Brookland (45 page)

As soon as the last rosy clouds began scudding toward darkness, they returned to Mrs. Finley's, though the streets were still bustling. They would meet the assembly early in the morning, and wanted to rest well beforehand. They found their hostess sitting before her fire with two mousy, round-faced daughters. Both had ribbons in their hair for the benefit of a visiting businessman, who was as dull brown as they—quite possibly, Prue thought, a good match. The moment she spied them, Mrs. Finley stood, spilling her knitting to the floor, and retrieved a letter from the table. “Came for you, Mr. Horsfield, while you were out.” She handed it to Ben with a self-important wiggle of her hips and went on, “From an assemblyman, even. Can't say I've received a letter from any of their sort before.”

“Thank you,” Ben said.

The shy gentleman cast an appraising glance Ben's way, and the eyes
of the Finley daughters narrowed as a result. Pearl folded her arms across her; she liked watching the feline behavior of certain women. As Ben read, she raised one hand and spread its fingers sharply away from her lips in sign for him to read aloud what was written.

“Mr. Willemsen sends warm greetings, asks leave to visit before the session opens on the morrow, and invites us to sup at his quarters tomorrow eve.”

Pearl opened her book and wrote,
Not bad
.

“Supper with your assemblyman?” Mrs. Finley asked. “My, you Win-ships do more than brew gin.”

Distill
, Pearl wrote.

The shy fellow cocked his head to one side. “You're the Winship daughters?” he asked.

She is
, Pearl wrote.
I'm extra
.

“A fine product, miss,” he said, nodding to Prue.

“Pleased you like it. Before you depart, let us give you a bit. We carry some with us in case of just such a circumstance.”

“Delightful. Won't you join us for tea?” he offered.

The Finley sisters scowled at their needlework.

Ben said, “Thank you, but we've a long day ahead tomorrow. We'll bid you goodnight.”

Mrs. Finley rose to provide them a lamp, but didn't try to stop them from leaving. “Sleep well,” she said.

Pearl was hissing to herself as they went up.

“What?” Prue asked.

You're evil
, she wrote at the landing.

Ben cuffed her playfully across the back of the head. Prue said, “What do you mean?”

Gin—Assmblytnn lVillemsn—those poor Girls!

“Bosh,” Prue said, “if 'twasn't me, their mother'd have done all the talking for them. I don't think she even knows you're mute.”

“Goodnight,” Ben said, and kissed them both. “Rest well.”

Prue thought only an hour had passed before the cocks began to crow and the dogs to bark at them. Pearl rolled directly onto her elbows and patted Prue's cheeks with her fingertips.

“That bad?” Prue asked.

She shrugged her shoulders toward her ears, which meant yes. She reached for her pad and pencil from the stand.
I'll pinch y
^r
cheeks agin before we go in
.

Prue reached for her armpits, and Pearl opened her mouth as another would to shout and jumped clear of the bed. After Pearl washed, used the pot, and dressed, she helped Prue into the new blue gown, which closed by a system of hooks and eyes that trailed around Prue's frame like a creeper. Pearl sat her down on the ladder-back chair, spat in her own right hand, and neatened each of Prue's curls. After she'd finished, she secured them loosely to Prue's head with combs, then drew open the curtains and led her to the looking glass. Prue had to duck to see herself in it. The flesh beneath her eyes was puffed and dark, but the brightness of the dress made her skin and hair look less accidental than vivid. She was accustomed to herself in waders; and though she'd long accepted that she'd never be pretty as her sisters, she was surprised and gratified to be pretty at all.

“Sakes,” she said. “Thank you, Pearl.”

Pearl wrote,
I think we'll win them
, and returned her pencil to its hasp so they might go down for breakfast.

The moment they were downstairs, they unwrapped the drawings from their oilcloths, tied them up in their ribbons, and left the elevation leaning against the parlor wall. Prue worried what might have become of the facsimile overnight, but Pearl said,
It manag'd to get this far
.

Garret Willemsen arrived while everyone but Prue was eating porridge, and they all rose to greet him. He was a tall man, balding and with a slight potbelly that looked official in his silver-buttoned coat. Ben took his hand, and Willemsen regarded all five women around the table, until Prue stepped forth and offered her own hand. “Mr. Willemsen,” she said, “this is a true honor.”

“Mr. Horsfield, Miss Winship, the honor is mine.”

Mrs. Finley offered him breakfast, and it was the other boarder's turn to appear vexed.

Willemsen said, “My carriage waits outside.”

Ben took a last spoonful and wiped his mouth on his napkin. “Finish up, then, Prue,” he said, passing her a slice of toast and jam. But she'd been unable to eat, and could not begin then.

“I didn't mean to rush you,” Willemsen said.

“Not at all.” Prue pushed her chair back. Pearl folded her napkin and leaned across to pat Prue's cheeks once more, which made Prue blush with shame. “We have large drawings, sir,” she said, “though our model will arrive separately. Has your carriage sufficient room?”

“Tut,” he said, and bowed to the Finleys. “Very pleasant to have met you all. Your establishment seems comfortable; I shall recommend it.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Mrs. Finley.

Ben took the roll of smaller drawings from the front hall, and summoned Willemsen's driver and man for the larger exhibit. Mr. Willemsen's eyes popped when he saw the size of it. “I warn you, Mr. Horsfield,” he said, “it shall be quite a session.”

The carriage was fine,—all open, & painted black, with bright red wheels,—and hitch'd to a sleek team of dapple-greys. Willemsen's servant also observed our cargo wide-eyed, but said nothing as he and the driver loaded our drawing end-up into the open passenger compartment. I climbed in beside it, and rode with my arm around it the whole way there.

You see, I cannot say I'd loved anything so much till then. My parents, my sisters, your father, the rectifying room,—they all had their hold on me; but that view of a thing sprung of my imagination, leaping as it did from the only home I'd ever known out to the beyond,—it seemed my whole future happiness depended from it.

Matty bids me tell you, he misses you around the house & wishes you were here to learn rectifying for him. I eagerly await your next; & then shall tell you how we fared before the state assembly,—

With abiding love,

Your mother

P
rue sometimes reflected on how, during the period the nation's capital had resided in New York City, the most important American business had been conducted in a modest stone building, all but surrounded by pigsties. She herself had seen the Stars and Stripes flying overhead, and had heard rumors of General Washington pacing the balcony (just as she'd heard rumors of him keeping a lookout once on Clover Hill—all unsubstantiated claims, as far as she knew), but beyond that, she'd always thought the seat of government less impressive than her father's manufactory.

When the state capital had moved to Albany just the year before Prue and Ben proposed their bridge, the plan had been to endow the government with a ceremonial home that would give the lie to the notion the city was New York's little sister. Prue had been looking forward to this grandeur; but found, to her dismay, that Governor Jay and the two branches of the legislature were still squabbling over the cost and had done nothing to effect the transformation. (She was disappointed both because she thought that, arriving on an errand of such importance, she should have someplace impressive at which to arrive, and because it boded ill for their willingness to finance something as costly as a bridge.) The assembly and the senate now sat in two large halls in a building still called the Stadt Haus. It was a large wooden structure, not especially impressive though built on an unusual octagonal plan, and surmounted by a bell and weathercock, as if that alone should inform visitors they had arrived at a place of moment. As Mr. Willemsen's carriage pulled up to the
front steps, Prue's pulse beat so hard in her throat, she worried she resembled a bullfrog. A huge oxcart had already arrived bearing the model, and its driver was smoking on the steps.

“I shall inform my colleagues of your arrival,” Willemsen said, as the bewigged Negro porter helped him down. “It shouldn't take a minute.”

After seeing Willemsen into the building, the porter sauntered back down to wait beside the carriage. He pointed with his nose toward the elevation. “Quite a thing you've got there,” he said.

Prue was uncertain what the correct response might be. Ben said, “Thank you.”

Pearl got down from the carriage and walked forward to admire the horses. Willemsen returned shortly with a score of porters to bear the model and elevation inside. They all flocked to the drawing, as no one wanted to have to carry the bridge on its platform base. Ben took the roll of smaller drawings, then gave Prue his arm and escorted her up the stairs.

The door opened into a small rotunda, such as Prue had seen in etchings of the ancient world, though made of simple wood. The inlaid floor was smooth beneath her thin-soled shoes, and around the gallery, high as a roof, loomed statues of portly men in old Dutch ruffs and tall boots. Prue imagined these must have been left over from the building's former use. There were two sets of oaken double doors, one to Prue's right and one to her left, and behind both sets the rumble of voices rose and fell. The empty-handed porter stopped before the left-hand set of doors, and Prue squeezed Ben's arm and let him go. Two of the other porters had the scroll up on their shoulders as if returning from the hunt. The men bearing the heavy model had already placed it on the floor. They would remain out in the foyer with these objects until called for, as both Ben and Prue imagined they would be unable to speak a word once the representations of the bridge had been seen. Prue nodded to the man at the door, and he lifted the iron latch to usher them in. “Benjamin Horsfield, King's County's surveyor,” he announced, “and Prudence and Pearl Winship, distillers, of Brookland.”

The gentlemen of the assembly rose and turned toward them as one, their fussy wigs making them resemble grandfathers, though many, Prue saw, had the high color of youth or overindulgence. There were at least a hundred of them. She did not, at first, recognize Willemsen with his bald pate covered, but he nodded to her as they stepped forward. Many of the
gentlemen were regarding Prue and Pearl with some interest—as, Prue supposed, “distillers” did not call two young women to mind. The speaker of the assembly, Hendrik Stryker, looked Dutch as the statuary, and stood at a table facing the representatives' desks. Porters were buzzing all over the room like gadflies.

“Mr. Horsfield, Miss Winship,” Stryker said. He was a jowly man, but the hand he extended in greeting was long-boned as a lady's. Prue's knees felt gelatinous, but supported her through a curtsy. Pearl remained a step behind her. “When your father applied for a license to distill—which, you may be surprised to hear, was only about fifteen years ago—I was the man to issue it. And glad, indeed; I have long been fond of your product. You know the Joralemons had tried just such a venture on your property before he arrived?”

“Yes, sir. It's how we acquired our windmill.”

He nodded. “When your father opened that distillery back in ‘67, everyone said he'd fail within the year—and I believe he came close on a few occasions. But he persevered, and built an enterprise I count an honor to this state.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“When he passed on, I did not know how you'd fare.” His glance also indicated Pearl.

“That is Pearl, sir, unrelated to the distillery. Temperance is at Brookland, managing the works.”

“Ah, yes, Pearl,” he said, and winced at her, in what he must have intended as a smile. It was not the first time Pearl had encountered such treatment, and Prue heard her skirt fold as she curtsied. “You've defied everyone's expectations, Miss Winship. The business appears stronger than at your father's passing, and, if I may say so without disrespect to the departed, the quality of your product has even improved.”

“Hear,” someone said. Another hushed him.

Ben nudged her arm, and though she was uncertain why he'd done so, she said, “We have brought a cask of the wares, sir, for you gentlemen to enjoy; but we did not bring it with us this morning, lest our most honest assemblymen misconstrue a friendly gift as an attempt at bribery.”