The Sea, The Mountain, The Soul
The room was heavy, laden with unspoken dreams, uncertain decisions, and unanswered prayers. Full of dread, John Cartwright stood in the doorway, his presence unknown.
Across the room, atop the weathered oak dresser, lay a hairbrush and a once-jeweled comb, its teeth dulled by years of wear. A matching hand mirror, the porcelain handle chipped, sat next to them. Alongside, its edges tattered, lay a Bible.
John watched as a trembling finger reverently traced the Bible's black leather rim. Coveted voices and joyful memories steeped John's soul and he wavered, steadying himself against the doorframe. The movement burdened the creaky threshold, and John straightened as misted eyes turned upward. "You're leaving, aren't you?"
His palm resting on the Bible, Ben responded with a single, crushing word. "Yes."
Shoulders wilted, John backed into the dimly lit hallway and retreated to the shelter of his room. He tottered to his bed and slumped onto the mattress. With his head in his hands, he admitted that as far back as grammar school, he'd denied the restlessness that would some day lure his older brother away . . .
"Benjamin?"
Beneath the cloak of the schoolhouse desk, John inched his foot to the right, gently tapping his boot against Ben's. "I asked you a question, Benjamin." John squirmed, and the weary bench seat creaked in protest. Why did Ben have so much trouble paying attention? John held his breath, drew his foot back, and then snapped it sharply against the side of Ben's boot. Ben flinched. "Hey! What's the matter with you?" Miss Graham stood slowly, her palms pressed heavily against her desk. Her voice was impatient, at best. "Manners, Mr. Cartwright, manners!" Ben's eyes scanned the faces in the room, beginning and ending on his teacher. "I wasn't . . . I mean, I was talking to John, not . . ." "Benjamin!" Ben swallowed hard and, with a repentant sigh, pushed himself to his feet. "I'm sorry, Miss Graham. I wasn't paying attention . . ." "Again." "Yes, ma'am, I wasn't paying attention, again." Miss Graham moved around her desk. John shivered. Like a lioness on the prowl. Ben's done it now. Papa is not gonna like this! The teacher's gait slowed as she neared the Cartwright brothers' desk. She moved into the aisle and stood eye to eye with her repentant pupil. "Mr. Cartwright, while your grades are exemplary, your behavior of late is intolerable. I have no doubt that your father . . ." John cringed when his brother started to protest. Don't do it, Ben, it'll only make things worse. Realizing his near lapse in judgment, Ben pressed his lips firmly together. "Will be quite disappointed . . ." Miss Graham continued. John rolled his eyes. That's an understatement! "When he hears of today's incident, especially coming on the shirt tails of last week's unfortunate episode!" John grimaced as Ben's fists flexed at his sides. "I'm sorry, Miss Graham," Ben said. "It won't happen again." The teacher's voice softened. "What was it this time, Ben?" John felt a measure of tension from Ben as his brother fidgeted, his eyes roaming. "Ben," Miss Graham said, "maybe we should discuss this at the end of the school day." John's patience waned as his brother nodded. Teacher's pet. He couldn't bear to watch. He turned away, staring into the glare of the schoolhouse window. He'll get out of this one, just like always. Later that day, on a stump below the schoolhouse window, John overheard his brother confessing to their teacher of daydreaming of a life as a fur trader, a life of solitude with no one but himself to answer to. Ben spoke longingly of months he'd spend trapping in the wilderness, moving from place to place along the waters of Lake Erie. Having never been fond of water of any kind, John winced as Ben described paddling the shores in a canoe, trading with the Indians, and moving further west in search of land untouched as yet by civilization. Why can't Ben be happy here? Papa's worked for years to make a life here in Boston. Ben's the oldest, and Papa expects him to run the family business someday . . . and that someday is coming soon, too soon. The rich tones of his brother's voice snapped John from his thoughts. "Thank you, Miss Graham" was all he heard Ben say. Leaning back, John rested his shoulders against the schoolhouse wall, inhaled deeply, and closed his jerked, rolling off of the tree stump when, seconds later, Ben appeared at his side."You ready to head home, little brother?" Righting himself, John quickly stood, brushed the dust from his trousers, and shook his head in disbelief. "She's not gonna tell Papa, is she?" Ben's face sobered. "No, she isn't." "I knew it! You did it again! You looked at her with those big, brown eyes of yours and filled her head with your stories . . ." "They aren't stories!" Ben shouted, glancing about quickly, leery of prying ears. "They're dreams," he whispered, "my future in dreams, and you didn't let me finish! Miss Graham isn't going to tell Papa. I am." . . .
With his fingertips pressed against his forehead, John shook his schoolhouse memory aside. He sighed and rubbed his temples, the sight of Ben standing at their mother's dresser haunting him. He's leaving. John rested his chin on clenched fists. I guess I knew this day would come. All these years, I've tried lying to myself. Telling the truth never came easy to me. He raked his fingers through his hair. Papa always believed what Ben had to say . . . but then, Ben always tells the truth . . .
"Cross my heart, little brother," Ben said as he ran a comb through his dark hair. "Mr. Hughes is paying me three dollars a week."
John whistled his appreciation. "And all you've gotta do is wait around the house while old man Hughes is at the office?"
Ben stood and smoothed his trousers. "No, John, that's not it at all. While Mr. Hughes is at his office, I do whatever the ladies of the house need. You know, man's work."
John slid his arm into his Sunday jacket, a naughty grin creeping across his face. "Whatever the ladies of the house need? Hm, now tell me, does that include . . ."
"Mrs. Hughes is a fine, upstanding lady," Ben interrupted, "and her daughter is as well. And you, little brother, are disgusting!"
Laughing, John tucked a neatly pressed handkerchief into his pocket. "Don't get your undershorts in a bunch! Just tell me, what is it that you'll be doing to earn your three dollars a week?"
Ben smiled and tossed John's boot across the room. "Lifting, carrying, repairs, that sort of thing. Mr. Hughes says I'm to take the burden from his wife and daughter in his absence. They've only just moved here, you know, and that large house is full of unpacked crates and such."
"And you've told Papa that you'll be away from the shop?"
Ben busied himself with the buttons of his shirt. "Papa knows."
John pointed his foot and slid it into his boot. Wonderful. That leaves me to work alongside Papa, and that means once again, I'll be the one paying for Ben's new job!
"I'm sorry, John," Ben said softly. "I know what this means for you."
"Do you? Do you, Ben? The last time you took a fancy to making money for your, how did you put it, 'investment in your future,' Papa went overboard proving he didn't need you at the shop!"
"I remember, John."
"Remember? You remember Papa at home in the evening. What you don't remember is him working me and himself like there was no tomorrow!"
"You're forgetting, John, that the income from the shop during those months filled the wood box and bought a side of pork for the winter, and it gave you those boots you're wearin' and stocked the vegetables in the cellar. And it bought Mama a warmer coat. It wasn't new, but it kept her warm!"
"Yes, but there's something you're leaving out, brother. That job of yours drove a wedge between Mama and Papa that lasted nearly a year! And all because you have this notion . . ."
"It is not a notion!" Ben shoved his hands into his pockets, working his fingers into fists as he paced. "I'm not a blacksmith, John. I wasn't meant to be one, and I never will be! I can't spend my life doing something that holds no passion for me, something that Papa and you enjoy doing, somethin you're good at." Ben stopped and faced his brother. "Mama understands. She'll find a way to make Papa understand, too."
"You expect too much, Ben. Mama may speak in your behalf this time, but the day will come when . . ."
"Mama's gone." The words seized in John's throat and he lowered his head into trembling hands. Papa says we've mourned long enough, that we have to accept things and move on. I reckon Ben's taking Papa's words to heart, but . . . He's only sixteen. He's not old enough. Papa said so . . . just a few days before we lost you . . .
"But Papa," Ben said through clenched teeth, "you yourself left home at sixteen! And you didn't carry with you anything like this!" Ben poked his finger against the crumpled paper on his father's desk.
John, standing next to his brother, held his breath.
"Benjamin, an insignificant piece of paper with a name and a signature or two does not insure the future of a sixteen-year-old boy! Ben, you're bright, a boy with honorable convictions . . ."
"I am not a boy, Papa! And that insignificant piece of paper is my introduction to Captain Abel Stoddard, one of the most respected captains in all of Boston! And Mr. Hughes says . . ."
"Mr. Hughes is not your father! I should never have allowed . . ."
"You didn't allow, Papa. You forbade me to go to work for the Hughes', and then you shunned me at home and made John and Mama suffer through it!"
"You suffered for so long, Mama," John said in the stillness of his bedroom. He ran his fingers through his hair and clasped them behind his neck. With eyes turned upward, he puffed his cheeks and blew, a failed effort to banish his sorrow. You defended Ben's right to not only have his dreams, but to share them with us as well. And now, you're gone. John bent his head in sorrow. Your suffering is over and Papa seems . . . lost. The shop will be mine, now that Ben is leaving. It's a good shop, Mama. The work is hard, but it's what I know.
With eyes moist, yet full of promise, John moved to the window overlooking the street. I have ideas . . . ideas that will bring in more customers. Papa won't approve of some of them – most of them, but before you know it, Mama, my ideas will make Cartwright Blacksmith and Livery a household name in Boston! He pressed against the sash, jimmying the weathered wood. Breathing in the crisp morning air, he exhaled with a sigh. And Ben . . . Ben's dreams are taking him away.
"I have to go, you know," Ben said softly.
John turned from the window and donned a half-hearted smile. How many times over he years had he looked up to find his brother leaning, silhouetted in the dim light of his bedroom doorway? "I've always known. I'm surprised you've waited this long."
Ben pushed away from the door, crossed the room, and dropped heavily onto John's bed. "I wasn't waiting, really. It's just that, well, when Mama passed . . ."
"I understand. At least, I'm trying to. Does Papa know?"
Ben hesitated. "He knows. I haven't told him." His eyes drifted far away. "But he knows."
John scraped his wooden chair across the floor, straddled it, and rested his chin against the top rail. "I reckon we always knew, all of us, ever since you were a boy."
Ben raised his eyes to his brother's.
"I hope that wherever you go," John said, his voice knotting in his throat, "your restlessness is eased by your dreams."
"John, I . . ."
"Don't." John clenched the chair rail in his fingers. "Follow your dream, Ben. Conquer your seas, climb your mountains, and find the place that puts your soul at ease."
"Hm. So many nights, mama tucked us into bed with those words."
"And now, you're taking her hopes to heart."
"What about you, John? What of your seas and your mountains . . . and your soul?"
John raised his chin and squared his shoulders. My sea is the blacksmith shop and my mountains are the people of Boston. As for easing my soul, I plan on finding a pretty young lady to help me with that!"
Ben smiled and shook his head.
"Now," John said, springing from his chair, "what say we talk to Papa, together?"
"Mama would want it that way."
"Yes, brother, she would."
~~finis~~