Thoreau in Love (33 page)

“Perhaps we should honor Stearns and throw them off.”

“Perhaps we should.”

Ralph began to tug on his belt. “I mean now, as we do at the shore.”

Henry was dumbfounded. He knew this feeling. He’d felt it before, when he was alone with Stearns, alone with Waldo.

“Come, Henry, you too.”

Ralph was closing in on him. The wide-open forest was shrinking. Again Ralph had crossed the line, and one way or another Henry had to escape. He spoke. “What does that say about Waldo?”

“What does that say about Waldo?”

“I always felt safe because he was married.”

“Safe?” Ralph smiled a leering smile, and Henry’s throat constricted so he couldn’t speak. And then Ralph was on him, kissing his lips, grasping him in his strong arms, pulling him to the ground.

“Ralph!” Like a cat, Henry wriggled out of his hold. “Ralph? What are you doing?”

Ralph raised his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t control myself.”

“You’re married. You’re a preacher.”

“I can assure you, this will never happen again.”

Not wanting to cause more hurt, Henry said, “I. . . . I don’t know what to say.”

Filled with the guilt of the cloth and the wedding band in addition to the guilt of perversion, Ralph said meekly, “Obviously you should have found someone else to talk with about these matters.”

“No, no,” said Henry, wanting to salvage their friendship. “You’re the perfect one to have spoken with. But I’m not interested in you that way. I must get back now. Mrs. Emerson has a special dinner planned.”

“You go on. I want to sit for a moment.”

As soon as Henry was out of the woods, he regretted his behavior. He’d parroted the very society he detested: You’re married. You’re a preacher. He turned. There was Ralph, sitting where he’d left him, his head in his hands. “Ralph,” he called. “I’ll see you tomorrow, at the sea beach.”

Ralph lifted his head. “Yes, tomorrow,” he said weakly.

But tomorrow didn’t come for quite some time.

17

Wednesday the twelfth of July was Henry’s twenty-sixth birthday. He rose with the sun, a little after four-thirty, dressed and then wrote in his journal. He loved this time of day, when the only sounds were the scratch of his pencil, the rustling of leaves and the twittering of birds. A couple of hours later he heard the family stirring and Haven’s tiny feet padding up the stairs. Quietly, Henry got back into bed, fully dressed, lay back and pretended to be asleep.

As he had come to do pretty much every morning, Haven tiptoed into Henry’s room to wake him. Sometimes Henry snored like a bear, but this morning he was quiet as a mouse. Haven stood looking at Henry for few moments, then he blew gently on his face. Henry, still “asleep,” growled and snapped the air like a dog; Haven jumped back. Henry turned toward Haven and opened his nearly hidden eye just enough to see the boy pick up the quill he’d left in the open for him. Haven gingerly tickled Henry’s nose with the feather. Henry squinched, squinched more, then swatted his nose, sending his tormentor into giggles that then “woke” Henry, who stretched and yawned and feigned surprise at seeing Haven, who, when Henry rolled out of bed, was surprised that Mister Henry had, once again, slept in his clothes.

“I’m sure I undressed before I went to bed,” said Henry in mock consternation. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

Haven shook his little blond head and then he wriggled into himself and said, “It’s your birthday, Mister Henry.”

“Is it? It is! It’s my birthday,” said Henry. He picked up Haven, saying, “And you’re my present.” Haven giggled as Henry hugged him tight.

“I’m not a present.”

“Oh yes you are,” said Henry. “The very best present anyone could want.”

Breakfast was at seven, berries with cream, eggs and bacon, and birthday wishes were given. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when William left the house at seven-forty-five. The boys played until nine. That day it was Robin Hood, because they were still getting through their father’s old edition of
The History of Robin Hood
. Willie always played Robin, and, depending on his mood and how much he wanted to torture his brother that day, he had Haven play everyone from Little John to Friar Tuck to the Sheriff of Nottingham to Maid Marian. Lessons followed playtime. In the middle of arithmetic, Susan appeared and with a blank face said, “There’s someone here to see you, Henry. A visitor from Manhattan.”

Henry figured it was Bea, and he didn’t much want to see her. So imagine his surprise when standing there on the other side of the door, his crescent smile beaming, was Ben.

“Ben!”

“Happy birthday, Henry!”

“I can’t believe you remembered!” They shook hands awkwardly. Then Henry grabbed Ben’s shoulders and embraced him.

“Susan, you remember Ben Wickham, from
Dahlia
?”

Susan nodded. “Welcome to the Snuggery, Mr. Wickham,” she said flatly.

Susan had been wonderful to Henry since he received the news of Stearns’s death, giving him space and time to grieve yet being there with a kind word, a soft hand on his shoulder or arm when he needed a human touch. But the appearance of the young sailor from the schooner had Susan perplexed. Remembering the strange goings-on in the captain’s cabin, she was sure Ben could only bring trouble.

“It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Emerson,” Ben said politely.

Upstairs, baby Charles cried, but his outburst was brief. “Thank God for Alice,” said Susan. Nearby, Mary stood quietly, her hands resting lightly on Willie and Haven’s shoulders. Noticing them, Ben grinned.

“Who’s this?” he said. “You must be Willie?”

“I am,” said Willie.

“And you’re Haven. I’m Ben. It’s nice to meet you.”

His enthusiasm was contagious. The boys’ faces lit up. They shook hands with Ben. Susan couldn’t help smiling at how easily he won them over. And Henry was clearly so pleased to see him; perhaps seeing Ben was what he needed to ease his suffering. She introduced Mary to Ben, and then Henry, a bundle of nerves, asked if he and Ben could go for a walk.

“Please,” said Susan.

“School’s out, boys,” said Henry. “Unless Mary would like to read with you.”

“Please, please,” begged both boys at once.

“I’d like that,” said Mary, confidently opening
Robin
Hood
to where they’d left off. Henry and Ben quickly snuck out to the back and raced each other up the hill behind the house. Halfway up they stopped, laughing and pushing one another, until Ben said, “And guess what? I jumped ship!”

“You jumped ship? When did you do that?”

Ben took Henry by the arm. “Wait. Stop. . . . Please. Don’t be hurt. As soon as I got off that ship I wanted to come running to you. But I didn’t want to be so in love with you. I did everything I could to make me think I wasn’t. I was scared. I don’t know what about. That you didn’t love or care for me? That maybe when I saw you I wouldn’t care so much for you? I’ve been here nearly a week.” Henry’s shoulders sank in hurt, but then Ben’s mouth turned up to his beautiful smile. “Let me just look at you. You look so good.”

Henry stood awkwardly, letting Ben hold his arm and look at his face and eyes, and then, hidden from anyone who might be watching from the house, Ben slipped his free hand in Henry’s shirt. “I love the feel of your skin. But let’s find someplace where no one can see us, and I’ll tell you everything.”

“I know just the place.” Henry was hurt that Ben hadn’t summoned him immediately, but having Ben with him obviated that hurt. “It’s so good to see you too.”

“I had to see you on your birthday.”

“I still can’t believe you remembered.”

“You know me. I remember everything. But the truth is, I couldn’t stay away any longer.” They continued up the hill, catching their breaths as they slowly climbed. At the crest they turned, and Ben said, “But God it’s lovely here. I had no idea it was so beautiful. You’re lucky to be out here.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Henry pointed down the hill to their right. “If we sit over there no one can see us.”

“You don’t like it? It’s so beautiful. All these birds singing. And I love the scent of the grass.” They went down to a ridge filled with high grass, sat facing one another, their knees touching. The grass flattened it so it seemed they were sitting in a saucer.

“No, I like it. It’s just. . . . These people, the Emersons. They’re not anyone I’d choose to live with. There, I’ve said it. So tell me, where are you staying?”

“Remember that little man we picked up in New London?”

“I remember him well,” said Henry, laughing. And then swaying, “The pote side.”

“He brought me to this place. It’s in the worst part of Five Points. Little Water Street. But it’s this very substantial brick house. The Maidenhead. That’s what it’s called. How long they’ll let me stay I don’t know. But enough about that. I’m here.”

“I’m so glad to see you,” said Henry. “I’ve missed you terribly.”

“Really?” asked Ben, his voice high and cracking. “Every day all day I think about you and the time we had. After you got off
Dahlia
, it was awful for me. I felt so empty. And the captain was. . . . There’s no leaves on any of the trees. Are they dying?”

“Locusts.” Henry told Ben about the 17-year locusts, and at the same time took in Ben and touched his arm, and ended his science lesson with, “How exactly did you jump ship?”

“I made sure the captain saw me just as we were making to depart, and then when he went below to get his wife and no one was looking, I went over the side. Jumped right in.” Ben leaped up and demonstrated how he stood ramrod straight, his right arm tucked in, holding his nose, his left arm tight to his side. “I don’t even think I made a splash. I hid in the water under the wharf till it got dark. Ship was probably beyond the narrows, maybe even down the Jersey coast before anyone figured I wasn’t on board.”

“What are you going to do? If he catches you?”

“I figure I have three weeks. They’ve got a load to drop off in Saint Augustine. And, yes, I am nervous. You know how the captain is. And he loves that story of those boys hanging from the yardarm on
Somers
. But I couldn’t take it anymore. You opened my eyes, Henry. The way he treated me, I thought it was normal. Well, not normal, but I didn’t know what to do about it.”

“I’m glad you jumped. Seeing you is . . . those daggers of hair, your lizard eyes. I don’t know what it is, but just the way your skin covers your body—it’s so beautiful.”

They both laughed at that, then Henry said, “Seeing you is the best thing that’s happened to me since the last time I saw you.” They gazed into each other’s eyes and held hands. Ben said, “If we were a boy and a girl everyone would be happy. If I were a girl, it wouldn’t be a problem. But I’m not.”

“Remember on the boat when I said I wished you had a sister?”

“How could I forget?”

“You got so angry at me.” Ben nodded, smiling. “I’m glad you’re not a girl. Yes, it would sure be a lot easier, but I like the way you are. No. I love you the way you are.”

Ben, nearly bursting into tears, said, “You don’t know how happy that makes me. I just want to grab you and hold you. I love you so much.” He pulled Henry’s shoulders so their faces were only inches apart. “I love your funny nose.”

“It’s not funny,” said Henry.

“Yes it is. I’ve never seen another nose like it.” Ben traced Henry’s nose with his forefinger. “It comes almost down to your lips. And your lips.”

“You hate them too?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I love your nose and your lips. You’re odd looking, but beautiful odd. I love just looking at your face.” Ben’s lips touched Henry’s lips. And they kissed. And just that one kiss did it. More, more, thought Henry. Doubts disappeared. Trust developed. And then Ben stopped. “What?” said Henry.

“Our age is retrospective,” said Ben, and took Henry’s face in his hands.

“What are you crazy?” said Henry.

Their noses touched, and in a breathless bedroom whisper, Ben continued, “It builds the sepulchers of the fathers.” He gently kissed Henry’s cheek. “It writes biographies, histories, criticism.” Their lips touched, their breaths mingled. “The foregoing generation beheld God and nature face to face, we, through their eyes.” They kissed. And then Ben said, “Time for us to look through our own eyes.” And they kissed again, and devoured each other and rolled around in their saucer of high grass, kissing and pushing themselves into each other. They got their hands under each other’s shirts to feel bare skin, breathing hard, holding tight, never wanting to let go.

They didn’t hear Willie’s first calls from down the hill. Told by his mother to find Henry and Ben and, thinking he saw grass moving up on the ridge, Willie ran up the hill he now climbed nearly every day, and he was standing over them when Ben first caught him out of the corner of his eye and leaped out from under Henry, blurting, “Willie!”

Henry and Ben jumped apart.

“What are you doing?” asked Willie, truly curious.

“We were wrestling,” said Henry, and Ben, so pleased with Henry’s quick response, had to hug himself to keep from laughing. “Yes, wrestling,” said Ben. “And you saved me from losing. Thanks, Chum.”

Willie, thrilled to have helped this sparkling young man, smiled a crooked tooth smile and nodded his head.

“Robin Hood saves Maid Marian,” said Henry.

“He’s not Maid Marian,” said Willie.

“Who is he, then?” said Henry.

“He’s Ben,” said Willie. And Henry and Ben cracked up laughing, and Ben pulled Willie down and began to tickle him sweetly, and they laughed and Henry said, “He is Ben. And I’m glad he’s here.”

“Me too,” said Willie. “Ben, come here, I want to show you something.” Discreetly Ben adjusted himself in his pants, as did Henry, and the three of them went back up to the higher crest so Willie could show Ben what he called “my view.” And what a view it was that clear blue day, with hundreds of sails in the harbor and out at sea, steam ferries crossing the bay, billowing high clouds on the horizon. They climbed Willie’s favorite rock, a huge, fissured outcropping forced up millions of years before by mile-high glaciers that had pushed down from the Arctic and got as far south as where the three of them sat.