Dominion (44 page)

He set about then to find the pub from the day before. He walked back the way he came, past the breweries and through the tannery district, at which point he was too tired to continue and decided to hire a coach.

By the time he found the pub the lunch crowd had all left, and the room was nearly empty. The same waitress who had attended him before was working again, though, and when she came to show him to his table there was the same enticing openness about her.

“You're a bit late, aren't you?” she asked, as if their meeting had been previously arranged.

He did not answer, not knowing how one was supposed to deal with such directness. He wondered whether she would take offense if he were to give his own tongue such free rein. He had not made an advance toward a woman in that way since his marriage to Libbie, and then it was according to the rules of proper engagement, while here in this city he could not tell what rules governed the different interactions between the sexes.

“I see you've had a haircut?” she went on, not seeming to mind that her last question had gone unanswered.

“I did,” he answered, taking the same seat he had previously occupied.

“Well, it looks very smart,” she continued.

“Thank you,” he told her. “What do they call you?”

“Elissa,” she answered him. “And who might you be?”

“Caleum Merian.” He introduced himself with both his names, even though that did not seem always to be the custom of the island.

“Well, it is very nice to see you again, Mr. Merian,” she replied. “I think the chowder is good today.”

He simply nodded, allowing the woman to chose his meal for him. When she brought it around, she had the same smile as before, which prompted him to wonder again how she would respond if he made an advance. Emboldened by the fact that he had no reputation in that city, he decided he would do just that when she next came by the table.

“Would you care to meet me this weekend?” he asked, when he saw his opportunity.

“And just where is it you want me to meet you?”

“At Bowling Green,” he answered, trying to think of a place that would not seem too intimate.

“It'll be freezing there,” she said. “But I'll be at Mary Hamlet's on Saturday, around eight, if you should happen by.” She smiled at him again.

“Where is that?” he asked.

“You're not from here?” she teased him. “It's over on Mulberry. Everyone knows it if you have any trouble.”

It wasn't until he left that he realized the implication of what he had just done, and it occurred to him that he knew nothing about the woman. He worried he had made a bad decision and told himself he was not bound to go there, as she knew little about him and would never find him again if he chose not to go. As he remembered her smile, though, he knew he would venture to meet her. There was something about her he found exhilarating in a way he could not remember having encountered before, and he allowed himself to trust this instinct.

He remained hesitant, though, as he was very strict with himself in such matters. What he argued then was that it was only lack of feminine company for so long that made him feel as he did. The line of thought turned on him, however, and he found himself arguing that this was a perfectly good reason why he should enjoy her company the coming weekend. He told himself to let his boldness have its way and
see how far it would get him. Despite his efforts to quell it, he found this inner arguing and turmoil delicious in and of itself, both as its own pleasure and as an intimation of larger ones to come.

He reached the inn with the same lightness he had felt the day before, knowing he would accept her invitation, from curiosity if not the growing loneliness he felt there in those days.

He hoisted himself up the few stairs that led to the door and entered the hotel, hoping his new suits might be ready before the weekend. As he continued on to his room, he heard his name called. He was delighted indeed when he turned around to see Mr. Miles waiting.

“Mr. Miles,” he said, greeting the other man. “Have you been here long?”

“No, sir,” Mr. Miles answered. “Only just ahead of you. I have your order ready, and have brought it around so you can try it for fit.” Caleum nodded, and indicated that Mr. Miles should follow him up to his room. When he closed the door, Mr. Miles opened the large box he was carrying and removed from it the most beautiful piece of wood Caleum had ever beheld.

He peered at it a long while, then stretched out his hand and let his fingers touch the new limb, and it looked exactly like a leg, so much so that but for its texture and shading he would be hard pressed to tell it from his other. It felt cold and ungiving, such that no one would ever mistake it for the living thing, but it was no less accomplished because of that and even seemed alive in its way.

“Do you wish to try it?”

He nodded, and Mr. Miles approached and began explaining the fastening mechanism he had crafted, so that the binding of wood and flesh would be absolute and dependable.

“It takes a bit getting used to,” he went on, as Caleum sat down and allowed the man to affix the wood to his gnarled stump with greater care than any doctor he ever encountered. When he stood, Mr. Miles handed to him a cane made of the same wood as the leg, and it was just as well-fashioned and polished.

“You might want to keep with the crutches for a while, but in time this will give you a little better mobility,” he explained, while Caleum walked from one end of the room to the other.

“I have seldom seen such craftsmanship, Mr. Miles,” he told the other man, moved to joy by what he had made. “It is not so heavy as it seemed in the box and feels very strong.”

“Aye, your coins are the same mint, but for this, Mr. Merian, even steel could not cut it.”

“Aye, Mr. Miles, I knew the blade that could,” Caleum said, casting his eyes at his visitor, who then looked at the still living stump of Caleum's leg above the wood, before averting his gaze.

Caleum went back and forth across the room several more times, growing used to the new appendage, until he thought he could feel not only the impact of the wood with the floor, but that he also sensed when anything was near the wood as well, even though he knew this to be an impossibility. When he was satisfied, he sat down.

“Thank you for such a fine job, Mr. Miles,” he said.

“I tried to give it my best, sir,” the man answered. “If you need anything else at all, please don't hesitate to send for me at my workshop.”

With that he stood and began to withdraw. Caleum lifted himself again to see his visitor to the door. When the other man had gone, he went back and forth across the room again, before putting on his old coat and going out to try his new leg in the street.

Once he exited the hotel, however, he felt an immediate self-consciousness. To see a man without a leg did not seem so strange, but to see one upon a wooden leg he worried would be odd. Nevertheless, he began walking toward Bowling Green with as much confidence as he could muster, trusting this new leg beneath him would be faithful.

By the time he reached the great lawn he could feel the weight of the wood and found himself tired from carrying this new burden. He found a bench to rest upon and sat there, looking out toward the Sound as the autumn wind blew north. As he watched the sails moving out in the harbor, through the barren branches, he wondered which of these vessels might take him home if he went down to the dock at that moment to book passage. If he went that very day he might even make it in time for Rose's birthday.

He knew, though, he would not go that day. He needed at least another week to finish his business there, and to recuperate, before taking up the burden of travel again, to say nothing of husbandry.

He thought again about the shock it would be for them at home, when they saw him, and wondered how he would be able to fit into his former life again. Although every year he had seen those conscripted go from being farmers to soldiers and others going back again the other way, he did not see how it could be so simple a movement and knew the first one was easier than the other. It takes awhile to relearn one's former self, he thought to himself, as he looked toward the ocean, if ever it is possible again.

He wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pressing the embroidery inside his coat against his body. I will make it there in time for Thanksgiving, he promised himself, and he was satisfied as evening fell and he walked back to the inn for supper.

He arrived at the hall, on a narrow, slanting street off the main way, promptly at eight o'clock, only to find it still deserted. He went to the bar and ordered a glass of rum, which he took to a table off on one side of the room and sat alone, nursing it. By nine o'clock the hall had grown half full with people, but he still did not see Elissa. He told himself it had been the remotest of possibilities to begin with, and that she had never promised him her company. Perhaps she had been teasing, and it was only her way. He tried to decide then whether he should leave to find other amusement or stay on in any case, to see what else might unfold there that night. He felt foolish, though, and had decided to leave when he saw two faces appear at the entrance whom he recognized from his past.

The first to enter was Carl Schuyler, from the army, and just behind him was the slave Julius from Berkeley. When they saw him they immediately came over to his table, and he stood up to shake each of their hands, glad to be reacquainted and, beyond that, elated to see familiar faces.

Julius, who had known him longer, was first to speak. “The last time I saw you, they was leading you from the battlefield, and we all thought for sure you'd died.”

“I did not,” Caleum answered, signaling to the waiter for more drinks. “But I came powerful close. Has your own tour ended?” he asked next, changing the subject from his own fortunes.

“No, but the fighting has stopped for the winter, so we were given a leave.”

“We can travel on to Berkeley together, then,” Caleum said to Julius. “It is good to have company on the road.”

“Any other time I would, but I'm not headed back that way.”

“That's where your sister Claudia and the rest of your people are,” Caleum said. “They'll want to see you.”

“Unless I want to be always and ever somebody's slave,” Julius answered, “there is no place for me there anymore.”

Caleum could only nod at this. “Where will you go instead?”

“I don't know yet, but not back to bondage,” he said defiantly. “Not under my own power, at least.”

“Then we must make the most of our meeting,” Caleum proclaimed. He had never been one for rich meals and lavish wines, but he ordered as well as they could from the menu offered in the hall that night. Their table was laid with the best fruits of the harvest, and the choicest meats, and they dined sumptuously, reminiscing and telling feats of past bravery and wishing one another only good fortune for the future, especially for Julius in his new plans.

He had all but forgotten how he originally learned of that place called Mary's Hamlet—and was lost completely in nostalgia and boasts with his old acquaintances—when he saw Elissa standing at the end of their table. He offered her a seat among them but did not stand.

“I've come with friends,” she answered, but his own friends were well supplied with drink by then and eager to have women's company. They told her there was more than room enough for all of them at their table.

When the places were filled, and everyone had been introduced, the laughter and fellow feeling reminded Caleum of those festive days as a boy when his grandfather entertained in the great hall at Stonehouses. Although he was not among kin, he felt as cheerful as he had then, enjoying the pleasures of sharing his board with friends.

Elissa sat at his side, and each time she laughed she leaned toward him and brushed lightly against his arm. It had been years since he felt a woman so close, and each time she touched against him he wondered what it meant, but also why he had held himself so chastely and apart from feminine company. He thought then of his family and children. And was reminded in general of all those things the heart will not relinquish. Julius and Carl were both surprised to see him so casual that night, as he was always rigid with dutifulness since each had known him.
Now he relaxed, letting the evening expand unchecked and allowing whatever suggestions it might make to hold and seduce him.

He watched the girl Elissa as she interacted with his friends, and, though some might think her beneath the women he was accustomed to, especially Libbie, she had a way of making those around her feel relaxed, as all mingled freely according to whim and will and not as was dictated by usual social customs. Caleum also held Julius in the light of friendship again, as he had not done since they were boys and all equal.

“Did you notice anything strange at Saratoga?” he asked, taking Julius by the shoulder, when they had exhausted their talk of battle and everyone they both knew from Berkeley.

“Everything was strange at Saratoga, and all of it too familiar.”

“Did you see anyone you knew from other days?”

Julius nodded in recognition. “You saw him too?”

They both shuddered with sadness. “To see him there, you would think he had never known any other life,” Caleum remarked.

“I'm afraid he doesn't know any life at all anymore,” Julius said, going on to report how Bastian had been mortally injured at that battle, as he oversaw the artillery with his lord. “When he was shot, the Blue Colonel was on the other side of the field, and they say he would not let anyone else touch him, calling them all commoners who tried.”

“How far some men seem to travel from their origins,” said one of the ladies, who was deeply affected by the story of Bastian Johnson, when Julius had finished relating it.