by Annie Proulx
59
lime leaf
If Lavinia cared less for Dieter Breitsprecher after his accident, he fell into a gyre of dangerous love. He could not escape. He sensed it would be a mistake if they married, but he was caught in the immediacy of the whirlpool and did not have the strength to stroke away. Some unsuspected need for Lavinia racked him. He knew it was irrational, knew her direction in life was injurious to his own beliefs. She would crush him. The unswallowable truth was that he wanted to be crushed. Although he would never say it to her, Lavinia returned him to his grandmother, that ruler-straight woman with the unlined face and black parted hair who knew the answers to everything and who ran a household that shone golden as the ormolu clock on the mantel. Her stringent rules, her commands and painful punishments, and the never-forgotten rare words of praise had arranged his emotions for Lavinia. So he lay abed, waiting for the scant hour when she came to his bedside and sat with face averted, talking of the day’s business and weather signs.
“Mr. Pye, our good old accountant, has requested retirement on account of ill health. He has some painful gnawing in his vitals and his eyesight is not good. Annag has assured me she is able to keep the accounts as well as he.”
“You would do well to give a little reception for him—a gold watch or a watch fob in the shape of a pinecone? What is the company policy?”
“I don’t think we have one. My father was never a sentimental man and I expect anyone who retired got a gold piece and a handshake. But I think you are right. We can arrange something pleasant for Mr. Pye, just a little collation in the boardroom. I’ll tell Annag to take care of it.”
To outsiders such changes seemed the mark of Dieter Breitsprecher; he was a man of some mystery but since his entry into the affairs of Duke Logging outsiders believed him to be the source of all the company’s deals. Lavinia’s character and qualities were ascribed to him; his own reputation as an astute and fast-striking businessman grew.
To escape from his own feelings and thoughts during this convalescence Dieter began to write letters to those men who seemed concerned with the disappearance of the North American forests, a concern that appeared more and more linked to a vague recognizance of national identity though he was not sure of this. Few now saw the forest as a great oppressive enemy; some even honored individual trees, especially those that were massive or stood as landmarks. A Unitarian minister in western Massachusetts gave a series of sermons on trees, sermons later published as a slender volume—Trees of Life. Dieter had a copy. Most stirring was the sermon on the cedars of Lebanon, al Arz ar Rab, great dark trees of God that had sheltered angels, trees felled by King Solomon’s hundred thousand axmen. The sermon ended with a plea: “the cedars are now imperiled by ravenous goats that eat the young shoots. Queen Victoria herself has sent money to build a wall to protect the trees from capric destruction.” The congregation contributed a generous sum for the salvation of the cedars of Lebanon while continuing to quarter their own herds on public forestlands.
Dieter shied away from transcendental disputation but he was interested in the American shift from hatred of the forest to something approaching veneration, a feeling he had known since his German childhood. After the deaths of his parents his grandmother had taken him to see the Heede Riesenlinde.
“A Lindwurm—dragon tree,” she said in a low intense voice, her heavily beringed hand drawing him close to it. As they stood under the great carbuncled tree, its splayed trunk thick with emerald moss, she said, “This noble and ancient tree is a justice tree and much more.” She told him the story of Siegfried, adapted for her own purposes, Siegfried the Bark-Skinned, who had acquired his horny covering after felling Fafnir, the dragon who lived in the lime tree. After swabbing himself with dragon’s blood, Siegfried was armored, safe from harm except for a little place on his back where a lime leaf had stuck.
“This tree? The dragon lived in this lime tree?” asked Dieter, his eyes clenching the dark hollow in the roots, half-afraid the great serpent would appear.
“Yes, but it was a very long time ago. The dragon is dead, thanks be to Siegfried. And now you must think of yourself as Siegfried. The sadness you feel over the death of your mama and papa is a kind of dragon—Sie müssen zurück schlagen—you must quell this sorrow-dragon. You must harden yourself, overcome grief and form a protection of will against superfluous love. Then nothing can hurt you.”
But Lavinia had found his lime leaf and pulled it away.
• • •
He wrote many letters to the Vermonter. Marsh was the best kind of farmer, for he noticed everything that happened in his world, the fall of tree branches, the depth of leaf mold in the woods and how rain was slowed by and caught in tree roots, tempered by the absorbent sponge of moss and decaying leaves. He saw what happened to soil when the trees were gone, how the birds disappeared when the pond was drained. When he traveled he compared landscapes and formed opinions. Dieter still hoped to visit him and see what the farmer had seen. As their correspondence went on he realized that George Perkins Marsh was considerably more than an observant Green Mountain farmer—linguist, congressman, diplomat, a traveler to foreign parts—one of the geniuses the young country seemed to throw out like seed grain.
• • •
The new wing would be added to Lavinia’s house while they were on their honeymoon journey to New Zealand. When they returned all would be finished.
“A great deal of money,” said Lavinia to herself. Still, one had to keep up appearances and Dieter must have his library and greenhouse. She put aside her black clothing and took up new fashions, form-hugging dresses with perky little bustles. And Goosey, that homely grey-haired matron who had been saving her stipend for years, had suddenly appeared in dresses of rich colors, unsparing of ruffles. Her hair was artfully plaited and wrapped into a crown.
At breakfast Goosey poured melted butter and maple syrup on her griddle cake. “Lavinia, I have meant to tell you for many a day but—”
“What is it, Goosey?” Lavinia preferred silence in the morning but this was not in Goosey’s nature. She glanced at her distant cousin, saw her pink face and knotted brows. Goosey gave off a faint scent of orris root.
“I have accepted to marry Mr. Axel Cowes.”
“But how do you come to know him?” Lavinia was greatly surprised. Goosey flared red and hunched her shoulders. It all came out. The day she had walked into the forest to cut a few pine twigs for Dieter she had encountered Mr. Cowes strolling with his dogs. They had chatted, they began to walk together, and over successive months they became daily walking companions, close friends and finally, betrothed. “He needs someone,” said Goosey. Ah, thought Lavinia, so does everyone.
“I wish you every happiness, dear Goosey,” she said, immediately planning to cut Goosey’s bequest from her will.
• • •
Lavinia went early to the office and returned late. There was very much to do, two or three businessmen callers every day and the correspondence such a daily flood Annag Duncan and Miss Heinrich could not handle all of it. Though Annag looked like a prosperous and successful businesswoman, Miss Heinrich had changed little; she remained timid, hiding in the paper supply room when strangers came to the office.
“For heaven’s sake,” said Annag, “they won’t bite you. It’s just businessmen.”
“I don’t like that Mr. Wirehouse. He looks at me.”
“He looks at everyone. You may look back at him, for a cat may look at a king.” Lawyer Flense had presented her with an amusing book—Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. And this remark sent Miss Heinrich into tears. “I am not a cat!”
• • •
On one of Chicago’s blowy old days Annag, trim in navy blue with a modest hem frill, came into Lavinia’s office, her lips moving, rehearsing what she wanted to say.
“Miss Duke, the success of the company has made a great deal of work in the office. I feel we must hire two more clerks. The volume of mail is great. I suggest promo
ting Miss Heinrich to assistant director and getting two or even three new people to sort through and handle the letters, which she has done so far.”
Lavinia said, “You are free to advertise for and hire new office people. We must train good people. And you know that Dieter and I will be abroad for nearly two years. I must have regular intelligence of everything, detailed weekly cables, and I believe all will go well. It does mean extra work for you. As for Miss Heinrich’s promotion, do send her in to me and I will speak with her.”
Only a few days earlier Miss Heinrich, the model of a man-fearing spinster, had come to Annag nervously rolling some papers in her hands.
“Mrs. Duncan, as you asked me to do I have reexamined the proposals from last summer’s Inventor’s Day and there is one that is particularly—interesting. But we did not proceed with it. I do not know if Miss Duke thought it promising . . .” Her voice trailed away.
“What proposal is that?”
“It is one from Maine, from a Mr. Stirrup. Illness kept him from the exhibit but he is trying anew. He was a rag merchant and now he has a paper mill in Maine on the Mattawannscot River. He once used only rags to make paper, but he says he has experimented in pulping some wood and blending the fibers with the rags. With great success, he says. And also he tried making paper with different wood pulps. Alone. No rags.”
“That is interesting. I did not know of this proposal. Is there more to it than this?”
“Yes. He sent samples. Of the wood-pulp paper. He says he has made many experiments to find the best woods and the best processes. He writes of sulfite and sulfate processes. What does that mean?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. Let me see the samples.”
Annag Duncan examined the paper sheets, scratched a few inky words on several, folded and bent the pages. She handed everything back to Miss Heinrich then sat in her chair looking out the window onto the construction site of a museum, the gift of one of Chicago’s many millionaires. At last she sighed, turned around and looked at her assistant. The poor thing was so nervous she was trembling.
“Miss Heinrich. I think you had better take this proposal in to Miss Duke and tell her that it caught your eye. She may not have read all the way through when it was first presented last year. I agree with you that there may be value here.” She escorted her to Lavinia’s office door, opened it and said, “Miss Duke, here is Miss Heinrich.”
• • •
While Miss Heinrich stood like a snowwoman on the turkey carpet in front of the desk, Lavinia read the pages and examined the samples. “Very interesting. Miss Heinrich, I commend you. You shall have a promotion and a salary rise.” Her mind was jumping ahead. Stirrup had mentioned that small logs, slash and otherwise unusable wood could be used for paper pulp—inexpensive paper made from waste wood. This, she thought, could open a lucrative market. Come to that, could not Duke & Breitsprecher build its own paper mill? “Take a letter, Miss Heinrich,” she said. “Dear Mr. Stirrup. I have today read your proposal . . .” It was a move that would take Duke & Breitsprecher into the next century.
• • •
The marriage had a business advantage for Lavinia. Dieter became the company figurehead while she continued to manage and control, to build the great Duke empire by all means possible. Dieter had asked that the company not sell its cutover pinelands to speculators, but sequester and manage them through a separate division called Maintenance Timberland, which he would oversee, replant and manage. This was in addition to the acreage he had held back from the merger with Duke. So the first evidence of forest conservation tinged Duke & Breitsprecher’s reputation.
“The day will come,” Dieter explained to the Board, “though it be difficult for you to believe, when timber is scarce and becomes more valuable than we can project. You saw the promise in wood pulp for the paper market as Lavinia and Mr. Stirrup explained to us this morning. Holding Duke’s Maine land for years was wise. If we ensure the continuation of our forestland, future wealth is guaranteed, whether for lumber or paper. We may have passed on by then but our work will be remunerative.” No one could argue with this, for some of the old Breitsprecher lands he had planted twenty years earlier were bristling with sturdy trees and would indisputably be valuable timberland in another three or four decades. It forced the Board to think in new ways, on a scale of decades rather than months or a few years. Very frightening stuff.
• • •
Duke & Breitsprecher sent its first shipload of best pine to Sydney, Australia. Lawyer Flense went to San Francisco to meet with the buyer, an Englishman doing business in Australia, Harry Blustt, who wanted to arrange a contract for a decade of supply. Blustt wanted Michigan pine, but said he also had an interest in the kauri trade—whatever kauri might be, thought Flense.
“We have a little of this wood in Australia, but most of it grows in New Zealand. We are interested in finding a logging partner to establish efficient lumber camps in that country.” His ginger goatee rose and fell as he talked.
“I see,” said Lawyer Flense. It was the first time he had heard the word efficient used in quite this way; he grasped the meaning immediately. “Of course Duke and Breitsprecher is interested in any overseas source of wood. We are ever interested in new timber supplies. And ‘efficient’ is our motto. But who are the New Zealand interests?”
Blustt laughed. “We arrange all that. We already have them—we have contacts with the right men. They look to Australia and London for advice and action in all things. But the native people are not satisfactory workers. We want American woodsmen who can use the ax and saw. Here is what the finished product looks like.” He produced four small pieces of golden kauri wood.
“Ah,” said Flense; the wood glowed as though sunlight were sequestered in every atom.
“Best house-building wood in the world,” said Blustt.
Flense brought the samples back to Chicago and the Board passed the polished, blemish-free pieces from hand to hand. Kauri was a pine, and when they heard of the tree’s generous manner of growth, enormous and straight for a hundred feet, all the limbs clustered at the top, they voted to know more. “It is reputed to be the most perfect tree on earth for the timberman,” said Flense. “Or at least this fellow Blustt claims it is.”
No one on the Board knew much about New Zealand. Lavinia wanted to meet Blustt, she wanted to see the kauri forests before the company made a leap into the dark. It might be the Michigan forests all over again. And so the journey was arranged. She and Dieter Breitsprecher, recovered though somewhat scarred, would travel to Sydney on their honeymoon trip, meet with Blustt, then continue to Auckland and for themselves see the kauri of the Coromandel peninsula.
• • •
Before they left Lavinia spent separate hours with Lawyer Flense and Axel Cowes.
“Mr. Flense,” she said, “I think of you not only as my adviser and executor in all financial affairs, but as a friend. I have complete confidence in you. While Dieter and I are away I will give you a power of attorney to handle business matters. If you have doubts or questions on any matter please consult with Axel Cowes.”
“Do not worry, dear Lavinia. All will be as you yourself might act.” He smiled his curling smile, a gold tooth sparking. He took her right hand in his. “On my life,” he said.
• • •
Both Lavinia and Dieter were prostrate with seasickness for the first weeks of the voyage. The captain (whose ship Duke & Breitsprecher owned) was at his wit’s end in suggesting cures until the mate gathered remedies from the scuttlebutt. The one that worked came from the Chinese cook—ginger tea and walking the deck every other hour.
“Never go belowdecks,” said the cook, bringing the invalids a great steaming pot reeking of ginger. Lavinia took three sweetened cups and walked for half an hour, her eyes on the horizon. Dieter found a single cup efficacious and by dinnertime the two vomiters were well enough to eat boiled beef and turnips. The shared illness somehow united them as the marriage ceremony had not an
d on board the bounding ship with a load of pine planks rubbing against each other in the hold Dieter and Lavinia began a sexual adventure. Dieter was delightedly astonished at how responsive and inventive Lavinia became in the narrow berth. The crew could hear laughter and occasional whoops from their quarters. The cook claimed it was another of the salubrious effects of ginger tea.
• • •
Harry Blustt met their ship. “Ah, a long voyage, what?” He explained that Sydney was still an infant city, both swampy and dusty, both crowded and empty, both brash and genteel.
“How interesting,” said Lavinia. “But all I hope for at the moment is accommodations on immovable ground.”
“Quite! Quite. Accommodations! You understand, guesthouses and inns are few—during the gold rush there were innumerable doss-houses, quite unsuitable. We have arranged for you to stay at a government official’s house—he is in London until the turn of the year. I think you will be comfortable for the weeks before you sail to New Zealand. I have arranged several small dinners with men in the timber business.”
The arranged dinners were all alike, vinous English businessmen hoping to strike deals to sell their lumber, most of which, Lavinia gathered, came from New Zealand, where choppers were bringing down the trees.
“Yas,” said one bland fellow touching his lips with his napkin, “lumber ships crowd New Zealand harbors, ships take on kauri, totara and rimu. I say most are bound here for New South Wales, which is expanding like—like—like the very devil.”
“But we are here to see about the possibilities of logging ourselves,” said Lavinia. The men looked at Dieter as if to ask him to silence his wife—a woman had no place discussing logging nor lumber. They could not bring themselves to discuss anything with her, deferred instead to Dieter. Conversation languished; Lavinia and Dieter said good night as soon as they could without giving offense.
“I hope it is better in New Zeland,” said Lavinia. “These fellows are small-time operators. They are only concerned to sell a load or two of their planks. They are supplying building material for New South Wales. That is their market. They do not understand serious logging.” She waved her arm in a circle that included the fruit bats. “It makes me question the abilities of Mr. Blustt. I hope it is not the same in Auckland.”
