Annie Proulx - Barkskins

“Dear heaven,” said James, “there is enough food for a militia.”

“We do not wish to appear poor, do we?” said Posey. “Will you take Jason”—the new butler—“and see that there is sufficient of drink?”

“It is done,” said James, who had been overseeing jeroboams, magnums, bottles and decanters all the week. “Our guests shall reel — with spirits if not amazement.”

• • •

The hour arrived and Jason ushered in the first guests, the solicitor Hugh Trumbull and Mrs. Trumbull.

“My God, James, what a handsome wife you have caught, and how well you have done for yourself,” murmured Mr. Trumbull, looking around the warm room, taking in Posey’s red silk, the decanters on the sideboard, the hundred blazing beeswax candles, the platter of smoking hot lobster pasties fresh from the kitchen, “and how well everything looks, far more festive than when your esteemed father held court. Of course he was not a one for society. I am glad you are venturing forth.” James fetched Mrs. Trumbull a glass of aged jerez and saw her seated near the fire. Posey, in her New York dress, drew up a chair beside her and flattered her by asking her opinion on the mushroom-colored velvet curtains — should they not be changed for some of wine color? Or ocean blue?

There was a rush at the door as the other guests arrived: Freegrace and Lenore advanced, smiling, toward the new bride, but Posey put on a strained social smile as she took in the flaxen-haired Lenore’s simple Empire dress of silvery grey enhanced with a string of large pearls around her creamy neck.

“That is a beautiful dress,” said Posey. “Is it from New York?”

“Oh no. Paris. I go every autumn for the new fashions.”

Edward and Lydia came in with Lennart Vogel and Cyrus Hempstead, neither of whom had married, though it was rumored Cyrus kept a mistress of color. But they were not without dinner partners as Cyrus had brought a fresh-faced second cousin, Sarah Close, and Lennart the widow of his accountant, Martha Scoot. James glimpsed someone else behind Cyrus and with horror saw it was his father-in-law dressed in creased and spotted garments, his striped pants of the awful thousand-pleats style, so baggy they concealed a heavy abdomen and could accommodate a forked tail, the coat also striped and with a high collar. As he was wondering how to introduce them, Edward turned to the man and said, with familiarity, “Mr. Breeley, let me fetch you a glass of rum that we may continue our talk.” They had apparently met and performed mutual introductions on the walkway.

The two sat together much of evening, drinking, eating and talking as though they were the closest friends. James suspected Mr. Breeley had not disclosed his New Brunswick affiliations. It must be done at once, however unpleasant the result might be, and he watched for his chance, filled with rage at the old impostor busily pulling a thick fleece over Edward’s eyes. At the dinner table the two sat side by side, drawing diagrams on the damask cloth with fingers dipped in red wine. Edward sat on Posey’s right and between earnest conversation with her father, he talked gaily with her, staring into her lustrous eyes like a lovesick youth, thought James with some distaste. He had never seen Edward so outgoing, so full of smiles and charm.

“Well, Edward,” said James loudly, “I see you and Mr. Breeley have subjects of mutual interest.”

“Indeed, we do,” said Edward. “I must say I was surprised and delighted to find a gentleman so knowledgeable on the timber trade here this evening. It is especially interesting to me to have a New Brunswick lumberman’s point of view.” Smiles all around, especially on Posey’s full red lips. James saw her hand slip below the table, saw Edward’s startled face, which immediately blushed rose-red. Freegrace noticed as well and tapped his spoon against his front teeth.

“Beautiful autumn weather,” bleated Edward to the old lecher by his side — who winked at the error and said it was indeed.

Later, when the ladies had gone upstairs to Posey’s parlor for China tea and cream cakes, Edward drew James aside. “I think it would be a very good move if we asked Mr. Breeley to come on the Board. He could be of inestimable value to us as he is very practical and takes a hard line against timber thieves. I like him. And he is more or less connected with the family now. And Posey, an enchanting woman who also knows and understands the business. An extraordinary parent and child.”

Ah, thought James, you may well guess how extraordinary! But Edward clutched his hand and said, “Thank you, James, for bringing us all together.” And a vile picture floated before James.

In the weeks that followed the dinner Edward came more and more to the house to take tea with Posey, to ask if she would not like to go and see the curious object dug up by some road builders, to wonder if she would give him advice on a present he wished to buy for Lydia. It seemed they were together every afternoon either in her parlor or out riding. Often Phineas Breeley was with them. More than that James did not care to know.

• • •

Over the next decade Posey remade herself into a high-toned dashing hostess of the sort that money creates, and the Duke galas became famous for exotic dishes, rare blooms, the finest silver and crystal and entertainments of string quartets or celebrated singers — and only once a man in a turban, his torso enwrapped by a boa constrictor. “What next?” roared James, who despised low culture, “an Italian with a hurdy-gurdy? A trained bear with gilded ears? You show your New Brunswick origin with these jinks.” But temper was unusual as the husband and wife had reached a kind of equilibrium free from harangues and rages except for extreme provocation, such as turbaned men with boa constrictors.

In 1825 something close to a miracle — Posey thought it a miracle for she was fifty-one — came into their lives. Connubial peace deepened with the birth of Lavinia, their only child where no child had been expected. James was enthralled by his daughter. One look at her thick black hair and his own features, the features of the baby’s grandfather Sedley, and he was assured that this was his little child, whom he was free to love.

Motherhood also awakened some deep feeling in Posey and she objected to the idea of a hired nurse, saying she would care for the infant herself. She threw over the endless dinner parties and lively social life that had been everything and became a goddess mother, even going to the kitchen to smear jam on bread for the little girl. Lavinia was bright and sweet-tempered, someone both parents could love without the intrusive need to love each other. The cordial atmosphere of the house brought the old cousins and their wives for frequent visits, but Phineas Breeley was forbidden to come near the child. “There are reasons,” said Posey, and after several months of rejection he went back to New Brunswick in very ill humor.

When Lavinia was five Posey consented to an imported governess, Miss Chess, a stout Englishwoman with a clear bell-like voice and gold hair plaited and coiled in a shining little tower on the apex of her head. That same year James bought his little girl a docile pony, something he had ardently wished for in his own warped childhood.

In the years since the Sels had worked on the Gatineau, Maine had been freed from Massachusetts, although there were many people who expected all-out war with the Bay State; a meteor dashing its bloody sparks through the sky had foretold it. But nothing happened and Maine swelled with men, not only rough lumbermen on a three-day guzzle, but jobbers and land agents and Boston men eager to buy pieces of the dwindled pine forest, talking also of spruce and hackmatack, hemlock bark and hardwood. The remaining pineries were scarce and remote, but there were growing markets for other woods. The push was to clear the beetle-browed forest and a profit. Everywhere the great mantle of forest had been torn into small pieces, hundreds of thousands of acres converted to stumps and stubs. The lumber cuts bared once-shaded stream banks, exposing the water to harsh sunlight. Silted pools and gravel bars discouraged trout. Towns were noisy with saloons, eateries, hotels and palaces of pleasure, with the spring and summer rumble of logs. The sawmills ran day and night, the saws constantly under repair, the danger of fire omnipresent. Countless wagons hauled cut lumber to the wharf. Bangor bragged of being the world center of lumber shipping.