by Amy Brill
“I’m going for a walk,” she announced at four o’clock. No one seemed to hear. Edward and Mary were sprawled on the grass a few yards away. She had her head in his lap, and he was stroking her hair as he spoke to John and Libby Abbott and the Johnsons, two young couples Hannah and Edward had grown up with.
She stepped closer to the shadow of the tent so no one would see her watching. As children, they’d collected frogs and pinched each other across the benches at Meeting. But as adults those boys and girls had found each other again, and now they were joined by a mysterious bond Hannah did not understand.
Envy fired a hot streak through her chest. What was the defect in her that she had never felt such affection? Was it of the body? The spirit? Surely she was plain, but look at Libby. Her cheeks were round as a squirrel’s, and she had two chins and no sense. She talked all the time without making a point.
Hannah turned her back on the offensive scene and went round the back of the tent, then strode up to the top of the hill without stopping until she came over on the other side, which was empty. Once there, she halted and then knelt, squatting as a series of sobs ripped through her, one painful heave after another. She covered her face in case anyone should see her, then shielded her brow so that she appeared to be searching for something on the ground. Her thoughts felt muddled, and she had no sense of what to do next. Return to the tent? Go home?
Hannah’s head snapped up like a rabbit. Had Edward even told their father? She wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. Rising, she brushed off her dress and composed her face to a semblance of normal—though she felt anything but—and walked the rest of the way down the hill, the clamor of the tent city fading behind her.
With everyone at shearing, the streets were hushed, and the squeak of the door when she opened it and her steps on the floorboards seemed to reverberate through the empty town.
Her father was sitting in the kitchen with a half-empty cup of tea and a stack of correspondence fanning across the table. He didn’t look up when she came in.
“Has thee been to the tents?” she asked, checking the kettle. It was cold.
“Mary’s father came to see me this morning,” he stated, glancing up at Hannah as if to admonish her for being coy. “I apprised him that I’d no prior information concerning the event, and that if I had I’d certainly have alerted him in time to prevent it.”
“Would thee have?” She was surprised in spite of her own fantasies about how the union might have been stopped.
“Of course,” he snapped. “Thy brother is in no position to marry. Though I’m certain he has some ridiculous, impractical scheme in mind.”
Hannah bowed her head and sighed, hoping to mollify him.
“I had a letter from William Bond today, ahead of one that he advises us to expect later this week,” he went on. “Apparently we’ve earned a small contract from the Depot of Charts and Instruments to operate a Nantucket station for the Coast Survey.”
He snapped the page he was reading so it crisped to attention.
“Really?” Hannah picked her head up. “The Coast Survey?”
“Indeed.” He passed William’s letter to Hannah. As she scanned the brief lines, a rush of hope bloomed in her chest like a field of flowers all opening at once. But her father looked grim.
“Is this not wonderful news?” she asked carefully.
“It should be,” he said, gazing at her over the top of the page. “But it pains me to say that I do not know if we can accept it.”
“But why would we not accept it? It’s an excellent opportunity! And think of the instruments.” She pressed her palms down on the table, taking comfort from its solidity, hoping that whatever the reason for his hesitation, she could settle it. She willed herself to stay calm, clear the sticky cloud of fear from her voice.
“I’m not certain that Lucinda will consent to wait another year for my presence in Philadelphia,” he said. “And as previously discussed, it is unlikely that the contract will hold if I am not in residence to oversee it.”
Hannah’s heart hammered against her ribs, but she managed to subdue her fear enough to keep her voice level.
“Could Edward and I not maintain the station together? With thy supervision, of course.”
Birds were fighting in the mulberry tree outside the window; the pair burst out at intervals, leaves flying in their wake. In the absence of other human sounds, their chatter seemed unnaturally loud.
Her father’s voice turned unexpectedly tender.
“Daughter,” he said, “I must advise thee to clear thy head of the notion that Edward will remain here.” Was that pity in his face? She had steeled herself to defend her brother, not herself, and now was unsure how to go forward with her argument.
“But why?” she asked, hating the quiver in her voice, vulnerability making her feel more like a child than a grown woman capable of running a station of the national Coast Survey. “Has he said as much?”
“I expect he shall announce his plans tonight. The Coffeys are holding a dinner. At their home.” He moved his newspaper the rest of the way down to the table and peered over his glasses at Hannah. “It’s not for a few hours yet.”
“But thee will attend?” She smoothed her skirt, which was patched with flour, stained dark with cider and butter. A button-size spot was still damp from her tears. She left her other questions unasked. There was no use in querying her father any further about Edward or pushing for a reconciliation. He felt as betrayed by Edward as Hannah did, she realized. But she’d diverted her pain into a kind of moat, buffering her from despair. Nathaniel had allowed his to harden into a wall. Maybe his way was better. At least he hadn’t had all his expectations dashed.
“Yes, I shall attend,” her father said, going back to his work. “If we’re lucky, the situation won’t tarnish our business relations with the Coffeys. The last thing the Bank—and this household— needs is the wholesale withdrawal of the accounts and chronometers of the entire fleet.”
“Does it really matter at this point?” Hannah muttered, losing her will to put on a professional show for her father. “If we’re to remove anyway, what difference can it make?” If her father decided to remove to Philadelphia without mending his bond with Edward, she’d have no chance of staying to run the station.
“Those of us whose support remains dependent upon the finances of this household are in no position to comment upon its needs, I should say,” he answered calmly, then went back to reading.
Shame weighing on her like a boulder, Hannah rose, careful with her feet, and left the room without saying anything else. She felt branded, like one of the penned sheep up by the pond, with a giant F for Failure.
She was nothing but a burden to the household, in spite of her meager income from the Atheneum. That’s what her father was saying. She’d failed to find a comet or anything of note in the Heavens; she’d failed to find a husband or even look for one. And apparently she’d failed in predicting the outcome of Edward’s journey and her own future.
* The Coffey dining table stretched from one end of the room to the other, half the length of a schooner. On the walls of the room, portraits of previous generations of Coffeys glared down upon the diners as if in horror that one of their own had secretly married a Price of little means. Hannah felt stiff as an overstarched tea towel in a brown, high- necked First Day dress she’d been wearing since high school. It was meant for cooler days, but she couldn’t get the blue one clean in time. Once, she and Edward would have scoffed at the idea of supping at the Coffey table in their best clothes. Now he sat across from her, barely visible through the twisted metalwork of a brass candelabra that dominated the centerpiece.
Even surrounded by Mary’s imposing family—her parents, John and Charlotte; her sister, Eleanor; and her two brothers, Elias and Elijah, and their wives—not to mention two Nantucket selectmen, Dr. Hall, and his own disapproving father, Edward looked serene. Hannah wondered if her father had even informed Edward about his own plans to
marry and remove.
She’d yet to have a moment alone with her brother, and his proximity was excruciating. All she wanted to do was steal him away, to walk and talk. The simplest things. But they were trapped in this grand room, where everything from the windows to the table to the gilded edges of the china was burnished to a mirror-like sheen. Everywhere she looked, Hannah saw herself, wavy, distorted. Her place setting seemed crowded with cutlery. There were three spoons, two forks, and what looked like a silver toothpick with two prongs at the end.
It was a ridiculous assortment for one person, but she was glad to have something to do with her hands while the conversation flowed around her. As the soup was served and removed, and plates of carved roast meat and potatoes were passed, Hannah felt the chatter more than heard it, until Elias caught her attention.
“I don’t see the allure of Philadelphia, myself,” he said to the table at large. “Outside of the Mint, of course.” Hannah glanced at her father, seated beside her to the left, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“What about Constitution Hall?” Mary offered from her place next to Edward. “That was a grand building in its time.”
“ ’Twas, until a mob burned it down,” Elijah said.
“There’s the Independence Bell,” Elias conceded. “I suppose that’s something.”
“A seventy-year-old bell?” his brother sniffed. “I’ll take Boston any day.”
“If the mob had read the Bell carefully they’d have thought twice about routing Mr. Garrison’s antislavery forces. Does thee know why, Edward?” Dr. Hall asked from Hannah’s right elbow. She’d been surprised to see him, then grateful that she’d at least have someone to speak to; but he’d been unusually reserved, and spoken more to her father and the other selectmen than to Hannah.
“Hannah?” Edward asked. She shook her head.
“Leviticus 25:10.” Dr. Hall put one finger to his chin, waiting to see if anyone knew the passage.
“ ‘Proclaim Liberty throughout the land unto all the inhabitants thereof,’ ” Nathaniel intoned.
“Those who support slavery aren’t civilized enough to care,” said Elias’ wife, Sally. “They’d happily melt the Bell down for reuse as shackles.” She lifted her chin but her eyes sparkled. Her pretty defiance was a kind of flirtatious parlor game, Hannah thought. Sally, along with every other woman in the room, seemed crisp in her muted silk dress, a silvery grey color reminiscent of a cloud. While all the women were technically in keeping with Discipline as far as their attire— no one wore bright colors or plunging necklines, and there wasn’t a ribbon or ruche in sight—Hannah still felt thick and common as a dandelion in a field of poppies. Her hand fluttered to her hair, which she’d haphazardly pinned into a knot that threatened to undo itself with every move she made, and she wondered how these women kept their hair so neatly ordered and plaited into intricate coils.
Someone helped them, she realized. An instant later, a memory blazed through her: her mother’s hands, hovering at her neck. The gentle, lulling tug of braids woven in, a splash of bright blue ribbon wound round the ends and tucked away, like a hidden gem only revealed at bedtime.
The soup was cleared by black women in matching long skirts and snowy white aprons. The sensation of her mother’s hands receded. Hannah found her gaze drawn to their hair beneath their snug caps, wondering if it was similar to Isaac’s. A pang of what felt like hunger ran through her at the thought of him; she hadn’t seen him since their strange shared vision in the garret nearly a month earlier. Embarrassed by her ignorance, she resumed playing with her silverware, though she supposed she ought to eat something.
“I heard the bell ring once, when old Tippecanoe passed on,” Elias said.
“Did you?” Edward asked. “What did it sound like?”
“Quite loud,” Elias answered. “Rather like the sound of thousands of free Africans overrunning the country. Liberty Bell indeed.”
“Elias! Really.” Sally clicked her tongue. Hannah winced at the crude comment.
“What? I’m no friend of the slaveowner, but sudden, wholesale manumission? They must be mad. It’ll be a disaster.”
“More of a disaster than the continued subjugation of an entire race of men, women, and children? I cannot see how,” Mary snapped, and Hannah looked up, surprised at her fervor.
“That’s because you’ve never looked farther than your own Island shores, where all the bunnies run free and happily together,” Elias answered. Mary and Edward exchanged glances, and Hannah saw her brother shake his head and whisper something to his new wife. Mary smiled.
Hannah felt overheated, nauseated by the bloody platter and the overcooked green beans. Hoping for distraction, she turned toward Dr. Hall.
“Have you had a look at the latest volume of Silliman’s Journal?” she asked.
He nodded.
“It lacks the depth of a scholarly endeavor. I’d rather hoped for more substance from our national science journal.”
“I thought much the same,” Hannah said. “There’s nothing on astronomy at all except a short description of the observatory at Cambridge. And nothing on Charles Babbage’s latest analytical engine design. Though I suppose that’s technically an English innovation.”
Mary had bent her head low and was laughing at something Edward was saying. Hannah wondered what he was making fun of. He’d made no effort to include her in their conversation—though with a piece of brass the size of a small tree between them, it would have been difficult. Still, she felt snubbed, and the sting of rejection made her even more unhappy to be there. She tried to focus on what Dr. Hall was saying; something about Horace Mann. She’d read that article, hadn’t she? Hannah rummaged in her brain for its thesis, and was relieved when she retrieved it.
“I found the article about Mr. Mann’s school heartening,” she said. “Not the part about the training methods for women teachers; thee did a fine job of instructing me on that front without any formal ‘method.’ But as far as it advanced the idea of equal education for all people.”
Dr. Hall bowed his head slightly, absorbing the compliment, then put a forkful of peas in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Hannah pushed her food around on her plate.
“I’m told thee has a student of late.”
Hannah controlled her features, though she could feel the blood rush to her cheeks.
“It is true. In navigation,” she said mildly, wondering who had told him about Isaac. What they had told him. “Only the rudiments, of course: he’ll be halfway around the Cape before we could even scratch the deeper surface. Yet he advances.”
She paused, hoping the conversation would end there. When he didn’t answer, she glanced at him, and was reminded again how much he’d aged since he’d been her teacher. Perhaps she’d misread his question.
“Does thee miss thy students?” she asked.
“Some more than others,” he answered, turning his head to look at her. His eyes seemed paler today, the icy blue of a glacier. At such close range, the effect was bracing: instead of the old mix of excitement and fear she’d felt as a schoolgirl when he paid attention to her, she now felt acutely conscious of his physical proximity. She could see the iron-grey stubble on his cheek, the whorl of thinning hair on the back of his head. Her cheeks warmed as his gaze lingered, and her father’s words in the garret back in April returned with burning clarity: Dr. Hall has spoken of his great affection for you.
Hannah looked back down at her plate, mortified by the idea that her teacher could be attracted to her; it was perverse in the extreme. When John Coffey cleared his throat, Dr. Hall turned toward him, and the clink and buzz around the table ceased. Hannah exhaled.
“We wish to acknowledge the presence of the Price family at our table,” he said. There was a tiny crumb marring the sheen of his deep- blue jacket, and Hannah kept her eye on it. His voice betrayed no emotion. He might have been speaking to an assembly of workers at one of his storehouses, or to the men’s Business Meeting about a bylaw.
“And our esteemed friends as well. We are grateful for thy company, though as you know this event was rather unexpected.”
A ripple of laughter went round the table, though not everyone was smiling. Hannah caught Edward’s eye for a moment, and she felt more than saw his discomfort, though she was sure no one else did. She was seized by the urge to protect him from this theater. But how? Should she rise from her chair and inform everyone that Mary was not deserving of a hair upon her brother’s head, much less his heart? That her devious capture of his body and spirit was not the Coffeys’ to despair but the Prices’?
Edward looked back at Mary, and curled his hand over hers upon the tablecloth. Hannah felt her heart shrinking like a sponge being wrung out.
“Edward and Mary have joined themselves in the contract of marriage, and we gather together to acknowledge the promises they spake to one another, and in hopes that their union may prosper,” John finished.
The assembled bowed their heads briefly to acknowledge his words. Hannah thought she saw Elias roll his eyes, but she averted her own before he saw her looking.
“What are your plans, then?” Sally called from the other end of the table. “Shall you set up housekeeping at the Prices’?” Someone at the table tittered; Hannah couldn’t tell who.
Edward and Mary exchanged a look, and Edward nodded. Hannah studied his face through the branches of the candelabra. She closed one eye, then another; in the wavy candlelight she saw something new in his face. His light was still there, but there was gravity as well. He was no longer a boy, she realized.
“Some time ago, Edward wrote a letter to Captain Zachary Thomson, who is leading a cartographic expedition to Jerusalem, to express his wish—our wishes—to join their party,” Mary said.
Hannah wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. A collective gasp went around the table.
“Really?” Elias said. “The Captain Thomson?”
