Darkness

March 25, 1812

Gregor

I’m walking down the hill in the early morning sunlight, hands in pockets, trying not to show that I realize everyone is staring at me. Wolk is keeping me informed, but he doesn’t actually need to tell me who is looking. I can see the furtive glances from some, the open-mouthed gaping from others.

I should have realized how bad it would be just from the awkward visits that I’ve had over the course of the last couple of days. I had told Ben that he was welcome to inform the crew that I was feeling better after two days and had left my bed, but would be staying at home for another day or two. Word spread quickly, and a steady flow of visitors began to arrive, not just from the crew but from many townsfolk, offering well wishes and usually some gift such as food or a trinket. I appreciate the new books, at least. Every single person who came seemed to view me differently than before. All of my casual friendships are tainted, it seems, by the events of last Saturday. They all seemed a little afraid of me, or a little in awe of me, or some uncomfortable combination of the two. It is exactly what I have never wanted.

I wonder if the shield had held would this have happened? If everything else was the same, but it was just a simple flogging, without the crowd being subject to my emotions, or especially without the entire population of Guardians creating an unseen uproar. Would just seeing me whipped have changed everyone’s perception of me?

I suppose to some extent, but it would have passed. We would have all gotten over it.

This, I am not sure I can ever recover from, not as long as I stay in this community.

Wolk agrees. His remorse is so intense, and I wish that I could somehow comfort him. It really wasn’t his fault, and I have told him over and over again that I do not blame him. It was just the way that circumstances unfolded. We can’t always have control over everything. In fact, if we ever believe we have control, we are probably deluding ourselves. I’ve learned that hard lesson myself on multiple occasions.

I am relieved that my closest friends seem to accept me still. Samuel Duncan is dependably keeping to himself everything he has learned about me as a result of these events, and is as friendly as ever, although I sense a slight shift in his attitude toward me, maybe seeming to hold me in higher esteem than I deserve. The same seems to have happened with Ben and Nadine and Jake. Even with my mother-in-law, Edith, although her younger children seem to be treating me normally, the few minutes that they came over to visit yesterday.

Rosalind, though, my beloved Rosalind, is my true solace. She is loving me, and kidding me, and sharing with me, as much as ever. I hate to think of how lonely I would feel without her right now. She has enjoyed the last few days using me as a conduit to have conversations with Harriet, and it has been a delightful diversion for me to watch Rosy and her Guardian get to know each other. She likes to use Harriet to reminisce about her early childhood, before her father died, and it seems to make her so happy to be reminded of how events unfolded.

And every night she has come to me in bed, offering herself as generously as ever, to arouse me, and comfort me, and make me forget for a time that anything else exists in the world except the two of us. It is incredibly cleansing to my spirit.

I have decided, though, that today is the day to face the rest of the town. It has been four days since the whipping, I no longer feel the faint marks remaining on my back, and Samuel agreed that I could plausibly appear in public, as long as I don’t do anything too strenuous that would make it obvious I’m no longer hurt. So I won’t be joining the crew in any manual labor today, but I do want to talk to them.

I have high hopes when I enter the boarding house at breakfast time, and slip into the dining room where everyone is eating. I am hoping for the usual greeting, for a raucous stream of cheerful hellos and funny insults, for them to treat me as they always have.

My heart drops when I am noticed and a sudden hush falls over the entire room, all conversation stops, forks pause halfway to mouths, and everyone stares at me with expressions ranging along some spectrum of emotion going from fear to reverence.

Sigh.

But I just smile, loudly say “Good morning!” to the room, and look around for a place to sit and join them for breakfast. I realize, though, by the way that they continue gaping at me, that I would put everyone off their appetites if I merely sat down, so I figure I have to just get this out of the way.

I stay standing, leaning up against a table, and say, “Well, I’m back.” There are a few murmurs of welcome, still awkward and uncomfortable. How do I break this ice? “Thanks for all your help, folks,” I go on, “I appreciated everything that you did on Saturday, and since then. Sorry I haven’t been around, but Ben has been keeping me posted on the progress of the construction projects, and it sounds like you’re doing a bang-up job. The new storage barn looks almost finished!”

I look over to the foreman, Geoffrey, and say, “Thanks Geoff, for taking charge again. A big bonus for you, I think!” This at least elicits some smiles and applause.

“So, I can’t be doing any digging or building for a week or so, I’ll just be lounging in my office until Doctor Duncan gives me permission to get back to doing more.”

They look at me sympathetically, and a lot of them are obviously wondering how badly I am still injured. “I really feel quite fine,” I say, “but my wife insists on my obeying the doctor, and he insists on being excessively cautious.” I smirk, hoping to generate some chuckles, and a couple of folks hesitantly oblige.

But then I hear from across the room, “Any excuse to avoid helping out with the real work, eh?” I look over to see David grinning at me, just as cocky as ever, and I swear I would like to march right over there and kiss him on the mouth. Especially when Polly, who is standing nearby, thwacks him across the back of the head with the dishcloth she is holding, and the entire room erupts in laughter.

What a relief to have the tension broken by David’s joke. I grin and nod sheepishly. When the noise dies down, I say, “I figure some of you might have some questions? I’ll answer them if I can.”

There is a long pause while they obviously try to find questions that they don’t think will offend me. Finally, Walt asks, “How’s Tiger?”

I smile. “He’s just fine. By the time we got home he was back to normal. I guess it wasn’t as bad as it looked. Same goes for me, it wasn’t really all that bad.”

“Why’d you do it?” I hear, and look over to see Charley looking at me seriously. Sarah is sitting near him. We have not had her to the house to help take care of Vernon since Saturday, when I got home wrapped in a blanket and had to be helped up the stairs by Ben and Moses. It looks like she wants to shush him, but I wave my hand at her to let her know that it’s all right.

“Because Moses is my friend,” I tell him, looking into his eyes, “and because I could not allow him to be harmed for a decision that I had made.” I look around at the rest of the room, and can see that this is a question they all were wondering. I go on, “I had hoped that no harm would come from my idea to teach reading to anybody who wanted to learn, but I underestimated the strength of the bias that exists. I am sorry for putting some of you in harm’s way by doing this.”

“I’m not sorry,” Caesar says, his jaw set firmly. Billy, and a couple of the other black fellows who have been coming to my reading groups, nod fervently.

Billy adds, softly, “You gave us a gift, and I will always be grateful to know how.”

I nod, but then I sigh. “I know that Ben has already warned you that you’re going to have to hide it for now. I wanted you all to be able to enjoy reading, but the slave patrol and the militia have made it clear that it is just too risky to be seen in public.” I think they can all see how much I hate saying it, but I continue, “So, please keep it to yourselves. And, I am very, very sorry, but I’m going to stop holding the reading group for now. Maybe someday things will change, but I have to keep you all safe, and this is the best way to do it.”

There’s a grim silence. “I’ve thought of something else, too, that you might like better.” They look at me expectantly. “We’re going to be providing a uniform for all the members of this crew. This way everyone will be able to tell that you are part of the steamboat dock crew, and even the idiotic slave patrol won’t be able to cause more trouble with misunderstandings.”

“Oh!” I hear several people exclaim, and a lot of them glance around at each other, some whispering about it. “That’s a good idea,” Walt adds.

“I’ve decided that it should be a vest, blue to match the color of the steamboat. Once they arrive we’ll be able to place an order for the fabric from New Orleans. It’ll take a month or so, but then every one of you will have a blue vest to wear for identification.”

There’s some more discussion of this, then after a few minutes people start getting back to their breakfast.

I am so relieved. Maybe my crew will be able to return to normal, maybe everything will die down after all.

But then, somebody asks from the back of the room, “Can you tell us what happened that day with the… darkness?”

I refuse to allow myself to visibly sigh. I didn’t really want to have to address this, but it was inevitable. I look over at the person who asked the question, one of the newer crew members, Bruce.

“He was there on Saturday,” Wolk quickly tells me, “and was particularly overwhelmed with the supernatural feeling of the Guardians’ flowing energy.”

The room suddenly hushes again. Everyone wanted to ask this question, and I can plainly see that they are all relieved that Bruce had the nerve to do it.

“I have heard about this,” I say, “but I didn’t notice it myself.” That’s completely true. Nothing I experienced felt unnatural to me, since I was the cause of both the emotions and the shock of the Guardians. “I was… busy.” No laughter. I don’t sigh. “But my wife was there too, and she has a theory about what happened, which makes as much sense as anything else,” I tell them. I’ve decided to use Rosalind’s strategy, which worked well with Jake, and to some extent with her family as well. “She believes in guardian angels, since a friend of hers once told her about them. And she thinks that an angel came to help me, and everyone could sense it arriving.” I shrug. “I can’t say whether that is true or not. But it’s a comforting thought, isn’t it?”

I watch with relief as this sinks in, and many of them nod thoughtfully. They start turning to each other to begin chatting about it, and I think I can safely make my exit.

First I approach Sarah, and say, “Good morning, Sarah. I didn’t get the chance to thank you Saturday for taking care of Vernon for us all day.” Her eyes widen, apparently surprised that I even remember that, much less want to thank her. I ask, “Are you ready to get back to work? I know Rosalind and Vernon would love to see you.”

“Yes sir,” she says softly, deferentially, but I don’t think that is really different from before. Who knows, maybe she is less impacted by all of the drama about Saturday because she was up at my house with Vernon the whole time. Also, I remind myself, she had been at Forks of the Road the day I was there and Wolk was letting my anger spill out to intimidate the slave traders, and she felt that briefly, so perhaps she expected something like that to happen again. Wolk shrugs his wolf shoulders. So, maybe.

“All right, have whoever is on escort duty walk you on up,” I tell her with a smile, and she nods. Then I raise my voice a bit and tell the room generally, “I’ll be in my office. Have a good day, everyone.”

As I leave the boarding house and walk towards the dock office, Wolk says, “Congratulations. That went better than I expected.”

“Me too,” I think to him. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get through this all right after all.

He shrugs again.