Chapter 1 #2
His jovial mask fell away to reveal the shrewd intelligence that had made him the best business mind in the colony.
“There’s been talk, Charles. No one has seen Simon in the city for months.
” He sent a hesitant look at Charlotte before continuing.
“And there are some who claim he was never in Montreal at all. He’s well known as a rather . . . impetuous boy.”
“What are you implying?” Charlotte asked. There was a stern note in Ballantine’s voice that gave her pause. It was almost as though he warned them. But of what?
“Now, now, my dear, nothing to get upset about. We just want to squelch any suspicion that Simon might have joined Mackenzie.” Ballantine grimaced as though the name of the rebel leader left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.
“See here, Ballantine. My son is no rebel.” Her father spoke with all his usual bluster, but Charlotte could see the fear and uncertainty behind his words in the way his fingers twisted the folds of his blanket.
“I came as your friend, Charles, not to accuse. I know where this family’s loyalty lies.” His gaze slid to the side. “Wouldn’t hurt to prove it, though.”
If defeat had a scent, it would be this. Joshua took another sip of tepid water from his canteen, but it did nothing to drive away the stench of rotting produce and animal dung that permeated the market.
A small crowd gathered at the far end, and Joshua wandered over to join them—more to escape the odor of the fishmongers than out of curiosity. He moved through the crowd until he could see the figure at its center, a small man with a red wig standing on a wagon bed.
“There are rich men now as there were in Christ’s time.
” The man spoke with passion and authority that belied his small stature.
“A wicked government has trampled the law.” His voice rose with each sentence, the hint of Scots more pronounced.
“They will roll their fine carriages and riot in their palaces at our expense. Are we poor, spiritless peasants who were born to toil for our betters?” A man next to Joshua shook his head and joined the chorus of negative replies.
Joshua turned away. While he didn’t disagree with the man’s sentiments, he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted.
Out of habit, Joshua shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out the smooth piece of walnut wood he’d carved into a wolf. Did Henry love wolves as much as he used to? He hoped so.
Another hour passed, but no one stopped to inquire after his wheat. Not since word had spread of his prices.
“Don’t like to say I told you so, but . . .” The farmer beside him rounded the corner of his wagon with a sympathetic smile.
“But you were right.” Joshua rubbed a weary hand across his face. He’d set his price slightly higher than last year’s, giving himself room to bargain. And he’d nearly been laughed out of the market.
“You’d best sell soon. Market closes at four.”
Joshua sighed. He’d spent years working for other men, watching their farms grow and prosper, waiting for the day he’d be on his own. Now he’d be lucky to feed himself through the winter. “I don’t understand. Last year, wheat was double the price.”
The man’s face hardened. “That’s not what the farmers get for it.
” He jerked his head toward the group of farmers still huddled around the man on the crate.
“It’s true what Mackenzie said. All the profits go to the mill or get shipped back to England.
He took our concerns to the assembly, but those bigwigs in the council don’t care nothing for us what does all the work. ”
Joshua nodded. He had few expectations of those in power. They’d done nothing to help him before.
The farmer drew closer and turned his back to the market, his voice lowered to a murmur.
“Few of us are meeting tonight. North of the city at Montgomery’s Tavern.
I won’t work my fingers to the bone to see my family starve so the likes of him can prosper.
” He jerked his head toward the man who sauntered toward them in an ill-fitting wool suit and dusty beaver hat.
Joshua straightened, the hope for a customer dying a second after it kindled.
Higgins was back.
The farmer shook his head in disgust and retreated to the other side of his wagon. The negotiator for the largest grist mill in the city was not a popular figure at market.
“You ready to give up, my boy?” Higgins grinned, confident of Joshua’s capitulation. He’d sought Joshua out within moments of his arrival, with a price so low that Joshua turned him away in seconds. It was the only bid he’d received.
If he took what Higgins offered, it would barely be enough to purchase supplies to see them through the winter, never mind seed or a second plow so Henry could help him prepare fields next year.
Joshua swallowed back the dark wave of disappointment. He couldn’t lose sight of what was most important. Henry. They could get by on ten pounds. They’d have to.
“I’d give it away before I’d sell to you, Higgins.” Joshua bluffed and Higgins knew it, for the oily smile on his face didn’t fade at the insult.
“Need another week in this stinking dump to come to your senses, eh?” The older man gestured toward the men gathered a few yards away. “Or maybe you’ll join Mackenzie’s rebels?” His lip curled in scorn. “Lot of good that would do you.” Higgins turned away.
Defeat rose in Joshua’s throat like bile. He couldn’t afford to house his horse at the livery all week until the next market day. “Wait.”
Higgins froze, then wheeled about with a knowing smirk. “That didn’t take long.” He snapped his fingers, and a ragged boy trotted over pushing a handcart. “Load this up.”
The boy struggled with the heavy sacks of wheat. His dirty clothing hung loose on his scrawny frame, his feet bare even though it was nearly winter. He could have been Henry. Oh, Lord, please don’t let this happen to Henry.
Joshua helped the boy load the grain, trying not to think about the hours of backbreaking work each sack represented. Half the yield he’d expected, though he couldn’t understand where he’d gone wrong.
All too soon, he had a nearly empty wagon and only ten pounds in his pocket.
The farmer returned as Joshua hitched Bess. “Don’t forget what I told you. Tonight. Montgomery’s Tavern.”
Joshua knew the place, a main posting inn for those entering and leaving the city on the north road, but he didn’t have the time for politics today.
He nodded farewell and turned the wagon away from the shops and public houses surrounding the market and toward Irish Town, the heart of the city’s poor.
He had another mission. A year ago, he’d made Henry a promise. Today it was time to fulfill it.