1762
M A Y
C H A P T E R Eight—
“It’s alright. No one’s going to hurt you, lad. You’re safe.”
James awoke. He must’ve fell asleep as soon as he got on the horse with his new master.
The man took a wet cloth from a bowl of water, and placed it on James’ forehead.
“My name is Clark. Clark Grey. I may have bought you, but to me you’re not a slave. I am still your master though.” He felt James’ forehead. “You have a fever. But would you like me to tell you about my work? You may have to take over it, if I am to die suddenly.”
James’ nodded his head silently. He said not a word.
“I am a potter. I make pots and pans, and almost any piece of kitchenware. But I am also a blacksmith. I will teach you my trades, and hopefully we will become good friends.” Clark’s face was kind, but James knew he couldn’t trust him. At least not yet.
An hour passed. James was slightly recovered. He still had a sore throat along with swollen red arms from being tied up with the awful ropes.
James gazed out the little square window in Clark’s house. America. The New World. I’m really here.
“Have you always wanted to go to the New World?” Clark asked, as if he read James’ mind.
James looked back at him, but still said nothing. He only nodded his head.
“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” Clark was cooking fish stew over a fire in the kitchen.
James still said nothing.
“Come to the kitchen. Let me get you a bowl of fish stew. It might make you feel better. You’ve had a very long journey from…let’s see…did they say the Netherlands?”
James nodded once more. He reached his arm out and tried to find his way to the kitchen.
Clark noticed his movement. “Are you…are you blind, son?”
James shook his head. “I…I lost…I lost my spectacles.”
Clark gave him a compassionate look. “Son, you didn’t really lose them, did you?”
How did he know? James wondered. James responded to Clark’s question, although he knew that Clark already knew the answer. “My father…he broke them. He was mad because my mother used her savings…to buy them for me.”
Clark looked serious. “Is your eyesight really that bad?”
James gulped. “It—it’s pretty bad. The doctor told me if I don’t wear glasses, then…I’ll be blind.”
Clark decided, “I’ll get you spectacles. It may take some time to save up, since things can be pricey in America. But don’t you worry. I’ll get them somehow.” Clark poured James a small bowl of the stew. It may not have smelled or looked very pleasant, but it was surprisingly good tasting. James was grateful.
The rest of the evening was spent with Clark doing his molding and teaching James how to make the clay.
At night, James laid awake in the little wooden bed he was given. He thought about Temperance. Where was she? His head hurt from thinking.
Clark saw he was distraught. “What ails you, lad? Is there something you want?” His voice sounded concerned.
James sat up looked directly into Clark’s blue eyes. His point was clear: “I want my sister.”
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