The boy jostled the basket of soiled plates and cups. Small beads of sweat dotted his brow. “I am well enough. Helping Father keep the tavern going.” He motioned with his elbow and a grin of satisfaction on his lips. “We are quite busy.”
“So I see. A compliment to you, no doubt.” Nathaniel winked then glanced behind him and scanned the space, masking the question that tapped at his brow. Jacob could not be the only one working, surely? An older man in the corner filled mugs of ale, but where were the others? The obvious slapped and Nathaniel groaned. Cyprian wouldn’t hire other workers. Not when his son would work for free.
Instantly the impulse to relieve the tired boy of the basket and usher him outside to enjoy a day of much needed rest consumed Nathaniel, but he fought the urge, choosing instead to sigh away his frustrations. Such an act might bring embarrassment to the boy who worked as hard as any man.
Nathaniel smiled and spoke with a wide grin. “Joseph said you are now apprenticing under him. He boasts of your talents and claims you will make a fine blacksmith one day.”
The lad’s face lit as a small grin raised his mouth. “Aye, I am.” He looked down and switched the basket to the other hip with a hefty breath. “Father says I may only go there on Saturdays or in between working here, if time allows.” He paused before turning back to Nathaniel. This time, all traces of cheer fled at the underlying grief in his tone. “He... Father doesn’t like me spending time with Uncle Joseph.”
Nathaniel’s heart bled. How much would the boy be forced to suffer under his father’s unending suppression? He stared, watching Jacob’s eyes droop and his mouth tighten as he gazed across the bustling room, as if the pains of a dying mother and the grueling work he must endure, snuffed out any brightness that may have yet burned within him.
When Jacob again sighed and shifted the heavy basket, Nathaniel could stand it no longer. With a quick wink he plucked the burden from the boy’s grasp.
“Nay, Doctor, ‘tis not for you to carry.” Jacob reached for the bundle, but Nathaniel pretended not to notice as he walked toward the kitchen, speaking over his shoulder with a smile in his voice. “I need to speak with your father, is he here?”
Outside the swinging kitchen door, Nathaniel handed the basket to the old man, nodding his thanks, before turning back around and glowing within at the gratitude that welled in the young face before him.
Brows scooping together, smile soft and filled with emotion only his eyes could tell, Jacob pointed to the far hall. “Aye, he’s here.”
Jacob led Nathaniel through the crowd of tables and chairs, toward the darkened door at the end of the hall. The mumbling of the dining room behind him lingered like a third companion, peeking over his shoulders as if wanting to hear the argument that would likely ensue the moment Nathaniel entered the room.
Jacob knocked then yanked his hand back and stepped away.
The door swung open and Cyprian filled the space, face warped, cravat untied and jacket scarce. “Haven’t I told you to—” His angry gaze flew from Jacob and landed on Nathaniel with the weight of a hurling boulder. “What are you doing here, Smith?”
He didn’t wait for Nathaniel to answer before smacking Jacob with a rough glare. Cyprian pointed toward the main room. “Back to your duties, boy.”
Jacob slunk away, chin to his chest and shoulders drooped.
Nathaniel’s jaw shifted. If he only could let his fists do as they pleased...
Cyprian swung the door wide and gestured with a long sweep of his arm. “Come in, Doctor.” Seconds after Nathaniel entered, Cyprian slammed it shut then tromped to his cluttered desk and sat. He kept his eyes on the ledgers when he spoke. “Get on with your business and get out.”
Nathaniel glanced about the room, calculating his words instead of barking them as he wished to. He’d come here for information, and he’d best take care or his anger might destroy his chances for obtaining what he needed.
Dark and barren, the vision of such a dank and dirty space called from his memory the way his own father had lived before leaving the family—reclusive, angry, careless. Stacks of papers cluttered the lone desk in the center. Unopened crates of ale along the back wall collected dust while empty bottles of beer hugged the cold fireplace behind where Cyprian sat.
Nathaniel took his hat off and patted it against his leg as he stepped toward the desk. “Business seems well.”
Cyprian didn’t look up. “You didn’t come to make idle chatter.”
Nathaniel kept on, reason struggling against the rage that still teetered on a cliff’s edge. “’Tis hard to keep your own working space in order when you have so much to occupy you.” Nathaniel motioned around the room with his hat before pointing his eyes on the man before him. He couldn’t keep the hatred behind his teeth and let it seep into his words. “I wonder why you don’t employ Jacob’s services as housekeeper since he already works so hard with the tavern.”
His words met their mark and so did his glare.
Cyprian’s head jerked up and his mouth twitched at one side. “I would never ask my son to do such a thing.”
“Yet you require him to work endless hours and refuse him the apprenticeship he desires? Jacob is a boy on the precipice of manhood—”
“Do not lecture me, patriot!” Jumping to his feet, Cyprian slammed a fist to the table. “Say your say or get out.”
Nathaniel rubbed his thumb over the felt of his hat and ground his teeth. He forced air in and out several times before speaking. “How is your wife?”
Cyprian
’s face reddened while his fists turned white. “We will not speak of Camilla.”
“We will.” Nathaniel leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. “For the sake of Jacob’s future I would help her, extend her life as much as possible.” Cyprian’s face contorted, but Nathaniel kept on. “’Tis obvious the boy already suffers the loss of her, Cyprian. Let me help—”