“Among other things,” he said. “The profit in war debt has, of course, diminished since the Assumption Bill passed, but it was a way to make a little money a few years back. Now the money is to be had in government issues: bank scrip and other ventures.”
“Like the Million Bank in New York,” I proposed.
He studied me closely. “I have heard of that bank and I suppose it may be as good as any, but I have no specific knowledge of it. How came you to know of it?”
“A cousin in New York is an investor and urged me to invest there as well. He said it was a significant opportunity.”
“Any bank, if it prospers, is a good investment, and now that Hamilton has launched the Bank of the United States and plans the opening of more branches, I presume we shall see many more such institutions in this country. But while they can be an excellent investment, they can also be quite treacherous, like anything else. Witness your friend Jack Pearson. Nothing can be sounder than government six percent issues, but he has ruined himself in them.”
I thought about what that woman, Mrs. Birch, had said, that the house she rented from Pearson had been sold precipitously. I could not affect surprise, however, lest I alert him to my ignorance. Instead, I chose a kind of easy familiarity. “Is not ruined a bit strong? I understand there have been some reversals, but surely nothing so bad as ruin.”
Duer smiled, showing his canine teeth like a victorious predator. “Oh, he’s quite ruined. The world doesn’t know it yet, and if you count yourself a friend you shall not put it about, but it is the truth of the matter.”
What could it mean? What could it mean for his disappearance, for the efforts directed against me, for the unknown agenda; perhaps most important, what could it mean for Cynthia that her wretched husband, whose only worthwhile quality was his money, was ruined? To Duer I said, “Is that why he has vanished?”
Duer made a strange noise in the back of his throat. “It’s not a good vanishing he’s effected. Is that not Pearson over there, speaking to that very fat gentleman?” He turned slightly, and it seemed to me he did so in order to avoid being seen.
I glanced across the room to where Duer had been gazing and saw that it was indeed Jacob Pearson, drinking a glass of wine and nodding solemnly, but in no way gravely. He looked nothing at all like a man under a cloud of financial ruin. Standing only a little way removed, attached to the conversation but in no way a participant, was Cynthia.
I looked at Pearson, then Duer, then Pearson again. Duer must have sensed my dilemma, for he tittered almost girlishly. “You want Pearson, I know, but you are not done with me. I see I’ve misjudged you, Saunders, but this is not the place to discuss business. Come see me tomorrow at the City Tavern. You may, upon the conclusion of trading, ask me what you like.” He bowed and withdrew.
I hardly heard what he said. There, before me, was Pearson. Cynthia had been threatened to protect whatever secrets he held. Hamilton had unleashed the monstrous power of his man Lavien to find him. Now, here he was, in the most elegant private home in the city, and I could not think what to do about it. Even so, I must do something.
I had not even found a way to take a step forward when Lavien appeared by my side. “I saw him first,” he said, and began walking. I roused myself and began to walk as well, unable to catch up. It felt to me like a metaphor.
Joan Maycott
Spring 1791
The response to the whiskey tax was universaclass="underline" We would not pay. The tax was foolish and ill-conceived, and sooner or later the politicians in Philadelphia must recognize that fact. When Tindall sent Hendry to our cabin to tell us that we owed a hundred and fifteen dollars, Andrew shook with rage, and Mr. Dalton, who owed an equal amount, was tempted to take his gun to Empire Hall that day, but Mr. Skye talked sense into both of them, or what we thought was sense at the time.
Another meeting was held at the church, and little was agreed upon but that this was more eastern indifference to the plight of men upon the border. They let Indians murder us and refused to send their soldiers, they allowed speculators to toy with our lives, and now we must pay them to do it. Anyone with a still-anyone who brought his grain to a still-would suffer from this tax. What was immediately clear was that the tax would drive smaller distillers out of business and the only benefits would go to wealthy men back east and large-scale distillers like Tindall, who had cash and could shoulder the tax. The excise had been promoted in Philadelphia as hurting none and benefiting all, but it benefited only the wealthy, and it did so upon the backs of the poor.
Amid all this, life went on. I continued to withhold from Andrew the news of my pregnancy, preferring to wait until my fourth month-a milestone I had never before reached. I worked on my book, kept the house, and prayed that the whiskey tax would somehow disappear. Two or three times I slipped onto Tindall property to help nurse Lactilla, who returned to health remarkably well. I felt not precisely guilt, but I believed that Tindall might not have been so quick to anger had I not been in the room. In a strange way, I believed he had shot her for my benefit. I said none of this to Lactilla. I brought her fresh cheeses and milk eggs, though she needed none, and cloth to change her bandages. She lay upon her bunk, her face a collection of red welts. She would smile at me and say, “Missus Maycott, you just nothing but goodness,” but I knew it was not true. I was not goodness at all. I was something else. I tended to Lactilla not because I thought myself responsible, but because I could not endure the thought of a world in which this poor creature must undergo such suffering without a commensurate response in kindness. It wasn’t goodness, it was a kind of rage, a burning need to do something before things slipped into a darkness from which none of us could ever emerge.
I was by myself, preparing a stew for our evening meal, when the dog began to bark excitedly. We kept it tied up near the entrance to the cabin, lest it run off, but the disadvantage to this system was that it could not prevent a stranger from entering. I heard the alarm, however, and prepared myself just as the door to the cabin swung hard inward, and there stood Tindall, flanked on either side by Hendry and Phineas.
Hendry observed my expression of surprise and disorder and laughed cruelly. “Looks like we caught her making us some dinner, don’t it?”
Tindall came in after him, clutching his fowling piece and grinning as well, and never had the two of them looked so much alike. Phineas closed the door and sat in the rocker by the window, his rifle stretched across his lap. He had not met my eye since entering.
Tindall strolled about the cabin with an arrogance only to be found in a man taking what is not his. He looked into the pot, he looked at the pantry. He peered at our bed and smirked.
“Where is your husband, Joan? He ought not to leave you alone like this.”
“It is Mrs. Maycott, and he is about the property. He will be home shortly. I shall inform him you called.”
“If he is to be home shortly, my dear, I’ll just make myself comfortable right here and wait awhile. You want to get comfortable, Hendry?”
“I believe I do. I take my comfort where I can get it.”
Something was different now. They were not here to bluster or to frighten but for something else. I dared not to consider what.
“I must ask you to leave now,” I managed.
“Well, that’s a funny thing,” Tindall said to me, lowering himself into a chair. “Your husband owes more than a hundred dollars, don’t you know.”
“Every man with a still in the four counties owes you now,” I said. “I have not heard anything yet of you trying to collect.”