New York - The Novel

that Meinheer Philipse has made an English will,” he said.
    “Oh.” I heard the Boss’s voice.
    “It’s the right thing for a gentleman to do,” says Jan. “You should consider it.”
    There was a big difference between the English and the Dutch when it came to dying. When a Dutchman died, his widow continued owning his house and all his business until she died herself; and then everything was split between the children, boys and girls alike. But the Englishwomen are not given such respect. For when an Englishwoman marries, her wealth all belongs to the husband, as if she was a slave. And she isn’t supposed to transact any business. And if her husband dies, the eldest son gets almost everything, except a portion set aside for the upkeep of the widow. And the English were even passing a law that the son could kick his mother out of the house after forty days.
    The big English landowners liked this way of arranging matters, because by keeping all the estate together, the family would keep its power. And some of the Dutch, after becoming gentlemen, wanted to have an English will for the same reason; but most of the Dutch didn’t take any notice of that English law. Their wives wouldn’t stand for it, I reckon. And I didn’t imagine the Boss would take any notice, either.
    “We’ve a Dutch will that goes back to the time of our marriage,” the Boss said. “It’s held by old Schermerhorn, your mother’s lawyer. She’d have a fit if I altered it.”
    “She wouldn’t have to know. A new English one would supersede it.”
    “Why do you mind?”
    “Truthfully, Father, I don’t trust her judgment. The way she carried on over the Leisler business. I don’t think she’s the right person to manage our money. Clara’s well provided for. She had a generous dowry, and she got money from her first husband too, and God knows Henry Master’s not short of money. Under his father’s English will he’ll get almost all the Master fortune, you can be sure. She’s far richer than I am.”
    “I see what you mean,” said the Boss.
    “You know I’ll always look after Mother. So would Clara.”
    “No doubt.”
    “I just think you should protect me. And the van Dyck family. That’s all.”
    “I’ll consider it, Jan, I promise you. But this had better stay between us.”
    “Absolutely,” said Jan.
    I moved quietly to the other end of the garden after that, and when I went back into the house, I never said a word about what I’d heard, not even to Hudson.

    From the year 1696, I remember two events. The old wall across the north of the town was falling to bits and some years back a street had been laid along its line, which they called Wall Street. And in that year, the Anglicans began the foundations for a fine new church where the new Wall Street met Broadway. Trinity Church, they were calling it.
    The second event was the final voyage of Captain Kidd.
    King William’s War with the French was still continuing. Two hundred miles upriver, a Dutch settlement called Schenectady had been attackedby French and Indians, and out on the ocean the French and their pirates were still giving so much trouble that the English begged Captain Kidd to go and deal with them. The captain was retired, as I have said, and a respectable man. In fact, he was helping at that very time with the building of Trinity, Wall Street. But he agreed to do it. “Though I don’t think it took much to persuade him,” said the Boss. “Those old sea dogs always get restless on dry land.”
    I was on my way home one afternoon when Hudson came up to me. I thought he was looking excited, but he didn’t say anything. He just started walking along beside me, very companionable, the way he often did. And I put my arm on his shoulder, the way I often did. And we walked along side by side. Then by and by he said: “Captain Kidd wants to take me to sea.”
    I felt my heart sinking, like a ship going under.
    “You’re too young to be thinking of that,” I said.
    “I’m near sixteen. There are ship’s boys far younger than that.”
    “The Boss won’t allow it,” I said. And I prayed it might be so. “Are you in such a hurry to leave your father?” I asked him.
    “No,” he cried. And he put his arm round my neck. “It isn’t that. But at sea, I could learn to be a sailor.”
    “You could learn to be a pirate,” I answered. For I had often seen the crews of these privateers, and I trembled to think of Hudson living among such