Dominion (38 page)

Of cloven-hoofed beasts there were four cows in calf that spring, and six ewes ready to lamb. The hogs rooted in the blood-red mud, searching out mushrooms, the occasional nut, and other treasures, after having tasted nothing but dry grain for so many months. One of the sows had birthed at the beginning of the month, and her sucklings fought for dominance and who should be first to feast and fatten from her milk. The hens sat their eggs patiently in the musty gloom of a coop that still retained its winter heat and darkness.

Caleum and Magnus toured each district of the larger farm, glad to see the bright green shoots in the pasturelands as the grasses bloomed again; debating how soon to let the animals out to graze, or wait for the higher pastures to open. When they saw stalks of the same grass in the rice and tobacco fields, though, they were made anxious, and discussed the best method of weeding it out so that it would not reappear. It was
the same conversation they had this time every year, and it never failed to soothe both of them, no matter what their other worries—to know spring had arrived and the certainty and rhythm of life at Stonehouses was reached anew.

Libbie was with child again as well, but Caleum did not wish to dwell on the subject—it would turn out for good or ill, and there was nothing he could do—so he stayed focused on what he had some sway over: when the crops went in the ground and the animals were let out to pasture—though not how much that planting or shepherding would increase and yield.

When they finished their tour, Magnus, who had not been into Berkeley since the fall markets, suggested they go to Content's place for a pint, as the sun was not yet set and there would be light out for still another two hours.

As they took the road into town, Caleum gave his horse a loose rein, letting the animal exercise its powerful legs on the open expanse of road after being confined all winter. Magnus had never been one for flashy riding, but the perfume of the air and the vigor of the new season inspired him to let his animal open up as well. The beast he sat was the mare Annabel, and he knew her stride as well as he did his own and trusted her as much to carry him where he wished to go. As she gathered speed, though, he felt a violent jerk in his arms and thought she had lost her footing in the mud. He looked for a place to jump clear in case she went down, but soon after the initial pain he realized the hot sensation he felt was not the mare losing her hold on the ground but his own arm losing hold of the horse. His entire right side clenched up then and froze against him, and no matter how he tried he could not move. As both the animal and his own body flew away from his control he knew something grave was the matter.

Caleum was still within calling distance, but even in this state Magnus would have felt foolish to call for help, so suffered his agony alone as Caleum moved farther away and Annabel stormed on under her own guidance. Slowly the pain that moved through his arm began to identify itself to him, and he realized what was wrong. When he did he was glad indeed he had not called out. His arm had frozen not from paralysis or stroke but from age and the same rheumatic condition his father had suffered. As it thawed, and he was able to resume a light hold on
the reins with that arm, he cursed his body for betraying him so but was satisfied he had not lost dignity in front of his nephew. Still, he felt frail and small, as he could scarcely remember feeling before, and was swept by a wave of self-sorrow that he could be so exposed. How long, he thought, with a different kind of anguish, before his body did fail him in some serious way he could not prevent or control?

He remembered his father, Jasper, during those long last years of his life—when he had asked himself what went on in the man's head when his body would no longer obey him, and his weakness was laid bare for any who cared to behold it.

Well, it is as it will be, he thought, but if I am to be made a fool I will not aid in it. He pulled at the reins with his other hand and Annabel slowed her gait, turning to look at him in the saddle. “You sensed something different and wanted to know what it was, didn't you, girl?” he asked the mare, stroking the gray fur at the base of her neck. If he were another type of man he would claim she had gazed on him with sympathy, but he was not one to attribute to animals what belonged only to humans. Still, he was pleased he had chosen that particular mount to carry him that day.

By the time Magnus made it to the tavern, Caleum had already fastened his horse to a post and was standing in the road waiting. “Sorry, I shouldn't ride like that,” Caleum said, thinking he had been inconsiderate of Magnus for going at such a pace.

“No,” Magnus answered, “I shouldn't ride like that, but like a man my own age.”

Caleum saw then that his uncle was in pain, and hastened to take the reins of his horse as he dismounted. Magnus did not object as he normally would have, but accepted this kindness and came out of the last stirrup with a little cringe. When he saw this, Caluem grew afraid. He had never known Magnus to be sick his entire life and grew worried it was more serious than the other man let on.

“I am fine,” Magnus said, seeing Caleum's face, and trying at first to hide his frailty. “It is only arthritis,” he explained, “such as might plague you one day.” Caleum's face registered relief as they walked into Content's together, and Magnus was glad he had told him. Still, it ached like the devil.

Once inside they claimed a table near the window, and John Barnaby, Content's son-in-law, came and waited on them. “What brings you
round today, Magnus Merian?” John asked, surprised to see him there before the summer season, as he usually only came during the productive months.

“It was good weather today, and Caleum here thought we'd do well to breathe a little air.”

“Well, I'm always happy to see you,” John said warmly, for the two families were still familiar with each other, even if they did not see one another so often. Magnus was pleased to have come out and asked John after his business and family, and they traded news until he had to return to work.

Caleum and Magnus then sat silently nursing their drinks, until a man neither of them knew sat at their table, begging excuse as he did so.

“Help yourself,” Caleum said to him, though there were many places free in the rest of the tavern.

“You see I have lost my way,” the man said, in a matter-of-fact tone, after he had sat.

“I beg your pardon?” Magnus asked.

“I used to be a teacher in Great Philadelphia, but I lost my way. Now I support myself with this,” the man explained.

“What is it you do?”

“I'm a pamphleteer,” the man answered, opening a leather folder. “For a shilling I will sell you a pamphlet on any subject you like. How about fertilizers and the care of the soil for my country friends?”

“No.” Caleum cut him off. “Thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” the man answered, not taking offense. “But you should take better care. You see there is a fissure happening, and much will likely be lost.”

“Pardon?”

“It says so right here in one of my pamphlets.”

Caleum smiled. At first he had though the man simple. It dawned on him then, though, that there were certain men, like his own father, who were sentenced—he would not go so far as condemned—to wander the earth. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a coin, which he slid across the table to the man. The pamphleteer gave him in return a small tract called “On Civil Government,” and reached into his own pocket to make change. He gave Caleum at the end of that transaction two coins of silver mint, both of which had eyes embossed on their nether sides,
encompassing the entire surface of the metal. When he saw it, Caleum thought he recognized the design as similar to Purchase's in style, although it was a different motif than the ones his father had minted. Still, he had spent long hours studying them, and they were very reminiscent.

“It is true silver,” the pamphleteer vouched.

“Indeed,” said Caleum. “I have seen the likes of it before.”

“Have you?”

“Not the pattern, but the style.”

“They were given me by a woman in Philadelphia.”

“Before or after you had lost your way?”

“Surely it was before, though not long.”

“Then you will stay your course,” Caleum said, feeling then as if he belonged to some secret fraternity. It was only silver specie, though, and not some secret union.

“Which side are you on?” the stranger asked him.

“Pardon?”

“The divide.”

“None but our own,” Magnus intervened, not wanting a political argument with the man. He shifted his concern back to Caleum. “I think we must sow in the next three days.”

Seeing himself locked out of the conversation, the stranger got up to leave.

“Deny what you want,” he said as he departed, “but it is surely happening.”

“I will believe it when I see it.”

“There are men who look but never see.”

“Aye. Women as well.”

After the man had left, though, they thought about what he said and the events that were swirling everywhere about them but seemed so ethereal that, for when and where they alighted, there was nothing but speculation. Their attention had been so focused on their own fortunes that they had not yet joined in the general debate about the looming prospect of war, which was more and more all anyone spoke of. Magnus, being cautious and having his own profitability to keep him occupied, hoped there would be no disturbance of the status quo, as he had never been upset in his doings other than the unpleasant business with the tax assessor. In his mind that is what it was by then, “that unpleasant business
with the judge's man.” Other than that he did not look at it in his memory. Of liberty he had what he required and saw no need to change who he paid taxes to, and certainly no need of arguing it with strangers.

Though he had come to know more of its shape, Caleum still tended to be idealistic about the world in general and claimed everyone should be master of his own house, reaping as he planted.

After finishing their drinks they shunted aside political matters and rode back to Stonehouses, satisfied with the evening and the start of the new growing season. If there was a drawback to the day's adventure it was only this: Magnus had not ridden so far in many months, and the saddle did take its toll on him—so that when he returned home he wished only for his supper and to retire for the evening.

This first desire was granted in full when Adelia served the last winter ham from their stores for dinner, along with pickled beets and potatoes. Caleum and Libbie joined them that evening as well, such as had not happened in a long time outside of Sunday, so Magnus Merian was much satisfied: able to forget the day's politics and his own physical complaints.

Adelia, pleased to have her family's full company, delighted in spoiling Caleum with extra helpings and the promise of a rice pudding for dessert, and spoke of a bonnet she thought Libbie must have before she went home. Her love of their visits was matched only by her crossness whenever it was time for them to go, so that when she mentioned dessert Caleum knew to steel himself, as it was usually around this time that her bad mood would descend.

“Aunt Adelia, have you started your garden yet?” he asked, steering conversation toward a topic sure to please her.

“Yes,” she answered, “but I'm already afraid it won't be as nice as last year. There was a frost the last two nights running, which in likelihood ruined half of it, and if not the frost then the birds.”

There had been no frost, of course, and the birds were no worse than any other year. Magnus looked at Caleum with a wry smile, as if to say he should have known better.

“It doesn't matter anyway,” she went on. “No one appreciates the garden anymore. I remember the first time I saw it. I thought it was the most beautiful place I had ever seen, and it was a privilege when your grandmother Sanne invited me to help her with the planting and weeding of it.”

“We all love your garden,” Libbie interjected. “I think it is the most beautiful I've seen.”

“Thank you,” Adelia answered, pleased but not satisfied.

From the time he noticed it, Caleum was amazed that older people could be so sensitive, or else vain, and especially his aunt. He thought it was something one should naturally shed with age, like a first skin. In time he had come to find it reassuring, as a promise that certain things in life, and one's character especially, never change after a certain point. Because of this he was happy to see his wife fawn over his aunt's garden, or else little things that gave her pleasure or that inflamed her pride, much as she delighted in treating him at times like a boy. It made him feel the world was stable and unflagging in some things, no matter what happened around them. “I will come round Saturday and help with planting, Auntie,” he told her then, “and I will bring bell jars in case of another frost.”

“I will get the rice pudding,” she said, smiling as she left the table. “There are raisins in it, Caleum.”

He smiled at her in turn but suppressed the greater part of his joy at this dessert, from embarrassment that something so simple always brought him such pleasure but also from feeling he had been coerced.

It was as Magnus and Caleum waited for Adelia and Libbie, who had gotten up to help, to return from the kitchen that the knocker at the front door sounded. It was a very deep and assured rapping that startled them, because no one ever used the instrument, and in time they had come to think of it as purely ornamental. Caleum rose to go to answer the insistent visitor, not knowing who on earth could be out there on the other side.

When he returned he announced their neighbor, Rudolph Stanton, had come to pay a visit. Everyone was taken by surprise that the mighty man should come down from his place at Acre to see them, instead of sending a messenger as was his usual custom no matter what the business, let alone at such an advanced hour.