Thoreau at Devil's Perch (31 page)

 

A
s I write in my cabin the ship is pulling away from the East Boston dock. That I was able to book passage convinces me that the Fates intervened to get me far away from Adam as fast as possible. He will know I have departed when he receives my letter by messenger this evening. In six weeks I shall be landing in Liverpool, with the great expanse of the Atlantic Ocean separating us. Our proximity of blood makes proximity of place too perilous for us, and I pray Adam will understand this is why I had to leave so abruptly. After what happened between us last evening, he should.

He found me in front of my easel, putting the finishing touches on my portrait of Grandfather. It was well past midnight.

“So you cannot sleep either,” he said. “I have been walking in the Green, wishing you were beside me.”

And I had been lying in my bed, wishing he was beside me, but of course I did not tell him that.

“Come out with me now, and we can gaze at the stars together,” he said.

“Dressed as I am?” I was wearing only my muslin nightgown, with my painting pinafore wrapped around it.

“You are most modestly covered.”

“But not properly so.You do not seem to appreciate that I am no longer a child, Adam. I am a full-grown woman who must behave with a certain amount of decorum.”

“I fully appreciate that you are a woman now, Julia,” he replied, regarding me intently. “Your features and form please me in every way it is possible to please a man.” He took a step toward me.

I took a step back. “Adam, such talk as that can lead us nowhere.”

“I am hoping it will lead to marriage.”

“You know that is impossible. Was it not you who first told me it was?”

“Nothing is impossible if we want it enough, Julia.”

“Do we want offspring who are born so deformed they cannot sustain life?”

“There are methods to prevent conception.”

“But is not conception the primary function of the marriage act?”

“Conjugal passion is an expression of love, Julia. It need not result in procreation to be justified.”

“I allow that to be true. But I cannot allow us to chance creating a being that will only suffer and die. As far as those preventive methods you mention go, can you promise me they will never fail us? Or that we will never fail to use them?”

He took a moment before replying, and when he spoke his voice was strained. “All I can promise you is this, my beloved. If the fear of possible conception is what prevents you from agreeing to be my wife, I will be willing to practice marital continence with you. That is how dearest above all things you are to me.”

“You are proposing a platonic marriage?” I asked in disbelief.

“Does not love, when platonic, express its most perfect form?”

I pressed my hands to my cheeks, quite moved by his obvious sincerity. All the same, I did not think either of us could keep such a promise unless we lived completely apart. To prove this to him would be simple enough.

I put down my paintbrush, untied my pinafore, and slipped it off. He did not turn his eyes from me as I removed the pins in my hair and let it fall around my face and shoulders. I slowly walked toward him, raising the hem of my nightgown so that my bare feet and ankles were visible.

“If you became my husband, Adam, this is how you would see me every night.” I smiled up at him. “Would we not share a home together?”

“Your home would always be here,” he said in a low-pitched voice, opening his arms to me.

I stepped into his embrace and lay my head upon his solid bosom. How his heart did beat! And how I loved him! I loved him because he was so pleasing to look at, so good-hearted, so brave, so intelligent and skilled. But mostly I loved him because
I could not help it
. Our hearts had knit together in bonds of sympathy and companionship long ago. And as he held me against him, my body yearned to knit with his too. I could feel, through the thin layer of muslin covering me, that he too was excited by our bodily contact. We pressed against each other in silence for as long as we both could bear it, and when I pulled away my nightgown stuck to my burning flesh.

He did not suggest marital continence again. He did not say anything at all. I picked up the lamp and made my way upstairs. He did not follow me, and for that alone I am grateful. I do not think I could have resisted him if he had.

I took the first stage out of Plumford this morning, then the first train out of Concord. Before I departed I placed a note on Grandfather's pillow whilst he slept. As much as I longed to gaze upon Adam's dear face one last time, I dared not enter his bedchamber. But I am sure I shall be able to recall each and every detail of his countenance for the rest of my years.

I am quite sure Adam will never forget me, either. Still, I pray his desire to have me as his wife will eventually dim. One day he will start to notice that Harriet is no longer a child. Or he will meet an elegant young lady at a Boston soirée. It comforts me to think that in due course my beloved cousin will find happiness with another and have healthy children with her. Truly it does. Even so, I shall allow myself a very long cry.

Saturday, August 29th

 

I
have been reborn a new man! Yesterday I was sorrowing over Julia's sudden departure. Today I attended Henry's melon party in the highest of spirits. As I drove to Walden Pond the tang of autumn spiced the air, and the thick golden light made everything I beheld most pleasing. Noted that in the water-meadows the hay was being got in. Men were raking it up and heaping it atop their carts to form great gilded towers as their patient oxen bent their massive heads to munch at forkfuls that fell beside them. Up on dryer ground farmers topped their corn and dug out potatoes and onions for the Boston market, and clouds of dust issued out of the wide doors of barns as grain was being flailed. Had to slow down and walk Napoleon through herds of cows being driven homewards from their summer gorging on the rich grass up on the Vermont hills. I beamed a foolish smile at all and sundry as Gran's words echoed in my mind.
You was born on the wrong side of the blanket, Adam.

When I reached Henry's cabin, I saw that long tables of sawn boards had been arranged under the pines, laden with many varieties of sliced melons. And as many varieties of guests—young and old, refined and rough, dour and jovial—were helping themselves to succulent portions. In addition to the melons, there were baskets of ripe huckleberries and whortleberries, plates of bread, jars of jam, and bowls of thick cream. Artfully arranged about them were leafy vines, bouquets of squash blossoms, and sunflowers.

I did not spot Henry in the crowd, but a friendly fellow came forward to warmly welcome me. He introduced himself as Ellery Channing and declared himself to be a close friend of Henry's. He took me round to meet other guests, and I shook hand with the famous Ralph Waldo Emerson and his regal wife Lidian. Can't recall the names of half the other folks I met, but one I do remember is Bronson Alcott. Quite the windbag, he railed against the Mexican War longer than I cared to listen, even though I was in agreement with him. To change the subject I expressed my admiration of Henry's neat, efficient abode. Mr. Alcott told me he had lent Henry the ax he used to build it, which Henry returned even sharper than he had received it.

As we regarded the cabin, Henry came out the open door, a yellow flute in hand. A tall girl shouted, “There be our dear hermit!” and ran to him, dark hair and white petticoats flying.

Mr. Alcott sighed. “That is my wild child, Louisa,” he said. “My three other daughters conduct themselves with far more decorum, I assure you.”

As Louisa pranced around Henry, enjoining him to play his flute, he smiled at her indulgently but put her off to come greet me.

“How do you like the world today, Adam?” he said.

“I would like it far better if only Julia were beside me.”

“She did not come with you?” The invitation to Henry's spur-of-the-moment party had been addressed to us both.

“She sailed for Europe yesterday.”

Henry looked much put out. “She might have bid her friends adieu before she left.”

“Do not feel slighted, Henry. Julia did not say good-bye even to me. When I awoke she was gone with the morning dew.”

“Just like the fairy princess,” young Louisa Alcott piped in. She was standing right behind Henry, blatantly eavesdropping.

“Small pitchers have wide ears,” he told her, looking more amused than stern. “Why don't you go join your playmates, Lou?”

She glared at him with lovely dark eyes. “I am near fifteen, far too old to have playmates,” she said and flounced off to converse with Mr. Emerson.

Henry turned back to me. “Pray, how long does Julia intend to stay in Europe?”

“Forevermore, according to the letter she sent me before her ship left the dock. But I shall be on the first available vessel in pursuit of her. I assume her destination is Paris, for that is where her father abides. And if she is not there he will know how I can find her.”

“That you have to
find
her, Adam, makes me conjecture that Julia wishes to elude you.”

“Indeed she does. In her letter she stated that she does not wish to be anywhere near me, much less marry me.”

Henry regarded me with pity in his eyes. “If she feels such a strong aversion as that, perhaps you should leave her be, my friend.”

I smiled back at him. “You do not understand. It is not because Julia loves me so little that she has fled, but because she loves me so much. She thinks it is in my best interest for her to go away, but I know better than she does.”

“Some women cannot accept that men know better,” Henry said. “Margaret Fuller, for one, always made that extremely clear to me whenever we conversed.”

“But I have intelligence Julia does not have.”

“Again, some women, such as the aforementioned Miss Fuller, cannot accept that men are more intelligent.”

“You are not getting my meaning, Henry, but it is of no matter. Suffice it to say that there is no longer anything keeping my soul mate and me apart.”

“Then you are far more fortunate than me,” Henry said, looking toward a lone female figure standing at the water's edge. She turned, as if feeling Henry's eyes upon her. 'Twas Mrs. Emerson! She and Henry stared at each other across the chattering crowd for a moment, and then she turned back to gaze at the pond.

“There is no remedy for love but to love more,” Henry said softly.

Nodding in agreement, I pulled out from my pocket the gold locket I hope never to lose sight of again. “I shall put this around Julia's neck when we are reunited,” I told Henry. “It arrived by post with a note from that brigand LaFarge. He apologized most eloquently for leaving me to await my death and expressed the fervent hope I would forgive him.” I laughed. “The gall of that Gaul!”

“How did LaFarge know Badger failed to kill you?”

“He was heading back to his shop the next morning when he saw me exit from it with you and Julia and a band of police officers. So off he skedaddled to warn his partner Vail, and they both cleared out of town straightaway.”

“It is most regretful they were not captured,” Henry said. “But the laws of karma insure that they will pay for their sins in a life to come.”

“I would prefer they pay in this one,” said I, “for we have no proof there will be others.”

“Perhaps we can obtain proof,” Henry said.

“Of Reincarnation?”

He nodded. “I made an amazing discovery this morning. If you can wait until my other guests depart, I will tell you about it.”

I agreed to stay and spent the rest of the afternoon being astonished at how social Henry can be when he so chooses. He entertained us by playing old-time ballads on his flute, occasionally breaking into a vigorous jig at the same time, and we sang along as the sun poured down upon us. A subtle energy seemed to rise from the sparkling pond and pervade the atmosphere, and despite all the horrors I had witnessed these last days, I had the positive sense that the Universe wishes no evil upon us. We bring it upon ourselves by supplanting the Divinity within us with egoism and selfishness. Was it not egoism and selfishness that spawned the evil carried out by Peck and Badger and Upson?

After Henry's guests had trundled off by wagon or foot back to town, he and I sat silent in our chairs outside the cabin. I began to wonder why he had asked me to linger. When he was ready to, he told me.

“As I walked this morning on Bartlett's Hill,” he began, “I faintly smelt a flower I did not recognize but somehow believed I knew. I could not find it, but when I returned home my mind could not let go of that scent. Then all of a sudden, as my guests began to arrive, it came on me that I had last smelt that flower when I was running to warn my tribe of an imminent attack.” Henry paused for my reaction.

It was rather slow in coming. “Are you telling me that you recall the scent from the time you were in a hypnotic state?”

“Yes, from the time I was an Indian!”

“Or
believed
yourself to be one.”

He disregarded my qualification. “Methinks I killed those two braves on Bartlett's Hill, Adam.”

“Might you not smell the same flower elsewhere?”

“I never have, Adam. So it cannot be a common variety. And the scent brought back the memory of the terrain in my retrogression. It resembled Bartlett's Hill in every detail. Even the feel of the slope under my moccasins was familiar. I know in my bones that the incident occurred there, and I am determined to find evidence of it. Will you help me?”

I was excited and yet wary of somehow meddling in matters of time and space. “More than two hundred years have passed, Henry. Even if you are correct as to the location, what evidence would be left to find?”

“Bones. The bones of the warrior who fell between the boulders when I smote him with my ax.”

“But how can we locate those particular boulders in such a large area as that?”

“Why, the scent of the flower will lead us to it.”

I shook my head. “This is a wild goose chase if ever there was one.”

“Oh, come, Adam. What have you better to do on such a fine afternoon than accompany a friend on a walk up a hill?”

“Pack for one thing. I intend to set sail for Europe next week.”

“And I am off to Maine to climb Katahdin on Monday. So this is our only opportunity. Pray accompany me, Adam. I need a witness with clear eyes to see what I hope to see. And what better witness than the man who sent me back into the past in the first place?”

In truth I was almost as excited as he was over the possibility of proving his experience under hypnosis had really happened. And so I accompanied Henry around the pond and up Bartlett's Hill. On a slope below the brow of the hill he slowed and sniffed to either side of the path like a hound trailing a fox. “I smell a fragrance of checkerberry and mayflower combined,” he said.

I could smell it too, a sweet but evanescent scent that seemed to fade away as I turned toward the direction from whence I thought it emanated. We rustled about in the grass and leaves, and of course Henry's preternaturally sharp eyes were the ones to spot the flower. It was a most inconspicuous, compact plant with narrow leaves and pale flower heads that looked more like burrs than blossoms. Henry knelt down and gazed upon it as one would some long lost friend.

“Polygala cruciata,” he said. “Very rare. Why, this discovery alone would be enough.” He sat for some time over the limp little bit of greenery. I wondered if he had altogether forgotten our momentous purpose, but he soon rose to his feet. “However, we seek an even rarer prize this day.” He pointed up the hill. “This is the slope,” he said softly. “I feel it underfoot as I did then. And yonder the boulders.”

He ran up to the heap of rocks and quick as a squirrel climbed atop two boulders that leaned close against each other.

“There,” he shouted down into the mossy space between them. “There is where he fell.”

I climbed up beside him, peered down into the wide crevasse, and despaired, for the space between the rocks narrowed with no bottom in sight. “As good a place to grab hold of a copperhead or rattler as any I ever laid eyes on,” I said.

“Never seen either hereabouts,” Henry said, most clearly not discouraged. “I will drop downward headfirst and see if I can reach bottom whilst you remain wedged above holding me by my feet.”

Addressing him as I would a deranged patient, I tried to convey to him how very unwise was his proposition. “What if I let you go and you become jammed down there? Or I slip, tumble in with you, and the both of us become trapped? That would be a fine pickle for two grown men to find ourselves in.”

“If we were lucky,” he placidly answered, “Waldo Emerson might hear our shouts, for he walks in these woods on occasion. And if we were not so lucky, he or some other wayfarer would eventually smell us.”

“That does not assuage my misgivings,” said I.

But no one can be more persuasive than Henry when his mind is set upon a thing, and before I knew it we went into the crevasse. I found purchase for my boots on each opposing boulder face where the split between them narrowed just enough for a man of Henry's slight build to squeeze through. He slid down headfirst as I held him by his ankles. He kept urging me to lower him deeper down, and I bent over as far as I could, my arms extended to their limit.

“I am at bottom!” Henry shouted. Dust began to rise as he pawed his way through the remains of whatever had tumbled down there over the centuries. Just as I was about to tell him I could hold on no longer, he shouted, “Haul me up!”

Did so, my arms trembling, and soon had him up beside me. He had not returned empty-handed. He was grasping a big, heavy ball of earth and leaves. He gave it to me, heaved himself out, took his prize back, and I vaulted out beside him. We lay atop the boulder taking in the air with bellow breaths like a pair of winded horses. Henry's face was streaked with sweat and dust, and ancient cobwebs clung around his nose and mouth. I swept several generous-sized spiders from his hair and off his coat and used my sleeve to sweep filth from his eyes so he could see. I never saw him happier. He hung onto his ball of earth like a boy clutching a new puppy.

We scaled down the rocks and found a clear space atop the hill overlooking Walden Pond. After we had caught our breath, he said, “Your hands gripped my ankles like a pair of vises, and I am most grateful for your fortitude and strength, Adam.”

“And I am most grateful you did not require me to dangle you a moment longer, Henry, for I swear I could not have,” I replied gruffly, although his heartfelt words had pleased me. “Was this big clump of dirt worth such risk and effort?”