by L. K. Rigel
Samuel called from outside, “Reverend Lightfeather is coming!” The older children had taken on the job of announcing arrivals, and this one made them excited. When Lightfeather had first come to Shermer Landing, the tale had gone out that he was part savage. False or true, the story caused some shuffling in the pews. Some left the church—they were not that freethinking! Many visited out of curiosity and stayed.
Later details added to the minister’s legend. His grandmother had been taken by Shawnee and married one of her captors. Her child, Lightfeather’s father, had been returned to civilization upon the death of both his parents, but he’d insisted on being called by his heathen name. Lightfeather’s actual presence eased most fears. His deep brown eyes were full of compassion. More than once, a parishioner imagined that he might be looking into the eyes of the Savior himself.
Ceres Lightfeather left her husband with the children and joined the ladies in the kitchen.
“Mrs. Lightfeather,” Marta said. “You didn’t have to bring food. Not that I complain. You made your potato salad! But Mr. Singer wanted Mr. Lightfeather to earn a little something extra today, not incur an expense.” Leopold had asked the reverend to come to the picnic and bless the deed.
“Mama! Mama!” Harry ran into the kitchen. “Someone is coming!”
“Yes, Harry,” Marta said. “Many people are coming to the picnic.”
“No, Mama! Someone new!” Harry pulled on Marta’s skirts and the women moved to the front veranda.
The yard was full of makeshift tables covered with homespun and decorated with flowers. Leopold’s beloved daffodils bloomed all the way to the road. Mansard’s wagon for hire, loaded to brimming, creaked up the driveway toward the house. Beside the gloomy driver an oddly dressed young man stood waving his hat.
“Josef!” Gisela was the first to recognize her son, at sea continuously these past two years.
Harry dropped Marta’s hand and ran with Gisela.
If Willie had become the pride of the two families, Josef had become their delight. He’d made a real career of the sea. So young, he was the captain of his ship and one quarter owner as well.
“It’s Josef!” The children recognized him.
“Captain Josef!”
All the children raced to intercept the wagon. The older ones remembered Josef’s stories and presents. To the younger ones, the sea captain was a legend.
“What did you bring, Josef?”
He sailed the seven seas and traded in everything: mats and baskets from Magadore, frankincense from Spain, novels from England, and exotic fabrics from India. Even porcelain from China. At twenty, he had been poised to become a wealthy man. Now twenty-three, he had become rich, something he’d never dreamed of, by shipping munitions and domestic goods past the blockades. Soon he’d own half his ship. He liked the profits, sure. Even more, he loved the adventure and the sea.
“Mutti!” He scooped Gisela into his arms and swung her around. Josef hadn’t grown tall, but he had grown strong. His chest and arms were massive. He pulled his still-red hair, thick and wavy, back to a ponytail. His myriad freckles had faded, and his skin was bronzed by life in the open.
“Josef, put me down!” Gisela kissed him and brought him to greet Mrs. Lightfeather, a head taller than Josef, though a head shorter than the reverend.
“I’m glad to meet you, Mrs. Lightfeather. I can tell by my friend’s face that you’ve brought him joy.”
“Like hearing dolphins, Josef,” Reverend Lightfeather said.
“Where are Vati and Uncle Leopold?”
“Jonathan is with the cows and Uncle Leopold has gone to town,” Gisela answered. “Leo! Go find your father and tell him Josef is home!” Leo, now ten, ran off with the news.
“Am I going to get any help here?” Mansard grumbled. All this time his show of unloading the wagon had gone ignored.
“We’ll help!” The children swarmed. Who knew what exotic items were among those sacks and boxes?
Josef laughed. “Look alive, Mansard. There’s your crew!”
Soon everything was on the ground. Mansard looked in vain for an invitation to stay. Josef shook his hand, thanked him for the transport for which both men knew he’d been overpaid, and handed him a small bag. “Give this to Mrs. Mansard as a prize.”
The gleam in Mansard’s eye turned to puzzlement as pulled out a large rock of an object, plated with armor and sporting long green spikes at one end. “Smell it,” Josef ordered. Mansard’s ever-sour face broke out in a sloppy grin. He had just experienced his first pineapple.
Josef said, “There should be lemonade for this party you’ve so graciously made for my return. Harry—it is Harry my eyes see?”
“I’m Harry,” said the boy warily.
“D’ya see that green sack next to the big yellow crate? Bring that to your Aunt Gisela for me, man.” Harry stood tall at being called a man by a pirate. “I think we’ll have lemonade for my party after all, though I have two things to say about it: first, how did you know I was coming? And second, you shouldn’t have!”
Everyone took turns smelling the ripe yellow lemons that came out of the green bag.
“Mutti, look here,” Josef said. “Five sacks of coffee beans from the Blue Mountains in Jamaica. The first seedlings were smuggled away from the Turks and brought there by the Dutch more than a hundred years ago. Some swear this is the best coffee on earth. Grandfather will never be without it if I have any say!”
“It’s good to have a pirate in the family,” Harry said.
Fourteen-year-old George came into the yard with Little Leo, Jonathan, and Dieter. All the Zehetners present piled into each other in a raucous family embrace.
Leopold turned onto the driveway from the road, and Marta ran down to ride with him to the barn. “Josef is home with more treats than Father Christmas. Reverend and Mrs. Lightfeather are here, and I see the Johnsons coming up—oh. No. It’s Reverend Grim and Grim III. They’re bringing Amy.”
George Grim had married Gwendolyn Goodson. One of the younger spinning circle ladies had called her Grim III, and it stuck. The two Grim boys leapt from the carriage and charged off while Dieter Zehetner gave Grim III and Amy Goodson a hand down.
“Good lord,” Leopold said. “I think Dieter just smiled.”
“Dieter Zehetner,” Grim’s voice carried. “A fine day, if the wind dies down a little.”
“God’s grace,” Marta said. “That man’s voice is like thunder.”
Leopold kissed her on the lips in front of God and everybody. “Here come the Adamses.”
Franklin and Penelope Adams arrived in their colorful carriage with their colorful driver, all looking as new as the first day they’d visited The Farm. They had a daughter Eleanor’s age, though her opposite in temper and type. Sara was tiny, fragile-looking, and rarely spoke.
“A girl!” Eleanor ran to see the rare creature. Sara shrank back into the folds of her mother’s dress and stuck her thumb in her mouth, wide-eyed at the wild animal that observed her from a few feet away.
“This is Eleanor.” Penelope disentangled Sara from her skirts. “A little girl, like you.”
A sweep of energy passed between Penelope and Leopold, and as quickly dissipated. Penelope turned to Marta. “Maybe your Eleanor can get my Sara to say two words. I don’t know where my daughter gets her shyness.”
Josef found Uncle James at the barn, arranging for the Adams’s horses to graze. “Might we walk a bit, James?”
“It’s good to see you, Captain,” James said. “I take it the sea is what you always dreamed it would be?”
“That and more,” Josef said. “Though I’ve purchased sixty-four acres outside the Shermer Landing town limits. The sea will always be in my bones, but I miss my family too.”
James smiled. “It’s a common feeling.”
When they were out of anyone else’s hearing Josef said, “I bring a message from Orangetown.”
“I was hoping you might.”
“I met w
ith Sande.” Josef handed James a sealed packet. “That red chest on the ground over there is for you. He was adamant I speak to you only and not to Mrs. Adams.”
James tucked the packet away and said, “Penny prefers to keep her father’s name quiet.” Aristaeus had sent money before, though she wasn’t to know its source and Franklin was to see none of it. Penelope’s funds in Boston hadn’t been safe with him.
“None will hear it from me,” Josef said. “It seems there are many things your people keep quiet.” He held out his hand to Uncle James. “I’ll never forget that Mr. J.C. Beaumonde vouchsafed my interest in my ship. You took a risk on me.”
“It was an investment, captain, which has already proven a good one. And you are correct; I would keep that quiet. Even in the north, people aren’t so comfortable to think of a black man as a banker.”
“People are fools.” For a while they watched the women put out the food and the children playing, but they were both thinking of far-away places. Josef said, “I understand you know about Voudon. Can you tell me about the Guede Loa?”
“I could maybe introduce you to a priest I know down that way.”
“Say the word, man. Kingston could easily be my next port.”
“And I must go to Orangetown also.” James hadn’t actually seen Josef since the run north on the Mathilde, but through his connections with S.H.E. he’d followed the lad’s nascent career. Though still young, the boy had undeniably become a man. It made James think of his own advancing age. Sande was older still. It was definitely time to pay his half-brother a visit.
Leopold was happy with the mix of his guests. His picnics were becoming well-known, not the least because he publicized them. He liked to bring together people of diverse opinions and hear what they had to say to each other, and the debates and the gossip were duly written about in The Post.
Today’s gathering had promise. Seated on benches at the clapped-together tables was the new landowner, the minister of the one ineffable god, and the preacher of the three-in-one god, the returned seafarer laden with colorful tales, and the next mayor of Shermer Landing.
Leopold would back Franklin Adams in the election. Adams occasionally contributed articles to The Post; and while his prose required an editor’s attention, his sentiments were all in the right place. The Adamses had built a grand three-story Federalist half a mile from the center of town. Franklin Adams was prosperous and amiable. He would make a fine mayor. And his wife was magnificent!
When the cake was finished, a good-natured rumble began. “Speech, speech!” Leopold stood, and even the trees seemed to bend forward to better hear him.
Marta felt a surge of contentment. At thirty-five, Leopold was no longer young. His brown curls were mixed with scattered grays, and the twinkle lines at the corners of his eyes didn’t disappear when he stopped smiling. He might not be as strong as once upon a time, but he was still her prince.
“Friends!” Leopold beamed. “My friends, look at us. Isn’t this the handsomest collection of human beings you have seen?”
Mr. Johnson called out, “Singer, you should run for mayor, I tell you!”
“Ha. No, no. I love this country, but as publisher of The Post, I leave it to other men to serve in elected office.” Here, he looked pointedly at Franklin Adams. “My great pleasure is to support the brilliant young men we see sprouting all round us!” Another cheer. “But today, I want to celebrate…not a young man, certainly. I know for a fact this man has a few years on me, at any rate.”
Jonathan clearly had no idea he was the subject of Leopold’s speech. As Gisela squirmed in her chair beside him, Marta caught her eye and they exchanged a happy grimace.
“If not for Jonathan Zehetner, I wouldn’t be an American today.” Leopold grew sentimental. “I remember his conjured portrait of a new land full of promise. I can do anything there! he once said, so confidently. As we know, it was no idle boast! Who coaxes sweeter corn from the ground or creamier butter from the churn?”
Everyone murmured agreement with the legend.
“He has produced seven magnificent sons…”
“I believe Mrs. Zehetner had a part in that accomplishment,” Lightfeather said.
“And he made The Farm winner of many country fair prizes, despite my hindering him.”
“Singer, you haven’t been that bad.” Jonathan joked, embarrassed by the attention.
“Jonathan Zehetner, my friend, my brother in spirit, I am pleased to present you with this deed to your land.”
Jonathan’s face turned purple, and when the applause died down Marta said, “Mrs. Zehetner, let us hear Willie’s letter!”
Gisela pulled the envelope from her pocket to read aloud Willie’s tales of war and of Andrew Jackson, his observations of Creoles and Cajuns, and his loathing of slavery.
“... all based on the color of a man’s skin, not his bravery, morality, nor in fact his simple humanity. I fear it will be the ruination of our country. And I begin to see that the real, unspoken reason the abomination is protected with dissembling phrases has more to do with silver and gold than black and white.
When I leave the Army, I will dedicate my life to ending this scourge. It will be a difficult task, but after life in the Army not so fearsome. I was once more terrified of Napoleon than I am now of slavery’s champions. (Uncle Leopold, do you remember how scared I was of Napoleon? Mutti will read this to you, so I can ask... )”
During this last part of the letter, Franklin Adams listened with particular interest. True to his vow, he had not been back to Virginia. He decided when Willie Zehetner returned he would join in the young man’s cause.
Jonnie picked up a page that had fallen at Gisela’s feet. “Mama, another letter!”
“Thank you, Jonnie.” She scanned it and said, “It’s from Willie’s captain.” The color drained from her face. “No.” She dropped the letter and stumbled into Jonathan’s arms
Leopold retrieved the dropped sheet and read aloud.
“Mr. and Mrs. Zehetner,
I regret to inform you that your son, William Jonathan Zehetner, the finest man it has ever been my privilege to know, was killed in action this morning while bravely ….”
Leopold’s eyes filled with tears. “Damn!” It was the only time anyone ever heard him curse. Even the crickets were silent.
But Not Yet
The same day. Laurelwood, Gohrumshire.
Elizabeth trimmed the roses while her boys, now eleven and nine, played with the servants’ children. “One, two, three ...” While Geordie covered his eyes and counted, Wills disappeared through an opening low in the hedgerow.
“How different those two are,” Philly said from a lawn chair near Elizabeth.
Elizabeth sat down on the grass beside the chair. “Cousin Susan says Geordie is of the earth and Wills is of the air.”
“They reflect their two fathers, I dare say,” Philly said. “But pray both inherit your good sense.” The glare of the midday sun showed her age, though it seemed Philly had always been old. It must be wonderful to be done with it all, past life’s disappointments.
Elizabeth said, “Philly, do you ever wish that you had married?”
“My dear, under what inducement? I had the estate to run my way, and the child to raise my way. No man to beat me or belittle me or ignore me. Not that your husbands were—or are—bad men.”
“Not that they were or are. Here is our tea.” Elizabeth wasn’t terribly unhappy. She would like to reconcile with Sir Carey but, as the Duchess of Gohrum once let slip, he continued on with Lady Whitley and others besides. She could have her pride or she could have her husband in her bed, but she couldn’t have both.
She had chosen her pride. Months became years, and Sir Carey hadn’t tried to win her back again. It was embarrassing, in a way. She missed his touch, and ironically the smell of him. But she had learned long ago you don’t get something you need just because you need it.
She bit into a scone and a whole, sweet raspberry.
She closed her eyes and listened to the children’s laughter as she slipped into her favorite guilty pleasure, a daydream in which she at last learned what it would be like to feel Dr. Devilliers’s lips upon her own.
“We should have asked my cousin to join us.”
-oOo-
Honeysuckle infiltrated the hedgerow, making it the perfect place to hide. Unseen, Wills would still be able to spy through the green vines and yellow trumpet-like flowers. Unfortunately someone had already claimed the prime spot.
“Wills, come in.” Abby, Mrs. Johns’s granddaughter, pulled him through the break and moved close to him, giggling.
“Quiet, Abby. He’ll find us.”
“He’ll never. You’re too clever.” She put her arms around his waist.
“Abby, move back. You’re smothering me.”
She laughed again and kissed him full on the lips. Wills stared, transfixed.
“I see you!” Geordie called. “You behind the hedgerow there, I saw you move!”
“You win!” Abby jumped up and gave herself away, never intimating there was another with her.
-oOo-
Susan shifted the basket she carried onto one arm and opened the rectory gate. The smell of hot raspberry scones mixed with the fragrance of lilacs in full bloom. The sun shone, the birds sang, it was Tuesday morning, and the world was a beautiful place.
Dr. Devilliers opened the rectory door. He couldn’t suppress his smile. “Good morning, Susan.”
Susan. Not Mrs. Peter. It was their little game. If the housekeeper was gone to visit her sister for the day—as she often did on Tuesday’s—he’d greet Susan with her Christian name.
“Good morning, Jordan.” She knew she was grinning like a silly girl, but she didn’t care. “I’ve brought fresh scones Cook made not half an hour ago.”
She brushed past him through the doorway, close enough to feel his chest against her shoulder as she walked by.
