The Lightning Keeper (40 page)

Read The Lightning Keeper Online

Authors: Starling Lawrence

“I only want to help if I can. You and Dr. Steinmetz. Of course I know nothing about lightning, except that it frightens me.”

“And I know only what Steinmetz has told me. We shall learn together, yes?” He was smiling at her now, in a way that reminded her of the old Toma.

“Yes, Toma, yes. You will tell me what must be done here. I think Dr. Steinmetz will be surprised.”

“And very happy, too. He will see a great improvement in the correspondence.”

Harriet was silent for a moment. She was thinking of the letter she must write to Fowler. Would she have to ask his permission?

“Toma, you must not hope for too much, for things that cannot be.”

Toma took up the green bottle and began to flip it in the air from one hand to the other.

“I would be sorry if you broke that.”

“This?” he asked, turning to look at her while he caught the bottle backhanded in mid-arc. “I won't break it. I used to do this with a knife.” He set the bottle down on the ledger. “And don't worry about the other.”

“Thank you. Then I won't.” She felt herself blushing. They were talking, indirectly, about what must not happen, and even this was a kind of intimacy.

“I should go. I'll stay longer next time, after I have made arrangements.”

“And when will that be?”

“Not tomorrow, and not Monday, as I have invited people to tea. Tuesday?”

“Fine. I'll leave a list of what needs doing, and you'll bring the tea?”

He was joking with her, but she didn't mind now. “Yes, a thermos. And soon there will have to be some thought of a fire. It is very cold in here. Had you noticed?”

“Yes. Cold in here and cold on the mountain. Stefan will be glad to make fires and leave the correspondence to you. I think he has no gift for that.”

She stood up to go. “Will you stay up there all winter?”

He nodded. “It is better that way. Don't forget your ledger.”

 

T
HERE WAS TIME BEFORE
dinner to show the ledger to her father. He looked at the pages and smoothed them with his hands. She did not know if he had understood anything or even recognized the book.

“Is this the surprise?”

“Yes, Papa. I thought you would like it. Did you like it?”

“Oh yes, but…”

“But you thought it would be something else?”

He looked up at her with wavering trust. “I thought it would be a baby.”

Turbine shell casting, 1923

Only a rock wall separated the Walchensee from the flat land; the bottom of the lake behind this natural barrier reached to the level of the plateau. The situation invited development, for a tunnel could be dug through the rock at a point a small distance below the surface, and large pipes, or penstocks, could then carry the water rushing down the slopes to turbines in a powerhouse nestled against the slope….

Consulting engineers like [Oskar] von Miller usually do not themselves invent and develop technology, but instead depend on manufacturers to fulfill design specifications. Furthermore, large projects like the Walchenseewerk…are often designed to take advantage of the state of the art rather than to advance far beyond it. The challenge for von Miller…was artfully to adapt…technologies to particular local conditions.

—
description of the Walchensee (Bavaria)
generation & distribution project, completed 1924.
Thomas P. Hughes, Networks of Power

When she heard the thump and the wailing cry, Harriet had a pretty exact idea of what had happened, and her first reaction, despairing and ungenerous, was “Oh, not now!”

Mrs. Evans had fallen. She was in the dining room, trying to entertain Amos Bigelow and set the table for the Thanksgiving dinner at the same time. Harriet was in the kitchen, basting the bird one last time, and wondering if it was done. Both the cook and the pantry maid were down with a nasty flu, and Dr. and Mrs. Crowell, old and understanding friends of the family, were in the parlor. Harriet nearly dropped the bird and the pan to the floor. She thrust the baster and the potholders at the scullery girl, whose eyes were round with apprehension.

In the dining room Mrs. Evans, in her best black, lay in a litter of cranberry sauce, and the clothes gave up a strong smell of urine. Dr. Crowell knelt by her and held her hand. Her soft moaning was overridden by his louder complaint about the absence of his medical bag.

“It was right there by the door, and all I had to do was put out my hand. You'd think after forty years that I'd have more sense.”

“Is it the hip, then?”

“Yes, almost certainly. We shall have to get her to a bed.”

“Of course. Father, go sit with Mrs. Crowley.”

The old man stood with his back to the fire, and so close that she could smell the singed wool, which was what drew her attention to him. He wrung his hands, bleating, “Oh, oh, oh…”

“Mrs. Crowley,” Harriet said very distinctly, “go and sit with Mrs. Crowley.” She gave him a gentle push, and like a toy boat he drifted off in the direction of the parlor.

“We'll need help getting a blanket under her. Has she her own bed here?”

“Yes, but I'm afraid it's upstairs. Lily!” she spoke sharply to the hovering maid, “don't just stand there. See if you can find Carpenter. He should be in his room over the garage.”

Harriet put her hand on Mrs. Evans's forehead, which seemed to quiet her.

“Will she be all right?”

“Probably so, but she's had a terrible shock. Would you have a sleeping draft, a sedative of any sort?”

“No.”

“Then I shall just have to drive home and back, but that will take some time, and I'd like to have her in bed first.”

An anxious white face appeared in the pantry door. “Begging pardon, ma'am.”

“Yes, Sarah, what is it?”

“The bird, ma'am. Maybe it's burning.”

“For Heaven's sake take it out, then!” Sarah vanished.

Dr. Crowell actually smiled at her. “You have your hands full today. You should have told us.”

“I am so glad you are here, and so sorry about the dinner.”

Lily burst into the room, and behind her, in the shadow of the stairwell, stood Olivia. Harriet had not even known she was in the house.

“He's not there, mum.”

“Where is he?”

“I'm sure I don't know, mum.”

“And the stable boy?”

“Him neither. Gone the both of them, maybe to town.”

“Well, get a blanket then, and stay with Mr. Bigelow and Mrs. Crowell.”

“I can help,” said Olivia from her station.

Harriet, Olivia, and Dr. Crowell managed to get Mrs. Evans up the stairs and into her bed, with a couple of old blankets and a torn sheet
under her. Harriet began to fumble with the fastenings of the skirt and Olivia put a hand on her arm.

“I will take care of this.”

The doctor stood back from the bed while they worked. He seemed to be more concerned about Harriet.

“I say again, you have your hands full, and not just today.”

“What?” Her mind was wandering: to the kitchen, where Sarah would be doing something with the turkey; to the parlor, where Lily would be on pins and needles. Her father, she knew, made Lily very anxious even under the best of circumstances.

“I think it is time that you took some care for the other situation, and even some strong measures.”

“This is not about Mrs. Evans.”

“No, but this fall will make it impossible for her to help your father, to tend to him. You cannot do this yourself, not all of it. It is too great a burden.”

She protested that she was strong and determined and she could always call upon Carpenter, the chauffeur.

Dr. Crowley said nothing. He raised his eyebrows.

“What are you saying?”

“Amos is an old, old friend, as you must know, but I think it is time, for his own safekeeping.”

“You mean the Home?”

“Yes.” The word sounded in her ear like the closing of a door.

The Home was a universal shorthand for the Connecticut Home for the Incompetent, located on the outskirts of Billingsford, not a dozen miles away. She had twice visited that forbidding stone building in the course of her work with the Ladies' Auxiliary, and had come away with a chill in her bones that had nothing to do with the weather.

“Please don't.” Her voice was faint.

“Harriet, try to think clearly about this, for his sake and your own.”

“It is the most dreadful place….” She remembered, too late, Dr. Crowell's connection to the Home as a member of the advisory board, but her memory of particular smells gave her the courage to go on. “Please don't let us talk of this. However sensible the suggestion may be, it is not acceptable to me. He must stay here. I will find the strength.”

“I'm afraid I have seen other cases like his, an early descent into…well, too early. I'm afraid you have little idea of the sacrifice you will make of yourself, of your domestic happiness.”

Harriet, with her eyes cast down, seemed to be reflecting on the wisdom of his words, but she was instead taking an inventory of those blessings. “It is too late, Doctor. Those sacrifices have already been made. I should be in Washington with my husband. But I am here, and this accident will not change my mind about what I must do.”

“Well, then,” Dr. Crowell made a tactical retreat, “let me see to my patient.”

Harriet seemed intent on the dumb show of the doctor's ritual: checking the pulse against the gold pocket watch, bending over the bed to hear the respiration. She was thinking of the office, of those afternoons that began with such bright purpose and ended in the languorous dusk with her staring at a crack in the stove, a necklace of fire, all animation now suspended until his footfall should break the spell.

Olivia said something to her that she did not hear clearly.

“What?”

“She is old. She will be in bed for weeks, and maybe then a cripple. I will take care of your father.”

She took Olivia's hand in her own and held it, not briefly, as one might expect, but with a firm, lasting, and fervent pressure.

Portledge

Dec. 6, 1916

Dr. C. P. Steinmetz

Consulting Engineering Department

General Electric

Schenectady, New York

Dear Dr. Steinmetz:

You are kind to keep me abreast of developments in Beecher's Bridge when you are dealing with so much else. I am sorry for the burst pipes in your cactus conservatory; I hope you have not lost every specimen. Can the temperature really have reached minus eight degrees so early in December? As for the burden
of providing information to Senator Truscott's committee, I urge patience and foresight as the only remedies.

Patience because Senator Truscott's requests are not idle ones: he and his fellows must manage, more or less by stealth, to make the country ready for a war it wishes not to fight. By the way, I congratulate you on your recent statements affirming allegiance to your adopted country. Surely this clears the air. There will be a war, I am certain of it, but there will also be a peace, may I live to see it; and our great company, which you have done so much to establish, must be ready to prevail in that chaos of redirected priorities. Our opportunities shall then be doubled, at least, if we can increase our stake in harnessing those energy resources about which Senator Truscott inquires. He is, as you know, a friend to our enterprise, so we owe him more than courtesy.

Would you be so kind as to enlarge on the information in your last paragraph? Something, I gather, about a great new work on the mountain. But you have again forgot how far your mind leaps ahead of common understanding, and I think your excitement led to illegibility there. How does this “work” connect to either the experimental generating station or the lightning research? And what will it cost?

In closing, I share some good news with you. Thanks to the efforts of our legal staff in Washington, the patent application on Mr. Peacock's device has cleared the final hurdle. I shall write to him myself and congratulate him.

With warm wishes,
C. A. Coffin

Dec. 18, 1916

To: Dr. C. P. Steinmetz

From: T. Peacock (HBT)

Re: Progress on excavation; core samples; transverse tunnels and shafting reconsidered; other business

The work has now reached the specified depth of 150 feet. Experimental steel shaft sections received Tuesday. Prefer eight-foot lengths to twelves, as hoist is inadequate for the latter. Suggest that freestanding aerial above the ground be fashioned of one forged piece in tapering design for stability in high wind. If
welded, wind stress and flexion will require external guy wires, creating potential grounds.

Core samples of the rock dispatched this
A.M.
Great variation here, as you will see, with veins of the purer magnetite occurring almost at random in the granite schist (sample A). Footing of aerial is similar in composition to sample B, but lateral extent and depth of magnetite there not known or easily determined.

In view of uncertainty of rock composition, the surest result—best connection of aerial to electromagnetic potential of mountain—will be obtained by pursuing plan of transverse tunnels per design sketches previously forwarded. Horizontal “legs” of the aerial to be of same specifications as vertical shaft, to be laid in sections and set into tunnel floors. Cost estimates to be available for discussion after Christmas. All excavation to be completed by March/April, laboratory building by May. Aerial to be functional by June, pending tests, in time for its work during the season of electrical disturbances.

Other business: Please advise how pumping equipment should be insulated from ambient voltages of lightning strikes. Estimates of seepage are provisional; situation to be reassessed after thaw in April. Please advise as to date of arrival and suggest when you wish to review plans and worksite.

Best wishes for a Merry Christmas.

Schenectady

December 20, 1916

Mrs. Fowler Truscott

The Manor

Beecher's Bridge, Connecticut

Dear Mrs. Truscott:

Thank you for your kind note. I see your hand everywhere these days. I shall not be able to join you until the 27th, as I cannot, it seems, rush away from Christmas here in Schenectady. The cactus conservatory is rising again from its ruins; I had forgotten how expensive relatively simple plumbing repairs can be. The collection itself will take longer to rebuild, and some of the specimens can only be replaced by the kindness of friends in far places. Do, by all means, attempt to propagate the
Frailea castanea
and the
Mammillaria senilis
.

Though my arrival will be somewhat delayed, I have arranged my schedule
so that I shall be able to spend four or five days with you over the New Year, and it will be a pleasure to see Senator Truscott in less formal circumstances. And also yourself—though I should say particularly yourself. There is much work to be done, and my grasp of the situation is much clearer thanks to your timely intervention. As for the recreations you promise, I will be a disappointment to you. I must leave ice-skating to the young.

There is a matter of importance that I wish to discuss with you when we find a moment, and it connects to our earlier discussions about the grid or the network of power that must bind and connect all. It is a plan that has been growing in my mind. I will not say more about it now except to observe that in the abstract, great scientific works have the power and beauty of music, and this idea resonates in my breast like a symphony.

Yours most cordially,
C. P. Steinmetz

C
IRCUMSTANCE HAD SCHOOLED
Olivia Toussaint in many things, but to the subject of love she came late and at a disadvantage. Her mother had been taken at such an early age that she was not sure, now, what she remembered and what she imagined. She had never known a grandmother, an aunt, an older sister. She did not know if her mother had a family: no letters survived, not a single photograph. At the funeral the plain pine box had been nailed shut on whatever was left, and the priest gave her a pasteboard card with the Ave on one side and on the other a brightly robed and smiling Virgin, who would become the image and metaphor of her mother.

Had she loved Horatio before he put his hand on her and made her lie with him? Afterward, all that remained was obedience, his need an unyielding, inescapable fact, the anvil on which her life was to be shaped.

At first she paid little mind to Amos Bigelow, who differed from people she had doctored only in that there was no chance of improvement in his condition. He would not speak to her, and asked every day, in her hearing, when Mrs. Evans would be coming back. He had forgotten that Mrs. Evans lay in a bed directly above the servants' dining room, where he took his meals, and that his daughter had taken him up to see her.

Where Mrs. Evans had persuaded with gentle common sense,
Olivia presided with silent strength. She could, if necessary, resort to force: it was a lesson he had not forgotten. Olivia took over at noon when Harriet went into town, and Amos Bigelow had refused to eat with this strange woman as his companion.

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