Caleum was happy then as both women wished him a pleasant ride back to Stonehouses. On the way he dreamed of the home he would create with Libbie, and all the comforts and security it would contain. That will be my great talent, he told himself, to make a home like Stonehouses for my own wife and children. As he thought this he began to think of his parents. He spurred his horse then into a fast gallop, wanting to burn away the memory of rejection.
It was over ten years since he had last seen them, and he could barely recall either in his own mind, except for the gossip he sometimes heard — for the story of his parents had become notorious in those parts and was even known on the seas. He knew his love for Libbie was not like theirs but a thing patterned after itself that he was very glad for. Still, he was careful when he daydreamed of his intended that it was temperate, and not feverish as he knew devotion could sometimes be, when its heat consumed both self and host.
four
Caleum and Libbie’s courtship was not long, as the older people, excepting Mr. Darson, would have preferred, but barely a year in duration. The spring after he started wooing her Caleum persuaded Magnus that he was set to see things through to their formal conclusion. Magnus, wary but trusting his nephew to know his own mind by then, accepted the decision without debate and informed Solomon Darson he was free to publicize the engagement and ensuing marriage, which they agreed to have six weeks hence at the Darson place.
Magnus and Caleum spent the rest of that month taking long rides together, to survey the land and search out the best spot to put up a new house. Caleum in his heart had already set on a place about a mile from the main building, overlooking the valley, which he thought might keep Libbie from homesickness. Magnus overuled the idea, however, telling him it would not be good soil for his crops or good grazing for his animals. He led him instead around to a place on the southern side of the lake that sat up on a small rise, lower but almost identical to the one Stonehouses itself occupied.
“This is the second-best land,” he said. “You take it and never worry for dependency, on the main house or anybody else.”
“I don’t fear that so much as being apart from it,” Caleum answered, full of appreciation and gratitude for his uncle’s gesture — for he knew it was the best land but would never have presumed to try and claim it.
Magnus was pleased then that he had been given a good son and proud that they had managed a bond between them that was not only filled with warmth but also with respect and mutual understanding.
“Your father would be very pleased for you,” Magnus told him, putting onto his brother what he himself felt, as they rode back to the stable. Caleum was silent in response, and Magnus allowed him to remain so but only added, “You must never think ill of him. You cannot judge them.”
“No, sir,” Caleum replied.
In truth he sometimes thought his father the meanest man in the world, and at other times greater than everything else he knew, and both feelings made larger from their seed by his absence. No matter his thoughts, however, he never spoke ill of either his parents, neither when alone nor with others, as he would not dream of giving voice to such personal inner grievance.
They returned to the house at suppertime, to find Merian, who sometimes but very seldom still joined them for meals, at the table.
He spoke, when he did at all, in a garbled way, which those around him had learned to decipher, though not always accurately — so that one sentence might be taken to mean a certain thing by Adelia, another thing by Magnus, and yet something else entirely by Caleum. Despite this, they tried to keep him informed of all the goings-on in the family, not certain how much he took in or failed to but honoring his position there.
“Caleum and I have just chosen the spot for his house,” Magnus said, as they sat down to table that evening.
Adelia, who was just about to bring a spoonful of warm mashed potatoes to Merian’s mouth, paused to see whether or not he would answer.
It was clear that he understood the words and their meaning but was slow to formulate his response. When he did, he spoke extremely slowly. “Is he separating now?”
“Soon,” Caleum hazarded to answer.
One side of Merian’s mouth curled in an enigmatic smile when he heard this reply. He turned then to Magnus and asked, “What ground?”
“The southern side of the lake,” Magnus said. “I thought it was the best after Stonehouses itself.”
“It was hard husbanding.”
No one knew what to make of this, and they all looked to one another for guidance until Adelia replied, “He will be a good husband.”
Merian looked to his bowl for more food, which Adelia brought dutifully to his mouth. After he had swallowed, he looked at his grandson and asked, “The wife?”
“She will be good as well,” Caleum said, looking directly at his ancient grandfather. “I am sure of it.”
“Caleum has made a good match,” Magnus vouched for him.
Merian tried to nod his head, as to say he agreed with marrying while young, but it had become a very difficult maneuver. Frustrated by his body’s refusal to do as he would have it, he swiped at the bowl in front of him and sent it to the floor. As Adelia cleaned it up, he sat there sphinxlike, feeling prisoner to the decay that had claimed him, mind and body. No one knew then what it was he wished to communicate, as even his simplest gestures were not what they always seemed.
Caleum and Magnus both knew, however, better than to pity Merian, as his fate might be either of theirs. Rather, they continued to treat him as if he had never known dementia and was still as he had been in the major part of his life.
The morning of Caleum’s wedding to Libbie Darson, a pale blue sky arched unblemished overhead like the ceiling of a godly cathedral. The air was also warm enough to go about with naught but a vest, and the day seemed soft and tremulous with possibility. Merian called his grandson to him in the parlor that morning, where he sat dressed very handsomely in an old-fashioned suit. When Caleum entered, Merian pointed over the mantel to the sword Purchase had crafted long ago and indicated for him to take it down. Caleum walked to the place where it stood and lifted it from its hooks, which made Merian smile from the side of his mouth that still cooperated with him. Caleum went then to embrace his grandfather, and when he did Merian pressed his carved wooden doll into his hand. “For young husbands,” he said.
Besides his lands it was the most cherished of his possessions. The thing third most valuable to him was a golden pocket watch, which hung in his vest and was bequeathed in his will to Purchase, if he ever returned to their lands.
Caleum had long been curious about the wooden doll, which frightened Adelia and made Magnus none too happy. He was honored to have it, though, and placed it in his pocket before either his aunt or uncle could come into the room. “For luck at Caleum’s house,” Merian said again emphatically.
When Magnus came into the room old and young parted conspiratorially, Magnus looked suspiciously from one to the other but decided against asking what they were about. He only dusted away invisible lint from Caleum’s vest, telling him it was time for them to set out and he should help him take Merian to the waiting carriage — whence they made their way to the Darson place for the ceremony.
When they entered the Darson house that morning everyone grew hushed to see Jasper Merian present, for he was the oldest man in the county after Content’s death and had been one of the first to settle there. He was also said to be one of the richest, so an undeniable mystique attached to him.
They were careful about noticing his frail condition, however, and only the smallest children and boldest of the men came directly to greet him. He seemed very aloof to many of them and would barely speak to any save Mrs. Darson and Libbie, though he could not remember her name.