MR. GRAY INSTALLS A BISON. ELSWYTH QUARRELS WITH HER FATHER. LOUISA BREAKS A CASE OF MOTHS. MR. BUELL’S CHARACTER IS DEBATED.
ull arms around it, Joseph Gray wrestled the giant bison until they were both standing. It frowned in ingratitude, its fur mangy and terrible. Stuffing overflowed from the seams. I should put him behind glass, Mr. Gray thought.
Louisa was startled when she saw her father that way, holding a furry monster as though they were dancing.
‘Father, I can’t find Grapes.’
‘Grapes?’ He wiped his brow with one hand while the other steadied the great behemoth.
‘My greyhound. My favorite.’
‘Oh, that old thing,’ he said. ‘You’ve too many hounds. I’m certain he’ll return. That is the nature of a well-fed dog. If his heart does not, his stomach will surely lead him back.’
‘He was scared by the thunderstorm. He’s been gone a week. I miss him.’
‘He’s probably out running with other dogs.’
‘Will you look for him?’
‘Little kid-doe, I have plenty to look after in this buffalo at the moment.’
Louisa stared at the bison dejectedly, keeping her distance. ‘Where did that ghastly thing come from?’
‘A wealthy historian provided a great deal of money for my museum,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately he also gave me this buffalo. I’m afraid we have to display it before he arrives for the gala.’
‘That’s silly in a museum for birds.’ The bison’s glass eyes were covered in dust and looked quite unconvincing.
‘Aunt Anne said he must be installed and we don’t question her, do we? Your mother had five more sisters than you, all in league. Can you imagine arguing against six sisters? Mr. Buell helped me haul him up here and promptly disappeared. I’m not quite sure what to do with a buffalo.’
They stood, contemplating the enormous problem in the museum’s dedicated display hall. About them were a great many cabinets, cases, and boxes, containing all manner of birds. Mr. Gray himself had selected the matching wood and had overseen the construction of the displays. Some were large enough for ibises, other small drawers were the proper dimensions for rows of ruby-throated hummingbirds.
‘He certainly draws attention to himself, doesn’t he?’ Louisa said. ‘Why don’t you decorate him?’ she proposed. ‘If I am unhappy with a room in my dollhouse, I’ve found simply changing the furniture can do a world of good. Or I just add more people till the room is full, like a wedding party. Maybe he needs a bride?’
‘I’m afraid one buffalo is quite enough for my Museum of Flying. We shall have to put up with him. No money arrives without strings attached. I dread what will be foisted upon us at this year’s gala.’ Mr. Gray sighed. ‘Maybe you should run along and look after your missing hound.’
‘What if we pin butterflies and moths about him, as though he is just lolling about in a field somewhere?’ Louisa asked. She pointed to the moth case, her favorite.
‘He looks as though he’d devour all the butterflies of the field,’ Elswyth said. She lifted her skirts to step through the small doorway. She hardly glanced at her younger sister. ‘Father, may I have a word with you?’
‘You should be in bed…’ he began.
She cut him off, her voice immediately at a querulous pitch. ‘Why ever would you send Mr. Thomas away?’
Mr. Gray smoothed his hair back with one hand, propping up the bison with his other. ‘I had a very important errand. He was the one to do it. He is in my employ after all. He is to collect specimens from the western territories. There are many examples this museum is currently lacking. I asked him to…’
‘Father, he was my suitor!’ Elswyth said. Her face was flush with indignation. Louisa pulled nervously at a ribbon in her hair.
‘My dear, calm your voice. He should not be courting you. You’ve always spurned him. And you certainly didn’t fuss when he left.’
‘I was ill. How was I to know?’
‘Didn’t we agree Mr. Thomas was a bit below your stature? I know I have not gifted you girls noble blood, but we have made great inroads in Chicago society. You certainly have a chance at a husband with a good fortune and pedigree. Think of your sister. Think of the Gray name.’
‘What should that name mean if I’m only to replace it with another’s?’
‘Mr. Thomas is not your only suitor. What of Mr. Buell?’
‘I refuse to receive him any longer. He is piggish, Father, a leering peccary.’ Elswyth’s voice was snippish.
‘When it comes to the museum, he is to the manner born.’
‘To the manor, more to the point. Mr. Thomas is intrepid. He will make his own fortune. You know how he arrived?’ She turned to Louisa. ‘He made his way quite independently to Chicago by railcar and steamer, walking the last leg himself. When he arrived he had only his muddy boots hung from a stick on his shoulder and a flask of whiskey, to bathe his blistering feet, not to drink. He was carrying his boots so he could look for work the day he arrived. He came straight to the museum.’
‘And that is why I chose him for my errand. He is possessed of a dogged determination. But should his character fail in the end, I won’t have you made a pauper.’
‘I have never spied a silver spoon in Mr. Buell’s mouth, though it is often hung open. If he does have money, he certainly doesn’t spend it on his clothing. As to noble lineage, he tells stories that are quite fantastical, and that is least amongst the reasons I no longer receive him.’
‘If you must marry one of my employees, why wouldn’t you choose him? Mr. Buell at least comes from good blood. A much more appropriate choice given his stature here. He understands my endeavor more keenly than any.’
‘Then why not choose him to be the honorable errand boy?’
‘Because he is of greater use to me here.’ Mr. Gray shifted the bison’s awkward weight to his other arm. ‘About all Mr. Thomas is good for is tinting the pattern plates. He possesses no imagination. Mr. Buell must be the one to draw them, as his skill in that is far superior. Not to mention he can taxidermy, catalog, and set type. If this museum is ever to produce a guide of repute, then he should be the one to oversee it.’
‘Mr. Thomas can catalog. He is flighty but entirely loyal to you, Father. He works hard at whatever he sets his mind to. It isn’t his fault if he doesn’t know how to court me properly. Shall I be courted instead by his portrait?’
‘He doesn’t know the proper way to do most things. True, Mr. Thomas can catalog, but in the way any common bird watcher might. You, my dear, are a better filer. He has not paid sufficient attention to his studies. He has no great talent for species identification. Mr. Buell is a gentleman and a scholar.’
‘A good employee is different from a good husband. And he most certainly is not a gentleman, Father. My fencing lessons are an ordeal. He talks about my form in the most improper way.’
‘I like my fencing lessons,’ said Louisa. She was fiddling with the latch on the moth cabinet, locking and unlocking it. ‘The lightning bug is missing.’
‘Don’t play with that, dear,’ Mr. Gray said. ‘Elswyth, you gave me no indication that you were serious about Mr. Thomas as a suitor, and besides, the thing is done. So you’ll have to become accustomed to the fact. The task that I need him for is no small matter. In fact, it is essential. To our museum and livelihood both. If he does not…’ Suddenly there was a great crash. Elswyth reeled, and the bison nearly slipped from Mr. Gray’s grasp. Louisa had pulled one of the moth drawers out too far, and it came loose from the cabinet and crashed to the ground, shattering the glass.
She stood helplessly, tears pooling in her eyes. Her feet were surrounded by shards of glass and bent moth wings.
‘Elswyth, come hold this blasted buffalo,’ Mr. Gray shouted. She hurried over to replace him as the specimen’s prop. Mr. Gray took three loping steps toward Louisa, then lifted her free of the glass with some effort. ‘You are trouble, kid-doe. You help your sister hold the buffalo and I�
�ll run and fetch the broom.’ Louisa put one hand on the bison’s knee and wiped her cheeks with the other. Mr. Gray hurried off.
Louisa mournfully peered out of the great display windows onto the boulevard outside. Her sister huffed. She loved summer in Chicago, especially the tree-lined street on which the museum was located. The branches moved placidly in the breeze, and she wondered to herself why her father should want to spend all his time indoors stuffing musty birds when the ones outside were bursting forth with songs of life. He said Chicago was being built too hastily. He found the whole business shoddy. Elswyth would often echo this complaint, if he passed through a room where she lay, draperies drawn. Hay fever was her excuse for never venturing out-of-doors.
‘You should try and grow up a bit,’ Elswyth said to her sister. ‘Have some grace. You are always destroying things.’
‘No I’m not.’ Louisa stopped sniffling to scowl at her sister and the bison both.
‘You are so. Just this morning I found a fingertip cut from my gardening gloves. Who do you suppose did that? We treat things properly in this house. You heard Father. His fortune isn’t endless.’
‘My doll needed a bathing cap.’
‘A doll’s bathing cap? Simply absurd.’
‘What am I supposed to do until Father finishes building my room? I’m bored.’
‘You might come downstairs and spend time with the living versions of us, rather than manipulating dolls in your little dramas. You can’t go on playing at that. You’re too old to waste all the hours of the day moving pretend people about.’
‘I like my dolls. Maryposa was going on an adventure, and needed to look modest in case they had to ford a river.’
‘You don’t bathe in a river.’ Elswyth straightened Louisa’s plaits, one of which had started to come undone. ‘Father put the museum right near Lake Michigan so we could go and bathe when it pleased us. You should do that instead of making up stories about rivers.’
‘I’m sorry I cut your gloves.’ Louisa looked as if she might cry again.
Elswyth sighed. ‘It’s fine, don’t be a tittymouse. Put both your hands on the buffalo. It’s heavy.’
Louisa did as she was told. ‘It’s just making up stories. Like Mother did. Soon Maryposa is adventuring to the west with Wild Zed Blackfoot.’
‘And who, pray tell, might that be?’ Elswyth’s arm ached terribly from holding up the bison. She leaned her back against it instead, pressing her feet into the floor.
‘Wild Zed lives in Texas Territory and he’s twice as tall as any man, but skinny enough to sleep in a log, and he can talk to all the animals, and knows their language, and birds make nests in his hair…’
‘Where on Earth did you hear this nonsense?’
‘Mr. Buell told me all about him and his deeds.’
‘You shouldn’t listen to that man’s foul stories. I’m quitting my fencing lessons as of this minute. I certainly don’t have to see that boar, much less entertain the idea of marrying him. Don’t tell Father.’
‘Mr. Buell says we don’t always have to fence at fencing time. And instead sometimes he tells me about Wild Zed and how he met him and went on trips too, and how Maryposa and I could go too because every gentleman needs a companion, even Wild Zed Blackfoot.’
‘At least Mr. Thomas can be believed.’
‘We talk about our adventures together, and sleeping under the stars, and meeting all of the animals of the world and speaking to them in their language…’
‘Stop all this nonsense. Louisa, you mustn’t indulge in fantasies. Life is about making do. All we have is the blood we are born with. Father is trying to be practical. He is just too stubborn to see. We don’t have to marry whom he chooses. We simply must tolerate his interference. There are other ways we might change our circumstances.’
‘Mr. Buell is nice. Besides, you don’t like any men. You said Mr. Thomas was a bird-man.’
‘That’s entirely different. You and Mr. Buell ought to stick to fencing. Quiet. I hear Father.’
Mr. Gray returned with a broom and began to clear away the mess. ‘That buffalo shall have to go to the workroom until I can stabilize him. I’ve got to get him prepared and behind glass before the gala, or I shan’t receive donations of any kind anymore.’ He coughed into a cloud of dust. ‘I don’t think young women will be allowed in the museum display room anymore, either, until it is complete,’ he said. His voice was not unkind.
The sisters looked down with shame.
‘This buffalope smells horrid,’ said Louisa.
ELSWYTH VISITS HER AUNT. A DARK PROPHECY IS FORETOLD. ELSWYTH REFUSES THE LIFE OF A SISTER.
Elswyth knocked repeatedly on the door to her aunt’s cottage. It had been converted from a coach house when Aunt Anne had come to stay with them. Elswyth’s father needed help after his wife died. Her sister had been kind enough to volunteer for the duties, which seemed temporary at first but became more fixed by the day. It was as though Mr. Gray took orders from his wife’s weird Sisters, doing only their bidding.
The converted coach house was a perfect example. The carriage was in the street, and Elswyth didn’t know where it would be kept come winter. Aunt Anne had made herself quite at home in the coach house. Being an Auspex and a vestal woman, she had resolved to live separately from any house in which a man also resided.
Elswyth did not like disturbing the cottage. Her aunt did not care to be bothered. Besides, she had filled the little room with a menagerie of the strange and vile.
After much shuffling about inside, the door creaked open, a strange smile stretched on her aunt’s face. It quickly dropped away when she saw the state Elswyth was in.
‘Why dear, please come in. Whatever is the matter?’
Elswyth hurried into the darkened room and perched at the rough wooden table. Stale air hung low in the cottage. She took small whistling breaths to keep from bursting into tears.
‘Do you think Mr. Thomas will write?’ She twisted her hands around one another. ‘Am I to die an old maid?’
‘I’m surprised he hasn’t already. I’ll make some tea. Let’s see what can be done.’ Aunt Anne removed her withered hand from her niece’s back and reached up into her shelves of ranged jars and canisters. They contained the most curious preparations. Some were labeled: ginger, holly, tar, castor oil, horn of toad, spirits of wine, even goose feathers, all preserved in glass jars.
Aunt Anne had seemingly carved two round holes in either side of the coach house for ventilation. She removed one of the wooden slides now, which let in a modicum of light. It allowed her to find the jar of tea. She set some to steep in a pot of water.
‘Would you like a bit of batty-cake with your tea?’
‘I could stand never to eat again.’
‘For dinner tonight I have rabbit, fried potatoes, and straw-berries. Surely you can’t refuse such a meal as that?’ Aunt Anne set two tin cups down at the table and adjusted her spidery shawl around her shoulders. ‘My child, I desire to be a comfort to you in this, but I must speak plainly: I share your anxiety for his return.’
Elswyth sat up at this pronouncement, tugging at her sleeve. ‘Can you augur news of him?’
‘It’s true he came to see me before he left, and I sent my soul out walking ahead to learn what I could from the fates.’
‘And what did you see?’ Elswyth had little patience.
‘I met a soul, a strange girl of the wild lands to the west, and she foretold grave dangers for our poor Mr. Thomas. War, injury, snake-storms, all manner of calamity, the half of which I could not bring myself to tell him. It all blended together, as in a nightmare, and my own clairvoyance was clouded by the ways of this girl.’
‘A girl existing in your head?’
‘In my alchemy.’ Aunt Anne’s voice diminished to a serious rasp. ‘When I finally wrested my own thoughts back, in a flash I saw one of the bristling Beasts of Revelation, his black jaws round Mr. Thomas’s throat.’
‘Religion is not what I n
eed at the moment, I do believe.’
‘You have the blood of my Sisters, Elsie. The vision runs through our family. It only requires cultivation. Now is the time, when change is afoot. I think you ought to return to your mother’s book and read what is written there.’
‘I have. Many hundreds of times.’
‘Sometimes it matters most when you read a thing. The City-State concerns the future of this family’s bloodline. Before you are wed you need to read it more deeply. Your mother wrote it for you. Your path is contained in those pages. I’ve seen it.’
Elswyth frowned. ‘I’m envious of those who believe in dreams, presentiments, and ghosts. How much meaning is afforded them.’ She had become haughty. ‘I should attend to my writing.’
Her aunt held up a bony hand, ‘You should not refuse signs just because they don’t agree with your whims. Perhaps you need to be bled again.’
‘I’m quite sure I’ll be fine.’ Elswyth gathered up her skirts and made for the door. A sliver of sunlight cut through dust and lit her aunt, crouched blinking at the table. ‘I must practice my speech for the patrons at the gala. I think my topic should be marriageable daughters and the price they might fetch by standing upon a stage finely dressed.’
‘Elswyth, your father has designs for all things. You can turn your nose up at my tea leaves, but Mr. Thomas may not return.’
This proclamation halted Elswyth. She returned and alighted again at the table, now worried by the thought of her father’s uneven scheming. His best-laid plans often went wrong.
‘How can you be sure he will not?’ she finally asked.
‘We could send a blackbird as a messenger, and perhaps learn that way. If you are disinclined toward ghosts, I trust you would not want one as a husband. I imagine we share an opinion about the desirability of the suitor your father suggests?’
‘He thinks Mr. Buell has some manner of charm.’
‘Only that which a man employs against a woman. He implies that she is the single person in society in whom he is supremely interested, only to twist her heart out upon marriage.’
Bats of the Republic Page 6