8. The Story of Mr. Morse

“The plot thickens,” he said, as I entered; “I have just had an answer to my American telegram. My view of the case is the correct one.”

— Dr. John H. Watson. “A Study in Scarlet.”

My dear Watson,

I have been gratefully toiling in the Vassar College library, laboratory and rehearsal rooms. I know you would enjoy as I do to live here and to joust with these intelligent young ladies. That is probably surprising to you as I usually prefer the company of gentlemen. But Vassar is as revolutionary as I am and to be here at this time is illuminating. My students are alive with that desire for knowledge that has been the hallmark of my life.

My boy, even in the thick of this case, I miss your immutable aim, even when that focus is between my eyes. We are partners. Though I can work well solo for a while, for my best work, I need you at my back, filtering through my deductions, observing my process, questioning my incontrovertible proof.

Watson, I hope you are well, are happy. That this insane three-year trip of mine has not destroyed our friendship. Pray know that I couldn’t live with that. But, also know that I will badger you until you give in anyway.

As you know me to be, dear boy,

Very sincerely yours,

S. H.

The ensuing day was a Sunday and the girl again associated with me at tea. After surviving a bombardment of intelligent questions about Vassar’s Observatory and the science of astronomy, I led her down the pathway at the heels of Main to another of Vassar’s most singular constructions.

The child and I climbed the majestic wrought iron stairway to the second floor balcony. I opened the door, and displayed the room with my hand. “Welcome to the Observatory, child.”

We immediately moved into the central dome, and found the doors to the telescope open. This was unusual. My alert senses brought me instantly to a defensive stance. I pulled my gun, searched the other rooms, and held my stick ready.

Oblivious to any danger, the child was immediately drawn to the tall insect-like machine. “Isn’t it beautiful, professor?”

A nondescript creature emerged out of what had looked a moment ago like a heap of old rags. I positioned myself between her and it.

Long, pale hands came up first as he cleared his throat. “Beware; meticulously fine lenses need particular handling!” An elderly gentleman emerged, with wise, intelligent eyes and a long meticulously trimmed white beard down his chest.

I relaxed, pocketed my revolver, leaned against the curved wall, and lit a cigarette.

“Put that out! Smoke on the lenses!”

I did as he commanded. He wore a straight line of medals across his chest pinned to his waistcoat.

He climbed out of his settee, and directed the child. “Put your feet there, now, that large wheel moves the whole telescope. Don’t touch it! This small one on the right adjusts focus, as delicately as you would hold a fresh egg in your hand. You look through here, you see?”

“I don’t see anything.” She said.

“Oh you must have moved something. Let me.”

She stepped down, and he moved into place at the telescope, his long responsive fingers were at home with the machine, he adjusted its height.

“But you know a view to the heavens takes acquired meditative patience. You must wait and watch as your eyes adjust to the dance of the spheres. It also helps.” He cackled heartily. “To open the dome.” The roof slid open, a whiff of cold air and a deep blue starry night above. “Behold God’s universe.”

The child climbed back up and waited with uncommon restraint for the magic to happen. “Oh, this is so exciting! I want to go, are there maps? I want to explore it all! Thank you. This is where I want to be forever, thank you, sir. There’s so many, Professor Sigerson!”

“Every child has a dream; to pursue the dream is in every child’s hand to make it a reality.” The old man said.

I spent these moments solving the riddle of this ancient scientist. I knew he wasn’t a threat. A New Englander, possibly an artist, too, who had made enough money to dress in the finest clothes (albeit twenty years old), who had travelled extensively and was connected to Vassar in some exalted way.

He turned and addressed me, “Sigerson? Not the name I was looking for. I thought you were the gentleman who almost single-handedly instructed Scotland Yard, London’s populace and the world, of the proper usage of my invention, that being, frequently.”

“Ha! You’re Samuel Morse. But how can that be?”

“I would ask the same of you! Don’t tell them, they think I’m dead, ha, ha! I have finally attained some quiet. Do you know what it’s like to fight fame and fortune and battle the state and their lawyers again and again, over your own creation? ‘What hath God wrought?”

“Pleased to meet you Mr. Morse, I’m Rachel Marcello.” She thrust her hand out and he shook it. “And thank you.”

I looked at him for a long moment, knowing he had seen through me. “I appreciate your compliment. One never fathoms the true reach of one’s influence.”

From the telescope, she said. “They’re different colours. Can I live here?”

“My dear, you can stop by anytime I’m here, and that’s only when the observatory is closed. Just knock three taps, next time.”

“So, child, by following your heart’s desire, you have found your way to Vassar’s one-of-a-kind observatory and the esteemed scientist, Mr. Samuel Morse. So many adventures await you, here.” I said.

“Professor Sigerson, my heart led me to you first.” She said. I turned and found Mr. Morse staring at me.

“You are fitting in well here. Be careful, my friend, you are you wherever you are. Now, don’t worry, young man, I can keep a secret.”

“Yes, I appreciate that Mr. Morse. But you, sir, are one of a few individuals who have changed the world. The many lives your telegraph has saved are innumerable. It is essential to my work.”

“Ah, yes, ‘One’s invention is another’s tool.’ But technology is only as good as its time, and Bell’s invention is fast eclipsing mine. Good for him. It is not the inventor who benefits, but the world, as you say. And yes, there is a certain flow to technological invention, the idea doesn’t come from the same source, but it is almost as if an overall design is at play and certain lightning rods attract a piece of it, until the next awakening. And you, I see, have been teaching awakening of the mind to our students.”

“One monk in place of hundreds is a very different task. Sir, is it possible to aim this telescope down to earth?”

“Yes, that requires adjustment beyond Rachel’s ability. Excuse me, my dear.” She stood down and he demonstrated.

“Beforehand, I set up the drive, illumination system and the setting circles. Right ascension and declination depend upon your focus. The destination’s ascension set, then the telescope’s tube is rotated into position and locked in place, setting checked, destination checked, using slow motion controls as Rachel does, the image is fine tuned. Each wind-up covers two hours’ use. Earthly imaging requires enough light to visualize your subject. What is your focus?”

“I see this necessitates an astute scientist’s touch.”

“Professor, I will be glad to assist your thoughts at another time. I’m sorry to say there’s a night sky class due here.”

“I will return when you are available, sir. Are you in need of anything, Mr. Morse?”

“I’m well cared for. I select a capable young freshman, who takes care of me. As a trustee of the college, Vassar tolerates my secret life. They say my ghost haunts it, ha, ha. When my fledgling graduates, I have the joy of finding a new wide-eyed young scientist to mentor. When will you come to Vassar, Miss Rachel?”

“Next year, but I’ll be back here as soon as I can.”

“Good night, Mr. Morse.” We left the Observatory for a Raymond Avenue cab to Perry Street.

My dear Watson,

The child is adequately cared for by the Marcello family, yet what her splendid mind requires is not acknowledged, probably not even understood. Her aunts are intelligent, yet can’t see beyond marriage as a calling. She possesses a mind that can reach the stars. Possibly Vassar is the better answer.

This estrangement wears thin. Living under an alias has lost its charm. I wanted to heartily embrace Morse’s surmises, to have at least one person know me, yet, my desire for recognition would endanger his very life. Humility is not anonymity and three years wearing a spiritless name and persona is enough to increase anyone’s cocaine usage.

Tomorrow’s task could be nothing, or could prove considerable. Though some of my skills have been honed and even surpassed a sharpness not seen since youth. In this case, as in all, facts are what I need.

Raising my violin I improvised through one of your favourite Mendelssohn Lieders and imagined your face softening to the music. Soaring on the fantasy, I swoop in and around my muse as she playfully counters every parry and found my next moves fully formed, the image appearing like a photograph developed in fresh chlorohydroquinone. I laid down the Blanchard and began my work. Watson, you illuminate me!

As you know me to be, dear friend,

Very sincerely yours,

S. H.