Chapter 6

Chapter 6

I return one late spring day to the surprise of a strange rig waiting in the drive. I peek inside to deduce the identity of our guest by the items they left behind in their coach. The coachman clears his throat at my intent, and I leap off the footboard and into the house. I hear Mr. Allan talking to a young man.

A friend of mine?

I must rescue him from Mr. Allan’s attention immediately. I round the corner of his office to see a strange boy, a few years taller than me. Mr. Allan is finishing his mantra, with each finger counted. “—Industry. Self-control. Perseverance—” Mr. Allan notices my entrance and brings his knobby finger up to pick his teeth. “Ye’d be verry interested to meet our visitor, Edgar.”

As soon as he says my name, the young man turns around and his indigo eyes take me immediately back to Mr. Usher sharing his sandwich with us.

“Edgar,” is all he says, but he steps forward at once to give me the most intimate embrace I have yet felt or clearly forgot.

“Henry,” I almost cry.

“He’s the spitting image of ye,” Mr. Allan interrupts, but has to add, “Of course, he’s much taller and more powerful than ye. Edgar here still has his baby fat.”

I watch Henry’s face, which doesn’t lift in enjoyment of Mr. Allan’s jeer. He stares at Mr. Allan and says, “Shakespeare himself said, ‘it is excellent to have a giant’s strength, but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.’” He then turns back to me. “I’ve been waiting so long to make this trip.”

Mr. Allan straightens at the retort but shifts his papers noisily. “Run along then, boys, A’ve business to attend to. It’s been verry nice to meet ye, Henry, and I hope yer industrious nature rubs off on idle Edgar here.”

My feet can’t run fast enough out of the house, across the back porch and down to the stream where the horses and oxen are watered. Henry strips down to his breeches and wades in up to his knees. “It’s still freezing!” I say.

Henry then sits submerged on the bank to prove his tolerance. “We go swimming as soon as the sun’s high in Baltimore.”

I slowly remove my coat, shoes, and stockings, trying to prepare my feet for the assault. I pretend, once I’m in up to my knickers. “It’s not that bad.”

He then splashes me, soaking the shirt I intended to keep dry. After I catch my breath from the shock, I kick water over his head, which causes him to leap up with a war cry, and I slip on the moss-covered rocks trying to get away. He seizes me, floundering, in the water, and we roll each other down the stream, stopping only when overcome with uncontrollable laughter.

I creep to a sunny spot and bask in the warmer shallows. Henry follows.

“I remember how you and I would play revolutionary spies all around the theater.”

The misty thought returns. “I’d forgotten all about that.”

He nods proudly. “You were Major André and I was a triple agent.”

I repeat the foggy name. “Major André.”

He shrugs. “We must have picked that up from the actors. But it sure was fun.”

“Have you met Rosalie yet?” I ask, secretly hoping he’d come to see me first.

He sits up slightly. “I have. Since Mr. Allan never returned any of my letters, I had to ask the Mackenzies how to find your house.”

“You wrote letters?” The thought nearly seizes my heart.

He takes some gulps of water and then spits it up to land on the wide forehead that mirrors mine own. “Quite a few. Wondered why you never returned them, but after I met Mr. Allan, the mystery was solved.”

His quick assessment is incredibly reassuring. “My large-hearted, benevolent savior.”

“Verry benevolent.” He bleats.

After peals of laughter, I follow, “Verry industrious.”

“Verry asinine.” Henry and I have to lift our heads to keep from going under the river with our giggling.

Once I recover, I remember, “How did you find Rosalie?”

“Her letter instructed the way.”

“No, you numbskull, I mean what did you think of her?”

He takes a moment. “If you’re hinting you found her to be a bit backward, then she most certainly is. But she is still our blood, so that is the last time I will mention that.”

My cheeks burn for bringing it up.

He continues, “She’s got the prettiest palomino hair though. Not like Ma’s, but possibly the lightest color I’ve seen on a girl.”

I nod. “I’ve only seen her twice.”

“Twice! You live in the same city.” His indigo eyes catch fire. “It’s a terrible shame what’s happened to us. You, me, and poor little Rosalie.”

“You? I’d always imagined you living like a prince with our grandparents.” My jealously is hard to disguise.

He scoffs. “I was almost sure you and Rosalie had it better, living with two of the richest families in Richmond, next to each other. I thought I’d come here and the two of you would have no time for me.”

I let out a long-held breath. “So it wasn’t an easy life for you either?”

A slow shake of the head says it all. “After living with them I see why Pa drank so.”

“Pa drank?”

He whistles. “Like a priest after confession. He used to drink to conquer stage fright, but it all caught up to him. Ma made him leave, he was in such a state.”

I can’t find my voice, but when I do, it comes out all choked. “Is that why he never came back for us?”

“No one ever told you?” Henry throws a rock upstream. “He’s as cold as a wagon tire. Died only a few days after Ma in Virginia. Of the same consumption that got Ma.”

“How foolish…” My stomach flops as if I’m about to fall. “I guess I thought he might always come for us.” Jane’s lunch of oysters and sweet potato pie turns violently in my stomach, and I struggle for the bank too late. The horrible mix of pinks and yellows swirl in the frothy current and spins in the small whirlpools behind rocks.

“Yuck!” Henry cries as he dodged the colorful concoction. “You are definitely worse off than I am.”

He gathers his things and throws his wet, heavy arm over my soaked cotton shirt, and we walk all the way to Jane’s house without putting our shoes on.

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“Where on earth are your shoes, boys?” Jane giggles as she holds the door open for us. “And you’re both soaked!” She grabs a few fresh white towels from a stack and covers both our shoulders. She smiles as she searches Henry’s face. “Who have you brought with you, Edgar? I think I’d remember those eyes.”

Henry beams and I know in an instant he understands why I brought him here.

“This is my brother, Henry.”

She looks confused for a moment. “Your brother? I didn’t know the Allan’s had another son. Where have they been hiding you all this time, Henry?” She busies herself immediately with filling a silver tray with pastries and dried fruits left over from breakfast.

“No, Henry is my true brother. We’re orphans, and we were separated and I reunited with him today.”

Her hands freeze above the tray for a moment, and sadness etches lines I’ve never seen around her eyes. “Well, Henry, I should have known you were his full brother since you are every bit as handsome as Edgar.” She finishes pouring some lemonade and tells us to follow her out. “Robert’s off fishing with his father. You will just have to entertain me until he gets back. I’m sure he would love to meet Henry.”

She rests the tray but stares at the towels around us. “Now we can’t sit in the parlor like this, so off you both go to borrow some clothes from Robert. And bring your wet clothes back out so I can dry them for you.”

I walk down to Robert’s room with Henry and we search through some of his more worn clothes.

“She reminds me of my Aunt Clemm.”

“Pa’s sister?”

He nods. “Not half so pretty as Jane but the sweetest woman. She and her daughter live with us, widowed and all.”

I’m glad he has someone like Jane in his life.

“Henry, do you think Pa would have come back for us if he didn’t get sick?”

“What do you mean?”

“If he did sober up, and wasn’t sick when Ma died, don’t you think he would have come back for us?”

He takes a moment, studying the shell buttons carefully. “I never thought of that, but maybe he would have.”

We bring our damp clothes back with us, but when I hand Jane mine, my journal drops out on the floor closest to Henry. We both leap for it at the same time, and the blood rushes to my face when Henry grabs it up first and opens it.

“Give that back.”

Henry holds it above his head and no matter how much I jump, I can’t reach.

Jane tries to part us to no help. “Henry, give the book back to Edgar.”

“I’ll give it back to him if he tells me what it is. Naughty drawings?”

Jane now blushes, afraid of what the journal contains. “Give it back to Edgar at once.”

“It’s my poetry.”

Both Jane and Henry’s eyebrows rise. Jane holds her hand out for the journal, which Henry hands to her willingly. She pulls me aside. “I would never ask you read these, but I want you to know I would feel honored if you would share them with me someday.” She places the journal in my hands, as Robert comes bounding into the room, incredibly confused as to who Henry is and why we’re wearing his clothes.

“I hope you caught some big fish because we have two more guests for supper!” Jane cheers.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

On our way back to Henry’s coach, Henry says, “You know, I write some poems as well.” He shakes it off. “Not anything like Shakespeare or Dante, but I’ve got a few good stanzas started.”

I hand him the journal now and he stops in the fading field. The tree frogs can be heard off near the river. He flips through the first ten pages without any change in expression. I start to pace, staring at the new grass until he shuts the book with a clap. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

Which was enough for me and when we reach his coach, I wish I could invite him to stay the night, but I’m not sure if Mr. Allan would approve. “Do have somewhere to go tonight?”

“Mrs. Mackenzie has invited me to overnight with them before leaving tomorrow.” He opens the door and removes something from his luggage.

Jealousy seems to follow every time the Mackenzies are mentioned.

“Do you think we’ll see each other again?”

Henry studies the moon rising in the other half of the sky. “As sure as the moon rises.” His smile makes a promise.

I nod as he tucks something in my hand but distracts me with a strong hug that almost robs me of breath, but I welcome its force. His coachman closes the door and I can only wave. Henry sticks his wild-haired head out the window. “Write me some more of your poems, little brother!”

I open the paper to see William Henry Leonard Poe’s address.