David Liss - The Whiskey Rebel

Iwish I could say that the next several weeks were productive or eventful, but they were not. I spent my time doing little but attempting to find Pearson and having no luck. I made regular visits to the City Tavern and other establishments that catered to businessmen. I spoke to anyone with whom the Pearsons had a personal connection, including the mighty Bingham family, but no one could say where they had gone. Burr in New York wrote me to say no one had seen Pearson and promised to write again if he learned anything. I received regular updates from Lavien and Hamilton on Duer, as he slid toward destruction. Around the city, construction slowed as the Bank of the United States withdrew its loans to protect itself, but the loans were for the most part being repaid, and Hamilton felt confident that the bank was safe. I saw no more of Mrs. Maycott, and I could only imagine that she herself was satisfied with Duer’s current troubles. I heard nothing from Leonidas.

For the most part I continued my efforts at reform. I did not eschew drink entirely, for a man must not die of thirst, but I was temperate, if not precisely frequently, then certainly more often than before. I admit, however, that one afternoon at the City Tavern I had far too much wine and began demanding of anyone who would listen that I had grown weary of waiting for information. I would go to New York, I said, and find Duer and demand he tell me where I might find Cynthia Pearson. A kindly young trader escorted me to the door, and I made my way home myself.

That would have been the end of the incident, but the next afternoon Mrs. Deisher announced that a delivery had been made to me-a crate of ten bottles of good Spanish sherry. The accompanying note was from William Duer, and it announced that he hoped I knew how well my efforts had served him, and the wine was a gift of gratitude. The words were spare and to the point, yet there could be no doubt of a kind of gloating. Perhaps he had been in town and learned of my drunkenness. It hardly mattered, for I would not be goaded into anything, even regret, by a man such as he, on the brink of ruin.

I was still contemplating these developments, and sampling one of the bottles-for it ought not to be wasted-when Mrs. Deisher announced that I had a visitor below. She appeared out of sorts, and when I went into the parlor I saw Leonidas standing with his back to me. He wore a fine new suit, and he held a handsome leather hat in his hands, and yet for all this grand appearance he looked somewhat abashed. His eyes were cast to the ground, and his fingers worked uneasily at the brim of his hat.

He turned to me, his face grave. I noticed, for the first time, lines forming about his eyes, as if he had aged five or ten years since last I saw him. “Good afternoon, Ethan.”

“I did not expect you to come calling.” I kept my voice calm and even, yet how my heart leaped to see him. Not since the war, not since I had studied under Fleet’s tutelage, had I known a friendship like his, and to think that it was over, that Leonidas could not forgive me, nearly staggered me. Yet I would not show it. I could not.

“I never intended to call, but I thought you would wish to hear what I have to say. You asked me to inquire into the Pearsons, and I did so, though until now I have learned nothing of import. But just this morning I received a visit from one of the former kitchen maids who heard, if somewhat belatedly, that I was willing to pay for information. In exchange for two dollars she told me that she knew their fate with absolute certainty.”

I stepped forward. “Well?”

He closed his eyes, as though bracing himself, and then looked at me boldly, as would a man offering a challenge. “It seems that Pearson has taken his family west, to Pittsburgh. They hired a guide and a team of animals, packed up a minimum of belongings, and departed.”

“Pittsburgh.” I whispered the word and then sat.

Falling into old habits, Leonidas poured me a glass of Duer’s sherry and then sat across from me. His hands were on his knees, and he leaned forward paternally. “I know the woman, and she is not prone to fabrication. If she says she is certain, I believe it must be true. I am sorry. I know this is hard news.”

I drank down the sherry at once. “I’ll go after her.”

He rose, refilled my glass, and handed it to me anew, this time nearly to overflowing. “Do you think that’s wise? I understand that you feel the need to save her, but is that something for which you are prepared-a wilderness conflict with a man as willful as Pearson?”

I drank half my glass. “Are you mad? You think I am not fit to confront Pearson in city or wilderness? She depends upon me to go after her. I must prepare at once. Thank you, Leonidas, for telling me. I know you are angry, but you have done the right thing.” I finished the drink. Already I felt the sherry flowing through me, and with it the inexorable energy that came with the first warmth of drink, and I felt shame, a deep and burning shame, that what Leonidas had taken from our years together was that I was not the man to save Cynthia. How wrong he was. I would go at once.

Leonidas studied me as though attempting to take some measure. “I shall leave you to your preparations, then.” He held out his hand for me to shake.

I took it, but a terrible unspoken truth hung over this parting. I saw the distress in his gaze, and I understood it for the same trouble I felt in my heart. Once, not so long ago, the two of us would have faced these difficulties together. Now I was alone. I dared not ask him to join me, and his pride would never let him volunteer. Perhaps when I returned, when all these troubles had passed, Leonidas and I could begin to build the friendship anew. Perhaps this was my test. Only once I’d proved I did not depend on him could he trust me enough to befriend me.

I went upstairs and began to pull things from my trunks, things I could not do without. I would have to travel light and travel fast. They were several people. Including children. They had animals carrying their packs. They would be slow. They had a significant head start, but I would travel by horse and do so alone or perhaps with Lavien. If I were swift and made do with little sleep, I could hope to overtake them.

I looked at the crate of wine upon my floor, the bottles still-for the most part-nestled in their straw. There was a time, and it was not so long ago, when it would have been enough to stop me, or at least slow me down.

I looked at the crate again, which bore the name of the vendor stenciled upon the side. At once I grabbed my hat and coat and headed out to the street. It was but half an hour’s walk to reach the wine merchant, and I burst inside, demanding at once to speak to the owner.

It was later than I realized, and the man before me had been preparing to close his shop, but he needed only to look upon my face to understand that he would be better served saying nothing of this to me. This man, tall and balding and with a very red face, announced that he was Mr. Nelson, the owner. I put my question to him at once.

“I am Captain Ethan Saunders. You delivered to me a case of wine this afternoon.”

“Yes, sir. I trust there was no trouble with it. It was among our finest Spanish.”

“The wine was excellent, but I must know where it came from. Who placed the order?”

“Well, I don’t know,” he said, looking confused rather than sinister.

“Was it Mr. Duer of New York? Did he write to you?”

“No one wrote to me,” he said. “A man came in and placed the order directly. A big and very black fellow he was, but very polite and speaking like a white man. He didn’t give his name, and I didn’t need it. He paid me with good money, and as there could be no harm in sending a man a crate of good wine, that was all there needed to be between us.”