MY THEODOSIA (11 page)

When he reached Richmond Hill and shut himself in the library, he found that for once his disciplined mind refused to obey him. He could not work. Dozens of letters demanded careful answer. A communication in cipher from Timothy Green in South Carolina awaited decoding. It was important. It would tell him how nearly the South had been won over by the work he had required from Joseph, how much remained to be done when Joseph went home next week, ostensibly to prepare his family and plantation for the reception of a bride, but also to further the campaign.

Rhode Island and Vermont, too, needed careful handling. They had satisfactorily growing groups of Burrites, but they needed guidance, one of those subtle yet tersely frank letters that he knew so well how to write. Usually he flung himself into these matters, savoring the secret pleasure of manipulat
ing factions, admiring as though it were a separate entity the smooth power of his brain.

And tonight it would not function. He paced up and down the library, his light steps soundless on the ingrain carpet, his fingers twined behind his back. At last he stopped before Theo's portrait, consulting the sweet candid face which looked down on him. His lips tightened. With sudden decision, he went to the bell-pull.

Alexis finally appeared, sleepy and astonished. Colonel Burr, ever considerate of servants, never summoned them at a late hour.

'Yes, sir, master?'

'Wake up Dick and tell him to saddle Selim quickly. I wish to go out.'

T
HE
Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens had recently been moved from town to Bayard's Mount on upper Broadway near Spring Street. Delacroix, the owner, had bought the old Bayard homestead and planted the former farmland with a profusion of ornamental shrubs threaded by brick paths. In the center, dominating the gardens, stood a colossal equestrian statue of General Washington. Around its base were scattered small wooden refreshment tables.

The orchestra and singers were grouped on a high platform romantically erected in a grove of maples, so that their music might give the effect of floating disembodied from amongst the rustling leaves.

Two small fountains plashed into granite basins and sparkled with prismatic lights from fireworks and colored flares that were much admired features of the entertainment.

One of these illuminations was in progress as Theodosia and the others entered the gates. A rocket whizzed up across the black sky, exploded with a deafening bang, and showered the trees with red, white, and blue stars.

'Tiens, c'est joli,' remarked Natalie. The Count and Joseph murmured agreement. Theo said nothing. For despite the fitful light of pine torches and candles, she had seen the captain at once. He sat alone at a table near one of the fountains, his long legs crossed, his arms folded, scanning the face of each passer-by. Theo felt as if the rocket had exploded in her own breast.

She saw him start as he recognized her. Her fingers tightened around her fan until one of the sandalwood sticks snapped. They were no nearer meeting each other here than they had been at the theater. Miss Burr of Richmond Hill, hemmed in by a fiancé, a count, and the conventional Natalie, could not make overtures to an unknown captain. She still retained enough reason to realize that she had somehow been precipitated into an unknown country whose laws to her companions would seem incredible.

Though totally unaccustomed to guile, again her desperation furnished her with a scheme. It would never have worked had Aaron been there, but he—oh, most fortunately—was not.

'Shall we walk around a bit?' she asked Joseph.

'By all means,' said Natalie. 'It will be agreeable.'

Theo pouted. 'But Joseph and I want to be by ourselves. You and the Count have an ice here, and wait for us.'

Natalie laughed and obediently sat down. It was good to see Theo acting a bit amoureuse, and after all with one's fiancé——

Theo felt a flick of shame at Joseph's pleased smile, at the possessive way in which he pulled her hand through his arm
and led her down one of the shadowed paths. But she was caught up beyond shame or pity, or any emotion she had ever known.

They walked some distance, as far as she dared, when she clutched her hands together and cried 'Oh!' in tragic tones.

'What is it, Theo?' said Joseph anxiously.

'My seed-pearl ring. I've lost it! It's gone from my finger.

Oh, Joseph, go quickly and see if it is in the chaise. Please—— Yes, I'll be all right here. I'll go back to the others. Hurry, do.'

Joseph lumbered away.

She stood alone on the path, around a bend which hid her from the main part of the gardens. Music drifted through the windless air and mingled with the call of a whippoorwill from the meadows outside. Above her head from its iron bracket, a torch guttered, shedding orange light on marble urns filled with geraniums and the fragrant white spikes of flowering privet. And these seemed to her like fairy flowers, indescribably lovely.

She waited quietly, without embarrassment, knowing that he would come to her. But when he stood before her, so tall, his black cocked hat in his hand, his powdered hair shining in the torchlight, she could not speak.

'I didn't think I'd ever find you,' he said, and his voice was the one she had expected, grave, a little harsh, yet softened now by wonder. She knew what he meant, and that he did not refer to this moment.

'What happened to us?' she said simply. 'I don't understand. When I saw you back there in the theater, I felt that I had always known you, that I knew what you were thinking. I had to talk to you. You do not think me common or vulgar that I meet you this way?'

'You know that I don't.'

She looked up at him and smiled. 'This is passing strange,' she said softly.

He nodded. The grim lines about his mouth had vanished so that he seemed young, almost as young as she.

'I've seen you many times before tonight: in the embers of campfires, on the snow-tops of the Alleghenies, reflected in the waters of unnamed rivers. Not your face, perhaps, but you'. His words seemed to her exquisitely fantastic, part of the enchanted borderland in which they wandered together. Louder and more insistent came the wailing of the violins through the trees. A pair of lovers pushed past them and disappeared down the path.

'There is time aplenty to dream in the wilderness,' he added, as though she had questioned.

Wilderness. The thought was alien to her and yet beautiful. She repeated it slowly. 'Wilderness. And what have you to do with the wilderness?'

He raised his head. She saw his eyes darken. 'It has been my mistress, my life. It is where I belong.'

He stepped nearer, but he did not touch her.

'I know nothing of women,' he said, with roughness. 'I do not even think of you as a woman—yet.'

'As what, then?' she whispered.

'As a dream made into flesh: the fulfillment of a longing'. Theo thought, the fulfillment of a longing—yes. This moment, this second, is happiness. Nothing must touch it, I must not think or it will dissolve.

'Hark!' he said. 'What is that song? It's beautiful, part of this—and us.'

She bent her head and listened. It was a recent popular song; she had heard it many times, but it had meant nothing to her. Now, standing beside him, each plaintive tone of the low contralto voice sped to her heart.

Water, parted from the sea, may increase the river's tide,
To the bubbling fount may flee, or through fertile valleys glide;
Tho' in search of lost repose, through the land'tis free to roam,
Still it murmurs as it flows, panting for its native home.
Heart of mine, away from thee, sever'd from its only rest,
Tosses as a troubled sea, bound within my aching breast.
Thou alone canst give release, sprayed my burning eyes with brine.
Swelling e'er with love's increase, let my heart find rest in thine.

The soft notes died away to a distant spatter of hand-clapping.

'Let my heart find rest in thine,' he quoted slowly. 'Do you understand that—my dear?'

She looked up at him, and her eyes were filled with tears.

'Yes, I understand, but——' She broke off with a cry of fear. She heard the light footsteps behind them, even before she heard the voice she knew best in the world, tense with anger.

'Indeed, a most charming little scene,' said Aaron. He stood beside them, his face rigid.

'And just who is this individual with whom I find you philandering in corners like a street wench?'

The Captain grew white as the marble urn behind him; his hand flew to his sword hilt, but he said evenly, 'I am Meriwether Lewis of the First Regiment of Infantry'. He stepped forward, and, presenting his back to Aaron as though he were non-existent, added gently to Theo, 'There are two people who call me Meme, persons for whom I care. Will you, also?'

She dared not answer him; indeed, she no longer saw him clearly; her vision was blurred with fear by the fury she saw in her father's face.

'Father—no—please——' She heard her own hysterical cry and bit her lip. That was wrong, that was not the way. There must be a meeting-point somewhere between these two men. Aaron loved her; somehow she must make him understand.

She summoned all her control and forced a nearly natural laugh. 'You have no cause to be angry, Papa,' she said swiftly. 'The Captain and I met here by chance. He doesn't even know my name——'

'So? Then I shall be pleased to inform him. Sir, I am Aaron Burr, and this my daughter, Theodosia. She is betrothed to Mr. Alston. She has, therefore, two men who will be delighted to defend the honor and fair name which she herself seems to hold so light.'

Captain Lewis bowed. 'At your service,' he said coldly. 'But your daughter's honor and fair name are not in question. True, I did not know that she was betrothed, yet had I known it would have made no difference; I still would have sought any opportunity to talk with her.'

Aaron saw Theo's sharp intake of breath and her terrified eyes. His anger vanished. He was ashamed of the rage which had shaken him; he had long ago learned that one is never master of a situation when possessed by anger. This long cool fellow had so far had the advantage.

He performed one of his bewildering voltes-face, turning on the full force of his magnetism as though from a spigot.

'Come, Captain Lewis, perhaps I've been overhasty. You must in fairness admit that the situation was startling. Still, I'm willing to make allowances for young blood. It is but natural that a soldier should wish to dally with a pretty face'. Lewis did not relax; he threw Aaron a look of contempt. 'Ask your daughter if that is all it was.'

Aaron went on quickly: 'I do not need to ask my daughter. I know very well that she is already regretting whatever moment of folly her youth and the September evening have betrayed her into.'

'Colonel Burr, I've heard much of you. I am a friend of Jefferson's. I have heard that you arc totally unscrupulous
and obsessed by self-interest. I have not liked your reputation, nor the rumors of underhanded conniving which reached me even out beyond the mountains at Fort Wheeling, but I am willing to hope that I was misinformed about you, because you are possessed of such a daughter.'

Theo gasped. The incredible words repeated themselves senselessly in her mind: 'underhanded, conniving, unscrupulous'. That anyone should dare to speak like this to her father! Suddenly she saw Lewis with hostile eyes. Her own behavior became shameful. She moved to Aaron's side, touched his arm timidly, and he, seeing this, laughed with maddening calm.

'My dear, it seems that this backwoods captain sets himself up to be my critic. I think we need scarcely bother with his opinion. Good night to you, Captain Lewis.'

Meriwether Lewis did not move. He was sick at heart; he cursed his bluntness and lack of polished manner. He saw the girl's face averted, closed against him, she who had responded so deeply to him for the space of a few hours.

He was a lonely and reserved man, outwardly cold. He had spent most of his twenty-six years in the open, leading the rough life of a frontier officer. His men respected his courage and resourcefulness, but they thought him hard, unsympathetic. And so he was, except in the wilderness, alone. Rivers, trees, and mountains had been his friends. He knew as much of woodcraft and the ways of beasts as an Indian.

No woman had ever before touched his soul. Yet he had told her the simple truth when he said that he had dreamed of her. Deep hidden in him there ran a strain of mysticism, inherited from his Gaelic forefathers.

When he had seen her there in the theater, he had felt his formless yearning satisfied. They had looked at each other and he had seen, beneath her pretty face, the unawakened
passion and fire of her spirit. He had not thought of anything so banal as love in the conventional sense. He did not do so now. But he knew that they belonged together; that in each the other would find completion. She had felt it, too, yet now he could no longer reach her. Her betrothal of itself would not have deterred him: he was accustomed to a simpler society, a lawless country where a man takes the woman he wants. It was the change in the girl herself.

He saw her as a prisoner, a willing, eager prisoner who had escaped her chains for a little while, and now rushed back to them bewildered, clinging to the dear familiarity of her confinement.

Yet he could not believe his dismissal. He used the name which he had just learned was hers. 'Theodosia——' It was a call so intense and fraught with emotion that Aaron was astounded. How in Heaven's name had all this come about in so short a time? His arm tightened around his daughter. 'My dear girl, really—will you be good enough to bid this insistent gentleman good night and Godspeed?'

Theo raised her heavy lashes. Her dark eyes were veiled. They met Lewis's pleading despair, and a hot pain went through her breast. But the sureness and the vision were gone. The pattern of her life could not so quickly be unraveled. Aaron was right, as always. Soldiers did dally with pretty faces, and this backwoods captain had dared to criticize her father.

'Good-bye, Captain Lewis,' she said slowly, and turned her head away.