Forever and Forever (Historical Proper Romance)

by Josi S. Kilpack

  When William was alert, his eyes were bright and his spirit was strong. They would miss him when he was gone, and yet Fanny was feeling an increasing acceptance of the way of things. Consumption was often called a kind death as it allowed its victims time to put their affairs in order. William did seem at peace—as Fanny’s mother and Charles had both been in the end—and Fanny envied the acceptance. Comfort and rest awaited William, whereas those left behind in mortality had toil to endure. Their time in Switzerland seemed to represent life as a whole: a time filled with sorrow amid beautiful vistas that now and again dulled the pain.

  “I hope we shall make it to Schaffhausen since he feels he will be most comfortable there,” Fanny said in belated answer to Molly’s question. Her voice wavered to think of burying William in a graveyard alongside a Protestant church they would never see again.

  After his burial the Appletons would continue the second half of their tour. It felt so wrong, and yet, what could they do to make it right? Fanny wished her father would send William’s body back to Boston as Mr. Longfellow had his wife, but William had refused. “I care not for my body,” he’d said a few days ago. “And my soul is at peace. Better that I am laid to rest soon so that my spirit may be free. The mountains shall embrace me here.” How could they not respect his wishes for such a thing? But how could they leave him behind? How had Mr. Longfellow made peace with his wife’s death? Could he help them all find acceptance when William’s time came?

  “It is a lovely view of the mountains here. I am glad we could stay for a few days at least,” Molly said, attempting to boost her sister’s spirits.

  “Yes,” Fanny said, not entirely pacified but glad for the lightened topic. “We should buy some new cheeses at the market, don’t you think? We could include them with today’s tea.”

  The sisters made their way through the streets to a market not far from their hotel. Because their stay in Zurich would be short, Father had not rented a house. There was a sense of urgency about this stop. With William failing, they wanted to stay only long enough for him to restore his strength before they went on to Schaffhausen. Mr. Longfellow had given up his own itinerary to accompany them, but was using his time in Zurich to take advantage of the educational opportunities. There had been little of that available in Interlaken, and he had spent nearly every afternoon reading to William and then discussing what he studied or translating the words into English as he read. He’d purchased several books on his journey and seemed as eager to have an audience as William was to have the attention. It was very kind of Mr. Longfellow, and Fanny enjoyed sitting in on their discussions. He had an agile mind, and as she was not very familiar with intellectuals back in Boston, she found the depth of knowledge Mr. Longfellow possessed on so many topics quite fascinating.

  “Miss Fanny. Miss Molly.”

  The girls turned, and Fanny’s heart skipped a beat to see Mr. Longfellow himself hurrying toward them, one hand holding his hat to his head. He had begun calling her Miss Fanny in Lucerne, and no one had corrected him. They waited for him to catch up and then nodded in greeting when he reached them. Fanny could not suppress a smile; she had not expected to see him today.

  “I was just coming back from the university and thought I recognized your fine bonnets.” His cheeks were flushed with color, and as he smiled, Fanny realized how much better he looked from when they had first met a few weeks earlier.

  Tom believed Mr. Longfellow had been quite depressed before their paths had crossed. To see him now, one would not guess he’d suffered, and yet he had never spoken of his wife’s death to Fanny. Whether that was a reflection of the tragic circumstances, his unwillingness to discuss his wife with Fanny in particular, or a flaw in his character, she did not know, but she felt guilty for pondering on aspects of such a private nature.

  “You make it a point to remember young ladies’ bonnets?” Fanny asked.

  “I make it a point to remember your bonnet,” he said, rather bold enough to cause Fanny’s smile to fade. He immediately turned to Molly. “And yours, Miss Molly. Green is a very good shade for your eyes, I daresay.”

  Molly smiled while Fanny regarded Mr. Longfellow, who was rarely so attentive to them directly. Then again, they were not often alone in his company. The few times Fanny had walked with him alone, he had read to her or shared a translation. He was not the type to fall into vain flattery.

  “We were on our way to purchase some cheese for this afternoon’s tea,” Fanny said. “Would you like to join us?”

  “Certainly,” he said, falling into step with the sisters. “I sent word to your rooms that I would be able to join your family this afternoon. I’m lucky to have encountered you while I was making my way there.”

  “You are not spending the afternoon at the university?” Fanny asked.

  “Not today. I spent the morning in the most fascinating lecture regarding the German writings of the twelfth century. I knew William would love to hear of it, so I postponed my afternoon’s visit to their library until tomorrow.” He held up a notebook. “I took detailed notes so William would not miss any of the information.”

  “That is very kind of you,” Fanny said. She wondered how many other men would forgo their own ambitions to talk with a young man in his final days.

  “I might go on ahead,” Molly said, causing both Fanny and Mr. Longfellow to look at her. “With Mr. Longfellow to accompany you, Fanny, I could see that the rest of the tea is ready when you return. I am quite famished today—perhaps from all the walking.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Longfellow said before Fanny could answer, bold again. “Tell your father and brother that we will be but twenty minutes behind you.”

  “I shall,” she said. As she increased her pace she turned back long enough to catch Fanny’s eye and flash a mischievous grin.

  There was no remedy for the situation Molly had created. Fanny could not beg out of Mr. Longfellow’s company, but found that she did not want to now that she had an opportunity to talk with him alone.

  Mr. Longfellow asked what she thought of Zurich, and she expressed the same feeling she had told Molly earlier regarding how she missed Interlaken.

  “Yes, I have felt the same nostalgia for that place,” Mr. Longfellow agreed. He was walking with his hands clasped behind his back, holding the notebook. “It was like heaven on earth. I will forever remember Interlaken with great fondness.”

  “But it is not your favorite place in Europe,” Fanny said, glad to know they shared such a liking for Interlaken. “Do you not like Italy best?”

  “I adore Italy to be sure, especially Florence,” he said with a nod, then glanced at her. “But Interlaken awakened me in ways that Italy never did.”

  He couldn’t mean that Fanny had awakened him. It was far too brazen a comment for a man of such humble nature. She kept her gaze straight ahead, embarrassed to have considered such an interpretation of his words.

  “I look forward to seeing Germany,” she said. “Father says we will spend several weeks there before we go on to Paris.”

  “Yes, I told him of Basel, and he was quite eager to visit. You will enjoy Germany, Miss Fanny. It is a great place for art, and the food is incomparable, to say nothing of the people. They are among the best I have ever met. I have a good many friends in Germany.”

  “It is lucky for us to have a guide such as yourself,” she said, feeling her cheeks warm at her own boldness. She only meant what she said—as a man who spoke German fluently he would be an asset—but she could feel the potential interpretation of her own words, and it made her feel awkward.

  “I am pleased to be included,” Mr. Longfellow said. “Your father is generous to cover some of my expenses in return.”

  Why did she feel a stab of disappointment at the reminder of their different situations? “He is a very generous man.”

  They reached the market, and Mr. Longfellow helped in the transaction with the German-speaking clerk. Watching him interact with a stranger, speaking words
she did not understand, showed his skill. He was confident and laughed at something the clerk said.

  Fanny knew humor was especially hard to grasp within language. She had been in Europe for a year, and other than a few key phrases, mostly regarding directions or greetings, she had learned very little of the languages she’d encountered. The French she had learned as a child had come back enough to make her feel a bit confident, but her ability was not such that she ever took charge of a conversation.

  Mr. Longfellow finished the transaction and took the paper-wrapped parcel of cheeses.

  “Danke,” Mr. Longfellow said—one of the few German words Fanny understood. What would it be like to converse easily in a language so different than the one you were taught from birth?

  Mr. Longfellow held the door of the shop for Fanny, and they continued their journey back to the Appletons’ rooms. Mr. Longfellow was staying at another inn that he said was not very comfortable.

  “What is your favorite language to speak, Mr. Longfellow?” Fanny asked when the silence between them felt too long.

  “Ah, that is a difficult question to answer,” he said, but she could tell he was thinking hard about the answer. “I do love German. Their literature is reflective of great depth and imagery. I have likely gained the most through my ability with that language, but perhaps the one I enjoy speaking the most is Italian. There is something lyrical about it, especially the Venetian dialect. A musical quality that quite renews my spirit.”

  “I enjoy listening to Italian. It is not so surprising that it is the language of the opera.”

  “Precisely,” he said, turning a bright smile toward her that made her breath catch. Just a little bit. And likely because he tended to be more subdued with his expressions. The openness of his face was unexpected. “The language sounds like a song even in speech, like a stream moving through grassy hills.”

  “But you did not visit Italy for this trip?” Fanny asked.

  His brow grew heavy, and Fanny regretted the reminder of how many ways this trip had not lived up to his expectations.

  “My focus was on Scandinavia,” he said after a few moments. “I’m afraid it did not allow for such a visit, though I very much wish it would have.”

  The sharp drop in his energy made her wish they could recapture the brighter mood. “Perhaps you will return again to see Italy, especially if you love it so very much.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, smiling again but in a way that seemed to say he did not expect such a thing. European tours were expensive—for him to have made a second one was likely beyond his expectations. The hope for a third must feel very vain.

  Fanny searched for a different topic. “And do you look forward to joining the faculty at Harvard College? Are you eager to teach again?”

  He seemed to ponder the question for some time. “I am hopeful that I will get to teach.”

  Fanny looked at him. “Why would you not teach? Are you not to be a professor?”

  “Well, yes,” Mr. Longfellow said. “But I fear my idea of teaching is not always in keeping with that of the administration. Such was the case at Bowdoin College, but I am hopeful for greater latitude with Harvard.”

  “Latitude? I’m not sure I understand what you mean. Is not Harvard College the best education available in America? Why would you need more latitude?”

  “I believe Harvard College is among the best our fine country has to offer,” Mr. Longfellow said. “But therein lies the problem. Measuring our educational opportunity against what we ourselves offer gives us a very narrow field for comparison. Our nation has done a great deal in establishing itself in a relatively short amount of time, but there is growth left to be had within our institutions of higher learning if we ever hope to offer anything near what Europe takes for granted. For example . . .”

  He went on to express his wish for his students to understand the roots of the languages they studied, learn where the adaptations came from, and appreciate the cultural influences in their literature and poetry. He described the current American education in language as lacking in depth, scope, and availability and talked about having written his own textbooks in an attempt to better teach his students—an effort that went all but unnoticed by the Bowdoin administration. Rather than seeing education as something for the wealthy, he felt all children should be educated for a minimum period of time, specifically focusing on literacy, and that higher education should be an option for all classes who should want it and for women.

  “You believe women should go to college as men do?” Fanny said, almost with a laugh. His ideas were not unheard of, but the other voices advocating the same idea were from extreme women who Fanny found to be crass and overly independent in their ways of thinking. Their assertions of being dominated by men did not settle well in Fanny’s Protestant heart. As though men and women should be the same, rather than fulfill their own God-given roles.

  “Certainly,” Mr. Longfellow said with a nod. “If they wish to. There are a few institutions being established that offer women the opportunity to better themselves with education, but I fear they have not received the governmental support they need to truly flourish.”

  “Forgive my impertinence,” Fanny said, feeling a bit of a devil’s advocate, “but for what end should women pursue college? Why should a woman need a greater education than what is required for running her home and managing her family—tasks she learns at home?”

  Mr. Longfellow considered that a moment, then gave her a sly grin that took her off guard. “Perhaps you can answer that better than I, Miss Fanny. Why should a young woman tour Europe? In what way would that influence her life for good? How should a European education of culture and art benefit her in the running of her home and the caring of her family?”

  He was being so casual with her, speaking to her as he would a man—a contemporary or a peer. Fanny found it both flattering and strange. Certainly no other man had ever spoken to her this way.

  She contemplated Mr. Longfellow’s question and could not keep from smiling. “I see your point, but we both know my situation is different than that of the majority of American women. I have the luxury of indulging in such things that most women do not—but I do not need such education. It is purely for enjoyment that I get to explore the world and the ideas it presents. Such things will have little to do with daily living, though I do expect them to be the foundation of conversation at dinner parties.”

  Mr. Longfellow cocked his head to the side, causing Fanny to feel as though she’d disappointed him with her answer. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Fanny, if all this journey gives you is dinner conversation, it would be a sad waste.”

  Fanny was instantly offended and opened her mouth to say so, but he spoke before she could get a word out.

  “Particularly for a woman of your mind and intellect.”

  Fanny’s offence died upon her lips. “My mind and intellect? I may live in a different social class than other women, but surely my intellect is average as a common sparrow.”

  “Oh no,” Mr. Longfellow said softly, shaking his head. “You are a woman of far greater depth than most.”

  The compliment left Fanny speechless. She certainly had never thought of herself as dull-witted, but neither had she felt she excelled in matters of scholastic pursuit. To hear someone else, especially someone she had grown to respect so much, say such a thing was rather exciting.

  “To back up a few steps, however,” Mr. Longfellow said, finally breaking eye contact with her. “You said that your indulgence in educational pursuits is a luxury. But should not women have as much opportunity as men to expand their minds, and would that not expand their lives and influence just as it does for men?”

  Fanny wanted to explore his comment regarding her mind, but did not want to appear arrogant. Or overly surprised. She focused on his last question and resumed her role as devil’s advocate. “Again I would ask, to what end should women’s minds be so expanded? Most women in the world shall be focu
sed on the daily tasks of household maintenance for all of their lives. What need have they to read a travel book, for example, if they will never travel?”

  “I would submit that every human would benefit from reading about the world, whether they will ever see it or not. Do we not believe that we have much to learn from history and scripture? What more could we learn from the history of other countries? And when I say ‘we,’ I mean our fellow Americans.

  “If for no other cause than to remind us of how our founding principles differ from other nations, we should know how the world operates. Without such knowledge, we run great risk of future generations not understanding the distinction between America and the British government, for instance. If the American population had a greater percentage of educated minds, how might the influence and advancement of our culture increase? And for what reason should we base that advancement only on the male mind?

  “England is educating more and more women all the time, and with a new queen taking the throne in coming years, I expect there will be even greater emphasis on equal opportunity between the sexes. America could do as much without a queen and truly put into place our ideals of allowing men and women to rise above circumstances of birth through effort.”

  He paused to glance her way. “I shall agree that your situation is unique when compared to the countless women toiling day-to-day in America, but I see a great future ahead of us all if we will give women the equal chance to seek the potential of their minds as you have been able to—and allow minds such as yours to expand themselves even more through higher education. The future generations that would be benefited by educated women raising children is, in and of itself, impossible to measure.”

  Fanny stared at him, only vaguely realizing that at some point they had stopped walking and stood facing one another on the sidewalk. She was shocked at his passion for this topic while also being invigorated by it. Not only did he see great potential in women, but he saw it specifically in her. “You do not agree with Mr. Jefferson that a woman lacks the mental ability to learn as men do?”