Her voice softened. “I have decided to do something meaningful with my last years and my last wealth. A woman may do few things that stand up over time if her children do not do her proud. I will tell you of my will and how I have it arranged. If our dear captain brings home this ship, this house and grounds become his.” She raised her hand at my expression. “Now, not a word. That is my choice. My son, of course, knows nothing of it yet, and if some calamity occurs to the ship, he never will, for the house will then go to him. We shall believe nothing bad will come of the voyage, and plan for the best. When the ship comes in, the cargo is yours though not without strings attached. While your man is in the north woods hunting Frogs, there is much work to be done here in Boston. Part of that work is for you to thrive, for only if you are received in the highest society will you be able to do the rest. There will be silks on that ship for you to sell but also to wear.
“Johanna the dressmaker is retiring from her trade, and others have surpassed her in style at any rate. Have her apprentice, Constance Cousan, a Frenchwoman, create for you something with a pleasing and modern décolletage. You will hold a store of silk that can be sold for a great deal of money as well as used for your own betterment. If you sell it, do it before they raise the tariffs yet again. Better yet, do it secretly and pay no tax. Every day the Crown thinks up one new tax and another, and it will only get worse. They are fighting wars on every side, Russia, Saxony, even the Swedes and Austria again, and flint and black powder costs dearly. They will come to this colony, and all the others, to fill the coffers for this. I want to ask you to keep it out of the royal treasury any way you can. I believe in the liberties granted to all English citizens. Besides his being mad as a hatter, there is something quite rotten in the courts of good King George. Quite rotten indeed.”
“I will do my best, Lady Spencer.” I wondered why she did not trust Wallace, her only living son and heir, or some lawyer or friend. Was I being told that I was such a friend?
“I want you to call me by my given name. We have known each other long enough, do you not think? My name is Amelia.”
“That is lovely. Thank you for this courtesy, Amelia. And for your great faith in me. But this is so unusual. May I ask why?”
“Why would I offer you my given name? No, you mean why give away my house and goods. Well, my dear, I hope you never know. Let us simply say that my son and his lovely wife are back in town. We have had a discussion which left me little choice.”
The thought of the treachery Wallace could carry out made me feel dark inside, as if his name brought a shadow to the room. “Do you know when to expect the ship?”
“It was due in port five weeks ago. Now, be not frightened. This Captain Talbot is quite the seaman, I have heard. His men like him. He presses no one to join his crew. They line up for the privilege. He will arrive.” She smiled and nodded. Rupert poured more coffee.
I could say nothing. I knew not whether her words encouraged me as much as they stunned me, for this seemed out of place with her protected demeanor. “I am sure he shall. He must.”
“Let us have the coffee, shall we? At least it is one thing that does not set fire to my gout.”
*
Four days later, a public coach pulled up to my door. The sky seemed to rest upon the chimney itself, and a leaden mist swirled on the ground. August stepped from the coach, thin and weary, with a slight cough, but otherwise well. He had bathed and shaved, sported new clothes and a warm smile as he hugged me and kissed the children. I had not seen him in two years, and while I knew his life was fraught with dangers as can only be seen upon the high sea, I had felt no concern until Lady Spencer had intrigued me with her recent confidence. The idea that he had been a privateer on the side of British law had always made me feel safe. Knowing he was now skirting that law, and could hang if caught, made him more of a rake and a pirate in my eyes. He bowed upon seeing America, and I watched his face, wondering what I saw there.
The following day a flat wagon appeared at my door, loaded with so much from August’s cargo that we had to move and restack everything in every room of the house. My home looked like a mercantile. We settled in that evening over stew and beans and bread with the children gathered round. He had much to tell, as did I, and he was displeased that Cullah and Brendan had been taken to war.
*
Friday, as I prepared to meet the coach to travel to Amelia Spencer’s supper, August suggested that he stay at home with America and the children, for he still felt as if he had caught a cold on coming into the north Atlantic. He laughed at himself, saying, “I have been shot at, punched, kicked, and stabbed, but what lays me down like a withered crone but a New England ague!” Dorothy had a sniffle, too. I hated to leave her, but my heart told me I must, sure as it told me we would probably all catch the cold and have a week or two of sore throats and running noses. I was thankful it was nothing more. Just a cold. All else I felt was uneasiness akin to Cullah’s constant fear of war, a mysterious note in Amelia Spencer’s words that left me no choice but to go.
Just after sundown, the racket of a team of six came up the road. “Be you Mistress MacLammond?” the coachman called while doffing his hat. He was a well-dressed fellow, though sunburned as my brother.
“Yes, I am,” I said.