The Language of Paradise: A Novel

by Barbara Klein Moss

  A childlike comfort stole over Gideon. His limbs were loose; honey dripped, slow and sweet, in his veins. Leander was right, as he always seemed to be. The fiery liquor had banked to mellow warmth inside him. He chewed his bread and cheese, debating which trouble he should launch into first. The words that burst out of him seemed to have nothing to do with his present state of well-being.

  “I am a miserable failure as a husband,” he said.

  “Such a statement! You damn yourself and dismiss your partner, all in one blow. When I look at Sophia, I see a woman whose affections run deep and steady, though in a narrow bed. She is perhaps overcautious in her expression—a pastor’s daughter, after all—but I have no doubt she feels more than she is free to reveal.” Leander wiped his hands with the cloth and put it back in his pocket. “Of course, I haven’t seen the whole of her. I’ve done my best to win her trust, but she keeps her reserve around me.”

  “I wish you could know her as she was when I first met her,” Gideon said, “dancing in the meadow when she thought no one was watching. Her freedom enchanted me. I thought I was spying on a woodland sprite—so rare is it to find a true child of nature. There was an innocence about her, a frankness . . .” His eyes stung with tears again, and this time he couldn’t hold them back; his emotions surged, too profuse to be contained. “If she had married a man who could love her properly, she might still be that joyful girl.”

  Leander moved closer and covered Gideon’s hand with his own. “We tread in delicate territory, my friend. I wouldn’t pry for the world, but I want you to know that you can tell me anything. If it is a matter of, shall we say, mechanics, many men have such problems. You have only to avail yourself of a few simple techniques. In the East, poets write manuals on the art of love. Here, in the Vale of Righteousness, marriages founder for lack of a little knowledge.”

  “It is not . . . mechanics.” Gideon’s pride overcame his sorrow. “I don’t claim expertise, but whatever I—we—do seems to make her happy. The trouble is in me. I try to share Sophy’s rapture, but the worst of it is that each time we join, I feel less for her.” He turned away from Leander’s level gaze to focus on a pile of planks stacked in a corner. “I saw a girl in a blue dress dancing for her own pleasure, and I wanted her—more than I have ever wanted anything in this world. Even now, when we’re intimate, I close my eyes to the woman in my arms and think of that girl. It may be that I’m only capable of loving from afar.”

  “Earth and air,” Leander murmured. “The elements meet, but do not blend. How should they combine?” His face went slack.

  Gideon felt the withdrawal of the other man’s attention, with some relief. The effect of the liquor had lifted slightly; he was already wondering if he’d said too much. His eyelids had begun to droop when Leander’s booming voice brought him back.

  “How else should a visionary love, but from afar? It’s your nature to take the long view, you cannot change it. I don’t believe you two are mismatched. When I saw you sitting side by side, I knew you were paired for a reason. The qualities that beguiled you are still there. But Sophy stands outside your vision now; she is knocking at the door and you’ve shut it in her face. You must expand your vision to include her. Imbue her with the passion that is in you.”

  Leander had been speaking with great energy, waving his hands about and spreading them wide to illustrate his point. Now he seemed to contract to a cylinder of intensity. “She is necessary, if anything is to happen. Don’t you find it curious that the Bible tells us Adam is made of earth when it is woman who is the ground of all being? She is the one who receives the seed and grows it in her body. Without her, a vision is only an aimless fancy.”

  “I don’t see how an infant will help me to realize my vision,” Gideon said, “whatever form that might take. It will just be another responsibility, and I can’t manage the ones I have.”

  Leander banished all impediments with another wave of his hand. “This is not the time to be timid,” he said. “You and I have met! Our Eve is ripe and waiting! If we’re to carve out a new kingdom, we must have as much audacity as pharoahs and kings and Holy Roman emperors.”

  Gideon was struck dumb. Pharoahs and emperors? New kingdom? Leander’s thigh had relaxed against his, but he felt powerless to move, helplessly aware that he was alone with a very large man in an isolated place. His mother had told him to be calm and slowly inch away should he ever have the misfortune to encounter a lunatic. For several heartbeats, that warning, and the fear that he would never find his way back to the village alone, were the only coherent thoughts in his mind. Then he remembered his thesis. He had given it to Leander weeks ago, and had been intending to ask him if he’d finished it. The section dealing with the sequestered infants had been marked.

  “You can’t mean . . .” he said again.

  “Did you think we would play with words forever? Spend our dotage sniffing out buried roots like the good Reverend? Why not take up coin collecting or spaniel breeding? Nice tame occupations for the seer who does not see.” Leander was drawling, tossing the words away. “I could teach you more about the spirit of the letters. Introduce you to their numerical equivalents, initiate you into their mysteries. But it would take years, and the results would not be certain. I traveled the world seeking out the masters, studied till my brain ached, meditated till the top of my head opened, and what have I to show for it? A few tricks to amuse my students. Even the holy men sometimes fail to gain access, and few stay in that hallowed realm for long. No, my friend, if we are to live in the land you covet, we will have to re-create it ourselves. And a little child shall lead us.”

  Gideon reached for the flask, though he knew it was empty. “You’re not suggesting that I make a child for the sole purpose of experimenting on it. Only a madman could be so cold.”

  “I see I’m rushing you again,” Leander said. “I agree—it’s too soon to think in such grandiose terms. We must proceed confidently, one step at a time. For now, your only concern should be to renew your courtship—and with such a charming object, I can’t think it will be very difficult. Use your wits, my friend. Sprites are shy of men. They must be lured. When you approach Sophia, try to look beyond the construct that society calls a ‘wife.’ The word evokes those dreadful iron maidens that compress a woman’s waist to a size nature never intended. Imagine that you are loosening the laces, one by one, releasing her from matronly armor. Perhaps . . . perhaps the marks of the boned stays are still imprinted on her delicate ribcage. Her white throat arches, her bosom expands.” He touches his chest. “Two dear little birds are released to the air. She takes a full, free breath, her first in hours, a wild creature restored—and looks to you, her liberator.”

  Leander’s voice had lulled, but now his tone turned crisp. “I suggest you give some thought to what the French call ambiance. Do you and Sophia have a retreat, a sanctuary that evokes thoughts of love? Women are more attuned to their surroundings than we are. Our mother Eve was the first to occupy that small red room, you know, when she was only a rib under Adam’s heart.”

  “She used to come to the study every night. It was quite a little home for us, the only private place we had.” Gideon could barely hear himself for the blood drumming in his ears.

  “And she feels that I’ve displaced her. No wonder she is cold to me. What a cloddish old bachelor I am. You can be sure I’ll be more discreet in the future.”

  He stood, vigorously slapping at his seat and the back of his thighs, as if to shake off any traces of regret with the clinging sawdust. “Shall we explore the rest of the house while we still have some light? Now I would guess that this imposing room was intended for a grand salon, or a banquet hall. Can’t you see Miss Caroline admiring her piazzer as she picks at her dainties?”

  CHAPTER 26

  ____

  HABITATION FOR GHOSTS

  SOPHY IS NOT SUPERSTITIOUS, BUT THIS AFTERNOON SHE TAKES the jade rabbit out of her ring box for the first time since Leander gave it to her. Sh
e keeps the box in a corner of her bureau drawer, tucked under her linens. Leander’s other offerings have been trussed up in a handkerchief in the opposite corner. A turkey feather, a red-and-gold button, a flat white stone, a speckled bird’s egg—they simply appear at her place at the table or on top of a book she is reading. She never acknowledges the gifts and doesn’t want to look at them; yet she can’t quite toss them out. Hiding them seems the best solution.

  Is it bad luck to shut luck away? Pent up, does it sour like milk? Quickly she transfers the rabbit to the palm of her hand and strokes its ears, placating. Whoever carved the little creature put so much life into it that it seems fidgety; she would swear to a quiver beneath her finger. She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Please don’t . . .” she whispers, and then, “Please protect . . .” It sounds too much like a begging prayer, and she realizes, once she begins, that she isn’t sure what to wish for.

  Downstairs, someone is knocking on the door: one hesitant, two firm, right on time.

  THEY HAVE SENT Mr. Brown instead of Mendham. There’s luck in that—mercy, too—though the news he brings is all over his face. He takes off his hat and holds it to his chest, leaving wisps of gray hair standing on his pate. The sight of the three of them assembled in the hall, dressed in their Sunday clothes, must intimidate the poor man; he looks from Mama to Gideon, uncertain whom he should address.

  “Come in to the parlor, why don’t you, Mr. Brown,” Mama says. “You might as well be comfortable.”

  Mr. Brown follows her in but refuses a chair, so none of them sits. He clears his throat. “Parson Birdsall,” he says. “As you know, the congregation voted this morning, and I regret that it did not go your way. There were several who spoke up for you—I think your heart would have been touched by their sincere expressions—but in the end, you did not have the support, sir.” He waits, anticipating a fusillade, but no one speaks. “If I may venture an opinion, your gifts are wasted in Ormsby. We’re country folk here, we haven’t an ear for eloquence, or much practice in indulging the imagination, but in Boston you would be among your own. You would be at home there, sir, and your young lady, too.”

  His eyes rest briefly on Sophy, then fasten on Mama. “Fanny—” he says. He was a friend of Papa’s long before Sophy was born; Papa used to say they grew the congregation together. Mama nods and reaches out to take his hand.

  Sophy is proud of her family. Even at this moment, Gideon stands straight and tall, a shining pillar. He thanks Mr. Brown for his efforts in the most gracious way, assuring him that his suggestions will be considered, that he will always be a friend. Mama exudes dignity. She is the soul of calm as she escorts Mr. Brown—rotating his hat in an agitated manner and declaring he never thought he would see this day—to the door. Then, without a glance at either of them, she stalks back to the parlor and plants herself in the middle of the settee.

  Sophy sits beside her. “Mama, we all knew this might happen,” she says. “It’s quite a common thing for a pastor to move from one congregation to another. Remember Mr. Otis from Duxbury? And him with five children. Think of that!”

  Gideon follows her in. He stands before them with shoulders sagging, looking as if he would scrape his forehead on the floor if he could. “Mrs. Hedge—Fanny—please forgive me. I tried my best, but I am not the Reverend, there’s no help for it. I can only be what I am.”

  Mama pays them no mind. She stares stonily at the portrait of her husband over the fireplace. Contemplation has never been her natural state, and it does not become her. In the clear afternoon light Sophy sees how much she has aged since Papa died, deep lines running from cheek to chin, making her face look even longer.

  “Thirty years,” she says at last. “Gone. All gone. Soon you will be gone too.”

  JAMES AND MICAH return later in the afternoon. They had chosen to attend the crucial meeting, though the family was exempted. Micah goes straight upstairs to the attic, but James lingers.

  “You’ve brought it on yourself,” he tells Gideon. “Folks can’t live on fairy tales.” His dogged righteousness could almost pass for satisfaction, Sophy thinks. Since his disappointment in love, he has taken refuge in Papa’s Calvinism and nourishes himself strictly on the dry biscuit of the Word, having sifted out the Reverend’s leavening enthusiasm and buoyant hope. “I doubt you’ll get another parish in these parts,” he says. “You had better give some thought to how you’ll support my sister. Maybe you can do some tutoring until you find a post.”

  Sophy waits in the kitchen in gathering gloom. This first day of April has delivered a light rain, and the muted tapping on the roof suits her mood. The others have retreated to their rooms. The supper hour is approaching, but no one ventures out except Micah, who ducks into the pantry without a word to her, and hurries back upstairs with the remains of yesterday’s loaf tucked furtively under his arm. At half-past five there is another knock at the door.

  “I hope I’m not intruding, Mrs. Birdsall,” Leander says. He taps his slouch hat, releasing a small shower. “After the day you’ve all had, I thought you might be in need of a little restorative. I happened to have a bit of salt beef that Mrs. Pierce was kind enough to bring me for the holidays, and a few oddments left over. If you don’t mind dining on the salmagundi of a bachelor’s larder, I’ll leave them with you.” He hands Sophy a basket covered with a brightly patterned cloth that resembles one of his scarves. The unexpected weight of it almost unbalances her.

  For once, Sophy is glad to see him. “Come see what Mr. Solloway has brought us!” she calls, and in a minute the hall is filled, each of them lured like mice from their holes.

  Half a joint of beef, pickled cabbage from Leander’s own recipe, roasted potatoes, a bottle of Madeira wine, even some coffee in a twist of paper. Sophy arranges the bounty on the table, and they discover hunger in spite of themselves. It is remarkable, she thinks, how the instinct for life persists, even when all seems at an end. They are reconstituted as a family just by the act of eating together. Gideon still occupies Papa’s old place at the table. But from the moment they sit down, the family has a new head.

  There never was a question of Leander leaving. Still, she is dazzled by the easeful way he assumes authority, insisting she and Mama rest while he serves, pouring the wine, getting the conversation going and fanning it when it falters. Gideon says grace, as usual, though it is clear whom they really have to thank.

  “Leander, I can see why you have no need of a wife.” Mama pats her lips with a napkin. “But you shouldn’t have brought so much. You could have eaten for a month on what you’re feeding us tonight.”

  “Better to enjoy it in your good company than at my desk, with a book in one hand and a knife in the other. I felt such a lifting of the spirit after escaping the meeting that nothing but a banquet would do. I’d gladly have brought a dressed pheasant and an oyster pie, but the humble fare before you was all I had.”

  “If you’d stayed till the end, you would know we have no cause to celebrate,” Mama says. Gideon looks first at Sophy, then down at his plate. James and Micah go on eating, the stolid clink of their knives and forks on Mama’s good china the only sound in the room.

  “Dear lady, allow me to differ with you. Change is always a cause for rejoicing. New life, new possibilities! I say we drink to Gideon Birdsall, one of the most extraordinary men it has been my privilege to meet in any corner of the globe. May his future be worthy of his abundant gifts, and may all our stars rise with him.”

  Leander raises his glass, the wine shimmering in the candlelight, and drains it by half. The other glasses are full; no one has indulged except Micah, whose cheeks, always rosy, have turned a hectic red. Now Mama drinks, pursing her lips as if funneling hot soup, and Sophy lifts her glass for Gideon’s sake. She’s only had a few sips of wine in her life, and never cared for more; the sour taste doesn’t appeal to her. This wine is different, sweet on the tongue but a trifle sharp when swallowed: like drinking rubies, Sophy thinks. She is pleased at h
ow easily it slides down, pleased that it tastes the way it looks. Only James abstains, keeping to his customary milk

  and refusing even to join in the toast.

  By the time coffee is served, the atmosphere in the house has changed. The men lean back in their chairs. James lights his pipe and asks Micah if he wouldn’t like a puff, now that he has acquired the vices of a man of the world. Micah obliges, aping the gentleman as he makes a show of sucking in smoke. He expels it less elegantly. “I p-p-prefer wine,” he declares, when he can speak. Mama has recovered enough spirit to protest that the smell of tobacco puts her off her food, but she seems in no hurry to collect the plates and shoo the men into the parlor. Sophy reaches for Gideon’s hand under the table, and is pleased when he gives it a little squeeze. The table is a raft, and they are all clinging to the edges. Knowing what uncertainties await them tomorrow, she wishes they could stay afloat forever.

  Leander offers the bottle around one last time and pours the last drops into his own glass.

  “You’ll never guess what Gideon and I discovered on one of our rambles the other day,” he says. “As handsome a house as I’ve seen since I came back east, marooned in the middle of a wood. Gideon had an idea that you might be the architect, James. If so, I congratulate you. I knew you were an able man, but never imagined your gifts lay in that direction.”

  No one mentions the house in James’s presence. The last time Mama ventured to ask about his plans for it, he didn’t speak for three days.

  Leander takes no notice of the ice in the room. “Architecture is one of my passions, you know. I’ve done a bit of building myself. Gideon is the soul of reticence and would never think to ask, but I wonder—would you consider taking us along the next time you inspect the castle? I’d dearly love to see the interior.”