The Maze at Windermere

by Gregory Blake Smith

  Might not a most intriguing moral dilemma be explored in this? To wit: before the present war a young man and a somewhat older doctor are (unknown to the young man) rivals for the affection of the local belle. The young man’s hopes as regards the young lady are no secret to their respective families and to the town itself, whereas the doctor’s attentions, whilst never overstepping the boundaries of propriety, are unknown to all but the doctor and the belle herself. (And even she, perhaps, in her innocence, in her unworldliness, does not fully apprehend what underlies the doctor’s friendship.) At the outbreak of war the young man goes off with a regiment raised of the town, the scene rendered with the shrill piping of fifes and colorful banners unfurled, and of course the young man handsome and heroic in his uniform. Whilst he is away, the doctor continues to visit the belle and her family. He must bear the reading of the young man’s letters, and the general swoon of the small town over his courage, etc. Finally there comes word of a disastrous battle in which the local regiment is rumored to have partaken, followed by the roll of casualties in the local paper, and finally the young man coming home horribly wounded, yet expected to mend under the diligent care of the doctor.

  And there, of course, is the doctor’s dilemma (a good title?). Does he take care of the young man or only appear to do so? Appear to work assiduously for the young man’s recovery all the while ensuring his continued deterioration, that he might claim his prize when the boy is gone. One might even end the story before the doctor makes his decision, for that is where the essence of the subject lies: the moment when the conscience vibrates against the urgings of the heart. And what that reveals of the doctor’s moral being.

  Might that not make a story? If well-imagined and fully-colored?

  One more thing of this day: at some point I found myself apologizing to Miss Taylor for my habit of substituting French words for English words I found difficult. I said I would try not to do that. And from that I mused on something I have often thought, perhaps because of Father’s wooden leg, the reality of which was such a wonderment to me as a very young boy. Each of us, I told her, is maimed in some way, though to the world the evidence may not be visible (or audible, I said with a smile at my own infirmity). She said then with that delightful impertinence she sometimes has that she understood how I might be considered crippled, but in what way was she? And she looked brightly at me, as if she had set a challenge for me and wondered how I might meet it. I told her she was perhaps crippled by innocence. By innocence? she exclaimed. And I said yes, that one might be impertinent, and satirical, and sick of ladies on horseback at the beach, and still be impaired by innocence.

  By the by, allow me to add here that I have completely lost my sense of Miss Taylor as a dressmaker. What a too melodramatic conceit! A beginner’s error. Indeed, I cannot fancy her “after” a husband at all, and I take solace (and relief!) in that. She is altogether too original, she with her splendid shifting sensibility and her way of gracing one with a light, postponing laugh. I must not smutch her with melodrama but reserve her for some fine tragedy!

  1778

  Apr 16

  And now how the Farce unfolds! For I have had the most extraordinary Interview with Smithson! He has gone from being my Second to being on the Verge of needing his own Second. For it is his Opinion that I have engineered the late Contretemps with the Engineer for my advantage, that I insulted Major Browning and risked a duel knowing the news would reach Miss Da Silva and that this would position me in her Favour. He said he would un-mask me if I persisted. I laughed and asked him did he think I had such control over the damned Engineer as to prevail upon him to insult Miss Da Silva in my hearing that I might rise Gallantly to her Defence? He says no, but he understands me to have taken Advantage of the Opportunity that presented itself knowing it would cast me in an Heroic light. To which I responded, did he account me such a Tactician that in the heat of the moment I was Calculating how to best turn my face so that Miss Da Silva might see the fineness of my Features? And more of the same, viz. did he account me such a Chess-Player that I would risk my life to prove to a young Lady I had her interests at heart as a means of stealing that Heart? To which he responded that indeed he did consider me such a Chess-Player. In all this he was quite hot, and I was laughing and trying to show the man his Lunacy all the while Marveling at how fit his Accusation was, even if I had had no such original Intent as he laid to me. Surely the man could not know of the girl’s letter!

  He then brought up the Cambridge incident, saying it was one thing to lay a Trap for a married woman, that the married women of the World might know better and be on their own Lookout, but a Colonial girl, however blessed by Nature with Wit & Grace, was no fair opponent. And that I should mark him in this. He would not let me make a Sport of the girl. He would inform Da Silva that I was not a man to be trusted, would tell Judith of the incident with Mrs. Winter and withal of my true Nature if I persisted in my attentions. Mark me, Ballard, he said and left me. Upon my word, I was quite speechless.

  Even now, writing this near Midnight, I am still amazed. The damned fellow! Does he not see that it is against the Jew I move my Pieces, and that his Daughter is but the Spoil?

  But I must rally and think this through, for I now have action on the Flank and it threatens the whole Campaign. What Forces to divert, what Ploy to devise to counter it? I must find a line that leads to Checkmate. For whatever comes, Smithson must be silenced.

  Apr 17

  To clear my mind I today stole away to try some Bird-hunting. I walked out the two or three miles to Doubling Point where the land turns waste and no Troops are quartered. I write waste, yet the point offers a fair if rude Prospect, something like Cornwall I think with its Cliff walls that rise from the water and the hurley of low Vegetation (the wood-cutting Detachments having raped the land of anything larger). It felt good to have a Rural ground underfoot. I tried to keep inland so as to pretend I was back in Dartmoor, tho’ on this Island one can never get very far from the Sea and the damned Nautical men. I have had enough of spunyarn, lines, and worming.

  I managed to shoot some Doves and what I take to be an American Woodcock, scrawny things but perhaps fit for a soup. I put them in my bag and hiked into the hilly Interior. There were spring flowers about, Columbine, and something that looked a type of Quinquefolia.

  But for the wind and the cries of the gulls overhead the land was empty, with only some sheep and an occasional Farmhouse to which I gave a wide berth.

  If one needed to do a Mischief to a man, one might do it out there.

  Apr 18

  News today of a Deserter of the 54th who was missed at his post last night and was pursued by a Serjeant’s party. He was discovered at daybreak on the extremity of Commonfence Neck where he had fired his piece as a signal to a Rebel boat to come and take him off. He was hailed by the pursuing party but turned and fired upon them. He then threw himself in the water and made to swim to the Rebel boat, but several shots were fired at him and he was drowned.

  This Apprehension is rare, for most who Desert are never heard from again, so easy is it to pass from Briton to Colonial.

  Perhaps one of the Rebel maids had flashed her eyes at him and he could no longer bear it.

  Apr 21

  Went this morning to Da Silva’s to see if I might learn whether the Waters have been disturbed, but he was Gracious and welcomed me so that I was reassured that Smithson had yet to play his Cards. Judith was not there. She has lately joined the Loyalist women of the city who sew and mend and write Letters for the Common soldiers, and is of late helping at the Hospital which has been made of their Synagoge. Da Silva expressed the hope that by her Presence and Service there she might help dissuade any further harm to that treasured building. Had I heard of the ill-use of the Redwood Library and the looting of its volumes?

  I asked was he not concerned about Miss Da Silva’s physical Well-being? An occupying army was not a Pleasu
re-Party, I said. To which he answered that Phyllis accompanied his daughter everywhere she went, and he believed he still had some teeth about the Town, and after all she did not go about like a bona rosa in a flaunting dress. What was my pleasure, Sherry or Chess?

  Half an hour later the door opened and Judith swept in with Phyllis behind, stooping to kiss her father on the forehead. She was dressed in the most Ordinary gown, something of Phyllis’s perhaps, so as not, I supposed, to unduly arouse my sick countrymen (tho’ such is the Figure of the girl that even Homespun might not disguise it). When she turned and asked how I fared, there passed between us a look I could not mistake. She had my Letter, and she knew what it meant. I had hers, and she trusted I knew what it meant. There was a dark Boldness in her eye and a Shadow about her lips, as if she meant for me to know that she understood us to be in league together, come what may. That we were beyond the Curbs of common life.

  She spoke for some time of the Manner of her Assistance at the Hospital, how she read to the sick and wrote letters for them to their Mothers and Wives, how they particularly liked it when she brought with her one of the Rebel papers that were to be had about the town. For they liked to laugh at the Opinions therein. Woven into her Account was, I thought, a thread of how I might waylay her. For she walked on Tuesday and Friday afternoons in the company of Phyllis to the Synagoge at two, she said. She was quite alone, she said, except for Phyllis.

  When I left Da Silva I had to walk about the muddy, darkening, damned City to calm myself. Jove, I did!

  Apr 22

  I forgot to write last night that in parting I asked Da Silva had he heard that the Province was reputed to be raising a Negroe Regt to send to Washington’s Army. We had a laugh over that, and I told him he would have to keep Hannibal under lock and key or before long the black Bastard would be crossing the Alps on an Elephant.

  1692

  4th Day

  Last First Day as I was leaving Meeting I was waylaid most unexpectedly. The African joiner Charles Spearmint bore down on me as tho’ to speak to me, and then thinking better of it (as we were still in sight of the Friends) tack’d and instead follow’d me at some Distance as I walk’d homeward toward the Point. I did not think he meant me any Mischief and so when I turn’d down Chestnut Street, I stopp’d and waited for him to reach me. He thank’d me, begg’d my pardon, call’d me Miss Selwyn, said he wish’d to speak with me on an important Matter, and might he have permission to Call on me at a Time convenient to us both.

  I have often noted him sitting amongst the African men at Meeting. He is accounted a fine Joiner and an honest man. Father I know treated with him to make the Clothes press in his and Mother’s room, and the Settle in the kitchen is I believe his handiwork. He was brought up in his Trade by Philip Sumner, who when he died, being without Issue, left him his Workshop, which action I remember Father saying did raise some Brows in the city. As a freeman he named himself Charles (after the King that was then, I believe), but most do still call him Spearmint.

  And now we have had our Interview, and what an extraordinary Interview it was!

  He came as we had appointed. It was snowing, and he wore no hat, and the Snowflakes were all about his Negroe hair. And as we sat in the Parlour, the snow would melt and trickle down his forehead and neck and he was forever wiping himself.

  He seem’d surpriz’d that I bid him into the Parlour, that we did not stay in the Kitchen. But he is a Freeman, is he not?

  He spoke in a most grave manner and treated with me as an Adult. This made me uneasy, and at first I could not understand him, for tho’ he speaks as we do and not in the language of the Islands (as does Ashes when she wishes to annoy!), yet he would circle round and round so that I had some Difficulty following him. He spoke of a most involv’d Plan, and did go on so, and did not give me a moment to approach what he meant so that I felt beleaguer’d and forc’d to halt him that I might ask questions. I realize now that his circling was a Consequence of his own Anxiousness, coming to me on a Subject so important to him, and so much and for so long in his thoughts. Yet at the time I was so whelm’d by the News and his manner, and the feel of the world, already so chang’d! yet changing more.

  But this is the Case: It seems he did come to Father six months past and presented him with the very same offer he describ’d to me today. I am most amaz’d at it! For he wishes to sell himself back into Slavery that he might purchase Ashes as his Wife! He did not say it in these Words, yet that is what it comes to. I am to understand that he had from Father a Price for Ashes, and since he has not that Price, he laid out a Plan by which he would Indenture himself to Father for seven Years, giving to Father some percentage of his Wages from his Trade, that at the end of the Term, he would have paid the Price and Ashes would be a free woman and they might marry. Or rather, if I understood rightly, they would have already married, as servants, been married those seven years, but they would at the end of the Term be the both of them free. Oh, I am in a mix, and cannot write clearly.

  Seven years, as did Jacob for love of Rachel!

  What to think? How to act? Might this not solve the Difficulty Dorcas and I find ourselves in? Would not that seven years of Income help keep us? Spearmint holds that Father, before he embark’d on this last voyage to the Islands, did tell him that he would think on his Offer and give him an Answer when he return’d. Yet the African said this in such a Manner that I wonder’d was it the Truth? And had not Father turn’d him down firstly? This may be unfair of me, for Spearmint is accounted a most upright man. And he is a Friend, tho’ African. Yet I could not help but feel that he came to me to renew a Suit that had already been refus’d. He sees that Circumstances have chang’d and has suppos’d that I know nothing of the Matter and that I am in a Strait and he may expect a better answer.

  But what of that? Must I abide by Father’s decision? Am I bound to keep the house as it was, as I hear some do keep a token of their dead undisturb’d? Would Father not rather want me to look about myself, to judge the World as it goes westerly, and set a Course the most favourable to me and mine?

  6th Day

  From the window in Mother and Father’s room I can see down to the Harbor, and sometimes I can make out John Pettibone on his father’s wharf moving some lading about, rolling a cask, or going up the gang with a wheel-barrow. He has this last six-month grown lanky and strong, I think. And though I upbraid myself for spending my time so, and scold myself that I must go to the window each day—and aye, sometimes more than once!—yet it seems I cannot help myself. At the sight of him, I feel a most warm Desolation. Aye, that is the feeling, both Desolate and Warm.

  5th Day, 1 x mo.

  I cannot help but look at Ashes now with new eyes. That she has inspir’d such love! She with her scarr’d face!

  I am left to wonder how Spearmint and Ashes have been meeting one another. For I cannot believe this love of his has generated itself by merely seeing Ashes once a week across the Meeting Room! I lay in bed last night and my Thoughts would whirl so! I thought of little times when she was out on an Errand and seem’d to take too long. It is but a five minute walk to his joiner’s Shop where it sits north of the Point. How often has she gone there?

  All day today Ashes went about as she has always done. She did not speak or sign in any way that she knows I have been approach’d. Is she so practic’d in double dealing?

  I have pictures in my head of them meeting. Of their intent Countenances. Their low Speech. Their hands press’d together.

  How they have baked together this Sugar work of a Future!

  7th Day

  I had a new thought (much to my Shame as I will record!) that it was possible Ashes did not know either of Spearmint’s offer or of his Affections for her. That he had come to buy her without her knowing, without her Consent, as those of the slave trade do. And once he had bought her he would have her, will she or no. Would that not explain what appeared to
be her Deceitfulness? For it was none such, if this were so.

  All morning I tried to ask her. We were about our work in the kitchen, cleaning the Lisbon ware, and Dorcas was there on the floor, and I kept looking at Ashes as if she might supply me the wanted Courage. But I scrupled to ask such a question. It seem’d too (I know not what!), too great a Trespass even if I am her Mistress. And I thought too that before I spoke to her of the Matter I should have my Answer settl’d as to Spearmint’s Offer, for the case may be that she does know of it, and desires it.

  In the afternoon, I retir’d and pray’d that I might labor toward Wisdom, but I felt no Light. I had only my own Confusion, and not only about this present Matter, but of my own Life. I sat at the Window in my room and look’d through the diamond Panes out at the Yard, and at Jane Beecher’s, and I long’d to go to her and seek Comfort from her. For I felt most alone and overwhelm’d and she is so strong. She has said she would be as a Man to me and I had need then of such a one. But I did not go. I sat in the cold with a blanket about me and tho’ I yearn’d for Light yet all I saw was Darknesse. Still, I weigh’d things as I knew Father would have me do, and slowly I determin’d that if I could not ask Ashes what was the Truth, yet I might go to Spearmint and ask him. He had come to me with a Business offer and I might wish to clarify certain Terms or Prospects. And this planned Course of Action, even just the having of it, did somewhat set my mind at ease.

  So I charg’d myself with going the next morning. Yet hardly was I back downstairs than I found myself putting on my Cloak and strapping on my Pattens. For I determin’d I would go then and there and know the Issue.

  I made my way northward through the Point toward where I knew his joiner’s Shop to be. The door was open’d by an African boy (I had not consider’d that there might be Apprentices), and I was bid enter. Inside I took off my cloak and pattens. Spearmint betray’d some Agitation at the sudden sight of me, but he master’d himself and ask’d did I wish to step into the room next over for I had come to the Shop itself with its Benches and Tools and the floor cover’d in curly Shavings. I said no, we could speak here. There was a set of six Chairs with ladder-backs that were evidently his current work and he drew one across the floor and set it behind me and placed a short Plank across the seat which still lack’d its woven rush. He did this with something of a smile, I thought, as if it were a droll thing. He told the boys (for there were two of them) that they might retire as it was growing dusky. One of them, the one who had open’d the door, was about my age. I believe I have seen him at Meeting.