WEEKSVILLE NEAR THE HUNTERFLY ROAD -CHAPTER 2

    The Hunterfly Road was a route to commute back and forth to the ferry landing downtown Brooklyn. Old Simon knew the road like the back of his hand. He had traveled it for years. The road was once an old Indian path that led from the outskirts of Bedford Corners where it curved near
Weeksville Village, down through Crows Hill, another free Black community and ending up at the Wampum Trading Post run by the Canarsie Indians. They sold blankets, fresh fish and other staples used by the villagers.
     Old Simon yelled out some command to his mule team and sped them up. From the ferry landing Obadiah would ride the ferry across the East River into lower Manhattan and the Five Points section. This was his first trip across the river. From the ferry he looked out into the swirling murky waters and wondered about what to expect when he reached the shore. He could not be certain how he would be received. Free men of color were probably not an unusual sight on the streets of Five Points, but he could not be sure.
     The directions that Old Simon and Catfish, the Black man who ran the ferry boat were clear enough.  Once he got off the ferry he was to walk south to Mulberry Street until he could go no further. That would put him in front of the of O'Brien's farm house. Timothy O'Brien was not a bad man. That is not to say he was a good man either, but he treated folks, even Black folks, in a respectable way. O'Brien was the proprietor of a carpentry shop behind the farmhouse. He made furniture to order for anyone who could afford it;cabinets, bookcases, tables and chairs. He also restored  furniture. With his one-horse wagon he would pickup and deliver to his customers throughout Manhattan. Old Simon had once been in the employ of O'Brien. He recommended Obadiah to O'Brian as a good replacement for the same position.
     Obadiah arrived at the workshop at the appointed hour. He found that O'Brien was not there and took up a seat on a crate just outside the shop door to wait for him.
     "Hey boy, what you doin hangin round my daddy's place. You better get outta here now, you hear me?" Obadiah looked up to see a red-faced woman gesturing at him from an arm-distance away. He jumped up from the crate with his hat in his hand. His eyes staring down more at the ground than at the tow-headed woman.
     "Begging you pardon mam," he said in a quiet tone, "but I'm lookin for Mr. Timothy O'Brien."
     "And who might you be? And why might you be lookin for him?"
     "Well, mam, my name is Mister Obadiah, and I have an appointment to see Mr. O'Brien about a position in his establishment."
     "You mean you lookin for a job?"
     "Well, no mam, not exactly, you see I was told I would be working in his employ as an apprentice in his carpentry shop."