paperwork and calculations accompanying such a thriving business as his.”
Drake looked at the gentle man beside him. He could work for this man. He could live in his house.
He could spend his free time with a woman named Serena.
As if he read Drake’s mind, Josiah’s brow knotted and he looked deep into the younger man’s eyes.
The need to reach for a plate broke the uncomfortable moment. Attempting lightness, Drake asked, “What say you, Mr. Winter? Have you need of an apprentice?”
Josiah nodded. “Indeed, I have need of help in many areas. A man is rarely able to do everything with ease. Dost thou think thou couldst work with thy hands, also? I need someone to do the more simplistic work of a silversmith.”
Drake thought of the shiny metal. He had only been intent to accumulate it, never to create with it. His attempts at drawing were mediocre at best and he abandoned the arts long ago for the more manly pursuits of hunting, swordplay, horseflesh, and gaming.
He had just reached Serena, with her steaming dipper of soup. He looked up into her eyes as he answered. “Truthfully, I have never attempted anything like it, sir.” Still staring into her eyes he finished softly, “But I find I would like to try.”
Serena knew Drake wasn’t aware how high-handed he sounded, but Josiah and the botanist exchanged amused glances. It was obvious to all that Drake was used to giving orders, not taking them.
Serena handed him his bowl of stew and smiled up at him. “What wouldst thou like to try?”
The immediate response that rose to his lips made him suddenly clear his throat. Stopping the words from escaping, he said instead in clear resolve, “Silversmithing. Your father and I are discussing an apprenticeship in his shop.”
Serena blinked several times and looked at her father, “That’s . . . that is wonderful.”
“It is settled then,” her father said, focusing on Drake. “Thou wilt come with me to my shop, starting tomorrow morning.”
Drake turned, looking down at the floor, a feeling of unreality filling him. He blew out a breath, quieting the chuckle that wanted to escape.
He was a shop boy now.
Chapter Nine
Drake was awakened early, fed a fortifying breakfast, and then handed a simple, white linen shirt with crossties instead of buttons at the neck and dark leather breeches to wear. He wore his own boots and tied his hair, which had grown long enough to touch his shoulders, back from his face with a strip of leather. Mrs. Winter’s eyes twinkled merrily as she waved them out the door, wishing them a good day.
Serena watched from an upstairs window, a wistful smile playing across her face.
Dawn hovered over the city as Drake and Josiah Winter walked along the brick-paved streets, their breath creating little puffs of vapor in the still crispness. Josiah walked with a purposeful stride and a quiet air that Drake was loath to disturb. Instead, in the light of the fading stars, he looked over what, when compared with London, was really an infant town.
It was surrounded by rough wilderness, but there was a neat pattern to the growing city. Philadelphia, Drake knew, was the brainchild of William Penn, also a Quaker. Penn had been pointed out to him many years ago in London when Drake was only a student at Eton. The man’s sense of purpose was admirable, and Drake could now only respect Penn’s city. The man’s careful planning was obvious in the neatly arranged blocks that stretched out from the Delaware River. The waterfront made the town a thriving seaport. Drake remembered the typical squat buildings from his arrival: wood yards for fuel, shipyards for the boat builders and mast makers, and numerous sheds and storage warehouses. Further inland, the citizens had contributed a certain creative flair to the neatly quaint houses that lined the streets, mostly of brick or stone facade. There were the usual taverns, shops and churches, several churches. The meetinghouse they attended
Drake looked at the gentle man beside him. He could work for this man. He could live in his house.
He could spend his free time with a woman named Serena.
As if he read Drake’s mind, Josiah’s brow knotted and he looked deep into the younger man’s eyes.
The need to reach for a plate broke the uncomfortable moment. Attempting lightness, Drake asked, “What say you, Mr. Winter? Have you need of an apprentice?”
Josiah nodded. “Indeed, I have need of help in many areas. A man is rarely able to do everything with ease. Dost thou think thou couldst work with thy hands, also? I need someone to do the more simplistic work of a silversmith.”
Drake thought of the shiny metal. He had only been intent to accumulate it, never to create with it. His attempts at drawing were mediocre at best and he abandoned the arts long ago for the more manly pursuits of hunting, swordplay, horseflesh, and gaming.
He had just reached Serena, with her steaming dipper of soup. He looked up into her eyes as he answered. “Truthfully, I have never attempted anything like it, sir.” Still staring into her eyes he finished softly, “But I find I would like to try.”
Serena knew Drake wasn’t aware how high-handed he sounded, but Josiah and the botanist exchanged amused glances. It was obvious to all that Drake was used to giving orders, not taking them.
Serena handed him his bowl of stew and smiled up at him. “What wouldst thou like to try?”
The immediate response that rose to his lips made him suddenly clear his throat. Stopping the words from escaping, he said instead in clear resolve, “Silversmithing. Your father and I are discussing an apprenticeship in his shop.”
Serena blinked several times and looked at her father, “That’s . . . that is wonderful.”
“It is settled then,” her father said, focusing on Drake. “Thou wilt come with me to my shop, starting tomorrow morning.”
Drake turned, looking down at the floor, a feeling of unreality filling him. He blew out a breath, quieting the chuckle that wanted to escape.
He was a shop boy now.
Chapter Nine
Drake was awakened early, fed a fortifying breakfast, and then handed a simple, white linen shirt with crossties instead of buttons at the neck and dark leather breeches to wear. He wore his own boots and tied his hair, which had grown long enough to touch his shoulders, back from his face with a strip of leather. Mrs. Winter’s eyes twinkled merrily as she waved them out the door, wishing them a good day.
Serena watched from an upstairs window, a wistful smile playing across her face.
Dawn hovered over the city as Drake and Josiah Winter walked along the brick-paved streets, their breath creating little puffs of vapor in the still crispness. Josiah walked with a purposeful stride and a quiet air that Drake was loath to disturb. Instead, in the light of the fading stars, he looked over what, when compared with London, was really an infant town.
It was surrounded by rough wilderness, but there was a neat pattern to the growing city. Philadelphia, Drake knew, was the brainchild of William Penn, also a Quaker. Penn had been pointed out to him many years ago in London when Drake was only a student at Eton. The man’s sense of purpose was admirable, and Drake could now only respect Penn’s city. The man’s careful planning was obvious in the neatly arranged blocks that stretched out from the Delaware River. The waterfront made the town a thriving seaport. Drake remembered the typical squat buildings from his arrival: wood yards for fuel, shipyards for the boat builders and mast makers, and numerous sheds and storage warehouses. Further inland, the citizens had contributed a certain creative flair to the neatly quaint houses that lined the streets, mostly of brick or stone facade. There were the usual taverns, shops and churches, several churches. The meetinghouse they attended
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