“Thank you,” I said.
“But”—a deep breath—”but you can’t expect me not to fight for you, Lea. And you can’t expect me to wait forever.”
The front door opened, a stream of cold air cutting through the warmth of the kitchen. Junius. Daniel stepped back, putting space between us, composing himself so quickly that I was startled at the apparent ease of it. I was not so fast. My heart was beating like a wild thing’s; I tried to smile as Junius came into the kitchen. He glanced at Daniel, and then at me.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, frowning. “The boy troubling you?”
“Not in the least,” I said, turning to the stove, willing my hands to stop their trembling as I poured a cup of coffee.
“The springhouse looks good,” he said. “You couldn’t tell there’d been a flood.”
I couldn’t think what to say to that, so I took a sip of coffee.
Daniel said, “You seem surprised.”
“You’re a good worker, boy, as I think I’ve said before.”
“A lifetime of practice,” Daniel said.
Junius gave him a narrow look. I felt the tension between them, with myself as the fulcrum—whether Junius knew it or not. “Well,” he said. “Something else to thank you for.” And then, before I could do or say anything, my husband’s arm snaked around my waist, pulling me to him so hard I spilled my coffee. His kiss was possessive and unyielding—I realized with dismay that he must sense my role in that tension after all. When he let me go, he said wickedly, “I’m still thinking about that greeting you gave me last night,” as if Daniel wasn’t in the room, but I knew he’d done it for Daniel’s benefit. I was afraid Daniel would say something. But when I glanced at him I saw he would not, that he was abiding by his promise to me, though his jaw had gone hard and his mouth tight.
He went to the back door, wrenching it open with an almost vicious twist, and then he was outside, coatless, hatless, letting the door slam shut behind him. I heard his boot steps on the stoop and then the short stairs to the yard.
I jerked away from Junius.
He said, “Wonder what’s wrong with him?”
“You shouldn’t have done that in front of him.”
“Why not? What’s wrong with kissing my own wife?”
“Nothing. Except that you did it to embarrass him.”
Junius gave me a careful look. “Did I? Now, why would I do that?”
I looked away. “I don’t know.”
“The two of you were talking pretty close when I came in,” he said.
“We were arguing,” I said quickly. I put down my coffee and turned away from him, to the sink. The water in the wash bucket was cold and skimmed with grease, but I scooped out a handful of soft soap and went to washing the dishes there as if nothing was wrong.
“About what?”
“About you, as it happens.” Close enough to the truth that I hoped he wouldn’t hear the lie of it.
“Me?”
“I’m trying to make him see that there’s good in you,” I said, and now I looked at him over my shoulder, mustering self-righteous anger. “It doesn’t help that you don’t make an effort to show him that yourself.”
Junius’s expression softened. He came up to me, pressing to my back, his hands on my hips. “Lea, Lea,” he said quietly. “How many times must I say it? You’re wasting your time. Let the boy go. It will never be right between us. There’s no point in trying.”
I looked down into the sink. “Well, I can’t help myself.”
He gave me a quick squeeze and stepped away, already dismissing it, letting it fall away the way he let everything go. Easy and without malice. He said, “I appreciate that you want to do this, but it’s no good attempting the impossible.”
“How do you know what’s possible if you don’t try?” I asked.
“It’s not the trying,” he told me. “It’s the knowing when to stop. The boy’s no good, Lea. It’s time you opened your eyes and saw that.”
“I think he would surprise you,” I managed.
“I think it’s you he’ll surprise,” he said.
CHAPTER 24
April 23, 1854: I find myself thinking again of the 16th century’s plastica theory. Not because I believe remotely in the possibility that God first modeled creatures in stone to test them for viability before he generated life within them, and left for fossils those forms he found unworthy, but because I find myself entertaining a version of such a plastica theory when it comes to the development of man. I wonder if perhaps God, like an artist sketching the same thing over and over again until he reaches perfection, must have created the various human groups in experiment, trying out his vision of man in lesser forms before he settled on the last and best. While degenerationism explains why such a divide exists between peoples, I cannot accept the idea that God would allow his perfected man to degenerate into something low and vile. And so, God plays in the mud: his first test the ape-like Hottentots and Australian aborigines, which would have offended, and then next the clearly subhuman efforts of the Negroes and the Indians. We proceed in lightening clay and forming more perfect features and intelligence, through the Mongols and Arctics until one reaches the clearly superior Caucasian.
And so, given this, interbreeding is so clearly an insult to God that it cannot be tolerated, even if it means ultimately that such interbreeding might elevate the lower types—because this comes at too great a cost. I have seen this for myself, that while the attributes of the upper orders can have some effect on mitigating those lamentable tendencies of the lower orders, so their blood too does tell. It is NOT erased. We must be vigilant—God could not have meant for our clearly superior faculties of compassion, mercy and charity to pollute his own efforts in creating a more perfect Being. To mix with the lower orders only results in the destruction of our own. Does a dog mate with a lion? So too should not those so clearly resembling orang-utangs mate with man. They may seem fully human, but...my experiment proves this not to be true. No matter my efforts, it persists in its constant degeneration. I fear to hope for any future, as it seems more and more obviously that such a thing defiles both man and God.
And yet those more tender aspects in my character, those attributes God must have struggled to create in his last, best order, means I cannot but strive despite my fears. Can it be a flaw to hope, when God so clearly intended such faculty, when I can be only the creature He made me?
“You’re wasting your time, sweetheart,” Junius said.
I looked up to see him bending over me. He grabbed the corner of the journal, lifting it from my hands before I knew what he was doing.
“Don’t,” I said, reaching as he dangled it beyond my grasp. “Junius, please! I’m reading that.”
He tossed it aside. It skittered across the floor, sliding to a stop beneath Daniel’s feet, where he sat in the chair by the lamp. He was reading one as well, and he glanced up. “Let her read it,” he said, leaning down to pick it up. “What are you so worried she’ll find?”
“Worried?” Junius asked. “I only dislike her spending hours on something that won’t avail her anything.”
“She can decide what’s worthy of her time herself, don’t you think?” Daniel asked. “Or are you making all her decisions for her now?”
“Daniel,” I warned.
“Daniel,” Junius repeated, mockingly. “Let him say what he thinks, Lea. You sound like his mother.”
“She could not be less like,” Daniel said, and I wondered if Junius heard that tone in his voice that I heard, the one that made me have to look away.
Junius sat beside me on the settee, close, putting his arm around my shoulders, drawing me into his side. Daniel watched impassively—how bland he was; the only thing that revealed his agitation was the flex of his jaw, something I only saw because of how well I knew him.
I said quickly, trying to ease the tension, “Papa was talking about the experiment again. I wish I knew what it was. You’re certain y
ou haven’t any idea, June?”
“None at all.” He sprang up again, restlessly, as if something were prodding him. He went to the organ, shoving up the cover over the keyboard. “How about a sing-along?”
“A sing-along?” Daniel asked.
“You can sing, I take it? I’d be surprised if the Russell talent eluded you.”
“I didn’t know there was a Russell talent.”
“There is. Singing,” Junius said. “What are your preferences? Ballads? Hymns? Bawdy tunes? Opera? We’ve got them all.”
“None of them,” Daniel said. He looked back down at the journal he was reading. “You go ahead without me.”
“Not acceptable.” Junius reached for the folder of music. “Come now, boy, I’m trying to make amends, as your dear stepmother wishes.”
Daniel bristled. “You’ve no real desire to make amends, and I’ve no wish to accept them.”
“Ah, you see, Lea?” Junius spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. “I’m surprised at how willing you are to disappoint her, boy.”
Slowly, Daniel closed the journal. Very deliberately, without looking at me, he said, “Not at all. I am devoted to her every happiness.”
Junius laughed and looked at me. “Well, well, how fine. You hear that, sweetheart? He is devoted to you. No doubt the ladies line up to hear such talk, boy. Women love poetry. I imagine it’s worked to your advantage a time or two?”
“Once or twice,” Daniel admitted. I felt his glance, and I refused to meet it.
“Well, I know Lea appreciates it. It’s good for her to hear some pretty words now and again. Lord Tom and I don’t possess the faculty for such romance, I’m afraid.” He glanced at Lord Tom, who sat at the kitchen table, silently watching us as he mended a net. “Isn’t that so, Tom?”
“Junius,” I said with difficulty. “Please.”
“Please what? What’s wrong? I’m trying to get along with the boy, just as you asked.”
“You’re baiting him.”
“It’s all right, Lea,” Daniel said quietly. “It’s not as if I can’t manage it.”
“You see, sweetheart? He’s a tough one. Why, look at all he’s done with his life. Working hard, taking care of his mother, saving my wife from drowning...Is there nothing you can’t do, boy?”
“I can’t save her from you, it seems,” Daniel said.
“Is that right?” Junius asked, and now his false joviality was gone. His expression went hard. “Have you tried?”
“That’s enough,” I said, launching to my feet, my voice too loud. “You’re being ridiculous, Junius. And you too, Daniel. It’s late. I think it’s time we all went to bed.”
Junius raised a brow and gave me a half smile. “It’s not that late. And I wanted a sing-along, remember?”
“This mood you’re in...”
“What mood is that? I thought I was being friendly. I’m only trying to get to know my son. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Not this way,” I said quietly.
Junius shrugged. “It’s only that you think him admirable, and I’m not so certain. I can’t help but wonder why he showed up when he did. It seems a bit too coincidental to me.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We find the mummy and suddenly here he is too.”
I brought him for you. I looked at Daniel, who was watching his father warily, and I said, “He’s working on a newspaper story. It was the mummy who brought him. You know that already.”
“Ah yes, the newspaper story.” Junius nodded. “How close are you to finishing that, boy?”
“I’m waiting for more information,” Daniel said carefully.
“I see,” Junius said. “Or is it just that you’re finding ways to prolong your stay? Pretending to help her by reading journals, looking for some reference neither of you will ever find.”
“We will find something,” I protested. “I’m certain of it.”
Junius ignored me. He looked at Daniel. “Well, the thing won’t be here for much longer. Did she tell you that? We’re sending it off. And I would think you’d be in a hurry to get back home. You’ve got a fiancée waiting for you, don’t you? Time to move on with your life, boy, and leave us well enough alone.”
I managed, “Daniel’s been very helpful to me, June.”
“I imagine.” Junius’s voice was dry. “But he’s got a fiancée, Leonie, and no doubt she’d like him back. You’re not being fair to keep him.”
Junius was right, I knew. I’d known it last night. My rational self. The Leonie who wanted to keep the promises she’d made. The Leonie who was content. I should let Daniel go.
I looked at him, uncertain, afraid.
As if he knew what I was thinking, Daniel shook his head. Nearly imperceptible, but I saw it. He said to Junius, “I’m in no hurry. Not if Lea wants me.”
Wants. Not needs or wishes or any of those words that had no other meanings. Wants, and suddenly I was back in the kitchen and he was pressed against me, speaking low and urgently in my ear. Come with me. Let me make love to you. Let me remind you of what we are.
Junius said, “I’m certain she doesn’t wish to keep you.”
Daniel’s smile was very small, “I’m certain she knows her own mind well enough not to require your certainty.”
Junius frowned. He looked at me. “Well, Lea? Should we send the boy on his way?”
“Junius, this is ridiculous—”
“Does he go or stay?” My husband’s face was hard.
I knew what he wanted me to say. I felt the demand of it. But I couldn’t. I said, though I knew I was a fool, “I want him to stay.”
Junius stood abruptly, shoving the folder of music back into its place, slamming down the lid on the organ.
Daniel said, “You mean there’s to be no sing-along?”
Junius glared at him. “I find I’m more tired than I’d thought. I’m going to bed. Stay up and sing hymns to yourself if you want.” He strode over to me and held out his hand. “Are you coming?”
I said nothing, but when he took my hand, I didn’t protest or draw away. His fingers gripped mine hard, and I saw the way he looked over his shoulder at Daniel, I felt the way Junius took ownership of me, the way he laid claim, and instead of feeling angry or misused, I felt...sad. Impossibly sad and tender, so I went with him to bed. And I tried not to think of the expression on Daniel’s face when I’d gone. As if he’d been both reprieved and punished in the same moment.
She ran, and I ran after, chasing glints of saffron that blurred in the glare of the sun, dark hair gleaming with red. My heart pounded, my breath came hard and fast, but she was always just beyond my reach. She turned and beckoned, haloed by the sun behind her, her edges shimmering and dissipating, the glare of the sun moving to her center until she was not quite real, but only an illusion born of heat and light. I could not see her face, but I heard her voice in my head, no voice but more a feeling. I was too slow. I must hurry. I sped, hoping to catch her while she stopped, but she turned and ran off again and then she was gone, disappearing into the light of the sun, and I halted and put my hand to my eyes, searching for her in a limitless plain, nothing but grassy hills and dust, but she was gone, and a terrible sorrow swept me. I sank to my knees, and suddenly I was falling, sinking fast into a stormy sea, cold to my marrow, frozen and fighting the waves and the current and the storm, struggling to breathe, to reach the surface, my legs tangled in my dress and my boots pulling me down into blackness, my lungs bursting. You almost died, and what a waste...I could not reach the top. I was shrinking and withering, my breath gone, nothing but cold and blackness all around, and she was in it. I felt her there, angry and demanding, menacing. What do you want from the world?
Dawn broke on a cold and wet morning, the air gathering as if it meant to storm, but when I left Junius’s side and rose, the air seemed to snap and dissipate—not a storm after all but only the aftereffects of the dream that left me shaken and sad. I had not had a nightm
are like this for weeks. Not since...not since I’d been sleeping in Daniel’s bed, and what that meant I wasn’t certain, nor was I ready to contemplate it.
But my discomfort grew, increasing with the tension in the house, Daniel and Junius circling, my own desires battling good sense and habit, Lord Tom’s thoughtful glances. I was glad when they went about their chores and left me alone, and I sat at the table and opened my father’s journal and dedicated myself to the reading of it.
August 3, 1854: Such weakness is in man! Moral principles, common sense, rationality...how easy it is for the passions of the body to rule us instead. Such force of will it requires to live a life unsullied! Do any manage it? Or are such offices given only to Christ and His saints? I can only believe that our God-given intellects are strong enough to overcome our lower emotions—else for what reason were they given? But it requires great intellect, study, and reason to live blameless and pure, and when such things are marred by the very worst of bloods! Oh, how I see it and despise it. What my own weakness has wrought! What does God mean by instilling within us passion and desire along with intellect and rationality? Such contradictory things—what cruelty to ensure that we all must fight such a war within us, and how I suffer and lament the fact that there is no hope for those who do not have the capacity for higher thought and reason. For the superior man, it is difficult enough. Those animals who live on the bay have no hope of it, for they do not possess intellect in vast enough amounts to overcome the will of their senses. The only fortunate thing is that they lack the sense to understand their shortcomings. They cannot suffer what they do not know. But the suffering that is given to one who does know it!
They cannot learn. They cannot be taught. But to leave it as it is, to not try...what is that but compounding my own sin? Surely I owe God my most earnest attempt.
The suffering in my father’s words was profound, and I was more confused than ever, my own decisions clouded by the things he said. I had not thought him so encumbered. I remembered what Daniel had said, how we were all just apes wearing clothes, hiding what we really were, and I was afraid. Of my father’s written suffering, which I didn’t understand, and how it tangled my own war with passion and rationality. Because I had lived both sides, and I knew contentment with one and liked the ease of it. To be content was good. But could it compete truly with that feeling of being so truly alive? How was it possible to fight it? Should one even try?
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