1858
"In brief, since I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion." Artemus raised his right hand with a flourish then extended it to the younger man a few feet away. "For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee, but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised and love my cousin."
George, in guise of Claudio, took Artemus' hand firmly, grinning from ear to ear. "I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double-dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look
exceedingly narrowly to thee."
Artemus waved off the teasing. "Come, come, we are friends: let's have a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts and our wives' heels."
"We'll have dancing afterward," a middle aged man with a stuck on beard insisted.
"First, of my word!" Artemus declared. "Therefore play, music." He danced a couple steps over to a stately fellow with his arms behind his back. "Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife:
there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn."
Suddenly, a boy nearly twenty years rushed onstage. "My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight, and brought with armed men back to Messina!"
Artemus placed a hand on the prince's arm. "Think not on him till to-morrow: I'll devise thee brave punishments for him. Strike up, pipers!"
Music floated from offstage and Artemus grabbed Millie and began twirling her around the stage. The others joined in as applause filled the air. Shadow covered them as the curtain fell. Artemus let Millie go, bowing to her in jest. She laughed and shoved him playfully.
"Well done!" Artemus exclaimed.
George pointed at the rising curtain. "We still have one more scene."
Aretmus took hands with his fellow players and lined up, bowing to the audience who clapped vigorously. Then the principals took their own bows, including Aretmus as Benedick and Millie as Beatrice, the sworn revilers of marriage now united as called for in Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. A couple more bows and the curtain closed for the night.
Artemus grinned, shaking hands with the players and laughing and chatting as he walked back to his dressing room. Mille grasped his hand before he entered. "Dear Artie," she sighed. She kissed his cheek. Artemus ran a hand through his hair. "Say, Millie..."
"Millie!" George ran down the narrow hallway, past prop men and crew taking down and setting up for the next night. He stopped in front of Artemus' door and grabbed Millie by the elbow. "Hurry up! It's not too late for dinner." Millie smiled at Artemus and let George pull her away.
Artemus lowered his gaze, then pushed open the dressing room door. He slunk over to a seat in front of a mirror and pulled off his mustache.
William, already present and changing out of his princely costume, looked at his friend curiously. "Tonight was the best night of all," he said. "Why the dumps?"
Artemus reached out for a cream to remove the heavy stage make up and sighed. "Millie."
William laughed. "She's taken, then."
"George."
"George?" William questioned. "At her age, I thought it'd be Tad."
Aretmus guffawed at the insinuation that Millie would go for their messenger, a nineteen year old dreamer whose ego far outstripped his talent.
"Well, she is young, Aretmus," William defended.
"Age doesn't matter," Artemus argued. Millie was far too sophisticated and vibrant for a wet behind the ears neophyte.
William laughed again. "You're two years from thirty. You haven't got a chance, my friend, not with her."
Artemus removed his wig and flung it at William who caught it deftly. "And where's your woman?"
"I intend to find one and sweep her off her feet tonight," William returned good-naturedly. He tossed the wig back to Artemus, then proceeded to remove his own makeup.
Artemus stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, then rubbed the cream in vigorously. Before he'd lived with Aunt Maude, he'd been raised in the life of players on the stage. He'd watched the bonds that formed and the inevitable relationships. Some crumbled, some endured. His own parents had met in the theater, but as yet he'd taken up with few women and only one seriously. The lady in question was seen on stage by a former fiancé who renewed their relationship and whisked her away within a week.
Artemus was pulled out of his contemplations by a knock at the door. He glanced at William, then called out. "Come in." He looked in the mirror at their director entering along with their financier.
"Well done, Artemus, well done!" the director, Walter, gushed.
"Thanks," Artemus replied, smiling and turning in his chair.
"Three more nights, all of them full houses!" the financier, Edgar, chimed in.
"It's one of the bard's best," Artemus answered. He lifted a cloth to his face to wipe off the cream.
"We want you to stay on," the director continued. "I personally guarantee you a role in our next production."
Artemus raised his eyebrows. "Yes. Yes, I accept, of course!"
The director beamed and shook hands with his new star. "With a natural like you, we have to take advantage. Now, go home, get some rest. The morrow cometh soon!"
Aretmus nodded and watched the men leave. William tilted his head to him. "Don't you know all Chicago wants you? Take my advice. Enjoy the many women at your fingertips and leave the Millies of this world to the Georges."
"Maybe I want a Millie," Artemus countered.
"Well, to each his own," William shrugged and turned back to his own mirror.
Atremus considered William's counsel as he finished cleaning his face, then stared at himself again. Almost thirty. He ran a hand over his forehead. Were those deeper wrinkle lines?
Artemus passed into the Chicago streets from the back door of the theater, but he was still met with a gaggle of admirers. He nodded and shook hands and said thank you a dozen times. He almost asked a brunette beauty to stroll with him, but felt for once he'd like to be alone after a show. He walked out into the city busy even at night. As he strode down the street purposefully, he gave himself a pep talk.
"Artemus, they love you. You're on top of the world." Five years and he'd made his mark in Chicago theater. He'd started humbly with a rowdy crowd, but now the most refined theater in the city had just offered him a continuing engagement. Aunt Maude would beam over the news. She'd come to see him multiple times and gushed to all her friends, many who found their way west to see him perform. He was different, she insisted, not like the squalling players so common these days. His was true art.
Artemus had to give it to Aunt Maude. She'd been a solid supporter even when he chose a direction she didn't quite like. He smiled to himself as he thought of her. He should get back some time to see her again. Maybe after the next production. Correspondence just wasn't the same.
Artemus slowed as he approached Snyder's Ale House. He'd frequented the place during the last couple years, sometimes with friends, sometimes without. He paced tentatively inside, greeting regulars here and there, but relieved to see no one of close relationship. He approached the counter and leaned against it, nodding at the barkeep.
"Good performance?" Abe inquired, already uncorking a bottle to pour Artemus a drink.
Artemus nodded and took the glass Abe passed him. He ran a finger around the rim, then gulped.
Abe cocked his head. "Something wrong tonight?"
Aretmus eyed the barkeep. "Abe, you ever wonder what you want out of life?"
Abe chuckled. "No. I have this place."
"That's all you want?"
Abe nodded. "I wanted my own place and I've got it. But I've seen this before."
"Seen what?"
"People coming in here, medicating their thoughts with drink, not sure where they are and what they want to do."
"Hm," Atremus intoned, weighing the glass in his hand.
Abe shook his head. "What's got into you? This isn't like you."
"Just thinking,"Artemus said.
Abe held out the bottle and Artemus let him pour a second round into his glass. "I suppose it happens to the best of us. But you? The road of despair isn't for you."
Artemus smiled softly. "It isn't?"
Abe nodded. "You know what I hear these days? Let's go see that Artemus Gordon. Does Artemus Gordon come here? They say he does. When does he come in?"
Artemus raised his eyebrows. He'd been unaware people asked after him. "What do you say?"
Abe looked affronted. "I say I don't give out information on good patrons."
Aretmus raised his glass in thanks.
"You've got the heart of this city. What more do you want?"
Artemus took a sip from his glass. What more did he want?
"Well, answer the question.
Aretmus grinned. "You don't let a man think long, do you?"
"What is there to think about? I already told you what you've got."
Artemus sipped again as he gazed on the insistent barkeep. He'd already drawn on the man for one of his roles, though he never would have confessed so. He didn't want to embarrass the man who had become a friendly acquaintance.
Artemus set his glass down. "I'm not sure. There's something missing."
Abe shook his head. "You need a good sleep. Let this thing pass you by so you can come back here like you always do."
Artemus couldn't help but smirk at the man's certainty. He glanced at himself in the mirror behind Abe's back. He was dressed in a stylish suit, he was handsome, he had talent, and could share it with the world. What else was there?
"You think I was born yesterday? I ain't no lily liver!" Artemus turned as an overbearing voice filled the bar.
Abe cussed. "I told him to stay out."
Artemus ran an eye over the two men that had just entered. "Which one?"
"One on the right," Abe grumbled.
The one on the right was middle aged and clothed in a suit fashionable five years ago. He was shouting at another man, short and humble of means by the looks of him. The short man answered. "I have said nothing to demean you, sir."
"The heck you didn't! You implied it..." The man rambled on.
Aretmus turned back to Abe. "Who's he?"
Abe's brow creased. "New. Been coming in the last two weeks harassing patrons. I told him to mind his own, but he insists on getting out of temper."
There was a sudden crash. Aretmus jerked around and pushed off the bar. The man had grabbed a chair and was shaking it like a weapon. "Say that again!"
The short man looked around nervously and swallowed. "Please leave, sir. I do not wish to speak to you any longer."
"You're gonna!" The man jabbed with the chair and the shorter one dodged out of the way.
Abe rushed around the end of the bar. "You! Get out now!"
The harasser dropped the chair, but only to punch Abe in the face. Abe reeled back to the floor. "No one tells me what to do!"
He turned back to the shorter man, but an even louder voice joined the fray. "My father always said cowards never want a fair fight!"
The whole room turned its attention to Artemus at the bar, standing tall, one hand behind his back. "What did you say?"
"I said, 'You are a coward, sir.'" Abe grinned at Aretmus' sudden change of accent. He sounded as much a Southern dandy as Abe had ever heard. With his suit and posture, he looked like one, too.
The man stalked towards Artemus. "I'll show you a coward!"
Artemus whipped his hand from behind his back and pointed a pistol at the man. The man halted, fear overcoming the anger on his face. Artemus didn't miss a beat. "I haven't dueled in some time, but I believe I am up to the challenge."
"D...dueled?" the man stammered.
"Honor, sir. You impugn the honor of this establishment with your display. I shall issue a challenge and see if you can do better than the two men buried before you."
"Uh, wait."
"Barkeep! Supply this man a pistol."
"No!"
"Will you not prove your bravery?"
"Well, I didn't mean anything."
"Stand to, sir, or leave this establishment and do not return."
"I, uh, well, I..." the man continued to stammer as he backed up to the door, then turned tail and ran.
Cheers and clapping rang out from the regulars, some already laughing and letting those who didn't know the actor in on the joke. Abe stood and clapped Artemus on the back. Artemus handed him the pistol. "I hope you don't mind I borrowed it."
Abe laughed as he paced back behind the bar and set the pistol under it again. "All things considered, no." He rubbed his reddening jaw. "What would you have done if he accepted?"
"Him?" Artemus laughed and downed the rest of his drink. "I've studied people too much. He wouldn't have."
"Excuse me."
Artemus turned to see the shorter man holding out his hand.
"I wanted to thank you."
Aretmus nodded and shook the man's hand.
"Can I join you?"
Aretmus nodded again. Abe handed the man a drink. "I'm paying for that one." He turned to pour a bit of water on a rag and cool his wounded jaw.
The man sipped and laughed timidly. "They say you're an actor."
"Yes," Artemus confirmed.
"You're good, too, they say. Can make anyone believe almost anything."
Artemus smiled at the description. He hoped so.
"I'm Lieutenant Charles Weeks."
"Ah. Army?"
"Yes. You'd think I would have had the courage to do what you did. I've never been good at confrontation."
"That is a bit strange for an army man," Artemus agreed.
"Have you ever considered the army?"
"Me?" Artemus snickered, imagining himself parading around in a uniform with a rifle over his shoulder.
"We can use a skill like yours to get...information."
Artemus downed the rest of his drink, eying the lieutenant over his glass. He lowered it. "Threatening to duel them?"
"No." Charles leaned in. "Spying."
Artemus stared into Charles' serious eyes, then burst out laughing. Eyes turned to them.
Charles looked panicked. "Shhhhh."
Artemus shook his head. "I'm not who you're looking for." Charles began to protest, but Artemus patted him on the back. "I'm an actor. That's all I want to be."
"But..."
Artemus stepped back as he threw a couple coins on the bar. "Good night, lieutenant. I hope you find who you're looking for somewhere else."
Artemus climbed the steps to his landlady's home, slipped inside, then walked upstairs. He put his ear to a door. George didn't seem to be home. He opened the door and popped his head in. His roommate was nowhere to be seen. He entered, lit the gas lamp, then changed into his nightclothes. He finally seated himself at his desk, his gaze flitting over scattered chemical equipment and an unfinished article. How many journals were demanding articles? He'd made waves in theater and scientific discovery. And yet...
Artemus leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. What was it Abe had said? What more do you want? Artemus stared at the silent street below his window. He had fame. He had money. He had intellectual pursuits and acclaim. Why wasn't that enough? And if it wasn't enough, what was?
Artemus played the event in the ale house over in his mind, the claim to dueling prowess, the fear in his antagonist's eyes, the gratefulness of the lieutenant. It was like being on stage only even better because it was real. Truth be told, he'd never felt so exhilarated and useful as he had right then.
A sudden flurry of giggles and a shush sounded behind him as his door opened. He turned to see George and Millie stumbling in. "Do you want Mrs. Adams to throw you out?"
"I don't care!" George exclaimed. "Guess what, Artie? Guess!"
"What?" Artemus inquired as he ran his eye over Millie all gussied up and staring adoringly at George.
"We're getting married!" George pulled Millie into him and planted a wet kiss on her lips. Millie giggled again.
"After one night out?" Artemus questioned incredulously.
"We've been seeing each other secretly," Millie's lilting voice explained.
"You know Walter." George stood tall and began lecturing. "In this theater, I will have no hanky panky. We are not other theaters. This is work and there will be no interference."
Artemus smiled in spite of his disappointment that another woman had avoided his grasp. George's impression was accurate.
"Celebrate with us!" Millie asked.
"Ah, he's always playing with his experiments," George complained. "No time for much else."
"How many times have I gone with you to..." Artemus' protest dissolved when Mrs. Adams' shrill voice filled the hallway.
"George Addicott! You know women are not allowed inside at this hour."
"You're here," George parried.
"That's not what I mean. Get her out of here this instant."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Adams," Millie apologized in her sweet tones. "We're so happy. We're getting married."
Mrs. Adams gasped. "Tonight?"
"Well, no," Millie admitted. "We haven't set a date."
"Then set it outside," Mrs. Adams encouraged, though her tone had softened. "George, be a good boy and say good-bye downstairs."
"Yes, ma'am."
Artemus watched the couple retreat and Mrs. Adams' suddenly transformed, her hands clasped to her chest. "Artemus, isn't it wonderful? A wedding. There hasn't been a wedding under this roof in years."
Artemus turned in his seat. "Yes. It's wonderful." What more do I want? Marriage certainly wasn't on the cards.
Mrs. Adams turned to leave, then stopped and dug into her skirt pocket. "Oh! I almost forgot. This came for you today." She crossed the room and handed Artemus an envelope, then left, muttering about dresses and cake.
Artemus didn't recognize the handwriting, but the return address was not far from Great Aunt Maude's home. He picked up a letter opener and slit the envelope, pulling out a sheet of paper with a brief paragraph.
Dear Artemus Gordon,
Your great aunt will not be pleased with me writing to you, but duty required my action. Maude fell ill three weeks ago. I am sorry to tell you I believe you must come now before heaven calls her home. She talks of little but you these days. It would not be right to let her leave this world without seeing you again. Forgive my brevity and come soon.
Yours,
Ida Lintern
The letter fell to Artemus' lap. He stared at it dumbly for a few seconds, then leaped to his feet, grabbing his valise and stuffing it full as fast as able.
Artemus took the steps up to the mansion two at a time. He'd spent the last two days on trains, mostly gazing out the window at the passing scenery, still shocked by the news of Aunt Maude's illness. Why hadn't she written? She should have. She had to know he'd come to her instantly. But he knew the answer. She wouldn't want to bother him and drag him away from his "success." He felt both love and annoyance for her devotion. She should have written.
"Mr. Gordon," a maid greeted as soon as he opened the door.
"Where is she? How is she?" he questioned, dropping his valise, already heading to the stairs.
"She's down here, sir, in the solarium."
Artemus turned abruptly. The solarium? "She's better, then."
"No, sir," the maid spoke softly. "The doctor's just been here. He said there's not much hope." Artemus marched down a side hall as the maid called after him. "She said she wanted privacy, sir." Artemus ignored her. She'd want to see him.
Artemus paused when he reached the door to the solarium. He took a breath, then entered with all the gusto he could muster. "Aunt Maude?" When no one replied, he walked passed a row of pink roses, her favorite, and turned a corner. "Aunt Maude!" He rushed to the side of the woman he loved so much, sitting in a wicker rocker, covered in a blanket.
Maude's eyes had been closed, but she opened them now in amazement. "Artemus!"
Atremus gripped her hands, colder than he recalled, and knelt in front of her. "I'm here."
Maude chuckled, but even so, Artemus perceived how drawn she looked and when she smiled, he noticed her left cheek was motionless. "Who told you?" she drawled out, her speech slower than he remembered.
"It doesn't matter," Artemus returned. "I came as soon as I heard."
Maude closed her eyes again and drew in a long breath. "I won't lie. It's good to see you." She opened her eyes. "But you would have been better staying away."
Artemus squeezed her hands. "How can you tell me that?"
Maude smiled grimly. "Death isn't pretty."
Artemus' throat closed. On the way, he'd tried to convince himself that Ida had been exaggerating.
"I'm going to die. I know it. I want to."
Artemus' eyes widened in disbelief.
"Albert's waiting for me."
Artemus coughed to clear his throat. "Have David and Sybil come? Julian?"
Maude's eyes grew distant as she gazed out the clear glass walls of the room. "David and Sybil were here last summer. Julian is in Europe. I didn't write them."
"I'll let them know." Someone had to tell her children.
"No," Maude spoke vehemently, pushing herself up in the rocker. "Let them remember me as I was. At the ocean. The warm breeze. The grandchildren clinging to my ankles." She grew still, leaning back in the rocker, her voice fading as she spoke.
"Aunt Maude..."
Maude shook her head, looking back at her great nephew. "Artemus, let me die on my own terms."
Artemus closed his eyes, willing back swelling tears. "I will."
"I want you to promise me something."
Atremus sucked in a breath and opened his eyes. "Yes?"
"Don't grieve too much."
Atremus opened his mouth, but Maude kept on speaking.
"I don't want people's lives to end when mine does. Don't think you have to mourn and wear black to honor me. I want you to live. That's honor enough."
Artemus couldn't help but smile. This was his great aunt for certain, illness or no.
"Promise me."
"I promise."
"Good." Aunt Maude patted his hand. "Now, you tell me all the Chicago news."
Artemus stood up, pulling a wicker chair next to his great aunt. He rambled on for a little while, sharing all he knew, but leaving out his uncertainty. He didn't want her thinking he longed for more than he had. Let her believe he lived content.
"Artemus?" Maude interrupted another theater story.
"Yes?"
"I've always loved you as my own."
Artemus met her watery eyes. "I know that."
"I thought I should say it. And Artemus?"
"Uh huh."
"I'm going to haunt you, you know. I'm going to make sure you don't forget all my good advice."
Artemus stared, then guffawed. Maude joined him, laughing more than she had in a month.
Artemus stood in the parlor full of fragrant bouquets and wreaths and sprays, the combination a bit overpowering. Maude had certainly been loved. People had turned out in droves, but now they were gone and he had been left suddenly alone. David, Sybil, and their children were somewhere in the house, searching through Maude's papers for her will. Artemus had excused himself. He didn't want to see his great aunt reduced to an emotionless statement of material distribution.
He wandered out of the parlor, into the entryway and out the front door, sitting down on the first step, watching people bustle here and there in the street. Life went on, so many unaware the earth had dimmed at the loss of a beautiful soul. He heard a crinkle in his pocket. He shifted and reached in, withdrawing the letter that had come just this morning.
Artemus unfolded it, reading again the plea that he return to Chicago on the first train. He'd thought he'd be out a job. He'd left with only a quick word to Mrs. Adams. He figured the show had to go on and they'd find someone else to take his place. Walter had written a trite, yet cordial letter, expressing disappointment he hadn't been informed of the emergency. Still, they wanted him back.
Artemus folded the letter and tapped it against his lips as he thought. Great Aunt Maude had supported him every step of the way. She'd encouraged his desires, come to see his plays, commented on his journal articles. And yet, he'd always sensed something else behind her words, a secret thought that he could be even more if he decided to.
Artemus jammed the letter back into his pocket. Maybe he'd imagined it. After all, she'd never said anything.
"Artemus?"
Artemus glanced behind him to see Sybil in the doorway. He made to stand, but she spoke again.
"Please, don't get up." She lowered herself next to him on the step. "You miss her."
Artemus nodded. "Certainly."
"She was larger than life," Sybil said quietly. "I wish I had seen her in her youth."
Artemus chuckled softly. "She would have been a sight to behold."
Sybil reached out a gentle hand and laid it on his arm. "She's given you the house."
Artemus turned his head to her in disbelief.
"It's the only home you have, she said."
"I...You should have it...or David, Julian."
Sybil shook her head. "We've done well for ourselves. Neither David or I need it. I'm certain Julian wouldn't cross the ocean for it. But it doesn't matter. The house is yours whether we care or not."
Artemus craned his neck back to look up at the imposing structure. "What will I do with it?"
Sybil laughed. "Whatever you want. Though, she did say she didn't think you'd stay in it often. I think she expects your soul to wander like hers."
Artemus unconsciously rubbed at his pocket.
"Will you go back to Chicago?"
"I don't know."
Sybil leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Wherever you go, whatever you decide, let us know."
"I will."
Sybil rose and went back into the house.
Artemus shook his head. "The house, Great Aunt Maude?" What would he do with a house? And what would he do with his life? He'd loved the stage, he still did, but Chicago, and George and Millie, and everything suddenly felt pale and dreary. So he could play a part. He could make people laugh and cry for a time. He could tinker with experiments, make a discovery now and then. Perhaps he'd done some good, touched lives for a brief moment. Still, there was something else out there just beyond his grasp.
A voice from a bar in Chicago spoke in his ear: Spying.
Artemus snorted. No. Such an idea was ludicrous, but he tapped his foot thoughtfully on the second step. Wouldn't Great Aunt Maude have loved that idea! Her Atremus a covert government man.
Artemus stood and turned to stare at the house. "Great Aunt Maude, if you're listening, start haunting me now." Maybe a woman who loved him better than he did himself could see more from her current vantage point and whisper in his ear where in the world his life was headed.