Thoreau at Devil's Perch (11 page)

Saturday, August 15th

 

C
apt. Peck sent his house guest Lt. Finch to fetch more laudanum from me this morning. Concerned that Peck had already run through the quantity I had given him in less than a week, I told Finch I would deliver the drug personally. He asked if I had a drug for him as well, one that would overcome the vile effects he was feeling after consuming too much whiskey the night before. I mixed forty grains of powdered willow charcoal with syrup of rhubarb for him. If charcoal can combat poisoning from arsenic, why not from whiskey? Sure enough, Finch said he felt much better after downing my concoction.

He waited for me to hitch up the gig and rode alongside it like an official military escort, although he was dressed in mufti. The lieutenant sits a horse as admirably as an officer should, and I asked him if he had been long out of service. He told me he had resigned from active duty last month and was now looking for a suitable position in Boston. He had served under Capt. Peck several years ago and remarked that he saw a great change in him. He did not ask me what ailed his old commanding officer, but I expect he knew.

We found Peck lying on a couch in the library, much in need of pain relief. He readily admitted to me that he had been using the laudanum overmuch at night to find peace. I had mixed the opium with brandy in a proportion of eighteen drops to one grain of the drug and had warned him never to take more than one dose at a time and to take them no more often than every six hours or the result would be drowsiness or sickness. But his need had overcome his restraint, and now the bottle was empty. He was expecting a visit shortly from a business associate and needed to fortify himself before this man arrived. After obtaining a promise from him that he would better control his intake of laudanum, I administered a dose from the fresh bottle I had brought. He became more alert and sat up. When he noticed Finch at the other end of the room perusing an open folio upon a lectern, he smiled wanly and pushed himself to his feet.

“Come, Doctor,” he said. “I wager you too will take a keen interest in the anatomy lessons the lieutenant is studying.” He took my arm for support and led me to the lectern. Expecting to see medical illustrations, I saw instead engravings of women in compromising positions and lewd postures the like of which I have never beheld.

“The fellow who did these is Pierre LaFarge. Not only is he a master jeweler, but a master engraver too, perhaps the finest in Boston when it comes to work such as this,” Peck said. “Being a Frenchman, he is not inhibited when he depicts the sensual pleasures of life.” His smile slipped away, and his expression became brooding. “Sadly, such pleasures can lead to a life of misery if one is as misfortunate as I.”

Lt. Finch closed the folio and looked away. He was clearly embarrassed, more by Peck's self-pitying, I think, than the explicit depictions. He murmured excuses about seeing to his horse and left the room.

Peck sank down on the couch again and heaved a great sigh. “Both the Here and Now and the Hereafter trouble me greatly,” he said. “Little wonder I cannot sleep.” I cautioned him again about taking too much laudanum, and he waved away my concern. “I do not intend to shorten my life any more than I already have done by my indiscretions. Instead, I intend to make the remainder of my days on earth as comfortable as I can. But that will take a good deal of money, and I must therefore continue my business ventures despite my weak condition.”

“Do not strain yourself,” I advised. “It would be better for you to rest than to work.”

“There is no rest for the wicked,” he countered. “The Book of Isaiah states that more than once. I know because I was raised up on the Bible. If only I had taken its lessons to heart, I would not be so fearful of where I will end up after death. Oh, I have sinned mightily.” He shook his head, and the lock of white hair that streaked through the black fell across his forehead. “I am not so much troubled by deeds I have done against heathens and such, as by those done against my fellow white Christians. I have followed your counsel and informed them of my sickness, doctor. Two of them, anyway. One more to go. It is not an easy thing to do. Nor have I been thanked for my honesty.”

I would not suppose he had been. No woman could be pleased to hear her lover has syphilis. “You are doing the right thing,” I assured him.

His wan smile returned. “Perchance the Devil will not roast me after all.” He tilted his head to the sound of a wagon rattling up his drive. “Ah, I believe my business partner has arrived. Let us go greet him.”

Using my arm for support again, he slowly made his way out to the front porch. The open wagon that serves as Plumford's stagecoach awaited, carrying not one but two passengers. Neither looked too pleased to have been transported from the Concord railroad station by such a humble conveyance. The stage driver scrambled down from his perch and lifted out the female passenger, who appeared to be light as a butterfly. She was dressed much like one too, in colorful flounces and frills.

“Why, if it isn't Mrs. Vail,” Peck said, releasing my arm and pulling back his shoulders. He made his way down the front stairs with such a spring in his step that onlookers would have thought I had revived him with a magical potion. The credit goes not to the laudanum, however, but to the pretty little lady with the pinched-in waist and bee-stung lips. Peck, reverting to the charming ways he is reputed to have with the female sex, took up her hand, clothed in a lacey black mitt, and kissed it. “What a delightful surprise, my dear lady. I had expected your husband to come alone.”

“My wife insisted upon accompanying me,” Mr. Vail said, clumsily climbing out of the wagon without aid from the driver, who was now devoting his attention to unloading their baggage. Vail is not much taller than his wife and homely as a stone fence. “Isn't that right, Lucy?”

The lady did not reply. Perhaps she had not even heard her husband, so intent was she on marking Capt. Peck's altered looks.

If Peck noticed her astonishment, he did not let on. “Well, it is mighty good to see you at any rate, Mrs. Vail. What a captivating pink bonnet you are wearing.You look as pretty as a picture in it.”

The captain's so-called silver tongue did not much impress me, for even I could have come up with a compliment less trite than that. Still, Mrs. Vail blushed the very color of her bonnet, so it must have pleased her. “I wore it special,” she murmured. “And here, I brought you this.” She handed him a slender volume. “A book of verse.”

The only volume I had observed in Peck's study was the folio of obscene illustrations, and I doubt he had much interest in poetry. But he thanked her with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

The stagecoach rattled off, Lt. Finch returned from the barn, and introductions were made all around. It is interesting to note that Peck introduced me as Mister rather than Doctor Walker. I reckon he does not want his business associate to know that he is ill. Nevertheless, his condition is hard to hide and will only become harder.

Mr. Vail again told his host that his wife had been adamant about coming to Plumford with him, even though he warned her it might be a dull time for her.

“I guess your lady cannot bear to be apart from you, Edwin,” Peck drawled. “And I am sure I can come up with some sort of entertainment to amuse her.” He gave Mrs. Vail a sly, sidelong look, and she got all pink again. He turned to me. “Or maybe my old friend Adam here can suggest something.”

So now I was Peck's old friend. Pretty soon he would be calling me brother. “The only amusement I can suggest for this evening is a ball game on the Green,” I replied.

“As I recall, the last game ended in fisticuffs,” Peck said. “Such sport might be too rough for Mrs. Vail.”

“Oh, I do not mind a bit of rough play,” she murmured.

“I would very much like to watch a rousing ball game this evening,” Lt. Finch said. “Better yet, I would like to take part in one. I have been playing town ball on the Boston Common of late and know my way around the stakes pretty good, if I do say so.”

“Why, I have often played there myself,” I said. “I wonder that we have not met till now, Lieutenant.”

“When I say of late I mean since I came to Boston two weeks ago.”

“That explains it. I have been staying here in Plumford for near a month,” I said, “playing in games on the Green whenever I can.”

“And winning them,” Peck said. “Adam's team is always the crowd favorite.”

“Are you in need of another player tonight?” Finch asked me.

“All twelve are set,” I said with regret, for I would have liked a man as fit as him on my side.

“Perhaps you could replace Sergeant Badger on the opposing team,” Peck suggested to Finch. “He left town yesterday, and it is not likely he will be back tonight.”

“Where did Badger go?” Mr. Vail asked sharply.

Peck shrugged. “Off somewhere to douse his rage with liquor, no doubt.”

“Ah, so you gave him the boot at long last,” Vail said.

“No, I could never do that. It was hard enough for me to tell Rufus that certain of his duties will be curtailed. He did not take it well and lit out in a fury. But he will return with his tail between his legs soon enough, begging for another chance. He always does.”

“But surely you cannot ever again trust him to—”

Peck raised his hand to still Vail. “We will talk about this later.” He smiled at Finch. “So what about it, Lieutenant? Would you like to replace Sergeant Badger?”

“In the ball game, most certainly. As for your other proposal, I must think upon it.”

“Of course,” Peck said. He turned to me. “You may have met your match in the lieutenant, Adam. He is much smarter than Badger and won't be so easily fooled by those tricky throws of yours.”

That will suit me fine. Much prefer the challenge of flummoxing a sharp sportsman like Finch than a simple brute like Badger and look forward to this evening's game.

Hope Julia comes out to watch. Have not seen much of her all day. Reckon she is avoiding me because of my imprudent behavior last evening. Meanwhile, she does not eschew the company of the dour Mr. Upson. Noticed them together as I drove past the Green on my way to Peck's. He was carrying her basket, trailing alongside her like a man a-wooing. Had the urge to stop the gig and go knock his hat off.

 

T
he sun will be up soon, and Adam has not yet returned from his patient call. Trump has not returned either. Perhaps he never shall. Henry Thoreau continues to keep watch downstairs.

I have slept but little. Doubt Capt. Peck got much sleep last night either. If only he had not come by with his guests earlier in the evening, no one would be so distressed now. I was quite surprised to see Peck when I answered the knock on our front entry-door. Sweeping off his hat to reveal his fine head of black hair with that celebrated streak of white I have heard Plumford ladies describe more than once, he introduced himself to me, took my extended hand, and held it too long. He also held my gaze too long, as men of his ilk are apt to do, thinking we of the female gender find such ploys irresistible. He then introduced me to his party of three—Mr. and Mrs. Vail and Lt. Finch, the lanky man I had seen riding beside Adam's gig yesterday morn. Peck informed me that Adam had invited them all to come to town to watch him play in a ball game. This did not much sound like Adam, but how could I dispute it? I informed him in return that Adam had been called away to doctor a very ill child and would not be playing after all. Upon hearing this, Lt. Finch expressed disappointment, for he had looked forward to testing Adam's skill at the game. He then joined the other players on the Green.

Alas, Peck and his other two guests did not depart with Finch. Rather than go forth and mingle with the gathering townsfolk, they lingered in the door yard, remarking on what a good vantage point it offered to view the game. My inclination was to shoo them off so that I could get back to my painting, but if they were friends of Adam's I did not want to be rude to them. Putting on my best social smile, I proposed bringing out chairs so they could watch in comfort, and they accepted with such enthusiasm that I began to wonder if they might be expecting refreshments along with seats. I had little inclination to fire up the blasted cookstove on such a warm evening in order to boil water for tea and was much relieved when Capt. Peck suggested that he and Mr. Vail go to the Sun Tavern and fetch beer for the gents and Switchel for the ladies. Mrs. Vail inquired what Switchel was, and when Peck described it as a country concoction made with water, molasses, and a dash of vinegar and ginger, she wrinkled her snub nose. He informed her, with a wink, that rum could also be added if so desired, and this seemed to change her bad opinion of the drink. He promised to return shortly, and off he and Mr. Vail went down the road.

This left me alone with Mrs. Vail, and, knowing the lady not at all, I could think of nothing to discuss beyond the state of the weather, which we both agreed was fine. She kept fidgeting with her garments, as though to call my attention to them. I made no comment when she fingered her lace collar, smoothed her skirt flounces, and rearranged the paisley shawl around her narrow shoulders, but when she took such elaborate care to retie the wide silk ribbon of her bonnet beneath her weak, dimpled chin, I finally gave in and obliged her with a compliment.

“That is a very tasty bonnet, Mrs. Vail. I have not seen one as elegant since I left Paris.”

“I dare say you did not see one so fine as mine even there,” she replied haughtily. “A dear friend had it made for me by one of the finest milliners in Boston, as good or better, I am sure, as any in Paris.”

I saw no reason to argue the point, for hers truly was a handsome bonnet, of the most voluptuous shade of pink, lined with lace frills and trimmed with a marabou plume. Indeed, it had much more character than the insipid face set in it.

Mrs. Vail gave me a careful once-over, as if searching for some article upon my person to compliment in return. Apparently she did not find it, for she remained silent. No wonder at that. I had answered the door in my paint-spattered pinafore, which must have been very off-putting to the fashionable Mrs. Vail. I told her I would bring out some chairs. She nodded but did not offer to help me. I had not expected her to.

When I went into the kitchen for the chairs I found the two recovering invalids at the table playing cards. Trump has taught Grandfather a game called poca, or something like that, and despite the old doc's long-standing aversion to any form of gambling, he is enthralled with this game. He watches Trump shuffle and deal out the cards like a cat trying to catch a fast mouse. Nevertheless, Trump has won a great many buttons and brass pins from him, for that is all they wager. At least I hope that is all they wager. For aught I know, Trump now owns the deed to this house.

I told them about our unexpected guests and suggested they come out and watch the ball game too. Trump mumbled something about having no interest in such sport, but Grandfather thought it a splendid idea. He prevailed upon Trump to assist him out to the door yard. He has been prevailing upon Trump a good deal of late, for although he is no longer bedridden, he cannot manage walking on his own. And Trump, getting stronger himself with each passing day, appears to enjoy helping the old doc get around. Or at least he does not seem to mind it much, God bless him.

Yes, I pray God blesses Trump! And protects him, wherever he is. And keeps him from doing something rash. His behavior last evening makes me fear that he will.

At first he was reluctant to join us outdoors, for he did not want to bother putting on his boots. Knowing how little he likes wearing them, I told him that it was entirely unnecessary. In the end he kindly offered to take out all the chairs for me, enough to accommodate seven people in all, for Lyman Upson and Henry Thoreau came by too. Mr. Upson took a seat beside me, and Henry went to stand in the doorway with Trump. Capt. Peck and Mr. Vail had not yet returned from the tavern, and Mrs. Vail seemed very put out about that. She paid no attention whatsoever to Grandfather, who gave up his endeavor to engage her in polite conversation.

The ball game commenced with Lt. Finch at bat—put to the test right off by Adam's teammates. He proved himself to be a fair striker, but after hitting the ball a good distance he got confused as to where the stakes were located. To confuse him even more, townsmen began pointing in different directions. Rather than take offence, the lieutenant continued to make himself the object of jest by running around in circles. Everyone laughed at his antics. Even Trump managed a smile. Henry asked him if the Cherokees took part in ball games.

“The men played a game called Anesta,” he replied, more forthcoming than usual. “They were plenty earnest about it and got plenty hurt sometimes. My father was one of the best players in our Nation when he was young. He would never brag on himself about it, but Ma would. She'd tell me and my sister that when our Pa caught the ball in the cup of his stick, he would swoop across the field like a hawk, and no one could catch him. And Pa would say that she had managed to catch him easy enough, hadn't she? That would always make her laugh.”

This was the first time Trump had ever spoken of his family, and I would have enjoyed hearing more about them. But Henry, intent on collecting more information about Cherokee customs, took out the notebook and pencil he always carried in his deep pocket, and began quizzing Trump on the particulars of Anesta.

“What was the ball made of?” he asked. “How long was the field?”

Trump was through reminiscing, however. “What does it matter? All that is past.” He turned away and went inside the house.

I offered Henry a commiserating smile as he put his notebook back in his pocket. Despite his abiding interest in Indian customs and beliefs, he never gets much information out of Trump when he visits.

Peck and Vail returned, accompanied by a tavern boy who pushed a wheelbarrow filled with various vessels and glasses through the front gate. Grandfather gladly accepted a mug of beer, and Mrs. Vail had her Switchel with a good dose of rum in it. I thought best to have mine without any, as did Henry. Mr. Upson accepted no refreshment whatsoever and stared at Capt. Peck with such disapproval I feared a quarrel might ensue. But Peck did not meet his eyes. Neither spoke to the other all evening. I am sure they have little in common.

“High time you returned,” Mrs. Vail chided Peck. She did not even glance at her husband.

Peck smiled at her. “Did you miss me?”

The insinuating manner in which he asked her this made me regard the two of them more closely. Could Peck be the “dear friend” Mrs. Vail told me had commissioned her ostentatious bonnet?

Mrs. Vail did not answer his question but continued to scold him. “Whilst you were no doubt enjoying yourself at the tavern bar, I had a most unsettling encounter with a savage.”

“Are you referring to me, ma'am?” Henry said, his tone facetious.

“You know full well, sir, that I am referring to that red-skinned, bare-footed fellow with his head wrapped in a bandana. I was much relieved when he went back inside for I found his presence most disturbing.”

Capt. Peck put on a face of concern. “I am sorry if you were affrighted, my dear,” he told Mrs. Vail. “I presumed the Indian you refer to had departed from Dr. Walker's house by now.” He turned to me. “Do you not fear being under the same roof with him, Miss Bell?”

“Certainly not, Captain. I have no reason to mind his company.”

“Do you not?” Peck eyed me slyly. “I never thought a
proper
lady would welcome the company of an Indian night after night.”

This got Grandfather's attention. “What are you implying, sir? My granddaughter is far more a lady than that one could ever be.” He gestured toward Mrs. Vail with his empty mug. I believe the beer it once contained had gone straight to his head.

“Now, now, Grand-dear,” said I. “Let us not disparage Mrs. Vail just because Captain Peck has disparaged me.”

“That was hardly my intention, Miss Bell,” Peck protested. “I was merely registering my surprise that you could be so trusting.Your trust, however, is most dangerously misplaced in that redskin.”

“So now you cast aspersions on a man you do not even know,” I retorted.

“I know the ways of Indians. I became very familiar with them when I was a cavalry officer posted in the south. Seminoles, Comanche, Cherokees, they are all of the same inferior race.”

I looked away from Peck in disgust and noticed that Trump had come back outside. As he stood in the open doorway, listening intently to our conversation, he appeared transformed to me. The self-possessed, handsome face I had been sketching all week was contorted and ugly, and his dark eyes blazed.

“Speak no more of this,” I told Peck in a low tone.

Unaware of Trump's presence behind him, he ignored my directive and went on in a commanding tone. “I
will
speak, Miss Bell, and I hope you will listen for your own good. All Indians have ungovernable appetites and treacherous natures. And they are cruel and revengeful. They are trained since boyhood to use the tomahawk and scalping knife and use them they do, without conscience or reason.”

“Without reason?” Henry said. He too was unaware of Trump, his attention captured by Peck's bigoted pronouncements. “Their homelands continue to be stolen by us, they continue to die from our diseases, and all the promises made to them continue to be broken. White men kill for far less reason than that, Captain Peck.”

Trump spoke out at last. “
That
white man killed for gold,” he said, pointing a trembling finger at Peck. The captain whirled around, and Trump locked eyes with him. “I recognized your fiendish voice even before I saw your devil face. Both have haunted me for years.”

Peck forced out a laugh. “This redskin must be drunk. When they get liquored up they hear spirits and see ghosts.”

“You are the one who sees a ghost,” Trump told him. “I have come back from the grave to kill you.” He leapt from the doorstep and was upon Peck in an instant, his hands gripping the captain's neck.

Henry immediately intervened, grabbing Trump by the shoulders. But Trump, in a towering frenzy, seemed to have the strength of ten men, and Henry could not pull him away from Peck. Mr. Vail did not come forward to help. Nor did Mr. Upson. I suppose, as a minister, he was reluctant to use physical force against another. As a woman, so am I, but I did so anyway. I grabbed hold of Trump's left arm and Henry tugged at the other, and Trump suddenly let go his grip of Peck's neck. I do not think he was even aware of Henry or me pulling at him, however. It seemed as though he had simply changed his mind about killing Peck there and then.

We released our hold on him and he stood back, breathing hard. His expression was livid, and his entire body radiated hate as he stared at Peck. “I won't defile the home of my friends by killing you here. I will find a more suitable time and place to do it. Yours should be a slow, miserable death. And right after you die I will scalp you.Your vile spirit must perish along with your body.”

Without another word, Trump walked out the front gate and through a knot of spectators who had turned their attention from the ball game to the drama in our front yard. Neither Henry nor I went after Trump, for we both felt it best to give him time alone to calm himself. We watched him disappear in the twilight as he strode past the Green and took a path that led to the river.

Peck, hand at throat, crumpled in the nearest chair. Mr. Vail suggested sending for the constable. But there was no need to do that, for Mr. Beers was standing right there on the opposite side of the picket fence along with the rest of the gawkers.

“Want I should go after him?” he asked Peck in a reluctant tone.

“No,” Peck said hoarsely. “A crazed redskin is not worth the trouble.” He glared at me. “Did I not warn you about him, Miss Bell? Take care to lock your doors tonight.”