Phantoms In Philadelphia (25 page)

Portraits of famous people, from scientists to
heroes of the revolution, were staring down at us from their frames
on the walls. There were insects, fossils, coins, and an organ loft
that played music as people viewed the curiosities. When we left
the long room, and I caught sight of the marine room, I jerked
back, causing Andrew to chuckle.

“John,” I called over my shoulder, but not taking my
eyes from the fright before me, “remind me never to set foot in the
ocean.” What Mr. Peale called a hammer head shark, though I thought
it more a creature from the depths of hell, was ahead of us.

Edith would not even step foot in the room, so I
released Andrew’s arm and went to stand beside her, telling the
others that Edith and I would like to view the long room again and
that they should take their time. Edith nearly pulled me away,
while Jack apologized to Mr. Peale for our lack of scientific
enjoyment.

When they joined us, and Andrew said we were to view
the great beast, I again took his arm. The American Incognitum, as
it was called by most, was the skeletal remains of a mastodon that
Mr. Peale had excavated years before. It was said to be so large
that a banquet could be served beneath its ribcage, and there were
rumors that such a thing had happened when Mr. Peale first opened
his museum.

As we walked to the other building, Andrew and I had
a chance to speak as Jack and Edith fell behind with Mr. Peale and
his son.

“I was pleased to see that Miss Harvey and not Miss
Clark was with your brother. Might I drop a friendly word in your
ear?” He did not wait for me to agree before saying, “That
connection should be severed before it has a chance to take root.”
I did not know what to say, so I said nothing.

He continued seriously. “Whom you know is important
and whom you marry is even more so. Having connections such as
those, without family, are never good for one’s aspirations,
especially those seeking political power.”

I did not misunderstand what he was saying, but I
pretended to. “John has no political aspirations.”

“No, but I do and when you and I
marry having a brother who is married to a woman of no family would
be a hindrance to our aspirations.” Unable to breathe, I stopped
and turned to look up at him in astonishment. It was not that he
took for granted that I would marry him; it was that he had made an
unofficial declaration. A part of me wanted to dance or shout or
sing for joy. What I wanted more than anything was imminent. But,
my excitement was
tempered with the
knowledge that I did not entirely agree with his words about
Guinevere. Jack was a man and could choose whomever he wanted for
his life’s partner, as I would choose mine. I would not hold it
against Andrew, for what he said did make a certain amount of
sense. I could hear my mother’s voice in my head instructing me to
encourage Andrew,
for men will never come
to the point without the necessary encouragement.

“I cannot speak for what will happen with my brother
and Miss Clark, but I do hope that it will not hinder our
future.”

He did not miss my meaning. He took my gloved hand
and kissed the back. “Nothing in the world could do that, and if
you have no objection, I would like to seek an interview with your
brother soon.”

“I have no objection,” I replied earnestly though
breathlessly.

“Come along, you two, the great American Incognitum
awaits,” Jack called to us as they passed us.

Andrew leaned closer to me. “Others are always
watching. We must be above reproof.”

Jack

24 June 1816

I
n my
bedchamber, Leo spoke as he helped me into my coat. “Jericho said
that the ground was covered in ice again this morning. A quarter
inch in the country is what is being said.”

The farmers were all in a tremor as
there had not been a day to go by without frost or ice covering the
ground. Snow was falling in the northern states. We had not seen
snow in Philadelphia, but the cold temperatures, ice and frost
every week were little better. Crops were on the brink of
ruination, and some shopkeepers were claiming shortages due to
passes being covered in snow
. Snow in
June.
If the weather persisted, we could be
facing a panic. If there were no crops, there was no food, and if
there was no food, people would starve.

My mother had been selling valuables for months to
keep ahead of the creditors, but last week she had sold the last of
the good silver. Bess had been distraught, but there was no other
way to keep us afloat. With George missing, the small stipend that
we made as Phantoms had been cut off. We had nothing to contribute.
All we had left were the family heirlooms that Mother would not
part with, a small farm in North Carolina, and the plantation in
Savannah. The state of our finances made my appointment with
Guinevere timely. Once I married, my fortune would be released from
the trust, but money was the least of reasons why I wanted to marry
Guinevere.

Instead of taking the carriage the
five roads that separated my house from Guinevere’s, I walked. I
spent the time considering what I would say. How did one propose
marriage? Should I kneel? Should I speak some verse to her beauty,
or do I simply
tell her what is in my
heart? Thinking the words was one thing, but saying them aloud was
something else entirely.

When I reached Guinevere’s house, I had no more
notion of what I would say than I did when I decided that I would
propose. I tapped on the door and waited. With each second that
ticked by, my heart felt like it might explode. The rapidity of the
beatings was making me even more nervous. Inhaling and exhaling
deep breaths did nothing to calm me. My palms were sweaty in my
gloves, and every moment that passed tied my stomach into another
knot. When two minutes passed without an answer, I knocked harder.
The door swung open with my hand poised to knock again. Martha
greeted me with a wide grin, remembering to take my hat, gloves,
and walking stick. She laid them on a small table and motioned
toward the parlor door.

“I have a soufflé near destruction,” she muttered,
before she bustled off toward the back of the house. She was ever a
curiosity.

After straightening my white cravat before the
looking glass on the wall, I moved to the open parlor door.
Guinevere was seated upon the sofa reading a book, dressed in a
light blue gown that made her eyes look more blue than purple. I
walked to her and bowed.

“You are punctual as ever, John. Do be seated.” We
had given up trying to maintain a formal air at the picnic. She was
Guinevere, and I was John, though, at times, she slipped and called
me Jack. It was those moments that I craved.

“Guinevere, I have something that I would ask
you.”

She set her book aside and clasped her hands. She
appeared serenely confident, all but the way she was biting on her
bottom lip. Gazing down at her, I saw my future, and there was no
hint of fear.

All I had known since childhood was
duty—to the Phantoms, to my father, to protect my country in both
war and work, and now duty to provide for my mother and sister. I
was tired of doing the work of others, and I never wanted Guinevere
to become a duty, that I
had
to marry her because I was stealing her guardian
from her, or to unlock my fortune.

When I was contemplating proposing, I had taken a
moment to consider giving her up. My heart had immediately
constricted in grief at the thought of anyone else touching her,
kissing her; God forbid the rest. It had all become clear. I knew
what I wanted for my life, and looking into her eyes, I was sure
that I would never regret my decision. I opened my mouth to pour
out my soul to her, but was cut off by a deep voice behind me.

“What is the meaning of this?” Richard demanded as
he stalked into the room. I had not heard the front door open, but
there he stood in all his indignant pomposity.

“Richard, I must beg you to give us a few minutes.
John has not finished what he was saying,” Guinevere said with
determination coating her words.

“John is it?
John
? This is the outside of what is
acceptable.” Richard’s eyes were wild as he looked from her to
me.

“Indeed it is not,” Guinevere retorted as she nearly
leapt in her attempt to rise. She was staring at Richard, her
stance that of a warrior. “I believe that even I am allowed to
receive an offer of marriage.”

“Marriage
,” Richard sputtered, his face turning a purple-red shade.
“Not as long as you are my ward.”

“Sir, Miss Clark holds no blame here. If you must be
angry with someone, make it I.”

Richard cast me a scathing look. “I assure you, I
have plenty to say to you, but I will not soil my ward’s ears. You
and I are taking our leave.” Richard crossed his arms, determined
not to leave me alone with Guinevere.

As I looked at Richard, I had to
fight down my mounting rage. He dared to look at me as if
I
were the wicked one.
Turning to Guinevere, there was contrition in her eyes. It raised
my ire toward Richard. None of this was Guinevere’s
fault.

Ignoring Richard’s hard stare, I
moved to Guinevere and bowed over her outstretched hand. I raised
it to my lips and mouthed,
forgive
me
.

She nodded as she withdrew her hand. She walked with
me to the door and waited as I picked up my possessions from the
table. Richard stepped between us and ushered me out like I was
some petulant child.

“How did you arrive? By carriage?” Richard
demanded.

“I walked, sir.”

Richard grunted then motioned to his carriage that
was coming toward us. When it stopped, he ordered me to get in.

My every instinct was to laugh in his face and turn
away, but that was not how John Martin, scholar and poet, would
act. I climbed in and sat. When Richard sat and beat on the roof,
the carriage moved forward.

I spoke first. “Sir, before you speak, allow me to
assure you that my intentions toward Miss Clark are entirely
honorable.” Richard grunted again. “It is my most earnest desire to
make her my wife, and I had every intention of seeking your consent
to our marriage.”

“My consent? My consent, that’s rich. Where were
your honorable intentions when you accompanied her, unchaperoned,
on morning rides? What have you to say to that?”

“Only that you are correct, I should not have done
so the one time that it happened, but I mean to make it right. I
humbly ask your consent to my marriage with your ward.” There, I
had said it, though it cost me dearly.

Richard crossed his arms over his
chest and scowled at me. “Too little, too late.” His voice dropped
to a low, menacing tone, “You will stay away from my ward, or else
I shall be forced to move her from your sphere.”

“I do not understand you,” I said but his meaning
was clear.

Richard sneered, angled against his corner of the
carriage to stare at me. “You have forced my hand, and it is to you
the blame will fall when she is torn from a life of pleasure. I
shall send her deep into the country until either she is of age, or
until I find a worthy partner for her.”

“You would do that?” I asked as I willed my body to
keep from throttling the beast beside me.

“With ease,” Richard replied with a satisfied
smirk.

I silently counted to ten to keep my murderous
feelings inside. “I understand you, sir. You have done me the honor
of being frank. Now allow me to be the same. My mother loves her
children; our happiness is her first priority. If you withhold your
consent then I must withhold my own. You will have, as you say,
forced my hand.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“A poet only threatens through verse.” The carriage
stopped before my house. “Thank you for the ride, it has been most
instructive.” I opened the door, stepped from the carriage and
walked into my house, not waiting to see if Richard followed. I
walked into my library, slammed the door shut, and grabbed the
nearest object, a book lying on the table, and hurled it. The sound
of it crashing against the wall did nothing to stop my body from
shaking.

“John!”

Slowly, looking to my right, Bess and Andrew Madison
were standing beside the window. My anger blinded me to their
presence until that moment.

“I do apologize. I did not see you
there,” I said blandly.

Bess was worried, but Andrew looked curious. He
could remain curious, for I would not enlighten him.

“Are you all right?” Bess asked then frowned.

Ignoring Bess’s question I nodded to Andrew before
motioning for them to sit. “Where is Mother?”

“She stepped to the drawing room for a moment,” Bess
said with a hint of a blush touching her cheeks.

Andrew stayed for another fifteen minutes,
conversing easily with Bess. She liked him a great deal, if the
look on her face as she listened to him speak was any
indication.

When Andrew was gone Bess said, “Tell me what has
happened to make you behave the way that you did. You frightened
me. I have not seen that side of you in many years.”

Before I had a chance to speak, the door opened and
my mother walked in.

“I hear that you have been seeing Richard’s ward
against his wishes.” Not looking at either of them, I shrugged.
“Jack, Miss Clark is not for you. Richard believes that you would
not suit, and we must expect him to know his ward.”

“The man keeps secrets from you, lying to you, and
yet you take his side against me.”