Sunlight (The Four Lights Quartet Book 2)

by Fergus O'Connell

  Doctor Scott looked at him intensely.

  ‘No, you don’t know, sir. You really don’t know. Because of this possibility you first of all need to protect yourself. But also you can help in their treatment by showing them that certain behaviors are not acceptable.’

  ‘How do I do that?’

  ‘Simple. The same way you would with a child or an animal. You reward good behavior and punish bad.’

  ‘Punish? How?’

  ‘Don’t wait around for her wondering whether she’s going to be up or down. If she’s up great – enjoy it – and if she’s down, then you carry on with your own life. Remind her that you are there but not at any price.

  And you need to set limits, Mister Owens. Show her that there are certain things you’re not prepared to accept. And if she engages in such things then leave. Melancholics are terrified of being abandoned.’

  ‘Leave?’ interrupted Gilbert. ‘Leave how?’

  ‘Leave. Leave the scene – the room, the house, whatever.’

  Gilbert could feel himself hesitating. His doubt must have shown on his face because Doctor Scott said, ‘Believe me, Mister Owens. There is no other way. And this works. However, if the behavior continues or becomes extreme, you need to be prepared to embark on a counter strike.’

  ‘A counter strike?’ said Gilbert. ‘You make it sound like a war.’

  Doctor Scott’s face became intense.

  ‘I beseech you, Mister Owens, hear me clearly. Understand that this is a war. A war on this illness. And you, Mister Owens, whether you know it or not, are in the front line. You are the primary target of the other side. Let me be very clear. If they engage in some behavior that is not acceptable to you, then point out what they have done and then withdraw yourself physically or emotionally or both. Leave the table, leave the house, go for a walk, go about your business. Step out of this person’s life for a little or a long time, depending on the nature of what they’ve done. In this way, you may be able to rein in some of their more extreme behaviors. I say “may”. Without it though, my dear Mister Owens, I guarantee you have no chance whatsoever. No chance.’

  ‘But isn’t that a terrible thing to do – to trade on someone’s fear of abandonment like that?’

  ‘Mister Owens, what’s the alternative? Let them continue to belittle and abuse you? And they will continue. And it will get worse. And if you also get angry, fighting her anger with yours – it will be to no purpose. No, Mister Owen, this is more effective.’

  ‘I understand, said Gilbert hesitantly.

  ‘You’re going to have to be strong, Mister Owens. Believe me, you will love them more by doing this than say, giving in to them because you’re afraid of what will happen otherwise.’

  21

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ asked Gilbert.

  Roberto looked unbelievably sad.

  ‘Boss, you say they been slaves. They risk their lives trying to escape and now they gonna be slaves again. It ain’t right, boss. This ain’t what this great country of yours is about.’

  ‘Listen to Abe Lincoln here,’ said Gilbert trying to laugh off Roberto’s suggestion.

  ‘It’s no joke, boss.’

  ‘But look, we’ll win the war and then they’ll all be free.’

  ‘It’s gonna be too late for those guys, boss. It’s gonna be too late for that woman, that’s for sure. What they gonna do to her? We gotta help ’em boss. We gotta free ‘em.’

  Gilbert was starting to become exasperated.

  ‘Look, Roberto. Those Rebels are soldiers. They’ve got weapons and they know how to use them. We were lucky to get away this time. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘I disappointed in you, boss.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake – we’re unarmed. We’re civilians. What can we do against armed men?’

  ‘We can come up with a plan.’

  ‘What, you’ll attack them with your bare hands like you did in Rockville? It won’t work. We won’t get within two hundred yards of them.’

  ‘We gotta do something, boss.’

  Gilbert thought that Roberto looked like a beaten dog.

  ‘Okay listen, I’ll tell you what we’ll do. If we see some Union soldiers on the road, we’ll report it to them. They’ll do something. I’m sure this is happening all over the place and the army has a way of dealing with it.’

  ‘The army is fighting a war, boss. They ain’t gonna do nothing about black people.’

  Roberto’s look became even more hang-dog. Gilbert shook his head in frustration. He felt like punching him.

  ‘Yes okay, look – you’re right about the army. But I know what we’ll do. We’ll find the sheriff in the next town and tell him. What those fellas are doing is a crime. The sheriff will take care of it. What about that?’

  ‘If you say so, boss,’ said Roberto mournfully.

  It was after dark when they entered Urbana. They found the sheriff’s office on the main street, tied the wagon to the rail and went in. Roberto hovered by the window to keep an eye on the wagon while Gilbert approached the desk.

  Gilbert’s initial impression was that the sheriff looked more like a businessman than a sheriff. He had carefully brushed, silvery gray hair and a neatly trimmed silver beard. His clean and pressed white shirt stretched over a generous paunch. His desk was neat with a tidy stack of papers in a tray in one corner. There was something about him that Gilbert didn’t like. Was it that the eyes, when they looked up, seemed to be mocking them? Or that the beard was there to hide something?

  ‘Evening, sheriff.’

  ‘Good evening, sir. What can I do for you?’

  ‘My name’s Owens, sheriff. This is my associate, Mister … er, Roberto. I run a photographic gallery in Washington and we’re on our way to Gettysburg to take pictures of the Army of the Potomac.

  On the road from Rockville this afternoon, we passed some Confederate slave catchers. We wanted to report it. I guess that’s not legal any more now with the slaves being free and all.’

  The sheriff considered this for a moment.

  ‘No, you’re absolutely right, Mister Owens. It’s not legal. On the road from Rockville, you say?’

  ‘Yessir.’

  ‘Headed this way?’

  ‘Yessir. But I presume at some stage they’re going to turn and go back to the South.’

  ‘About what time was this?’

  ‘Late afternoon. A few hours before sundown.’

  ‘So they’ll probably have stopped for the night. Made camp. They’re not going to risk coming into a town – this one or any other.’

  ‘So you can do something, sheriff?’

  ‘Oh sure, I can do something. I’ll get me some men together at first light and go out and find these fellers.’

  Gilbert turned to Roberto.

  ‘You hear that, Roberto?’

  Roberto acknowledged this information with a mournful nod. The sheriff rose and extended a hand to Gilbert.

  ‘I’d like to thank you for coming in this evening and reporting this, Mister Owens. And don’t you worry, I’ll take care of it personally.’

  Outside, they got back on the wagon. Roberto was silent to the point of surliness.

  ‘So you feeling happier now?’ asked Gilbert.

  ‘That guy’s not going to do anything,’ said Roberto.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ said Gilbert in utter frustration. ‘Is there any pleasing you? How do you know he’s not going to do anything?’

  ‘I just know,’ said Roberto.

  ‘Come on,’ said Gilbert. Let’s find some place to stay. I need a drink.’

  A large sign on a two storey building down the street announced that it was the Urbana Hotel. A welcoming yellow glow radiated from the downstairs and several of the upstairs windows.

  ‘What about here?’ asked Gilbert brightly.

  Roberto suddenly seemed to become animated again.

  ‘No, not here boss,’ he said. ‘We should save our money. We might need it over the n
ext few days. What about there?’

  Roberto indicated a sign that said ‘hotel – 50 cents a night’ along with an arrow pointing down an alley. Gilbert looked at him dubiously.

  ‘You sure you want to go down there?’

  ‘Absolutely, boss. Save our money.’

  ‘Okay, well, let’s find a livery stable and then we’ll go and take a look at it.’

  After they had stabled Leonardo and the wagon, they returned to the alleyway and headed down it. It stank of urine. Gilbert looked again at the dapper little Italian but Roberto seemed intent on staying here. Gilbert shrugged – all he wanted now was something to fill his belly and a bottle.

  The hotel was at the end of the alley. They went in and found a thin, pinched woman behind a wooden counter. It was hard to tell what age she was. Over on the left were a couch and a low table with some exhausted looking flowers on it. The place was pretty Spartan but seemed to be clean enough.

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ she said in a businesslike sort of way. ‘What can I do for you this evening?’

  ‘We’d like two rooms,’ said Gilbert. ‘And some food, if that was possible.’

  ‘We don’t do food here,’ she said. ‘But if you go back up to the main street – the Urbana Hotel – the food there is good.’

  She gave them two keys and they found the rooms at the head of the stairs. When Gilbert lit the single candle he saw that it was a miserable place. He sat on the bed and almost sank through it to the floor. Lifting up the thin mattress he discovered that the bed consisted of a frame with wooden laths nailed across it. Several of the laths were either gone completely or broken in two and hanging down. He moved the mattress onto the floor

  Because of the War he and Sarah had never been able to get away from Washington and stay in a hotel. But they had often talked about it; about how when the War was over they would go to Europe and stay in grand hotels. She would have been appalled at this place. How right it seemed to be here now. His life and this hotel seemed so perfectly matched to one another.

  He still loved her so much. How was that possible – that he loved her, still loved her, even though she was dead? In spite of everything that had happened with her, if somebody had said to him now that he could go back to the house in Foggy Bottom and find her there, he would have been on the road in an instant. How was this possible when she had done so many terrible things to him? There had been the camera, for instance.

  22

  After meeting Doctor Scott that night, Gilbert had left the bar full of hope. Now, at last he had something that he could work with. He wouldn’t be groping around blindly trying to make his relationship with Sarah work. Now, if what Doctor Scott said was true – and Gilbert would know soon enough – he and Sarah would have a future.

  He started – tentatively at first. They were in her home one evening. Dinner was cooking, good smells filled the air, they were drinking wine and everything was perfect. Then suddenly she began to get angry. It was a completely one-sided relationship. He took her for granted. He said she was beautiful but all he really wanted was sex. But now he found a strange thing – before he would have tried to unravel what she was saying, try to get to the heart of it so that he could attempt to deal with it. Now, he realized, he didn’t care – he was hardly listening.

  ‘I’m going to leave you to it,’ he said softly and getting his coat and hat from the hall, he left.

  Usually, he felt bereft after such incidents and the days that followed would be full of agony as he went over endlessly what had gone wrong and whether they had a future and how they could get over this latest hurdle. That evening however, he felt as though he was walking on air. It wasn’t so much that he was in control but he now had a strategy, a way of dealing with it. The next days passed not in anxious waiting, or wondering when and how to contact her or in sleepless nights. Instead he knew – he really knew – that she would be in touch.

  She came into the studio two days later. When he heard the bell jingle and glanced out and saw her, his heart leapt.

  ‘Can we talk?’ she said.

  It had worked. God bless you, Doctor Scott.

  The next few months passed in relative bliss. They spent as much time as they could together, they made love, they made plans for the future. They talked of getting married. There were a couple of occasions where the melancholia took her, but when it did, Gilbert followed Doctor Scott’s formula and soon, harmony was restored.

  Gilbert was reluctant to disturb this fragile peace. But on one occasion when she had exploded, he had walked out and when she had come to him a few days later, he told her about Doctor Scott. Gilbert expected another explosion but if there was one thing that was consistent about her, it was that she never ceased to surprise him.

  ‘I’d like to go and see him,’ she said, simply.

  And she did. For a few weeks, at least. Gilbert told her that what went on between her and Doctor Scott was her business. He didn’t need to know; she didn’t need to tell him. But she did. Each evening that she arrived home from a session, she would give him a summary of what they had talked about. She was feeling better, she told him. It was good to be going. But then one evening she said she wasn’t going to go to her appointment; they would stay home and have fun instead. And they did. And after that there was no more Doctor Scott. When Gilbert raised it she merely said, ‘I’m feeling better now. I’m going to leave it for the moment.’

  Then one evening, they had arranged that she would call by the studio. It wasn’t late – just before six. She came in to where he was packing up after a day’s work. He could see as soon as he saw her face that something was wrong. He didn’t even remember what she said. He thought perhaps it might have had something to do with working long hours or always being in his studio, but he couldn’t be sure. Next minute though, she put both her hands round the camera he had been using and, tripod and all, hurled it onto the floor. There was the sound of glass breaking and bits flew from it. Then she turned and walked out.

  23

  ‘I’ll take the first watch, Leroy.’

  They had camped by a small stream in some woods. Leroy made coffee while Hays fried slices of bacon. The delicious smell filled the air. They’d allowed the negroes to drink freely from the stream. However, they hadn’t untied their hands with the result that they all had to kneel to drink the water. When one of them asked if their hands could be untied, Hays kicked him so that he fell over. After that they were silent. Hays told Leroy to give each of them a small crust of bread.

  ‘Wanna give ’em just enough to keep ’em going,’ explained Hays as he and Leroy ate the bacon. ‘But not so much that they’ll be strong enough to run away.’

  Hays grinned in the firelight and ran some bread around the inside of the pan, mopping up the grease.

  ‘I’ll do a couple of hours and then I’ll call you,’ said Hays.

  ‘I’m not really that sleepy,’ said Leroy. ‘Reckon I might go see to that negra bitch.’

  He said it loud enough so that it was impossible for the woman not to hear.

  ‘You and me both,’ said Hays, and they laughed.

  When they had finished eating, Hays ordered the negroes to ‘settle down’ and they did, as best they could, lying on their sides. Hays sat on a rock about fifteen feet away, his musket across his thighs and pointed at them.

  ‘In your own time, Leroy,’ he said.

  Leroy went over to the woman and stretched her noose to lift it over her head. She was already crying.

  ‘No please, suh,’ she pleaded. ‘Please.’

  ‘Come on, get up,’ said Leroy tonelessly.

  He pulled her to her feet as she struggled to stay on the ground. Then, when she was standing, he dragged her out of the firelight and in amongst the trees. All the while she repeated her pleadings until eventually Leroy shouted at her to shut up. When he could no longer see Hays, the campfire or the other negroes, Leroy pushed her up against the trunk of a tree. Then he took the top of her
dress in both hands and ripped it open. The woman sobbed uncontrollably. Leroy reached in past the torn fabric with both hands. His fingers went part way into her armpits and then he curved his hands and scooped up her breasts.

  The woman screamed. Leroy just smiled.

  ‘You enjoyin’ this, ain’t you negra bitch.’

  Distantly, he heard Hays’ voice shouting, ‘You give it to her, Leroy!’

  24

  ‘What you need, boss is a woman.’

  Roberto seemed to have cheered up. They had left their hotel and were walking in the direction of the Urbana Hotel to get some food.

  ‘I don’t think so, Roberto.’

  ‘Oh, I think so.’

  ‘Maybe what I need is a bottle of whisky.’

  ‘No, that’s not a good idea, boss. A woman do you less harm.’

  He thought of Sarah and laughed a bitter laugh.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said again.

  After dinner they returned to their hotel. Gilbert had bought a bottle of whisky and if Roberto disapproved, he said nothing. His mind seemed to be elsewhere. At the top of the stairs Roberto said, ‘Good night, boss,’ and went to his room. In his own room, Gilbert took off his boots. Then, sitting on the mattress with his back against the wall, he uncorked the whisky.

  All Doctor Scott’s advice seemed to have been for nothing in the end. It had worked for a while but ultimately it had counted for nothing. In this war that he was fighting with Sarah’s melancholia, he had held her for a while – he had even gained some small victories – but eventually she had smashed through all of his carefully constructed defences.

  After the incident with the camera he fully expected never to see her again. And in many ways, he was happy about that. It had been great but it had been terrible. And he wasn’t sure that he wanted to live like that any longer. Maybe now was the time to join the army. It was July 1862 and things were not going well for the Union. But Gilbert didn’t care about any of that. He just wanted to get away from her and from all this. He began to think about whether it would be possible to keep the studio open or whether he would have to close it.