CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Anxiety and Relief

Adam was leaning against what he and his college comrades had come to call the Elm of Assembly on Monday morning when Lucas, who had been talking to another of his many friends, ran over to him.  As he dropped his books, a few leaves, just turning amber, fluttered to the ground.  “Where’s the preacher boy and Marc?” he asked casually.  “You’ll never convince me one of them is being kept after class.”

“Not a chance,” Adam chuckled, “but they won’t be meeting us here, either.  They’re off to the library—and I think it’s going to be a daily arrangement.”

Lucas gave a mock shiver.  “Ghastly.  They’ll probably stand first and second in the class, those two.”

Adam arched an eyebrow.  “Really?  Thanks for your high opinion of me, Master Cameron!”

Lucas laughed.  “Ambitious, are you?  Well, you’ve the wit for it, I grant you that—more than Marcus, I’ll wager—so it’ll be you and Jamie vying for top honors, then.”

“Nothing would make me happier,” Adam said, feeling he’d even be content with second place, so long as it was Jamie ahead of him.  “As for you, sir, a bit more time with the books would not be out of place.”  He gave Lucas’s shoulder a rough shake, for his friend had given another deplorable recitation in the Latin class they’d just completed.

Lucas shrugged nonchalantly.  “I’ll get by; I always do.”  He bent to pick up his books.  “I’m headed over to the gymnasium.  Care to join me?”

Adam’s eyes lighted with interest.  “Well, I had planned to write a friend back home . . . but I guess that could wait.  I would like to see what the gymnasium is like.”

“Oh, it’s grand, Adam!” Lucas enthused.  “Just the thing to clear your head of all those vile Romans.”

“I’d rather they stayed in there, thank you,” Adam laughed, “after working so hard to stuff them in!  I do, however, think a little physical activity can stimulate clear thinking, and that’s all to the good when tackling Euclid.”

“That’s the spirit!” Lucas cried.  “Still say you should go out for baseball, but if you just won’t, you should, at least, dust off the cobwebs at the gym.”

Adam bent to pick up his own text.  “I agree.  Show me around?”

“My pleasure!”

They had to leave the college yard proper to get to the gymnasium, but it was located just beyond those bounds, on Library Street, near the corner of High Street.  The plain brick building was one hundred feet long and only half that wide, but by comparison with other college buildings, this one looked new.  “Just opened last year,” Lucas replied when Adam stated that observation, “and the equipment inside is up-to-date, too.”

They entered the large main room, already occupied by a good number of students, many of them recognizable to Adam as members of his own class.  Some were swinging Indian clubs to strengthen their arms, while others jumped from springboards onto a wooden horse, where they performed intricate maneuvers.  Still others climbed ropes or moved hand-over-hand across horizontal ladders, while a couple were vaulting over bars around the periphery of the room.  One was walking on his hands down a set of parallel bars as agilely as if he’d been strolling down the street.

“Amazing,” Adam murmured enviously.

Lucas pointed up to a gallery at the southern end.  “Dressing rooms up there, if you wish to change,” he said.

“I didn’t come prepared,” Adam pointed out.

“No, but just so you’ll know.”

Adam nodded.  “So, what sort of exercise do you fancy today?”

Lucas grinned.  “You’ve got to see downstairs first, and then we’ll decide.”

“All right,” Adam said agreeably.

As they went down into the basement, Lucas said, “There’s about a dozen bathing rooms down here, but you have to pay to use those.” Reaching the foot of the stairs, he swept an arm across the room.  “That’s what I wanted you to see, though.”

Only two of the six lanes set up for bowling were in use.  Adam applauded as fellow freshman James Brand rolled a ball down one, knocking over seven pins.  Brand turned and grinned in acknowledgement as Henry Butler took his turn with the ball.

“My favorite activity,” Lucas said.  “I always prefer an actual game to just plain exercising.”

Adam hooted.  “Proving you’re as lazy an athlete as you are a student!”

Lucas gave him a playful shove.  “All work and no play make Adam a dull boy,” he said, echoing a charge he had made more than once.

“And all play and no work make Luke one with a very short career at Yale,” Adam teased, returning the shove.

“Truce,” Lucas declared, throwing up his hands.  “Care for a game?”

“I’ve never played,” Adam admitted.  “You’d have to teach me.”

“Ah!  A chance to pay you back for your instruction in geometry last week!” Lucas exulted.  “And I assure you, I shall be every bit as hard a taskmaster as you were.”

“Fair enough,” Adam agreed.  “Show me how it’s done.”

* * * * *

            Adam couldn’t believe how fast the week had gone.  Here at Yale every day was packed with studies, society meetings and extracurricular activities.  He hadn’t indulged in any of those this week, however, with the single exception of a trip to the gymnasium with Lucas between first and second recitation each day.  He’d come to relish that break from academic pursuits, when he could send a ball barreling down a bowling lane, swing an Indian club or climb a rope and feel his muscles work.  He always felt invigorated and sharper in his wits afterwards.

He’d skipped Wednesday’s meeting of the Brothers in Unity.  Attendance there was voluntary, so it was an easy choice to omit when he needed extra time.  He had definitely needed extra time this week, to prepare his oration on the development of Nevada.  He’d urged Jamie to attend, though, insisting that he needed to be alone in their room so that he could hammer out some idea of what he wanted to say.  The solitude had helped, too.  An approach had begun to solidify during those few hours to himself, and he now knew what he’d be saying at tonight’s Sigma Ep meeting . . . if only he could silence the cacophonous beating of butterfly wings in his stomach, to borrow a description from his best friend.

Sprawled on their shared bed, Jamie glanced up from the latest copy of the New York Times, slipped to him at dinner by one of the senior Vultures, and noticed Adam’s distant stare out the window.  “Do you want me to clear out, so you can rehearse your oration again?” he offered.  “Or would you like to speak it to me, for practice?”

“No to both,” Adam laughed.  “I’m afraid I’ll lose all freshness in my presentation if I go over it another time!  Just give me something else to think about.  Anything of interest in the paper?”

Jamie winced ruefully.  “I can’t seem to tear my eyes off the map of Missouri on the front page.”

Adam sobered immediately.  “Does it show what territory the rebels still hold?”

“The accompanying article gives the boundaries.”  Jamie rolled to a sitting position, making room for Adam beside him, and turned worried eyes to his friend as he sat down.  “Half the state, Adam, and the unrest is hindering repairs on the burned bridges, too.”  He smiled bravely.  “At least, the northern half is still Union-held, and this other article reports that a Mr. Olmstead made it through to Quincy from St. Joe and on to Chicago.  That’s the way Father would be coming.”

“But . . . ?”  Adam drew out the word.

“Hmm?”

“You seem troubled,” Adam said plainly.

Jamie nodded.  “It also says that the rebels confiscated everything of value in St. Joe and that Mr. Olmstead was virtually destitute when he reached Chicago.”

Adam sighed and placed an arm about his friend’s shoulders.  “What soldiers value and what your father values aren’t necessarily the same things, of course, but even if he gets here with only the shirt on his back . . . well, his safety is what matters.”

“Yes, of course,” Jamie quickly agreed.  Then his stalwart façade crumpled.  “Oh, Adam, we should have heard something by now.”

“I would have thought so,” Adam admitted.  “I can certainly understand your concern.  I know I’d be frantic if it were Pa.”

“Or Hoss or Little Joe,” Jamie added.

Adam stroked his smooth chin.  “Hoss, yes, but if the rebels capture Little Joe . . . well, heaven help the rebels!”

Despite his concern Jamie couldn’t help laughing.  “You’re incorrigible.”

“No, he is,” Adam chuckled.

Jamie gave his friend a quick, one-armed embrace.  “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Adam, to bolster my spirits in anxious times like these.”

Adam stood and motioned toward their desks.  “Why don’t we have a pull at The Odyssey?” he suggested.  “A good subject to keep both our minds off our worries.”

Jamie smiled as he, too, moved to his desk.  “Redeem the time, as the Scripture advises?” he asked.  “Yes, I’m sure Old Had would approve—and Father, too.”  Before opening his book, though, he unwrapped the single piece of divinity that Adam had presented to him that morning.  “Sure you won’t share this?” he asked.

“It’s too small a gift as it is,” Adam snorted.  “I wish I could have given you a better birthday gift, Jamie, but you know how it is.”

“You’re likely to get even less on yours,” Jamie predicted as he took a small bite, letting it slowly melt in his mouth.  “It’s the thought that counts, after all.”

“In that case you hold in your hand—er, mouth—a fortune beyond that of the greatest silver baron on the Comstock Lode,” Adam chuckled.

* * * * *

            “Would you help me with this cravat?” Adam asked later that evening.  “I’m all thumbs.”

Jamie walked across the room and began to expertly loop the maroon silk around his friend’s neck.  “I don’t know why you’re so nervous,” he said.  “I haven’t the slightest doubt that you’ll receive a standing ovation for your august oration.”

Adam groaned.  “This is scarcely the time for bad poetry, my dear chum.”

Jamie grinned.  “It got your mind off the nerves, didn’t it?”

Adam uttered a short, sharp laugh.  “For about three seconds, yes.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to come up with more bad poetry,” Jamie announced.  “Let’s see . . . thirty minutes until the meeting starts . . . at three seconds per poem . . . I’ll need to compose about—”

Adam put up a restraining hand.  “Spare me any obtuse algebraic equations . . . please.”

Three knocks sounded on the door.  “I’ll get it,” a laughing Jamie offered.  He walked to the door and opened it.

Adam was checking his cravat in the mirror when he heard his roommate cry out.  Concerned lest they were being paid another call by the pesky sophomores—tonight of all nights!—he spun around quickly, and his face instantly brightened.  “Mr. Edwards!  You made it through!”

“We’ve been so concerned, Father,” Jamie murmured as he fell into his father’s embrace.

“There, there, boy, I know,” Josiah said, stroking his son’s smooth, honey-hued hair.  “A risky business, traveling through Missouri these days, but I made it through at the best possible time.  Happy birthday, son!”

“The happiest ever,” Jamie murmured, face buried in his father’s vest.  Then he asked,   “Did you get our letters, Father?”

“I received yours,” Josiah said, “and found it most persuasive.”  He looked questioningly at Adam.

“Mine went to Elwood, just in case you were forced that way,” Adam explained.  “I always knew there was a chance—quite a strong one, I thought—that you’d never see it.”

“Ah . . . no,” Josiah admitted, “but I assume it was of much the same tenor as Jamie’s.”  As Adam nodded, he took an appraising look at his former student.  “My, aren’t you spruced up for a Saturday evening!  Some fair maiden expecting you, Adam?”

Adam laughed.  “Don’t I wish!  I haven’t had opportunity to meet a single one since I’ve been back East.”

“Adam’s giving an oration for our freshman society tonight, Father,” Jamie explained.

“I wish I weren’t obligated to that, sir,” Adam said earnestly.  “I would rather stay here with you and Jamie and hear all your news.”

“What’s this?” Josiah asked.  “Stay here with Jamie?  Son, surely you intended to be there to hear your friend speak.”

“I did, of course,” Jamie said, “but—oh, Father, I have a hundred questions!”

Josiah chuckled.  “And I have a hundred more for you and Adam, but they’ll keep.  Your friend needs your support, son, and I wouldn’t dream of changing your plans.”

“Perhaps you could come, too,” Adam suggested.

Jamie looked doubtful.  “I think it’s members only, Adam.”

“Much as I’d like to hear Adam speak,” Josiah said quickly, “I’m rather tired from the trip.  I fear I might punctuate his fine oratory with yawns and snores!”

“I know just what you mean,” Adam said with a reminiscent grin.  “Have you arranged lodgings?”

Josiah shook his head.  “Not exactly.  I came straight here, but I did prevail upon your Mrs. Wiggins—for a mere pittance—to let me stay the night here with you . . . if you don’t object.”

“We’d be delighted,” Adam assured him.  “You take the bed.”

Josiah chuckled again.  “I may for a while, but Mrs. Wiggins is rounding me up a cot.  How long do you boys think you’ll be?”

“Two or three hours,” Jamie moaned.  “We won’t get to talk at all tonight, Father.”

Josiah again pulled the boy into his arms.  “It doesn’t matter, son.  We have tomorrow—a whole host of tomorrows.”

Too overcome with emotion to speak, Jamie pressed his cheek against his father’s vest again, while Adam discreetly averted his eyes.

* * * * *

            “Thanks for being here with me,” Adam said to Jamie as the meeting of Sigma Ep began.  “I know what a sacrifice it is for you, but it does help to have one friendly face in the audience.

“Two,” Marcus, who was seated next to Jamie, declared.

“Three, at least,” Lucas added decidedly, “and once you start speaking, it’ll be a roomful, Adam.”

Adam smiled his appreciation for the encouragement of his friends.  “All of you will have to take notes on the debate for me.  I doubt a word of it will sink in, when I know I’m next up.”

“That’s a job for this fellow,” Lucas said, reaching around Adam to clap Jamie on the back.  “Best note taker in the class.  Make a copy for me, too, preacher boy, ‘cause you know how much of any speech-making sinks in with me.”

“Take your own notes,” Jamie chuckled.  “Goodness knows, you need the practice.”

Lucas clucked his tongue.  “I do believe our star speaker has been telling tales out of school.”

“Shh,” Adam warned.  “The debate’s beginning now.”

Adam sincerely tried to pay attention to the debate, but found it difficult when lines from his own oration kept winding through his head.  To his chagrin, by the time the two opposing speakers sat down, he’d completely lost track of what their topic had been.  So long as I don’t lose track of my own! he thought as he made his way to the front when his name was announced.

He planted his feet comfortably apart and took a deep breath before beginning, a device for calming nerves that he had developed at school in Sacramento.  “Last week Mr. Baker, in his excellent oration on the subject of the Importance of Geography to the Development of Nations, admirably laid the groundwork for what I will share with you this evening.  If ever the development of a land was influenced by geography, that land would be Nevada.  Geography—and the human choices dictated by geography—tell the story of its settlement.”

Feeling his voice start to quaver, he paused and glanced toward the row where his friends were sitting.  Jamie’s bright smile of support encouraged him, and his voice grew stronger as he continued.  “Geography first led to the territory being bypassed as unworthy of settlement.  As one enters Nevada, he encounters a succession of mountain ranges, running north and south.  Between them lie valleys, but the majority of the terrain is so dry as to discourage agriculture.  Indeed, it played no part in the culture of the Paiute and Washo Indians, who preceded the white man in settling there.  They became hunters and gatherers of Nature’s resources: rabbit, antelope, fish from the lakes near which they lived, marsh bird eggs, pine nuts, grass seeds and berries, tule shoots for those with a sweet tooth, a condition not unique to freshmen at Yale.”

The chuckles from the audience heartened him still more.  Adam warmed to his subject as he began to add his personal experience to the lecture.  “My family, like most others, saw Nevada, then known as western Utah, merely as barren land to be crossed in order to reach the golden promise of California.  Circumstances having delayed our journey, however, we faced the geographical barrier of the Sierra Nevada Mountains late enough in the year for snow to present a danger.  For that reason—and since we had adequate supplies—we, along with one other family, chose not to cross the mountains, but to winter on their eastern side.”

Pleasant memories of that winter spent with the Thomases spurred him on.  “We constructed a shared cabin along the Carson River, geography again influencing our choice of location.  Our intention was to remain until spring and then continue on to California, but those months in what would become Nevada made us realize that everything we needed for the unalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness could be found right where we were.  The land was fertile, needing only the river’s water to grow garden produce in abundance.  This we would sell to the emigrant trains passing through to California and to the few miners who searched for gold in the nearby hills.  In time, other emigrants made the same choice, and they, too, were influenced by geography as they built their homes along the few waterways that traverse the territory.

“My own family eventually relocated, but again we were influenced by geography, as well as by human emotion.  We fell in love with the immense lake the Indians call Tahoe and the white men Lake Bigler.” His heart filled with warm memories of Inger, as if even now she were surrounding him with her love.  “It reminded us of the way my Swedish stepmother, who had died along the journey, had described her homeland, so although others discouraged us from moving to so isolated an area, we kept faith with her and built a new home in the foothills near the lake.”

Now feeling bold enough to make eye contact with the unfamiliar faces in the audience, Adam continued.  “In time, others settled nearer to us, along Franktown Creek and Washoe Lake.  However, permanent settlers remained few until another science—geology—became the next influence on the development of Nevada.  All of you have heard of the discovery of the great Comstock Lode, I imagine, but I was there.  I saw what a profound influence—both for good and for ill—the discovery of silver had.  Overnight, a slow-moving, simple agrarian society exploded into a rough-and-tumble boomtown community.

“The new residents of the future Nevada did not share the understanding of the land that the earlier settlers, both white and Indian, had possessed,” he declared earnestly.  “Perhaps that was because geology, rather than geography, had influenced their decision; perhaps it was because they never intended to stay and build a society, but merely to reap a rich harvest from the bowels of the earth and then abandon it to the elements they never came to respect.”  His pace quickened and his voice grew stronger still as he used its intensity to convey the seriousness of what he was saying.  “Still, even temporary residents must eat, so they killed the antelope; even temporary residents must keep warm, so they cut down the piñon trees, destroying with them a staple of the Indians’ diet.  The Indians, too, still needed to eat, to keep warm, and because many now competed for what nature and geography only meant to sustain a few, tragedy loomed on the horizon.”

Adam paused for dramatic emphasis and was pleased to see many of his fellow students leaning forward, hanging on his every word.  “There had been isolated incidents of conflict before, but when two young Paiute girls were taken captive by a set of white men, the Indians not only rescued them and burned that station, but retaliated against settlers who had nothing to do with the misconduct.  In retaliation for that retaliation, men from the new Virginia City led an assault against a well coordinated Paiute defense and were slaughtered.  I was at school in California at that time, but concerned for my family, I returned and participated in the next battle.  This time the United States Army led the assault, with predictable results.  The Indians were defeated and a wary peace restored, though at tremendous cost.”

Adopting a more conversational tone, Adam smiled at his listeners.  “By comparison with the states most of you come from, Nevada is an infant, just beginning to take her first tottering steps toward her place in this Union.  She has her rowdy, juvenile element, men such as the Virginia City chiefs, who want their ‘man for breakfast,’ but she also boasts such stalwart men as William Stewart, once a student at this very institution, who work to bring civilization to a populace eager to embrace it.  My father, among many others in Nevada, is such a man, and it is my earnest hope that what I gain here at Yale will enable me to further his dream, which is also my own: to help build a society in Nevada of which the United States may be justly proud.”

Thunderous applause broke out, so loud that Adam’s attempt to again thank the society for the honor of addressing them was drowned out.  With a bow to the president of Sigma Ep, he walked back to his seat and collapsed into it.  “Was it all right?” he whispered to Jamie.

“All right?” crowed Lucas, who had overheard the question.  “Listen to that applause, you idiot!”

“It was wonderful, Adam,” Jamie whispered, for the president was trying to quiet the room, so the meeting could proceed.  “If only Father could have heard it!”

Adam nodded.  He, too, would have relished having his first teacher witness this night’s triumph, but he couldn’t help wishing even more that his own father could have been there.

* * * * *

            Adam and Jamie entered their room at Mrs. Wiggins’ as quietly as possible, intending to undress in the dark and slip into bed without disturbing Josiah.  Despite their best efforts, however, he roused with their first step into the room and greeted them.  “I’m sorry we woke you, sir,” Adam said, turning the low-burning lamp slightly higher.

There was a definite tsk-tsk in Josiah’s tone when he said, “Adam, Adam.  You should know that a father never fully rests until his son is safely home.”

Jamie came to perch at his father’s side on the bed he normally shared with Adam.  “Is your father as big a mother hen as mine, Adam?” he asked with humorous acceptance and obvious appreciation of the “mothering.”

Keeping his voice low in respect of other roomers at this late hour, Adam chuckled, settling himself on the cot that Mrs. Wiggins had provided.  “Jamie, I do believe we’ve got ourselves a matched pair.”

Josiah wagged a playful finger at Adam.  “Yes, I’m sure Ben and I are in harness together when it comes to keeping a couple of young colts like you two in line.  Now, tell me all about the oration, and then this mother hen prescribes bedtime for all, with more conversation on the morrow.”

“Adam was wonderful, Father!” Jamie declared.  “If only you could have heard him—and the applause!”

“You may read my oration tomorrow, if you like, sir,” Adam offered, flushing under the proud gaze of his former teacher.  “There is no one whose opinion I would value more.”

“I’ll be pleased to read it,” Josiah said.  “Now . . . to bed, one and all.”

“Oh, but, Father, we haven’t heard a word about your journey and how you managed to avoid the rebels and—”

Josiah silenced his son’s protest with a squeeze about the shoulders.  “Tomorrow, my boy, tomorrow.  It’s a lengthy story.”  He started to rise from the bed.

“Oh, no, sir,” Adam protested at once.  “You sleep with Jamie tonight; I’ll take the cot.”

Josiah scratched his head.  “Your Mrs. Wiggins must be a paragon of silence.  I never heard her come in to set up that cot.”

Adam grinned.  “Or, more likely, you were so exhausted that nothing short of a black powder explosion would have stirred you.”

“Except a son’s lightest step into the room,” Jamie teased.  “Don’t forget that.”

Laughing, Adam nodded.  “Oh, yes, a true mother hen never gets too tired to hear that.”

Josiah shook his head and admitted himself bested.  “I see that college has at least sharpened your wit, if nothing else.”

“Oh, so much else, Father!” Jamie protested intensely, looking as if he were about to launch into a full discourse on the topic.

His father ruffled the young man’s honey-wheat hair.  “Tomorrow, Jamie, tomorrow!  So help me, if you don’t stop chattering and Adam doesn’t relinquish that cot immediately, I’m likely to fall over and sleep the clock around.”

“Take the bed,” Adam insisted.

“That cot can’t possibly be as comfortable as this,” Josiah argued.

“No,” Adam agreed, “but I’m more convinced than ever that you have greater need of a comfortable bed tonight than I, and I do speak from experience, as you well know.”

Josiah’s blue eyes twinkled in recognition of their mutual travel miseries and gratefully accepted the offer.  After the lamp was lowered, only a few whispers fluttered through the darkness and soon no sound at all except an occasional soft snore.

* * * * *

            Adam woke early the next morning, for even to his young bones the thin mattress of the cot afforded little better rest than a bedroll on the ground.  All the more reason to have insisted that Josiah take the more comfortable bed, he concluded as he sat up, yawning and stretching.

“Morning, Adam,” Jamie whispered.

“Good morning,” Adam whispered back.  “Looks like we’re both up early.”

“Hard to sleep when I’m so excited,” Jamie said, eyes bright with joy.  “Think there’s any chance I can slide out of this bed without waking Father?”

“No,” came the good-natured reply from beyond Jamie in the bed.  Josiah raised himself up on one elbow and grinned at the apologetic faces that met his gaze.  “I’m excited, too,” he offered in conciliatory explanation.

Jamie laughed as he sat up in bed, hugging his knees.  “Just as well.  We have so much to talk about that an early start is just what’s needed.”

Josiah tousled his son’s hair.  “A one-track mind, that’s what this one has.  I’m in favor of breakfast first.  Do you take that here?”

Adam answered.  “No, this is just a rooming house, no board included.  We take our meals with the Vultures.”  He laughed at the quizzical cock of Josiah’s head.  “That’s our eating club.  If we’re going to eat together, we’ll need to find some restaurant that’s open on the Sabbath.”

Josiah shook his head.  “No, I think it would be best if you and Jamie maintained your usual routine.  I’ll find something . . . somewhere.”

Jamie reached out to stroke his father’s auburn goatee.  “Are you terribly short of funds, Father?” he asked, concern clouding his hazel eyes.

“Terribly,” Josiah chuckled, “but don’t worry, my boy.  God’s kept His hand on me so far; I doubt He’ll let me starve.  Don’t you boys have other obligations today, as well?”

“Just chapel,” Adam said.  “Twice, though.”

“But you can attend with us,” Jamie urged.

Josiah rubbed his son’s neck.  “I will, son; I will.”

* * * * *

            “I feel terrible,” Jamie sighed as they walked along George Street, “going off cheerily to breakfast, while Father does without.”

“You’re not that cheery,” Adam scoffed, but then he sobered.  “I know.  I feel the same, but what could we do?  Insist on a restaurant, instead of eating food we’re already obliged to pay for, whether we eat it or not?  That isn’t even good common sense, especially for people on a budget as tight as ours.”

Jamie nodded glumly.  “I agree, but I fear Father’s budget is tighter than ours, Adam.  You saw that single carpetbag—is that all he managed to get out of St. Joseph?  And you know the Confederates robbed the bank at Lexington.  Would they treat St. Joe more kindly?”

“Not from what I saw,” Adam grunted, remembering the broken windows of store fronts when he’d passed through.  “Did your father keep his money in the bank or would he have had sense to take it out as he saw danger approaching?”

“Oh, I hope so,” Jamie murmured.  “I don’t see how I could remain here at Yale if Father were . . . destitute.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Adam chided in an attempt to lighten his friend’s mood.  “Your father has faith in God’s provision; where’s yours?”

Jamie laughed suddenly.  “Now who’s the pastor?”

Adam gave a mock shudder.  “Not I—never!  But you must start to fulfill your own obligations or I fear the role shall be thrust upon me.”

“Oh, well, if that’s the way to recruit more ministers of the gospel . . .”  Ducking away from Adam’s insinuated cuff of his head, Jamie took off at a run.  With a grin, Adam gave chase.

* * * * *

            “Father!” Jamie called when he spotted the man standing before the State House on the Green, where they had agreed to meet.  With Adam at his heels, he loped across the lawn and beamed as he held out a napkin-wrapped offering.  “There were biscuits left after we’d eaten our fill,” he declared.  “The others said I was welcome to take them.”

Josiah laughed as he accepted them.  “They might make us a snack later on, my boy, but I, too, have eaten my fill this morning.”

“You found a restaurant open?” Adam asked.

“I didn’t look,” Josiah responded with a chuckle.  “When I asked Mrs. Wiggins to recommend one, she offered me breakfast at her table, free of charge.  She said that if ever there were a time to show Christian charity, it must surely be on the Sabbath.”  With a mischievous grin, he added, “I think her charity was somewhat influenced by the opportunity to hear a first-hand report from the battle zone.”

“The Vultures were more open about their curiosity,” Adam put in.  “They’ve invited you to dine with us in return for sharing your personal acquaintance with the situations filling the newspapers.”

“Wonderful!” Josiah declared.  “I’ll relish seeing the type of fare my boy is enjoying.”  He clapped his son on the shoulder.  “Didn’t I tell you God would provide?”

Smiling happily, Jamie nodded.  “A lesson I seem to be repeating often of late.”

“Well, if you just wouldn’t fizzle on your recitations . . .” Adam teased, employing college idiom for a partial failure.  They all laughed, knowing that Jamie had never “fizzled” a recitation in his entire life.

“Do we have time before chapel for you to show me around campus?” Josiah requested.

“Definitely,” Adam replied.  “Chapel isn’t until 10:30.”

Linking arms, with Josiah in the middle, the three marched across College St. toward the Yale campus.

* * * * *

            “Normally we abstain from politics at the table,” Alexander White stated as soon as the tureen of split-pea soup had made its way around the Vultures’ table, “but it is a rare occasion for us to welcome a guest who can give us first-hand information about the state of things in the West.”

“Why, we had Cartwright here all along,” Lucas jibed.  “You can’t get a report from much further west than he hails!”

“Honestly, Cameron,” James Goodman scolded.  “Have you no manners whatsoever?”

“What do you expect?  He is a freshman, after all,” Edgar Warington observed loftily.

“That’s quite enough, Warington,” White said sternly.  “Do you wish our guest to feel that his son’s college companions are barbarians incapable of courteous conversation?”  He turned toward Josiah, who was seated between Jamie and Adam.  “I apologize, sir.”

“No apology necessary,” Josiah assured the young steward.  “I am, after all, a guest in your home, so to speak, so I certainly do not wish you to stand on form.  Please, all of you, be yourselves, and simply treat me as you would your own fathers.”

Warington’s cheeks flushed, as he apparently considered how his own father might respond to his deportment.  “We look forward to your report on the situation in Missouri, sir,” he said in an awkward attempt to adjust his attitude.

“Rather than a report,” Josiah offered, “may I suggest that you all simply ask me whatever questions you may have?  Perhaps you would like to start, young man.”

The crimson cast of Warington’s countenance deepened, with pleasure this time, as he was once again the focus of all eyes in the room.  “Thank you, sir.  I—uh—well, not meaning to be impertinent, but why is Missouri still in the Union?  It is a slave state, after all.”

“No honest question is ever impertinent,” Josiah, ever the teacher, assured him, “and your question—Mr. Warington, is it?—is one that has been much debated in our state.  In the end, Missouri chose to remain in the Union precisely because she wished to keep her slaves.”

“I don’t follow that, sir,” Goodman, seated across the table from the Missouri teacher, said.

Josiah smiled at him.  “Consider the geography of the region, young man.  Missouri is surrounded on three sides by Union states.  The members of the convention called to consider secession eventually decided that if they joined the Confederacy, their slaves would be more likely to escape to one of those states, and recovering them from a ‘foreign’ country would prove impossible.”

“Purely economic motives, then,” Robert Raines observed from the foot of the table.

“Frankly, yes,” Josiah agreed, “although there are many, even in Missouri, who decry the institution of slavery.”

“And your personal feelings, sir?” Milton Bradford asked, adding hesitantly, “if it isn’t impertinent to ask.”

“See here now, Vultures,” White remonstrated.  “We’re not allowing our guest to enjoy this fine soup.”

“Oh, I’m managing a spoonful now and then,” Josiah chuckled.  In demonstration, he dipped into the hearty green broth and smiled his appreciation to Mrs. Swanson, who was hovering in the doorway to the kitchen, both to listen and to determine when the main course should be served.  “My own feelings about slavery, sir?  I abhor it!”

“A difficult position in a slave state, is it not, sir?” White asked soberly.  “Have you suffered any reprisals?”

“Oh, some,” Josiah said with a casual shrug of his shoulder.  After taking another mouthful of soup, he said, “My feelings were known by many, but I avoided public statements until after the schools were shut down in May.  As teacher to all the town’s students—Northern and Southern sympathizers alike—I considered their welfare my first duty, and contributing to the turmoil of divided loyalties was not, I felt, in their best interest.”

“Commendable, I suppose, given your position,” sniffed George Miller, “but to stand by while others suffer the indignity of bondage—”

“Father didn’t just ‘stand by,’” Jamie declared with more vehemence than any of the Vultures had ever seen the mild-mannered freshman exhibit before.  “He’s done more to combat slavery than anyone here!”

Josiah patted his son’s arm.  “Jamie, Jamie,” he said.  “No need to speak of that, no need at all.”

“There is!” his son insisted.

“I’d like to know,” Adam put in.

“And I,” added Marcus shyly, and the words were echoed around the table.

Josiah shrugged.  “Not much to tell, really.  On two occasions the opportunity to help slaves trying to escape into Kansas fell into my lap.  I did no more than provide a place to hide until safe transport could be provided.”

“Scarcely a small thing, sir, considering the possible consequences had your assistance become known,” Raines stated, admiration in his eyes.

Uncomfortable with the hero worship so evident around the table, Josiah shrugged again.  “There was little chance of its becoming known.”  He nodded at Miller.  “That, young man, is the benefit of keeping one’s private opinions private; it keeps one’s options open.”

“Yes . . . I see,” the subdued sophomore responded.

“There’s also a time and place for voicing them,” Josiah added.  “Wisdom lies in knowing which is which.”  He chuckled.  “I don’t claim to always exhibit that wisdom, but I try—and I try to learn from my mistakes.”

“All any man can do,” Adam put in.

Josiah cupped the young man’s neck affectionately.

“You must have been wildly pleased when Frémont issued his emancipation proclamation,” Lucas declared.

Josiah shook his head.  “Not really.”  He took another quick dip into his soup bowl.

“But if you are so opposed to slavery . . .”

“Frémont overstepped his authority, in my opinion,” Josiah stated, “and helped destabilize an already unstable situation.  When, where and how to free the slaves are decisions best left to the President and Congress, not a single general.”

“I’m interested in the current situation,” Milton Bradford declared.  “The papers are full of stories of the rebel depredations—burning bridges, looting, etc.  Is it as severe as we’ve heard?”

Josiah glanced to his left.  “Adam hasn’t told you?  He was almost prevented from reaching Yale by those circumstances.”

“Never said a word,” Bradford replied with a chiding look at Adam.

“You never asked,” Adam returned with a grin.

“See?  I told you!” Lucas declared.  “We already had a resident expert on the western front.”

Adam laughed.  “Scarcely that.  I can tell you that the town looked ravaged when I passed through.  Did things get worse later, Mr. Edwards?  When we heard that the Confederate Army had fully occupied St. Joe, Jamie and I were both deeply concerned.”

Josiah nodded soberly as he pushed aside his empty soup bowl.  “Things got worse.  But you mustn’t lay all the blame at the Confederates’ doorstep, gentlemen.  Our own Union soldiers were no better when they retook St. Joseph.  They called it foraging, but it was the same looting we’d seen far too much of already.”

“I can’t believe that of Union men!” remonstrated the fiercely patriotic Bradford.

“There was a report in yesterday’s paper,” Raines confirmed, “accusing Illinois troops of plundering St. Joseph and the surrounding area to a shameful extent.”

“There are generally both honorable and dishonorable men on either side of any question,” Josiah observed.  “Most of my personal loss came at the hands of Union soldiers, I’m sorry to say, while I owe my safety during the Confederate occupation to an honorable man of the Southern persuasion.  He provided shelter for me and what few possessions I could safely transport to his place without attracting undue attention.”

“Mr. Whitcomb?” Adam guessed.

Josiah nodded.

“I certainly found what you’re saying to be true in the conflict with the Paiutes back in Nevada,” Adam commented.  “Brave men and reckless ones on both sides.”

“A valid point,” White stated, motioning for Mrs. Swanson to serve the main course.  As she brought forward a platter of roast beef surrounded by quartered potatoes and carrots, he smiled.  “I had no idea our young Mr. Cartwright had been concealing so many interesting experiences.  Another time perhaps he’ll condescend to share them with us, but let’s keep the focus on Missouri today—after we’ve given Mr. Edwards a chance to eat, that is.”

The young men restrained themselves for a few minutes, but soon the questions began to fly again, many of them centering on whether General Frémont actually would attack the Confederate forces before President Lincoln stripped him of his command.

Finally, nothing edible remained on the table, and Alexander White, on behalf of all the Vultures, thanked Mr. Edwards for his informative contributions to the conversation.  “Please join us for supper this evening, as a true guest this time,” he urged, adding with a smile, “and we promise not to pepper you with questions, but simply to allow you to enjoy the meal.”

“Innumerable questions couldn’t impede that!” Josiah assured him.  “The food has been excellent, and I would be pleased to enjoy your company again this evening.”

“Would you care to join us for a short walk?” Adam asked his friend’s father as they left the building.

“You needn’t change your regular routine for me,” Josiah said.

“That is our regular routine,” Adam laughed.  “You asked me to look after Jamie’s health, remember?  Regular exercise is what I have prescribed.”

“Oh, Father, you didn’t,” Jamie protested.  “I am quite capable of looking after myself.”

Josiah wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulder.  “Now, now, my boy; we all need looking after from time to time.”  He turned toward Adam.  “I would certainly welcome the opportunity to stretch my legs.”

“Too many cramped train seats in your recent past?” Adam teasingly inquired.

“Precisely, my boy, precisely!”

“We stayed longer at table than usual,” Adam observed, “so I suppose we’ll have to settle for the cemetery again.”

“I think that’s best,” Jamie agreed, “since we have to be back for chapel at 2:30.”

They kept a fast pace along the streets, but slowed down once they reached the quiet, shaded pathways of the cemetery.  “A most pleasant place,” Josiah commented.  “Very relaxing.”

“Perhaps too relaxing,” Adam chuckled.  “We keep planning an excursion to West Rock, but something always seems to interfere to keep us closer to home.”

“Sorry to be this week’s interference,” Josiah said with a smile that said he wasn’t at all sorry to be exactly where he was.

Grinning, Adam shook his head.  “No, we wouldn’t go further on a Sunday afternoon, anyway.  Some Saturday, though, we do hope to see the sights.”

“Perhaps you’ll accompany us this Saturday, Father,” Jamie suggested.

“Perhaps,” Josiah said, though his tone was noncommittal.  “Best see what the week holds first.”

“What are your plans, sir?” Adam asked.

“To move out of your room, first thing tomorrow,” Josiah said.

“We don’t mind,” Jamie assured him.

“I mind!” Josiah declared.  “And as kind as your Mrs. Wiggins has been, I dare say she would, too.  Besides, Jamie, I think it’s important for you to enjoy your college experience free from the attentions of a hovering mother hen.”

“Will you be leaving New Haven then?” Adam asked.

“Not yet,” Josiah explained.  “I need to find work—any kind of work—and build up my resources for locating elsewhere.”

Jamie’s lips were trembling as he asked, “Are you destitute, Father?”

Josiah took his son in his arms.  “You are not to worry,” he said gently.  “Yes, I suffered considerable loss from the looters, but I have some funds, and thanks to Mr. Whitcomb, I was able to save some valued articles, as well—your mother’s picture, for instance.  I brought that with me, as well as Adam’s journals for you.”

“Oh, Father!” Jamie cried.  Adam, too, was overcome that those scribblings of his were among the few possessions Mr. Edwards had brought out of St. Joseph.

“The rest will stay in Mr. Whitcomb’s cellar until I tell him where to ship them,” Josiah continued.  “At the moment I can’t say where I’ll be locating.  I have some old friends inquiring about teaching positions for me, but I expect that to take some time.”

“Perhaps if I—” Jamie started.

His father squeezed his shoulders before he could finish the thought.  “No, you will not consider leaving school, young man.  I know you; that’s exactly what you were about to suggest, and I won’t have it.  It wouldn’t help in any case.  Those expenses are already paid.”

“I could probably get the bond back,” Jamie insisted.  “Think what two hundred dollars could mean, Father!”

Josiah set the boy squarely before him.  “Now, you are not to concern yourself with my welfare—either of you,” he added with a glance toward Adam, who looked almost as anxious as Jamie himself.  “In wartime there are jobs to be had, and I am well able to support myself by my hands, as well as my brains.  My personal needs are few: a bed, bread and something to be read.”

“I see that Jamie comes by his propensity for bad poetry honestly,” Adam teased, and shared laughter lightened all their hearts as they continued their walk through the cemetery.

* * * * *

            Between afternoon chapel and the evening meal Adam wrote to his father.  He reported exultantly that Josiah Edwards had arrived safely and would be seeking employment in the East.  He could not refrain from expressing his concern for his former teacher’s financial condition, however:

He says he’ll manage, Pa, but jobs may not be as easy to find as he hopes, and Jamie and I are both deeply concerned.  I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him, and though it would be like tearing my heart out, I would give up my place here to help him.  I owe him that much.  Jamie’s already offered and been turned down, though, so I know I would be, too—even quicker, since I’m not kin.  With luck—or Providence, Jamie would say—by the next time I write, I’ll be able to report that he has found, at least, temporary work, and has prospects of a teaching position.  I’d thought about asking if you could make him a loan, but it would take so long for that help to get here that it would either come too late or be unneeded—hopefully, the latter.

For the boys’ benefit, he added a few paragraphs, describing the gymnasium and how much he was enjoying the physical activity between classes.  Then, signing and sealing the letter, he addressed it and placed it with his books so he would remember to post it on the way to class the next day.