Eben

A storm of paper drifted down over Concord’s Milldam, flapping all over the road. One pamphlet slapped the nose bag of a horse tied up at the Middlesex Hotel. Startled, it reared and plunged. An astonished deacon plucked another from the front of his coat.

When one of the flying pamphlets drifted lazily back and forth over the head of Eben Flint, he reached up, smiling, and took it out of the air. It wasn’t every day that messages fell from the sky. Was this an angelic announcement?

But, of course, it was only a broadside dropped from the hot-air balloon that was majestically disappearing behind the elm trees on Main Street. Eben read the message as he headed for the bank.

“Eben, Eben,” called Ella Viles. From across the street, she waved a pamphlet.

Eben waited, watching her dart in front of a team hauling a wagonload of empty barrels. The driver shouted, “Whoa,” the heads of the horses jerked back, and the hollow barrels thumped and rattled. Angrily, the driver shouted, “What’s your hurry, miss?”

Ella only giggled and bolted to the other side, skipping over puddles in a flurry of swaying skirts. Breathlessly, she held up the pamphlet. “Oh, Eben, we must both be taken.”

Against the background of the dull mercantile street, she was a lovely object. Behind her, two ladies in drab shawls were gossiping in front of Cutler’s Dry and Fancy Goods, a hired girl hurried past with a basket of eggs, one of the Hosmers shook hands with one of the Wheelers as they agreed to trade two bushels of turnips for one of winter-stored apples, and the fish cart rattled past the town pump, the driver blowing his horn.

Did Eben mind the way Ella teased him about their names being so much alike? Did he mind her inference that it was the hand of Fate? Did he object to the way she kept saying, “Eben and I,” “Me and Eben?” No, he didn’t mind. Not when it came so sweetly from such a pretty creature as Ella Viles.

As the wagon rumbled away down the Milldam with its wobbling cargo of barrels, Eben smiled at Ella and shook his head. “I don’t need another likeness. I’ve already been taken.”

“Oh, that one. I’ve seen that one. Oh, Eben, you were just a little boy. The war is over, and now that you’re back home, you’re so much more grown-up and good-looking.” Ella blushed and dropped her eyes. “And, oh, Eben, I hope you’ll like to have my picture?” Tittering, she said, “My gracious, I’ll have to order a whole set, I have so many admirers.”

This was said in jest, but it had the desired effect. Eben gazed at her without speaking, and she told herself how delightful it was to be so pretty and to be standing so close to Eben Flint, right here on the Milldam. How that old spinster Betsy Hubble must envy Ella Viles! And surely the other ladies on the street were saying to one another, “There they are again. You always see them together, Ella Viles and Eben Flint.”

But then Ella remembered that she had sensational news, and her face turned solemn. She stepped closer and lowered her voice, “Oh, Eben, have you heard about James?”

“James?”

“James Shaw.” Ella’s eyes shone with the excitement of being the first to tell the horrid story. “He was your teacher, wasn’t he, Eben? Your old friend? Oh, Eben, do you mean you haven’t heard the dreadful news?”

Eben stiffened and said sharply, “Tell me.”

“He’s back from that hospital in Philadelphia. And, Eben, they say”—Ella’s eyes widened and her voice sank to a whisper—“they say he’s dreadfully disfigured.”

Eben stared at her blankly, and she hurried on. “Oh, poor Isabelle! James was such a catch, remember, Eben? All us girls in school, we were so jealous, but now— Oh, poor Isabelle.”

“She’s with him?” said Eben. “Isabelle and James are back home in Nashoba?”

“So they say.” Ella looked slyly at Eben. “I remember how everybody used to say you were sweet on Isabelle. But now, just imagine what her life will be like, married to that— Oh, poor dear Isabelle!”