Annie Proulx - Barkskins

“May I ask why not?” said Lavinia. “I have always found him to be most accommodating.”

“I daresay,” sneered James, continuing to stamp across the carpet.

“Oh do sit down, Papa, sit down. And tell me calmly, what has he done? What is wrong? Why?”

James sat on the edge of a large, throne-like chair. “Why! Never mind, it is not something for a young girl to hear.”

She sat straight, both feet flat on the floor, a combative attitude. “Let me remind you I am no longer a ‘young girl’ but almost a woman grown — and with a masculine mind as you have several times remarked. I am immune from vapors and fainting. I demand to know why you are forbidding me his company and protection.” Her dark eyes glinted and the red mouth pressed into a knot.

Now he was really irritated. “Very well, since you fancy yourself so advanced in worldly experience I’ll tell you that Andre Roque has got his sister with child. He cannot be trusted with females. Some men are that way.” He thought of his lascivious old father-in-law. “I do not want him to travel with you again.” He waited for her shocked exclamation.

Lavinia said coolly, “I suppose it comes from all the children sleeping in the same bed.”

“How would you know that!” He was back on his feet.

“I surmise it, that is all.”

“A piece of advice, Miss Lavinia. Surmising is the way to the greatest error. Never surmise, never.” But what he really feared was that Lavinia might have a streak of Posey’s abandoned ways and the hostler’s son would sniff it out and give him an illegitimate grandchild.

“I quite agree that surety is preferable to the most advanced surmising,” said Lavinia, “I will do as you say,” and she offered him tea.

• • •

Back at the old house in Boston, James was struck by its shabby condition. The familiar interior was musty and chill with an air of fatigue, the furniture, especially the hall stand, seemed cruelly old-fashioned. The rooms looked rather mean. He thought they should not copy every detail in the new house but simply sell Black Swan as it stood and start anew in Detroit. He would have a talk with the architect while he was in Boston and cancel the copycat plans — present Lavinia with a fait accompli when he returned to the lake country.

• • •

Mr. Prentiss, his wine merchant for many years, was excited to see his second-best customer again. His wattled red face contrasted with his pink turkey neck stretching naked above the new style of low collar and bow tie, and James thought he should have kept to a high stock that would keep him decently covered. The merchant flapped his hands open as though inviting James to dance and said, “I am delighted to see you again, Mr. Duke. Are you returning? Oh, just a visit, tsk. How may I help you? Would you like to know of the new wines? I have some really good German hock. At your service, sir,” and he made a body movement very like a bow. Nothing had changed in the wineshop, the same dusty musty smell, Mr. Prentiss clucking and nodding.

“Mr. Prentiss, you look well and I trust you do well. Indeed, just a visit. And as much as I would like to explore the hock I have come on a different errand. I wish to have my cellar crated and shipped to new quarters in Detroit. But I fear breakage and disturbance will wreak havoc on the contents unless the job is carefully undertaken. Can you advise me of the best way we may do this?”

“Mr. Duke, to disturb those hundreds of bottles, to crate and jostle them halfway across the continent would ruin a great portion. It would be a true sin. Why not trade with me — a move from your cellar to my shop is not a great journey. In exchange I will give you a greater measure of aged Madeira or whatever else you like in casks and barrels that can stand the trip without damage.”

“That seems a logical course of action. Let us do it.” They spoke for a while and then the merchant asked offhandedly if Freegrace’s cellar had been sold or passed to a family member.

“It passed to me,” said James. “Freegrace’s will left it to Edward, but Edward’s possessions have become mine. I haven’t thought of Freegrace’s cellar though I always heard it was very good.” His eyes kept straying to the bottles. He looked forward to an excellent dinner — with wine and more wine.

“Very good! I should say it was very good! Among the best in Boston.” He coughed. “If you think of disposing of it I would be interested in buying. I would never consider moving those rare bottles any distance.”

“Well,” said James. “I do not know the extent of what he had. But I have a set of keys at my house. Shall we meet tomorrow morning and examine what is there?”

“Nothing would delight me more,” said Mr. Prentiss, suddenly sneezing.

“Shall we meet here at ten?”

“Excellent. Now, Mr. Duke, will you take a glass of amontillado with me?”

“I will,” said James. “It will set me right. I keep having bouts of malaise.”

“Are you sure you would not rather have a hot toddy?”

“No, no, amontillado is what I crave. And please send a half dozen of the hock you mentioned round to Black Swan — I must have something to drink while I am here, though I can certainly make inroads on my cellar.”

“I advise it,” said Mr. Prentiss. “If you have special wines this visit would be the very best time to enjoy them. Now, just step into the tasting room.”

James felt it was good to be back in Boston. And tonight, he said to himself, a very good dinner.

• • •

He had a headache the next morning and sent it on its way with a large glass of champagne and the most savorous coffee he’d had in a year, taken at Bliss’s Coffee House, where not even the waiter had changed — old Henry with the great wen on his chin, who greeted him by name. The morning was sharp with frost, the hired horse lively. He drove up to the wineshop, where Mr. Prentiss’s florid smiling face floated in the window. The door opened and the wine merchant skipped out carrying an abacus and a notebook.

“I heard that Mr. Freegrace Duke kept a cellar book and I thought I would count bottles with this”—he held the instrument aloft—“and take a few notes.” He was in high humor.

It seemed to James he had never left Boston so familiar was this street, the clopping of the horse. “Brisk day,” he said. The headache was quite gone. He felt very well; sea air was certainly healthier than lake vapors. “He-up!”

“Brisker to come. The almanac promises a hard winter. I suppose the winters are pleasanter in Michigan?”

“I would not say that,” said James, “never would I say that.”

Inside Freegrace’s house everything was coated with dust. There were a great many tracks on the floor. No sheets protected the furniture. The house was bitterly cold.

“Only a few months ago, I paid his butler a year’s salary to stay on and look after the place until we could make arrangements,” said James. “It looks as though he left as soon as I did. What was the fellow’s name — Eccles, I think. I will look into this. Damn, I will have him taken up! Well, never mind. Let us find a lantern and some candles and go down into the cellar.”

The door to the cellar was ajar and as they went down the broad stairs James noticed chunks of plaster and mud on the stairs and gouge marks on the wall.

“I don’t like the look of this,” he said, pointing at the plaster dust with his toe. Mr. Prentiss made a clucking sound. He knew what they would find; he had seen it once before.

The bottle racks were empty, the cask cradles empty, shelves tipped over. Broken glass glinted in the light of their lantern and the air had a winy stench. Freegrace’s wine cellar had been stripped.