All Bedlam Courses Past (part one hundred twenty-seven)

 

 

 

 

 

All Bedlam Courses Past

 

Chapter Five

Collecting Debts

(part one hundred twenty-seven)

 

 

 

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A Cookesville man in difficulties can count on his friends. Our town is a place where, when your reputation is well-made, fellowship is the natural rule. A man must put himself far outside the pale, if he have no friends to turn to when his luck goes sour.

And while we think of friends, from near and afar, I mention Mr. Ebrach, the generous wages his ventures have provided so many, the toleration with which a city dedicated to fair treatment and justice for all has welcomed him wholeheartedly, having no need to share his views.

Through Mr. Ebrach I have had the pleasure of getting to know a cousin, a son of my father’s younger brother, a Belgian by birth. He is known to you all as Mr. Thomas Jerome.

 

This reminder, then a close with the dull necessaries, Lincoln’s Indiana days, his visit to Cookesville, the joke… Élucide found Yeager. He stood with Vernon’s parents, and with Vernon’s parents chuckled.

Carriages now drew from the scene, the crane was set to work, the statue, shrouded and strapped, inched aloft. A crew with planks and iron bars stood braced to work the Emancipator in.

Mother said: “Thomas, how are you holding up?”

“I made a choice, you know, at one time, to become fluent in English, when I was a student and had a tutor, making English words for me to write in my book.” Honoré drew breath. “I think of it because it was the phrase I recall, that when Mr. Lincoln was assassinated the actor had said, sic semper tyrannis. Which, you know, is Latin.”

He had ruminated on a comment—and sequiturs be damned, delivered it.

“I suppose everyone thinks Mrs. Lincoln was unhinged by all that right under her nose.”

“Unhinged is no way to describe a person, Luce. And we are not gossiping about the poor woman.”

Hubbub from the crowd’s outliers, the rowdy boys who’d bothered Isa; a thrum among merchants, city officers, ministers of the Lord, respectable wives…

“She’s in!”

“Not the both halves?”

“…levered up and eased off that hooplolly…”

“Set down square on the blocks.”

“They know what they’re doing. But Rowan don’t know how he’s paying.”

Ranilde was feeling faint. A low discussion of whether she should lie down and Mother sit across.

“We really can’t have her taking a chill. We’d better go home.”

“If we can…”

“Or to the hotel, don’t you think?”

“Isa! Jump down and ask Miller up ahead to edge off his rig.”

“Take my stole, Nildie?” Élucide shed the fur, not sure what balk was in her sister’s eyes.

“Did you buy this for yourself?”

“From Fannie. You know, the League Jumble.”

“…surprised,” Nildie seemed to mumble, “she didn’t just give it to you.”

Élucide patted her sister into the folds, to the rhythm of jealous, jealous, jealous.

 

 

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Bedlam

All Bedlam Courses Past (part one hundred twenty-eight)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(2024, Stephanie Foster)