Ben Stroud - Byzantium - Stories

MY NEXT SEVENTH DAY I was assigned to work on the Judge’s House, which was being built, as commanded in Josiah’s revelation, atop the low slope of Mount Nebo, the island’s highest point. The house’s plans called for a long five-roomed cottage with a high tower at one end. From the top the Judge, whom Josiah told us to expect daily, would be able to see over the treetops. I enjoyed working on the Judge’s House. It was only a mile from the Bainbridge farm, and at the end of the day I would walk there and spend the entire evening with Dorothea.

I was helping a pig farmer named Morris nail planks to the floor of the cottage’s porch when Josiah came riding up on his dappled gray. He spoke to our foreman, a man named Pearson, then clicked his tongue and spurred his horse down the southern path, toward New Nazareth. Not long after that we ran out of nails. It was too late in the day to fetch more from Port Hebron, so Pearson gathered us together, gave a prayer of thanksgiving for our labor, and let us go early. The others started their walk back to town, but I set off toward the Bainbridge farm.

I would be an hour early, and I delighted myself with thoughts of Dorothea’s surprise. Perhaps I would find her in the garden, weeding away the clover, or in the cabin, tending a stew over the fire. I would sneak behind her, wrap her in my arms, and whisper in her ear.

By the time I reached the Bainbridge farm a fine rain was falling. I paused to pick some dandelions, then took the track through the birch wood and into the potato field. When I came to the clearing, I stopped. Josiah’s dapple stood outside the cabin, head down, nibbling at grass. My skin prickled. I thought of Dorothea’s shadow and the meeting with Josiah, and a sick chill shuddered through me. I tried to calm myself, to quell the fumbling realization. I recalled Bainbridge’s rumored candidacy for eldership, told myself Josiah had come simply to consult with him. But then the cabin door opened, and Josiah walked out. Dorothea stood behind him. Her braids were undone, her dress loose.

My reason gave way like a shattered pane. Josiah and Dorothea hadn’t yet seen me, and I made to run to the cabin. Before I could, I was grabbed from behind. It was Bainbridge. He put his hand over my mouth and held me down hidden in the brush while Josiah rode away.

“It was revelation,” he whispered into my ear. “It was revelation. I tried to run you off.”

As soon as Josiah was gone, Bainbridge let me go. I pushed myself from him, then turned to look at him.

“She’s his,” Bainbridge said. He shook his head and covered his eyes with his palm. I’d never imagined he could be so abject. “That’s why I sent you off. The Lord chose her as one of Josiah’s royal concubines, like King David had. He told me we must keep it secret. Then you, with that damned oath. I begged him for a release, to let you marry Dorothea, but he said you can’t stop revelation.”

I left Bainbridge and went straight to the cabin. Dorothea had gone back inside and I found her at the table. She was staring at the wall, her face drawn into a familiar absence. I called her name, but she didn’t turn. Her mother sat beside her, holding her hand and stroking her hair.

I had entered intending to shout, but my heart shivered and the words wouldn’t come.

TWO WEEKS LATER the federal gunboat Superior was spotted on the horizon. It was now September, a year since my arrival. Summer had begun to ease itself from the lake. Save for one night, I hadn’t ventured farther than Pickle’s work yard. I had skipped the Sabbath services, had stayed at home on my seventh day. After discovering the truth, I contemplated returning to Baltimore. My father would welcome me back to his shop, and I could take up my old life again. I packed my things into a single bag, counted and recounted the dollars I had left: enough for passage to Detroit. But my rage boiled and wouldn’t let me leave. At night, in his corner of the cabin, Pickle mumbled his prayers on my behalf.

Already two ships had put in, the Chicago steamer Lady of the Lakes and a fisherman called Sutton’s Fancy, but the sighting of the Superior, with her promise of uniformed sailors, a troop of marines, and a band of fife and drum, caused a stir. Hebronites and passengers from the Lady of the Lakes, who’d come ashore while she took on wood for her engines, crowded the docks to watch as the gunboat came past Apostle’s Point. I went down to the water, too, but kept back from the others. Stacks of cordwood lined the shore in rows, and from just beyond the end of these I could see the entire breadth of the bay. The sun shone brightly, turning the waves to diamonds, bleaching the sky of its blue. On the docks some of the men held children on their shoulders and waved their hats in salute. Gentile women giggled and pointed at the boat from beneath their parasols. Their pink ribbons and white summer dresses gleamed.

The tableau of cheerfulness was too much. I looked away, and that’s when I saw the whiskey traders. Two of them stood among the cordwood stacks. They were got up in broadcloth suits and had trimmed their beards, but I recognized the wildness in them, recognized the slouch that bespoke discomfort with civilized clothes, the brute dullness in their eyes that came from their animal life of sin. Unlike everyone else, they were turned away from the boat and looking toward town, their hands in their pockets.

The one night I had strayed from Pickle’s cabin, it had been to go to them. I had taken a canoe and paddled across to the near islands until I saw the glow of one of their camps. They took me captive once they spotted me, held a knife to my throat, pushed me down against the sand. Their eyes glinted in the firelight as they leaned over me. I had not tried to hide, and they asked me what I was playing at. When I told them I had killed their fellow, one of them called for rope. I shouted that I sorrowed for it now. It wasn’t a lie, the dead trader’s face haunted my dreams. And I said that I regretted having let Josiah live. Curses fell from the hollows of their mouths. Bits of elkhorn hung from the one who brought the rope. They pulled me to the water, made to push me under, but I kept shouting. I told them about the press of the late-summer traffic and the commotion of the federal ship’s arrival. There they would have their chance, I said. At that, they released me, and I slipped into Pickle’s cabin just before dawn. He stirred when I entered, but didn’t wake.

Now I watched the whiskey traders among the cordwood stacks. From Josiah’s house one of the six-pounders fired a salute. I turned in time to see him step from his front door. He was to come down to the dock to receive the gunboat’s captain in a short ceremony. Following the cannon’s salute, the Superior ’s band struck up a military air. As she came into harbor, the melody carried over the chuffing of her engine and the slap of her side paddle wheel. The men on the pier hurrahed.

The path from Josiah’s house to the dock would lead him past me, and he appeared in good spirits as he approached, whistling and nodding, in his freshly brushed coat. A few yards beyond me he would be caught between the whiskey traders and the cordwood. His life would be in their hands. But now, again, it was in mine. I could step forward, could reach out to stop him and save our paradise, broken as it was. Or I could remain still and let it be taken.

A buffet of wind whipped up from the lake. There was a splash, a shout, laughter — someone on the dock had dived into the water.

It was easy. Josiah hadn’t yet noticed me. I let him pass, then turned away. I didn’t care to watch.

I HEARD THE FIRST SHOT when I was halfway to Pickle’s cabin, then three more. By the last the gunboat’s band had ceased playing. A lone scream cut through the stilled crowd, then the air itself seemed to breathe before erupting into a confused, wailing din that spread up from the docks. Someone had lifted Josiah’s body and called now for help. Several of my brothers ran past me, on their way to the water. Celia’s blanched face emerged from the cottage amid the clamor. I recalled Josiah’s telescope and wondered if she had been watching through it.