I smiled and said, “Reverend sir, men fight their wars and carry their causes. I am not looking to pass along any messages or codes, I am simply looking for a man to build a linen press. You do understand?”
“I do indeed. Jacob and Cullah MacLammond can be found at the end of the lane there. Where you see the two stores and a sign with the raven, turn to the right and go down three more doors. It’s noisy. A woodsmith’s shop is hard to miss.”
“Thank you, sir.” I started out the door and turned. “Can you tell me why the proprietor at the place on this road, that way”—I pointed—“thought so little of them that he all but cursed them to my face?”
The parson made a face that was more a grimace than a smile. He whispered, “Every just cause begins in the midst of those who thwart liberty and justice.” Then he nodded, not as one agreeing with his own statement, but purposefully as if to convey more than his words. “The man you spoke to is a loyal British citizen. Yet, I knew him in Scotland by another name, as did your woodsmen. He’s determined to rid himself of his old acquaintances and prove his new loyalty. Sometimes associations can result in a misfortunate stretching of the neck.”
“Indeed.” I was not sure precisely what he meant, but I would question no further. “Good day, sir, and I thank you.”
“I say. This sailor you wish to know about, he is someone you trust? If he returns, give me some question to ask, the answer which only he will know.”
If the man wanted secret words for everyone, so be it. I would know August when I saw him, I felt sure. “Ask him the name of his wee sister’s friend. If he answers Allsy, it is he. Good day, then,” I said, and I made my way toward the MacLammond woodshop.
I knew I needed a linen press. I still had no idea what I would do on again seeing Cullah. He was not my kind. He was strong and hearty yet not honest, for both the MacLammonds’ lives were cloaked in lies. As was mine, I supposed. He rescued me, that was true, but gruesomely. Oh, la. What had I to do with a man like that?
At the shop, wood shavings spilled into the street freely. A sign scratched on a plank with charcoal warned all passers that to enter the shop when hearing any machinery was dangerous. A system of moving pulleys and ropes hung from high overhead, a fire burned in a stone cairn near the door, and a shrieking, grinding sound came from somewhere behind the two double chests and a dusty settle on display at the front. I stepped behind those and held a linen handkerchief to my face to relieve the sawdust. In the back I saw Jacob concentrating on something before him as he worked his foot on a pedal that resembled the one on my spinning wheels. He let off his foot and it turned back toward him, then he stepped on it with great fervor, causing it to spin again, holding the knife to it. I waited. The din would drown any shout, so I waited and watched as he worked on the spinning log with a blade that seemed to be only sharpened on the tip.
I saw no sign of anyone else in the shop, but I meant to speak to Jacob at least. When at last he refrained from stepping on the treadle again, the wood on the spit began to slow and he dipped a rag into a pail at his side and held it to the piece, once again keeping the motion alive with his foot, this time using both the forward and backward spinning. At last he slowed the piece with his hand and said aloud, “There it is. Very fine. You thought you could confound me, but I have you.” He unfastened the wood, full of spools and knobs, and held it against another, his eye roving the pair for disparate spools. He flicked his finger at something, turned it around, and set them down.
“Jacob?” I ventured.
He jumped and dropped one of the posts. It landed in a pile of shavings. “Who calls me?”
“It is I, Miss Talbot.”
He squinted and then smiled. “Miss Talbot! Come in. What pleasure to see you.” He came brushing wood shavings from his clothes. “What would you have of me?”
Suddenly struck dumb of lip and empty of mind, I stammered, then said, “I came to Concord to buy some salt. I used the last in dyeing and I need more salt and a linen press. What is that machine? It is curiously like a spinning wheel.”
“No doubt the first turner of wood thought of that when he created this. Or perhaps some poor muddy potter was the model. The post fits in here, and with these chisels I carve it while it turns. Ingenious, isn’t it?”
“Indeed. You see, in walking to Concord I thought I might, out of curiosity, see just such a tool. I have heard of them before. What is it called again?”
Jacob nodded and shook sawdust and shavings off himself. “Lathe. Shall I tell Cullah you called?”
“No, please do not. I shall be on my way. I mean to purchase salt. Good day.” I turned to leave, pulling my skirts tight to go through the furniture stacked in the front.
“What about your linen press?”
“Have you one for sale?”
“Made to order only. Tell me what size you need. Will you want it of hickory? I have some spalted maple with figures in it. Will you see it?”