The Solitary Envoy (5 page)

The man’s accent was quite thick, what the proper French called a patois. For once Erica was glad for all the lessons her mother had forced her to endure in learning this most difficult tongue. “We are not here to make trouble. I told you that.”

Forrest inquired, “What is he saying?”

“He is frightened that he will lose his job for using our tobacco.”

“All my workers may take a pipeful now and then. Tell him that.”

“I already have, Father.”

“Well, then.” He pulled the pocket watch from his vest and clicked it open. “Please proceed.”

“Yes, Father.” She said to Francois, “You are please to show them what I saw. Now.”

“Very well, mademoiselle.” Anxiously the old man lowered himself to the stool by the table. He opened the sack at his feet and pulled out several leaves.

Forrest’s frown deepened. “Is that my Virginia leaf?”

“No, Father.”

“I thought not. The color is far too yellow.” He leaned forward as the old man selected one leaf, the broadest of the lot, and flattened it upon a sheet of damp muslin on the table. “Is this Cuban?”

“It is Carolina golden leaf.”

“It looks Cuban.”

“Yes, Father, I know.”

“Where did it come from?”

Reggie spoke up. “I brought it from the Cutters, Father. They have a plantation down near New Bern.”

“Did you now. And why, might I ask, are we purchasing Cutter tobacco when our larders are full of good Virginia leaf?”

Erica felt so miserable she wondered if perhaps she was coming down with a fever. “Fran
ois says this is better, Father.”

Her mother demanded, “Better for what? Wasting everyone’s valuable time?”

“I must say I agree with your mother—” Forrest was cut off by the old man’s actions.

Despite Fran
ois’s evident nervousness, his hands moved with remarkable swiftness. He took a broom that was lying on the floor by his feet, selected a twig, and broke it off.

“He is using a leaf that has been dried slowly,” Erica explained. “This keeps it flexible. Most Virginia leaf crumbles. He has wet down the muslin, and he lets the leaf sit on it for a moment before he begins to roll.”

They watched the man place the twig at one end and form an elaborate fold in the tobacco leaf. Then he began to roll, carefully and deliberately flattening the leaf with his thumbs before snapping the roll forward.

“He cannot press down on the tobacco, because that would stop the draw,” she continued. “At least, I think that’s the word. His speech is very hard to understand sometimes, and I don’t know the proper word in English.”

“Draw is correct,” said Forrest. “Do go on.”

“Now he has finished rolling. He will wrap it in the muslin for a moment, like that, and roll it a few times more. He says that in truth anyone can roll a cigar; the secret is in knowing how to select a leaf.”

Reggie blurted out, “It’s not true, though. I tried and tried. When I finished I pulled so hard I turned blue, but I couldn’t draw enough air through even to light the end. It’s jolly difficult, Father.”

“Now he pulls out the twig, very slowly. Then he trims away any spare leaf and gives it one final roll. And now he uses the press.”

The wooden implement was the size of a cutting board and carved with eight grooves, four on either side of a set of hinges. Fran
ois settled the cigar into one of the grooves, then clamped the two sides together, sealing the cigar inside. He pressed down very hard, holding it for several moments. Then he opened the press and offered Erica the cigar.

“Father?”

Forrest accepted the cigar, inspected it a moment, then said, “Ask the man if I might use his knife.” He clipped the edges, then waited while Reggie lit a taper and handed it over. Forrest rolled the cigar to get it burning well. He then puffed hard enough to make the end glow brilliantly and released a long plume of smoke toward the ceiling. He did the same thing a second time. And a third.

Mildred protested, “Forrest, we really must be returning to the matters at hand.”

“Not quite yet.” Her father’s eyes held a very different light now as he returned his attention to Erica and asked, “Is this all?”

“No, Father.”

“I thought not. Proceed.”

She detected the difference in her father’s voice. She was almost afraid to believe it, but she had been around him enough to know the tone. So, apparently, did her mother, for Mildred’s further protest died before it reached her mouth. Erica felt a faint flutter of something deep in her being, but it took a long moment to realize it was excitement.

She said to Fran
ois, “Please do the other one now.”

“But of course, mademoiselle.”

His hands were more nimble now, his movements almost blindingly fast. Erica found herself speaking almost as swiftly. “This is what I saw him doing the first time. He can make this one from scrapings off the floor, because it’s so much smaller. These miniature cigars are what the poorer folk use in the islands.”

Forrest accepted the second item, which was scarcely larger than his little finger. “Have him make another.”

When Fran
ois had done so, Forrest asked of his son, “Do you smoke, my boy?”

“No, Father.”

“Quite right, too. Filthy habit. Put this out for me … there’s a good lad.” Forrest handed him the cigar and used the taper to light the smaller cigar. He took a few puffs, then said, “I’m listening.”

“The English blockade of the Spanish colonies has made it both difficult and expensive to import cigars from Cuba. We always thought it was impossible to make them here, and it is if we use Virginia leaf. But according to Fran
ois, this Carolina leaf is ideally suited.”

“Quite remarkable, Erica. I am very impressed.”

“Forrest, really. There’s no need to encourage the girl.”

“I am merely stating the truth, my dear. What she has done here is nothing short of genius.”

Erica fought down the burning lump in her throat. “Father, if I may continue … I was thinking …” She swallowed hard. There was no way forward but straight ahead. She said in a rush, “We keep the roasted beans for the coffeehouse in a room by the street. We could move the coffee roasting back here into the warehouse and put in another window and turn it into a tobacconist. We could put Fran
ois in the window and show him rolling our cigars and put up a sign that says, ‘Langston’s. Home of good American leaf.’ ”

Her words were greeted by total silence. Finally her father said, “Slow down from your gallop, lass, and let me hear that once more.”

When Erica was done, Forrest regarded her for a long moment. Then he turned to his wife and said, “I believe we have concluded the matter, my dear.”

“Really, Forrest, I must object.” But everyone knew the argument had already been won.

“Must you? Must you really? After what we have just seen? Knowing the difficulties this family faces, with all we have to endure, and hearing your daughter come up with such a remarkable proposal, still you feel you must object?” His tone did not harden, yet there was the sense of his bearing down. “I would urge you to think long and most carefully before you insist upon discussing this further.”

“I …” Mildred pursed her lips. “Very well. I shall do as you suggest.”