Read Online 1636: Seas of Fortune by Iver P. Cooper - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Iver P. Cooper
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am something of a specialist.”
“How so?”
“I grow trees.”
“Your house must have very high ceilings.”
Phil laughed. “No, that’s not necessary. Although it would be nice. The trees just don’t grow as tall as they would in the wild.”
“So what trees do you grow? Sugar maple? Sassafras? Pitch pine?”
“Hmm, you’ve been studying West Virginia trees. But there isn’t much point in growing those indoors. I mostly grow tropical trees. Would you like to see them?”
Maria considered the invitation. He was so much younger than she was, he couldn’t possibly be courting her, but still, what would people think?
“May I bring a girlfriend?”
* * *
Maria and Prudentia arrived at the Jenkins house the next day, arm in arm.
Laurel Jenkins opened the door. “Oh, I recognize you,” she said. “You were the star of the canoe race in May.”
“You are kind to say so. We are here to see your ‘house trees.’”
Laurel turned and yelled upstairs. “Phil, turn off your stupid CD! You have company.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Brothers.”
* * *
“Hi, Maria! Hi, Prudentia. You came at a good time, my Angel’s Trumpet’s in bloom. Come along, I’ll show you. There, you can see how it gets its name.”
Maria admired the plant. The gracefully arching branches were festooned with long white trumpet-shaped flowers. “What lovely curves.”
“That’s from Brazil. Now, can you guess what this is?” The plant had nondescript green leaves, perhaps six inches long, and many flowers, each a five-pointed white star. There were also a few green cherries. The girls shook their heads. Maria actually recognized the tree—the Leiden Botanical Garden had gotten one from Aden years ago—but Phil was so obviously proud of his specimen that she didn’t have the heart to say so.
“This is Coffea arabica— the coffee tree. From Ethiopia, originally.”
Prudentia pointed to one of the cherries. “I have seen coffee beans here in Grantville. This doesn’t look like one.”
“It isn’t. There are two beans, seeds really, inside each cherry. You wait until the cherries turn red—that means they’re ripe—and then you take out the beans, and roast them.”
“So, do you supply coffee to Grantville?” asked Maria.
“I wish. You can’t get a lot of coffee beans out of one tree, I don’t have room for a whole bunch of trees, and it’s too cold in Thuringia to grow them outside. The coffee comes from the Turks. When they feel like selling it to us.”
“I don’t care for the taste myself,” said Maria. “Too bitter.”
“Okay, here’s another tree. Any guesses?”
Maria looked it over closely. “Some kind of fig?”
“Yep.” He favored her with a big smile. “This is Ficus elastica , the Indian Rubber Tree. East Indian, that is. Cut it, and it bleeds a sap, latex, that hardens into a kind of rubber.”
Maria fingered the stem. “So that is where you Americans get the rubber you use in your tires?”
“Uh, uh. Some of that’s made from the latex of a different rubber tree, Hevea brasiliensis , and the rest is synthesized from chemicals. But if you want to know more about that, you’ll have to check the encyclopedias.”
“Perhaps I will.”
Fort Zwaanandael (modern Lewes, Delaware), Early December, 1632
Bones. They gleamed in the winter sunlight, amid the white sparkling sand, and the chill that Captain David Pieterszoon de Vries felt was not entirely due to the coldness of the air. Here was a femur, there, a skull. David reached down and picked up an arrowhead. It was easy enough to visualize how this particular colonist had met his Maker. David didn’t know if he had been fleeing, or had bravely faced his attacker. Certainly, he had not escaped from this beach to the dubious haven of the waters of the Zuidt River Bay.
The dismal find had not been a surprise. In May, the Kamer Amsterdam of the West India Company had heard, from its agents in Nieuw Amsterdam, that
“How so?”
“I grow trees.”
“Your house must have very high ceilings.”
Phil laughed. “No, that’s not necessary. Although it would be nice. The trees just don’t grow as tall as they would in the wild.”
“So what trees do you grow? Sugar maple? Sassafras? Pitch pine?”
“Hmm, you’ve been studying West Virginia trees. But there isn’t much point in growing those indoors. I mostly grow tropical trees. Would you like to see them?”
Maria considered the invitation. He was so much younger than she was, he couldn’t possibly be courting her, but still, what would people think?
“May I bring a girlfriend?”
* * *
Maria and Prudentia arrived at the Jenkins house the next day, arm in arm.
Laurel Jenkins opened the door. “Oh, I recognize you,” she said. “You were the star of the canoe race in May.”
“You are kind to say so. We are here to see your ‘house trees.’”
Laurel turned and yelled upstairs. “Phil, turn off your stupid CD! You have company.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Brothers.”
* * *
“Hi, Maria! Hi, Prudentia. You came at a good time, my Angel’s Trumpet’s in bloom. Come along, I’ll show you. There, you can see how it gets its name.”
Maria admired the plant. The gracefully arching branches were festooned with long white trumpet-shaped flowers. “What lovely curves.”
“That’s from Brazil. Now, can you guess what this is?” The plant had nondescript green leaves, perhaps six inches long, and many flowers, each a five-pointed white star. There were also a few green cherries. The girls shook their heads. Maria actually recognized the tree—the Leiden Botanical Garden had gotten one from Aden years ago—but Phil was so obviously proud of his specimen that she didn’t have the heart to say so.
“This is Coffea arabica— the coffee tree. From Ethiopia, originally.”
Prudentia pointed to one of the cherries. “I have seen coffee beans here in Grantville. This doesn’t look like one.”
“It isn’t. There are two beans, seeds really, inside each cherry. You wait until the cherries turn red—that means they’re ripe—and then you take out the beans, and roast them.”
“So, do you supply coffee to Grantville?” asked Maria.
“I wish. You can’t get a lot of coffee beans out of one tree, I don’t have room for a whole bunch of trees, and it’s too cold in Thuringia to grow them outside. The coffee comes from the Turks. When they feel like selling it to us.”
“I don’t care for the taste myself,” said Maria. “Too bitter.”
“Okay, here’s another tree. Any guesses?”
Maria looked it over closely. “Some kind of fig?”
“Yep.” He favored her with a big smile. “This is Ficus elastica , the Indian Rubber Tree. East Indian, that is. Cut it, and it bleeds a sap, latex, that hardens into a kind of rubber.”
Maria fingered the stem. “So that is where you Americans get the rubber you use in your tires?”
“Uh, uh. Some of that’s made from the latex of a different rubber tree, Hevea brasiliensis , and the rest is synthesized from chemicals. But if you want to know more about that, you’ll have to check the encyclopedias.”
“Perhaps I will.”
Fort Zwaanandael (modern Lewes, Delaware), Early December, 1632
Bones. They gleamed in the winter sunlight, amid the white sparkling sand, and the chill that Captain David Pieterszoon de Vries felt was not entirely due to the coldness of the air. Here was a femur, there, a skull. David reached down and picked up an arrowhead. It was easy enough to visualize how this particular colonist had met his Maker. David didn’t know if he had been fleeing, or had bravely faced his attacker. Certainly, he had not escaped from this beach to the dubious haven of the waters of the Zuidt River Bay.
The dismal find had not been a surprise. In May, the Kamer Amsterdam of the West India Company had heard, from its agents in Nieuw Amsterdam, that
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