Lincoln in the Bardo(24)
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In short, it was dull here, and we craved the slightest variation.
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Anything new was a treasure; we longed for any adventure, the merest lark.
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There would be no harm, we thought, in taking a quick trip.
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Out to where the gentleman sat.
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We need not even tell the Reverend we were going.
We could just…go.
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It was always a relief to be free of the old bore for a bit.
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XXXVII.
Bursting out through the front wall, Mr. Bevins and I set off.
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Ignoring the Reverend’s peevish cries of protest from the roof.
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Cutting down through the clover-engorged dell occupied by the seven flood-sickened members of the Palmer family, we shortly reached that thin gray-slate trail that runs below, passing between Coates on one side and Wemberg on the other.
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Wended our way past Federly, Blessed are those who die in the Light.
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A chess-piece-looking monument, topped with a vase, that ends in what looks like a nipple.
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And proceeded through the M. Boyden/G. Boyden/Gray/Hebbard cluster.
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Into that slight hollow which is, in spring, overgrown with foxglove and coneflower.
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But was now a massive dormant tangle of gray.
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Wherein two slothful winter birds glared at us as we passed.
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Birds being distrustful of our ilk.
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Jogging down the far side of the North Hill, we greeted Merkel (kicked by a bull but still looking forward to the dance); Posterbell (a dandy whose looks had gone, who fervently wished that his hair might be restored and his gums might reverse their recession and the muscles of his arms might no longer resemble flaccid straps and his dinner suit be brought to him, and a bottle of scent and a bouquet of flowers, so that he might once again go courting); Mr. and Mrs. West (fire with no possible cause, as they were always meticulously careful regarding management of the hearth); and Mr. Dill (mumbling contentedly about his grandson’s excellent university marks, eagerly anticipating the spring graduation).
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And proceeded past Trevor Williams, former hunter, seated before the tremendous heap of all the animals he had dispatched in his time: hundreds of deer, thirty-two black bear, three bear cubs, innumerable coons, lynx, foxes, mink, chipmunks, wild turkeys, woodchucks, and cougars; scores of mice and rats, a positive tumble of snakes, hundreds of cows and calves, one pony (carriage-struck), twenty thousand or so insects, each of which he must briefly hold, with loving attention, for a period ranging from several hours to several months, depending on the quality of loving attention he could muster and the state of fear the beast happened to have been in at the time of its passing. Being thus held (the product of time and loving attention being found sufficient, that is), that particular creature would heave up, then trot or fly or squirm away, diminishing Mr. Williams’s heap by one.
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It was an extraordinary pile, nearly as tall as the chapel spire.
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He had been a prodigious hunter and had many years of hard work yet ahead of him.
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He called out to us, arms full of calf, asking us to keep him company, saying that his was good toil but lonely, as he was not permitted to ever stand and stroll about.
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I explained to him that we were on an urgent mission and must not delay.
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Mr. Williams (a good sort, never unhappy, always cheerful since his conversion to gentleness) acknowledged that he understood, by waving one hoof of the calf.
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XXXVIII.
Soon we approached the massive Collier sick-home, of Italian marble, encircled by three concentric rose gardens, marked, on either side, by an ornate fountain (waterless, now, for winter).
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When one owns four homes and has fifteen full-time gardeners perfecting one’s seven gardens and eight man-made streams, one will, of necessity, spend a great deal of time racing between homes and from garden to garden, and so it is perhaps not surprising if, one afternoon, rushing to check on the progress of a dinner one’s cook is preparing for the board of one’s favorite charity, one finds oneself compelled to take a little rest, briefly dropping to one knee, then both knees, then pitching forward on to one’s face and, unable to rise, proceeding here for a more prolonged rest, only to find it not restful at all, since, while ostensibly resting, one finds oneself continually fretting about one’s carriages, gardens, furniture, homes, et al., all of which (one hopes) patiently await one’s return, not having (Heaven forfend) fallen into the hands of some (reckless, careless, undeserving) Other.
percival “dash” collier Mr. Collier (shirt clay-stained at the chest from his fall, nose crushed nearly flat) was constantly compelled to float horizontally, like a human compass needle, the top of his head facing in the direction of whichever of his properties he found himself most worried about at the moment.
The top of his head was now facing west. Our arrival causing his worrying to wane, he let out an involuntary gasp of pleasure, bobbed up to vertical, turned to face us.