Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House(24)

I handed Henry a shining black satchel similar to my brown one. “Open it,” I said.

He gave me a look of surprise as he dug though his bag to find a new muslin shirt, a bar of soap, and a wooden hairbrush. He smelled the soap and said nothing, but from his slight smile, I could tell he was pleased.


FOR TWO DAYS I could not find the courage to return to the city, but by the third day, Henry insisted I go. I had scrubbed myself clean and was dressed in my new clothing when Henry again led me through the woods, but this time when we came to the road, he handed me my satchel and encouraged me on my way.

“Aren’t you coming?” I asked, alarmed.

“Time we cut ties,” he said, avoiding my eyes.

I looked around, trying to think of an excuse to have him come with me. “Maybe I shouldn’t go today. It looks like it’s going to rain,” I said.

Henry looked at the sky. “Rain or shine, you got to go,” he said. I was about to plead, but his face hardened. “Go on, now. Time you git goin’. Go on, now, and do somethin’ with yourself.”

I didn’t know what else to do, what else to say. My throat seized up, and fearing that I might start to cry, I abruptly turned and walked away. I knew why Henry was sending me away, but I felt he was all I had left of family, and I was heartsick at leaving him. When tears fell, I wiped them away, but hungry for a last sight of him, I turned back to wave. He was already gone, and it took everything in me not to run back into the woods to find him.

I waited awhile, hoping he might come forth to surprise me, but finally, I turned back to the road and forced myself on. By the time another farmer on his way to the market offered me a ride, my new shoes had rubbed my heels raw, and I was happy to accept. This wagon box was filled with baskets of alarmed chickens and I was grateful for the din, as it provided little opportunity for talk.

Once in town, I went in search of the silversmith shop. By the time I found my way there, my feet were burning from blisters. Though the sign for help was still in the window next to the silver birds, I dreaded entering, sure of rejection.

I dusted my pants clean and brushed at the front of my jacket, then stepped in to meet the same man who had seen fit to tell me to bathe. Surprisingly, he recognized me and greeted me with some enthusiasm.

“So,” he said, “you are back!” He came from behind the display case to look me over. “I see you took my advice.”

“I did,” I said, gripping tight to my satchel.

“I am pleased to see you,” he said.

“You are?”

“I am! You have a talent, my boy. I was hoping that you would return. And now I see that you can accept direction.”

I wasn’t sure what to feel.

“So why did you return?” he asked.

“I need to work,” I said.

“You would be willing to clean the floors?”

“Well, yes, I can clean floors if you show me how,” I said, “but I would rather like to learn to work with silver.”

“We could arrange for that, but it would take years to learn the craft,” he said.

“Years?” I asked.

“Yes, but first you would have to start with cleaning the shop and running errands.”

“Would you pay me?” I asked.

“Not if you are my apprentice.” My face must have fallen, for he added, “But you will learn a trade, and while you are with me, I will supply your food and some coins as you might need them.”

“I will need them,” I said.

“Did you consult with your family?”

“I had only my grandmother,” I said.

“Your grandmother? And where is she?”

I wasn’t prepared for the question. “She was in a fire. She died,” I blurted out.

“And your parents?” he asked.

“Umm . . . they are dead,” I lied. “I have no one.” Unexpectedly, for the second time that day, I fought tears, and when one slipped down my face, I quickly wiped it away with my jacket sleeve. “I don’t like to talk about my grandmother,” I said as explanation, though truthfully, it was more likely the strain of leaving Henry and now my fear of being caught in a lie.

The man gave me a moment before he asked, “And what is your name?”

I looked down at the floor and lied again. “James Smith,” I said, calling up the name Henry and I had decided upon.

“And your age?”

I glanced up, and his expression was so unexpectedly kind that I told the truth. “I was thirteen years this past February,” I said.

He nodded, then smiled. “Thirteen is a good age to begin.” He stepped forward and offered his hand. “My name is Mr. Burton. Welcome.”

Yet I hesitated. Where would I live? I had coins in my pocket, but I was reluctant to use them, as I hated the thought of selling more of Grandmother’s jewelry.

“What is it?” he asked, noting my uncertainty.

“Do you know of a place where I could sleep?” I asked.

“Ah! Well, it is common enough to offer a new apprentice room and board,” he said. “I can provide that for you in my home, where you will be downstairs with our household help. Your room will be small, but it will be warm and dry, and you will have enough to eat. Would that arrangement suit you?”