River

Ben

I miss him. So goddamned much. I had gotten so used to seeing Samuel, every couple of days, spending glorious time together with him in our little hidden grove. After that first time, he had lost all hesitancy, and eagerly came to me, sometimes delightfully shocking me with his aggressiveness, after he had been so timid at the beginning. We are matched together so well, in temperament as well as in body.

It has been a week since I saw him, though. At least Gregor came and told us what was happening. He gathered the crew together after he had been gone for two days, to attend the wedding of Samuel’s brother and tend to some other duties for the married couple. Samuel had told me about that, and I knew I wouldn’t see him at least on the day of the wedding. But then Gregor told us that he had sent Dr. Duncan south to Ellis Cliffs to tend to an ill woman there. I’m not sure why he needed to tell the whole crew that Dr. Duncan was out of town, but I was glad to know it, and not have to just worry about where Samuel had disappeared to. Then Gregor went on to say that he would be away from the dock project for a few days to attend to a personal matter, and that in his absence he wanted one of the other fellows, Geoffrey, to supervise the pile driver crew. And, much to my surprise, he asked me to be Geoffrey’s assistant, helping out wherever needed.

I have enjoyed doing this. We have gotten accustomed enough to the pile driver to be able to operate it without Gregor being present, but there is still much to be done to coordinate the ropes and pulleys and logs. I find that it is fulfilling to do more than simply follow the commands of others. It is a good feeling to have others listen to what I suggest. The work has been going smoothly, more of the piles are lined up in the silt of the river, and the shape of the dock is beginning to be visible.

At night, I have waited at the Kentucky Tavern for Samuel, but he does not come. I wonder how long he will be gone. After it becomes too late to reasonably expect him to arrive, I’ll give up and go climb into my lonely bed in the boarding house at the end of the row Under-the-hill.

Tonight, though, I am feeling particularly bereft without Samuel. Rather than go home, I wander in the opposite direction, and find myself back in our grove. It is a sad place without him. I mope about for a while, feeling dreadful sorry for myself, then eventually move down closer to the river, and stand looking out over the swift current, where the crescent moon reflects across the shimmering water.

I am entirely pathetic in my longing for Samuel. How have I fallen for him so deep, so fast? I stare up into the dark sky, tracing the lines of the constellations I know with my eyes, wishing he was here to do some stargazing with me.

The Great Bear hangs over the river and to the north, and I look to find the north star using the bear’s saddle as my guide. If Samuel were to be looking at the north star tonight, he’d be gazing in my direction. I wonder if he is thinking about me.

Something catches my eye.

What is that?

There, in the sky, there is a peculiar smudge, a line of light interrupting the familiar stars. What is it? I stare at it harder, trying to make it come into focus, but I can’t. It is blurry. Is it a cloud? A tiny wisp of fog somehow lit by the crescent moon? I stare at it long enough to see that it isn’t moving at all, it can’t just be a cloud or a puff of smoke. No, it hangs there, tauntingly remaining just out of focus, a blurry dot of light with a string coming off of it, looking like the pattern that occurs when I hold a stick still in flowing water.

I don’t know how long I am transfixed by this strange object in the sky, but suddenly I shiver, even though the night is still warm. It is unsettling, this unknown phenomenon.

The grove feels instantly unwelcoming, almost unfriendly without Samuel’s comforting presence. I feel a sudden, pressing urge to leave this place. I crash my way back out of the reeds along the river, and hurry down the path that our feet have crushed into the plants during our repeated trips to our grove.

Samuel Duncan

Thomas and I are sitting out on the veranda, late in the evening, the Ellis family already retired for the night.

I feel stymied by the situation. It has been a week since I arrived, and Mrs. Ellis appears neither better nor worse. She lingers in a state of lethargy, unable to rise from her bed, but able to sometimes speak, or to take a little nourishment. Her husband and children spend time with her, talking to her when she is able.

I have concluded that she has some sort of blood disorder, which is sapping her strength and probably ending her life. I have prescribed nothing more than what is obvious. Rest, liquids, soups and broths if she can keep them down. She suffers from headaches, and I was shown that the kitchen keeps a stash of willow bark from which to make an analgesic tea, which I administer as needed to keep her comfortable. And we must just wait and see.

I don’t think there is much more that I can do for the family, and have considered every day whether I should return to Natchez. I have my own practice there, the patients no doubt wondering when I will return, and probably wishing that Stephen was still there. I am sure that a great backlog is building up of work that I will have to tend to.

And much more personally, I miss Ben. It is my private longing, my secret wish, to return so that I can be with him again.

Thomas, though, does not seem so eager to return. He has little to draw him to Natchez now, his law practice there already mostly concluded in preparation for his move to Louisiana. He knows that he had agreed to manage Stephen’s new plantation at Homochitto while the newlyweds are honeymooning, but yesterday Mr. Brandeis returned from there and said that the plantation is operating fine and could probably get by for several more days without Thomas having to go. There is an overseer there as well, after all, and the harvest is being gathered, the household being arranged in preparation for the return of Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Duncan.

Thomas’s motivation lies here, at Ellis Cliffs. He has started handling some of the management here while the family is occupied with Marguerite’s illness, using the skills that Abraham had taught him while training him for Homochitto. What is more, it is clear that he and Nancy have reached an understanding. She is very young, not even fifteen years old, and all he said to me about it is that he will wait until she is of marriageable age before proceeding further. However, they interact with each other as though they are an established couple, comfortable in each other’s company, and drawing strength from the other’s presence.

I envy them.

He does not wish to leave Nancy alone, with her mother’s life hanging in the balance. I do not wish to leave him here and return to Natchez. The last two or three evenings I have told myself just one more day, then we’ll see.

We are sitting in silence, staring out over the river, each wrapped up in our own thoughts.

“What is that?” he asks.

“What?”

He points, into the sky, to the north. “Do you see that?”

I follow the line of his hand, and after a moment, I see a strange wisp of something there. “Is it a cloud?”

“No, it hasn’t moved.”

I look harder at it. It is a little fuzzy strip of light, longer than the moon is wide, brighter on one end, with a bit of a tail flaring off of it.

“You know what I think that is?” I ask him. “I think it could be a comet!”

“Huh,” he remarks, standing up and peering at it more closely. I move closer to the edge of the patio, away from the lanterns, looking up as well. The more I observe it, the more I think I’m correct. I’ll bet it is a comet. I’ve read about them. How interesting. I wonder if others have noticed it. I wonder how long it will last up there.

I wonder if I’ll get the chance to point it out to Ben.