Dominion (30 page)

He spoke, when he did at all, in a garbled way, which those around him had learned to decipher, though not always accurately—so that one sentence might be taken to mean a certain thing by Adelia, another thing by Magnus, and yet something else entirely by Caleum. Despite this, they tried to keep him informed of all the goings-on in the family, not certain how much he took in or failed to but honoring his position there.

“Caleum and I have just chosen the spot for his house,” Magnus said, as they sat down to table that evening.

Adelia, who was just about to bring a spoonful of warm mashed potatoes to Merian's mouth, paused to see whether or not he would answer.

It was clear that he understood the words and their meaning but was slow to formulate his response. When he did, he spoke extremely slowly. “Is he separating now?”

“Soon,” Caleum hazarded to answer.

One side of Merian's mouth curled in an enigmatic smile when he heard this reply. He turned then to Magnus and asked, “What ground?”

“The southern side of the lake,” Magnus said. “I thought it was the best after Stonehouses itself.”

“It was hard husbanding.”

No one knew what to make of this, and they all looked to one another for guidance until Adelia replied, “He will be a good husband.”

Merian looked to his bowl for more food, which Adelia brought dutifully to his mouth. After he had swallowed, he looked at his grandson and asked, “The wife?”

“She will be good as well,” Caleum said, looking directly at his ancient grandfather. “I am sure of it.”

“Caleum has made a good match,” Magnus vouched for him.

Merian tried to nod his head, as to say he agreed with marrying while young, but it had become a very difficult maneuver. Frustrated by his body's refusal to do as he would have it, he swiped at the bowl in front of him and sent it to the floor. As Adelia cleaned it up, he sat there sphinxlike, feeling prisoner to the decay that had claimed him, mind and body. No one knew then what it was he wished to communicate, as even his simplest gestures were not what they always seemed.

Caleum and Magnus both knew, however, better than to pity Merian, as his fate might be either of theirs. Rather, they continued to treat him as if he had never known dementia and was still as he had been in the major part of his life.

The morning of Caleum's wedding to Libbie Darson, a pale blue sky arched unblemished overhead like the ceiling of a godly cathedral. The air was also warm enough to go about with naught but a vest, and the day seemed soft and tremulous with possibility. Merian called his grandson to him in the parlor that morning, where he sat dressed very handsomely in an old-fashioned suit. When Caleum entered, Merian pointed over the mantel to the sword Purchase had crafted long ago and indicated for him to take it down. Caleum walked to the place where it stood and lifted it from its hooks, which made Merian smile from the side of his mouth that still cooperated with him. Caleum went then to embrace his grandfather, and when he did Merian pressed his carved wooden doll into his hand. “For young husbands,” he said.

Besides his lands it was the most cherished of his possessions. The thing third most valuable to him was a golden pocket watch, which hung in his vest and was bequeathed in his will to Purchase, if he ever returned to their lands.

Caleum had long been curious about the wooden doll, which frightened Adelia and made Magnus none too happy. He was honored to have it, though, and placed it in his pocket before either his aunt or uncle could come into the room. “For luck at Caleum's house,” Merian said again emphatically.

When Magnus came into the room old and young parted conspiratorially, Magnus looked suspiciously from one to the other but decided against asking what they were about. He only dusted away invisible lint from Caleum's vest, telling him it was time for them to set out and he should help him take Merian to the waiting carriage—whence they made their way to the Darson place for the ceremony.

When they entered the Darson house that morning everyone grew hushed to see Jasper Merian present, for he was the oldest man in the county after Content's death and had been one of the first to settle there. He was also said to be one of the richest, so an undeniable mystique attached to him.

They were careful about noticing his frail condition, however, and only the smallest children and boldest of the men came directly to greet him. He seemed very aloof to many of them and would barely speak to any save Mrs. Darson and Libbie, though he could not remember her name.

Jasper sat still as a mountain while everyone else moved around him and came to offer good wishes for the union. Mr. Darson was especially desirous of his attention, seeking to shake his arthritic hand several times, and deeply hurt when Merian failed to receive it.

“Did you feed my horses?” Merian asked, the final time Solomon Darson held his hand out to him, as if he were the stable boy instead of the bride's father.

Darson knew better than begrudge such an ancient soul, but he could not help feeling abused and thought again of the high price Magnus had set for the marriage contract, which is perhaps why he did not stop his sons later that morning.

Promptly at eleven of the clock Libbie came into the hall, glorious and radiant in her wedding dress, and Caleum took his place beside her. When the minister, who suffered from religious melancholy and was extremely dour, asked ceremonially whether any protested the union, Eli Darson and his brother, George, both stood to speak.

Mr. Darson was embarrassed that they might already be drunk and anxious of what mischief they were up to, especially in the instant he looked at his daughter and saw the mortification on her face. Still, he did nothing to intervene.

“On what grounds do you object?” the minister asked them impatiently, as the time for such matters was during the engagement period.

When the preacher asked this, everyone, including George and Eli themselves, could see the childishness of what they had done, for they had no serious grounds but only a general dislike of the groom. Both of them jogged nervously from foot to foot, trying to think of something to redeem themselves, as the guests waited with horror upon their faces.

“If there is no objection,” the minister then went on, seeing it was only boys being churlish.

“On grounds,” Eli Darson spat out at last, “that neither his religion nor his origin is generally known.”

The preacher was very annoyed at their shenanigans, but when Eli said the groom's religion was not known he paused amid the babble that had overtaken the room to ask Caleum whether he was Christian and had renounced Satan and all his works.

Caleum answered in the affirmative, as Magnus shot daggers from his eyes at Mr. Darson and Libbie began crying. Everyone present was made exceptionally uncomfortable and thought the Darson boys either nefarious or simple. Having started, though, they refused to give up. “Ask him about his father,” George said, grown bold with foolishness. “He is not decent people.”

“Why not ask him yourself?” a man's voice asked from back of the room, after the Darson boy had finished his speech.

When the couple and their guests turned around to see who had spoken, all in the house went quiet.

A formidably tall man stood up then, his head nearly scraping the ceiling where its wooden beams met the wall. He was wearing a blue brocade vest, silken breeches of a mauve color, and a black waistcoat, also of silk. A starched white shirt and embroidered cravat were visible on his upper body, embroidered stockings on his legs, and all was topped with a three-cocked camel's-hair hat, which was the first of its fashion ever to be seen in Berkeley. His light eyes seemed to dance, though his
face was otherwise filled with a gravity and character that comes only from ceaseless care, or thought and study of human nature at close range. His hair was gone stark white, and he was considerably older than when last they knew him, but everyone could tell, not only from his face and his words but even from the feeling that emanated from his person, that it was Purchase Merian.

How he had gone unnoticed until then none could say, though most who had not seen him for ages were greatly pleased to do so again. Others, who had only heard his legend, were excited to put flesh to lore. Still others bore him grudges decades old. The two Darson boys, though, when they saw the man standing in the back of the room, both found the seats nearest to them and sat themselves down, deciding there was no need of pressing further, such was his natural presence and authority.

At the altar, Caleum felt pulled toward the stranger from the moment that he spoke, but averted his eyes, and returned them to his bride. He nodded for the preacher to carry on with the ceremony. The minister looked at Magnus, who gave his assent as well, and began to read the marriage oath.

After they had at last sworn themselves to each other, and the ceremony was successfully concluded, Purchase strode to the front of the room where the marriage party was standing. When he reached the front row he stopped first to approach his father and kissed the old man warmly, not having known before whether he was alive or dead. Jasper looked up at him, and when he spoke it was the first time he had recognized anybody in a very long time, saying only, “Purchase.”

“Yes, Papa. It's me.”

“You were on time,” Merian said.

“I suppose,” Purchase answered him. “You could argue it both ways.”

When he greeted Magnus, the two gave each other a hug of great fraternal affection, old enough to know and rejoice that many paths in life are crossed again.

Magnus next introduced his wife, Adelia, whom Purchase knew from when she worked at Stonehouses, and they were happy to be reacquainted as well.

The next person he greeted was Libbie, who found him charming as women invariably did, even though he was old enough to be her father and, by law, now in fact was.

He came then to Caleum. Upon his first approach Caleum held himself back, refusing to look directly at his father. When he did, he felt a huge pressure against his chest and forehead that made it feel as if he were about to come out of his skin. He did not recognize the man from the image he carried in his memory's eye, but he knew him for who he was with an instinct beneath the illumination of words. He knew the two of them were part of a single whole, however reluctantly. His emotions then were divided, but he held out his hand formally when at last he responded to Purchase's greeting. “Father.”

The man was sensitive not to cause the boy any further discomfort and held out his own hand in turn, neither drawing any nearer in familiarity nor pulling away from offended feelings. “Congratulations,” he said solemnly. “May you two know nothing together but shared happiness.”

Before Caleum could reply Purchase pulled from his coat a leather satchel, which he handed to the bridegroom. Everyone standing around pressed close to see what it contained. Mr. Darson leaned especially hard against his son-in-law's shoulder while Caleum thanked his father and opened the parcel. Inside the worn pouch was a multitude of golden coins, shaped larger than any he was used to seeing. Upon closer inspection he saw that one side of each seemed very familiar, though he could not tell exactly why, while the other side bore the image of a young couple on their wedding day, who were uncannily similar to himself and Libbie.

Mr. Darson, when he saw the coins, tried to calculate what each was worth and exactly how many the purse contained, but even without an exact number he felt vindicated, as he could tell at a glance it was far more than the price Magnus had demanded from him.

Had they merely been gold coins, Caleum might have returned them as a bribe against his affections, but these bore all the beauty and artistry that had won Purchase Merian unrivaled fame—even before the notoriety of his affair with Mary Josepha—and it was impossible for him not to feel moved. He could see immediately they had been crafted for him and his bride, and that the tale they told had been with his father for a long time indeed, though he knew not how. More ancient perhaps than he himself was. Certainly, though, it was very old.

Caleum closed the purse and gave it to Magnus for safekeeping, as he and Libbie adjourned to the lawn for the wedding feast, where they
presided over the banquet table. Family and friends came then to lavish gifts on them throughout the afternoon, but none more impressive or valuable than Purchase's.

After eating, the slave Julius led the celebration by pulling out his panpipes and beginning a serenade of the wedding couple. Other musicians joined with him to create a ravishing improvised song of love for the newlyweds. There was also much dancing and playing of cards, as everyone celebrated the new union.

Only the Darson brothers, Eli and George, withheld from the toasting, for they had disgraced themselves and knew better than show their faces. Caleum and Libbie danced, though, full of lightheartedness.

No matter how contented he was with the morning, Caleum knew he must eventually speak full on to his father, but he put it off as long as possible, first filling himself on punch—which was a near calamity as he was not used to its strength—then dancing yet another round.

At the tables Purchase sat with Magnus, Adelia, Mr. and Mrs. Darson, and his own father, Jasper, who did not drink or dine. Their feelings at seeing Purchase again all ran a range, but none of them were as complicated as Caleum's, even though Magnus knew perhaps better than the others what must be going through his thoughts at that moment.

“It might take a while for him to want to speak to you,” Magnus said to his brother, at one point during the conversation. “His feelings are probably powerful mixed.”

“So they must be,” Purchase agreed. “What about your own?”

“Will you stay on?” he asked. “Are you back at Stonehouses now?”

“I'm back as long as I am here,” Purchase said testily.

“Well, we are happy for that,” Magnus told him. “All of us.”