Finest Kind Page 2

  4

  Frankie always slept after one of his fits. Jake opened one of the crates, and Mother quickly unwrapped china she had packed in quilts. She then rolled the quilts to form a soft low wall around the spot on the floor where Frankie lay.

  Father dismissed Mr. Abbott and helped Jake bring his bedroom furniture into the house and hoist it up into the loft.

  The loft was hot in the early September sun. Jake opened the shutters on the single narrow window to let in fresh air. The loft was larger than he’d first thought; it was almost as large as the room below. But the ceiling slanted from the middle of the roof to the floor and at no point was it over six feet high. There was no space for his high walnut bedstead even in the center of the room.

  Wooden racks for drying fruits and vegetables filled one corner, and a few pieces of dusty dried apple hung from a rope looped over a beam.

  Jake piled the pieces of his bedstead in another corner and put his pallet on the floor near the window. Here it wasn’t so bad; he could look out at the tops of trees. He had to be careful not to sit up too quickly, though, or he’d hit his head on the slanted ceiling.

  He looked at the old slices of apple. They’d had nothing to eat since the beef stew in a tavern the night before. His stomach groaned as he thought about it.

  Jake heard the creak and crack of nails being pulled away from a wooden crate downstairs. As he climbed down the ladder, he heard broken glass falling.

  Father was standing in the corner of the main room, holding the frame of the carved mahogany mirror that had hung over their sitting room fireplace in Boston.

  It had been packed in the crate Jake had knocked against when Frankie hit him. Shards of the mirror now covered the floor, reflecting the walls and ceiling of the room that was the center of their new life.

  Mother picked up a long thin piece of the mirror. A drop of blood fell from her finger onto the floor. “At least the frame is not broken,” she said. “When we’re settled, we can get another mirror.”

  How long would it be before they again had a place to hang an elegant mirror?

  5

  “I’m really hungry,” said Jake after he and Mother had finished cleaning the slivers of mirror from the floor. “Do we have anything to eat?”

  Father stared at him blankly. “Eat?” Father looked as weary as Mother, and was dripping with sweat from moving furniture and crates. In the old days in Boston he would have hired men to do that work for him.

  “Nathaniel, none of us have eaten since last night,” Mother reminded him quietly.

  “Cousin Ben said he’d be here this afternoon; he’ll tell us what to do,” said Father. They sat down in the chairs Father had arranged around their old kitchen table. The sale of their mahogany dining room table and chairs had helped pay for the move to Maine.

  “When did you last see your cousin?” asked Jake.

  “Not since I was younger than you,” Father replied, relaxing a bit. “Ben’s about my age. We were visiting our grandparents, outside Boston. My family lived in Framingham; Cousin Ben’s lived in western Massachusetts. About a year after that his family moved to the District of Maine. It was still part of Massachusetts then. I’ve heard from Ben over the years but haven’t seen him in almost thirty years.”

  “Does he have any children my age?” Cousins who might be friends, Jake thought.

  “Nope. Cousin Ben never married, so far as I know. Had a few lady friends, I heard, but never settled down.”

  “How does he manage on his own?” asked Mother. “In the city that would be possible. But here doesn’t he need someone to do his cooking and cleaning and take care of his house?”

  Until the last few months Mother had never done her own cooking and cleaning; now she was very conscious of all that was required to keep a home in order.

  “He lives in a boarding house near the lumber mill,” said Father.

  “Then perhaps he has no idea what kind of a house is necessary for a family,” said Mother. “When you tell him, he may know of another place for us.”

  Father looked at her directly and spoke softly. “We don’t have money, Hannah. So we don’t have choices.”

  “Surely there must be someplace more suitable than this,” she said. “And before Cousin Ben gets here, you must help me move Frankie to our room, Nathaniel. You haven’t told him about Frankie, have you?”

  Father reached down and picked up Frankie. “No. I didn’t tell him about Frankie. What was there to say? And don’t get your hopes high about the house. His letter said he’d gotten us the best place he could find.”

  If this was the best place, Jake thought, then what had other places been like? He thought of the house he’d seen that morning that was leaning on its foundations.

  “We must ask him many things,” Mother said as she picked up Frankie’s quilts and followed Father into the bedroom. “We need to know where to get food, of course, and supplies, and about your job at the lumber mill, and who our neighbors are.”

  The wagon had left, and a dozen heavy crates were piled in the yard. Jake went outside and managed to lift one to his shoulder.

  Their rooms in Boston had been decorated with fine furniture, draperies, china, silver, and brass. Treasured possessions like the mahogany-framed mirror that now was shattered. Many of Mother’s favorite belongings had been sold, but she hadn’t been able to part with everything. The brass candlesticks and oil lamp could be used here. But what would she do in this house with cut glass crystal and English porcelain? There was no space here for anything but necessities.

  Jake found a place inside the house to put the crate down carefully and went to get another.

  Maybe Cousin Ben would have a wagon and take them to an inn for dinner.

  Jake stopped. No. They couldn’t leave Frankie alone, and they couldn’t take him out where people would see him.

  Last night, when they’d stopped for a meal in Portland, Father and Mr. Abbott had taken turns sitting with Mother and Frankie in the wagon outside the tavern, bringing her food and soft bread pudding for Frankie. A woman couldn’t sit alone in a wagon. It wouldn’t be proper. Or safe.

  Jake’s stomach growled as he thought of that bread pudding flavored with maple and studded with raisins. Would Mother be able to bake puddings that good some day?

  Maybe Cousin Ben would bring them some food. Beef stew. Or chowder. Wiscasset was near the coast.

  Maybe here he could learn to fish! Then he could catch their dinner. For a moment Jake’s spirits lifted. Then he wondered if Mother knew how to cook a fish.

  6

  “Cousin Ben!” Father strode out into their yard as a man almost twice his size, and with half as much hair on his head, came around the stand of pines shielding the wagon path to their house from the road. “I’d know you anywhere!”

  Cousin Ben didn’t have a wagon. He didn’t even have a horse. And he wasn’t carrying any bundles that might contain food.

  Mother pushed past Jake and joined the men. Jake followed.

  “This is my wife, Mrs. Webber, and my son, Jake,” said Father. “We thank you for finding us this home, and the job at the mill.”

  Mother and Jake exchanged glances. They were grateful to Cousin Ben, of course, but was Father going to ask how soon they could move somewhere else?

  “It’s truly good to see you, Nathaniel, and to meet your family.” Cousin Ben doffed his wide-brimmed hat in the direction of Mother and smiled at Jake. “Welcome to the town of Wiscasset. You’ll find this place a considerable change from Boston, for sure, but I hope a welcome one. Living here—it’s the finest kind.”

  “Finest kind?” Jake repeated.

  “That’s Maine folks’ way of saying something’s the best of the best.”

  So far nothing here had seemed “the best of the best” to Jake.

  “Won’t you come in, Mr. Webber?” said Mother. “I am afraid I can’t offer you anything more than water from the pump, but after you advise us where we can get gr
oceries, we’ll invite you back for a fine dinner.”

  “Please, call me Cousin Ben. We can’t have two Mr. Webbers here!” Cousin Ben laughed as he followed Mother into the house.

  Jake went to get the pitcher Mother had just unpacked, and he pumped water from the rusty pump in the yard. At first the water came slowly and foul, but finally it flowed clear and sweet. Jake poured them each a glass and sat down quietly. He didn’t want to miss any of the conversation, but that wasn’t a problem in this house. Every word could be heard in every room. No secret would stay hidden for long here.

  “You wrote you’d want to start work as soon as you could, so I’ve told Mr. Stinson at the mill you’ll be there tomorrow morning,” said Cousin Ben.

  Mother leaned back from the table a little.

  “Of course; I do want to work,” said Father. “Where is the mill?”

  Cousin Ben hesitated. “A considerable distance,” he admitted. “But there’s an extra bed at the house where I board. I’ve already arranged for them to wait for payment till after your wages are paid.”

  Father’s smile faded as Cousin Ben continued. “If that’s fine with you, Cousin Nathaniel.”

  “Then . . . Nathaniel won’t be able to come home nights?” asked Mother. She looked ashen, and the glass in her hand shook. “I didn’t think of our being alone here without him.”

  “The mill is several hours’ walk, on the southern side of Wiscasset,” explained Cousin Ben. “I took the day off to greet you folks and make sure you were well settled.”

  “Do all men working at the mill live at the boarding house?” asked Father.

  “Most do, unless they live close enough to walk, or have a horse.”

  “Could we find a home closer to the mill?” asked Mother.

  “Nothing that would suit,” said Cousin Ben. “Houses there are full, and there aren’t many of them. And . . .” He paused. “Pardon my saying it, Mrs. Webber, but you would be more comfortable living in this area of Wiscasset. Most of those living south of town are rough, both the men and their women. It would be safer and more suitable for a lady such as yourself to be here.”

  Father looked at his wife with concern, and then at Cousin Ben. “We thought I’d be able to walk to work from our house, as I did in Boston.”

  “I didn’t think to tell you. It’s just the way it is here. Shall I tell Mr. Stinson you won’t be coming to work at the mill, then?”

  “No,” said Father quickly. “I’ll come. But perhaps after we get settled I can find employment closer to home.”

  “Indeed,” agreed Cousin Ben. “But you may like the mill. Stinson’s a good man to work for. We’ve got two saws, with box and shingle machines. And there’s no end of work. Every shingle we make is shipped straight to the island of Cuba. They must be building fine homes there. And you’ll have Saturday afternoons and Sundays off. You can see your family then.”

  Father nodded. “Of course. This is just another part of getting used to our new life.”

  Mother bit her lip.

  “I hate to make my visit so short, but it’s a distance to walk, and we’ll want to get back to the boarding house before supper,” said Cousin Ben, getting up from his chair. “Hours start early at the mill. Cousin Nathaniel, why don’t you go ahead and gather some clothes. We’ll walk back through the town. We can talk, and I can tell you the lay of the land.”

  “But, Cousin Ben,” Jake blurted, “we have no food. What are we going to eat?”

  Cousin Ben looked down at Jake and then at Father. “You brought nothing? Not even a few chickens?”

  Mother shook her head. “We have no chickens. There was no need for them in Boston.”

  “Well, you probably haven’t had time to explore yet, but there’s a small orchard beyond the field in back of the house. Apples will be coming into season. And the old couple who lived here before you had a garden somewhere. The squash and pumpkins they left are yours too.”

  Mother’s eyes looked glazed. “And milk, or meat? What are we to do for them?”

  Cousin Ben hesitated. “Stacy’s Store in town has groceries, but goods there are pricey, and it’s a distance. There’s a farm down the road. Ted Neal’s place. They’re good people. Jake can head back with us, and I can introduce him to them. Maybe they’d have some food to tide you over. They might even be able to sell you a chicken or two, so soon you’d have your own eggs.”

  Father looked at Jake. “We’ll ask about chickens after I’m paid, but stopping at the farm today sounds like a good idea.”

  Father was really going to leave them alone in this unkempt house, with no food except a few vegetables in the garden. Squash! Jake hated squash.

  Mother rose, blinking back tears. “Let me get you a basket, Jake. You’ll need it if you can bring us back any food.” She gestured for him to come closer as Father began pulling his clothes out of a barrel and putting some in a sack. She spoke softly, “Try to get some soft food for Frankie. Eggs would do. And milk, for tonight, and maybe bread. Or wheat, and salt, so I can make bread. While Frankie is sleeping, I’ll gather wood for a fire, so if you’re able to get food we can put together a meal when you return.” She swallowed hard. “If there is no food, you’ll have to look for those squash.”

  Jake nodded, but he couldn’t help but make a face when she mentioned the squash.

  “We can do this, Jake,” Mother said. “It may only be for a short time.” Mother held on to the back of a chair as if she might fall without its support.

  Jake touched her arm. “I’ll bring back something for us to eat,” he promised. “And then I’ll gather firewood. You just watch out for Frankie.”

  She smiled and let go of the chair. “Your father is going to work with men who live by their hands and backs and not by their learning. If he can change his life that much, and live in a boarding house, then you and I can find ourselves something to eat. We won’t have him worrying about us, will we?”

  Jake shook his head. He hadn’t thought about what Father would do at the mill. Father had always worked in an office at the bank.

  “Those are awfully fine shirts for millwork,” Cousin Ben said to Father. “Haven’t you any work clothes?”

  “Where could I get some?” Father asked in a quiet voice.

  “They’ve got ready-made clothing at Stacy’s,” advised Cousin Ben. “We can stop on the way and you can put them on account. John Stacy knows me. Get you a pair of pants and a shirt. That fine linen you’ve brought will only tear and get dirty. And wearing it might set off the boys at the mill. Don’t want them figuring you think you’re too good for Wiscasset.”

  Father nodded slightly. “I have a few dollars.” He handed several coins to Jake. “Here. For food until I get back on Saturday. I’ll take a little for the new clothes it seems I need.”

  “You’ll fit in soon enough, Cousin,” said Cousin Ben, slapping Father on his shoulder. “I remember you as a boy, climbing trees faster than any of the others, and leaving your books to run with the rest of us. You’ve been inside that city too long. You need to get back to the world of real men!”

  Mother tried to smile.

  “Hannah, take care.” Father put his arms around Mother and whispered, “I’ll be home soon.” He moved toward the door, following Cousin Ben. “Jake here’s almost a man. You’ll not be alone.”

  “Come on then, the two of you. We’ve got to head out,” said Cousin Ben.

  Jake picked up the basket Mother had given him. It was the one their cook had taken with her when she went to the marketplace.

  Wiscasset. His new life.

  7

  Jake followed Cousin Ben and his father as they walked toward Wiscasset. The road was already looking familiar.

  “Is that where the Neals live?” asked Father. He pointed at the unpainted barn Jake had seen earlier. Now there were clothes drying on bushes near the house.

  “No. Those people are not your sort,” answered Cousin Ben. “Mrs. McCord stays to home caring f
or their young’uns; I’ve only met her once or twice. Ob McCord is a mariner on the coaster to Baltimore and Charleston.”

  “What’s a coaster?” Jake asked. In Boston a coaster was a sled children played with in the snow.

  “A ship that goes between two cities, carrying people and packages. There are coasters from Wiscasset to Portland and Boston, and even to southern ports like Charleston.”

  That sounded like a better way to travel than in the back of a wagon. People sailed between ports, of course, but Jake had never heard the ships called coasters. “Are coasters for rich folks?” he asked.

  “Moderately rich, in any case,” Cousin Ben said, and laughed. “Lots of Mainers prefer the seas to the roads. But instead of rough roads, they have rough seas to contend with.”

  “Why aren’t the McCords ‘our sort’?” asked Jake.

  “They’re not what you’d call the tops of society.” Cousin Ben shook his head as they walked on. “But the Neals—where we’re going now—why, I’ve heard they’re good folks. Have a boy about your age too, Jake.”

  A boy his age! Jake’s spirits rose as he walked down the road with the men. “Do you know everyone in town, Cousin Ben?”

  Cousin Ben laughed. “Pretty much. I’ve lived in Wiscasset a lot of years. I know the folks at the mill, of course, and most of the people in town. There’s one church, so if you’re God-fearing, that’s where people are on Sunday. Some of the newer families in town I don’t know, and I’ve given up keeping the names of all the children straight. But once you’ve lived here for a while, you’ll know most folks too.”

  “I guess there are no secrets in Wiscasset,” said Jake.

  His father gave him a swift frown.

  “Not likely,” agreed Cousin Ben.

  The Neals’ white house was just ahead. A dozen cows were grazing in a pasture in back of the house. As Jake looked at the cows, a large black dog galloped around the barn and stood, barking loudly at them. Jake moved to the side. Dogs in the streets of Boston were fierce if you got between them and what they’d found to eat.