Wilberforce (67 page)

—I see.

The man nodded, then laughed:

—I see!

Morgan laughed, too. He didn't understand, but he laughed.

The chauffeur was getting out of the motorcar then and helping the Bishop, and Dr. Sebastian was hurrying from somewhere and putting his arm around his father's waist. The Bishop was protesting, and Dr. Sebastian was telling him off, for coming up, for disobeying his physician, for doing what he always did: listen to no one and risk life and limb for his own stubborn—

—Just what are you laughing at? Dr. Sebastian demanded of Morgan.

Morgan couldn't answer. He could only lean against the motorcar, ribs shuddering, lungs wheezing with laughter.

They took the Bishop into the little garden behind the Headmaster's house, where there was tea and bread and butter. Sunset poured across the walls, and Dr. Sebastian continued to scold.

—It was warm, the Bishop said. The circumstances were trying, and I momentarily … It's very embarrassing. I beg you to change the subject.

—I shan't change the subject, not until you admit—

The Bishop kept his eyes on Morgan, as if what mattered was the two of them and what had passed between them and around them and within them, even now. As if they had come to St. Stephen's not to view his son's project but to understand Morgan's.

—You aren't immortal, Father. If you won't hear reason—

—Oh, I'd
much
rather hear about this young history master Wilberforce has told me so much about.

Dr. Sebastian looked to Morgan, a glance of displeasure so sharp that Morgan felt the blade, that he might do to the Academy what the scythe had done to people he loved—

—Sir, Morgan said, please don't change the Academy. I know it isn't the best place in the world, but …

How could he say he loved it?

—I've been brought here to make changes, Dr. Sebastian replied.

—It's a good place, Morgan said huskily. I know it doesn't look it, but it has been. It wants to be. If only someone could understand it, it would be good again.

His head pounded. His throat ached.

—Wilberforce, Dr. Sebastian said, sit down, eat those sandwiches—

—Sir—

—And have a little faith.

*   *   *

He ate until he wasn't hungry anymore, and then Dr. Sebastian sent him to bed. The light was fading, and in the little room of the Headmaster's house, the lamp had no bulb. He got under the covers, eyes swollen, bone-weary, unable to rest. He'd gone to bed without examination, without prayers, without anyone's hand on his head. Was he a person who needed such things? Such things, and such and such things …

He had gone by his own will, down and more down, and there at the bottom, where the hurt kept hurting, there, down there, someone … something was happening.

The dark drew near. He felt it as he breathed—thick, adamant—but in his ears a rumble, like footsteps barreling, him in sights as if nothing else mattered, impact coming, too late to dodge—a thousand rushing—captain—breath—now, now—
now
.

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My grateful thanks:

To Jennifer Gibbs, Jennifer Turner Hall, Jean Wagner, Camille Guthrie, Andrea Codrington Lippke, and Penny Ghartey, for encouragement, accountability, and probing reads.

To Cameron Henderson-Begg, for insights sharp and gentle, and for cricket tutelage.

To Nell Mead, for advice medical, historical, and dramatic.

To Joseph Housley, John Collins, and the hive mind of Twitter friends, for help with language, period, law, munitions, sport, and custom.

To Alice Tasman, for warmth, realism, ambition, and vision.

To Jonathan Galassi, for enthusiasm and belief.

To Christopher Richards, for the most excellent, sensitive, and challenging editing I could imagine.

To the Reverend Andrew C. Mead and the Reverend Victor Lee Austin, for inspiration, in every sense of the word, more than they know.

 

A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR

H. S. Cross
was born in Grosse Pointe, Michigan. She was educated at Harvard and has taught at Friends Seminary, among other schools.
Wilberforce
is her debut novel, and she is working on a second book set at St. Stephen's Academy. She lives in New York City. You can sign up for email updates
here
.

 

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Contents

Title Page

Copyright Notice

Dedication

Part One

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

Part Two

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

Part Three

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

50

51

52

53

54

55

56

57

58

Acknowledgments

A Note About the Author

Copyright

 

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

18 West 18th Street, New York 10011

Copyright © 2015 by H. S. Cross

All rights reserved

First edition, 2015

Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at [email protected].

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Cross, H. S., 1968–

    Wilberforce: a novel / H. S. Cross. — First edition.

        pages cm

    ISBN 978-0-374-29010-8 (hardback) — ISBN 978-0-374-71342-3 (e-book)

    1. Boarding schools—England—Fiction.   2. Teenage boys—Fiction.   I. Title.

    PS3603.R6739 W53 2015

    813'.6—dc23

2015002964

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