by B. B. Oak
“On the contrary, dear Miss Bell. To earn my highest regard a woman need only possess the four cardinal virtues. Do you know what they are?”
“Well, I should think loving-kindness is the most essential one. And then intelligence. Along with integrity and good humor. Those are four virtues that have my highest regard in either sex.”
Mr. Upson shook his head. “The cardinal virtues of true womanhood are piety, purity, submissiveness, and domesticity. Were you not taught that in school?”
I shrugged. “If so, it apparently did not make a great impression upon me.”
“Perhaps you just need a better instructor.” Mr. Upson gave me a rare smile.
“My days of such schooling are well behind me,” I told him and made another attempt to retrieve my basket.
But he would not let go of it or the point he was trying to make. “You are still young enough to be properly trained to take on wifely duties, my dear.”
“I’d sooner be trained to jump through hoops.”
His smile vanished. “Such a pert remark as that is an insult to Womanhood,” he admonished me.
“As a woman I do not think it is. But I do not wish to argue further with you.” I was eager to go inside and read the letter from Papa that Mr. Daggett, in his role as town postmaster, had delivered into my hands at the store. It had been forwarded to Plumford from my New York address.
“Nor do I wish to argue with you of all people!” Mr. Upson proclaimed most fervently. “Indeed, I was hoping to find a degree of solace in your company, Miss Bell. I have been most distressed.”
I gave him a closer look. There were deep shadows beneath his light gray eyes, and his fair complexion looked waxen. “What troubles you? Are you ill?”
“I pray that I am not!”
“It does not appear that you have been sleeping well, Mr. Upson.”
“No, I did not sleep well at all last night. My mind was seized by thoughts of my departed wife.”
I ventured to guess why. “Is the anniversary of her death nearing?”
He nodded. I waited, but he said nothing more. Knowing not what to say myself, I plucked the last blooming rose on the vine climbing along the picket fence and tucked it in the buttonhole of his black frock coat. Small as the gesture was, he seemed comforted by it. He silently handed me back my basket, shook my hand most warmly, and departed without another word spoken between us. I own that I was relieved to see him go.Yet I do so want to be kind to him. It is unkindness that is our greatest sin, I believe, and I know I am as guilty of it as anyone else. How I would like to reach a stage in my life where I am always loving and kind to everyone. But I fear I would have to live my life over and over again to reach such perfection.
At any rate, on to Papa’s letter. He claims he has sorely missed me and begs me to return. Apparently he has been unable to find an assistant who can stretch and prime canvases, grind pigment, temper colors, or make pastel chalks as well as his drudge of a daughter. And I surmise he has fallen behind in his work again and needs me to complete a good number of his portrait commissions. Well, gone are the days when I felt honored to forge his brushstrokes. I want to sign my work with my own name. Yet I do feel a certain obligation toward him. Although he may not have been the best of fathers, when he finally took an interest in me he was the best of teachers. I have him to thank for my painting techniques and even for my innate talent, which he insists I inherited from him alone. He reminded me of all this in his letter.
Perhaps it would be best for me to go back to Paris. I cannot very well stay in Plumford after what occurred between Adam and me last night. Oh, how I regret it! No, that is a lie. For if I regret that kiss, why do I relive it over and over in my mind with such pleasure?
ADAM’S JOURNAL
Saturday, August 15th
Capt. Peck sent his house guest Lt. Finch to fetch more laudanum from me this morning. Concerned that Peck had already run through the quantity I had given him in less than a week, I told Finch I would deliver the drug personally. He asked if I had a drug for him as well, one that would overcome the vile effects he was feeling after consuming too much whiskey the night before. I mixed forty grains of powdered willow charcoal with syrup of rhubarb for him. If charcoal can combat poisoning from arsenic, why not from whiskey? Sure enough, Finch said he felt much better after downing my concoction.
He waited for me to hitch up the gig and rode alongside it like an official military escort, although he was dressed in mufti. The lieutenant sits a horse as admirably as an officer should, and I asked him if he had been long out of service. He told me he had resigned from active duty last month and was now looking for a suitable position in Boston. He had served under Capt. Peck several years ago and remarked that he saw a great change in him. He did not ask me what ailed his old commanding officer, but I expect he knew.
We found Peck lying on a couch in the library, much in need of pain relief. He readily admitted to me that he had been using the laudanum overmuch at night to find peace. I had mixed the opium with brandy in a proportion of eighteen drops to one grain of the drug and had warned him never to take more than one dose at a time and to take them no more often than every six hours or the result would be drowsiness or sickness. But his need had overcome his restraint, and now the bottle was empty. He was expecting a visit shortly from a business associate and needed to fortify himself before this man arrived. After obtaining a promise from him that he would better control his intake of laudanum, I administered a dose from the fresh bottle I had brought. He became more alert and sat up. When he noticed Finch at the other end of the room perusing an open folio upon a lectern, he smiled wanly and pushed himself to his feet.
“Come, Doctor,” he said. “I wager you too will take a keen interest in the anatomy lessons the lieutenant is studying.” He took my arm for support and led me to the lectern. Expecting to see medical illustrations, I saw instead engravings of women in compromising positions and lewd postures the like of which I have never beheld.
“The fellow who did these is Pierre LaFarge. Not only is he a master jeweler, but a master engraver too, perhaps the finest in Boston when it comes to work such as this,” Peck said. “Being a Frenchman, he is not inhibited when he depicts the sensual pleasures of life.” His smile slipped away, and his expression became brooding. “Sadly, such pleasures can lead to a life of misery if one is as misfortunate as I.”
Lt. Finch closed the folio and looked away. He was clearly embarrassed, more by Peck’s self-pitying, I think, than the explicit depictions. He murmured excuses about seeing to his horse and left the room.
Peck sank down on the couch again and heaved a great sigh. “Both the Here and Now and the Hereafter trouble me greatly,” he said. “Little wonder I cannot sleep.” I cautioned him again about taking too much laudanum, and he waved away my concern. “I do not intend to shorten my life any more than I already have done by my indiscretions. Instead, I intend to make the remainder of my days on earth as comfortable as I can. But that will take a good deal of money, and I must therefore continue my business ventures despite my weak condition.”
“Do not strain yourself,” I advised. “It would be better for you to rest than to work.”
“There is no rest for the wicked,” he countered. “The Book of Isaiah states that more than once. I know because I was raised up on the Bible. If only I had taken its lessons to heart, I would not be so fearful of where I will end up after death. Oh, I have sinned mightily.” He shook his head, and the lock of white hair that streaked through the black fell across his forehead. “I am not so much troubled by deeds I have done against heathens and such, as by those done against my fellow white Christians. I have followed your counsel and informed them of my sickness, doctor. Two of them, anyway. One more to go. It is not an easy thing to do. Nor have I been thanked for my honesty.”
I would not suppose he had been. No woman could be pleased to hear her lover has syphilis. “You are doing the right thing,” I assured him.
>
His wan smile returned. “Perchance the Devil will not roast me after all.” He tilted his head to the sound of a wagon rattling up his drive. “Ah, I believe my business partner has arrived. Let us go greet him.”
Using my arm for support again, he slowly made his way out to the front porch. The open wagon that serves as Plumford’s stagecoach awaited, carrying not one but two passengers. Neither looked too pleased to have been transported from the Concord railroad station by such a humble conveyance. The stage driver scrambled down from his perch and lifted out the female passenger, who appeared to be light as a butterfly. She was dressed much like one too, in colorful flounces and frills.
“Why, if it isn’t Mrs. Vail,” Peck said, releasing my arm and pulling back his shoulders. He made his way down the front stairs with such a spring in his step that onlookers would have thought I had revived him with a magical potion. The credit goes not to the laudanum, however, but to the pretty little lady with the pinched-in waist and bee-stung lips. Peck, reverting to the charming ways he is reputed to have with the female sex, took up her hand, clothed in a lacey black mitt, and kissed it. “What a delightful surprise, my dear lady. I had expected your husband to come alone.”
“My wife insisted upon accompanying me,” Mr. Vail said, clumsily climbing out of the wagon without aid from the driver, who was now devoting his attention to unloading their baggage. Vail is not much taller than his wife and homely as a stone fence. “Isn’t that right, Lucy?”
The lady did not reply. Perhaps she had not even heard her husband, so intent was she on marking Capt. Peck’s altered looks.
If Peck noticed her astonishment, he did not let on. “Well, it is mighty good to see you at any rate, Mrs. Vail. What a captivating pink bonnet you are wearing.You look as pretty as a picture in it.”
The captain’s so-called silver tongue did not much impress me, for even I could have come up with a compliment less trite than that. Still, Mrs. Vail blushed the very color of her bonnet, so it must have pleased her. “I wore it special,” she murmured. “And here, I brought you this.” She handed him a slender volume. “A book of verse.”
The only volume I had observed in Peck’s study was the folio of obscene illustrations, and I doubt he had much interest in poetry. But he thanked her with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.
The stagecoach rattled off, Lt. Finch returned from the barn, and introductions were made all around. It is interesting to note that Peck introduced me as Mister rather than Doctor Walker. I reckon he does not want his business associate to know that he is ill. Nevertheless, his condition is hard to hide and will only become harder.
Mr. Vail again told his host that his wife had been adamant about coming to Plumford with him, even though he warned her it might be a dull time for her.
“I guess your lady cannot bear to be apart from you, Edwin,” Peck drawled. “And I am sure I can come up with some sort of entertainment to amuse her.” He gave Mrs. Vail a sly, sidelong look, and she got all pink again. He turned to me. “Or maybe my old friend Adam here can suggest something.”
So now I was Peck’s old friend. Pretty soon he would be calling me brother. “The only amusement I can suggest for this evening is a ball game on the Green,” I replied.
“As I recall, the last game ended in fisticuffs,” Peck said. “Such sport might be too rough for Mrs. Vail.”
“Oh, I do not mind a bit of rough play,” she murmured.
“I would very much like to watch a rousing ball game this evening,” Lt. Finch said. “Better yet, I would like to take part in one. I have been playing town ball on the Boston Common of late and know my way around the stakes pretty good, if I do say so.”
“Why, I have often played there myself,” I said. “I wonder that we have not met till now, Lieutenant.”
“When I say of late I mean since I came to Boston two weeks ago.”
“That explains it. I have been staying here in Plumford for near a month,” I said, “playing in games on the Green whenever I can.”
“And winning them,” Peck said. “Adam’s team is always the crowd favorite.”
“Are you in need of another player tonight?” Finch asked me.
“All twelve are set,” I said with regret, for I would have liked a man as fit as him on my side.
“Perhaps you could replace Sergeant Badger on the opposing team,” Peck suggested to Finch. “He left town yesterday, and it is not likely he will be back tonight.”
“Where did Badger go?” Mr. Vail asked sharply.
Peck shrugged. “Off somewhere to douse his rage with liquor, no doubt.”
“Ah, so you gave him the boot at long last,” Vail said.
“No, I could never do that. It was hard enough for me to tell Rufus that certain of his duties will be curtailed. He did not take it well and lit out in a fury. But he will return with his tail between his legs soon enough, begging for another chance. He always does.”
“But surely you cannot ever again trust him to—”
Peck raised his hand to still Vail. “We will talk about this later.” He smiled at Finch. “So what about it, Lieutenant? Would you like to replace Sergeant Badger?”
“In the ball game, most certainly. As for your other proposal, I must think upon it.”
“Of course,” Peck said. He turned to me. “You may have met your match in the lieutenant, Adam. He is much smarter than Badger and won’t be so easily fooled by those tricky throws of yours.”
That will suit me fine. Much prefer the challenge of flummoxing a sharp sportsman like Finch than a simple brute like Badger and look forward to this evening’s game.
Hope Julia comes out to watch. Have not seen much of her all day. Reckon she is avoiding me because of my imprudent behavior last evening. Meanwhile, she does not eschew the company of the dour Mr. Upson. Noticed them together as I drove past the Green on my way to Peck’s. He was carrying her basket, trailing alongside her like a man a-wooing. Had the urge to stop the gig and go knock his hat off.
JULIA’S NOTEBOOK
Sunday, 16 August
The sun will be up soon, and Adam has not yet returned from his patient call. Trump has not returned either. Perhaps he never shall. Henry Thoreau continues to keep watch downstairs.
I have slept but little. Doubt Capt. Peck got much sleep last night either. If only he had not come by with his guests earlier in the evening, no one would be so distressed now. I was quite surprised to see Peck when I answered the knock on our front entry-door. Sweeping off his hat to reveal his fine head of black hair with that celebrated streak of white I have heard Plumford ladies describe more than once, he introduced himself to me, took my extended hand, and held it too long. He also held my gaze too long, as men of his ilk are apt to do, thinking we of the female gender find such ploys irresistible. He then introduced me to his party of three—Mr. and Mrs. Vail and Lt. Finch, the lanky man I had seen riding beside Adam’s gig yesterday morn. Peck informed me that Adam had invited them all to come to town to watch him play in a ball game. This did not much sound like Adam, but how could I dispute it? I informed him in return that Adam had been called away to doctor a very ill child and would not be playing after all. Upon hearing this, Lt. Finch expressed disappointment, for he had looked forward to testing Adam’s skill at the game. He then joined the other players on the Green.
Alas, Peck and his other two guests did not depart with Finch. Rather than go forth and mingle with the gathering townsfolk, they lingered in the door yard, remarking on what a good vantage point it offered to view the game. My inclination was to shoo them off so that I could get back to my painting, but if they were friends of Adam’s I did not want to be rude to them. Putting on my best social smile, I proposed bringing out chairs so they could watch in comfort, and they accepted with such enthusiasm that I began to wonder if they might be expecting refreshments along with seats. I had little inclination to fire up the blasted cookstove on such a warm evening in order to boil water for tea and was m
uch relieved when Capt. Peck suggested that he and Mr. Vail go to the Sun Tavern and fetch beer for the gents and Switchel for the ladies. Mrs. Vail inquired what Switchel was, and when Peck described it as a country concoction made with water, molasses, and a dash of vinegar and ginger, she wrinkled her snub nose. He informed her, with a wink, that rum could also be added if so desired, and this seemed to change her bad opinion of the drink. He promised to return shortly, and off he and Mr. Vail went down the road.
This left me alone with Mrs. Vail, and, knowing the lady not at all, I could think of nothing to discuss beyond the state of the weather, which we both agreed was fine. She kept fidgeting with her garments, as though to call my attention to them. I made no comment when she fingered her lace collar, smoothed her skirt flounces, and rearranged the paisley shawl around her narrow shoulders, but when she took such elaborate care to retie the wide silk ribbon of her bonnet beneath her weak, dimpled chin, I finally gave in and obliged her with a compliment.
“That is a very tasty bonnet, Mrs. Vail. I have not seen one as elegant since I left Paris.”
“I dare say you did not see one so fine as mine even there,” she replied haughtily. “A dear friend had it made for me by one of the finest milliners in Boston, as good or better, I am sure, as any in Paris.”
I saw no reason to argue the point, for hers truly was a handsome bonnet, of the most voluptuous shade of pink, lined with lace frills and trimmed with a marabou plume. Indeed, it had much more character than the insipid face set in it.
Mrs. Vail gave me a careful once-over, as if searching for some article upon my person to compliment in return. Apparently she did not find it, for she remained silent. No wonder at that. I had answered the door in my paint-spattered pinafore, which must have been very off-putting to the fashionable Mrs. Vail. I told her I would bring out some chairs. She nodded but did not offer to help me. I had not expected her to.