The Right Hand Of The Father

chapter 5

He followed his new master out of the bathhouse and back down the street to the tailor’s shop. The bell above the door jangled and he found himself ushered in, his new master behind him, blocking the door as if now that he was clean and decently clothed Alexander might make a break for it. After he’d given his word that he wouldn’t run. Had chosen to stay with his new master. 

Irritation flickered in his chest. He was honest. He worked hard and when he gave his word he meant it. Not like Master Stevens.

He licked his lower lip as he thought about his former master. He’d suspected the man was his father for years. It was the only situation that had made sense, even if Mister Neddy had laughed when he’d suggested it once as Alexander had tried to convince him that maybe they shouldn’t kiss like Mister Neddy wanted. That it wasn’t right for them to do such things if they were brothers.

Mister Neddy had just laughed at him, though. Told him that they weren’t brothers. Alexander’s mother was a whore and Neddy’s was a lady. And just because Master Stevens would visit Rachel’s cottage at night that didn’t mean Alexander and Neddy were the same. Besides, Neddy had heard Alexander’s father was some British blackamoor from the North. Big as a mountain and dark as a demon. Dark as the overseer in the cane fields. One of those British Free-moors who had made themselves a place in the northern colonies. Had held his own pale arm against Alexander’s tan one and scoffed before he pushed Alexander to his knees and pressed himself inside Alexander’s mouth.

But what else was Alexander supposed to believe? He didn’t remember his life before he and his mother had been taken to the Montparnasse but he’d heard enough about it from the other slaves when he’d been sent to the big house from his mother’s cottage. How his mother had been a freeborn woman. A lady even. That she’d been married before and had another son. Then she’d come to St. Croix and when her husband found her she’d been gone from Nevis a year but had six months worth of Alexander in her belly. How his mother’s husband had her jailed for harlotry.

He’d seen his own papers after she’d died and he agreed to stay working for Master Stevens to clear her debts. Had been able to read. The papers had read debt indenture on them but now he couldn't help but wonder if they were anything more than a ruse to keep him quiet. To keep him from making a fuss. They’d given his name as Alexander Foucette and his place of birth as the Governor’s Prison of St. Croix.

They’d stayed in the prison until just after Alexander’s second birthday and then Master Stevens had come to retrieve them. Taken Rachel on as a servant, gave her a cottage and let Alexander play with Neddy while they were both still small. Had let him learn his letters and his ciphering in the nursery. Then when Mister Neddy had gone off to school in Boston Alexander had gone to the docks as a clerk.

And he’d always been honest. Always worked hard. Even if Master Stevens didn’t want to recognize him as a son Alexander would work hard to prove he was worthy of the man.

He didn’t need to be guarded as if he were some field hand who would make a run for it at the first available opportunity.

“Gentlemen,” the tailor bustled out of his back room and nodded to them. “I see the clothing fits suitably well.”

“Well enough,” his new master said. “But if you could get his measurements and measure his feet for the cobbler?”

“Of course.” The tailor nodded.

“Here boy.” He snapped his fingers at Alexander and motioned for him to come over to the long looking glass near the counter. “Out of your coat now so I can get my tape around you.”

He hurried over to where the other man was waiting and slipped out of his coat. Folded it neatly and set it on the counter so that his new Master could see he was careful with his things. Tidy. He’d show that he was smart and clever and knew how to behave proper and Mister Washington would see that Alexander could be useful to him.