The Loves of Leopold Singer

by L. K. Rigel

  On Uncle James’s first day as rear sentinel, Jonnie Zehetner tipped his hat to Eleanor Singer. “Have you come to throw pigs at my feet, Mr. Zehetner?” she teased.

  “Diamonds, Ellie! Diamonds!” he called out, laughing, ready to launch into a clever story about The Farm he’d saved just for this moment.

  Uncle James’s severe stare caused him to back away, and thus was every other young man’s experience that day. The daily walk was accomplished within forty minutes.

  That evening after supper when April passed by the library, a cascade of female belly laughs poured through the slightly open door, and she was engulfed by a wave of well-being. At Mrs. Johnson’s it would have been shocking to hear a giggle. She entered the library, and the girls went dead quiet. They stared at her like rabbits, and she pretended not to notice. “You should be getting ready for bed, girls.”

  “Yes, Miss Westerman.”

  “Good night.”

  “Good night, Miss Westerman.”

  In their room, she found Igraine reading by the fire. “The girls found The Book, I believe.” She poured a cup of tea. “They acted mighty guilty in the library just now.”

  “Ah,” Igraine said. “What would we do without The Book?”

  In her room, Sara knelt to say her prayers. She’d gone to church like everyone else all her life but knew nothing about saying prayers before bed until coming to Miss Fiddyment’s school. There was a knock and suppressed giggling at the door. Eleanor let the girls in, shushing them. What was she up to?

  “Do you have it, Eleanor?” Miranda asked.

  “I do. Now keep quiet!”

  They slept two to a bed. Sara and Eleanor shared a room with Evangeline and Grace Grummond, sisters who’d come from over a hundred miles west. They pushed the beds apart enough to sit in a circle on the floor. With a flourish, Eleanor held up The Book.

  The proper title of this just-discovered forbidden fruit was Ladies’ Guide in Health and Disease: Girlhood, Maidenhood, Wifehood, Motherhood by F. Q. Conniver, M.D., illustrated and indexed.

  They passed it around, each taking in as much as she could before handing it on. The room was quiet, all terrified of being found out and awed by what they read and saw. When the last girl closed the book, they all seemed able to breathe again.

  Miranda let out an embarrassed snort. “Did you see?”

  “Eew!” said Evangeline.

  “Ugh!” said Grace.

  “Never,” Sara whispered to herself. Forget voodoo to stop babies coming. Better not to let them get started in the first place.

  Look What the Wind Blew In

  1829, Shermer Landing

  Storms of late spring pounded the valley for three weeks and with no respite at all for one three-day period. The river was about to overflow, most of the water supply was contaminated, and cholera threatened. For her students’ safety, Igraine wrote to their parents. Though she expected the closure to be temporary, there was no way to know when the school could re-open.

  The Academy had operated for nearly three years, and some of the girls had been there from the start. All but Sara went home in the summers and for Christmas but always with the intention of returning. Now, not knowing when they would next meet, the girls tearfully exchanged addresses and swore undying fealty to each other.

  In the midst of the deluge a letter arrived from England, delivered the day before the school was to close, addressed to Miss Igraine Fiddyment, Headmistress, Miss Fiddyment’s Academy. Thinking it was from Solomon Grasmere, Igraine took it to the kitchen to read aloud.

  “Wait. This isn’t from Mr. Grasmere. The handwriting is different.”

  “Do you know anyone in England?” April asked.

  “No one. It’s about Sara.” Igraine scanned the letter. “Goodness.”

  “Go on, Miss Fiddyment,” said Mrs. Fuller. “Has it turned out she’s a duchess after all?”

  “It may be, Mrs. Fuller,” Igraine said. “Listen:

  To Miss Igraine Fiddyment,

  No doubt you have had a letter from my niece, Penelope Sande Adams, the mother of your student, Sara Adams. Mrs. Adams has written to ask me to take my grandniece to live here at The Branch as my companion. I am assured Mr. Adams also wishes this, and I have agreed to the proposal.

  I enclose funds for Miss Adams’ passage and to purchase suitable necessities for her journey. My niece writes that my grandniece has a servant with her she calls Uncle James. She may bring him if he will come.

  I shall expect Miss Sara Adams to be delivered to me in all due haste. Yours, &tc,

  Philomela Branch

  The Branch, Gohrum, England

  “Goodness,” said Old Kate.

  “But has there been a letter from Mrs. Adams?” April asked.

  Igraine shook her head. “Perhaps it was lost in this bad weather.”

  “We can’t just let her go,” April said.

  “I don’t want to,” Igraine said. “But some Lady Graciousness across the ocean couldn’t have made the whole thing up.”

  They had no claims to Sara, their love for her notwithstanding.

  “I suppose I shall have to go,” Sara said when she read the letter. She forced a smile. “You were worried about what to do with me, what with the cholera.”

  “Oh, Sara, dear,” said Igraine. “I worry for your health. If it were mine to decide, you might stay forever.”

  “And what would Mr. Grasmere say to that? If there’s a place in the world where I have relations, then I must go.” Sara looked at the letter doubtfully. “I'll miss you.”

  “Dearest girl.” Igraine asked for the one thing she had learned never to desire from a student. She well knew that whatever goodwill accompanied the moment of parting, the memory of even a favorite teacher soon fades. “Will you write to me, Sara?”

  “Oh, Miss Fiddyment,” Sara threw her arms around Igraine. “I will.”

  “All the girls but Eleanor will be gone tomorrow. If the weather is tolerable, we’ll collect Miss Westerman and the four of us can go see if the dressmaker is open for business.”

  April was at the door. “Mr. Grummond has come for Grace and Evangeline.”

  “Good-bye, Miss Fiddyment! Good-bye Miss Westerman!” At the front door, the Grummond girls attacked Igraine and April with fierce hugs and tears easily shed and soon forgotten.

  “We will be good!”

  “We promise to come back! Stay well!”

  “Do not catch the cholera!”

  Mr. Grummond tore his darlings away and loaded them into his closed carriage. The rain had let up in a merciful pause, but the wind was furious. Grummond’s horses refused briefly to move but then got underway. As the carriage pulled out, another took its place.

  Two men got out and started up the stairs as if they were familiar with Grasmere House, but Igraine didn’t recognize either of them. She couldn’t match their faces with any of the girls who remained. A blast of cold wind stole the hat from the shorter man to reveal bright red hair and a cheerful countenance.

  The more somber fellow removed his hat at the door. He was taller than his companion, but only a few inches taller than Igraine. He looked familiar now he was closer, but she still couldn’t place him. He was plain, with brown hair and intense blue eyes but an otherwise unremarkable set of features. His overcoat was of fine fabric and well cut, and his face had the rough complexion of a man exposed to the weather.

  “Good day, madam. Is Miss Igraine Fiddyment in?” His voice was soft and a bit melancholy, but with an air of self-confidence.

  “I am she,” Igraine said.

  “This is well met, madam. I am Solomon Grasmere.”

  Josef Could Not Be Less Clever

  Solomon Grasmere’s return caused a minor scandal among everyone but the man himself and his captain, Josef Zehetner. How could two unmarried men stay in the house with two unmarried ladies and the girls? Even if one of those men was the master of the house, it would not do. In the kitchen, the two sailors listene
d to the consternation with amusement and drank coffee made from the Blue Mountain beans Captain Zehetner had brought as a gift to Mrs. Fuller “of whom I have heard nothing but the highest praises.”

  Old Kate was torn between the kitchen and the front door, traveling from delirium at Solomon Grasmere’s return to agony over the going of the girls.

  For the next few hours, as parents arrived for their daughters, Grasmere and Zehetner stayed at the kitchen table and teased Cook and Mrs. Fuller. Winifred Jones went straight to work. “Mr. Solomon, it is so good to have you home again. Now, you must be kind to Miss Fiddyment. She is the best of women.”

  “I am sure you are correct, Mrs. Fuller.”

  “She has run her school and kept the accounts and paid all expenses without once encumbering Grasmere.”

  “I am sure that is exceptional. Do you think two weary travelers might have some of whatever is steaming in that pot, Cook?” Mrs. Fuller sighed and helped Cook put together soup and bread and butter for the men. She could discern no trace of interest on Mr. Grasmere’s part for Miss Fiddyment.

  Regarding Captain Zehetner, however, there was a different tale to tell. “Is Miss Igraine Fiddyment the only teacher, Mrs. Fuller?” he asked when Igraine and April were gone from the kitchen. “Ah, Cook, this is quite a triumphant soup you’ve made.”

  “Triumphant soup!” Cook laughed. “I’ve heard soup called ‘triumphant’ by one person, Captain. I never thought I would hear it from another.”

  “Eleanor Singer, my Uncle Leopold’s daughter, used to make a soup out of anything she happened to throw together. The first time it came out edible, she pronounced it ‘triumphant’.”

  “Why Eleanor Singer is here, a student in this house,” said Mrs. Fuller, forgetting the captain’s first question. She left the kitchen for a moment and returned with Eleanor and Sara.

  Eleanor ran to Josef and fell into his lap with her arms around his neck.

  “Who is this lovely young woman, and what have you done with the little girl I used to know?” Josef said. “Let me look at you, Eleanor.” He stood up and laughed. “Why you are taller than I am! How old are you now?”

  Igraine and April came in to see what the commotion was about.

  “I’ll be eighteen next December,” Eleanor answered.

  “And Jonnie has yet to get a ring on your finger? What is the matter with my little brother?”

  “It’s not for want of trying, sir.” Sara surprised even herself by speaking in a room full of people, and to a stranger. But this captain was a magical person.

  “Yes, and how old are you, Josef? You’re a bachelor yet,” said Eleanor.

  Josef glanced at the red-haired beauty standing beside Miss Fiddyment, the one he had hoped was not some girl’s mother. April was—with everyone—smiling at the vibrant, red-haired captain. “I suppose I am thirty-seven, now that I think of it.”

  “I’ll make you a promise then, Josef. I will marry as soon as you do.”

  “Perhaps I shall have to do something about that, then,” Joseph answered, unaware that his gaze hadn’t left Miss Westerman. “For my brother’s sake.”

  “They are all gone.” Teary Old Kate returned to the kitchen. “But for Eleanor and Sara, they are all gone.”

  “Oh, dear,” Mrs. Fuller said. “What shall we do about sleeping arrangements?”

  Another energetic conversation ensued which went nowhere until Solomon Grasmere held up his hands for silence. “Miss Fiddyment, it is obvious what must be done. The Captain and I will bed down in the stables with the other men for the time being.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Grasmere. I am most grateful.” Igraine was about to say something more, something about how gracious the man was, this being his own home and all. But she forgot. Instead, she was knocked silent by an amazing sight.

  April, her sister teacher, her everlasting friend and fellow spinster, could not take her eyes off Captain Zehetner. And the interest appeared mutual. As this disconcerting information sunk in, Mrs. Fuller winked, Cook nodded, and a slow smile spread over Old Kate’s face.

  “We’ll stow our gear now,” Mr. Grasmere said. He grinned at his friend, entering into the general awareness of what was what. “This way, Captain.”

  Everyone who remained stared at April in amusement and delight until she seemed to come out of her trance. “What?”

  It was too funny—and too wonderful. Her friends burst into laughter.

  Later when Mrs. Fuller was in the kitchen with Cook and Old Kate and no one else, she said, “It is all very well for Miss April to fall for the Captain, but what about Miss Igraine and Mr. Solomon?”

  “Nature will tell,” said Cook as if that meant anything.

  “Snort,” said Old Kate.

  “You two are no help. I’m going to bed.”

  The next morning, the weather was no better. There would be no shopping. Just at sunup, a frantic banging at the front door echoed through Grasmere House. “Yes?” April answered. She had already dressed for the day, thinking she would see to breakfast before the captain set off to see his family.

  “All able-bodied men must come down to the river,” said the boy at the door. “There is flood threatening.”

  “We will be there presently,” Captain Zehetner was there, standing behind her. He must have come into the house through the kitchen.

  “Captain Zehetner, good morning,” she felt nervous and happy.

  “Aye, it is a good morning, Miss.”

  His eyes were just level with hers. She thought she might easily lose herself in the Captain’s eyes, just like in one of Igraine’s stories. “You can’t go. I mean, you must not go without something to eat. Let’s see what we can put into a basket for you—and the other men.”

  “That is thoughtful of you, Miss Westerman.” Josef had found out her name, and he knew now for certain that she was a teacher in the school, had known Miss Fiddyment in Boston, and had never been married. He also knew that she was kind, thoughtful, sweet-tempered, and loyal in addition to being the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. He knew all these things because when he was making up his billet for the night who should come in but Uncle James!

  Speaking with Uncle James, noticing how white the man’s hair had gone, Josef began to feel his own age. He too was no longer young. When did that happen? It might be a good thing to build a house on that land he’d bought years ago and think about settling down.

  Miss April Westerman made a man think that way.

  Cook had been busy, and there was a pot of boiled coffee on the stove. April poured a mug for herself and for Captain Zehetner. “Sugar and milk, Captain?”

  “Yes, thank you. My name is Josef, Josef Zehetner. My father has a farm seven miles outside of town.”

  “Your brother is sweet on Eleanor. He is a fine young man. I am April Westerman.”

  “Out like a lamb.” Josef said.

  “How is that?”

  “March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. The lamb goes out to April, I guess.” Had he ever been so stupid in his life? “Lucky lamb.” Egad.

  April blushed and handed Captain Zehetner a spoon. “So you are Mr. Grasmere’s captain.” It is only obvious, April.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Josef said. “Solly owns half The Sheepshank, and I own the other half. I give the orders at sea, and he gives ‘em on land.”

  “Good morning.” Solomon Grasmere joined the party and learned about the call to action. Soon, all the men of Grasmere House were off to the work lines at the riverbank, all but Uncle James. April, worried he was too old to haul sandbags, had asked him to stay behind to help pack for his and Sara’s journey.

  George Grim Is Not A Hero

  Leopold stopped the wagon at The Grim Abode. Marta joined the other ladies amid the arrival of bolts of hemp and flax fabric from the mill and sand hauled in wagons from the Shermer Landing Glassworks. The ladies’ fingers flew, but by noon they moved slowly, their shoulders stiff after so man
y hours.

  For all their efforts, no piles of work accumulated. As soon as a bag was sewn, a child snatched it away to be filled and loaded into wagon or wheelbarrow and taken to the unending chain of hands at the river passing, passing, passing innumerable bags of sand.

  Every hue of gray textured the sky. Though midday, the gloom hinted of dusk or dawn. On flowed the water, and on. If not for the river’s rising, the scene would fill Leopold’s heart with a sense of the sublime. The distant thunder was weirdly soothing.

  But the river did rise. Lightning kept to the clouds’ topsides. No streaking bolts plunged to the earth. Still the rain fell, and still the river rose, surreal muted booms and soft-lit blinking clouds.

  Jonathan Zehetner, strong as ever, anchored a line that included Jonnie, Dieter, Leo, and now Josef and Solomon Grasmere. Reverend Lightfeather put his lean muscles to the task in a line headed by Leopold Singer that included Samuel and Harry. Capping another line of men was Reverend Grim, with Lyman Grim, and even Martin. No grudge would keep him from this duty.

  “Courage!” Grim’s voice boomed through the atmosphere. “God may send the whirlwind, but He gave us the heart and the strength and the faith to confront that whirlwind!”

  Lightfeather said to Leopold, “I might disagree with his exegesis of Job, but I find no fault in his sentiment.”

  The men did take courage from Grim’s bellowing—or perhaps his volume awakened them. At any rate, the work continued.

  The steady rhythm of receiving and placing bags worked Leopold into a pensive state. A man had been swept away this morning by the river, years younger than Leopold, and his life was over. Leopold would have done nothing differently. His boys were good men. They made him proud. He didn’t mind so much Samuel turned out a preacher. He’d be guided by Lightfeather and not do too much damage. It had all turned out for the good.