Apalachee

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

chapter twenty-nine Isaac Bull was met by his landlady as he came into his lodging house. He was perspiring heavily from the noon heat, his shirt clinging to his body, his waistcoat soaked through. ‘‘Mr. Bull,’’ she said, taking the letter from her pocket, a trace of chagrin on her face. ‘‘This letter,’’ she said hesitantly. ‘‘It came two days ago. I put it into my apron pocket, you see. It was my intention to give it to you when you came in, you see, but you were late and I was sleeping. And the next day I put on a fresh apron, as I always do.’’ Taking the letter, Isaac looked at his name on the outside. He did not recognize the handwriting. ‘‘It was only today when I was putting the apron in the wash,’’ said the woman, still trying to explain. ‘‘No harm, I’m sure,’’ said Isaac, putting the letter in his pocket. He smiled at her and she relaxed a bit. ‘‘And there’s more,’’ she said. ‘‘You’ve a man waiting for you. Claims to be a friend of yours, said he’d wait in your chamber. I trust I did the right thing to let him stay there. The door was unlocked, you know.’’ ‘‘Did he give his name?’’ asked Isaac. ‘‘A Mr. Clutterbuck.’’ Isaac smiled. ‘‘He is a friend. It’s good you let him stay.’’ ‘‘Then that’s a relief,’’ said the woman. ‘‘It’s hard to know what’s best to do when a stranger asks a favor. Do you wish any refreshment, Mr. Bull? A little ale sent up?’’ ‘‘Yes, that would be good. Just the thing.’’ Isaac went up the stairs with a bounce in his step and threw open the door of his room. Sam Clutterbuck was asleep on Isaac’s bed, though he awoke at the sound of the door being opened and sat bolt upright as if he were in the danger of the woods. ‘‘Too cheap to get your own lodgings?’’ said Isaac, going over to shake his hand. ‘‘The door was open,’’ said Sam. ‘‘I’m afraid it always is,’’ said Isaac. ‘‘It’s the mark of a poor man that he leaves his room unlocked.’’ He took off his waistcoat and threw it over the end of the bed, then pulled off his periwig, replacing it with a cool silk turban. ‘‘What do you mean poor?’’ said Sam. ‘‘I thought you had the worth of two slaves to your credit.’’ 242 ‘‘That and little else. But I don’t keep my money here. It’s locked in John Hawkins’ counting house, most of it. The rest I took with me today, looking to buy a horse.’’ ‘‘A horse?’’ said Sam. ‘‘And what good’ll a horse be to you? A perfect waste of your money.’’ A boy brought in a tankard of ale and set it on a table beneath the window and went out again. ‘‘A man on horseback cuts a better figure than a man afoot,’’ said Isaac. ‘‘More opportunities come his way.’’ He poured some of the ale into the one pewter mug he had in the room, keeping that for himself and giving the large tankard to Sam. ‘‘To good company,’’ he said, raising his mug. Sam raised the tankard and they drank. ‘‘A horse’ll not do you much good in Indian country,’’ said Sam, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. ‘‘Nobody there cares what figure a fellow cuts. A horse is good for packing, true enough, but Indians hire cheaper.’’ ‘‘I’ve been thinking of staying in town a while longer,’’ said Isaac, sitting down on the edge of the bed. ‘‘I want to see if I can raise my stake a little before I go back up to trade.’’ Sam shook his head. ‘‘You ought to be going back with me. There’s things you need to learn up there. You’ll not be a trader until you speak the Creek language and know how things are done amongst those people.’’ ‘‘But if I’ve nothing to trade, what’s the use?’’ ‘‘You’ve got the worth of those two slaves you sold. Another year of trading and you can double your money. And the next year double it again. Providing you live close. If you don’t go buying horses. Next thing I’ll hear, you’ll have bought a coach, and not a road in Carolina you can drive it...