Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Baltimore is every bit the thriving city Henry described, and growing at an astonishing rate. The noises from the bustling harbor catch my attention and more ships than I have ever seen come and go, filled with either passengers or wares of all kind. The city buzzes with people, all on their way to something of importance. Well-dressed, prosperous people, but why do so many wear black? Could it be that so many people are mourning? The epidemics have been prospering as well.

A brand new steam train chugs majestically pass, filling me with so much wonder it brings tears to my eyes. I can’t help but dream of the day when I can afford to travel in such luxury. One day. I make my way to the center of the city and stand at the foot of an impressive statue of George Washington, reigning on top of a sixty-foot tall white marble base. I squint to see every line and feature of the statue and think the artist just didn’t get his jaw right. His terrible teeth threw off his whole face. I shake my head at the strange thought—how would I know of Washington’s jaw or teeth?

I must be tired from my travels. I spend some of the publishing money to visit Henry. He had only days before sent me a letter saying he is home on leave. I always imagine him in a stately Baltimore mansion with all of David Poe Senior’s memorabilia from his hero days in the revolution, decorated with Napoleonic-style portraits, framed letters from General Washington, and tattered flags hanging throughout the grand halls. I take a second look at his return address when I arrive at the diminutive dwelling, with its small shed for chickens and a lush vegetable garden—obviously to sustain the occupants— on Mechanics row on Wilks street.

Joyful voices of children sing out from the backyard. Do children live here as well? Henry chases a young girl with barley-sugar curls around the clothesline, where a plain-looking woman attempts to hang her bed linens.

“Ma! He’s going to get me!” the pretty girl cries in fun.

Henry growls at her playfully, as she shrieks and pulls a sheet off the line to throw over him in an attempt to avoid capture. Chickens complain and scatter in all directions.

“Stay away from my laundry you two!” The older woman chides, “You’re making the chickens nervous!”

But Henry balls up the sheet and hands it gently to her before reaching his arms out above his head and swooping down upon the girl, who clambers up the stonewall around the garden. He lifts her high up and she reels in half-terror, half-joy. He spies me in the instant and freezes with her hanging above his head. The cries halt, and all eyes rest upon me. Henry breaks into a gleaming smile and lays the little girl down as gently as an egg. He runs to me and swallows me up in his much thicker arms.

I grab the taut muscles. “Navy life has steeled you.”

He shakes off my compliment. “What on earth are you doing here? I thought you were at West Point.” He sing-songs the last part to make fun.

I don’t want to tell him of my failures. “Fanny passed on unexpectedly,”—which isn’t true, she’d been expecting it all her life—“and Mr. Allan has decided to forget me.”

The little girl dances up at that point and, immediately upon hearing my statement, she gives me a flower she picks from the garden. Her large honey eyes are sparkling pools of warmth. Henry roughly pulls her under his wing, pressing her lovingly against him. “This here is our cousin, Virginia.” She brushes the hair out of her eyes, exposing a tiny white scar in the center of her forehead. “Virginia, this is the little brother I’m always telling you about.”

The girl beams. “Edgar!” she chimes and gives me a hug, as though I’ve known her all her life.

I bend down to her level and ask, “And how old is this sweet flower?”

She rolls her hands coyly. “Almost ten.”

Henry pulls her back to him, “Don’t you be getting any ideas, Edgar. She’s far too young to marry and, even if she weren’t, she has promised her heart to me.” With a hearty laugh, he lifts her up over his head again and spins her in giggling circles, her blue satin sash twirling out like a flag.

The older woman breaks in, with a maternal cluck. “Henry, she’ll spill her lunch. Put her down.” She pulls the clothespins from her mouth and attempts to press her fly-away hair under her kerchief. “My name is Maria, but my family calls me Muddy. And you, Eddie, are most certainly family.” Her smile reaches all the way into the tiny freckles high on her cheekbones. She pities my travel-worn clothes. “You must be weary from your journey, Eddie. Come inside at once and I shall repair you with a nice thick stew and some of Henry’s fresh clothes.”

The keeping room is small but cozy. Worn chairs are draped in fresh linens to cover bare threads, and smells of a hearty stew hangs in the air. Muddy leads me to the softest chair. “You must be famished. Rest here and I shall serve you, dear.”

Henry sits on the deacon’s bench across from me and crosses his legs, as though he is used to such pampering.

Virginia floats in and rests like a butterfly on Henry’s knee. Henry pats her back. “Play Edgar one of your sweet songs.”

She gives me a sugared grin and rushes to small piano that takes up so much precious space I deduce music must be of great importance. Once the bird starts playing, I understand why.

I recognize the tune instantly, one of my favorite classical tunes, Pachelbel’s Canon in D. On such a small piano the meandering, thoughtful tune sounds almost like a music box being played. Although I’ve heard it many times before on the large organ of our church, I prefer the sweeter, more innocent sound.

“Where’s my supper?” comes a croak from the back room.

I startle at the interruption and Henry and Virginia snicker. Henry bursts out, “That’s your Grandma Poe.”

Muddy has a charitable expression as she mashes up the chunks of stew. “Bound to her bed for the last few years, poor soul.”

She rushes the plate to her and I creep to the doorjamb to peer in. A fragile, ancient lady languishes on a bed, propped up with pillows that freeze her into a statue-position. Muddy carefully feeds her as though she were a toothless babe, and the fresh state she is in is a testament to Muddy’s meticulous care. The setting sun shines through the small, four-over-four paned window, bathing Muddy with a fitting angelic aura. The piano starts up again and coaxes me back to my chair. This time Henry shares the delicate piano bench with Virginia and the two hammer out a rowdy tune: Follow Me Up to Carlow.

Muddy leans over to me. “Henry taught her all she knows. Any instrument his picks up he can play. Such gifts he has.”

Whenever the chorus plays Virginia takes over and Henry leaps from the bench and jigs in front of the fire until the sweat pours down his face and Virginia beams. Muddy returns to the room for the last stanza, as Henry grabs Virginia from the bench and dances around singing without the aid of or use for the piano.

I keep back tears, even though the jealousy and loneliness stings painfully, watching the love and joy Henry is blessed with—there can be no greater home. No need for grand portraits, letters from Washington, or columned porches. Henry enjoys far greater wealth. Who would I be if I had been taken by my grandparents as well? My longing is interrupted by Virginia pulling me up to dance with them, and the sadness is shaken out of me by the two warm hands holding me as we spin in circles.

As we eat the savory stew, Muddy looks at all of us. “Our family is now complete. We’ve missed you, Eddie.”

For the first time, I am home.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

After sharing a small bed in the loft with Henry, we awake to the smell of fried eggs and fresh bread.

Muddy places two eggs on the plate before me. “I have only what the chickens provide for us. We try to live simply off Pa’s military pension and any sewing and laundry I can take in for extra money, but it hardly pays for the rent and Ma Poe’s care. The doctor visits are costly.”

Henry shifts in his wooden chair. “I’m going back to sea shortly. I’ll send everything home.”

She lays a well-worn hand, hardened by lye over the years of laundering, reassuringly on top of Henry’s. “Dear, I know. You provide for us very well. I’m only thinking about the addition of our sweet Eddie.”

She just as quickly pats my hand. “Not to be mentioned to make you feel unwelcomed, only that we need to take care of such fiscal matters so we can enjoy each other’s company.”

“I will go in search of a job immediately and contribute more than my share.”

She seems pleased but follows with some hesitation, “In the meantime, do you think your wealthy guardian will provide in the interim?”

The last thing I want is to bring more worry to these struggling people. Even though I know how Mr. Allan left things, and can imagine his response, I must attempt it for these dear people. “I can always try.”

Henry slaps my back while patting his mouth. “Time for us to go town to send a letter to good ole Uncle Allan.”

Muddy and Virginia attempt to hide their light laughter.