Fever 1793 (21 page)

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out the plan that had hatched days earlier when I saw my face in the window.

"I'm not selling," I said loudly.

The argument stopped and everyone looked at me.

"I'm going to open the coffeehouse for business. Tomorrow."

"More the fool you, then," replied Joseph. "You'll never run it on your own."

"I don't have to," I answered. "I'm taking on a partner."

"A partner? Who?" asked Eliza. She glared at Nathaniel, who shook his head.

"Not me," he said quickly.

"What do you know about taking on a partner?" Eliza asked.

"Plenty," I said. "My partner has to be someone I can trust. Someone who knows how to run a coffeehouse and isn't afraid to give me a kick in the backside every now and then to keep me on the right path."

Eliza set her fork down. "Speak plainly, child. I'm not fond of riddles."

I swallowed.

"Eliza, I want you be my partner. There's no one better suited to it, no one I can trust. Or who will put up with me."

Even Nell sat quietly.

"Mattie, I don't have the money to buy a partnership from you. It's kind of you to ask, but I can't."

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"No, oh no, you don't understand. I couldn't take your money. I'm sharing it with you. It's the right thing to do, and it's good business."

Eliza started to speak, but the words wouldn't come.

This was not what I had expected. She was supposed to say yes, and then we would dance a jig.

"It won't work," Eliza said.

"We'll make it work," I countered.

"It wouldn't be right," Eliza answered.

"Don't. . . don't you want to work here?" I asked. "I know Joseph needs you to help with the boys. They could stay here with us. And Nell. This way Nell can stay with us, too. It's the perfect solution."

Crack!

Mother Smith banged her cane so hard on the floor that it dented the board.

"She'll take it," said Mother Smith firmly. "And no nonsense from you," she added as she wagged her finger at Eliza. "It's an opportunity, one you deserve, one offered from the heart. I know you, Eliza, you'll worry about shillings and pence. So save from your share of the earnings and pay out of that. She'll take it."

"You'll need a lawyer to write it out," said Joseph gravely.

"No, we don't," I said. "I couldn't cheat Eliza, I can barely sneak a piece of cheese from the larder without feeling bad."

Joseph smiled. "I wasn't thinking of you. I was

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thinking about others. Some folk will say Eliza took advantage of you. They don't like to see black people move up."

"Joseph's right," said Mother Smith. "People love to talk. So you'll do it by the law, with lawyers and wax seals and all. Say yes, Eliza, so I can eat my pie."

Eliza looked around the table.

"It doesn't seem I have a choice," Eliza said. I leaned over and wrapped my arms around her. Nathaniel lifted his cider mug to toast the two of us.

A rapid knock at the front door broke up the celebration.

"I'll get it," I said. "Eat up, everyone. There's more in the kitchen."

A messenger stood at the door, hat in hand. "Excuse me, Ma'am," he said. "I'm to ask for the proprietor of Cook's."

I cleared my throat and smoothed my skirt.

"I am one of the owners. What can I do for you?"

The boy held out a bulging sack.

"My master, Jasper Blake, asked that I bring you these coffee beans and mention that his warehouse is open for business."

He handed me the sack.

"We expect a ship soon out of Liverpool carrying the finest teas and beans. Your business will be appreciated."

"I know the name of your master well," I replied. "You may convey my thanks to him. I am pleased that

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he has come through the plague days. Tell him I look forward to examining his goods."

The boy grinned as I slipped him a coin.

As I returned to the table, Nathaniel stood up and imitated me, pretending to smooth a skirt and fix his hair. "You may convey my thanks," he teased.

"Stop," I laughed. "If I'm going to help run this place I had better act the part." I covered my mouth and giggled. It did feel a bit like play-acting.

"Better get used to that," said Joseph. "When word gets out that the Cook Coffeehouse is open for business

again, you won't be able to keep tradesmen or customers

t» away!

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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

November roth, i£93

Many stores are lately opened and the city exhibits a scene of increasing trade and bustle.
-Letter of John Walsh, clerk Philadelphia, 1793

Three days after we opened for business, every chair in the front room was filled, the air thick again with arguments, tobacco smoke, and the smell of fresh coffee and cakes. Eliza was in the kitchen cooking up a storm, and the room had never been cleaner. Mother would have been very proud.

I carried a tray above my head. "Who wants to try some apple cake? A free sample!" I offered.

"Over here, Mattie, over here!" The shouts came from all directions.

I smiled. Free samples were proving a clever way to get the customers to eat more. Feed them one bite and they'd pay for three more. I quickly distributed the small pieces of apple cake and went through refilling coffee mugs.

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"Another cup?" I asked. I picked up a mug in front of a doctor studying the chess board.

He nodded, deep in concentration. He kept his finger on his queen, in danger of being captured by his opponent's pawn. "Could I get some soup, too?" he asked. "This match is far from over."

"Me, too," said his companion.

"How about some mutton stew?" I asked.

"Perfect. has!" The doctor rescued the queen by moving his knight.

"Scoundrel," muttered the other man.

"Right away, Sir," I said, picking up the tray.

Eliza and Nathaniel sat in the kitchen. He had stepped in to help us with errands since we opened. He was also Eliza's taste-tester.

"We need more stew," I said. "Two bowls."

She shook her head. "This keeps up and we'll be serving breakfast, too!"

"I have plenty of ideas," I assured her. "What if we baked small cakes and delivered them to the State House with a handbill advertising our new wares?"

Eliza frowned.

"How many cakes? The price of sugar is still high. How about apple bread instead? That's cheaper to make."

Nathaniel cleared his throat. "I could paint a sign that you could put out front. I could make a design for the handbill, too."

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"And I suppose we'll pay you in cakes, right?" I joked.

"That would suit me fine." He rose from his chair. "I have to go to Peak's. See you tomorrow."

Eliza waited until he had gone. "He's useful, for a painter."

I smiled. "Where are the children?"

"Sleeping, thank goodness," Eliza said. "When they wake up, I'm going to set them to work churning butter again. That kept you and Polly out of trouble when you were small."

I nodded. "I want to visit Polly's mother on Sunday. Don't let me forget. Now I need two bowls of mutton stew."

When I had served the stew and filled up the next round of empty cups, I surveyed the room. It was brighter with Nathaniel's paintings on the walls. He had already sold two. Watson next door was interested in selling his lot, but I couldn't afford to build an addition to the coffeehouse, not yet. Maybe by spring. The weather would be better then, anyway.

Everything was going the way I had planned, but I felt hollow. The outside of my life was sound. Eliza and I had the coffeehouse. Nathaniel and I had an understanding. Nell would stay. I was still a long way away from being able to travel to Paris, but it would happen someday.

And yet...

2JO

The fever lingered. Grandfather's chair by the hearth stood empty. The parrot's cage was gone. The ghosts of friends lost in the last months flitted across when I least expected them. And then there was the ache I avoided most of all.

The front door swung open with a crash. All conversation ceased.

It was Nathaniel, struggling to catch his breath.

"It's the president!" he said. "President Washington. He's returned. He's coming down High Street right now!"

The men all abandoned their chairs at once and fought to get out the door. I looked back in the kitchen.

"I've got a cake rising," Eliza said. "I'm not leaving that for any man. You go on."

"Come on, Mattie!" Nathaniel called. "Hurry!"

High Street was already lined with people, all peering anxiously up the road. Nathaniel grabbed my hand and pulled me along until we found a break in the crowd.

"There he is!" someone shouted.

"Huzzah! Huzzah! General George is back!" The crowd roared in approval. Men took off their hats and waved them, women fluttered handkerchiefs, and children jumped up and down.

A group of three riders proceeded down the middle of the street.

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"Advisors," Nathaniel said. "They don't count. Look, there he is."

The president rode a few paces behind, calmly smiling and waving at the crowd. He rode his beautiful white horse, reins in one hand, his hat in the other. He nodded to the crowd with a dignified air. If Grandfather were here, he'd be busting his buttons by now.

I never thought Washington was handsome, but on that horse, he looked like something special. He was our leader. The crowd continued cheering and waving until he was far down the block. If the president was back, then the fever was truly over. If the president was back, we were safe.

I threw my arms around Nathaniel and planted a big kiss on his cheek.

He pulled back in surprise.

"Do you always do that when the president rides by? If so, I'll take a job working for him."

I blushed and looked down at my feet.

"I'm just happy," I said.

The crowd was thinning. Some people followed down High Street, others went back to what they had been doing. My afternoon customers hurried back to the coffeehouse. That was a comforting sight.

Nathaniel pointed back up the road. "Who do you think all of those people are?"

Following behind the president's entourage came a scraggly parade of wagons and carriages.

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"Members of the cabinet?" I ventured.

A man standing next to us shook his head. "No. Them's the folks that waited. They waited until General George came back. Knew it would be safe then, the fever gone."

One of the carriages turned off High Street and stopped in front of the coffeehouse.

"Time to get back to work, Miss Cook," Nathaniel said. "Look, you've got another customer."

The driver and a woman dressed in country clothes were gently helping a frail woman with gray in her hair step out of the carriage. She leaned heavily on their arms. When her feet were on the ground, she raised her face to us. Tired, familiar, beautiful.

Mother had come home.

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CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE

November loth, 1793

The yellow fever will discourage the growth of great cities in our nation.

-Thomas Jefferson Letter to Dr. Benjamin Rush, 1800

1 dashed across the street without looking. "Mother!"

I gathered her into my arms. She felt like a frail bird. We stood in silence, rocking and holding onto each other as if the rest of the world didn't matter. Which was true.

At last she pulled away from me with a sigh.

"I need to sit down," she said with a weak smile. "Where are my manners? Matilda, this is my good friend Mrs. Ludington."

I curtsied out of habit. "You've been with the Ludingtons the whole time?"

Nathaniel stepped forward. "Good day, Mrs. Cook. It is a pleasure to see you survived the terrible pestilence.

Why don't go we inside where you'll be more comfortable?"

"What a good idea," Mother said. "Nathaniel Benson, that's your name?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he said. Very respectful, very smart.

I waited for her to make a sharp-tongued remark, but she didn't.

Mother could not walk unaided. Mrs. Ludington took one arm and I took the other to help her. Nathaniel walked ahead and opened the door for us.

As we crossed the threshold, the company in the front room fell silent. They were all as shocked by Mother's appearance as I was. The doctor at the chessboard stood in respect. His companion did the same, then every man in the room rose to his feet to honor her.

She paused for a moment. "Thank you, gentlemen."

"Lucille!" Eliza stood in the kitchen doorway, her hand covering her mouth. She took two steps and hugged Mother, tears flowing freely and without apology.

"Oh, my Lord," she said, wiping away the tears. "Let's get into the kitchen."

I helped Mother sit at the kitchen table. Mrs. Ludington sat across from her. Eliza quickly poured coffee for all of us, then grabbed a serving tray.

"You stay here and catch up," she commanded me. "I'll take care of the front room. If I get desperate, I'll use that painter of yours."