Brookland (58 page)

She was relieved they'd ordered in oilcloth and tent poles, as they had need of them for all these men. Ben had them dig pits for their cook fires and a deeper one for their latrine, and provided them ample firewood and free access to the wells both at the mill and in the Winship dooryard. As they staked out their quarters, the field in which Matty Winship had grown barley began to look as if it housed an occupying army; the Hessians and the Fourth Prince of Wales had never seemed so numerous, nor sung such lewd songs late into the night.

To save time during the workday, Ben and Prue planned to provide the men a midday meal, exactly as Prue did at the distillery, so they put out an advertisement for two cooks. This turned up, providentially, a distant cousin of Abiah's, from the village of Midwood. She lodged with the family until she found a permanent place with the van Suetendaels. Pearl, meanwhile, had developed a marked preference for the new downstairs bedroom, claiming she liked to be near the kitchen fire, though Prue suspected she liked it because it was farthest in the house from Tem and closest to the back door, thus facilitating her late and early rambles. The upstairs room that might have become Susannah's remained empty.

On the first day of spring, Ben asked Prue, Isaiah, and Adam van Suetendael to accompany him while he marked out the boundaries for the bridge's Brooklyn footing, where the work would commence. “Might's well use these tools for something,” he said as he unpacked the velvet-lined cases in which he now stored them. His tone was wistful. “Mr. Pope and Mr. Avery assure me I can site the bridge properly if I
take sufficient care.” Ben spoke only infrequently of his sadness over losing their daughter and resigning his commission, but seemingly overnight he had developed a fine mesh of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and a gray streak at the front of his fair hair. He seemed determined to restore his former good cheer, and Prue did not want to brake his progress by reminding him of change and sorrow.

That first chill spring day, she put her hand on his upper arm and said, “We could not ask for a better surveyor.”

Adam seemed unaware there could be any cause for sadness on such a momentous day; he clearly preferred the romance of being a surveyor's assistant to the drudgery of hauling loads for Joe Loosely. Prue reminded herself that he was still only a boy, and could not be blamed for his high spirits.

Ben loaded his theodolite, spirit level, Gunter's chain, four iron stakes, and a mallet into a wheelbarrow, and together they bumped it down the rutted lane to the strand. Adam carried the pole aloft as if he were marching in a parade. Work had not yet begun for the day at the distillery, but Isaiah was already on the premises—no doubt, Prue thought, to escape his four children. He and Prue both stood aside while Ben set up his theodolite with care on the site he'd previously marked as the center of the anchorage. He centered the instrument with its plumb bob and checked that it was level. Adam held the pole steady while Ben took bearings on it and on the tall pole they'd fixed across the river, and with these new bearings corroborating the old, he once again computed his distances. Isaiah helped him chain out the distances of the site's four corners. Once they were marked, they measured again, and Ben concluded his calculation was true. Prue felt a lump of tears in her throat—a lump of sheer pride—such as she would not feel again until the day far in the future on which her daughter married; and she herself drove the stake to mark the first corner of the Brooklyn anchorage. “Ah!” she cried when she had finished. The mallet was heavy, and she had enjoyed putting it in motion. An event of such moment should, she thought, have such heft.

“Lucky man,” Isaiah said, “to be starting up a bridge and have a wife who relishes manual labor.”

When the other three stakes were driven in and flagged, Prue thought they didn't look like much; it seemed one of their rolls of oilcloth could have covered such an area. But when the anchorage stood upon it, she
knew it would be majestic indeed—the size of half the buildings of the manufactory lumped together, and stretching up as high as the cliffs of Ihpetonga themselves. All day she saw the distillery workers, out on their breaks, visiting the site as if it were holy ground. She was pleased it was not only to her those four iron stakes seemed imbued with extraordinary meaning.

Will Severn was delighted to have the new workers among the Brooklynites. Though most of them were fond enough of drinking, and for the first time in sixteen years the sounds of late-night dart games echoed out across the quiet streets, many of the workers were family men, and not a few showed up to Severn's church their first Sunday in Brooklyn. To a man they were freshly shaven and in clean collars. “They are far from home,” he said, grinning, to Prue and Pearl, when they visited him to ask him to bless the beginning of the work on Monday. “They need shepherding and a sense they belong in this community. I am only too glad to welcome them; Heaven knows we had a few empty pews.”

Pearl was beaming. &
it'll be a boon for Rachal Livingston & M
^rs
Tilleys Daught, as
surely
there are at least 2 eligible Husbands in the groop?

“Pearl Winship, you mustn't be so cruel,” he said, but he was still smiling.

'Tis in my Blood
, she wrote, and cast Prue a glance that Prue didn't know how to interpret.

“Nonsense,” he said. “And I shall be honored to bless your endeavor,” he told Prue. “Your workers have asked me to come speak to them tonight, in their open field. Perhaps you will join us?”

“If I can,” Prue said.

From her own kitchen table that evening, she heard his familiar voice carrying over the barley field. She did not feel inclined to go out, and Tem groaned at the suggestion, but Pearl and Abiah put on their coats when they heard him begin, and returned radiant an hour later.

When the cock crowed on the Monday morning, everyone in the Winship house was already up; from her bedroom, Prue could hear them splashing their faces and setting out plates. From the corner of her window, she could see the workmen stirring about their camp. She turned to Ben, who was giving her the tight-lipped smile that had graced his countenance of late, and nuzzled in against his throat. “Oh, dear,” he said,
hugging her close before pushing her away to signal the start of the workday. “Are you ready?”

“It's your bridge,” Prue said, and felt it to be so for the first time. “Are you?”

“I relish it,” he said, and pulled on a knitted jersey over his shirt.

During breakfast, Pearl wore the same dark expression she'd worn the day Tem had gone to join Prue and their father in the distillery. “Are you nervous?” Prue asked her.

Pearl shook her head calmly no.

“What, then?”

Pearl again shook her head. Prue could not stop watching her, though she knew her sister might construe this as a challenge. After a moment Pearl took a perfunctory sip of her coffee and wrote,
I shld like to build a bridge
.

“As should I,” Prue said, “but it will chiefly be Ben's work hereafter.”

Pearl dropped her head to one side, as if weighing this.

“Come, Pearlie, don't look so glum,” Ben said. “You shall see the works daily; and your sister and I will be sure to consider if there's anything more you might contribute.”

Pearl did not reply. She brushed her spoon against the hominy in her bowl, but did not move to eat.

Tem said, “So, what'll it be, Prue: two years before you can rectify again? I swear I don't know what shall become of us.”

“I imagine I'll be in the countinghouse before the morning is through,” Prue said. Pearl continued to play with her spoon. “I won't be much use digging a foundation. And with Marcel to help you with the accompts, I can't see how you could fail at the work.”

Tem chewed with one eyebrow skeptically raised. “I'll be damned if we don't change the way we rectify before the year is out.”

“I'll be damned if we do,” Prue said, though even as she said it, she did not feel convinced.

“And you've nothing to worry about,” Ben offered Tem. “A bridge may be an enticing distraction, but I don't think your sister can keep her mind off the distillery eight hours running. She talks about it in her sleep.”

“Do I?” Prue asked, but Ben only laughed.

After breakfast, as they set out for the water, Pearl went up the Ferry Road to bring Mr. Severn down; and as on the day on which they'd first offered the drawings to public view, Prue was amazed how many of her neighbors had gathered to witness the sight. All the distillery's workers were out in the mill yard, along with the ninety-odd men who would work on the bridge, and everyone who lived within walking distance of the manufactory was hurrying down the roads to get there before the bell rang to commence the morning's work. Even some of the Red Hook fishing boats had anchored close to shore, and Losee, with an unfamiliar passenger in his boat, had diverted from his normal route and also dropped anchor nearby. All the local newsmen had come, and a ship flying the Union Jack and heading up toward Hell Gate sounded its horn at the gathering. Hats and hands went up in greeting as Ben and Prue walked down the lane. Isaiah, Prue saw, had bought a brand-new shovel for the occasion, and had tied some bunting in the colors of the flag of the Republic around its handle. In his other hand he had a bottle of champagne, which he'd evidently chilled in Joe's icehouse, as it was sweating onto the sand at his feet. The
Long-Island Courier
had sent a writer to witness the occasion; C. Mather Harrison was nowhere in sight.

After what seemed an age, Pearl appeared at the top of Joralemon's Lane, with Will Severn right behind her, and behind him, a devout few of the workers who'd attended his morning services. A gust of wind off the river whipped Pearl's coat open and her dress back against her legs, and her cheeks were bright in the chilly air. Her grim expression was gone, and she waved to her sisters. Severn had his Bible tucked under his arm and, wrapped around his throat, a new blue scarf Pearl had made to replace the decrepit red one. Someone raised his hands and clapped when he saw them coming, and a few more followed suit. Their applause sounded hollow on that windy morning. Pearl kept waving, as if she'd been born to public adulation.

The crowd parted for Severn and Pearl to pass through to the site of the four staves. Prue and Ben took up their places before them, and Tem, Isaiah, and Pearl stood to their sides. Will Severn cleared his throat, and the workers and neighbors hushed each other and drew nearer.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, then smiled at Prue. Despite his gray hair, he seemed no older than she at that moment. “I am honored beyond expression to have been asked to bless this momentous occasion.
This morning, the people of the village of Brookland begin a public works on a scale our nation has not yet known; a project that will be an honor to us, to the city and state of New York, and to the Winship and Horsfield families.” He licked his chapped lips. “Let us pray.” He removed his hat and was about to lay it on the sand when Pearl took it from him. When the men all removed their head coverings, they made a soft rustling sound, as of bird wings. Prue saw the men place their hats over their hearts before she closed her own eyes. “Dear Lord,” Severn said, “bless this bridge and the people who toil upon it. May the work progress without hindrance or accident, and may it be as pleasing to Your eyes as to the eyes of man.” He paused for a moment before saying, “Amen,” and in that moment, Prue prayed that if a sacrifice was necessary, Susannah be allowed to stand for it. She did not think she could bear the grief if one more person should die.

All around voices echoed, “Amen.” Prue could imagine her prayer scudding out across the water, as the other had done all those years ago. When she opened her eyes, Isaiah was holding the shovel forth to her. “No,” she said, “Ben should take the first spadeful.”

Isaiah said, “We both disagree,” and continued to hold it toward her.

Her breath caught in her throat as she took it from him; she had never imagined how momentous it could feel to put a shovel to this ordinary stretch of Brooklyn shore. She drove it in with the shank of her boot and, using her foot to guide it, drew up a few pounds of mud-brown sand. Her ears began to ring with excitement, and for a brief moment, her fingers tingled and everything within her field of vision was tinged pale violet. She caught herself in time, however, to pitch the contents of the shovel outside the bounds the stakes described, and the rowdy applause that followed brought her back to herself. Ben uncorked the wine, which gave a thunking sound, and a stream of vapor wafted from the bottle neck. He held it out to Prue, and she took a long draught. She had rarely drunk champagne, and found it dry on her palate and ticklish in her nose; but she drank deeply of it, and the workers whistled and hurrahed. Ben next took a long pull, then passed it to Tem; when Pearl drank from it, it made her sneeze, at which the whole crowd laughed. After Isaiah had had his swallow, he passed it to Will Severn, though everyone knew he didn't drink. His hearty sip made the men holler and cheer. He blinked his eyes rapidly, looking quite pleased with himself, before
passing it back into the crowd, where it traveled hand to hand until it was empty.

When the clapping and shouts had died down, Tem cupped her palms around her mouth and called out, “That'll be that, for the holiday. Workers to the brewhouse, stillhouse, and tasking room. We commence, as usual, in ten minutes.” She said something to Isaiah, who walked off toward the windmill. A few minutes later the sails shuddered as the pinion connected with the drive gear and all around the machinery began to hum. Tem kissed Prue good-bye and set off for the mash room.

“So,” Ben said, “shall we?”

Prue nodded, and watched Pearl escort Will Severn back up the hill. They were both still laughing about the champagne.