Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Virginia and Muddy both cry when Henry packs his small satchel of his most necessary belongings to ship back out. I feel like crying as well but can’t betray my sex. He gives Virginia one last toss up in the air, but she clings to him as he tries to set her down. Henry keeps careful distance from her lately. He gives her a sweet pat on the head, but she climbs up his arm for a kiss on his freshly shaven cheek. He allows her to linger there for a moment, but with a deep breath in, he pulls away. “You must not replace me with Edgar here. I expect long, gushing letters about the hole my absence has left.” He says this with a playful turn of his lips.

Virginia’s mournful face feeds Henry’s insecurity. With a quivering lip she says sweetly, “I shall miss you every minute and write you every day.”

“Good girl,” is all he can muster and then he turns to Muddy for a parting kiss on the cheek. “I feel much better with the parting now that Edgar is here to watch over you.”

Muddy gives me a doting gaze. “We are so blessed to have Eddie.”

As the women cry, I walk Henry down the dirt side-roads to the cobblestone Baltimore harbor streets, he quickens every step by sharing his nautical adventures of exotic places, where salty, tattooed mariners fought, sought out wanton women, and emptied many a bottle. The large ship glistens in the early spring sun. A few uneducated and rough men come over to slap Henry’s back at once. I instantly feel childish and out of place, so I pull Henry aside to say goodbye.

“Too bad you can’t come along.”

Part of me wishes I’m man enough to walk with Henry onto that fabled ship, to throw my future into the wind, caring little where it takes me. “I’m going to try to get my first collection published.”

He nods immediately, knowing it’s no use. “Send me a copy at once when you do. And write as often as you can.” He looks at the other men and whispers, “Though they are an interesting bunch,”—a sudden, thick cough overtakes him and I don’t like him leaving with an illness starting. He regains his composure and finishes, “I crave the intelligent companionship lacking from this sort.”

I stand a little taller, happy I can’t be replaced so easily. “I will make it my mission.”

Henry stuffs a clasped hand inside my waistcoat pocket.

“What’s this?” I pull the contents out that he left behind: every bill and coin of what he has been holding on to.

“To get your poems published.”

I stare into his heavy eyes, but he breaks contact as soon as our gazes lock. He says, “I would just spend it on baldfaced and used-up women.”

We don’t hug, but the look in his eyes embraces me.

“Good luck and safe-keeping,” I say.

He gives me a stoic nod back and pulls his satchel higher on his broad shoulder as he rejoins his rag-tag group.

It’s a much longer walk back home.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

In the boredom left by Henry’s absence, I publish a thin volume titled, Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems. All the eager blood within spins through me, almost making me dizzy once I hold the simple, printed book in my hands and sift through the thin paper, resting lastly on the bottom of the cover: by Edgar A. Poe. I immediately send out copies to all the reviewers in Baltimore and rush home with next Sunday’s newspaper without a peek.

Virginia’s doe eyes widen at the sight. “Ma! Come quick. Eddie’s got the paper.”

Muddy flies in with the clothespins still in her mouth and laundry balled under her thick arm. “Open it up at once and read it to us!”

I sit down at the tigerwood table with Muddy and Virginia. In my loudest voice I read:

“Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems by Edgar A. Poe.”

Virginia giggles happily at the mention of the title while Muddy purses her lips proudly.

“We view the production as highly credible to the Country. Throughout, there runs a rich vein of deep and powerful thought, clothed in the language of almost inimitable beauty and harmony. His fancy is rich and of an elevated cast; his imagination powerfully creative.”

Virginia gasps and hugs me with a giddy scream while Muddy pulls her sewing scissors out like Excalibur to clip the excerpt and hang it on the fireplace mantel. I write to Henry immediately and pay twice as much to post a copy of the collection as well as another newspaper article clipping. I imagine him opening it up on exotic seas with whales and sea monsters gliding behind him. I feel the smile that spread across his face when he wrote the words back to me,

I had no doubt you’d bring glory back to the Poe name.

I disappear long hours of the day in a fury to produce more, craving even more praise.

I’m reading a poem I’m working on to Muddy and Virginia as they fix beef dodgers and collard greens when our door opens. Our jaws all flap when the unexpected sight of Henry registers.

“Henry!” Virginia shrieks and leaps into his arms.

“Easy—” He tries to keep his balance, but falls over to the doorframe without dropping her. She pulls away slowly, measuring what could be the matter with him.

Muddy says, “Virginia, give him a moment. I’m sure he is tired from such a long journey.”

But I can tell she’s thinking the same thing I am. He was supposed to be away for six months. Why has he returned so soon?

He wearily finds the table and instead of placing his bag there lets it slide off his shoulder to the ground with a thud. Virginia darts to pull out a chair for him, the worry setting into her normally carefree face.

“My sweet Virginia,” Henry says, but the words end in a barking cough.

The cough I heard before his departure, only much worse.

“Virginia,” Muddy says. “Go and play him his favorite tune while I get something warm in him.”

Grandma Poe cackles from the back room. “Who is it?”

Muddy calls back. “Only Henry, Ma.”

“What’s Henry doing home so soon?” she yells.

Her words hang, stale, in the air and even Henry seems nervous of them. He picks up a napkin Muddy lays down at his place setting and pats the clammy sweat off his brow and behind his neck. “I’ve got a nasty cough, Grandma. They sent me home.”

Even Grandma is quiet. No one sends mariners home for coughs or colds. No, this must be far worse. Something you don’t get better from.

Ma’s cough.

My hands grow cold. I have to rub them to regain warmth and feeling. “Well, it’s great to have you back, Henry.”

I force a smile and Virginia begins Follow Me Up To Carlow to fill the void. It’s the first time Henry doesn’t get up to dance to it.