by Jane Steen
“But Poulton fights like an Apache,” was the soft remark behind and to my left. “Wouldn’t no cowpuncher on the trail do better.” That remark was not generally heard, but those who did catch it gave small grunts of accord. I wasn’t sure whether the boys were expressing admiration or disapproval; being boys, probably the former.
The smells of cooking had grown strong, overwhelming even the concentrated essence of male. The servants had started arriving at the back of the crowd, hovering near Dr. Calderwood and giving him significant glances.
“My dear,” said the doctor, “let us dismiss the young men into the refectory. There is no point in leaving them to go hungry.” His own stomach gave an enormous growl at that point. His teeth showed in an abashed grin that faded instantly when his wife turned round.
“You heard the doctor,” she told the nearest boys. “Dismissed on the double, and don’t you dare gossip about this. Remember you are training to be the servants of the Lord, and gossip is sinful.”
The students shuffled in the direction of the refectory, giving a wide berth to Judah, Reiner, and the various splotches of congealing blood. Paralyzed by curiosity and apprehension, I didn’t follow them. Tess tugged at my arm.
“Sary,” she said softly.
“I know,” I replied, “but—“
“Do you think this has anything to do with you, Mrs. Lillington?” Mrs. Calderwood’s voice cut across my hesitation.
It flashed into my mind that maybe it did have something to do with me—that maybe they had been fighting over me—and I felt my face grow hot. “Of course not.” The outright lie was preferable to explaining why I might think I could be the subject of an altercation.
“Then why, pray, are you still here? Vulgar curiosity, or do you mean to tend to the injured?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. Drummond approaching, followed by the servant called Andrew, who held a mop and bucket. I backed out of the way, bumping into Tess. I shot an apologetic glance at both Reiner and Judah, although I had no idea why it should be apologetic. Would either of them think I should bind up their wounds? Turning, I shot off in the direction of the refectory, Tess at my heels.
I had only been seated for a moment, having taken Sarah from the arms of Dorcas’s daughter, Bella, when Professor Wale made his way toward us.
“Fisticuffs,” he said with satisfaction. “Although I wish Poulton’s pretty face had suffered a little more.”
I gave him a look of censure, but a fresh wave of curiosity smothered my indignation. “Do you know why they were fighting? Has Reiner become an ardent defender of lessons on Darwin?”
Professor Wale’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Mr. Lehmann, with whom I see you are on first-name terms, cares not a whit for Darwin nor for any other principle, as far as I know. It astonishes me infinitely that he should become heated enough about any subject to have thrown a punch. I thought that maybe you . . .” He twirled a finger in my direction, his eyebrows raised in interrogation.
“Definitely not.” I made myself sound more certain than I felt.
“Good. Although Lehmann’s a good enough young fellow, if a little vague about his aspirations. Of course, with a wife and children to work for, he may do well enough.”
He gave me a roguish smile, which I countered with what I hoped was a bland, unconcerned expression, but then his face darkened. “Poulton, though . . .” He shook his head, his brow creasing.
“I don’t like him either,” came a small voice from below me. Tess had seated herself and was munching cornbread, even though nobody had yet said grace. The Calderwoods were still absent from the refectory.
“Tess,” I said in gentle reproof.
“Well, I don’t. He looks at me like I smell bad, and he never pays any attention to Sary. And he tipped you right out of the sleigh—“
“—and is a conceited blatherskite to boot,” finished Professor Wale with a grin. Tess nodded sagely, her mouth full.
“You’re both being ridiculous.” I settled Sarah into her chair. “Professor Wale, hadn’t you better go up to the front and say grace? The students are getting restless, and somebody needs to take the lead.”
“I don’t like him,” Tess said stubbornly as the professor walked away. “I wish you didn’t like him either. But I don’t suppose you’ll listen to me.”
12
Worldly matters
July 1, 1873
Dear Martin,
Your last letter perplexed me. First of all, how can my capital possibly have increased by so much in such a short time simply because I possess money while, for most people, it’s running down rabbit holes and disappearing? And what on earth do the European markets have to do with it? I’ve tried looking at the Chicago Tribune—it arrives here irregularly and always a few days late, but it does arrive—and I can find few clues to the mystery.
I should tell you that despite my status as seamstress, I have of late received invitations to the library to spend an evening hour with some members of the faculty and some of the older students. They’re terribly dull evenings, on the whole, but I don’t feel I can refuse. People read the newspapers out in some detail and discuss them, by way of improving our knowledge of the world outside our little enclave. Such reading and discussion of worldly matters doesn’t always meet with Mrs. Calderwood’s approval, but it’s a hallowed tradition begun in Professor Adema’s time, and some faculty members still insist on it.
The other cause of perplexity is that you talk so little about yourself in your letters. What are you doing? How are you spending your evenings? I’m not at all bored with hearing about dinners and musical soirées and the like. Indeed, I wish you’d write down every detail, especially what the ladies wore.
I sometimes feel you’re hiding half of your life from me, and I can’t imagine why that should be. And—well, are you really so busy you can’t find any time to travel to Kansas? It’s been a year and a quarter since I last saw you, Martin, and I miss you.
I’ll stop writing now because I’m out of temper and whining like a child. It’s hot, and I’m feeling dull.
Your
Nell
“Oh! the bright, the blissful future
In that realm beyond the skies!
Oh! the happy, blest reunion
With the loved we’ll realize.
If we gently bow,—not murmur;
‘Bear the cross and win the crown;’
Tread with footstep firm, unshrinking,
Every petty grievance down;
If we’ll only love each other,
And temptation ever fly,
As it is for man appointed,
Once, and only once, to die.
Charity and truth but study;
Faults in others meekly chide;
Holy angels then will steer us
Safely to the other side.”
The wooden paneling and coffered ceiling of the seminary’s library absorbed rather than reflected Judah’s voice as he read. Nevertheless, his musical tenor was pleasant to listen to, unlike his choice of reading matter. The long poem had conjured up many instances of death, including that of a young child, and I’d found it depressing despite its saccharine ending.
Not so Mrs. Calderwood, who applauded with delight.
“Such noble sentiments,” she gushed. “So fitting to remind ourselves that death is close and that it is our Christian duty to stay reconciled to others in life lest God strike us down in a condition of sinfulness.”
She looked with meaning at Professor Wale and Reiner, who sat near one another on the other side of the empty fireplace. Before it stood Judah, the latest copy of the Chicago Tribune in his hands.
“But does reconciliation preclude reasoned discussion? It seems to me that the human race will never progress if we spend all our time agreeing with each other,” said Professor Wale.
“It doesn’t say that. It says we can meekly chide,” said Judah with a glare at Reiner. “The writer would not, of course,
expect people to react to criticism with violence.”
I bit my lip, not sure whether to laugh or groan. There had been no overt resumption of hostilities since Reiner and Judah had fought each other three months ago, but they weren’t on friendly terms. I still had the nasty feeling I’d in some way been the cause of their disagreement, although neither of them had ever mentioned the fight in my presence.
“Would anybody else like to read?” Judah waved the newspaper over his head. “I cede the floor.”
To my dismay, Reiner leapt out of his chair and took the newspaper from Judah’s hands with an impish grin on his face. He had a nasty habit of seeking out the most inflammatory paragraphs he could find. Judah gave him a dirty look but sat down anyway, no doubt under the influence of the poet’s rejoinder to stamp on petty grievances.
“I will read from the humor column,” Reiner announced to a chorus of groans and catcalls. I mopped my brow.
“You will not, if you please, Mr. Lehmann. There are jests in that scandalous column that are quite unsuitable for young unmarried men.” Mrs. Calderwood fixed Reiner with a gimlet eye. She had a point—the Tribune’s humorists were not known for being high-minded. Reiner turned a charming smile on her.
“If I exercise discretion, Mrs. Calderwood? I will not read out any jokes about newlyweds or—or religion. Although there’s one here . . .“ Reiner drew breath.
“Most definitely not about religion, Mr. Lehmann.” But Mrs. Calderwood’s tone of voice had the indulgent softness she invariably showed to Reiner, or rather to his father’s fortune.
Reiner read out a half dozen of the most innocuous jokes, prompting some laughter and a certain amount of discussion. Of course, the writers directed some of them against women in general, but I didn’t suppose the Tribune employed female humor writers, and I was used to such nonsense.
“And here’s one about Darwin for Professor Wale.” Reiner smiled round at his audience, now well warmed up. “In character, what’s more.” This elicited a smattering of applause since Reiner was a natural mimic and his character voices were much appreciated.
“The figurative party says—“ Reiner launched into an Irish brogue, tucking his thumbs into his waistcoat—“So long as I am a man, sorr, what does it matter to me whether me great-grandfather was an anthropoid ape or not, sorr?”
I began to feel uneasy. I glanced at Professor Wale, who was leaning forward in his seat, his eyes like black stones and no trace of his usual sense of humor on his saturnine face.
Reiner circled his thumb and index finger and held them in front of his eye to mimic a monocle. He raised his upper lip so that his teeth stuck out and adopted an exaggerated English bray.
“And the literal party says: Haw, wather disagweeable for your gwate-gwandmother, wasn’t it?”
There were a few snorts of amusement, but not many. All eyes were on Mrs. Calderwood, who turned beet-red.
“Disgusting.” She rose and snatched the newspaper from Reiner’s unresisting hands. “Disgustingly low, vulgar humor. That sort of thing belongs in a saloon, Mr. Lehmann, not a seminary. Henceforth, I will cut the humor column out of the Tribune before it is placed in the library.” Her hair quivered, and she looked as if she would say more, but she turned away amid a hubbub of protests about her promise to excise humor from the Chicago paper.
Reiner stuck his hands in his pockets, looking unconcerned, but the evening was over. Young men began to rise from their seats and leave, making way for Mrs. Calderwood as she stalked from the room, the paper still clutched in her hand.
“Did you have to do that, Reiner?” I asked when the majority had left.
“It wasn’t newlyweds or religion.” Reiner shrugged his shoulders. “And I didn’t invent the joke. It was there for all to see.”
“And so appropriate for the setting.” Professor Wale’s voice dripped sarcasm, and the grooves that extended from his nose to the corners of his mouth were deep. “If I had not seen our revered presidentess’s reaction with my own eyes, I might have thought she’d appreciate the joke. Such students as have remained for the summer will now pass it on to their younger counterparts and possibly even a male relative or two.”
He turned to Reiner, and his eyes were cold. “Is there nothing you have respect for, young man?”
Reiner was silent, staring at the professor with an expression that bordered on insolence.
“I suppose it amuses you to make fun of me and all that I stand for,” the professor continued. “You, of course, are young and one day will be wealthy while I am old—and will no doubt die a poor man. Unlike your father, I have spent my life in the service of the truth.”
Reiner flushed a dull red, and his lips tightened. “Leave my father out of this.”
“As he leaves you out of his counsel? He doesn’t seem eager to have you at home.”
“It’s my own choice to remain here—and, as you well know, professor, I’m no longer a student. I may be young, but I’m now a junior member of the faculty.” Reiner’s eyes were watery with rage.
“A very junior member and retained primarily as a favor to your parent, I surmise. Your gift with languages is impressive, of course, but you lack application and the facility for hard work. And yet, no doubt, you’ll get on well enough. It’s easy to do so when the way has been made straight for you. Good evening, Mrs. Lillington.” He bowed in my direction, turned on his heel, and walked out, leaving Reiner with clenched fists and me in a condition of some astonishment.
“What was that about? I’ve never known the professor not to appreciate a joke, even one made against him or in poor taste—and that was in poor taste. And what did he mean about your father?”
“Pop’s been in some trouble.” Reiner thrust his hands deeper into his pockets. “Nothing that anybody else doesn’t do—buying a few votes here and there—but the Whale has decided to make an issue of it with me. If he weren’t such a little runt, and an old man to boot, I’d bloody his nose.” He flexed his broad shoulders.
“You won’t do anything of the sort. Now for heaven’s sake shake off your temper. You should know by now that punching people solves nothing.”
“Don’t you start.” Reiner looked sulky.
I looked around the large room. “Dear me, we appear to be the last ones left. I’m going to retire, and if you’ll take the advice of an elder—not necessarily a better,” I grinned at him, “who’s all of eleven months older than you, you’ll not take your temper to bed.”
A shamefaced half grin appeared on the young man’s face. “I suppose I can bear your scolding. Especially—say!—especially if you promise to come on a picnic with me. You wouldn’t miss this opportunity to cheer me up, would you?”
“A picnic? When?”
“Friday. Oh, do say you’ll come. It’s time you did something fun.”
“But that’s the Fourth of July.”
“Precisely. Andrew has the day off and says I can borrow the cart as long as I have it back in time for the servants to load it for the dinner. It’ll be our own celebration of freedom.”
“And Sarah and Tess’s.” I was not about to let myself be spirited across the prairie without a chaperone. “I presume you mean to invite them too.”
“Of course.” Reiner’s eyes were limpid blue pools of innocence. “I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”
I thought for a moment. “I see no harm in it.”
Reiner’s face lit up as though the sun had come out. “You’re the best girl in the world.” And before I could stop him, he gave me a swift kiss on the cheek. “I’ll look forward to this all week.”
By the time he’d reached the door, Reiner was whistling. Left alone, I yawned and wearily set about turning off the lamps. The servants wouldn’t be by for a while, and it didn’t do to leave an unguarded flame in a library. And naturally, it hadn’t occurred to Reiner to perform such a menial task.
I yawned again. What a petty spat over a ridiculous subject. Truly, these gentlemen had far too
much time on their hands.
13
Picnic
“An excellent spot for a picnic.” I stretched out my legs on the blanket, curling my toes in their light summer pumps. I had not needed boots since we hadn’t walked.
“I found this place a while ago, when I was out here shooting jackrabbits,” said Reiner. He watched Sarah, who was making ineffectual swipes at the nearby thicket of towering sunflowers with her stick. “The hollow and the sunflowers combined get you out of the wind, and it’s close to the trail. I remember thinking at the time how nice it would be to bring a girl here.”
I affected to ignore his smile, wondering exactly when I’d have to tell him he was presuming too much. If he thought to court me, he was far wide of the mark. I’d decided I liked Reiner a great deal—as a friend, and that was all.
“We can pick sunflowers, Momma?” Sarah ran back toward me, trailing her stick behind her. At nearly two and a half, she had almost completely lost her baby roundness and had strong, wiry legs, a straight back, and a sure step. “I want to take flowers home.”
“I’ll tell you what, Sary.” Tess was breathing a little hard—running didn’t suit her. “After we’ve eaten, we’ll go for a nice walk all around the sunflowers and pick a bouquet for Momma.”
“Or you can go for a walk right now, and we’ll eat up all the food.” Reiner held out his arms to Sarah, who flopped into them—she wasn’t shy with him. “And you can have the crumbs we leave behind.”
“No, me won’t,” Sarah said scornfully. “Reiner eat crumbs.” She thumped his stomach. “Fat tum-tum.”
Reiner looked down to where the tiniest suggestion of a future paunch pushed out his waistcoat. “You women are so hard on me. Very well, I suppose I’ll give you some food. Netta packed chicken and eggs—which one should come first?”
“Eggs,” replied Tess, and then, “Why are you both laughing?” But she started giggling too, just because we were. That started Sarah off, so in the end we were all giggling inanely at each other for no real reason at all. It felt wonderful.
