She resolved to remark upon the cloudlessness of the sky when suddenly, as if a stage curtain had been pulled back, the broad square came into view. Stately elm trees lined the perimeter, their limbs still decorated with a few bright-yellow leaves, stretching toward the indigo sky. People arrived from every direction carrying oil lamps. Bull’s-eye lanterns bobbed and sparkled throughout the expanse. Children, thrilled to be out of doors instead of tucked away under wool blankets, tumbled and laughed, eluding parental entreaties to behave.
“It’s just like a pixie’s garden,” said Helen, her eyes wide with excitement. Without a thought, she broke away from Pryce, rushed across one of the gravel paths that bisected the area like a great pie, and stood on the tips of her shoes in the grass. She closed her eyes.
Pryce bounded after her. The breeze of his arrival stirred the soft hairs on her cheek and cooled her eyelids. She felt as if she had stolen away from home and could pass the evening any way she pleased.
A few measures of Irish dance music drifted into her ear. People gathered around a man playing a small triangular harp. After a quick look back at Pryce, she ran over and joined the crowd. The instrument rested in the lap of a middle-aged gentleman in worn knee britches, thin stockings, and a formerly grand overcoat, now threadbare at the hem and elbows. A case sat open at his feet with a few coins bright against the dark velvet lining. His arms encircled the blond wood harp, pulling it toward his shoulder like a loyal friend. His long fingers furiously danced back and forth, adroitly plucking the metal strings, bringing forth vibrations both sharp and resonant. Several men hopped and kicked in time. When the music ended with a flourish, Helen joined the clapping. The musician started a new song, slow and sad, playing with his eyes shut, head swaying with the rise and fall of the tune’s strains. Helen’s throat tightened. The music, one of Piper Jackson’s ballads, stirred a forgotten memory of sitting on her father’s lap, her arms around his neck, tears wetting her cheeks over the loss of a small metal figure of a horse he had forged for her. He’d softly sung a Gaelic lullaby, easing her pain until all she felt was the serenity and safety she found in his arms.
“Look over there,” said Pryce.
Helen dabbed her handkerchief under her eyes and looked toward the middle of the park. Driving around the central reflecting pool was a peculiar-looking wagon, outfitted with great springs carrying a sturdy wooden box painted with the word Rittenhouse in gold leaf. Three men jumped off the driver’s bench and removed the container’s top, which had been padded with cotton-stuffed muslin. They extracted a tall brass tripod and carefully set it upright on a large piece of flat slate.
“That must be the telescope from Hamilton College,” said Pryce.
They hurried to where the men were attaching a long brass tube to the tripod stand. A second smaller box, perhaps a foot in length, was pulled from the original crate. The encircling crowd hushed.
“That’s the eyepiece,” whispered Pryce. “All of this equipment is extremely delicate.”
“Have you ever looked through a telescope?” asked Helen.
“Only once. It was miraculous,” said Pryce. “It shows how mystifyingly complicated the universe is. And it lets you gaze into the past.”
“The past?”
Pryce straightened and turned his face to the sky. His profile was silhouetted against the last glow of twilight. “We think we see a star, but what we really see is the light from that star. It could take two million years for that light to travel to earth. But by the time the light reaches us, the star may already be dead.”
Helen looked up. The Big Dipper glittered and she again saw the white smudge that was Halley’s comet. “Many things that are dead still shine,” she said. “My father has been gone for five years. He knew so much about the constellations. Sometimes when I look up I feel like he’s still carrying me on his shoulders and pointing out each grouping. I’ve forgotten much of what he taught me.”
“It’s all right to not know something. Remaining ignorant is the sin.”
“Perhaps tonight I’ll repent some of my sins,” she said.
He glanced at her with a surprised smile, cleared his throat, and looked away. She immediately regretted being so forward and felt the pinpricks of a blush.
“Look,” said Pryce, a little too loudly. A washed-out young man, with pimply white skin and lank yellow hair, fitted the eyepiece into the telescope. He swiveled the contraption around so that it pointed north, toward Deerfield and the hills beyond. He raised the great brass tube toward the sky.
“He’s sighting for the comet,” said Pryce.
Helen raised her hand to her mouth in alarm. “Won’t his eye be burned if he sees it?”
Pryce laughed. “No one ever died looking through a telescope.”
The young man said, “There it is,” and the gathered crowd moved closer. Helen leaned forward in spite of her fear, almost waiting for the poor man to scream in agony from looking at a blazing ball of fire.
He took his eye away from the lens and peered at her. “Would you like to see, miss?”
Helen looked at Pryce. “Me? Are you sure it’s safe?”
He nodded and she approached. She held her breath and looked through the eyepiece. Everyone on earth dropped away as she examined the white blur of the comet. She had fully expected to see a scorching bright orb, something that was worthy of the poem she had read describing planets shrinking before a “fearsome flaming comet.” Though it was trailed by a large tail, it sat murky as a hailstone shadowed by a ghostly white shroud. Her eye followed it as it drifted across the circle of the telescope’s sight. “I lost it,” she said.
“That’s just the rotation of the earth,” said Pryce. “May I?”
She stepped aside and allowed him to look through the eyepiece and reposition the device.
“Amazing,” he said to the blond man.
“Give somebody else a chance,” said an intelligent-looking older man with long stringy hair and an old-fashioned tricorn hat.
Helen quickly bent in for one more look. “I don’t see any fire. Now it looks like a gob of cream floating in a cup of tea.”
“It’s not fair,” grumbled the older man.
They moved away as the onlookers pushed toward the telescope.
“You found it amazing?” she said, her voice a little shaky. They cleared the knot of people. “I feel rather dull.”
“The sensational reputation that comets have,” he said, “does make reality a little disappointing. But studying them increases human knowledge, which brings us closer to understanding a small sliver of God’s plan.”
They moved a few steps.
“We don’t need to see through the device to enjoy an evening of contemplating the firmaments,” continued Pryce. “That is, if the bears refrain from eating us.”
They both laughed.
A silhouette in black crepe appeared at Helen’s side.
“I did not expect to find you here, Mrs. Galway,” said Miss Manahan.
The smile fell from Helen’s face. Coughing, she extracted a handkerchief from her sleeve. “How nice to see you.”
“I have been awaiting a call from you,” said the older lady.
“Forgive me.” Helen noticed that she was waving the cloth like a person about to surrender arms and stuffed it back into her sleeve. “You and the girls have been much on my mind.”
Miss Manahan cast her eye in Pryce’s direction. “Helen?”
“Oh,” said Helen, again flustered. She awkwardly gestured to Pryce. “This is Mr. Anwell of Little Falls. He’s visiting Utica as Mr. Galway’s guest.”
Pryce, who seemed to sense how nervous Helen had become, bowed low—restraining his hat with his hand.
“This is my schoolteacher, the mistress of Miss Manahan’s Female Institute.”
The lady did not offer her hand, instead slightly inclining her head in his direction. “The girls will be expecting you,” she said to Helen. She brought her candle lantern up and studied
Pryce’s face. “It is a singular occurrence when one of our poor number gets to travel as far as you have, young lady, and they are expecting a full report.” She squinted at Pryce once more before departing.
As she marched away, Helen’s shoulders sagged.
Pryce leaned in, whispering, “I believe that we have survived the bear.”
Helen’s hand quickly covered her mouth, but her eyes narrowed and she rocked with stifled laughter.
A light streaked across the sky. Several people declared that they had seen a shooting star.
“We’re here to look at the heavens,” Helen said, with an attitude of business. “According to my husband, you can teach me something. So, what do you think when you look up?”
Pryce breathed deeply and took in the wide expanse of sky. “I think about a magnificent being who can see the whole universe, past, present, and future, like we see the forest from the top of a mountain. What an exquisite creation He’s made for us—an act of love, really.”
Helen found herself not looking to the sky, but instead noticing the contours and smoothness of his face and the intensity of his concentration.
“He wants us to gaze as deep and as far as possible,” Pryce continued. “The study of astronomy is a form of pure reverence.”
“It sounds like a prayer when you say it.”
“To ignore the beauty God made for us,” said Pryce, clearing his throat, “is to insult His work.”
Helen deliberately looked away and bent her head back and searched the sky. “There’s Cassiopeia and her babe, Little Cassiopeia,” she said, her arm outstretched, finger pointing. “And the next is … what’s the name?”
“Cygnus? There? The great swan. Follow the long chain of stars that make up its neck, to the bright star of the bird’s eye. That is the Albireo, which is so splendidly bright because it’s a double star. One is blue, the other yellow. They revolve around one another. Pulled together by gravity. As they draw closer, the speed of their orbits increases, as if in anticipation. As they move away, they slow as if in mourning.”
Helen let herself look at him in the warm light of the lanterns. Her emotions welled up in her throat and, afraid he might notice, she directed her gaze back to the night sky.
The bluish tint of Cygnus’s eye sparkled. She imagined soaring past the trees and out of the square, above it all. Her life in Utica faded into nothingness. She flew past the moon and the rings of Saturn before turning out into open space. Oh, to possess a real companion throughout time. A yellow to complement one’s blue.
“And what are you thinking of now?” asked Pryce.
“That it must be quiet up there. It’s so loud and rude and complicated on earth. I’d like to be floating around in the sky, to grow wings and glide on the currents of ether and have no one making demands of me, no one to take care of.” Their eyes met. “It seems like paradise.”
“Yes,” he sighed. “No canal locks to study.”
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just that the infinite is exquisite and almost everything else is mundane. But it’s also cold …” His gloved index finger stretched toward her left hand and touched it. She did not move away, but instead turned to focus intently at the stars. “And lonely …” His finger’s pad traced the rib of her glove from her wrist to the tip of her pinkie. “And mostly empty …” Her breath caught and her little finger rose, allowing Pryce to continue his voyage around and then down into the space between her pinkie and ring finger. “And I couldn’t follow you there …” She gave his finger a gentle squeeze, like an involuntary contraction, and he went on tracing the silhouette of her hand. “And I so want to follow you.”
She spread her knuckles and allowed him to explore the next valley. Every scintilla of focus was on his finger’s journey. As she watched the sky, her body pulsed with life. She pictured them floating on a current of air and coupling. A tingle of pleasure lit up her skin. It was all she could do to resist the ache to turn and pull him into an embrace.
“Ah, there you are,” came an out-of-breath voice from behind them. The two broke apart and turned to see Dr. McCooke. A moment of confusion crossed his face as he cast his eye from one to the other. He seemed to decide something and smiled mildly. “Having fun without me?” he asked.
Helen stood solidly, determined not to betray any emotion. “How is Mr. Galway?” she asked.
“It’s simple,” said the doctor, an element of professional pride in his tone. “If he doesn’t rest, he won’t heal.”
She noticed a slight tremor in his hand. “And what sort of medicine is this opium?”
“One that’s come down through the ages as a soother of pain and a bringer of sleep. It’s perfectly safe.”
Helen turned away and looked up at the comet.
Pryce began to fill the silence: “Comets are actually rather hazy. The tail looks solid, but is really just a trail.”
Helen turned back to the doctor, a look of determination on her face. “If rest is all he requires, why are you in residence?”
“That’s his preference. The best families often require my live-in services. My old patroness, Mrs. Elizabeth Preston McDowell Benton, wife of Senator—”
“Then why is he in so much pain?” interrupted Helen. “I’ve seen other broken limbs. Two splints and a few tight wrappings do the work. The patient does not require medicine.”
“I didn’t realize that you had such a deep store of medical knowledge,” said McCooke with a chuckle, winking at Pryce. “I had to attend college and learn my way about the body by dissecting Negro corpses.” He gamely poked Pryce with his elbow. “Imagine a lady studying a well-formed naked buck, eh?”
Helen set her mouth and said nothing. Inside she smoldered with indignation.
“It’s too cold for you to be out,” said McCooke. “Really, Mr. Anwell, you should have known that.” He turned conspiratorially to Pryce. “Women are so delicate and they get overexcited. No doubt it’s the stimulation of the comet. It’s time to get her back home.” The doctor tried to take her by the arm. She pulled away. He turned toward Pryce. “Good evening, Mr. Anwell.” McCooke stepped between the pair. “Mrs. Galway, I will accompany you home, now.” He wound his arm around hers.
“I will call on Mr. Galway tomorrow,” said Pryce. His eyes met Helen’s and they watched each other even as the doctor steered her away.
McCooke murmured close to her ear, “Acting the coquette, eh? So soon after the nuptials?”
“You insult me.”
“I’d like to play too.”
She stopped and pulled her arm away. “Mr. Galway is the one who insisted that Mr. Anwell escort me tonight.”
“We all like a little harmless fun. No one needs to be the wiser.”
Helen fell silent. He patted her hand as they moved across Bleecker Street toward the Galway home. Dr. McCooke once again considered his improving fortune. He’d been around women like this before, demure and innocent, but if you got them behind a curtain they turned into tigers. That was certainly the case of pretty little Miss Duphorne of Albany. Such a shame that the servants let her die. Helen Galway was young too, but she was a woman of experience and they almost always found a way to slip from their great height. It might take multiple tries with her, but the reward would be worth the effort.
“Now,” he said as he glanced around the street. About a block behind, he saw a gloomy figure heading in their direction. He opened his light and blew out the flame. “How about you favor me with a bit of what you just gave that boy?”
“What do you mean?” Before Helen could move away, he pulled her to him and maneuvered her to a darkened area between two houses, just off the walk.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “I’ve quite fallen for you.”
“Doctor, I’m leaving.” She tried to move, but he held her tight.
“Quiet or someone will catch us,” he said playfully, pressing her against the wall. His lips met hers. Her resistance was strong, so he relea
sed her and stepped back into the shadow of the building, a finger to his lips. He smiled. Now they shared a secret.
She hurried back into the street, where she caught up to a lady in black crepe.
“Miss Manahan,” she said, slipping her arm through the woman’s bent elbow, “we’re going the same way, I think.”
“I’m sure we are, Mrs. Galway.” The schoolkeeper looked back toward the doctor, but he remained in a deep shadow. Helen urged her away.
The doctor smiled. He would let that kiss marinate. Women loved to be pursued. They resisted and resisted until the moment of surrender. It was part of the game and he excelled at playing it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AFTER JOE HAD SPLIT the wood and loaded it into the bins throughout the house, drawn water and filled all the jugs in the upstairs rooms, helped Maggie wash down the kitchen, and fed and mucked out the horse, he had been given a fat sandwich, surprised with a warm hug from Maggie, and dismissed for the day. He wrapped the food in his new kerchief so that he might share it with his mother and fled to the street so that it would seem like he was heading downtown. He looked like a dapper boy, clad in Augustin’s old wool trousers, jacket, and topped off with a matching wool cap. One block away, near the home of the sleepless old man, he turned east and swung around so he could follow the banks of the Ballou to the back of the Galway property. He peeked out from behind the horse barn and through the open kitchen door saw Maggie in the dimly lit room in a rocking chair, her attention directed to the backyard. He crouched low and, careful to make little noise, worked his way to a brambly area between the horse barn and the shed. His jacket caught on thorns as he crept to the corner where his mother lay just on the other side of the wall.
He tapped and when he heard her soft reply, he stifled the urge to cry.
“I can’t come to you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “That cook be watching.”
“Don’t you worry. She gonna sleep soon enough. Take cover and keep your eyes on her.”
The Third Mrs. Galway Page 15