Excerpt # 4 - Chapter 10 of The Oak Lovers
Copyright 2010 by Kim Bullock
Chautauqua, New York - July 1905
Context: After a five year separatation, during which time Carl and Madonna's letters have become increasing intimate, Carl writes that he is spending the summer teaching at Chautauqua, leaving his family at home in East Aurora. Madonna can't resist the temptation to see him without fear of discovery and makes this impulsive journey to see him. Note: The fragment of the poem at the end was written by the real Carl Ahrens at Roycroft in 1900, and was most certainly about Madonna.
Madonna’s plan was rash at best. She arrived at Grand Central shortly after dawn with a small trunk, ten dollars in cash, the address of the Palace Hotel, and only the vaguest of notion as to how to get Chautauqua. The clerk at the ticket counter wore such a surly expression that she purchased a ticket to Buffalo, hoping some kindly passenger on the train could enlighten her as to what to do from there.
Between Albany and Syracuse Madonna clutched her armrests with each crack of thunder, trying not to view the lightshow outside as symbolic of God’s disapproval. In Rochester a mechanical issue delayed her journey by three hours. She arrived in Buffalo weary, but determined, barely catching the train to Jamestown.
The last steamboat had already departed for Chautauqua and none were scheduled for the following day; no one could enter or leave the Institution grounds on Sunday. A kindly clerk assured her that the new trolley could get her to the village tonight, but doubted the gate would be open by the time she arrived. She had no choice but to try.
She was the lone passenger disembarking at the Chautauqua transfer station. It was well after dark, not a soul in sight, and the front gates were indeed locked. Sitting heavily on her trunk, she buried her face in her hands, and prayed that a guard would emerge.
At last a gentleman slipped out a side door of the gate. Catching sight of her, he frowned. “Tickets are unavailable until Monday, Miss. You can take the next trolley to Maysville. They have hotels there.”
She stepped under a gas lamp, hoping he would see how young and exhausted she was. “There’s someone inside I must see. The matter’s quite urgent.”
He rubbed his chin, gazing at her as though considering how desperate she might be. She glanced around, hoping in vain to see someone, anyone else nearby. “It’s not Sunday for another two hours,” she said. “I’d be most grateful if you’d bend the rules a little and let me in.”
“The ticket counter’s closed. Everyone must pay to enter.”
“My friend will take care of that formality as soon as I find him. He’s a teacher here.” She swallowed hard. “I’ll tell no one how I got in.”
The man moved closer, his posture not particularly menacing, but she feared that could change at any moment. With his greased back thinning hair, pocked complexion and weak chin, she recoiled from the thought of him touching her. Glancing at his worn suit and badly scuffed shoes, she swiftly calculated how much money she could do without.
“I’ll give you three dollars,” she said. “And fifty cents more if you tell me how to find the Palace Hotel.”
He was no fool. He took her money and waved her through with a tip of his hat. Five minutes later she stood in the lobby, such as it was, of a hotel that was anything but palatial. There was no point in enquiring about Carl until morning. Better to put off the reunion than have it take place in a canvas-walled room. She fell into bed without bothering to undress.
She woke late, freshening up as best she could before approaching the prim manager seated behind the lobby desk.
“No one by that name’s staying here,” he said after she enquired about Carl.
“This is the address he gave me and I know he’s receiving mail.” Annoyed by the man’s continued bored stare, she sighed. “Please, sir, it’s important that I find him. He’s tall, striking, not someone you could miss.”
As she spoke, a young woman passed behind the manager, placing a stack of papers in front of him. “Does he have very blue eyes?” she asked Madonna.
“Yes. Have you seen him?”
The woman’s smile made Madonna bristle. “He retrieves his mail here but he lives in a tent out on the Arts and Crafts Quadrangle a few blocks that way.” She indicated north. “I doubt you find him before this afternoon, though.” Everyone’s at Sunday services now.”
Madonna’s courage waivered, unsure if all that kept her from Carl was meant to dissuade her or test her resolve. Nibbling a pastry, she strolled along the lakeshore, trying not to laugh at the irony of meeting a married man at what was originally a camp for Sunday school teachers. On the Sabbath, no less. God was all around, but she was in no mood to speak to Him.
When she noticed more people about, she assumed services were over, and began her search. She passed groups of adults taking lessons in Latin, French, theology, horticulture, and dance. A string quartet practiced on the lawn. The buildings around her were as eclectic as the classes offered within, a miniature city of Roman, Greek, and Colonial Revival styles. The gentlemen’s club was a castle.
Having been released from the nearby Children’s School, dozens of youngsters swarmed the Arts and Crafts quadrangle. Two nearly crashed into her as she ambled toward a row of easels set up under the canopy of a distant tree. The students were all women. As she drew nearer, she recognized the timbre of Carl’s voice at once. She imagined he leaned against the trunk of the tree, just opposite to where she herself now stood.
At last she heard the rustle of supplies being stowed, and stepped out from her hiding place. Carl conversed with a student, oblivious to her presence. The faint lines around his eyes had multiplied, and his hair, worn quite long, was now flecked with gray at the temples. These changes only enhanced his appearance. Her throat tightened, cutting off both words and air.
Shoulders stiffening mid-sentence, his gaze darted around until settling on her face. She had forgotten how extraordinary his eyes were. “You look at me as though I’ve sprouted horns,” she said, though she understood the reason for it. She took a step toward him. “I won’t disappear.”
He closed the gap between them in two strides. Ivory soap, tobacco and a hint of turpentine – he smelled exactly the same. “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered,” he said.
The rough texture of his lapel abraded her cheek. “So are you.”
Beneath her ear his heart beat in the rhythm of lines read long ago.
Her voice was sweet, heart soothing
I felt her breath so warming
Hot gainst my neck cords, heavy breathing
Love’s fires fiercely burning…
Only the startled gasp from one of his students prevented her from slipping her arms up under his coat.