Gotterdammerung

By W. F. Twyman, Jr.

Chapter 62

She Pulled Down the Shades

"Mr. Sheriff, they're planning to go to Montreal," shared Louise. Louise fought back tears. She could no longer live in denial about what was happening, how her stable world was crumbling before her eyes. Sheriff Sumner offered Louise a handkerchief which she accepted. She dabbed the corner of each eye. The rows of law books in the Sheriff's office mocked her. [Inner monologue -- If you could read and write, you might have saved your marriage. You are at the mercy of readers in this world. Your mother was wrong not to educate you, Louise.]

"Mrs. Nell, according to the law, alienation of affection is a wrongful action. You are the natural bounty of William G.'s affections because you are husband and wife. If Mrs. Scott has torn those affections asunder, then she could be liable for damages," said Sheriff Sumner. Louise paid rapt attention. "Its like the tailoring business. When William G. mends a garment, he must thread each button so that the button is securely fastened. The law is the same way. In order to securely fasten alienation of affection upon Mrs. Scott, we must fasten details in the law," explained Sheriff Sumner. "I will spare you the details."

"So, it is not enough that she propositioned my husband in broad daylight and said Louise didn't have to know?" asked Louise.

"No, its not. The law will require more fastening," answered the Sheriff. "What I propose is a visit to Montreal ahead of William G. and Mrs. Scott." The Sheriff explained in minute detail how he would contact law enforcement officials in Canada. There were treatises in place between the U.S. Government and the British Government for such international transgressions. As a British colony, the Canadian authorities would be bound to assist in an investigation for a violation of the law. Louise did not understand all of the technicalities but she also knew she had the advantage over her wayward spouse and the Jezebel, Mary.

"Do what you have to do, Mr. Sheriff," said Louise.

"I'll alert the United States Consulate of this sensitive investigation. When William G. is ready to depart with Mrs. Scott, please give me as many details as you can. For example, what is his date and time of departure? When does he anticipate reaching Montreal? Where will he be staying?" said Sheriff Sumner with the exactitude of one who had conducted hundreds of investigations in his career.

That evening, William G. came home for dinner. Louise had prepared supper out of caring for her son, William C. William C. sat down at the table and took out the latest issue of the Liberator. The front page carried a written testament of the striving of the black middle class in Pittsburgh. Wealthy barber and activist John B. Vashon chronicled the furnishings of the finer colored homes in the western city, the epic success of Principal John Templeton in educating colored children, and the moral character of the better class of Negroes. As William G. came to the table, William C. felt an irresistible stirring as if he himself had been cheated upon. And yet he was sworn to silence. He had promised his aggrieved mother.

"Father, Pittsburgh takes my breath away. I do believe John Vashon is giving you a worthy challenge for abolitionist of the year," said William C. William C.'s words lacked sincerity. "Here, read this submission from Vashon about the 'moral character' of the better class of negroes." William C. shoved The Liberator to within inches of his father's hand. "Vashon writes it is vital for colored men of profile to live lives beyond reproach. The white man is so quick to presume colored people degenerate, immoral, shameless. The finer class of colored people in Pittsburgh have made it their anthem to shun those who would bring disrepute on our race," said William C. He let his words linger over the parlor table as his father took up The Liberator and began to read. Louise walked in with apple cider, bread, vegetables, mashed potatoes and chicken. William C. thought it odd. William G.'s first impulse was to call attention to the unusual prepared meal but he thought better of it as he wanted his travel plans to be accepted without a hitch.

"Vashon is a forerunner for our middle-class. I couldn't agree more with him about the responsibility to live lives beyond reproach. We owe it to the slave. We owe it to the free blacks. We owe it to each other," said William G. William C. stared at his father for an uncomfortable moment and then looked away. [Inner monologue -- I respected you. You're the most important person in the world to me. I bear your name. How could you? And with Mary Scott of all people?]

"Did you want to say something, William C.?" asked William G.

"Nothing more, father. Vashon is such a noble, decent man. It takes my breath away," remarked William C. as he sipped a hot cup of apple cider purchased with dollars traceable to the slave trade in all probability.

Louise say down at the table. She took in the two most important men in her life, her two Williams, one middle-aged, handsome and a dreamer, the other a young adult, brilliant and a born agitator. She allowed the rage to swell within her bosom. Where had she gone wrong? Why was she in this place tonight? What had happened to them? More than anything in life, she wanted financial success in dollars and cents. Why had the heavens given her two men who did not care about matters of dollars and cents? It seemed like a cruel joke. She grabbed a diner plate. But the Sheriff had warned her. And her desire for maximum revenge held her back. In time, she thought to herself, in time.

"When do you plan to go to Montreal? I need to make plans for the shop during your absence," said Louise.

William G. could not believe his good fortune. Louise was not objecting or suspicious at all. William C. retrieved The Liberator and buried his face in the written eloquence of John B. Vashon from Pittsburgh. "I plan to go after the holidays. I would leave on January 6 and return on January 31. That would leave a week for travel to Montreal, and a week in Montreal, and a week to return to Boston."

"Will you be traveling through Vermont?" asked Louise in a nonchalant manner.

"Yes, Mary and I will visit James at Salisbury and then her brother in Brownington before slipping across the border into Canada," said William G. He thought to himself the Canadian border was magical to Mary. She loved how the northern line between the countries revealed itself in racial difference, racial freedom to the north and racial caste to the south. They would have endless hours of conversations about race and the Canadian Line and, if Mary felt up to it, the bandage on her right hand and the kidnapping.

"Have you thought about lodging," asked Louise.

"No, but Montreal is a big city. We'll find accommodation with ease. I'm sure of it," said William G.

"How many shaving powder merchants are you going to solicit?" asked Louise.

William G. had not thought out the details. He had to be careful now to keep his story straight. "Five. We'll visit at least five powder suppliers and solicit bids," said William G.

"Do you have names?" asked Louise as she circled in on her prey.

"Hmmn, I don't remember the names right now but I have them written down at the shop," said William G. [Inner thought -- Change the subject.] "Can you pass the mashed potatoes, William C." William C. obliged like a sullen adolescent. "Paid for with the blood, sweat and tears of the bondsman."

Louise decided to toy with her prey. "I should come with you. Soliciting bids and squaring away dollars and cents is my strong suit. You are a strong tailor, not a negotiator. And Mary, bless her Christian heart, doesn't have a mind for business." [Inner thought -- The Jezebel!]

William G. became flush. His body temperature rose. Tiny beds of seat appeared on his light-skinned forehead underneath his curly hair. "That would be irresponsible for our customers at the shop. They will need their clothes hewed and mended after holidays. I wouldn't want to close down the shop and lost a months' worth of accounts receivables, not in these time., Louise. You understand," said William G. His heart beat had picked up. Louise looked at her husband and felt her full advantage. She did not hasten to relieve her adulterous husband from his misery. She took her sweet time.

“I suppose you're right, William G. But it's a pity. I could be of such 'service'", Louise proffered.

No one spoke during the rest of supper. No one.

The next day, William G. knocked on Mary's front door. She opened the door, pulled William G. inside and closed the door. They fell into one another again as they always did nowadays. There was no pretense of boundaries, or moral qualms, of the right and the wrong. Pleasure was right. Feeling was right. Touch, smell, sensation -- nothing else mattered behind the front door at Third and Wood. They kissed again and again before Mary stopped to gather her breath.

"It's done," said William G. "We'll leave for Montreal on January 6 and return to Boston on January 31. Louise knows we're going for business reasons and she'll watch the tailoring shop in my absence."

"Oh, that's wonderful. I'm so excited. And we'll travel up Vermont as we planned," asked Mary.

"Yes, yes, my love, as we planned," said William G.

Mary led William G. to the bedroom....

And as Mary led William G. to the bedroom, Sheriff Sumner offered Louise a seat in the Sheriff's office. "Would you care for coffee, tea, or cider?" asked the Sheriff.

"No thank you, Mr. Sheriff," said Louise. "I have details for the Montreal trip." The Sheriff grabbed parchment and a quill pen for taking notes.

What are the details?" asked the Sheriff.

"They will leave Boston on January 6. They plan to travel through Vermont. They will first visit Mary's son, James, at Salisbury, and then Mary's brother in Brownington, before crossing the border into Canada. From the border, they will head to Montreal and spend a week there before retuning to Boston," said Louise.

"Very good, Mrs. Nell. I know this type of investigation must be hard on you and I wanted to say I appreciate your cooperation thus far and confidentiality," said Sheriff Sumner.

"Thank you , Mr. Sheriff," said Louise.

"Do you know where they are staying in Montreal?" asked Sheriff Sumner.

"No, I don't," said Louise.

"Well, colored Americans in Montreal shouldn't be hard to find. I presume your husband doesn't speak French?" asked the Sheriff.

"He only speaks English," said Louise.

"And Mrs. Scott. Do you know if she speaks French?" asked the Sheriff.

"I don't know, " replied Louise. "I do not know."

"Were there holes in his story?" asked the Sheriff.

"Yes, he couldn't tell me the names of the powder merchants he would be calling upon. That's the whole point of his visit to Montreal, to assist Mary with securing competitive arrangements" said Louise.

"I presume those are all lies," said Sheriff Sumner. "I've seen it before."

"Louise, I'm going to contact the U.S. Consulate this afternoon with this information. You have done well. I promised you the truth and you will have the truth," said Sheriff Sumner.

"Thanks you, Mr. Sheriff. Much obliged," said Louise as she prepared to leave the Sheriff's office. "Much obliged."

Sheriff Sumner walked Louise outside into the crisp November air. There was a chilly breeze coming in off of the harbor. The skies were overcast. An early snow threatened to dust the city landscape.

The holidays that season had the feel of impending change in the air. William G., Louise and William C. maintained appearances to the outside world. William G. continued to speak out against discrimination in public accommodations throughout the city of Boston. He urged selective boycotts of the most discriminating stagecoach and train companies with growing success. William C. submitted petition after petition demanding closure of he Smith School to the Boston School Committee. He made no head way with the conservative factions but he was young and a crusader. He was prepared for a lifetime of struggle. Louise, with the acumen of a chess master, calculated how she might inflict the most pain on her husband and his mistress.

Thanksgiving was hardest on Mary. She was alone in her home as William G. spent the day with his family. She brooded about how she wanted to share this special day with the man she loved. But the reality was William G. was a married man with a family. Mary had hoped James could come home for Thanksgiving turkey and fixings. 197 miles separated Salisbury from Boston, however, and the condition of Vermont roads would keep James with the Whipples. Along and in love and without her lover, she tossed and turned Thanksgiving morning. She couldn't sleep. She thought how unnatural it was not not be able to love in peace. She no longer turned to the Bible for strength. Adrift in emotions, she woke at 4:00 in the morning and cooked a feast for one. She started a fire in the fireplace. The crackling warmth seeped into her bones and gave her solace. She walked into the kitchen, selected her favorite Middleburg tea and heated a pot of water over the open heath. She had too much food for one person and it depressed her. She had turkey, chicken, ham, pheasant, corn bread, cranberries, dried fruit, apple cider, apple pie -- all of the traditional fare she had served Ted and James over the years. Thanksgiving was about memories with family around the parlor table. Overcome with emotion and alone, she wept as the sun rose in the morning sky.

James came home for Christmas that year. He exuded self-confidence. He had left for school that year aware that his mother was struggling with money. But she had sworn to him money worries were her concern, not his. And so he had forgotten about those cares.

On James' first night at home, William G. paid a visit to hear first-hand about the petition fight to expel blacks from Salisbury.

"Now imagine, there are only three colored students in the whole school and Robinson tries to paint Salisbury as a 'Negro' college,'" Recalled James. He had the rapt attention of Mary and William G. "I had done research and I knew another college was worthier of the title. Oberlin College had four colored students and yet Robinson had omitted Oberlin from his screech. I got the better of him."

"What a great story. Be sure to tell The Liberator. A story like that would raise the hopes of our people here in Boston," said William G. William G. sat across from Mary at the parlor table. He began to caress Mary's leg under the table with his foot. Mary's eyes lit up. No, not now!

"Tell me more," asked William G. He took his big toe and moved slowly, ever so slowly, up Mary's leg. Mary covered her mouth with her hand and looked at James.

"Well, the low point was this southerner, Steven Alexander Barclay IV. He came out of the gate with 'Nigga' this and 'Nigga' that. I walked out," said James. William G. gave James the most severe eye contact while edging his toe higher and higher up Mary's leg. Mary was beside herself with pleasure and desire. She stirred.

"I walked out of the barn and was ready to throw it all away until my buddy, Vashon, reminded me of the bigger struggle. It wasn't about the racial slurs of a prejudiced Virginian. The prize was securing a foothold for generations of colored students at Salisbury. Vashon was right. And I felt it. I felt the actions we took would reverberate across the country," said James.

William G. stared at James and listened with intensity. His passions were centered in his big toe, his lover's legs, and Mary's suppressed groans. She squirmed, moving side to side in delicious delirium.

"Mother, have you had too much apple cider?" asked James.

"No, said James, I'm fine," Mary said. William G. relented.

"Robinson was behind the whole thing from start to finish. But we defeated his evil ends. He wanted me expelled. If he couldn't fail me out of his class, then he would get rid of me because I was a n-----. Well, he lost and I won," said James.

The days between Christmas and the departure for Montreal were a blur. William G. spent extra hours completing his backlog of orders so he would have no clothes to tailor come January 6. He read books about Canada and Montreal. He began packing winter clothes for sleigh rides around Mount Royal. Mary shopped for fashionable cold weather gloves and fur coats. James spent time at his father's barbershop and saw first hand the slow conditions. Louise counted the days.

The morning of January 6 arrived. William G. pulled up the team of horses and wagon that would take William G., Mary and James to Salisbury. William G. packed his provisions. He said good-bye with an affectionate hug. He did not kiss Louise good-bye. He drove the team the few blocks over to Third and Wood. Mary had been waiting for William G. to arrive. She flung open the front door. Her natural impulse was to kiss William G. on the lips but James was behind her. And so she offered her hand to William G. for an acceptable kiss. One day, she would have to be open with James. She could not keep this secret from her son forever.

William G. and James packed the Scott luggage onto the wagon. Mary stepped up into the seat followed by James. William G. came around the front and fed the horses apples to spur them on. And then they were off for Vermont. They headed towards the Charles River Bridge. James told them about the famous Charles River Bridge case and how the common place bridge they took for granted had made Constitutional history. As James talked about the parties and doctrines, William G. could hear in James' voice Ted's dream taking root. James had learned the arcane language of lawyers. He understood what had sounded like Greek to Ted -- precedent, rationale, dictum. Ted had believed learning the language of law was power, a power needed by a poor, oppressed people. Mary sat in amazement and took in the growth in her son. Just two seasons ago, he was a stubborn teenager content to cook sublime dishes at home. Now, he had entered a larger world, a colored pioneer in the law. She wished her parents were still alive to see their grandson pushing back a new frontier for colored people.

Listening to James talk about the law brought William G. and Mary closer together. They both shared the goal of his becoming a lawyer. They both could see into a better future. And they marveled at the change in the young man beside them.

Sarah was the first one to see the approaching team of horses.

"Mother, Father, its James and his family!" exclaimed Sarah Whipple as she saw the travelers up the road. Professor and Mrs. Whipple came outside onto their front yard. Shakespeare recognized James and ran like pure joy to greet his old playmate.

"You must be Mrs. Scott, James' mother. Pleased to meet you," said Sarah.

"The pleasure is mine," said Mary as she recognized country manners from her youth.

"And you must be..."

"My name is William G. I'm a good friend of Mrs. Scott,” said William G.

As the wagon approached the Whipple home, James began to unload the wagon and to take luggage and provisions into the Whipple home. The Whipples introduced themselves to Mary and William G. Everyone went inside for a warm serving of tea with Vermont cheese.

"Professor Whipple, thank you for the hospitality you've shown James," said Mary.

"Its been our pleasure. Few students at Salisbury have been as successful in the face of obstacles as James. Lesser characters might have succumbed to unfairness but not James. You and your late husband did a fine job in rearing him. You're to be congratulated," praised Professor Whipple. "James is on course despite Robinson," said Mary. "Perseverance always prevails."

Mary and Professor Whipple continued to talk about James' progress, both taking pride in his stubbornness. "Don't you agree self-reliance is the secret to success? My parents lived by those values and attitudes. You can see the fruit of their dreams in my brother, Alexander," said Mary. Professor Whipple smiled in agreement. Mary and Professor Whipple shared these Vermont ways of thinking about the world.

"And yet there remains a role for brotherhood and fellowship too. So much of the success we have gained in Boston can be attributed to the African Meeting House, the Anti-Slavery Society. The Liberator – colored men and white abolitionists coming together to fight slavery and uplift the black race,” interjected William G.

“We have to achieve as individuals before we can achieve as a group,” replied Mary. “Every colored person of note has labored alone for years in the wilderness before they were successful and of benefit to the group – Rev. Haynes, my brother, James,” said Mary. Of course, William G. disagreed as he had seen the benefits of a united community when dealing with train and stagecoach men of business. The lone colored passenger had little recourse against the bigoted railways while the loss of group business was a powerful club for equal treatment. The spirited conversation continued into the evening.

William G. and Mary stayed with the Whipples for three days. Professor Whipple and James gave the two a tour of Salisbury College, including the classroom where the infamous Colored Mondays had been conducted. James showed them the barn where the debate had raged on about the admission of colored students to Salisbury College. At James’ insistence, they took a trip to the top of the surrounding mountains and looked upon the valley floor below. James asked his mother why did she continue to bandage her hand. She said the kitchen knife had left a deep scar which she found embarrassing. James didn’t press the matter. William G. squeezed Mary’s hand. Within a week, William G. and Mary would arrive in Brownington.

“Up ahead, that is Alexander’s house!” said Mary.

In the distance on a snow-covered meadow, a two-story house came into view. There were columns on either side of the front door. There were two first-floor windows left of the front door and two first-floor windows to the right of the front door. There were five windows on the second floor, including a middle window directly over the front door. The roof sloped downward allowing snow to fall to the ground. Mary noticed smoke billowing from the chimney on top the roof and to the right of the front door. An old tree stood in the front yard to the right of the house and, behind the old tree, Mary could see the faint outline of a mountain. Across the street sat a prominent, imposing four-story stone structure, “Athenian Hall,” site of the Brownington Boarding Academy. Alexander had built the Academy by himself, stone by stone, day by day.

Mary bounded out of the buggy as the stage coach driver brought the horses to a halt.

Alexander opened the front door and welcomed his little sister. She hugged and hugged her big brother for the longest time, as if in search of redemption, forgiveness, thanksgiving, love. “Alexander, I’ve missed you so since we last saw each other in Salisbury.”

“How is James?” asked Alexander.

“James has shown doggedness that would make you proud. He completed a law class despite the sneers of his teacher, Professor Robinson. He now talks about the law like a lawyer. He’s on his way,” said Mary.

Outstanding! That’s the way to success. He must work harder than anyone else in his class. If he can do that, he is guaranteed success. I know it,” said Alexander. “Step inside, Mary, warm up by the fireplace.” Mary slipped inside and slipped. She fell hard on the wooden floor, dislodging her bandage.

“Mary!” said Alexander as he stepped to help his sister off the floor. She resisted her brother’s assistance while securing her bandage. Just at that moment, William G. came into the house.

“Mary, what happened?”

“She slipped and fell,” said Alexander. “Let’s move her up to the coach.” Together, William G. and Alexander lifted Mary up by her underarms and carried her to the couch. “Don’t apply pressure to your foot. Just rest for now.”

“I’m so embarrassed. You would think I had forgotten how to move around in snow and ice,” said Mary “After all we have been through to get here and I stumble in my brother’s house.” Lacy, Alexander’s wife, brought in a hot cup of Middleburg tea for Mary to sooth herself.

“What do you mean, Mary?” asked her brother.

Mary and William G. regaled Alexander and his wife with the multitude of travails they had surmounted to reach Brownington. Mary referred to their adventures of near-death experiences on mountain roads and rickety bridges as a Snow Trek worthy of a Vermont novel. Their journey reminded Alexander of The Pilgrim’s Progress, the old Christian story of a protagonist who meets insuperable barriers in his journey towards the Celestial City. “Like the pilgrim of old, you had to be tested on our journey,” said Alexander. “And that’s how you injured your hand, I suspect.” Mary nodded in quick agreement as did William G.

Alexander went to his study in the adjoining room and retrieved The Pilgrim’s Progress from the bookshelf. He thumbed through the pages until he found the verse he returned to time and again:

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil:

for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff comfort me.”

Mary loved Alexander. He gave her comfort. He understood her in a way only siblings reared as a colored family in a small Vermont town could understand one another. The injury to her ankle was not serious. The scar to her hand was always covered. And even the psychological wound of abduction with her freedom in balance dimmed while under her brother’s roof two counties over from Canada. After a good night’s sleep in the guest bedroom, she felt centered.

But Alexander did not know the full truth. He did not know of the kidnapping and the violation and the blessed rescue in broad daylight. Neither did he know his baby sister coveted another woman’s husband. Over supper, Alexander had said William G. and Mary were making a pilgrim’s progress towards the Celestial City of Montreal again and again. Mary grimaced inside. She said nothing. And in doing so, she deceived her brother. When would the deceptions come to an end? Suppose she had died in the arms of William G., a married man, while making her way to Brownington? In her brother’s eyes, Mary was the little sister who lived the Christian faith. She loved her Saviour more than her family. She was the living, breathing embodiment of all the good Rev. Haynes stood for. She had changed now and she could not bring herself to allow her Alexander to see his baby sister as an adulterer or a ravished victim of a kidnapping. And so she kept silent.

How would Alexander have responded if he knew the truth? That he was sheltering two adulterers under his roof? Mary did not know.

When it came time to board the stage coach in Brownington for Montreal, the driver gave William G. and Mary a warm greeting as two survivors of mortal combat might. Mary hugged Alexander with even more passion than upon her arrival. She recognized the fleeting nature of life, that tomorrow was not promised to any man or woman. “I love you, Alexander,” Mary whispered in a long embrace.

“I love you, Mary. Always trust in the Lord. He will provide,” replied Alexander.

The stage coach departed Brownington at 2:00 p.m. William G. and Mary were twenty miles from the Canadian border. William G. watched Mary’s face as she came alive.

“When I was a little girl, I would dream about the Canadian border. I found it fascinating. A line on the ground meant the difference between slavery and freedom. One foot here, I’m in a slave country. One foot here, I’m in a free country. I found it interesting, no, I found it fascinating,” remembered Mary. She looked towards the distance and saw Canada. “You can see Canada from Alexander’s house,” said Mary. “I used to dream about people in Canada. What were they like? What happened to the descendants of runway slaves that made it to Canada? How were colored people treated in Canada? Did it make a difference whether you lived in English-speaking or French-speaking Canada,” mused Mary.

“The colored man is still black in Canada,” posited William, G. “I imagine there’s more freedom but black freedom does not equal white freedom.”

“Well, I’m dying to find out,” said Mary as she pulled William G. closer for warmth. William G. could not have chosen a more suitable city to romance Mary than Montreal. A British domain since the Seven Years War, Montreal had been incorporated as a city in 1832. It sat on an island bustling with linguistic diversity as English speakers made their peace with French speakers. The harbor view of the city was spectacular at night as oil lanterns lit up homes in the distance. What William G. found most beautiful were the views from Mount Royal, a hilly peak in the center of the city. From the top, one could see the vast expanse of the city laid out before the elbow of the St. Lawrence River. And it was in Canada.

At the border, William G. and Mary reached for their Commonwealth of Massachusetts passports. The U.S. Department of State refused to issue passports to colored Americans on the theory that black people were not citizens of the U.S. Senator Lynch had been influential in maintaining this policy. The immigration clerk reviewed the state passports and passed William G. and Mary along. The clerk also recorded their names, William Guion Nell and Mary Twilight Scott and their destination, Montreal. As he did so, he reviewed an alert from the United States Consulate. The clerk jotted down a message on official letterhead and sealed the message in an envelope.

“Halt!” the immigration clerk said to the departing driver. The driver brought his team of horses to a slow stop. “Please deliver this message to the U.S. Consulate in Montreal. I beg of you. It is official business.” The driver was familiar with the U.S. office as it was five blocks north of the stagecoach terminus. He agreed to deliver the envelope.

As the immigration clerk returned to his border station, William G, smelled the faint scent of Vermont Nectar on Mary’s neck. The smell triggered visceral memories for William G. – the first kiss in the parlor, the first night in Mary’s bed, the first time under the old Elm Tree in the Common. William G. turned to Mary and kissed her fingers. It was all the suggestion Mary needed. She pulled down the shades on the coach doors.