Hester(45)

My Dear Wife,

It’s the twenty-eighth of April and the letter is dated April first and so it’s traveled from ship to ship in very good time.

I write to tell you that I have not squandered our investments, for I intend to fulfill my promise to your father and return his trust in me with manifold profit. Here in the Charleston markets I paid a very small coin for medicines to relieve pain and aging and invested in a marvel of seeds and spider eggs from an African slave trader. I’m certain you’ll appreciate the wonders of these elixirs and enjoy the wealth and health they bring us. In Baltimore I discovered astonishing things that will enrich us beyond our wildest dreams. I dare not say more, only that you should keep watch over our closest neighbors and be prepared to help when I return. I pray there is a child on the way. If you send a letter to the shipmaster in Liverpool addressed to the New Harmony, I will receive your good news when we arrive there. I trust you will use your needle to feed yourself only if it is necessary, and that you stay safe and content keeping the garden and home for my return.

Until then I remain your devoted husband,

Edward

I read the note twice and shove it into the bottom of my basket. Edward is greedy and deceitful—so different from Nat, who offers practical advice and even inspiration, who speaks of enchantments and encourages my needlework. Now Edward dares tell me to feed myself, as if he has only now realized that his treachery left me penniless.

And what does he mean about our closest neighbors? I’ve grown fond of Mercy and Zeke and the little ones. Even if they are engaged in a secret venture with the Remonds, I would never do anything to harm them. The very idea of it disgusts me—Ivy and Abraham are innocent and precious. The eggs they leave at my doorstep, the potatoes I find in a little pile, are like gifts from the faeries left for me in the night.

Edward betrayed me, but I would never betray my friends.



* * *



I’M STILL STEWING over the letter when I reach Felicity’s shop and Abigail rushes to greet me.

“You’ll never guess it, Isobel.”

I cannot gather my tongue quick enough, and she doesn’t wait for a reply.

“Nat Hathorne came in to see about your gloves. But he didn’t buy any because—can you imagine?” The pitch of her voice rises. “Because all three pair were sold this morning!”

With my mind on Edward’s letter, I’ve forgotten to look in the shop window. Now I see there’s a new shawl laid out where the gloves were last week.

“Two ladies from Philadelphia came yesterday,” Abigail chatters on. “They were wearing smart dresses made with ruffles and velvet trim, and their traveling bonnets were the most delightful things you can imagine—”

“And?” I cut off her rattling. If there’s something for my own profit in Salem, I must see to it before Edward returns. The thought of helping him with a brew or plot that he’s hatched with Pap’s stolen gold is more than I can bear.

“The ladies paid six dollars for all three pair without blinking.” Abigail drops her voice as Felicity approaches. “Felicity told them a recluse in the countryside made the gloves.”

Given the money my work has brought her, I expect Felicity to smile at me. But her face is the same as always, flat and unreadable.

“The gloves were sold, as Abigail has told you,” Felicity says. “The buyers have a fashionable shop in Philadelphia and asked for two more pair like the first, and two others decorated with a wisteria vine—they’re fond of their wisteria in Philadelphia.”

So much is happening, it’s difficult to hold on to my thoughts.

“Do you hear me?” Felicity demands. “I need you to make more gloves.”

I look at her with a steady eye and see not only her betrayal but Edward’s, too. The moment I must stake my claim has come sooner than expected.

“If you’re easily getting two dollars for each pair, then I should have at least a dollar,” I say. Felicity looks at me as if I’m not even speaking, and I wonder if any sound is coming from my mouth. “I’ve done the arithmetic, and a three-hundred-percent profit is much more than any importer makes.”

I have indeed spoken aloud, for Abigail stares at me openmouthed.

“A profit of one hundred percent is still very much in your favor,” I add, for now my mind is crystal clear.

“I’ll give you a nickel more per glove, not a penny more.” The woman does not blink or blanch.

“That’s hardly fair,” I say.

What crosses Felicity’s face is hostility, even contempt.

“If the gloves weren’t in my window, the ladies from Philadelphia never would have seen them.”

“I didn’t understand the gloves would fetch such a price.” I cannot believe I’m still speaking, and yet I’m finding the words and the strength. Nat is right—I have a temper now, and I am bold. “They brought you a very fine profit.”

“Forty cents a pair,” Felicity says. “You don’t have to take it. I can find someone else to do the work.”

I don’t imagine she can find anyone to make the gloves as I’ve made them. But if they’re worth so much, and the ladies are willing to buy more, then I shouldn’t disrupt the exchange—not until I can meet these women and make them my own customers. I plan it all out in this moment: if I can convince the ladies to hire me directly, I won’t need to wait for the banquet or depend on Nat to buy my gloves. I will be able to restore Pap’s stolen gold and use it however I please.