New York - The Novel

kind. And then, with her heart secretly in a terrible flutter, she asked: “Was there something you wished to say to me, John?”

Montayne’s Tavern
1758
    I T WAS GUY Fawkes Night, and they were burning the Pope in New York.
    In England, the Fifth of November was an important day. A century and a half had passed since Catholic Guy Fawkes had tried to blow up the Protestant Parliament, and they’d been burning his effigy on bonfires on that day ever since. Indeed, it being the same season, the celebrations had pretty much taken over the ancient rites of Halloween. And Guy Fawkes Night had come to New York, too. But by and by, the New Yorkers had decided to improve on the old English model and get to the heart of the matter. So they carried an effigy of the Pope himself through the streets, and burned him on a great bonfire in the evening, and everybody celebrated. At least, pretty much everybody. The Catholics in the town may have objected; but there weren’t too many of them, and they had the sense to keep quiet.
    When John Master saw Charlie White through the crowd on Broadway that evening, he waved and smiled. And Charlie nodded, but he didn’t smile. And John realized it was years since they’d spoken. So he started toward him.
    And maybe John Master felt a tad awkward when he said, “It’s good to see you, Charlie.” And he almost said, “I was thinking about you the other day,” but he didn’t because it would have been a damn lie, and they both knew it. Then fortunately he realized that they were right outside Montayne’s Tavern, so he said, “Let’s have a drink.” Like it was old times.

    Old times. Charlie remembered old times, all right. Those had been the days, when he and John Master had been boys together.
    Happy times mostly. Fishing in the river. Walking up Broadway arm in arm. Sleeping out in the woods, and thinking they heard a bear. Taking a boat out to Governor’s Island and spending all day there, when John was supposed to be at school. Getting into mischief in the town. Once or twice John had let him come in one of his father’s longboats to run the molasses in from the French vessels at night. And John’s father had given Charlie a handsome tip, to keep quiet about it, though Charlie would rather have died than breathe a word.
    He’d been almost one of the family. That was friendship.
    As John had got older, they’d gone to the taverns too. But Charlie couldn’t get drunk the way John did, because he had to work. So John mostly got drunk with the sailors, and Charlie got him home afterward.
    When John had turned away from all that, and started to work, he hadn’t seen so much of Charlie, and Charlie had understood. He doesn’t want to see me, Charlie thought, because I remind him of what he’s trying to get away from. I remind him of what he used to be. He understood it, but he was still hurt. They’d see each other from time to time, even go for a drink. But it wasn’t the same any more.
    Charlie had made a small mistake once. He’d been in the market place, and happened to see John standing near the entrance to the fort, talking to a merchant. He’d gone over and greeted his friend, as he usually would, and John had given him a cold look, because he was interrupting him. The merchant hadn’t been too pleased either that a fellow like him would interrupt them. So Charlie had gone away quickly, feeling a bit of a fool.
    The next day John had come round to his house first thing in the morning.
    “Sorry about yesterday, Charlie,” he’d said. “You took me by surprise. I’d never done business with that fellow before. I was trying to understand what he wanted.”
    “That’s all right, John. It’s nothing.”
    “Are you free this evening? We could have a drink.”
    “Not this evening, John. I’ll come by soon.”
    But of course, he hadn’t. There was no point. They were moving in different worlds now.
    John hadn’t forgotten him though. About a year later, he’d come byagain. Charlie was a laboring man, but he also had a cart, and was engaged part-time in the carrying business. John had asked him if he could engage with the Master family to transport goods up to some local farms. It was a regular contract, a full day every week, and the terms were good. Charlie had been glad of it, and the arrangement had continued for quite a while. John had put other business his way when he could, down the years.
    But by the nature of things, it was a case of a rich