Dominion (45 page)

“Aye,” they all uttered at different volumes, then paused to lift their glasses in a toast of remembrance. As Elissa placed her glass back on the table she touched Caleum's arm again, and in that moment he felt a doorway back from the isolation that had gripped him for so long.

It is not good always to eat alone, he thought, placing his hand upon hers, very briefly, without looking at her.

“Would you like to dance?” Julius asked the woman next to him, who was called Sally, as the table grew quiet. She took his hand gladly, and they stood to make their way to the ballroom floor.

“Let's all dance,” Carl suggested, at which everyone at the table stood up eagerly except Caleum and Elissa.

They all looked to him, to make certain he was not offended, but Caleum only looked back, then pushed his chair from the table slowly and stood to his full height. He held his cane in one hand and offered the other to Elissa. She took hold of it and followed him to the dance floor, smiling but nervous for his safety.

In the middle of the room, Caleum placed one arm around Elissa's waist and held her hand with the other, grasping his cane simultaneously in case he should lose his balance.

He did not, and when they moved over the floor it was as if wood had great respect for wood, and while he was not perfect in his movements, he was more graceful than any would have expected. They danced through two songs and made their way back to the table only when he was well tired out.

After they sat down the waiter brought over another bottle of cordial, and the two lounged in comfortable weariness. They were easy with each other then, as they had not been earlier in the night, and spoke tenderly in whispers as the rest of the room went about its affairs.

Eventually the others returned to the table as well, but by then the rest of the crowd was thinning and it was time for all to go home, or wherever they were passing the night. Caleum made arrangements to meet with Julius and Carl later in the week, when they announced their departure, but he and Elissa stayed on in the hall, reclining and talking softly. At last the music ended and they could stay there no longer, so walked out into the freezing night air together.

Under the white light of the gas lamps Caleum was bold indeed when he invited her to return with him to his room, but she declined, saying it would not do. There was, however, another inn, known as a place where lovers carried on surreptitious affairs in secret warrens, and he assented to this and let her lead him there through the frigid streets, until at last they reached the place and climbed the stairs and could be alone—as they were anxious to be.

They were still ensconced there two weeks later on Thanksgiving Day. Despite Elissa's desire to cook for him from her own pots and serve him off her own table, they could not go where she lived, for fear of scorn
and disapproval. Instead, Caleum took her to an inn he had heard of, which had the reputation of serving the best food in the city.

Julius and Carl had both left the island already, Carl to visit with his family in Boston and Julius to see a woman he had met at Mary's Hamlet from New Jersey, but Caleum had only moved from one hotel to another, being enchanted by Elissa as their affections for each other seemed to grow and grow. He would not—and perhaps it was only guilt that held him from it—term what passed between them love, but it was a rapturous thing all the same and he thought it a worthy rival to domestic contentment, though whether it could last he dare not ask himself.

At the inn they were seated at a good table by the owner, and all through the room were elegantly dressed men and women, many with children, enjoying themselves as the waiters brought a sumptuous feast to every table. When their own table was laid, Caleum gave prayer and named all his thankfulness for that year.

Elissa testified after him, and, although she had been made nervous when he mentioned his children, she told first how glad she was for the gift of his affection—claiming to have never known any before it.

They feasted then on a meal that made clear how the place had earned its good name. Such fine food, such good drink, such merry company—however, all that could not stop Caleum from wondering to himself what was happening that day at Stonehouses. If he had been wearing his old army coat he might have gazed at its interior scene then, but that garment was on the bottom of his trunk, and he wore his new clothes, which neither comforted nor burdened him with any memories.

As she watched him, Elissa began to grow cross and asked where his thoughts were. She was in a hard position, and knew she could not make too many demands on him or even ask him to stay on beyond what he wanted, even if it was her deepest wish. She was relieved therefore when he answered her duplicitously—claiming only to be thinking of old acquaintances—satisfied that he did not say outright he was thinking of his family or else that he wished he had left already to be with them.

“This is the best Thanksgiving I have ever known,” she said, touching him on the arm and holding him fast.

“It is one of my best,” he said truthfully, thinking first on that list was the year he was first blessed with Rose.

Their joy with each other had not traveled its full course, but Elissa was afraid then it was running out, and throughout the meal she kept asking her lover for reassurances. This in turn soured Caleum's mood, as he felt he was being pinned down.

“Let us have another cordial,” he said, “and enjoy our meal. I am as happy as I have ever been here. You must not worry so much about me leaving you.” She was serene when she heard his words, secure for the moment that his heart and devotion were with her.

Nor was what he said merely a deceit to put her off pestering him with questions. He was as happy with her that day as he could remember. It was merely a different sort of happiness than what he was used to, and the knowledge that pleasure itself could be pursued in the same way he had gone after his wife, or his yearly production, was a small unsettling revelation to him. He had thought before that stable marital harmony was the only dependable kind there was, but now he knew it was only one of many and not better than those others, merely a different formulation. It dizzied him to think of it, as he saw how arbitrary one way of life might be over another.

When he first found himself thinking this he feared it was devil's logic; however, he did not know how to resist it, for he could find nothing sound on the other side that satisfied the question of why one form of life was better than another, or even why going after what was strenuous and correct was better than going after what delivered the greatest joy.

He knew men learned in religion would reproach him sharply and make clear with moral reasoning what was unavailable to his intellect alone—but that he loved a woman who was not his wife, even the most pious of them could not argue away, or tell him why he should not believe in its existence.

His heart then had its own method of philosophizing and reckoning, which did not square with the others at all, asking his conscious mind whether, if a man's sin is that he is not an angel, might he still not be a worthy man.

“Will we spend Christmas together?” Elissa asked him in the midst of all this, for she was equally in love with him and saw in his eyes that she had gained ascendancy in his mind.

“Yes,” he answered her, smiling. “We will.”

She was made happy by this, but for her position to be truly impregnable she knew there was only one way to achieve that goal. For a woman she could compete with, no matter how fancy she was, but his children would always tug on his bosom, unless he had others with her. It was not a cold calculation on her part, only a reasonable one, as matters of the heart often need aids of reason to sort out their arcs and realize themselves.

When they finished with dinner, she was especially affectionate with her man and, rather than seek out other amusement for the evening, insisted that they go back to their little hotel, where they might pass the rest of the evening together in bliss.

That night as they lay again in their secret chamber, she thought how the spell of love alone could not last indefinitely, and asked him again to tell her his love for her. He answered with sweet words and knew there was much truth to them.

When he married it had been from compatibility and a sense of duty, as he was very young and feared all those other footpaths the heart might follow. With her his duty was to his heart's happiness and his desires. He could be content with that for a very long time, he knew, perhaps even so far as the end of his days.

“My heart did not know it's true deepness before I met you,” he said, holding her naked breast. Their affection for each other had actually startled him, when he realized how simple and pure it was, but also when he recognized the profundity of that weightlessness.

She was exuberant when she heard this, for she had spared herself no sacrifice in order to take care of him and increase his gladness. Although she tried to be discreet, she knew it had already cost her her reputation, for everyone spoke of her as a dishonored woman. If love be dishonor, though, she was happy to be infamous, as they shared in that room on Catherine Street an ecstasy whose heat consumed all other fuel.

“Will you stay with me?” she asked him again.

“Yes,” he said. “I will.”

“How long?” she begged, for she wanted him to be clear about what she offered him and what she needed.

“As long as can be told on all the clocks in heaven,” he answered. He fell back into her arms after that, until he began to forget about all else outside that room.

“And I will always be devoted to you,” she promised. “If you left me now I know I could not live.”

He was possessed then by her touch as she was by his words, and the two of them fell upon each other in lovemaking.

They were still awake late into that night, long after most of the city had already retired and was dreaming. Under the twilight that ebbed through the windows, they held each other still.

“Do you know what would please me more than anything else?” she asked him sleepily, as he held her about the waist.

“No, but I want to know nothing more.”

“I cannot ask it.”

“Tell me.”

“It is to have a house and children with you,” she said, telling him next how tired she was of living like a fugitive in their rented room, and promising how much happier she could make him if only they had a home of their own to be in together.

Caleum did not need to think about it very long before telling her that he would find her a house where they could be together. For he also missed having a home and knew that making one with her would bring him no end of pleasure. “I will buy you a house,” he promised.

He did not know about children, but he knew that after taking up with him for so long it would be impossible for her to go back to her people without disgrace, and he did not wish to see that ever happen to her—or that she should go wanting for anything, or beg favor of anyone else, even if he could not make her his wife. His honor required at least this much. He would give her a house.

He did not think then what it would mean for his intention of returning to his own home, as that place had grown very distant from his mind's eye. He only thought about Christmas with Elissa, and what he should do for an income if he stayed on in that city—as his purse was not as full as it used to be and would be taxed very definitely by the purchase of a home.

He searched the city continuously during the weeks leading up to the holiday, until he found a place he thought would be suitable for the two of them. It was a respectable merchant's house though not grand, built in the Dutch manner with a little store on the bottom floor and living quarters above it. When he presented it to her Christmas morning, she was overjoyed as she went through the rooms, planning out in her mind the function each would serve and how best to make them happy there.

When they moved in, he found everything in the house had been arranged around his needs and satisfaction, so that he never had to think of anything disagreeable while he was there and, in fact, marveled at how constantly pleasant his new house was and how untroubled he felt in its rooms.

For income, Caleum Merian set up a small concern in the shop on the first floor, selling wares that were much coveted but difficult to come by during the war. It proved very popular with the people of that city, as it was filled with delicacies, and on weekends he would share with Elissa those things he had hoarded for the two of them alone. Having scoured the wharfs for smuggled goods, there might be fine Irish lace or hats in the latest fashion from France, one of which he might present to her, reveling in the happiness it brought her. He also received things such as sets of silver from colonists whose means were stretched by the occupation, or even items in gold from the better families on the island, which always reached him by way of intermediaries, and he was always understanding and discreet.

He found himself becoming a true citizen of that town as his business grew, until he thought very little of wanting to be anywhere else in his life again. He was near thirty years old and found the new rhythm of his days quite agreeable, and the material pleasures of this life were such as he had not known existed before. Something had changed within him, but, however different he had become, he was at peace from his former self. Dear Elissa, who did not know him before, embraced the man he was instead of remarking on the changes that had taken place, as any from his old life surely would have. This was a liberation for him, and he always felt free with her to say whatever he thought and do as he wanted, with no burdens of any other sort to support.

Elissa was finally confident in their home together, and although her own family worried for her that she was not married but living with a man who was, they accepted it as a better situation than her being merely some passing soldier's fancy. To her, though, there was no difference than if they had exchanged vows in church, because, she thought, marriage is sanctified first in the heart above all other places.