Thoreau in Love (15 page)

Henry, feeling nothing could harm him and wanting to see how bad hell could get, went to the bow and held one of the foremast’s guys. The crew stood ready as Mrs. Hawke took the helm, her husband beside her.
Dahlia
jerked back and forth. Gale remained calm, but the captain was a wreck, angrily ordering the old salts to do work they knew had nothing to do with the currents tossing them about like a toy in a tub. Finally, Gale said, “That’s enough of that, Peter.”

Ben joined Henry, who’d been tossed around enough by then that he was holding on for dear life, and said, “We’ll be all right. Just hang on, hang on.” A sudden shift tossed Ben against Henry, and recovering, pushing against Henry to right himself, Ben said, “There’s something I want to tell you. About the captain. The captain and me. I mean, you see what’s going on. . . . Oh crap, hold tight!” The bow sank and turned hard to port. Behind them Mrs. Hawke barked orders. Ben went on. “When I first came onboard I was taken by him. He was so handsome. You see that.” Focused on what was ahead, Henry nodded, held tight to the guy. “Even though he was married, he paid me such attention as no one ever paid me.” The bow swung wildly starboard, then straightened. “Maybe she seems coarse, but I’ve come to like her a lot more than I like him. But he made me feel special. . . . I don’t want him anymore, Henry, but I don’t know what to do. I’m signed on now, he made me sign on. He can do as he wants with me. If I jump ship, he can have me hanged.” Henry turned to Ben. A welling of love rose from his chest; he wanted to grab Ben and hold him. Ben burst. “I love you,” he said. “I can’t help it. It just pops out.”

Through a beaming smile, Henry said, “I love you.”

“Do you really?” asked Ben, his voice rising to the
y
in really.

“I do. I’ve been wanting to say that for days, nearly since we met.”

“You said it to me last night.”

“I did? Oh God, did I really? I don’t know what’s going on. What are we going to do?”
Dahlia
dipped into a swirl of current, began to turn sideways, and Henry, seeing a sloop coming right at them, said quietly, “We’re going to collide.”

Ben quickly assessed the situation. “We’re not. Henry, look at me.” He took Henry’s arm and held it tight. “Trust me.”

Henry put all his attention on Ben, and his heart melted. And Ben, looking in his eyes, said, “I fell in love that first moment I saw you on the wharf.” The waters calmed, the strait widened and Henry could see that, for
Dahlia
at least, it was smooth sailing ahead. Henry said, “That’s when I fell in love with you.”

Ben said, “So, Mister Thoreau, what do we do now?”

“Maybe you could come with us to Staten Island?”

Ben broke a big smile. “You didn’t hear a word I said.”

“Wickham,” shouted the captain. “Below!”

Ben leaped, turned tail and headed aft. Henry watched him disappear into the hatch to the cabins. Bursting with excitement, he surveyed the broad expanse before him. Rolling green hills, craggy rock outcroppings, recently planted farmland; Manhattan didn’t seem much different from Concord. Disappointed, he went to his cabin for what he knew would be the last time. The door to the captain’s cabin was closed. Inside his little cabin, Henry was overcome with the thought that the joy he felt was about to crash into sorrow. He was bound for Staten Island, while Ben was off to wherever
Dahlia
—and the captain—took him. He might never see Ben again. Henry stuffed his duffel bag but wasn’t ready to leave their little cabin behind yet, so he tossed the packed bag on his bunk and returned to the deck, where he joined Susan.

In among the farmland were small villages, but mostly there were fields, scattered woods, country roads and rows of blossoming apple. Odd buildings Susan said were Dutch barns dotted the landscape; framed with visible, heavy timbers, their roofs were steeply pitched and nearly touched the ground, and on the gable side they had tiny barn doors that the odd cow grazing the green hillsides seemed barely able to fit through.

“Is this really Manhattan?” said Henry. “I thought it would be more interesting, more built-up.”

Susan grinned wickedly. Soon the farmland and dozens of Dutch barns gave way to enclaves of rickety shacks, inland and on the shoreline, their stovepipes all puffing, with men, women and children going about their daily doings. And then the shacks gave way to brick and clapboard houses, the smoke from their chimneys more substantial. And all the while they passed and were passed by sloops, and schooners, steamboats and scows, sailing in both directions. Suddenly, there appeared inland, over the houses and trees, a colossal stone structure larger and more impenetrable than the huge fort they’d passed.

“That’s the reservoir!” said Susan in triumph. “It’s filled with fresh water that comes through underground pipes from upstate New York, miles and miles away.”

“I’ve seen pictures of it,” said Henry, “but I never thought—”

“Wait till you see it up close. There, on the top? Those little things are people. If you’re willing to climb the stairs, the view is spectacular.”

Henry wished it were Ben explaining these sights to him.

Immediately after the reservoir, rising up from the river were straight streets chockablock with houses and squat buildings, their chimneys all smoking, and more men than Henry had ever seen. Men laying bricks and hammering siding, men carrying loads, men walking and digging and driving wagons. And then before them, beyond a spit of land to the south, a blaze of masts and spars rose into the sky; as
Dahlia
rounded a bend in the river, steam whistles pierced the air. The soaring masts, which rose two hundred feet in the air, were taller than any Henry had ever seen. Beneath them were China clippers and other huge oceangoing vessels, docked one after another after another, making it seem as if the city were fortified by a wall of ships. Henry was awed. Many more ships were anchored in the river and in the harbor, with skiffs and scows tied up beside them, loading and unloading cargo. And in among the sailing ships, little steamboats, packed with people, huffing and chugging, their steam whistles blaring, plowed the river.

“Are those steam ferries?” asked Henry over the din.

“Aren’t they wonderful? Like skitter bugs.”

“It’s fantastic. Beyond anything I could have imagined. Louder, too.” Steam whistles screeched; Henry covered his ears. “Why do they do that?”

“They have to blow off steam,” Susan said, “or they’ll explode. Look over there. That’s Brooklyn Heights.”

“Oh, where’s Ben?”

“That boy seems to be the only thing you care about. I’ll be glad when we see the last of him—and that strange captain.”

Surprised by Susan’s bitter tone, Henry said nothing. They stood in cool silence as
Dahlia
threaded its way through the steam ferries and dozens of barges and sailing ships, past the battery of cannon at the tip of Manhattan, and dropped anchor.

“There’s New Jersey,” she added flatly, pointing straight ahead. “And over there,” pointing to her left, “Staten Island. Our destination.”

“Oh, it’s not so far,” said Henry. “And steam ferries regularly cross the bay?”

“For me, it may as well be the Atlantic. . . .”

The wind changed to northwest, and it took with it to Brooklyn the shrill piercings of the steam ferries’ whistles. Instead, the air was filled with the sounds of Manhattan, mallets and hammers, neighing horses, hooves clomping on the wood-planked Broad Way.

Ben joined them, but his mood was somber. He tried several times to smile but couldn’t. Nonchalantly he leaned into Henry, listening to their banal talk as if their words were the most important ever spoken. As they stood taking in their surroundings the wind shifted to southeast and warm air pushed in from the ocean. Ben turned and, seeing a clipper ship coming out of the gray mist into the still sun-lighted harbor, elbowed Henry.
Continental
, as she was called, had three masts and so many sun-white sails that she was the majesty of the harbor. But all Henry cared about was Ben. “Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not. But I guess it’s to be expected.”

“I haven’t felt this sad since . . . since my brother died,” said Henry, amazed as the words came out of his mouth, in front of Susan no less.

Susan huffed, said, “We must finish packing.”

“I’m already packed,” said Henry.

“Well,” said Susan, and huffed off. Again the wind changed to northwest.

“To go from such absolute joy to such sadness.”

“I know the feeling,” said Ben. He lifted his wrists, revealing rope burns. “He tied me up.” Henry, horrified by the captain’s cruelty, said, “The captain did that? He’s insane.”

Ben nodded. “But I don’t care about that. Henry, do you know what you did for me?” A lump filled Henry’s throat so he couldn’t speak. “You taught a jaded fool there really is a thing called love.” Not knowing what else to do, Henry smiled stupidly. Ben went on, “I never thought I’d fall in love. I didn’t even really believe there was such a thing as love, even though everyone talks about it all the time. Oh, I saw what everyone said was love. I didn’t believe it. . . . I certainly never thought it would happen to me. I know now, love is the greatest thing there is. And I’m madly in love with you.”

“Ben, hush.”

“Don’t you see, Henry, I don’t care if everyone knows. . . . I’m kidding, Henry. You’re the only one I care who knows.”

“I do know. And I love you. But what are we going to do?”

“I’m not worried. You go to Staten Island. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks. We’ll see each other then. You’ve given me confidence like I’ve never had before. Even the captain. I’m not afraid of him anymore. And he knows it.”

“Ben, we have to do something.”

“We
could
run away. As soon as we dock, just run like hell. Go west as fast as we can. No? No good?” Henry grimaced, shook his head. Ben touched Henry’s arm, but Henry nonchalantly moved it from Ben’s touch. “Are you okay?” asked Ben.

With deep conviction, Henry said, “You’re leaving, I’m going to Staten Island. No, I’m not okay.” But he was also thinking, Thank the Lord he’s staying on
Dahlia
. It terrified him that Ben would tell the world.

“Oh,” sighed Ben, his head dropping in disappointment. “I should have known. . . . I’m never going to see you again. You’re too scared, aren’t you?”

“No, that’s not true. Once I get settled.”

“I’ll be back in a fortnight. I’ve got your address. If I write, will you meet me?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll hold you to it, Henry Thoreau. I love you. I’m not staying on this ship forever, no matter what Skipper thinks. Now I better get back before he misses me.”

“Wait. I’ve something for you.” Henry pulled folded papers from his side pocket.

“A love letter?” asked Ben, hopefully.

“No, it’s. . . . It’s ‘The Landlord,’ a story I wrote.”

Clearly disappointed, Ben said, “I guess from you this is a love letter.”

“Will you tell me what you think, after you read it?”

“I shall.” Ben stuffed the pages in his shirt, glanced quickly around, then pecked Henry on the lips. “In case I don’t get another chance.” He stepped over to the open deck hatch, said, “Henry, watch this,” and, smiling madly, hopped into the air over the hatch and dropped into the dark hole.

“Crazy fool,” said Henry, going to the hatch. “Wonderful crazy fool.” Looking into the dark, he said, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” came the answer from below. Henry hurried to his cabin to retrieve his belongings, but when he saw his duffel bag sitting on the bunk where they’d slept, he was overcome with emotion. He lay down on the bunk, wanting to go to sleep. Part of him wanted to stay there forever, yet part of him knew there was a whole world waiting. He took a deep breath and grabbed his duffel. In the hall he took one more look into the cabin where he’d come alive and felt such joy, and then he pulled the door shut. He grimaced, sucked in his lower lip and climbed the steps to the deck, thinking, I’ve got my life, my writing, my career. And then the thought, I don’t need anyone, came into his head. But that was the old Henry, Concord Henry, and he knew it was a lie.

Susan stood at the rail in her plain muslin dress, her luggage piled beside her. Henry wondered why she hadn’t worn her new dress, but said nothing. He put on a cheerful face and tried to focus on the city before them, the wharves, the ships, mast after mast after mast, the boats and scows, the little steam ferries, but all he could think of was Ben. A Hudson River steamboat eased into its dock, and, behind them, the gray mist following
Continental
engulfed the beautiful ship as dozens of sailors climbed high to pull in the twenty-five sails.

“Oh, do you feel that?” said Henry. “The temperature just dropped.”

In the dim, cold damp they tied up by Castle Garden, and Henry, quietly frantic, looked for Ben. The gangway was lowered and Susan’s trunk and portmanteau were removed to the wharf. Standing beside the gangway, the captain, a big fake smile on his baby-fat face, held out his arm and said through his teeth, “Passengers first.”

“Come Henry, time to go,” said Susan. She started down the gangway as Henry looked desperately for Ben.

“After you,” said the captain. Flustered, Henry picked up his duffel and Susan’s hat box and, looking over his shoulders for Ben, descended the gangway. Immediately, they were set upon by a dirty newspaper boy and several cabmen.

“Today’s
Harper’s
, sir,” said the boy, who couldn’t have been older than eight. “British . . . Repulsed . . . in Afghanistan.”

A jowly old man in a filthy coat elbowed the boy aside, doffed his cap and in a gesture of politeness, said, “Cab, sir? Take you up the Broad Way?” Another old man in stained clothing butted in. “Hack, sir? For you and the beautiful lady? Don’t want her getting wet, do you, sir?” The boy pushed his way back in. “There’s a nice story on President Tyler.”

“Don’t want her walking now, do you, sir?”

“Alison’s History of Europe? Please buy my paper, sir.”

Not knowing what to do or where to turn, Henry looked back at
Dahlia
. Susan took hold of the situation. “We’re only going to Vanderbilt’s Ferry,” she said, indicating the next slip over from where they stood. The disappointment of the cabmen was swift; as their jowls sagged, so did their shoulders. Henry too was disappointed. What had seemed so exciting now just seemed dreary and, more, overwhelming. Focusing on what he was comfortable with, and trying to catch one more glimpse of Ben, he kept his eyes on
Dahlia
as an along-shore man lugged Susan’s luggage to the next wharf.