by B. B. Oak
I did not care for the turn our conversation had taken, and without further comment I strolled away.
Lyman followed me and continued talking. “A man should deliberate long and hard before making a woman his wife. He must consider whether her soul is worthy to hold communion with his.”
He waited for my response to that. I had none.
“Your reticence is to your credit, Julia,” he said. “It conveys to me that you have doubts concerning your own worthiness. But do not fear, my dear. Despite your youthful errors of belief, which I believe can be corrected in good time, I find you most worthy indeed.”
I realized he intended to propose to me and attempted to discourage him before he did. “You do not know me well at all, Lyman, and if you did you would see me in a different light.”
“I see you suffused in sunlight now, and you are flawless in appearance, dearest girl. Does not outward beauty reflect inward spirit? Are not angels beautiful?”
“I am no angel, I assure you. And such talk as this embarrasses me. Pray let us discuss something less personal.”
But he would not desist. “I feel an intense attraction toward you, Julia. And having been a widower for now a year, I am in great need of a wife.” He took off his high-crowned hat and his own high crown and mane of golden hair glowed in the bright sun. “Give me your hand in marriage, and let us become one flesh as soon as possible.”
Such a direct proposition as that left me no choice but to be equally direct in my rejection. “I cannot give my hand unaccompanied by my heart, Lyman. I do not love you.”
This seemed to perplex him. “Do you love another?”
I did not reply.
“I hope it is not Henry Thoreau who you are foolish enough to care for, Julia. After seeing you alone with him up here, I made inquiries concerning him in Concord. He has spent time in jail, you know.”
“Yes, I do know. He was jailed for one night because, on principle, he would not pay his poll tax.”
“And did he burn down a man’s forest land on principle?”
“This I know nothing of, but I am sure Henry would never do such a thing deliberately.”
“Henry is it? So you are on familiar terms with him.”
“He is a good friend, but I am not in love with him, Lyman.”
“I will take your word on that. In truth, I cannot conceive of you giving your heart to such a homely bumpkin as Henry David Thoreau. Yet I have seen you in the company of no other men except for your close kin. Does the man you love reside in New York then? Or in Europe?”
“Stop interrogating me, Lyman. I have not told you I am in love with anyone, only that I do not love you!”
Even though the sun shined directly upon it, Lyman’s countenance grew dark. “Jezebel!” he shouted, raising his hand. For an instant I feared he would strike me. Of course he did no such thing. He only brought his hand to his own cheek and stroked his closely trimmed muttonchop whiskers. “If you do not want me for a husband, why have you so cruelly played with my affections, Julia?”
“Pray give me but one example when I have done so.”
His response was to unbutton his black serge frock coat and silk waistcoat to reveal his linen shirt. Upon it, pinned in the area of his heart, was a shriveled red flower. I stared at it in bewilderment.
“Do you not recognize the rose you gave me, Julia ? Four days ago you picked it from a vine that grew on your grandfather’s picket fence and tucked it into the buttonhole of my coat. I took it to be a symbol of your love for me and have not been parted from it since.”
How I regretted my impulsive gesture! “I gave you that rose because you looked so despondent that morning, Lyman. I hoped it might cheer you up somewhat. That was all there was to it.”
I turned away and began walking back to the carriage. Lyman yanked me by the arm to halt my progress, much as he had yanked the reins on his little mare. I glared up at him, hot anger coursing through me, and demanded he let go of me.
Instead, he grabbed my other arm too, pulled me to him, and lowered his face to mine. I twisted my head away so he could not kiss me on the lips.
“Good Day to you!” a male voice called out.
Lyman released me at once, and we swiveled around to see the peddler Pilgrim coming up the cart path. He tipped his hat to me and then regarded Lyman. They were of the same height, and their eyes locked.
“I know you,” the peddler said. “You are the Reverend Mr. Upson.”
“And I know you to be a tramp of no account.”
“True enough, sir. I am a man of little consequence. Yet I am neither blind nor deaf. I see and hear much as I tramp around, and I remember all of it.” Keeping his steely stare directed at Lyman, he then addressed me. “I am on my way to town, miss. Would you care to walk there with me?”
I could not accept without grossly offending Lyman, and I did not think he would attempt further familiarities with me. “Thank you, Mr. Pilgrim, but I will ride home with Mr. Upson. We were just going, were we not?”
Lyman nodded, picked up his shiny black hat, which he had dropped in order to lay hands on me, and placed it firmly on his head. Pilgrim watched us walk back to the carriage and waited as still as a sentinel till we drove away.
On the way back to town Lyman begged my forgiveness for his untoward behavior. Of course I gave it to him. Less harm had been done to me, after all, than to his own self-esteem. And it was partly my fault! At three and twenty I should be old enough to know better than to give a lonely widower a flower.
“I am comfortably well situated, you know,” he told me after we had traveled in silence for a mile or so. “Although I was forced to resign my pulpit in Plumford a few years ago, I do not need the support of a congregation to get by. I write tracts and treatises that are well received by right-thinking believers, and I am occasionally asked to lecture at Yale and Andover, if not at that den of iniquity called Harvard. I intend to write books that I believe might be as influential as John Calvin’s works, so I do not lack ambition, Julia. Nor do I lack money. My first wife was left a small fortune by her father, which of course became mine when we wed. It is more than enough to support us, my dear, if you become one with me.”
He was renewing his suit! I stared at him with wide-eyed disbelief.
He smiled back at me. “I am not yet forty years old, Julia. I have more than enough vigor to take on a young wife, I assure you.” He slashed his whip across his little horse’s rump. “And I am without any disease whatsoever. I recently had a thorough examination by a Boston specialist who assured me of that.”
“I am happy to hear you are in good health, Lyman,” I managed to reply. “And I hope you will find a suitable wife. But I am not—”
“No! Do not refuse me again today, Julia. My poor heart could not bear it. As for your own heart, I believe I know it better than you do. Although you do not yet realize it, you love me. I see it in your present distress. You are overcome by my declaration and need time to collect yourself. After your emotions become settled, I am confident you will be able to deliver the correct reply to my offer.”
Exhausted by his misdirected fervor, I did not protest further. All I wished to do was vacate the carriage, which I attempted to do as soon as Lyman stopped it in front of the gate. But he halted me by taking hold of my arm once again—more gently this time.
“Wait but a moment, Julia,” he commanded in a low voice. “I would like to call on you next Monday afternoon and receive a more considered answer from you. I promise I will stay away till then.”
That was at least a small reprieve. I nodded assent, and he allowed me to disembark from the chaise.
Of course my answer shall be the same one I gave him today. The only correct assumption he made was that his declaration had upset me. To calm myself before attending to Grandfather, I returned to the garden and picked up my sketchbook. I soon became lost in my work, drawing the intricate tangles of sorrel, calendula, and horehound in the style of Dürer. Suddenly I
caught movement at the corner of my eye. A tall man stepped into the garden, and at first glance I thought him to be Lyman. When I realized it was the peddler, I smiled with relief.
“You came to town fast enough on foot, Mr. Pilgrim.”
“I trotted behind the reverend’s carriage. I wanted to be sure you arrived home safely, miss.”
“Why would you doubt that I would?”
“Do you forget that I saw you struggle with him?”
“Struggle is far too strong a word. I am sure I am not the only female who ever resisted being kissed. I have forgiven the reverend his indiscretion. Indeed, I have dismissed it from my mind and wish you would do the same, Mr. Pilgrim. Pray forget what you witnessed regarding Mr. Upson’s behavior.”
The peddler looked down at the ground and shook his head. “If only I could, Miss Walker.”
“My last name is Bell.”
“Is not young Dr. Walker your brother?”
This annoyed me far more than it should have. “He most certainly is not. We are merely cousins. I must go now and make tea for my grandfather. It is getting late in the day.”
“I beg your pardon for imposing on your time, young lady.”
I had not meant to sound so dismissive. “I have time enough to make you a cup of tea too,” I quickly told him, “and would be most happy to do so.”
He refused my offer with a genteel bow. “Your kindheartedness is to your credit, Miss Bell. But it could also be to your detriment if it induces you to forgive and forget Mr. Upson’s conduct toward you.”
“You are making far too much of the incident!”
“Just heed my words. I will say no more.” He pressed a grubby finger to his lips, bowed again, and took his leave. I fear he might be a bit addle-pated.
So that was my day. Far more interesting than most. Yet somewhat disturbing too. A long, lonely evening awaits me, for Grandfather is already asleep and it is not yet nine. If Adam were here I would ask him to play his guitar for me. He is not very accomplished at it, but I do so enjoy singing along as he strums. I am not very accomplished musically either. Indeed, I am quite tone deaf. But Adam does not seem to mind my false notes. I miss him! I had expected him back this evening, but apparently he has been delayed in Boston yet another night.
ADAM’S JOURNAL
Thursday, August 20th
Well, Finch did not kill me after all, although he did act mighty suspicious when first he came inside. I suggested that he remove his coat because the evening was very warm, but he insisted he was more comfortable keeping it on. I was not so comfortable, however, knowing he kept a flick knife up his coat sleeve. He then insisted on looking all around the downstairs of the house, claiming he needed to feel secure from prying eyes and ears before going into a trance. Or before doing away with me, I thought, not feeling at all secure myself. But I finally got him settled down on a chair in the front parlor and told him to try and relax.
“That goes against my grain,” he said. “As a soldier I have been well trained to always keep up my guard.”
Began to doubt he would be susceptible to hypnosis. But I took out my timepiece anyway. “Please follow the watch’s movement,” I told Finch, gently swinging it back and forth.
Although this method had worked well with Julia and Henry, Finch claimed it was making him more dizzy than calm. I recalled that instead of a moving object, Dr. Braid had used his own lancet case as the bright object to focus on. Not being in the habit of carrying a lancet, I considered asking Finch for his flick knife to focus on but decided that handing it over to me would only increase his apprehension. Tried my watch again, this time holding it steady in front of him. Finch said the ticking annoyed him. Suggested he liken the sound to the beat of a distant Indian drum and soon perceived a gradual relaxation in his posture as he listened. His hands on his lap unclenched, his brow went smooth, and his breathing eased from short and irregular breaths to a deeper, softer, and more even rhythm. When his pupils dilated I extended the fore and middle fingers of my free hand to his eyes. Rather than close involuntarily, his orbs widened, and he drew back his head.
“Hey, watch it, doc.You near poked out my eyeball.”
“I assure you that was not my intention.”
“This ain’t going to work,” he said.
Recalling my failure with Molly Munger, I almost agreed with him. But my stubborn nature would not let me. “I am no quitter, Lieutenant Finch, and I do not believe you are one, either.”
“You are right. As I soldier, I have been trained to persevere. Let us give it another try.”
And so we did. We went through the same procedure once again, but this time I assured Finch he would awaken to the sound of my clap and recall everything he said or did in a hypnotic state. This put him more at ease. Eventually his eyelids began to quiver, and after a moment they firmly closed.
Although he appeared to be in the state of waking sleep I sought, I confess that I briefly considered trying to test the depth of his trance by telling him he would feel no pain and then pricking his finger with a needle. Indeed, I almost reached into the sewing basket on the table beside me for one. But I did not do so for two reasons. First, the man was a soldier, and if he was tricking me, he would no doubt be able to endure more pain in an unflinching manner than I was willing to subject him to. Secondly, if he wasn’t tricking me, such an action would violate his trust in me. So I proceeded with my examination, never at any moment being certain whether Finch was perpetrating an elaborate ruse or if he was in fact recalling what his conscious mind could not reach.
“Go back to the night you arrived at Captain Peck’s home in Plumford,” I said.
After a moment he said, “I am there.”
“What are you doing?”
“The captain and I are drinking whiskey together in his parlor. He can’t keep up with me like he used to, though. He excuses himself, claiming he has to go meet someone outside.”
“When he leaves, do you follow him?”
“No reason to. Have a bottle of whiskey for company. But when it is empty I go looking about the house for more. Come up empty-handed and wander outside to catch the cooler air. Drinking makes me heat up like coke in a forge.”
“You are outdoors now. What do you see?”
“The moon in its last quarter. Such a clear night. How the stars do shimmer! Makes me giddy, and I lose my balance. Land down so hard on the porch step that I am sure I have put another crack in my arse. And damn if I have not bitten my lip.” At that he licked at the corner of his mouth.
“Do you hear anything?”
“Voices. I get up and wander toward them. Get caught up in a thicket and scare up a grouse. It thunders off so loud that I fall back on my arse again. Get up and dust myself off. Feel a fool for getting scared like that by a damn bird. Mightily glad no one is around to witness it.”
“What about those you hear?”
“They are a good distance off.”
“Continue toward the sound of their voices, Lieutenant.”
“I am closer now. They are up yonder in a little open structure with a round roof.”
“Who are they?”
“Can’t make ’em out in the shadows. Two silhouettes, one taller than the other. Recognize Peck’s voice. Not the other one’s.”
“Which is the taller one. Peck or his visitor?”
“Can’t rightly know for sure. Can’t see their mouths moving. But I twig they are talking private, and so I move into the bushes. Step onto a dead frog or toad or something, and the slick mess under my boot sends me down hard on a stump. Hurts like the devil. Not a peep out of me though.”
“Can you hear what Peck and the other man are talking about?”
“Peck is the one doing all the yammering. The other one is just listening now.”
“And what is Peck saying?” I asked as patiently as I could.
“Not so very much. He just keeps repeating how sorry he is.”
“For what?”
&n
bsp; Finch yawned mightily. “I’m getting sleepy out here in the dark. I will lay myself down upon the ground for a bit.” He started snoring.
“Lieutenant Finch, wake up!” I hoped my demand would not pull him out of hypnosis, but it was of little purpose to allow him to reenact his slumber.
He snuffled and sat up straighter. “Those stars sure do sparkle tonight.”
“Good.You are awake. Now please listen again to the two men in the belvedere.”
“Oh, they are long gone. Must have left whilst I was dozing. Best I get up off this damp ground and go to my bedchamber. Very fine house Peck has. With all the refinements. My mattress is stuffed with feathers instead of straw, and I make sure to take off my boots before getting into such a fine bed as that.”
“Before you climb in and fall asleep, I ask you once again if you saw the face of the man who met with Peck at the belvedere.”
“Never got close enough. And he stayed in deep shadow.”
So that was it. I learned no more from Finch under hypnosis than I had over our noon repast. I clapped my hands sharply, and his eyes immediately opened. He stood and stretched his long limbs. “Sorry I could not help you further concerning Peck’s mysterious visitor, Doctor.”
“I am very sorry too. It might have helped save an innocent man.”
“You really think that young Cherokee is innocent?”
“I would not be so determined to help him if I did not.”
“Well, I wish you luck. I am doubtful myself that he murdered Captain Peck. No Indian would scalp a man in such a sloppy manner. They take too much pride in their tortures.”
We shook hands good-bye. Finch told me he has family Down East near the Canadian border and may take up an uncle’s offer to go into the timber trade. I considered advising him to reenlist instead, for he seems a military man through and through.Yet I do not know him well enough to give him such advice. He must have his reasons for leaving the Army. For aught I know, he was asked to. He impresses me as a dodgy, albeit amiable man. If he is Peck’s killer, though, he has fooled me mightily.