The Seekers

by John Jakes

  “All right. Lecture away.”

  “No lecture. Just facts. I can no longer tolerate your presence at Kent and Son. For the sake of efficiency, of morale—”

  “Efficiency. Morale!” Abraham snickered. “Good old Gilbert! An eighty-year-old clerk in a boy’s body.”

  Gilbert pursed his lips. “Unlike you, Abraham, I didn’t have the benefit of good health when I was young. I had very little to do except follow Father about and—and practice being old, perhaps you could say. On the other hand, I think every family needs someone with a clerk’s mind, to keep its affairs in balance. The affairs of the Kents are definitely out of balance right now. They—Abraham, kindly stop staring into space and give me your attention! Destroying yourself is one thing. Destroying your son is quite another.”

  Abraham’s gaze seemed to refocus on the reality of the room. “Jared? What about him?”

  “Have you watched him closely these past months?”

  A vague gesture with the glass. “I see him when I can—”

  “Once or twice a week? For a moment or two? Do you seriously believe that’s enough?”

  “I—” Abraham shook his head. “Who knows?”

  “Even when you do speak to Jared, you’re seldom sober. He’s mortally afraid of you! Why, he—”

  Shocked and angered, Gilbert stopped. The older brother was smiling in a strange, joyless way.

  “You find this amusing, Abraham?”

  “No. Oh, no. I was just thinking of a picture that comes into my mind sometimes. A picture of—”

  He indicated the painting.

  “I see him with his hand raised to me. He’s angry, though I can’t hear what he’s saying. Father once told me that when he came home from the Continental army, wounded and unable to walk properly—came home to Boston with my mother dead—well, he said there was a period of nearly a year when he treated me very badly. By his own admission—treated me very badly! How unlike Mr. Philip Kent to admit he had faults, eh? In any case, I was apparently terrified of him—”

  A humorless laugh. Silently, Gilbert waited.

  “You know, Elizabeth always worried about the Fletcher blood being in Jared—”

  “We are not discussing Elizabeth’s parentage.”

  “Oh, no reflection on your mother—I just thought of it because”—he shrugged, wearily—“because the Kent heritage has proved damned near as damaging. I’m acting the way my father did, if what you say is true.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  A lengthy pause.

  “Yes.” Once more he shielded his eyes. “God, yes—”

  Pressing his advantage while Abraham’s defenses were weakened, Gilbert pried the glass from his half brother’s hand. The rain beat heavily against the front of the house.

  “I understand what you’re going through, even though I can’t condone your actions. You drink because Elizabeth died and you blame yourself—”

  “Sufficient reason, don’t you think?”

  “—you hate the western country for what it did to her—”

  “You’re quite astute. Shall we drink to the land of opportunity beyond the Alleghenies—?”

  His eye on the decanter, he started to rise. Gilbert pushed him back. Undeterred, Abraham took the glass from Gilbert’s hand, raised it in a mock toast.

  “To the great and glorious west—and the thousands of others it will ruin.”

  “What a strange enemy for a man to have,” Gilbert said. “Land. You think it took Elizabeth, so you ran from it—”

  “What the hell should I have done? Stayed there? The land destroyed her!”

  “Land is land, Abraham. It can’t be good or evil. Only the men who inhabit it have those qualities.”

  “No philosophic quibbles, thank you,” Abraham snarled. “I’ve heard that argument till I’m fairly sick of it! Yes, I know two Shawnee came to the farmland one shot her. But that’s still the land as far as I’m concerned—”

  Abruptly, he fixed his half brother with a penetrating stare. “Do you remember when we visited the president’s home in Virginia?”

  “Monticello? Yes, I recall a little of the trip—”

  “In the orchard—I remember it distinctly—Mr. Jefferson went on at great length about the nation’s future lying in the west. About the bounty of the land—”

  Abraham spat.

  “Of course it’s very easy for a gentleman to find good in something he’s never seen with his own eyes.”

  “You don’t believe he was correct?”

  “How can you even ask?” Abraham wiped his perspiring forehead. “I’ve mentioned the Clapper family to you, haven’t I?”

  “A few times.”

  “Did I ever tell you what Clapper said about the west?”

  Gilbert shook his head.

  “He said people went there not to seek something but to escape something.”

  “What?”

  “Unhappiness.”

  “I think that view’s wrong. Wrong and warped.”

  “Is it? I went to Ohio to escape his influence—” A hand jabbed toward the portrait. “So did Elizabeth.”

  “That doesn’t make the generalization valid for everyone. Nor cancel the truth of Mr. Jefferson’s words.”

  “I disagree—even though that makes me—what, was your word? Warped?” He shrugged. “You’ve been saying that in one way or another ever since I came home.”

  Gilbert bowed his head slightly, as if to avoid the scathing bitterness: Abraham exhaled loudly. Then: “Well—perhaps you’re right.” One hand lifted absently to scrub at the stubble on his dirty face. “I can’t help how I feel. I admit I’ll never think of the western country without prejudice—”

  “When a man allows himself to be defeated by an enemy, he has difficulty living with himself. Hides from himself. Destroys himself, sometimes—unless that enemy is overcome. If you had a second chance to defeat what you hate so much, you should take it.”

  “A second? Gilbert, what the hell are you driving at?”

  “I believe you understand.”

  “You’re not suggesting I go west again?”

  “That,” Gilbert said, “is exactly what I am suggesting.”

  Violently, Abraham turned away. “Christ on the cross! Of all the insane, ill-conceived—”

  Speechless, he couldn’t finish.

  On the precipice now, one misstep away from failure, Gilbert spoke with extreme care. “I don’t think you fully understand everything I’ve said. I want you out of this house. I want you out of Boston. I will see to it that you can’t find decent employment anywhere in this city—believe me, I have the connections to do that.”

  “I know you do.” Again Abraham shook his head. “What kind of monster have you turned into?”

  “Call me that if you like. I have reasons for what I’m doing. I’m absolutely convinced you’ll never hold your head up again—never drag yourself out of this slough into which you’ve fallen—unless someone forces you to best the enemy that bested you.”

  For a long moment, Gilbert was afraid Abraham still didn’t comprehend one syllable, or his seriousness. Then, slowly, the older man lifted his head to stare at his taller brother.

  “You’ve something in mind. Something you haven’t mentioned.”

  “Indeed I do. Here—”

  He snatched the letter from the desk.

  “Sit down and read it through. I’ll pour you another drink.”

  As he filled Abraham’s glass, ashamed of resorting to such bribery, he heard the sheets crinkle. Abraham exclaimed softly, “Meriwether—? This is from the president’s secretary.”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t realize you and he were in touch.”

  “Read it from the beginning,” Gilbert urged.

  He held out the glass. Abraham took it but didn’t drink, concentrating on the letter. He read the sheets and dropped them on the floor one at a time.

  A gust of wind blew rain against the back of Gi
lbert’s neck. A carriage went rattling by in the aftermath of a thunderclap. Finally Abraham finished. The last sheet fluttered down. He drank the rum in a gulp, said: “I don’t understand why you wanted me to read that.”

  “Come, of course you do! You fit the specifications for the type of man Lewis wishes to recruit. Single, strong, in good health—””

  “I am not precisely single. I have a son.”

  “Harriet has already agreed to care for Jared.”

  “She doesn’t like me or Jared. And you’ll soon have your own child—”

  “I’ll see she fulfills the promise. I swear that as your brother.”

  “What—” Abraham almost chuckled. “What kind of insanity has possessed you—?”

  “A fear of the insanity that’s possessing you.”

  He knelt beside Abraham’s chair, rested one hand on his half brother’s forearm. “You’ve our father’s blood. He could never tolerate being beaten by anyone or anything. You hate the western country because of what it did to Elizabeth—right or wrong, that’s how you feel. So what I’m saying is that you’ll never be whole until you prove you’re stronger than what defeated you. If you don’t do it—if you don’t try to win back your self-respect—you’ll end up in some Boston alley, and your son will despise your memory.”

  Abraham jumped to his feet. “I still say it’s the maddest, most absurd—”

  “It is exactly what you need!” Gilbert sank the last barb. “Unless, of course, you’re willing to admit you’re too weak and cowardly to set foot beyond the mountains a second time. Do you feel that way? Do you mean to say you couldn’t survive?”

  “I don’t know, goddamn it!”

  “Then find out! Look your devil in the face!”

  Abraham bit his lip, gestured at the fallen sheets of the letter. “I—I’d be gone a year. Maybe two—”

  “Yes, the expedition could take all of that and more. What of it?”

  “It wouldn’t be good for me to be away from Jared for so long.”

  Gilbert had the feeling that Abraham was arguing every question except a central one—which he was being careful to avoid. Uneasy, he contented himself with countering the surface argument.

  “You know damned well being close to your son in your present state is next to worthless. I tell you, Abraham, you lost more than your wife in Ohio. Without self-respect, no man can survive.”

  “Yes, you’re right about that, anyway—”

  “Gain it back! I know we can arrange it. You served with both officers in charge of the expedition—”

  Abraham nodded, a strange, bemused look in his eyes. “And thought well of both, too. Brave men. Good soldiers—”

  “I’m certain they’d take you on”—he’d come to the turning point; he drew a long breath—“so certain that I’ve taken the liberty of writing Captain Lewis a letter.” Disconcerted by Abraham’s lack of reaction, he rushed on. “Three letters, in fact. Each a copy of the other, and already dispatched by courier. One went to Pittsburgh, one to Cincinnati, and the third to Louisville—blast it, why are you smirking?”

  The bemused expression grew into a smile. “Because your grand intentions and your efficiency will come to nothing.”

  “Even though Lewis is on the move, I’m sure one of the letters will reach him.”

  “That’s not the point. I didn’t particularly want to burden you with my personal problems”—he reached for the decanter and glass; spine crawling with inexplicable fear, Gilbert didn’t protest—“but the truth is, you’ve trapped yourself. You’ve discharged me. Ordered me out of the house—to go back on those decisions would be difficult for a man of your principles. But I know Captain Lewis won’t accept me. I fail to measure up to all of his lofty specifications.”

  “What the hell do you mean?”

  Glass and decanter held in one hand, Abraham showed Gilbert the other. The small, raw sore Gilbert had noticed before gleamed in the lamplight.

  “During my various jaunts around town in search of a bit of amusement—”

  Not amusement. Punishment, Gilbert thought.

  “—I’ve spent time with certain women—” He wriggled his hand. “Surely you understand. I am not in the excellent health Captain Lewis demands. Even lying wouldn’t conceal the evidence for long.”

  Gilbert started to turn away.

  “Look at the sore, damn you!”

  Slowly, Gilbert swung around again. Abraham’s hand held steady a moment, then dropped to his breeches.

  “I’ve worse ones here. I’ve caught the pox.”

  “Oh my God.”

  The house shook with deafening thunder. Lightning lit Abraham’s face, and Philip’s on the canvas.

  Gilbert sank down in the desk chair. He rested his elbows on the litter of papers and held his head.

  Face locking into that odd smile again, Abraham said, “You’re a remarkable fellow, Gilbert. How old are you?”

  “What does that matter, for Christ’s sake?”

  “Just answer. You’re twenty, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I marvel at your understanding of people. I suppose it was a necessity, eh? When our father died, someone had to take over the business and operate it successfully, else it would fail—and you’re not the sort to accept failure readily, just as he wasn’t. You’ve learned a great deal more than I did by age twenty—everything from accounting to dealing with press room helpers with bad tempers and worse morals. Well, I’m sorry none of your skills will avail this time, but they won’t. I believe I’d better go upstairs. I expect you’ll be wanting me out of the house immediately. Harriet wouldn’t tolerate a man carrying the pox—”

  Gilbert had grown light-headed. He sat watching his half brother between the hands pressed to his temples. Abraham continued trying to make light of the situation, showing Gilbert the decanter and glass.

  “I’ll take these along if you don’t mind. I’ll pack up quickly—I wouldn’t force you to compromise yourself by having to renege on the discharge, either. I—I do thank you for your good intentions.” The last few words were barely audible.

  “We’ll consult a physician—” Gilbert began.

  “You know the pox can’t be cured, only abated for a few months or a few years.”

  Gilbert rose abruptly. “I won’t let you leave.”

  “You have no choice. I’m going up to get Jared.”

  “You’re not going to take him?”

  Abraham’s smile disappeared in an instant. “Of course I am. I wouldn’t under any circumstances leave him with a woman who hates him the way Harriet does. That would be worse for Jared than living with a father who has the pox, don’t you agree?”

  “No, I don’t. I won’t permit—”

  “You’ve nothing to say about it, Gilbert.”

  Weaving a little, Abraham jerked the library doors open. The ringing in Gilbert’s ears—his feeling of being disconnected from reality—intensified in that awful instant when Abraham swore and stepped back from the listener outside.

  The glass and decanter slipped from his slack fingers, shattering. The splattering rum stained the hem of the maternity gown of lavender lawn.

  “Well,” Abraham said, and again, “Well. I can keep secrets from no one, it seems.”

  Suddenly his face grew ugly. Harriet let out a small, startled cry as he thrust the sore-marked hand toward her face. “You’ve snooped and heard about it, my dear. Now you can see the evidence for yourself.”

  For a moment Gilbert thought Harriet would faint away into the dangerous litter of glass. She clutched her immense belly, looking very nearly as pale and stricken as Gilbert himself. He stumbled away from the desk to intercede before things worsened—

  Abraham acted first, shoving Harriet aside, not gently. “I’m going to fetch my son. You’d be wise to stay out of my way.”

  Chapter VI

  Blood

  i

  ABRAHAM STARTED FOR THE foot of the stairca
se.

  Shadows clotted in the hall. The one lamp burning there had been extinguished by the gusting wind that came with the storm, slamming doors all through the house. The almost constant flickering of lightning cast a bluish tinge over furnishings and faces.

  On the second floor, another door closed, loud as a pistol shot. A nimbus of yellow seemed to float across the landing. One of the maids, invisible behind the bobbing ball of light; the maid was bound for Jared’s room, Gilbert suspected. Frightened of the storm, the boy cried out as Abraham climbed the first half dozen steps.

  Hampered by her swollen belly, Harriet lurched after him. Hands on the railing, she dragged herself up two steps, then two more. She looked behind her.

  “Gilbert—?”

  “Harriet, come down!” he shouted, knowing somehow that the situation was careening toward an ugly conclusion.

  Lightning glowed. Harriet’s cheeks looked sweaty as she hung on the rail at the fifth riser, trying to locate her husband in the gloom of the lower hall. The wind played with distant doors, crash and crash. In Gilbert’s old room, Jared’s incoherent voice grew strident.

  “Help me, Gilbert!” Harriet cried. “You can’t let that filthy creature touch the child—”

  Four steps above, Abraham spun around.

  A drunken feeling overwhelmed Gilbert as he staggered around the shards of glass and the spilled rum. His pulse raced. His head buzzed. It was as if he had taken some unfamiliar drug that had coursed through his bloodstream in seconds, affecting his mind—

  In the next burst of lightning, he saw Abraham’s wrathful face.

  “Such concern!” Abraham jumped down two steps, to tower over Harriet. “Such sudden and unexpected concern for a boy you’ve treated like scum. You’ll pardon me if I don’t believe your little turnabout.”

  Harriet cringed away. “You depraved, bestial—”

  “You’re contemptible!” Abraham roared. “You pretend to protect Jared so you can revenge yourself on me! The worst dock whore has better morals than you, woman!”

  At the foot of the stairs, Gilbert clenched his hands. The wild, dizzy feeling increased. Frustration and fear edged his voice. “I don’t care for your language, Abraham. This is Harriet’s house, and if she wants you to keep away from the boy—”