by Jodi Daynard
Johnny didn’t know that people from the town could borrow books from Harvard’s library. He wondered why it was that Peter had mentioned nothing to him about it.
“And what did you say?”
“I said I would go. The weather has been fine, and the river looks inviting. I go abroad so rarely.”
“Have your parents approved?”
“Certainly. Elizabeth shall join us.”
“Sounds jolly.”
Kate suddenly asked, “How go your studies?” Behind her thick spectacles were bright, inquiring eyes.
Johnny grinned and led her to the sofa, only too ready to tell someone. “Oh, Cousin, it’s a dream come true! All those books! I never imagined I’d have such a quiet, gloomy library all to myself. Mr. Shipley, the librarian, takes no notice of me.”
Kate blushed.
“What is it?” Johnny asked.
“From me, on the other hand, Mr. Shipley demands a rather loathsome kiss in exchange for a book.”
“A kiss?” Johnny stood up from the sofa. “I shall punch his face! Indeed I shall!”
“No.” Kate smiled and urged him to sit down. “He’s harmless enough, I suppose.”
“When next you go, tell me, and I shall accompany you,” he said earnestly. “But oh, I read and read until my eyes water and I feel my head will explode. My world expands exponentially. Rome, Carthage, Athens—I begin to see them. I should so much like to discuss what I read!”
This last plaintive note caught Kate’s attention. “But you are at the finest college in the land. Is there no one there interested in sharing these worlds with you, in discussing them?”
Johnny laughed, suddenly realizing that he had revealed more about his loneliness than he’d meant to. “There must be, though I’ve not met such a one as yet. It’s early days, I suppose. Alas, those I am closest to care more for sport or taverns than the library. No one enjoys reading, as I do. No one seems—curious.”
“Oh, but I am!” Kate suddenly blurted, then blushed deeply.
Johnny looked at her, his head cocked. “Is it true? Would you really like to discuss such things? Cicero, Socrates, Locke?”
“I would love to,” Kate said quietly, but her tremulous voice betrayed her emotions. “I’m sorry.” She let out a laugh and wiped her eyes behind her spectacles.
“Don’t be,” Johnny assured her. “I’m delighted. It’s a rare thing to come upon anyone—much less a girl—who wishes so fervently to study. Not many girls of my acquaintance want to read difficult books.”
“Apparently not many boys do, either.”
At Kate’s quick wit, Johnny grinned. “Very well, then. When next we meet, let us discuss Locke’s Essay Concerning Human Understanding.”
Kate stood up and curtsied once more. Johnny suddenly noticed, with a blush of his own, that she had a fine figure. “Until next Sunday, then,” she said.
Several days later, as he lay on his stomach reading upon Locke’s Essay, Peter burst noisily through their door. It was just after supper, and he was deeply engaged.
“What do you know but I’ve lost it! Hell and damnation!”
“Lost what?” Johnny looked up at Peter dreamily.
“Common Sense! I had it in the boat, but when I went to disembark, it was gone.”
“Oh, I very much doubt you had common sense in the boat,” said Johnny.
Peter didn’t catch the joke. He frowned in consternation. “But I did—I’m sure of it. I thought to read bits to—to the ladies. I need to know it for Monday, for a recitation. And now it’s gone. They shall fine me for sure, but that’s not so concerning. The fact is, I must know it, man.”
Johnny thought it odd that his roommate had lost the very book he himself had memorized the previous summer. “Do they not have another copy in the library?”
“Remarkably not. Or, well, perhaps another student has borrowed one. Oh, I shall fail utterly, and the governors will write to my parents.”
Johnny doubted that any such thing would happen, not for a lost book alone. He wished to finish Locke’s Essay just then and was about to turn a deaf ear when he thought, Here might be an excellent chance to impress the other boys without appearing to do so. But could he remember Common Sense after these many months? It would be a chance to find out. Johnny sat up and said, “I can probably help you, though it is inconvenient.”
Peter, hearing only the part he wished to, smiled most winningly. “Oh, could you? Could you really?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see,” Johnny replied. Then he added, “I did happen to study it most particularly last summer.”
“Why, your memory is nearly preternatural,” Peter flattered. “Even our tutors have remarked upon it. Oh, if only you could, I’d be eternally grateful.”
“Well, procure me a great stack of paper and several bottles of ink. Until then, leave me in peace, if you will.”
Without another word, Peter left for the buttery, which would have the items he sought, though so much paper would cost Peter dearly. When Johnny returned to Locke’s essay, he cursed Peter, for the deep communion he had felt with the philosopher was gone.
Peter returned with the requested items. Johnny took them, rose from his bed, and moved into his small study on the other side of the fireplace.
“I shouldn’t like to be disturbed till I’m finished,” he said.
Peter put a finger to his own lips, grinned, and next Johnny looked up, the boy was gone.
Johnny worked well into the night. Peter headed to Porter’s Tavern and did not return until after his roommate had gone to bed, at around two. In that time, Johnny had been able to recall about one-third of the treatise. His fingers were black with ink and cramped.
There had been moments when he drew a blank, and these moments frightened him. He had no wish to fail and suffer humiliation. Fortunately, the moment Johnny was able to see one word, the whole paragraph came into view. And with the paragraph came the margins, the page number and heading, and then the full page itself, blossoming open like a newly hatched leaf.
Johnny missed prayers the following morning, for which he knew he’d be fined. At breakfast, he sat apart from the other scholars, not wishing to break the spell. Peter glanced at him once or twice but was wise enough not to intrude. The boys whispered among one another with hunched shoulders, as if speaking about him.
Well, what of it? He had been lying low since his arrival at college, endeavoring to fit in, playing with the wrestlers, even going so far as to make the odd mistake in French or Latin. It was time to lift his head up and fly his intellectual colors.
Johnny finished the transcription late that Thursday afternoon. He placed the cap on his ink bottle, gathered his sheets of paper in a neat pile, and washed his ink-stained hands. His fingers ached, but he was satisfied. He had not known whether he could remember the entire essay and was gratified to know that he could, give or take a phrase here and there.
Johnny had just blown out his candle when Peter came banging through their door, the worse for drink.
“Johnny-boy, r’ you awake?”
“Barely,” Johnny replied. He was tired and wanted to go to bed.
“Well, do you have it? If I’m to study, I s’pose it mus’ be now or never.”
Johnny fumbled for a straw spill with which to light his candle. After kneeling for some time by the coals, he finally succeeded. “It’s just there.” He pointed. “Upon your desk.”
“I can’ bleeve it,” Peter slurred as he looked down at the manuscript. “You’ve actually done it. I didn’ think you could.”
“I said I could, didn’t I?”
“People say all kinds of rubbish.”
“True enough. Well, go study, Peter—elsewhere. I’ve no need to hear Paine again. I’ve spent all week with him. Now it’s your turn.”
Peter laughed loudly. “Yes, sir!” He took up the manuscript and his candlestick and was just about to go to his own study, when he said, a look of sincere affection in his
bleary eyes, “Thank you, Johnny. I’m greatly admiring and indebted. I shall find a way to repay you somehow.”
“Go,” said Johnny, whose own eyes were closing. “Let me sleep. That shall be payment enough.”
By breakfast the following morning, word of Johnny’s accomplishment had spread throughout the college. He had imagined the handshakes, the smiles, the general approbation. But when he entered the commons, he was met with silent stares. The boys began to giggle and whisper. Rather than impress everyone, it seemed his feat had caused the boys to consider him a freak of nature, like someone with a six-fingered hand.
No one at his usual table had saved him a seat, and Johnny was obliged to sit elsewhere. He turned away and caught the eye of a sickly boy who sat at the adjacent table. Several times he had heard Peter and the rest of them ridiculing this boy. He was fair-haired, with a long, aquiline nose, broad forehead, and a wry pale mouth. Had he not been so terribly thin, he might have cut a dashing figure. But his back was hunched, and his blue coat swallowed him; it was hard to discern the contours of body in the bulk of fabric.
The boy extended his hand without rising. “I’m Eliot. Delighted.”
“I’m Johnny. Johnny Boylston.”
“I know your name already. Your fame precedes you.”
“My fame? You must mean my notoriety. For behold how they behave. My roommate lost his book, and I copied it for him, from memory.”
Eliot’s eyes flared. “Lost it? Is that what he told you?”
“Indeed. Why?”
“Oh, never mind.” Eliot shrugged. Then he said, “But they never shall admit that they are impressed, you know. They’re too envious. All the boys here fashion themselves geniuses.”
“And you don’t?”
“It depends upon your definition.”
Johnny considered this statement. “Now, that’s an interesting question.”
The boy coughed slightly. He removed a linen handkerchief from a breeches pocket and placed it to his mouth.
“I heartily agree. Shall we discuss it?”
“Ye-es.” Johnny was not in the mood to discuss anything regarding Thomas Paine or the epic feat that had now been ridiculed by all. “But perhaps we should fortify ourselves first with some of this excellent—uh, what is this, do you think?” Johnny poked at the meat upon his plate.
“Not sure.” Eliot shrugged, stabbing uncertainly at his own plate. “A truant student, perhaps. They are certainly plentiful this time of year.”
Johnny laughed, realizing he had not done so in quite some time.
When he and Eliot parted at the entrance to the commons, the sky was an ominous iron gray. Eliot donned his hat and tipped it toward Johnny. Then he walked off with his cane, hunched as an old man. Johnny was not ready to return to his chamber. He looked up at the sky; in Barbados, such a sky might signify an oncoming hurricane. But here, Johnny knew not what it meant. He was filled with difficult emotions. The boys’ derision and meeting Eliot seemed an odd correspondence. Would the boys now label him a freak, as they had Eliot?
Suddenly, white flakes began to fall from the sky.
The snow soon covered everything: the roofs of Harvard and Massachusetts Halls, the walkways and fences, the trees and their branches, and the steeple of Christ Church.
Johnny walked to the center of the yard and turned a slow full circle. Soon the bell would send him to class. His toes were numb, and he cursed his flimsy leather shoes. He would need to ask Mama to procure him a pair of boots.
Johnny looked up one last time to watch the white flakes as they descended upon him. They caught on his eyelashes and melted in his eyes, blurring them. He stuck out his hands and tongue, and felt the snowflakes alight upon his warm skin, stinging slightly as they melted.
He had seen this thing called snow in paintings. But no art could capture the way the lamplights magically illuminated the invisible flakes, or how the whiteness imbued the soul with such cleansing calm.
I must tell Mama, he thought. And then he realized that it would be snowing in Quincy, too, and that snow was nothing new to his mother. He felt alone, but not lonely. His soul opened to the great possibilities of life in this beautiful country, with its cleansing snow. He even forgave his fellow students for laughing at him. He felt certain, standing alone in the yard in the snow, that he was destined to achieve great things. There were no limits to what a man bent on success could accomplish. Had not his heroes taught him this?
11
ON SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 23, JOHNNY DINED AT the Lees’. After dinner, he and Ben had a snowball fight until Aunt Martha, concerned that they would catch their deaths, called them in. Johnny had dutifully brought Locke’s Essay to discuss with Kate, although he was by no means confident that she had read it. Nonetheless, after he had dried himself off and removed his shoes and combed his fingers through his damp, curly hair, he wagged the book before her weak eyes, whereupon she grinned and scrambled up to her chamber to retrieve her copy. Kate then hastened to the parlor, where she fairly leapt upon the sofa with a girlish giggle.
“Where shall we begin, Johnny?”
“Well.” He blushed. He had never conversed at length with a girl before and hid his discomfort behind a pedantic manner. “It’s always helpful to summarize a work. It brings everything to the fore of one’s mind, as it were.” Kate stifled a smile, for to her, Johnny’s discomfort was perfectly discernible. Then, feeling Kate’s leg next to his on the sofa, Johnny stood and moved to a wing chair, which he pulled up close to her. He still felt uncomfortable but didn’t dare move again. He crossed his legs.
“Shall I begin?” she asked demurely.
“Yes, by all means.”
Just then, Hannah and Elizabeth popped their heads into the parlor. Seeing their sister with Johnny, they giggled.
“Scoot!” Kate cried harshly. Then she looked down at her open book and began. “First of all, perhaps it’s wise to describe the context in which Locke wrote the work.” Kate paused and looked at Johnny for approval.
He said merely, “Go on.”
“The prevailing understanding at the time was, I believe, that a man—a person—” she fumbled to find her words.
Johnny encouraged her, “Yes? ‘The prevailing understanding,’ you were saying?”
Suddenly, Kate sat back on the sofa, pulled off her glasses, and burst out laughing. “I feel as if I am sitting an exam.”
“Perhaps you are.” Johnny grinned. “But you’re doing excellently well.” Johnny uncrossed his legs. “Do go on.”
She continued, “From what I have been able to read, the prevailing notion in Europe at the time was that man’s understanding is circumscribed, limited by innate—inborn, as it were—ideas.”
She paused, and Johnny made free to reply. She responded. For a full hour, Johnny nearly forgot that Kate was a girl. She challenged his every move forward, and he challenged hers, until together they had navigated Locke’s long and winding narrative.
When the conversation drew to a close, Johnny looked at Kate curiously. He asked, “But clearly this is not your first foray into philosophy. I know you’ve visited our library, but it is clear to me that you’ve also been educated. Who has educated you?”
Kate gave a tiny prideful smirk. “I have educated myself. Well, the Adamses have also proffered lists of books for me to read, since I was quite small.”
Just then, Aunt Martha entered the room. “Johnny, it grows dark. You must head back before they fine you.”
“Oh, yes.” He rose and glanced at Kate. She returned her glasses to her face and, like Cinderella, changed back into a shy, plain girl. But this demeanor no longer fooled Johnny.
In parting, he said, “Kate, I don’t know exactly how to say this, but I find you far more worthy of a place at the college than all the boys of my acquaintance. I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation, and I hope we have another again soon. You may choose the next work, if you wish.”
“Oh, yes, let’s! Next Sunday?” She clas
ped her hands together with delight. “But you choose, for I should go mad with indecision.” Then she blushed, and was about to scurry from the room when she noticed a book upon her father’s desk. She reached for it and handed it to Johnny.
“I nearly forgot! Would you kindly return this to Peter? He loaned it to me during our ride upon the Charles, as I had expressed an interest in reading it.”
In her hand was Common Sense.
Johnny took the book from her without a word, bowed, and left. So, it had not fallen overboard, had not been lost in the Charles River, or left on the boat. Why had Peter lied? To what end, making Johnny work at a long, arduous, and unnecessary task?
When Johnny entered his chamber half an hour later, he found Peter stretched out upon his bed, reading a letter.
“Say, where’ve you been?” Peter sat up. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“Oh? What about? I was at my cousins’ house. You know Kate, I believe.”
“Somewhat,” Peter replied evasively.
“Oh? She seems to know you rather well. Well enough to ride out upon the Charles. Well enough for you to loan her a book. Here—she gave me this to return to you.”
A smile appeared at the edges of Peter’s lips as Johnny held out Common Sense. “I’ve been found out, then.”
As Johnny said nothing, Peter continued, “It was just a silly bet. We were talking at dinner one day, and I said you had an unusual memory. The boys doubted my word, and one thing led to another.” Peter approached Johnny and touched his shoulder. “Come on, man. It was just a joke. I won the bet as I knew I would, mind you. But I’m not interested in the money. You can have it.”
Johnny said nothing.
“Forgive me, please?” Peter asked contritely, bending his knees and clasping his hands together.
“I trusted you,” Johnny finally spoke. “It was mortifying to be laughed at like that by the whole table of boys.”
“I won’t do it again.”
“Solemn promise?”
“Most solemn.”
Johnny hesitated, but he was not one to hold a grudge. “Very well. I accept your apology.”
