Brookland (56 page)

“Come, Mr. Pope. There is something troubles you about our bridge.”

He resettled his hat once more. “Only that I think it will be difficult to sight accurately across a distance of forty-four hundred feet.”

Prue saw all three young men scribbling with their pencils.

“But we have oft discussed this, Mr. Pope,” Ben said. “I do not deny it will be difficult. I say only that I work with the finest philosophical instruments; and that I have the patience and the training to perform the measurements correctly.”

“If anyone can do it, Surveyor Horsfield, I am sure it's you,” Mr. Pope said. “I sincerely hope the state permits you to build this bridge. I am more eager than I can say to see the outcome.”

There remained something in his tone that dampened Prue's spirits, but she went off to fetch some of her favorite batch of gin for the evening's celebration.

When Pope left later that evening, with the newsmen in his wake, he promised to write for advice to a colleague in Boston, by the name of Michael Avery, on the morrow; if Avery could put his last doubts to rest, Pope would write the governor immediately. Ben thanked him and himself wrote to Mr. Jay to relate the progress of both model bridges, and to indicate his belief they were ready to proceed with building in the spring, if the governor would supply both his permission and the necessary funding. He wrote to Garret Willemsen, whom he believed he would find in Bushwick at that time, overseeing his harvest, and asked him to come
view the second model before traveling north to the legislative session; and he wrote Mayor Varick a similar invitation. Both men arrived at their earliest convenience, and proclaimed the small bridge a wonder. Prue could not guess how the proposal would fare in the legislature; but she believed with her whole heart there was nothing more she or Ben might have done to ensure its success. Mr. Harrison continued to write favorably of the bridge; and while the other two writers maintained some reservations, Prue thought their descriptions yet cast the project in a favorable light.

One day late in September, Marcel Dufresne came up to the countinghouse to tell Prue a small group of men had arrived from Bedford Corners, in search of work on the bridge. There was a light rain that day, and when Prue looked out the window, there were six men, dripping in the yard.

“For Heaven's sake, bring them up,” she said to Marcel, though she had no idea what to do with them. She understood the project was common knowledge, and ordinary men could not have known Ben and Prue had not yet received even a word of encouragement from the governor. Marcel pressed his maimed hand to his chest and trotted back down the stairs. She and Ben had spoken of ordering huge bolts of oiled canvas and hundreds of tent poles and billeting any workers in her barley fields, if they were lucky enough to require workers, come spring. Meanwhile, these men, whoever they were, had walked miles in the rain to present themselves for work, and she did not want to turn them away, although Ben was not on the premises to see them.

Marcel ushered them up, and Prue remained seated; it was bad enough, she reasoned, to be hired by a woman for a job in construction, but it would be worse to see her far gone with child. They all removed their dripping hats. Four of them were white, and two Negro; two of the whites looked to be related. “Gentlemen,” she said. “Mr. Dufresne tells me you've come looking for work; and I wager you wish to volunteer yourselves for the bridgeworks. Am I wrong? Do you come for Winship Daughters Gin?”

“No, ma'am,” one said. “That is, we'll take whatever work we can get; but we came looking for work on the bridge.”

“I hear you and the t'other Miss Winship run your works with great compassion,” another volunteered.

“Thank you,” Prue said. “Ah. But Mr. Horsfield, the architect of the project, is not to be found today; besides which, he has not yet received money from the state with which to hire workers. Should all go well, the bridgeworks will commence next spring; but we have no guarantee all shall go well.”

One of them let out an audible sigh.

“Please come sit,” she said. There were only two chairs across the desk; they all remained still. “I have some coffee on the stove. Would you like some? Marcel?”

Marcel stepped forward and helped himself, and held the pot up inquiringly before the men.

“We're sorry to trouble you, ma'am,” one of the Negroes said. “There's little work at present in Bedford, and we heard some might be found here. But we don't mean to importune you.”

“Hold, now,” Prue said. “What are your names and professions?”

The first fellow who'd spoken glanced to the others, to make certain he wasn't treading on their toes. “George White, ma'am. I was apprenticed to a carpenter, but we didn't get on, and he let me go.”

The next, younger than his companions, said, “I've done farmwork, and some odd jobs for our wheelwright.”

“And your name is?”

“Ed Domer.” He appeared uncomfortable saying it. “This is my brother, Pete.”

Pete nodded deferentially.

The next to speak was the one who'd sighed in disappointment; he had a bright face, covered in freckles. “Day laborer, ma'am. Matthias Osier.”

“My father was named Matthias,” Prue said, then wondered how he could possibly respond to such a remark. “Who are you, gentlemen?”

“Lief van de Walle,” said one. “Farrier by trade, but I'll take any work that's open to me.”

“Alphonsus Weatherspoon,” said the last.

Prue's spine tingled at the name. She had never remarked James Weatherspoon's face sufficiently to know if this man resembled him; she thought he did have a similar shade of medium brown skin. “Any relation to James Weatherspoon?”

“Indeed, ma'am; I am his cousin. He spoke highly of this place while he worked here, and the family says you've treated his widow right fair.”

Prue did not know how to respond to this; she might have found it easier, somehow, had he shown a trace of anger. “Gentlemen, if you were given instructions, could you build two rooms onto a house?”

George White and Alphonsus Weatherspoon exchanged glances. White said, “Of course.”

“I am Prudence Winship Horsfield, Mr. Horsfield's wife,” Prue went on. “We need an addition built onto our house, and have had no time to arrange it with all the clamor about the bridge. But if we could hire you to build it, you'd be doing us a great service; and if we get the state's approval for a bridge, we could keep you on.” Marcel had also refilled her cup, while he was there. She said, “Thank you.” As none of them answered her, she added, “I realize it is not quite such long-term work as building a bridge. I shall not be offended if you decline.”

“No, ma'am,” said White. “With harvest in, there's little to be found in Bedford Corners until spring. I'd be obliged for the work.”

“As would I,” said Ed Domer.

“We'll pay you the same as our workers in the distillery; and Marcel, can you run up to Joe and the Philpots and see who would feed and quarter them at the fairer price?”

Marcel nodded.

“Take my waterproof, please.”

He removed it from its peg by the door and went back down the stairs. “Hoy, Mr. Horsfield,” he said as he went down, but it was Isaiah came in.

“New workers?” he asked her. To them he said, “Hello.”

“They came asking about the bridge, but I shall employ them myself, building onto the house. We'll see what we can figure out for you, then,” Prue said to them, and wrote their six names down in her ledger. “We haven't drawn up a plan for the rooms yet, but it shouldn't take long; and I think the sawmill should be able to provide timber almost immediately.”

They all thanked her, and after they'd left, she put her head down on the desk. “One of them is Jim Weatherspoon's cousin,” she said.

“Sakes.”

“And I have no idea what to do with them.”

“It's no matter,” Isaiah said. “You need that addition, now the baby is coming. It'll all work out. If need be, we can put them to work laying in casks or repairing the back fence of your property, which seems ready to tumble down onto the brewhouse.”

“You're right,” Prue said, and heaved herself up to go to Theunis van Vechten's. Pearl and Abiah might not like the bustle around the house, but everyone would be pleased with the eventual result.

Garret Willemsen's reports indicated that debates over the bridge in both assembly and senate were bitter. Those who supported the bridge thought its feasibility had been amply proven. Some of those who derided it yet claimed it was a fancy; others that as New York City contained most of the state's wealth, it ought to open its coffers for such a project, especially given that a New York and Brooklyn bridge could not be said to serve upstate in any but the most abstract fashion. But New York City could not afford a public works of such magnitude; Willemsen believed the bridge would live or die by how it fared in the legislature. During the month of October it came to vote after vote in each house, struck down narrowly each time, or sent back to the other house for amendment. But at last, by All Hallows', they reached their decision. Governor Jay wrote that support for the bridge was still far from unanimous, but that he himself was satisfied the experiments in bridge building were sound, and that the project would prove the crowning glory of New York State.

In exchange for an eighty percent ownership in the bridge, the state offered to furnish Ben with two hundred fifty thousand dollars toward its cost—half payable on the first of December, half on the same date in the year i 800. Though Ben himself would be responsible either for contributing or soliciting the remainder of the cost, the state would therewith grant him a twenty percent ownership, which he might retain or divvy up in shares, as he saw fit. In this manner, Governor Jay suggested, the wealthiest men of Brooklyn and New York might partake in the eventual profitability of the project, while sparing the state itself undue burden. They might furthermore prove to the senators and assemblymen from the more northern regions how dearly city and village desired this bridge.

Ben and Prue rejoiced over the news. It would be no small task to raise fifty thousand dollars, but it would be worth any amount of labor
and ingenuity to be able to build their bridge. Ben at once wrote to the New York aldermen to request their assistance in soliciting Mr. Cornelius Brouwer, who owned the land on which he hoped to build the New York footing; and he was given an introduction and an address in the countryside north of the canal.

“I wish I could go with you,” Prue said in the kitchen the night before he went.

“But you cannot,” Ben said. He touched her belly, which was flush up to the table, though she was comfortably seated back in her chair. “Look at you!”

“I can go for you,” Tem offered.

Almost before Prue could say, “Thank you, but there's no need,” Pearl had written on her slate,
Yr Japeg wd ruin evr.thing
.

“I'm pleased you think so well of me,” Tem said.

“She teases you,” Ben said, and leaned down to kiss Prue's belly. The baby smacked at him, in response.

“You'll provision yourself well?” Prue asked.

“Gin, cigars, and money. Anything else?”

“No,” Prue said, “that should suffice.”

Will you come to M. Severn
^s
?
Pearl asked her.

“Christ, no,” Prue said, laughing. “I can hardly walk.”

Pearl blew her a kiss while putting on her coat and heading out.

Ben rode over on one of the distillery's barges the next morning, which spared him the trouble of the awkward choice between feeling uncomfortable on Losee's boat and betraying him by riding Mr. Fischer's. He then hired a wagon to carry him and the drawings out to the estate. He later reported Brouwer had regarded him “as if I were a prime pig, just ripe to be strung up as bacon,” and responded to his initial offer for the land with a guffaw of disgust; but after a long, coffee-soaked morning, Brouwer at last relented, and shook Ben's hand over an offer five hundred dollars above Ben's original proposition. (Once again, the cigars, gin, and a healthy wad of paper money disappeared without a trace. Prue was rather proud of Ben for his circumspection in this regard; and glad that even the industrious Mr. Harrison saw no trace of bribery in the deal.)

Ben was delighted by his success, and pleased with the men Prue had hired to work on the addition. To them he added his own crew of six,
whom he would otherwise have had to dismiss until the materials began to come in; once the house was finished, he would put them to work mending fences. He had realized, however, there would be no more going forward with the bridge while retaining his title as King's County's surveyor. Up until this time, he had managed to supervise the models and complete his own work in fits and starts, but an actual bridge would require his constant vigilance. Prue often took her husband's bright spirits for granted, but on the night he wrote Governor Jay to resign his commission, Ben came upstairs wearing a tight smile and continued to pace the room after Prue had climbed into bed. “Are you troubled about your letter?” she asked him.

“What else should I have to trouble me?” he shot back at her.

“Mind your tone.”

He threw both hands up in exasperation, but after pacing back and forth across the room sat down beside her and put his hand on her belly. The baby resettled itself. “I am sorry, Prue,” Ben said, though he wasn't looking at her. “I realize my plight is none so terrible. But it was my dream to be the surveyor; my dream, and years of work. It was not easy, putting up with Hiram Bates and being separated from all those I loved. To relinquish it is no small thing.”

Prue reached her hand up into his hair. He neither pulled away from her nor warmed to her touch as he might ordinarily have done. Prue said, “We had no surveyor before Mr. Jay named you; they were always brought in from outside. Perhaps you can convince him to revert to that system during the period of the bridge's construction, and allow you to return to your chosen work once it's complete.”