Page 96 - Fever 1793

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT November 10th, 1793
Many stores are lately opened and the city exhibits a scene of increasing trade and bustle.
—Letter of John Walsh, clerk Philadelphia, 1793
Three days after we opened for business, every chair in the front room was filled, the air thick again with arguments, tobacco smoke, and the smell of fresh coffee and cakes. Eliza was in the kitchen cooking up a storm, and the room had never been cleaner. Mother would have been very proud.
I carried a tray above my head. “Who wants to try some apple cake? A free sample!” I offered.
“Over here, Mattie, over here!” The shouts came from all directions.
I smiled. Free samples were proving a clever way to get the customers to eat more. Feed them one
bite and they’d pay for three more. I quickly distributed the small pieces of apple cake and went through refilling coffee mugs.
“Another cup?” I asked. I picked up a mug in front of a doctor studying the chess board.
He nodded, deep in concentration. He kept his finger on his queen, in danger of being captured by his opponent’s pawn. “Could I get some soup, too?” he asked. “This match is far from over.”
“Me, too,” said his companion.
“How about some mutton stew?” I asked.
“Perfect. Ha!” The doctor rescued the queen by moving his knight.
“Scoundrel,” muttered the other man.
“Right away, Sir,” I said, picking up the tray.
Eliza and Nathaniel sat in the kitchen. He had stepped in to help us with errands since we opened. He
was also Eliza’s taste-tester.
“We need more stew,” I said. “Two bowls.”
She shook her head. “This keeps up and we’ll be serving breakfast, too!”
“I have plenty of ideas,” I assured her. “What if we baked small cakes and delivered them to the State
House with a handbill advertising our new wares?”
Eliza frowned.
“How many cakes? The price of sugar is still high. How about apple bread instead? That’s cheaper to
make.”
Nathaniel cleared his throat. “I could paint a sign that you could put out front. I could make a design
for the handbill, too.”
“And I suppose we’ll pay you in cakes, right?” I joked.
“That would suit me fine.” He rose from his chair. “I have to go to Peale’s. See you tomorrow.”
Eliza waited until he had gone. “He’s useful, for a painter.”
I smiled. “Where are the children?”
“Sleeping, thank goodness,” Eliza said. “When they wake up, I’m going to set them to work churning
butter again. That kept you and Polly out of trouble when you were small.”
I nodded. “I want to visit Polly’s mother on Sunday. Don’t let me forget. Now I need two bowls of
mutton stew.”
When I had served the stew and filled up the next round of empty cups, I surveyed the room. It was
brighter with Nathaniel’s paintings on the walls. He had already sold two. Watson next door was