by L. E. Waters
I watch Henry’s face, which doesn’t lift in enjoyment of Mr. Allan’s jeer. He stares at Mr. Allan and says, “Shakespeare himself said, ‘it is excellent to have a giant’s strength, but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.’” He then turns back to me. “I’ve been waiting so long to make this trip.”
Mr. Allan straightens at the retort but shifts his papers noisily. “Run along then, boys, A’ve business to attend to. It’s been verry nice to meet ye, Henry, and I hope yer industrious nature rubs off on idle Edgar here.”
My feet can’t run fast enough out of the house, across the back porch and down to the stream where the horses and oxen are watered. Henry strips down to his breeches and wades in up to his knees. “It’s still freezing!” I say.
Henry then sits submerged on the bank to prove his tolerance. “We go swimming as soon as the sun’s high in Baltimore.”
I slowly remove my coat, shoes, and stockings, trying to prepare my feet for the assault. I pretend, once I’m in up to my knickers. “It’s not that bad.”
He then splashes me, soaking the shirt I intended to keep dry. After I catch my breath from the shock, I kick water over his head, which causes him to leap up with a war cry, and I slip on the moss-covered rocks trying to get away. He seizes me, floundering, in the water, and we roll each other down the stream, stopping only when overcome with uncontrollable laughter.
I creep to a sunny spot and bask in the warmer shallows. Henry follows.
“I remember how you and I would play revolutionary spies all around the theater.”
The misty thought returns. “I’d forgotten all about that.”
He nods proudly. “You were Major André and I was a triple agent.”
I repeat the foggy name. “Major André.”
He shrugs. “We must have picked that up from the actors. But it sure was fun.”
“Have you met Rosalie yet?” I ask, secretly hoping he’d come to see me first.
He sits up slightly. “I have. Since Mr. Allan never returned any of my letters, I had to ask the Mackenzies how to find your house.”
“You wrote letters?” The thought nearly seizes my heart.
He takes some gulps of water and then spits it up to land on the wide forehead that mirrors mine own. “Quite a few. Wondered why you never returned them, but after I met Mr. Allan, the mystery was solved.”
His quick assessment is incredibly reassuring. “My large-hearted, benevolent savior.”
“Verry benevolent.” He bleats.
After peals of laughter, I follow, “Verry industrious.”
“Verry asinine.” Henry and I have to lift our heads to keep from going under the river with our giggling.
Once I recover, I remember, “How did you find Rosalie?”
“Her letter instructed the way.”
“No, you numbskull, I mean what did you think of her?”
He takes a moment. “If you’re hinting you found her to be a bit backward, then she most certainly is. But she is still our blood, so that is the last time I will mention that.”
My cheeks burn for bringing it up.
He continues, “She’s got the prettiest palomino hair though. Not like Ma’s, but possibly the lightest color I’ve seen on a girl.”
I nod. “I’ve only seen her twice.”
“Twice! You live in the same city.” His indigo eyes catch fire. “It’s a terrible shame what’s happened to us. You, me, and poor little Rosalie.”
“You? I’d always imagined you living like a prince with our grandparents.” My jealously is hard to disguise.
He scoffs. “I was almost sure you and Rosalie had it better, living with two of the richest families in Richmond, next to each other. I thought I’d come here and the two of you would have no time for me.”
I let out a long-held breath. “So it wasn’t an easy life for you either?”
A slow shake of the head says it all. “After living with them I see why Pa drank so.”
“Pa drank?”
He whistles. “Like a priest after confession. He used to drink to conquer stage fright, but it all caught up to him. Ma made him leave, he was in such a state.”
I can’t find my voice, but when I do, it comes out all choked. “Is that why he never came back for us?”
“No one ever told you?” Henry throws a rock upstream. “He’s as cold as a wagon tire. Died only a few days after Ma in Virginia. Of the same consumption that got Ma.”
“How foolish…” My stomach flops as if I’m about to fall. “I guess I thought he might always come for us.” Jane’s lunch of oysters and sweet potato pie turns violently in my stomach, and I struggle for the bank too late. The horrible mix of pinks and yellows swirl in the frothy current and spins in the small whirlpools behind rocks.
“Yuck!” Henry cries as he dodged the colorful concoction. “You are definitely worse off than I am.”
He gathers his things and throws his wet, heavy arm over my soaked cotton shirt, and we walk all the way to Jane’s house without putting our shoes on.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
“Where on earth are your shoes, boys?” Jane giggles as she holds the door open for us. “And you’re both soaked!” She grabs a few fresh white towels from a stack and covers both our shoulders. She smiles as she searches Henry’s face. “Who have you brought with you, Edgar? I think I’d remember those eyes.”
Henry beams and I know in an instant he understands why I brought him here.
“This is my brother, Henry.”
She looks confused for a moment. “Your brother? I didn’t know the Allan’s had another son. Where have they been hiding you all this time, Henry?” She busies herself immediately with filling a silver tray with pastries and dried fruits left over from breakfast.
“No, Henry is my true brother. We’re orphans, and we were separated and I reunited with him today.”
Her hands freeze above the tray for a moment, and sadness etches lines I’ve never seen around her eyes. “Well, Henry, I should have known you were his full brother since you are every bit as handsome as Edgar.” She finishes pouring some lemonade and tells us to follow her out. “Robert’s off fishing with his father. You will just have to entertain me until he gets back. I’m sure he would love to meet Henry.”
She rests the tray but stares at the towels around us. “Now we can’t sit in the parlor like this, so off you both go to borrow some clothes from Robert. And bring your wet clothes back out so I can dry them for you.”
I walk down to Robert’s room with Henry and we search through some of his more worn clothes.
“She reminds me of my Aunt Clemm.”
“Pa’s sister?”
He nods. “Not half so pretty as Jane but the sweetest woman. She and her daughter live with us, widowed and all.”
I’m glad he has someone like Jane in his life.
“Henry, do you think Pa would have come back for us if he didn’t get sick?”
“What do you mean?”
“If he did sober up, and wasn’t sick when Ma died, don’t you think he would have come back for us?”
He takes a moment, studying the shell buttons carefully. “I never thought of that, but maybe he would have.”
We bring our damp clothes back with us, but when I hand Jane mine, my journal drops out on the floor closest to Henry. We both leap for it at the same time, and the blood rushes to my face when Henry grabs it up first and opens it.
“Give that back.”
Henry holds it above his head and no matter how much I jump, I can’t reach.
Jane tries to part us to no help. “Henry, give the book back to Edgar.”
“I’ll give it back to him if he tells me what it is. Naughty drawings?”
Jane now blushes, afraid of what the journal contains. “Give it back to Edgar at once.”
“It’s my poetry.”
Both Jane and Henry’s eyebrows rise. Jane holds her hand out for the journal, which Henry hands to
her willingly. She pulls me aside. “I would never ask you read these, but I want you to know I would feel honored if you would share them with me someday.” She places the journal in my hands, as Robert comes bounding into the room, incredibly confused as to who Henry is and why we’re wearing his clothes.
“I hope you caught some big fish because we have two more guests for supper!” Jane cheers.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
On our way back to Henry’s coach, Henry says, “You know, I write some poems as well.” He shakes it off. “Not anything like Shakespeare or Dante, but I’ve got a few good stanzas started.”
I hand him the journal now and he stops in the fading field. The tree frogs can be heard off near the river. He flips through the first ten pages without any change in expression. I start to pace, staring at the new grass until he shuts the book with a clap. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”
Which was enough for me and when we reach his coach, I wish I could invite him to stay the night, but I’m not sure if Mr. Allan would approve. “Do have somewhere to go tonight?”
“Mrs. Mackenzie has invited me to overnight with them before leaving tomorrow.” He opens the door and removes something from his luggage.
Jealousy seems to follow every time the Mackenzies are mentioned.
“Do you think we’ll see each other again?”
Henry studies the moon rising in the other half of the sky. “As sure as the moon rises.” His smile makes a promise.
I nod as he tucks something in my hand but distracts me with a strong hug that almost robs me of breath, but I welcome its force. His coachman closes the door and I can only wave. Henry sticks his wild-haired head out the window. “Write me some more of your poems, little brother!”
I open the paper to see William Henry Leonard Poe’s address.
Chapter 7
I shove the stocky kid, who’s getting too close to my face. “None of your damn business.”
School is out, and the scuffle draws the attention of the boys.
“How come you’re not an Allan?”
All the boys face me, obviously glad he’s been brave enough to finally ask.
“My name is Poe.” I turn around to pick up my books and head to Jane’s. “Come on, Robert.”
Robert hovers for a moment, thinking it might be a good time to befriend some of the boys, but I yell, “Robert!”
His footsteps crunch up beside me, along with twenty others.
The stocky kid persists. “Aren’t you adopted?”
I look out at the shiny James River and come up with a distraction. “How many of you think I can swim six-miles up this river?”
Most of their mouths drop open, as they factor in the heavy tide.
“Na-ah,” the troublemaker says. “That’s impossible.”
Another boy chimes in. “No one’s been able to swim more than three miles.”
I strip down to my breeches, and the hot July sun glares off my pale skin. If I can swim the six miles then that would be glorious, and if I fail then it would at least keep them talking about matters other than my last name. I hand Robert my clothes and books, and he cradles them as he readies to run alongside me. Excitement is thick in the air and growing. I dive in and welcome the crisp water on my hot, mid-summer skin. Smiles beam on all their rotten faces as the threat of danger grows with every heavy roll of the river.
“It’s six miles to the Johnston Plantation!” Someone calls out. With that, I sink my face beneath the dark green water and throw my first strong strokes. I swim for hours, and each time I stop to check my position I find more followers than before. Near the end, a newspaperman is even cheering me on! A parade shadows me, and when I reach the plantation, cries erupt and some boys jump in to congratulate me and cool off. My legs are wobbly upon exiting the river, but the boys lift me up from the bank and over their heads. I switch from the object of curious ridicule to a town hero and record-breaker within a few hours.
Robert, proud of me again, holds up my books and says, “I’ll carry these for you. Do you think you can walk home?”
“Home? We’ve got to go tell your Ma about this!”
As soon as we enter the porch, Jane’s face flashes with worry since Robert is all but carrying me at this point. “What is the matter, Edgar?”
I wait for Robert to inform her since it sounds much better than reporting my own triumph.
“Ma, you should have seen it. Edgar swam six whole miles up the James, against the tide! It’s a record, Ma. Even the papers were there.”
He sits me down in a large Windsor chair. I see a mix of pride and worry in her pretty face. “You’re sunburned badly on your neck.” She winces as she takes a look down my shirt. “And all down your back I’m afraid. What were you thinking? Hours in the bright sun without cover. I bet you’ll be blistered by supper.” She calls her house slave and tells her to fetch her some salve.
I can think of nothing better than to lie in Jane’s parlor as she cools the burns with her thin little fingers. I knew she’d be caring like this. So gentle and careful.
Robert leaves to tell his father about my feat, and I take the opportune luck of the day to reach into my coat and remove my journal.
She smiles as soon as she sees its cover. “This is a great time to share.”
I read her each one, some of them she requests a number of times, and at the end she claps, her fingers covered in minty smelling goo. “Oh, Edgar, I knew you’d be a decent writer, but your gifts astound me! Truly astound me.” Wiping her hands on her apron, she pulls me to her and looks into my eyes. “Is this your dream, Edgar?” She searches. “Yes, I can see it in your eyes. This is your passion. You must, must promise me something. This is what you were made to do. You should always go after your dreams. Tragedy always ensues when a dream is snuffed out.”
“But I’d have to go to university to pursue a career in writing.”
“You’re a smart boy. You can attend university if you try.”
“It’s not that I can’t aspire to it, but that Mr. Allan doesn’t have the finances at present to fund it.”
“Oh.” She says and stares at her long nails. “I wish I had the means to send you on scholarship, but we’ll have just enough to send our Robert.”
Lucky Robert.
“It’s no matter. I’ll find a local occupation that suits me well.”
“Oh no. I won’t have it. Talent like this must persist and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I must fetch my journal from my library, dear. I implore you to copy all your poems down in my book so I can one day brag about having the first copies of Edgar Allan’s literary delights.”
“Edgar Poe.”
She stops dreaming for a moment and says, “You are not an Allan?”
I shake my head. Must I have this embarrassment twice in one day?
“And all this time I’ve been calling you by another name! Poe then, Edgar Poe…sounds so much more distinguished and interesting. I prefer it actually.”
She is like King Midas and can turn any dingy thing into gold. She dots me on the nose as she gets up to fetch her journal.
A carriage pulls up to the house, and her boy tells her it’s Mr. Allan.
Why would he come here?
We walk out to the parlor and there he stands, with the brightest expression I’ve ever seen on him.
“Edgar! Weill done, my boy! The whole town was in such an uproar. Still is. Charles came and fetched me from my office, and I got to see ye swim yer last mile.” He comes over, as if he is about to hug me, but decides on a rough pat on my sunburned shoulders instead. I fight the wince and Jane comes to my aid quickly by asking Mr. Allan to have a seat for some lemonade. “I won’t be long, and don’t want to put ye out. I simply wanted to congratulate my son.”
Son.
He gives me one long, almost proud look. One I have only seen when he finishes raking his winnings across the table after Sunday poker or when having a good month after the harvest. Ne
ver has he given me this look.
“A’m off to buy a few newspapers for Mrs. Allan to see. We’ll see you at supper tonight, Edgar.”
Supper. Together.
He leaves as quickly as he comes in, but I stand in wonderment that it’s indeed possible to make him happy…and proud. What have I been doing wrong all this time? If I try my hardest and reach for excellence, he might be pleased with me after all. Might even want to give me his name.
Chapter 8
I stroll along the muddy road on a mild winter day. As soon as I see the carriages in the driveway, I wonder if Jane is having company and hasn’t told me. She usually can’t keep such events a secret, since she plans for them days in advance. I almost turn away, unsure if I should make an appearance without an invitation. Jane would never think that way, but others might object to a youth attending a ladies’ tea. But when I spy the doctor’s sign on one carriage my feet spring into action before my mind can process. I pray he’s there for Mr. Stanard or even Robert, anyone but Jane.
When I enter the house without knocking I see the ladies’ long faces in the parlor, and I know whoever it is, it’s serious. The neighbors stare at me with lacy handkerchiefs held under red noses. I search for a familiar face and, finding none, I walk into the keeping room. There stands Mr. Stanard and the doctor. They don’t notice my presence in the shadow of the open door.
The old doctor says, “There was nothing I could have done for her.”
Her.
Mr. Stanard has his back to me and his head hangs low.
“There was nothing you could have done for her either. Even if you or Robert had been here, there’s nothing you could do for such an unexpected event. She most likely didn’t even feel her passing.”
Something low in my belly rises up into my stomach, sending a shriek through my gaping mouth. The sound I have no control over and can hardly recognize as my own. Mr. Stanard spins around, his swollen eyes searching for the creator of the audible assault.
I ring out like a siren, barely breathing, yet the sound never falters. Ladies’ hands grab me from behind and try to draw me from the room, but the sound breaks as the rest of the ache pours out from the center of me. The part that is molten lava, eating away all that is inside of me. The center of me, grown by Jane’s affections. Now burned and liquid, it keeps draining from me onto the cherry wood floor.