The River of Souls (34 page)

“I love you, Berry,” he whispered back, but he did not hear himself answer and Quinn had already faded away. 

He did not return to the wharf on the following night. Neither did he on the next night, for Quinn was aware of him getting out of bed and she grasped his hands and bade him return, for she’d suffered a bad dream that he was lost in the smoke of a burning wilderness and she could no longer even see his shadow. 

But on the following night, after they had made love in their gentle, sweet way and Quinn had fallen asleep, Daniel kissed Quinn’s cheek and smoothed her hair, and he wished he might stay exactly where he was until morning’s light but the fire of curiosity was burning in him, it was a blaze beyond endurance, and it would not let him rest. He dressed, lit a candle for his lantern, left the house and returned to the harbor, where Count Anton Mannerheim Dahlgren was both fishing and waiting. 

“Ah, there you are!” said Dahlgren, from his sitting position at the wharf’s end. “I vas sooner expecting you.” 

The young man walked out to him. “A warm night,” he said. 

“Yah, var’ varm. I myself like cold days and colder nights. I like the snowfall. The sound of it hissing through the pines. Someday I vill get back to my Prussia. Perhaps you vill help me?” 

“By going with you to England?” 

“Yah, that.” 

“I tell you, I am Daniel Tate. I am—” He stopped, because he had no memories of being Daniel Tate and these mental flashes he was having spoke of a different life altogether. 

“You are not anymore so sure,” the Prussian said. “Othervise…you vould not be here.” He saw the bobber go under and felt the line jerk. “Ah! Caught something!” He pulled up a small silver fish, enough for a pan, took it flapping off the hook and dropped it into the wooden bucket with several of its kin. Then he rebaited the hook using a live cricket and put the line again into the water. His boots, Daniel noted, were nearly in the river. 

“You’re not afraid of alligators?” Daniel asked. 

“Alligators,” answered the Prussian with a slight snarl, “are afraid of
me
.” 

“Yet you fear this Professor Fell? Why is that?” 

“As I say, I was involved—much against my vill—in a failed business. But that is in the
past
, my friend. In the present, he is seeking
you
. All vill be
right
, when you present yourself to him. You see?” Dahlgren smiled up at Matthew Corbett, exposing a mouthful of gray teeth. 

“No, I do not see.” 

“You do know you are not Daniel Tate. You do not belong here, and neither do I. You
know
that. But…your problem is…you do not remember who you are, and you are trying to decide if you can trust me. Yah?” 

“I’m not sure I can trust someone who recently put a knife to my throat.” 

“Forgiff me, I am sometimes hot-headed. Also…” Dahlgren smiled again. “Bad mannered.” He returned his concentration to his fishing, as if he were again alone upon the wharf. 

Daniel waited for the man to speak once more, but nothing was offered. He realized the next move was his. “If I believed you…then tell me, how do you know me? And from where?” 

“Ve crossed—” The Count was silent for a moment, as if deliberating his choice of words “—paths once. More than that, I cannot say.” 

“What did I do for this professor that warrants a reward?” 

“You were born,” said Dahlgren. 

“I say again, you must be mad.” 

“And
I
say again…board ship and go to England with me. I vill pay all. Do you haff a travel bag and clothing?” 

“I’m not going to England with you,” Daniel said. “Leave my wife?
No
.” 

“Then let it tear you apart, young sir.” 

Daniel frowned. “Let
what
tear me apart?” 

“Not ever knowing who you really are.” The Count shrugged. “Small pieces, you may remember. Things may come back to you. But
years
, it may take…and I say it vill tear you apart.” 

Daniel said nothing. He stared off into the dark, which seemed to go on forever. 

“It is tearing at you even now,” said Dahlgren. “Ah! I think…yah, I’ve caught another!” 

“Goodnight, sir,” Daniel told him, and began walking away. 

“In the morning,” the Count said as he took another silver fish off his hook, “I vill bring you some of my catch. Ve should be good friends, yah?” 

Daniel didn’t answer. The planks creaked under him, the frogs croaked, and the swamp seethed with life. Why then, had the cobble-stoned streets of a large town flashed through his mind for just an instant…an image of coaches and carriages and the signs of shops he was unable to read? The image was gone just as quickly. 

London? Had that been London? His
real
home, possibly? 

Or…rather…the real home of Matthew Corbett? 

If that was true…then was Quinn out of her mind, as the Count had said? And if he was
not
the first Daniel Tate…what had happened to the first one? 

Let it tear you apart, young sir
. 

He feared he had already begun to be torn apart, that he was possessed of two minds, two hearts and perhaps two souls. One might wish to remain here, as husband to a loving and beautiful wife and a teacher of reading and writing when he got back to that, the other…

Your life is out
there, Count Dahlgren had said. 

He walked on, following the lantern’s spear of light, his head down and his shoulders burdened as if with a crushing weight.

Twenty-Three

The sun was barely up. It was going to be a hot day, the hummers and buzzers already singing out in the woods. 

Quinn was cooking breakfast of eggs and corncakes at the hearth and singing quietly as she worked. She was wearing an apron over an ankle-length pale blue shift, and he wore the slightly-oversized yellow nightshirt that hung to his knees, taken from the trunk of men’s clothing that he did not remember ever wearing before. 

He sat at the pinewood table, drinking from a cup of tea, and watched his wife with appreciation. She was so beautiful and so lively. There was to be a dance this coming Friday night, in the meetinghouse, and she was very excited to go. Daniel had agreed, though he’d said he might need help to get through some of the more complicated steps, for he could not recall if he was a very able dancer or not and he wished to bring no shame on the Tate name. 

Yet as he sipped at his tea he also watched her with questions in his mind that he could not answer. Only she might answer, and though the need to know pressed at him he felt that asking these questions might cast a shadow upon their happy home, and in the deepest part of his soul he was weary of shadows. He felt he already carried a darkness within himself, something he could not shake, and yet…the need to know—the desire to
discover
—was so strong in him it was nearly a sickness. 

“Are you happy?” he asked her. 

She stopped in reaching for the skillet in which the corncakes were browning over the low flames. “Yes, of course I am!” she said, with a smile. “Why do you ask such a question?” 

“Because
I
am happy,” he replied, “and I want to be sure that you are, as well.” 

“You can be assured, then.” 

He nodded. “I look forward to starting my teaching again. I feel worthless sometimes, watching the other men go out to hunt, but—” 

“
Hush
,” Quinn said, and crossed the room to put a finger against his lips. “We have gone over this road before. Everyone has his or her place. Besides, the hunts are dangerous. I don’t want you out there.” 

He put the cup aside and looked at his hands again. They were unmarked and unscarred, very different from the gnarled hands of the men who went out and trapped the alligators. Had he ever done physical labor in his life? he wondered. How had he even gotten to this place? Where and when had he been born? A question came out of him before he could stop it. “Have you ever heard the name…Matthew Corbett?” 

Quinn continued to work at the hearth, but perhaps her face did tighten. She didn’t look at him. “No,” she said lightly. “Who is it?” 

“I’m not sure,” he answered. 

“Where did you hear that name?” 

“From…” He decided not to bring the Prussian into this. “From my head. I’m wondering…if it’s someone I know.” 

“It could be, but I don’t know the name.” 

“Well,” he said, and took another sip of tea, “there’s much I need to remember. Maybe, in time, it will all come back.” 

“Some of it may not, ever.” She turned from the hearth to face him, and gave him a determined stare. “Daniel, you just have to trust me. You
do
, don’t you?” 

“Am I really Daniel Tate?” he asked, and he saw her wince just a fraction. “Or was there a Daniel Tate before me?” 

She shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“I mean…everything before I woke up is so dark. I only get pieces of pictures, and they fly away so quickly. This name…Corbett…haunts me. I saw in my head the image of a large town, with coaches and carriages upon the streets. It startled me, because I think I know that place. I think…somehow…it’s important.” 

“It’s Charles Town,” she said, and now in her voice there was a faint quaver. “Some memory you have of Charles Town.” 

“Maybe it is,” he replied. “I should like to go there, to see if I recognize anything.” 

“We shall, then.” She straightened up from her work, rubbed her hands on her apron, and came over to perch herself upon his lap. “I love you, Daniel,” she said, with her lips close to his. “I want you to know that I’m goin’ to help you come back, as you should be. As you
used
to be. Everythin’ will be fine, as long as we’re together. As long as we have our love between us. Like we were, before.” 

“Before?” he asked. 

“Before the accident,” she said. “Before you left me for a little while.” 

There came a knock at the door. They never had visitors, so Quinn said, “
Who?
” as she stood up. She unlatched the door and peeked out, and through the crack Daniel caught sight of Count Dahlgren. 

“What is it?” Quinn asked sharply. “What are you wantin’?” 

“I’ve brought fish.” Dahlgren lifted the bucket he held. “This heat…they von’t last var’ long. I saw your smoke. I thought you vould like to clean and cook these.” 

“No, I wouldn’t. Thank you, but—” 

“Daniel knows,” Dahlgren said, and he pushed his way in. He was still wearing his dirty tan-colored breeches with the patched knees, but he wore a gray shirt that was already damp with sweat. The shaggy blond hair was lank and oily. His smile never wavered. “About the fish, I am meaning,” he added. “Good morning, Daniel.” 

“Good morning.” 

“You see, I’ve brought vhat I promised.” He came over to the table to show Daniel the four small silver fish. “Enough for a meal, I think.” 

“Yes, thank you.” 

“Do you
know
each other?” Quinn asked, still standing with the door open. 

“Ve haff spoken.” Dahlgren set the bucket atop the table. “If you vould like me to clean these for you?” He touched the sheathed knife at his waist. 

“We’ll do that,” said Quinn. “When have you spoken?” 

“Oh, at night, vhen I am fishing.” Dahlgren ignored the open door and the invitation to leave. He sat down across from Daniel in the other chair. “Your husband likes to valk at night. So he valks out to me, and we talk.” 

“We were about to have our breakfast,” Quinn said. 

“Yah, I see.” Dahlgren gave her a gray-toothed grin. “You should close that door. Flies vill get in.” 

“Daniel, please tell this man to leave our house,” Quinn said. “I don’t care for him.” 

Dahlgren looked across the table into the eyes of Matthew Corbett. “And how is your
head
this day, Daniel?” 

“Please
leave
,” said Quinn, her teeth clenched. 

“Perhaps you
had
best leave,” Daniel said quietly. “Now is not the time.” 

“Now
is
the time,” came the count’s reply, delivered as sharply as if by a rapier. 

They sat in silence for a few seconds, and then Daniel said, “Quinn, close the door. Go ahead. It’s all right.” 

“I don’t want to,” she said, with something of a frightened child in her voice. 

“It’s all right,” he repeated, and slowly the door was closed. 

“Yah, var’ good. Man of the house. Var’ good.” Dahlgren kept his eyes fixed on those of Matthew Corbett. “Ve should talk about some things, the three of us.” 

“Talk about what? What things?” Quinn asked, as she cautiously neared the table. 

“Your husband here,” Dahlgren said. “Your
man
. You know, Annabelle was a fine voman. I never should haff let her get avay. She had var’ good things to say about Daniel. He vas a
gentleman
, yah?” 

“
Is
a gentleman,” said Quinn, coming to stand beside her man and put her hand on his shoulder. 

“It seems to me…a gentleman does not belong here, in this place.” Dahlgren took a moment to look around the room, which was surely better-scrubbed and tended to than his own. “Not just
this
place, but this town. This
nothing
. I say this has been a good place to hide and lick one’s vounds—if one had to—but the time has come.”