CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Beethoven and Boating

The wind had been so brisk on Saturday that Adam and Jamie had elected to forego outdoor exercise and spend the afternoon digging into Euclid.  When a rap came at the door, Jamie’s head jerked up and his hazel eyes clouded with concern.

Adam, who had been leaning over Jamie’s chair to explain a difficult proposition, squeezed his friend’s shoulder as he straightened up.  “Relax,” he chuckled.  “Too light a tap for sophomores.”  He crossed the room and opened the door.  “Oh, Mrs. Wiggins,” he said with a smile.  “Not making too much noise with our studies, I hope.”

“Now, you know you’re not,” the amiable woman chided.  “You two are both quiet and considerate tenants.  I just came up to tell you, Mr. Cartwright, that there’s two packages come for you, too much for me to fetch up for you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of your carrying anything for me,” Adam said.  “I’ll come down for it right now.”

“It might take the two of you,” she warned him.  “One looked heavy, from the way the express men handled it.”

Jamie stood at once and followed Adam down the stairs.  “Mercy, what can it be?” he asked, mouth gaping at the size of one of the crates.

“My things from home, of course,” Adam replied.  “Pa wrote that he was sending them.”

Jamie lifted the smaller crate.  “Oof,” he grunted.

“That’s the heavy one,” Mrs. Wiggins belatedly informed them.

“I’ll take that one,” Adam said.

“I can manage,” Jamie insisted.  “I’m not the weakling you so often make me out, Adam.”

“Set it down, Jamie,” Adam ordered sharply.

“Oh, all right,” Jamie muttered, doing as he was told, “if you’re afraid I’ll damage your precious goods.”

“I’m afraid you’ll damage my precious friend,” Adam said bluntly.  “The larger crate is actually much lighter.  If it’s not too bulky for you to manage alone, take that.  If it is, we’ll carry it up together after I tote this one up.”

Jamie tested the long crate and declared it light as a feather.

Adam grinned.  “Just don’t trip over your own two feet.  That one, my boy, is rather fragile—and personally valuable, I might add.”

“Now he tells me,” Jamie said with a shake of his head toward Mrs. Wiggins.

The good woman clucked her tongue.  “That’s the closest thing to a quarrel I’ve heard between the two of you, and I’ll have no more of it.”

“Yes, ma’am; we’ll be peaceable at your command.”  Adam winked at his friend as he hefted the heavier crate and started for the stairs.

Jamie took a good grip on the long, rectangular crate and mounted cautiously after Adam.

“Let’s see what’s in them,” Jamie said as soon as he gently set his load down in the middle of the floor of their room.

Adam laughed.  “I know what’s in them; I laid out everything that I wanted sent if I passed the entrance exam.”

Jamie pounded a fist into his friend’s shoulder.  “Well, I don’t!  And I’ve earned the satisfaction of my curiosity, sir.”

“That you have,” Adam chuckled as he pried the lid off the long crate.

Jamie leaned over eagerly, but at first all he could see was a mass of sawdust and wood shavings.  “To remind you of home?” he asked wryly.

“I’m not that homesick for the fragrance of pine,” Adam snorted.  “That’s just packing material.”

“I guessed as much,” Jamie snickered.  “You did say it was fragile.”

Adam brushed the material aside to reveal an oblong, muslin-encased article.  “Hop Sing must have fashioned this,” he said, loosening the drawstring.  “Good thinking.  I’d hate to see what sawdust would do to the instrument.”  He drew out a guitar and showed it to Jamie.  “Music to soothe the geometry-ravaged soul . . . if Mrs. Wiggins doesn’t object.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Jamie said enthusiastically.  “I can’t wait to hear you play, Adam.”

“Not tonight,” Adam said firmly.  “Supper is upon us and then the Sigma Ep meeting.”

“Tomorrow then,” Jamie insisted, “after chapel.  That’s as long as my geometry-ravaged soul can wait.  What’s in the other crate?”

“Books,” Adam said.  “Some of my favorites.  Those I really have been homesick for!”

“Ah, true riches,” his friend sighed.

“Wealth I’ll gladly share,” Adam offered as he began to unpack the second crate.

* * * * *

            The October air was cool, but still, as Jamie practically pulled a reluctant Adam down the street.

“I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” Adam protested weakly, for he’d tried that tack before with no success.

“Of course it is,” Jamie insisted as they rounded the corner onto Chapel Street.  “How else will Father hear you play without disturbing the Sabbath quiet at Mrs. Wiggins?”

“How about the Sabbath quiet of those folks?”  Adam asked, pointing to the three churches on the Green.

Jamie laughed.  “All gone by now.  That was your weakest argument yet, Adam, and if that’s the best you can do, I fear for your success in the Sigma Ep debate, when it comes your turn.  There he is!”  He loosened his grip on Adam’s arm to wave at his father, who was waiting for them beneath an elm in process of shedding its autumn splendor.

Josiah waved back at them.  “Well, Adam,” he said when the boys came up to greet him, “I’m looking forward to this.”

Catching sight of men and women strolling across the Green, arm in arm, Adam flushed.  “I wasn’t intending to give a public concert, sir.  Perhaps another time would be better.”

Josiah laughed.  “Now, Adam, there’s nothing like a sweet song as backdrop for a lover’s stroll.”  He laughed louder as the young man’s face reddened still more.

Resigning himself to the embarrassment, Adam sat beneath the elm and began to softly strum the guitar.  “What would you like to hear?” he asked.

Josiah and Jamie settled on the ground before him.  “Why not start with a hymn?” Josiah suggested.

Adam smiled and relaxed a bit.  Surely no one passing by could object to that.  His fingers sought the opening chord and he began to sing:

I sing the mighty power of God

That made the mountains rise,

That spread the flowing seas abroad

And built the lofty skies.

I sing the wisdom that ordained

The sun to rule the day;

The moon shines full at His command,

And all the stars obey.

“Why, Adam, what a fine voice you have,” Josiah enthused when Adam had sung three verses.  “Marvelous tone and texture.”

“Thank you,” Adam said, “but I’d feel more comfortable if you’d both sing along with me.”

“Gladly,” Jamie replied, “though I haven’t your gift.”

“It will be a privilege,” Josiah added.

Time slipped by unnoticed, as the three men sang song after song, first hymns and then soft ballads.  Unnoticed, too, was the gathering audience that gradually drifted over to encircle the singers.  Only when the listeners broke into applause did Adam, intent on the music, look up to find himself the center of attention.

“Bravo!” called a familiar voice.

Turning in direction of the sound, Adam recognized several of the Vultures in the crowd.  “You told!” he castigated Jamie.

“I only told Marc,” Jamie protested.

“And I only told Lucas,” Marcus insisted.

Lucas stepped forward with an impish grin.  “And I only told everyone!”  He laughed at Adam’s obvious embarrassment.

“Let’s have another song, young fellow,” a total stranger suggested.

Josiah chuckled.  “I think we’d best oblige them, son.”

Not seeing any polite alternative, Adam began to strum the guitar, and the impromptu concert continued.  After a few more songs he pleaded the imminent start of the second service at the chapel.  As he stood and prepared to leave the Green, Robert Raines came up to him, shook his hand and complimented his musical skill.  “I’ll hope to hear more from you soon,” he said.

Adam laughed.  “I don’t think I’ll be entertaining on the Green again anytime soon.”

Raines tipped his silk hat and with an enigmatic smile said, “We’ll see.”

* * * * *

            When the mathematics tutor dismissed the midday recitation on Wednesday, he requested, “Mr. Cartwright, please see me after class.”

“Uh-oh,” Lucas intoned, wagging his finger under the nose of the man seated next to him.  “What malfeasance have you committed, my boy?”

“Malfeasance is your department,” Adam quipped, but he felt some apprehension as he approached the tutor’s lectern.  He couldn’t imagine why the instructor wanted to see him.  His recitation in Euclid, as always, had been flawless, and since Lucas hadn’t been passing notes today, his deportment had been exemplary, too.  “You wanted to see me, Mr. Nolen?” he inquired.

Sensing the young man’s nervousness, the tutor smiled.  “Only to hand you this message from a fellow instructor, Mr. Cartwright.  Please read it at your earliest convenience.”

“Yes, sir, of course.”  Adam waited until he was in the hall before breaking the wax seal on the envelope.  His brow furrowed as he read the message, and the frown lines were still prominent as he came down the steps and met his friends at the Elm of Assembly.

“Trouble, Adam?” Jamie asked with concern.

“He looks it,” Lucas opined, “though I don’t see how it could be.  He doesn’t approach your sainthood, of course, Preacher Boy, but—”

“Oh, hush,” Jamie remonstrated.  “What is it, Adam?”

Adam shrugged.  “I honestly don’t know.  It’s a request to meet with a Mr. Stoeckel at his home this afternoon between the hours of two and four.”

“Oh, bother!” Lucas exclaimed.  “You’ll miss the regatta.”

“I suppose,” Adam muttered.  The last thing on his mind right now was some boat race, although he had been looking forward to it.

“That’s all it says, just to come to his home?” Jamie asked.

Adam nodded as he handed over the note.  “Except for the address.  I don’t even recognize the name.”

“Oh, Adam,” Marcus chided.  “How can you not know?”

“I haven’t met all the professors here,” Adam reminded him.

Marcus laughed.  “You’ve seen this one every morning.  He leads the music at chapel.”

“Is that his name?” Adam asked, shaking his head at his own dimwittedness.  “I’ve had so many to absorb that I’d forgotten his.  I can’t imagine what he wants with me, though.”

Lucas sported a knowing grin.  “Can’t you?”

“No, I can’t,” Adam spouted irritably, “and if you know, I’d advise you to cough up the information, sir.”

Lucas waved his hands before his face in protest.  “No, no, I don’t know, but I can guess.”  He paused to give his words greater impact and announced, “He’s obviously heard of your musical prowess.”

“From whom?” Adam demanded, coming nose-to-nose with his friend.

Lucas took a step back.  “Well, not from me.  I’m only guessing again, mind you, but Robert Raines is in the chapel choir.  He might be the culprit.”

Remembering the senior’s cunning expression when he’d said, “We’ll see” on the Green the previous Sunday, Adam knew instantly that Lucas had guessed correctly.  “Let’s get over to the dining hall and ask that meddling Vulture what he’s gotten me into,” he suggested.

“My stomach heartily seconds that motion,” Lucas declared and led the way down College Street.

Unfortunately, Adam was not able to satisfy his curiosity at dinner, for Robert Raines was absent on some personal business.  “Perhaps he’s recommended you for the Beethoven Society,” Milton Bradford suggested.  It was the Beethoven Society that provided the music for chapel services.

“But I’m a freshman,” Adam argued.  “They won’t even let me sing on the fence!”

“Precisely,” Edgar Warington said dryly.

“Now, it isn’t unheard of,” Bradford chided, “just . . . rare.”

“More likely, Stoeckel has heard you have a measure of talent and hopes to supplement his income with private lessons,” Warington scoffed.  “He does give them.”

It would have irreparably damaged Adam’s reputation with his own class to agree with a scurrilous sophomore, but he secretly thought that Warington had probably hit the nail on the head.  If that were Stoeckel’s aim, he was destined for disappointment, for Adam had no extra funds for private music lessons, much as he would have enjoyed them.

* * * * *

            After changing into a fresh shirt and crisp cravat, Adam made his way to York Street, one block north of the college yard, and rapped on the door of number 137 at about 2:30 that afternoon.  A woman with flaxen braids encircling her head like a coronet answered the door and, smiling, invited Adam in when he stated that he was here at Professor Stoeckel’s request.  “My husband is in his study,” she said.  She led the way to a room at the back of the house.  “Gustave, a student has come.”

Gustave Stoeckel bounced up from his seat.  “Ah!  Mr. Cartwright, yes?” he asked, his German accent even thicker than his wife’s.  “Come in; come in!”  He came around the desk to usher Adam in.

Feeling awkward, Adam stood, turning his hat in his hand.  “You asked to see me, Professor Stoeckel?”

Bright eyes twinkled at him.  “I’m not a professor yet,” he said.  “Maybe someday, if God wills, someone will endow a chair for music here at Yale.  Until that happy day, you call me just Herr Stoeckel or, in the American way, Mister.”

“Yes, sir,” Adam said, flushing at his mistake.  “Why did you want to see me, Herr Stoeckel?”

“You come straight to the point,” Stoeckel said.  “I like that!  I was told that you have a fine singing voice.”

Adam cast his eyes downward.  “That’s not for me to judge, sir.”

Stoeckel laughed.  “No, you are right; that is for me to judge.  Will you sing for me, Mr. Cartwright?  Anything you like.”

Adam raised his head.  He supposed he should tell the music instructor right away that he had no money for private lessons, but he wanted to hear the man’s opinion of his singing.  If the instructor thought his talent merited development, perhaps he could afford them down the road.  He particularly liked the references to nature in the song he had sung on Sunday, so he again began “I Sing the Mighty Power of God.”

Stoeckel stood before him, eyes closed, obviously attentive to the notes.  “Good,” he said when Adam finished.  “Good.  You have some gift for music.”

“Thank you, sir,” Adam said with relief and satisfaction.

“Do you read music?”

Adam shrugged one shoulder.  “I know musical notation and can pick out notes on my guitar,” he said, “but I haven’t learned sight singing.”

“It can be learned,” Stoeckel said warmly.  “You do well with your other studies?”

“Yes,” Adam assured him.  He took a breath and said with hurried regret, “I don’t want to waste your time, Herr Stoeckel.  Much as I’d enjoy taking lessons from you, I don’t have sufficient funds for private lessons at this time.”

Stoeckel threw back his large head, his goatee pointing toward the ceiling, and guffawed loudly.  “That is why you think I asked you here, to offer you lessons for a fee?”

“Well, yes,” Adam admitted.  “I couldn’t imagine any other reason.”

Stoeckel clapped a supportive hand to the young man’s shoulder.  “You have seen the choir in chapel?”

“Yes, of course, every morning,” Adam said with a smile.  “The music is inspiring . . . like nothing I’ve heard before, sir.”

“Good, good,” Stoeckel said again, clearly pleased.  “Would you like to make such music, then—to join the choir, I mean?”

Adam’s head reeled at the thought.  “But I’m a freshman, Herr Stoeckel,” he said hesitantly.  “Were you not told?”

“Yes, yes, I know that,” Stoeckel said.  “There is no restriction against freshmen in the Beethoven Society.  Would you like to join?”

Adam felt his heart streak toward the ceiling.  To make such music!  Of course, he wanted that!  “Yes, sir, I’d like that very much.”

“Good,” Stoeckel said.  “You will have to pass an examination, but if you do, we will happily welcome you to the Beethoven Society.”

“When can I take it?” Adam asked, hoping he didn’t sound too eager.

Stoeckel laughed again.  “You’ve already started.  Let us continue.”  He took a sheet of music from his desk and handed it to Adam.    He asked a number of questions about note values, key signatures, meter and other technicalities of the score and then directed, “Now, sing it, please.”

Adam stared at the printed notes.  He’d already told the choir master that he didn’t sight read, so how was he supposed to sing this correctly?

Stoeckel smiled at the bewildered face before him.  “Follow the melodic line as best you can,” he suggested.  “You won’t recognize the tune, as it is of my own composing.”  He intoned the opening pitch and motioned for Adam to continue.

Voice shaking, Adam followed the notes up and down the staff and hoped he hadn’t strayed too far from the melody.

Stoeckel nodded thoughtfully.  “Some errors, but you have potential, if you are willing to work.”

“I’m willing to work!” Adam declared with enthusiasm.

“Good.  Can you sing harmony?”

“I never have,” Adam admitted.  “Mostly, I sing by myself, sir, for my own pleasure—occasionally with my father or with friends, but we all tend to sing the melody.”

“Come with me,” Stoeckel ordered and breezed past Adam.  He led the way into the parlor, where a small organ sat centered on one wall.  He played a line from “I Sing the Mighty Power of God.”  Then with one finger he played a harmony part.  “Sing that,” he said.

Adam repeated the line, as the instructor sang with him.

“And now alone,” Stoeckel said.  When Adam did, the teacher said, “Once more.”  When Adam successfully completely the line by himself, Stoeckel said, “Now, you sing that part as I sing the melody above it.”

Adam took a deep breath and repeated the part he had just learned, smiling broadly when they finished.  The notes had blended into as beautiful a duet as he could imagine.

“You have a good ear,” Stoeckel said.  “I think I will start you at first bass.  That is a good range for you.  Rehearsals are every Wednesday at five.  You have no other commitments?”

“No, sir.”  Since the third recitation was always suspended on Wednesdays, he had that hour free.

“I will see you in the chapel at five, then,” Herr Stoeckel said.  He stroked his short beard.  “After today, if you come half an hour earlier, I will give you some basic instruction—no charge,” he said with a smile.  “A few weeks of extra work will improve your sight-reading skill.”

“Herr Stoeckel, I would be very grateful,” Adam said eagerly.  “I will see you this afternoon at the chapel.”  He managed to hold his enthusiasm for about a block; then he began to run down York Street, too full of the wondrous news for the restrained response of walking home.  He had to tell Jamie as soon as possible or he’d burst!  As he rounded the corner onto George Street, he laughed aloud.  What was he thinking?  Jamie wasn’t in their shared room; he’d gone down to the harbor with Lucas and Marcus to see the regatta.  So much the better! Adam thought as he raced down the street, wind rushing about his ears.  He would tell them all.  He’d tell the world!  Especially that snooty Warington, who thought no freshman could possibly meet the stringent standards for the choir.  His schedule had seemed full already, but now he felt such a surge of energy that he was ready to take on extra studies, society meetings, baseball, boating, music—just everything!  Oh, life at Yale was all that he’d dreamed—and more!

Adam came to an abrupt halt as he saw Jamie, holding tightly to his bowler in the brisk wind, making his way up the street.  “Did I miss it all,” he asked, “or did the cold air become too much for you?”  He turned to walk beside his friend.

“You missed all there was,” Jamie chuckled, “but that wasn’t much.  Everything was cancelled, due to rough water, except the barge race.  The Nixie won; the other two fouled out within a hundred feet of finishing.”

“That’s a shame,” Adam said.

“The shells will try again on Saturday,” Jamie told him, “a good thing, since you had to miss today.”  He looked up into his friend’s wind-reddened face.  “What I really want to hear about, of course, is how your interview with Mr. Stoeckel went.”

Adam’s grin spread ear to ear.  “You’re looking at the latest addition to the Beethoven Society, my friend.”

“I knew it!”  Jamie stopped to pump his friend’s hand in the middle of the street.  “I knew that nonsense about his looking for a new pupil was . . . well, nonsense.”

“Typical sophomore sophistry,” Adam alleged with an arch of his eyebrow.

“Indubitably!” Jamie declared.  “I can’t wait to see Warington’s face when you tell the Vultures tonight.”

Adam laughed.  “And I can’t wait to get my hands on Robert Raines . . . and thank him heartily.”

* * * * *

            The weather on Saturday was practically balmy, especially for a day in late October.  The sky above was clear, but for a few fluffy cumulus clouds, and the wind moderate—a perfect day for boating.  The shore in front of the judges’ pavilion was crowded with students and townspeople, among them the quartet of freshmen who so often spent time together.  “Good tide,” Lucas commented, gazing out over the waters of New Haven Harbor.

“Ideal,” Adam agreed.

“Done much boating out there in dry Nevada, have you?” Lucas snickered.

Adam smiled condescendingly.  “You’re forgetting Lake Tahoe.”

Lucas laughed at himself this time.  “I guess I was!  Ever sailed her?”

“Mostly rowed,” Adam said.  “Only a two-man rig, home-built.  Nothing like we’ll see today.”  Maybe salt water flowed in his veins, passed down to him from his father and from Grandfather Stoddard, Adam mused, for he could feel excitement rising at the expectation of seeing some finely crafted vessels in the races this morning.

He wasn’t disappointed as the sleek shells of Spanish cedar and larger barges passed in grand review before the shells took their positions for the race.  Two of Yale’s three boating clubs were racing this afternoon.  The Glyuna drew the inside position, with the Nixie next to her.

“Varuna won’t be racing,” Lucas commented sagely.  “They’re down a man.”

“A decided disadvantage,” Adam agreed.  He leaned forward when the starting gun was fired and watched with open-faced admiration the rhythmic coordination of the men pulling the oars.  The Nixie and Glyuna were almost side by side for the first half mile, but then Nixie began to pull away.  It was at least a length ahead by the time it turned around the buoy and headed toward the finishing point, and it continued to put more distance between it and Glyuna’s shell until the crew gave a whoop of victory as they finished the 2.9-mile course in just over nineteen minutes.  The Glyuna, one of whose crew had sprained an arm during the race, came in more than a minute later.

“Oh, that was beautiful,” Adam said with a sigh of contentment.

“You look as though you’d like to be out there,” Jamie teased.

“I would,” Adam admitted.  “It would be marvelous exercise and a pure pleasure to skim over the water like that.”

“I’d better not hear of your going out for the Navy when you wouldn’t make time for baseball,” Lucas grunted.

“Don’t worry,” Adam chuckled.  “I don’t have time for either.”  Or money, he might have added.

“Especially not now with your extra duties in the choir,” Marcus said with pride, something they all felt in the accomplishment of their friend.

“Especially not now,” Adam agreed.  Until he settled in with the choir and caught up on all the new music being thrown at him, it was the unvarnished truth.

Varuna did participate in and, in fact, won the drill that followed the shell race.  Orders were signaled by color from the Commodore’s boat, which had to be interpreted by the coxswain of each boat and carried out by the crew.  “That’s something you could do,” Adam said to Jamie.  “They seem to want lightweight fellows at that position, and learning the signals would come to you as easily as any other language.”

“Perhaps someday,” Jamie said with a significant smile, knowing Adam would understand without further explanation.

Adam nodded discreetly.  Money.  Would there ever be a time they didn’t have to worry about that?  It was a shame in this instance, too, for regular doses of fresh air and sunshine would undoubtedly benefit his slightly built friend.

~ ~ Notes ~ ~

The lyrics to “I Sing the Mighty Power of God” were written in 1714 by Isaac Watts, the music by G. F. Root in 1856, so it would have been a relatively new song at the time Adam sang it.