Glory Over Everything by Kathleen Grissom

to work with silver.”
    â€œWe could arrange for that, but it would take years to learn the craft,” he said.
    â€œYears?” I asked.
    â€œYes, but first you would have to start with cleaning the shop and running errands.”
    â€œWould you pay me?” I asked.
    â€œNot 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.”
    â€œI will need them,” I said.
    â€œDid you consult with your family?”
    â€œI had only my grandmother,” I said.
    â€œYour grandmother? And where is she?”
    I wasn’t prepared for the question. “She was in a fire. She died,” I blurted out.
    â€œAnd your parents?” he asked.
    â€œUmm . . . 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.
    â€œAnd 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.
    â€œWhat is it?” he asked, noting my uncertainty.
    â€œDo you know of a place where I could sleep?” I asked.
    â€œAh! 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?”
    I was so relieved that I could only nod in reply.

CHAPTER TEN
1810–1811
James
    U NSPEAKABLY GRATEFUL FOR the man’s generosity, I was silent in the carriage that first evening when Mr. Burton took me along to his home. I had spent the afternoon cleaning up the silver shop, but I had left Henry early that morning, and I was dazed from the long day.
    It seemed a short ride before the horses turned down an alley that led to the back of a four-story brick dwelling. After Mr. Burton and I left the carriage, the driver went on to the stables, and my host led the way into the house through a back door that opened into a small square entry where a welcoming lamp was burning.
    From there I followed Mr. Burton down a short stairwell and into a large basement kitchen, where we were met by the scent of freshly baked bread and a simmering meat stew. The warmth and comfort of this large room contrasted sharply with the cold outside, but it was all so unfamiliar that I happily would have exchanged it for Henry and his outdoor fire.
    Mr. Burton went ahead to a long pine table in the center of the room. There he lifted a blue-and-white-checked cloth. “Ah, Delia!” he said, breathing in the scent of fresh bread.
    A thin Negro woman turned from the vast fireplace. “Done not two hours ago,” she said without a smile, then went back to stirring the contents of the pot.
    â€œDon’t tell me that’s my favorite stewed beef,” he said, sniffing the air.
    â€œMade just the way you likes it, with the cloves and extra onions,” she said.
    â€œNow, that’s a meal to look