by L. E. Waters
I stick my worn shoe out to stop it and keep calm. “I am family. And I don’t need to be invited into my own house.” I push the door open and she dramatically jumps out of the way. I rush up the stairs, knowing by heart which ones creak more than the others, as her slave follows up to try to stop me.
“Edgar, you are not welcome here!” She shouts, upsetting the baby. “You must leave now!”
I charge up the stairs to find his bedroom. The room I avoided and only peeked into when the door was left ajar. This time, I throw the heavy door open and barge into the expansive room. I immediately search the bed for him but find it’s perfectly made. A croak from the winged-back chair draws my eyes and my mouth falls open at the feeble, stiff and ancient man in the chair. Only the steel remains in his eyes, when all other firmness and strength abandon his body. He shakes with rage upon my entrance.
“Pa—” I try.
“A’m not yer Pa!” He rises quaking, every muscle threatening to give way. With all his might, the old man raises his cane at me and yells, “Be gone!”
It isn’t the idle threat of the cane, but the shock of what became of him in a matter of years that scares me out. I back up and close the door behind me, taking a moment to catch my breath outside the door. A thump resounds within the chamber, but I dare not check on him. The slave stands waiting for me outside the door. He gives me a curious look of pity and opens the door to check on his master. Pity from a slave.
Every fiber in him hates me. I had hoped seeing me in person would rekindle some memory of love when I was his only son, or maybe an ounce of pride from my six-mile swim, or the massive guilt he felt after Fanny died. But no, there is only hatred in those failing bones. I pull together the lapels of my worn jacket like a bird smoothing its feathers after a scare, and I make my way back down the staircase I know I’ll never walk down again. Mrs. Allan stands at the base of the staircase, arms around all her children, surrounded by three large slaves. She says nothing but tries to cut me with her wealthy stare. Her bloody fertile stare. I take one last look at the boy, his oldest son, the one who will soon inherit this all, everything I never had.
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A month later, word comes through Rosalie that Mr. Allan has died, in the very chair he swung at me from. I go to his funeral in Shockoe Cemetery and stand in the background only for my own remaining grief. The part of me that still wishes he had embraced me even now. When all walk away to mourn at Moldavia, I go up to the open grave. Fanny lays, complacent in her shady spot, and I place a garden rose on her grave. I can’t help but laugh out loud at the engraving on Mr. Allan’s headstone:
Blessed with every social and benevolent feeling, he fulfilled the duties of Husband, Father, Brother, and Friend, with surpassing Kindness, supported the ills of life with Fortitude, and his Prosperity with Meekness.
I’m not surprised he leaves me out of his Will. That look of complete disdain, the look you’d give a pesky fly before a lethal swat, told me I was nothing to him. What did surprise me is that I hear he left some of his fortune to other children—illegitimate children he begot while he was with Fanny. Apparently not even the new Mrs. Allan was aware of this and goes to work right away to contest it. It’s then I decide to forever sign my name as Edgar Allan Poe. The world will recognize that I truly am an Allan, even though Mr. Allan and his Will never acknowledged it.
Upon leaving the attorney’s office, I bump into a gentleman and nearly knock him off the sidewalk. “Please excuse me, sir. I’m in a terrible trance and—” I reach to right him as the lady he’s escorting tilts up her pagoda parasol. Her green eyes haven’t changed, but she dresses now like her mother, all corseted and in the finest cottons and satins Richmond can purchase and tailor. Her beautiful hair is captured and caged under a fine hat with silk roses. Her eyebrows rise as she recognizes me. For one moment, too brief a moment, it’s as though time stops for us. We look through each other to ten years ago. Then the moment is gone and time catches up to us. I have to look away, for the pain dissolves the very center of me. Yet I avert my eyes from her only to acknowledge little faces, dear little faces of hers, beaming up at me with innocent interest.
Oh, how can this day get any worse?
“There has been no damage, my dear sir. I am always in a trance when I leave this same office.” He gives a rich man’s chuckle.
That’s right. I’ve heard he is co-owner of the James River boat line. He probably does business with Mr. Allan’s very same lawyer. I hate the kind smile he gives. I want to punch it off his loathsome, handsome face. Immediately I remember the state of my clothes. How tattered and impoverished I must look to her. What a fool I must seem, dumbfounded and desperate.
“I must be on my way then.” I give her one last quick nod. “Good day.”
She unfreezes to say a quiet, “Good day.”
And I can’t look back.
Chapter 23
God takes pity on me, on my catastrophe of terrible events, and he throws a bone my way. When I return to our simple but peaceful boarding house, Virginia stands smiling with a letter.
“What is it?” I say, hoping it’s what I think.
“From a certain Mr. Kennedy!” She hands me the letter with a squeal and perches over my shoulder as I rip it open.
“It was all we could do to keep from opening while you were gone.” Muddy nervously paces in front of us as I read aloud:
“Dear Mr. Edgar Poe,
Congratulations, your short story, MS. Found in a Bottle, has won first prize and, as the contest stipulated, will be printed in this week’s Baltimore Saturday Visiter. I dare say that your other stories you entered were all in the running for first prize as well (a situation that has never happened before), but all of the judges unanimously agreed MS. Found in a Bottle surpassed them all. Please come down to our office so I can shake the hand that held such a powerful and creative pen and to claim your $50 prize, of course.
Yours Admirably,
John P. Kennedy.”
Muddy and Virginia both shriek for me. Muddy cries, “Fifty dollars! How wonderful!” She pulls off my frock coat immediately. “You must go at once. Let me make this coat presentable again. It has degraded some with you.r travels.”
“I think it might have seen its last mend.”
She flaps a busy hand at me. “Go fetch a boiled shirt and necktie from the cupboard, and I will brush this coat up, good as new.”
“If anyone can revive this coat once again, it’s you,” I say, heading to the stairs.
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I check my reflection in the Visiter’s expensive window. Muddy has worked miracles, but upon close inspection, anyone can see I’m held together by a thread. It will have to do. I give one more pull to secure my necktie and walk into the smoky office. A younger man sits at a small desk and he glances up expectantly.
“I’m here to see Mr. Kennedy.”
He gives a moment’s pause, hoping I’ll declare myself.
I babble, “Oh, Mr. Edgar Poe is here to see Mr.—”
A large, jolly man opens the door in the back of the office, puffing on a thick cigar. “Poe you say?” He reaches a warm hand out to mine. “Wonderful to finally meet you. Please, come into my office.”
His office is small, but the desk is regal, and there are newly upholstered seats in red velvet. The spicy smell of tobacco hangs heavily in the air, telling me he must always have a cigar dangling under his mustached lip. He sits nosily and immediately opens a cigar box for me. I shake my head respectfully and he snaps the worn lid back.
“So this is the man who dominated our contest this year.” A deep dimple appears like a period at the end of his wide smile.
I didn’t know if I should apologize or blush.
“You are a man of unique talent.”
“You may be the only one who thinks so.” I laugh, but he can see the truth in my downturned eyes.
“Have you attempted to pub
lish?”
I tell him the effort to publish my own pamphlet and how it never sells. I rattle off to him the long list of papers and magazines that rejected the very entry that won his contest.
“Well, how lucky for us that we get to be the first to publish it.” His hearty laugh lifts my spirits. He hands me the crisp fifty-dollar bill from his desk drawer. I take it carefully in my hand.
“Thank you,” is all I can manage. There is no way for him to know how much I need it.
“Are you in need of employment, Edgar?”
Or maybe he does notice.
“Yes, sir. I’ve been widely applying for schoolteacher positions.”
“I do have some political friends in Baltimore, I will do my best to obtain you a suitable position.”
I can’t believe the luck. Maybe fate is finally looking my way. I grab for his hand. “That would be much appreciated, sir.”
As I walk out the office, he calls, “Be sure to keep writing, Poe. I’ll be in touch.”
Muddy and Virginia can’t believe the kindness of Mr. Kennedy and when another letter comes requesting for me to meet with him again so soon. They’re sure it’s good news.
This time I stride into the office and state, “Mr. Edgar Poe here at the request of Mr. Kennedy.”
The young man immediately jumps up to escort me back.
Mr. Kennedy’s exuberant smile convinces me that he has good news.
I sit and can’t help but blurt out, “Have you news of a position?”
He pulls a cigar out and chuckles. “You certainly are eager to get your hands dirty, aren’t you?”
I crack a smile. “Well, eager to get my hands on some funds at least.”
“I have some business to take care of presently, but would you be so kind as to allow me to take you out to dinner at Baltimore’s finest hotel to discuss this further?”
The word “yes” starts to emerge when it gets lodged under the frayed necktie at my throat. There is no way I can stand next to such a prosperous man, even his work attire is finer than my best frock.
“I wish I could, sir.”
He straightens his neck, I’m sure no one has ever turned down a dinner invitation from him. I lift my frock a bit.
“This is my best suit, and it is in no shape to dine in.”
The cigar almost falls from his stunned lips, as soon as he can reclaim it, he says, “Well then, I insist you come to my house to dine in private. You can show up in your nightshirt if you wish.”
“If this should unravel on my way home I just might.”
He shakes my hand again and says, “I have some business to finish here, but I expect you at five o’clock sharp, at seven Biddle Street.”
I know I can’t say no. Since it’s already four, I don’t have time to walk to the poor side of town to tell Muddy and Virginia I’m not coming home for supper—or bread and tea at least. They would be on pins and needles, waiting to celebrate the news. I busy myself by walking around the streets, and when the town clock strikes a quarter to five, I know I must make my way over. His servant immediately brings me into his parlor, which is filled with mahogany, Chippendale furniture. I find a seat in the corner chair and I twiddle my thumbs, as Mr. Kennedy is tardy.
He wafts in on a cloud of tobacco smoke and apologies and lets the servant know he is having a guest for supper. We talk of politics before supper is ready and I struggle all the while, trying to turn to conversation back to my new possible position. The table is set to the edge with every sort of delicacy. Immediately, I ask, “Should we wait for the others?”
He chuckles. “No, it is just us tonight. Mrs. Kennedy is visiting relatives.”
Guilt sets in that I’m enjoying such an opulent table while Muddy and Virginia are most likely dipping their stale bread into broth to soften it. I sit, pick up the supple, fine linen napkin, and place it over my lap.
“I won’t delay the news any longer, but I fear it isn’t what you expect.”
Why would he toy with me so and have me to his table if it wasn’t good news?
“Not such a long face there, my boy!” He reaches out to deliver a heavy slap to my shoulder. “I couldn’t get you a schoolteacher position, but I do know a respectful gentleman in Richmond—”
Oh, why did it have to be Richmond.
“—who read your story in my paper and demanded at once the name of such a gifted writer.”
I busy my mouth with chewing so he will continue.
“Well, I shan’t delay the news any longer.” He laughs with his brown-green eyes. “But my dear friend, Mr. White, editor of the Richmond Messenger, has begged for your editorial assistance at his paper.”
I drop my fork. “Editorial position!”
His face lights up when he sees how happy this makes me. I can only dream of such an employment.
“When does he want me?” Thoughts of Muddy and Virginia rush through my head.
“Whenever you can tie up your affairs here, he has welcomed you on.”
“Without even meeting me?”
“Your story spoke to him of your abilities, and I have assured him of your integrity.”
I can’t control the spread of my smile. “You do not know what this means to me, sir. I am forever in your debt.”
“Balderdash! You owe me nothing. What else would a friend do for another friend?”
Fate definitely shines upon me, after years of neglect. After stuffing myself and filling any space left with a smooth bourbon nightcap, Mr. Kennedy walks me to his door and lays a comforting arm around my shoulders. “While you are winding up your affairs here, I expect you to return to share my table, and I have a whole drawer full of fine clothes my thick stomach no longer squeezes into that I would like to have tailored to your measurements to begin your new life.”
The light in his eye is pure and holds no strings. “I’m convinced you have been sent from some angel.”
Another puff on his cigar and he adds, “And I must insist of financing your journey to Richmond. It is the least I can do to aid such a literary genius.”
“I fear I must leave your stoop immediately for concern that this is all just the trick of some desperate dream, and it will disappear into the ethers in a moment.”
He removes the cigar with a deep chuckle and holds his hands out like feeling for rain. “Nope. We’re still here.”
He motions his servant to bring me a basket filled with remnants from our supper. He stuffs it in my hands. “Goodnight, Edgar. Come back tomorrow for the fittings.”
When I return to our tiny space in the much darker district a ways from Biddle Street, Muddy waits expectantly by the fire embers, and Virginia sleeps uncomfortably in the softest chair.
“She tried to stay up for the news.” Muddy rises to take my coat to the cupboard and I remember the package. Muddy peers in with awe. “What a kind man to send you home with something.” She sits to eat the perishables immediately. “So out with it all,” she says between large bites of ham.
“I showed up at a bad time, and he requested that we meet at his house to discuss his news.”
“That must be good news then!”
I put a hand up to calm her. “First, he gave me bad news.” Her eyes droop back to where I’ve seen them since her mother passed. “He could not use his influence for school teaching employment. But—” Her eyes widen in hope. “—he did get me employment at a respectable friend’s newspaper.”
She claps her hands so loudly, Virginia stirs. We wait for her to slump back into sleep and I speak in a whisper. “Not in Baltimore, but in Richmond.”
Her shoulders sink then lift into her normal, graceful position. “This is still good news. You will leave us to start out in Richmond, and once you are settled in steady employment, we will follow. This is great news.”
I can finally smile, knowing she understands. “And I will send everything I can home with every pay check.”
“I have no doubt you will.” She reaches over and pats my knee.
“You are such a good boy.”
“I just don’t know how Virginia will take it.” The angel parts her lips in thick dreaming.
“Oh, she would want what’s best for you, I’m sure.” She tucks the food away and says, “Lift Virginia up to bed now, Eddie. Neilson is due in for an early visit tomorrow.”
I groan at the mention of Neilson, but Muddy thinks it’s the weight of Virginia.
“She is getting so much bigger, isn’t she?” She smiles and pats the basket happily. “What a breakfast she will awake to in the morning!”
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Neilson unfortunately is there early. He brings cheesecakes, mince-pies, and exotic fruits with him, ruining the basket surprise I carried home. I pull away from the opulent table to say, “May I be excused to step out for some air?”
Muddy gives me permission, and I seek out the company of the chickens. Scratching rhythmically around me, they find juicy bugs in the dirt. Their clucks and whines soothe my nerves after the dread of the last few weeks. The chickens scatter as Virginia emerges and sits beside me.
“How did you get out without your pet Neilson following you?”
“I told him I needed to use the house of necessity.”
I laugh. “I would think he would have asked to open the outhouse door for you.”
“Well, lucky for us, he didn’t.”
She lies down to stare up at the quick moving clouds. “Now out with it. What came of your talk with Mr. Kennedy? You and Muddy have been tight-lipped about it and I’ve held my tongue with Neilson around, but out with it.”
“I’m thinking of going away.”
She shoots up. “What? How could you leave me as well?”
“I have been offered a wonderful opportunity at a newspaper.” I lie down now, hoping she will relax enough to join me. “It will only be a temporary absence.”
