“You should come back tomorrow,” she said. “Mother always makes something special at the end of the week.”
Again he could not read her intention, but to have an invitation at all made him feel thankful and welcome. He could grow accustomed to such. At least it might give him the comfort of having a routine.
“If my business allows it,” he said, “I will.”
With that he pulled himself up and balanced to put on his coat. When he reached for his crutches, though, he found them missing. He looked around until he saw the serving girl standing on his other side, thoughtfully holding them for him.
“Thank you,” he said, accepting the kindness of her gesture without protest.
As he walked back to his inn he wondered again what her interest in him was. Perhaps it was exactly as it appeared, he told himself. He had not known such affection in a long time and was heartened, thinking for the first time that perhaps his new condition was not so disastrous as he had thought in the beginning.
He was glad then for his respite in the city, but he knew there was only one place for him and he must get back to Stonehouses soon. As the sun disappeared, casting the island in shadow, he pulled his coat up at the throat to keep out the cold air and carried himself just a bit faster, wondering if perhaps the carpenter had called while he was out.
three
Nothing. When he returned to the inn there was no message for him from Mr. Miles, and none the following day either. As he sat in his room the third day, waiting for the man to contact him, he began to grow angry at the time it was taking. Whenever he heard someone on the stairs his breath would catch for a small expectant moment, until the footsteps inevitably passed by his door, like good fortune. No one came at all, and, as he knew no one in town other than casual acquaintances, the days seemed to stretch on with an endless bleakness.
The city beyond his windows was nothing but shadows when he looked out that evening near the close of shop hours, and the room itself was reflected back at him in the leaded glass. He could hear now and again the sound of travelers making their way home, but little else that had immediate meaning for him. He let his mind drift toward his own family, whom he was increasingly anxious to see. In this mood of longing he went to his closet, where he took his coat from its hanger to look once more at the scene on its inner lining that he had gazed at so often. To his surprise he found it had faded even further and looked crude to him. He had not noticed this wear before and peered at certain places where the stitching was frayed, attempting to make out already-lost details. What would they think when they saw him again? Had he faded as much from their memory’s care? he wondered, until the thought became suffocating.
He did not remember falling asleep, but when he awoke it was already well into night. He roused himself from bed to go for his evening meal, if one could still be had, but instead of leaving immediately he wanted first to put on a clean shirt, as had always been his custom before the war. He was surprised when he looked in the trunk to see he had none left, and was aware for the first time that all his clothing was in great disrepair. He was not a vain man, but he did not wish to give the wrong impression about himself either, such as might lead someone to mistake him for other than who he was and what his station was. He decided then to have his dinner that night in the hotel, and went down to the dining room tentatively on his crutches. Once there, he was pleased to find they were serving rack of lamb, his favorite dish, though he had never had it on any day outside of the Sabbath. It seemed a great decadence to him, but one he was happy to indulge.
As he ate, he felt his earlier sense of contentment return, drawing a satisfaction from his stomach that seemed otherwise to elude him. When he finished his meal he took out his new pipe and began smoking. He did not, however, enjoy the pipe as he had before and was about to extinguish it when the proprietor’s boy came over to the table with a small pouch.
“My father said to offer this to you. It’s hard to get decent tobacco in the city now.”
When Caleum filled his pipe with the proprietor’s offering he could scarcely believe the difference between the new tobacco and the smoke he had purchased earlier, even though it had cost him dearly. He had thought when he first tried it that it was simply a vile custom, but this new tobacco made clear to him the pleasure of the habit. He luxuriated in the rich aroma of smoke and ordered another cordial, for the boy came round to check on him with an attentiveness he had not observed anywhere else. He thought then there was nothing unavailable to a man in that town and delighted in the satisfactions of the table.
After finishing the cordial and pipe, he went upstairs, well contented with both himself and the city and beginning to feel rejuvenated. When he lay down that night he fell directly asleep and enjoyed a deep restful slumber.
The next morning he rose early and went down to the dining room, where instead of porridge, which had been his usual breakfast for as long as he could remember, he had a plate of eggs with bacon and sausage, thinking he might as well enjoy himself fully while he was able, such leisure being unavailable to him ever before, and it coming after such sacrifice. When he finished his meal, he asked at the front desk where he might find a good tailor, as his clothes were in a state such as he could no longer bear.
The proprietor was quick with a suggestion and pointed out the way to get there from the hotel. As he walked up Broadway through all the bustle of the business day, Caleum felt as if he were on holiday instead of merely performing much-needed chores, and this in turn livened his mood. When he arrived at the tailor he chose the fabrics he liked best, then instructed the man to make him four complete suits of clothes and ten good shirts, as he was unlikely ever to be in the city again.
When the tailor asked whether he would also require a new greatcoat, Caleum thought it over for a very long time before answering in the affirmative. His old coat was much worn, and it had besides been a coat meant for war, not civilized life, and he was now again a gentleman of peace. He paid out his gold and asked where he might find a good barber.
“The best Negro barber in the city is said to be John Paige, up by the Collect,” the tailor answered promptly, writing down the address. Caleum thanked him and left.
It was still before midday when he reached the street again. He thought about hiring a coach but decided on walking, as he had grown quite used to his crutches, so much so that he had begun to move about on his three legs as well as other men on two. He went up Broadway lightly, until he came to Chambers Street, where the bare trees lining the road allowed the sunshine to fall unimpeded across the wide sidewalk. It was a bright if brisk day, and the warm light felt good to his skin as he turned east toward his destination.
He was immediately overcome by an unbearable stench, though, and saw that he had entered a precinct of tanneries. The odor of animal skins and lye strangled the air, as dirty reddish water ran over the sidewalk and into the gutters. Here and there, he could see large clay vats filled with different-colored dyes, all very rich, and skins stretched out for drying. Bits of hair, or wool tumbled down the street, which he was careful to step around, not wanting to trick his balance.
When he finally passed those stinking streets he was in a small lane filled with breweries. He was reminded then of the serving girl who had brought him his lunch the day before. Perhaps he would eat there again, he thought, looking down to check the address of the barber on a slip of paper the tailor had given him. When at last he found the place he also found himself weary, having walked farther than he had reckoned on its being, and searched out a place to sit down. All the clients inside the little shop were Negroes such as himself, but of every caste of life, from the African who spoke but little English to the stern faces that seemed to him more Dutch than Negro. Still, he was comfortable, as he was in a good mood in general, and reclined amiably in his seat.