid forever. She tried not to put on airs, as one of the menservants
had once accused
her of. Her confidence was a result
of education and breeding, not deliberate snobbery, but she also guessed
that a girl like
Patience would believe she was
overreaching to demand a comfortable home and a loving husband.
The
kitchen door opened and Tib, the
upstairs maid, sallied in. She was also a bondmaid, like Johanna, but a
few years older and
many years wiser. She was plump,
attractive, and saucy, with a wealth of red hair continually escaping
from her cap, and ample
hips that swayed generously when she
walked. Johanna knew that the menservants enjoyed her in more ways than
one.
“Where
have you been?” Johanna asked. “The
mistress was after me, complaining that you hadn’t changed the bed-linen
in Master Tom’s room. And I told her
I didn’t know where you were.”
“Dickon
and me, we went for a little stroll
together.” Tib gave them a wicked grin. “And - well, the time just got
away
from us.”
Johanna shrugged. “I hope the Duchess doesn’t find
out. You know what she’d say.”
Tib
laughed at Johanna’s epithet. “You’d
better hope she doesn’t hear you call her that. She wouldn’t
think it was funny at all. As for
me,” she shrugged and smiled to herself, “Dickon’s worth anything the
mistress could do to me. I couldn’t
hardly make him stop as it was.”
Johanna
and Patience exchanged
self-conscious glances. Tib seemed to enjoy shocking them with stories
of her adventures with men,
and they often heard her with a
mixture of disapproval and fascination. Johanna’s own experience with
men consisted
of a few chaste kisses with the
cooper’s apprentice in New York, and now, at nineteen, she had all the
eager curiosity
of a healthy and innocent young
woman. She was often torn between a virtuous sense that she shouldn’t
listen and the
avid desire to learn as much as she
could.
“I
could never act like Tib,” she
thought, blushing, on more than one occasion. Still, she fully intended
to marry someday,
and it would be useful to have a
little knowledge, and not go into the experience unprepared. She thought
that, with the right
man, it would be most exciting.
She
said to Tib, “If you hurry up and do your work, maybe the mistress won’t know.”
Tib
flitted back toward the door. “Help
Patience with the dinner, will you, Johanna? I’ll do the same for you
next
time.” And she was gone.
Johanna,
who had finished with the pots, went
to the table where Patience was cutting up vegetables for dinner. She
picked up a knife
and began to peel a carrot. “I don’t
know how she gets away with it,” she murmured to Patience. “What
if she has a baby? He couldn’t marry
her until her indenture is completed. And the mistress could claim
extra service
from her. Doesn’t that ever worry
her?”
“Tib
don’t worry much,” Patience said.
“And I suppose it must be mighty fine, having all them fellows liking
you.”
Johanna
turned to look at Patience’s rather
plain features and rabbity appearance. Her eyes were gray, and rather
lashless,
her hair a nondescript brown without
a hint of gold; she had a long chin and pockmarked skin. She would
never attract men
in droves, but she was good-natured
and hard-working, and she would make someone a good wife. A farmer’s
wife, Johanna
thought, with a bunch of little
rabbity children just like her. She almost giggled at the thought.
“You
know why all those fellows like
her,” she said to Patience. “If you acted that way, they’d all be after
you too.”
“Maybe.”
Patience chewed her lip a moment.
“Isaac thought you were mighty pretty, when you first came. How come you
wouldn’t
walk out with him?”
“Well,
you know I can’t marry for another
sixteen months. And neither can he. So?” Johanna hesitated. “I wondered
exactly what he was looking for.”
“I
see.”
“I
only have sixteen months left on my
indenture and I can hardly wait. I’m not doing anything to mess it up.”
But
Johanna knew that was only part of
the truth. Sixteen months was not such a long courtship, after all. The
truth was that
she really couldn’t picture herself
marrying Isaac either now or ever. Johanna rated intelligence highly in a
man, and
she couldn’t quite imagine marrying
someone that was not at least her equal in that area. She wanted a man
like her
father, one who liked to think and
read books. But none of the young men who ever showed an interest in her
were even remotely
like the one she pictured.
Perhaps
I’m being too particular, she had
thought on more than one occasion. The type of man she wanted would
probably not look
twice at an indentured servant. But
she wouldn’t be indentured forever.
Sixteen
months! She was forever repeating
the words to herself, like a talisman. In sixteen months she would be
free, she could go
wherever she liked and do whatever
she pleased. She could actually earn money for herself and spend it as
she wished. Of course,
she didn’t expect to be rich, at
least not right away; she’d probably have to struggle awhile to
establish herself.
But at least with her freedom she’d
have the chance to become something besides a serving maid.
She
had hoped, when her first mistress
died, to obtain an early freedom - but that hope had proved to be in
vain. Her previous
mistress was an older widow, a New
York midwife, who had trained Johanna as her assistant. Johanna enjoyed
the work and had
aspirations of becoming a midwife
herself someday. It was a skilled and respected profession.
She
had really been quite happy in New
York, apart from her disappointment in not finding her brother. Her
mistress had taken
to her and treated her well, and
there was satisfaction too in feeling that she was gaining valuable
experience for the future.
But when the lady died Johanna had
completed just three years of her contract, and she became the property
of the woman’s
son. Not needing a maidservant
himself and wanting to realize as much as possible from his mother’s
estate, he sold
Johanna to Mary Hopkins, a business
acquaintance. And so Johanna found herself transplanted to Connecticut.
If
only she could find Pieter! she sighed to herself for the
hundredth time. Her brother Pieter
had come to New York seven years ago and she had crossed the ocean, sold
herself as a virtual
slave, all in the hopes of seeing
him again. He was the only member of her immediate family who was still
alive - if he was
alive. She had been so sure,
when she set out for America from
Holland, that she would find him right away, he would buy her freedom,
and they would be
reunited forever. But she continued
to ask about him among all her acquaintances, even writing letters to
other towns, all
to no avail. No one had heard of
Pieter Verseveldt. And here in Connecticut, her chances of locating him
were much slimmer.
Perhaps
the hardest thing to understand was
that she prayed continually and God seemed deaf to her request.
Johanna’s faith
was simple and childlike, a direct
heritage from her devout parents. She considered it such a small thing
to ask, that after
losing all the rest of her family
she be reunited with this one surviving brother. It seemed like such a
cruel irony that
after coming all this way and
enduring years of servitude, she would be denied the final object. But
God in his mysterious
wisdom had not seen fit to grant her
request. After three years of asking in vain she could barely bring
herself to frame
that particular request again.
She
sighed and tried to change the
direction of her thoughts. It was blasphemy to question God and his
sovereign purposes. She
must accept his will humbly and go
on. But there were moments when she could not wholly banish the doubts
that had begun to
seep through the dike which had held
them back for so long.
* * *
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