“One boy. They bury him back when the yellow fever comes through, back in ’93.” She looked at me and asked, “That before you was born?” Caught unaware, I didn’t respond, so she asked another question. “Where was you born?”
I worried that I might say the wrong thing. “I prefer not to talk about myself,” I said. Having finished the meal, I rose to take my leave, then remembered my manners. “That was an excellent supper,” I said. “Thank you, Delia.”
“That be Miss Delia,” she said, and then went silent.
Fortunately, Ed soon came through with my pallet, and I followed him to my room. After he left, I sat down on the straw-filled mattress and looked around, dazed to find myself in this position. Until recently, I had known only luxury. Grandmother had raised me to be a gentleman, to have my own land and my own servants. Now I was sleeping in a storage room. What would Grandmother think to see me here? It had been weeks now, but still my heart clenched whenever I remembered that she was gone.
Fully clothed, I lay back on the pallet. Unexpectedly, exhaustion won out, and I fell asleep.
IN THE FIRST months I served as an errand boy for Mr. Burton, picking up supplies and making deliveries. Gradually, the turmoil of the streets affected me less, and as I got to know the layout of the city, I grew more confident. If I earned a penny or two from a satisfied customer, I offered the coins to Mr. Burton on my return to the shop. When he assured me that those were mine to keep, I stored them eagerly.
When I wasn’t out on deliveries, I was given the task of cleaning the three rooms of Mr. Burton’s shop. Naturally, there was the storefront, where the glass cases and open shelves displayed some of the finest silver pieces, but Mr. Burton was as particular about his small office and the large room to the back where he and Nicholas, another silversmith, did their silver work.
Before I was introduced to Nicholas, Mr. Burton took me aside. “You should know that Nicholas has his peculiarities,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” I answered, wondering if he thought I had some of my own.
“He talks without thinking—that is, he seems incapable of censoring his thoughts. He has been like this from the beginning, but he means no harm.”
Forewarned, I went with him to meet Nicholas, who was hard at work in the back room. The tall heavyset man paused only a moment when we were introduced, then twice slammed a hammer against a silver ingot. The muscles on his huge forearm bulged with the effort, and when he stepped back, he pulled a rag from under his leather apron to wipe dry his forehead as he considered me.
“You got an odd look about you with that funny eye,” Nicholas said by way of greeting. I had been born with a useless left eye cloaked with a white film, but until recently, I had given it little thought. During my childhood, those around me seldom, if ever, made note of it, but since my flight, its oddity had been pointed out more than once, and its mention now made me shift uncomfortably.
“Well, I did warn you,” Mr. Burton said after we left the room. “Fortunately, he does not aspire to a business of his own, as his forthright comments are ill suited to customers.” He chuckled. “Oh well, it is my good luck that he wants only to be left alone to work at his craft, for he is the true artisan here.” As proof of his words, he pointed out Nicholas’s most recent work, an elegantly shaped teapot that even I, with no training, could appreciate.
“But here is how we make our real money,” he said, opening two oversize drawers filled with silver pieces. “We supply these to fur trading posts for barter with the Indians.” He invited me to examine the rings, wristbands, and round silver cloak brooches.
“Indians buy these?” I asked, excited at this news.
“Well, the fur traders buy them from me and offer these silver pieces as trade for pelts. The Indians wear them, particularly the men. There is a great demand for silver, and these are simple enough to make, but we can hardly keep up.”
“Is it all right if I touch them?” I asked, and with his permission, I rifled through. I slipped a ring on my finger and moved my hand about in the air to better see the sparkle of the silver. “Will you show me how to make these?” I asked eagerly, but when he was slow to answer, I noted in surprise his moist eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said, quickly slipping off the ring.
“No. No. You’ve done nothing wrong. It was the way you spoke just now. It was your excitement, you see. I had a son—you reminded me of him just then,” he explained while using his knuckle to dab at a lone tear. “In answer to your question, yes, you will learn to make the rings, but you must be patient.”
And so I was, dutifully carrying out my chores until a few weeks later, when Mr. Burton called me into his office. He sat at his large rolltop oak desk and had me take a seat across from him before he presented me with a document.
“James, I would like you to read this over and consider it carefully. If you sign, you are agreeing to be my apprentice. While I train you as a silversmith, I will continue to provide you with room and board. You will be with me for seven years, but I am hoping that with your artistic talent you will be established well before then.”
“I don’t need to read this. I will sign it,” I said quickly, and handed back the paper.
“No, young man,” he said, giving it back to me. “You must always read through anything before you sign your name. Your signature is the same as giving your word, and keeping your word is the mark of a man’s character. In the end, it is the most valuable thing a man possesses.”
His words cut deep. He had asked a few times about my past, and each time I led him to believe that I was orphaned, with no living relatives. Not only was I deeply grateful to him for having taken me into his home, I also respected this ethical man and I wanted only to tell him the truth. But I was too afraid. I avoided his eyes when I took the paper from him again and hoped he didn’t see how my hand shook when I signed the document as James Smith.
ALTHOUGH MY DAY still included making deliveries, I now was given the opportunity to assist Nicholas in the back room. Initially, I only worked the bellows for the forge, and though my arms grew tired, I found it fascinating to watch the silver coin melt and harden again after it was poured into molds. But it was when Nicholas reheated the ingots and hammered the silver into shape that the artistry began. He did it with such skill that he made the craft look easy. When he finally relented and helped me craft my first silver spoon, I was unprepared for the physical stamina required. After the ingot was heated, it took both strength and dexterity to secure the malleable silver with tongs and then hammer it flat against the anvil. My arm was already sore when we placed the flattened silver over the mold, and when Nicholas handed me yet another hammer, I rubbed my shoulder. “Doesn’t your arm get tired?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“Mine does,” I said, moving my shoulder up and down, expecting Nicholas to suggest I take a break.
But Nicholas was not like my grandmother, who had pampered me. Instead he dismissed my complaint with a grunt and nodded for me to continue until the silver began to take shape.
“Now, you got to use a light touch,” Nicholas said, finally handing over a small hammer required to complete the finishing. Mr. Burton came in just then, and as I tapped away, he asked what I was doing.
“I’m doing the planishing,” I said, quick to use the correct terminology, and when I saw Mr. Burton’s approval, I forgot about my shoulder pain.
My admiration and appreciation for the man had grown each day, and my one objective was now to please him. True, I wanted to learn the craft, but more, I wanted Mr. Burton’s good opinion of me, and because of it, I dedicated myself to learning. Likely because of my artist’s hand and eye, the iron punches, chisels, and saws soon grew as comfortable in my hands as my whittling knife, and when Mr. Burton recognized and congratulated me on each progressive step, I was as pleased with myself as I had ever been.
Would that my transition into the Burton household had been as simple.