may be the case-the occasional whiskey, if he was feeling full and fat. Or three or five, if he was broke and buggered.
She stumbled over the cobbles in the street, but recovered and hurried along, needing to reassure herself the place was still there, that it hadn’t vanished, hadn’t been whisked away by magic from the crowd of buildings that lined the narrow streets above the harbor. Or been burned to the ground, more likely. She never doubted that her husband, stupid as he was, would find a way to rob her for Miller, if that’s what Thomas imagined he wanted.
Had Thomas Hoyt been content with hot meals twice a day, too much to drink and ten minutes sweating over his wife on Saturday night, church and repentance Sunday morning, Anna could have managed him well enough. She wanted a more ambitious man, but Thomas had come with his mother’s shop next door. When that allowed Anna to expand her tavern, she thought it a fair enough trade.
Until she discovered Thomas
There were two men he had watched with peculiar interest, and Anna now understood why. One was Hook, named Robert Miller by his mother, a ruffian with a finger in every pie and a hand in every pocket. Hook’s gang were first to take advantage of all the trade on the waterfront, from loading and unloading ships to smuggling. But he did more for the local men than he took from them and was a kind of hero for it. Of course Hook appealed to Thomas: he was everything Thomas imagined he himself could be.
The other man he watched was Seaver, but even Thomas was smart enough to be circumspect when he did it. When one of Miller’s men drunkenly pulled Seaver from his chair one night, claiming his looks were souring the beer, Seaver left without a word. But he came back the next night, and Miller’s man never did. That man now drank at another house, where no one knew him. Three fingers from his right hand were broken and his nose bitten off.
The other men left Seaver alone after that. Anna smiled as she served his rum, but it stopped at her eyes. He was content to sit quietly, alone with who knew what thoughts.
Thomas was scrubbing the bar when she arrived. He looked up, smiled as though he remembered nothing of what had happened the night before. Maybe he didn’t.
“There’s my girl. Shopping done?”
“I forgot something.”
“Well, find it and I’ll walk you to the dressmaker’s myself. It’s getting dark.”
He said it as though the dark brought devils instead of the tradesmen who came regularly to her place. Who worshipped her. She had married him a year before, after her father died, for protection. She ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek, felt the swelling there, felt a tooth wiggle, her lip tear a fraction.
“I won’t have you be less than the best-dressed lady in the North End,” he said expansively, as if he emptied his pockets onto the counter himself. Anna and Mr. Long, the tailor, had a deal: Anna borrowed the latest gowns; wearing them, she showed them to perfection, the ideal advertisement with her golden hair and slim waist. The men at her place either sent their wives to the dressmaker’s so they’d look more like Anna, or spent more money at Anna’s just to look at her, a fine, soft, pretty thing amid so much coarseness.
She pretended to locate some trifle under the bar, and Thomas wiped his hands on the seat of his britches. She forced a smile; her mouth still hurt. Better to have him think she was stupid or in love. Even better, afraid.
“The best news, Anna,” he said, taking her arm as they went back onto the street. “Rob Miller has added another twenty pounds to his asking price. We were right to wait.”
It was still less than half the value of the place. Under no circumstances would she consider selling to Hook Miller and give Thomas the money to invest and lose.
She nodded, as if her refusal to sell had been a joint decision.
“I think we’ll wait until Friday, see if we can’t drive the price a little higher,” he said, patting her hand. His palm was heavy and rough. She saw the faint abrasions along the knuckles, remembered them intimately.
She nodded again, kept her eyes on her feet, shoes peeping out from under her skirt, as she moved briskly to keep up with Thomas. He raced across the cobbles, she a half-pace behind.
Friday, then. Three days. Between Miller’s desire for her tavern and Thomas’s wish to impress him, she was trapped.
Friday night came despite Anna’s prayers for fire, a hurricane, a French invasion. But the place was as it always was: a wide, long room, stools and tables, two good chairs by a large, welcoming fire. The old windows were in good repair, the leads tight, and decent curtains kept out the drafts. The warm smells of good Barbadian rum and local ale kept the world at bay.
When Miller came into the tavern, Thomas got up immediately, offered him the best upholstered seat, nearest the fire. Miller dismissed him outright, said his business was with Anna. Anna tried with all her might to divert his attention back to Thomas, but Miller could not have made more of a show of favoring her in front of the entire room, who watched from behind raised mugs. Thomas glowered, his gaze never leaving Anna.
“Why won’t you sell the place, Anna?” Miller’s words and tone were filled with hurt; she was doing him unfairly.
Anna’s eyes flicked around the room; the men sitting there drinking were curious. Why would Anna cross Miller? No profit in that, they all knew.
“And if I did, what would I live on then?” she asked gaily, as if Miller had been revisiting a long-standing joke.
“Go to the country, for all of me,” he said, draining his glass. It might as well have been
As if she had a farm to retire to, a home somewhere other than over the barroom. “I promised my father I would not,” she said, trying to maintain the tone of a joke, but the strain was audible in her voice, her desperation a tremor in her answer.
“Well, come find me-” he set his empty glass down. “When you’re ready to be reasonable.” He tipped his hat to her, ignored Thomas, and left.
After that, the other regulars filed out, one by one. None wanted to see what they all knew would come next. Anna tried to entice them to stay, even offering a round on the house on the flimsy excuse of someone’s good haul of fish. But it couldn’t last forever, and eventually even the boy who helped serve was sent home. Only Seaver was left.
It was late, past the time when Thomas generally retired. It was obvious he wasn’t going to bed.
Seaver stood up. Anna looked at him with a wild hope. Perhaps he would come to her aid, somehow defuse the situation. He put a coin down on the counter and leaned toward her.
She glanced hastily at Thomas, who was scowling as he jabbed the fire with a poker. Anna’s face was a mask of desperation. She leaned closer, and Seaver surreptitiously ran a finger along the back of her hand.
“Better if you don’t argue with him,” he breathed, his lips barely moving. “Don’t fight back too much.”
She watched his back as he left. The room was empty, quiet, save for the crackle of the fire, the beating of Anna’s heart in her chest.
Thomas straightened, and turned. “I thought we had an agreement.”
Anna looked around; there was no one to help her. The door…
“I thought, any man comes in here looking for a piece, you send him up to that fancy cathouse on Salem Street. And yet I see you, a damned slut, making cow eyes at every man in here, right in front of me.”
She ran, but just as her fingers touched the latch, she felt the poker slam across her shoulders. She cried out, fell against the door. The next blows landed on her back, but Thomas, tired of imprecision and mindful of leaving visible marks that would make the punters uneasy, dropped the poker and relied on the toe of his boot.
When his rage diminished, Thomas stormed out. Anna remained on the floor, too afraid and too hurt to get up. She measured the grain of the wood planks while she thought. Thomas would go to Miller, reassure him the sale was imminent. Soon she would have no choice.
She eventually forced herself up, pulling herself onto a stool. No bones broken, this time.
In her quest to find security, independence, she’d first tried the law, and when that wasn’t enough, she’d put her faith in her husband’s strength. Now…she wasn’t sure what would work, but knew she would be damned if she
