The Quest for Singularity

It took Mr. Watkins several hours to find a livery for hire. The snow had been partially cleared but mounded up onto the curbs of the street into one and a half story high ice walls. Thankfully the wind had stopped and the weather was crisp and the sky an azure blue. Most of the horses and wagons had been procured by the city to shovel and dump the snow into the East River on the Brooklyn side and Hudson River on the west side. The trains across the bridge were not running due to track blockage by snow. However, an enterprising group of Russian/Jewish emigrants felt compelled to shovel the entire span of the Brooklyn Bridge. The Sabbath was fast approaching and the people needed to cross the bridge to reach their respective synagogues for their holy services. Carriages could pass but they had to take turns. Bottlenecks occurred every few feet but it did not hinder the desire for passage. The snow piled up on the ice sheets that were slowly breaking up and flowing lazily downstream to the convergence of the rivers and the Atlantic. It was a sight to see and people wondered in awe at nature’s fury and beauty.

Mrs. Hopkins found herself almost overwhelmed by gathering food and warm, clean clothes and blankets and fresh water for Victoria and Richard. So detailed and committed to her tasks was she that she often found herself close to tears. She told herself that she would find her charge and Mr. Rhys safe and alive within the walls of the great white house. She could not sleep since the storm first began a few days before and her anxiety bloomed across her face as a woman tired and worn down by the rigors of a life in crisis. As she moved through the parlor into the room where Richard’s desk stood she spied the decanter of fine bourbon and decided a nip couldn’t hurt. It just might calm her and bring about that warm feeling that a toddy often does. The small crystal glass filled with superb liquor slipped down her throat with such ease that she thought she might have another pull and elongate that warm fuzzy sensation. It would be the first and only time that she would be lured by temptation. Drinking the liquor without permission was like stealing and she was a woman of high moral standards. But the historic event that was unfolding skewed her understanding of her own restrictive nature and as she breathed there was ease and a decision that came naturally.

“Mrs. Hopkins?” She heard Henry say as he entered the parlor. It would be most embarrassing for her to be caught with a drink in hand, but the sound of his voice rendered her inactive. Should she leave the liquor in the glass and answer his call or swig it quickly and straighten the cabinet? She decided her constitution needed the added warmth and she downed the shot just as Mr. Watkins wandered in catching her in the middle of quenching her thirst.

“Mrs. Hopkins.” He said softly. She felt her face flush immediately and she was absolutely mortified. When she finally looked up Mr. Watkins smiled broadly and seemed to stifle a giggle. She smoothed her dress and her face remained dour.

“’Tis nice to see you take a moment for yourself.” Watkins said softly.

“Not a word --- if you do I’ll deny it.” She replied pointing her finger like a school marm. She was so ridiculous that even she broke into a small grin. It made Mr. Watkins appreciate her all the more.

“I’m quite sure Mr. Rhys would not mind. Come. I’ve procured transportation.” Mr. Watkins said and he offered his hand. She stood there a moment and took in the room and the silence.

“It’s odd to leave the house empty with no one to watch over it.” Mrs. Hopkins admitted. But her mission was unmistakable. She took his hand and as they closed the front door behind them she wondered what had become of Mr. Jones and his horse Michelangelo. Hopefully they would find him well and tending to Victoria and Richard in the Flatlands. Mrs. McBride remained in the kitchen keeping the fire stoked and that in turn kept the house relatively temperate. Mrs. McBride was an industrious woman. She’d pay her Irish lads for scraps of coal from the coal wagon just like she had done back in Dublin. The lads were not of her blood but an Irishman is an Irishman and she took many under her protective wing when she could. She was a jolly robust woman with a motherly nature. Mrs. Hopkins left her by the fire with her rosaries and Bible saying prayers for Nellie’s soul.

As they began to pack the livery with supplies Mrs. Hopkins had an acute epiphany that her life would not be the same again. It was not a matter of life or death but the experience of traveling through the unknown would change her forever and leave her humbled by the vastness of emotion cloaked in the silent strength of splendor.

Richard sat in a chair in the corner of his art studio. Victoria had fallen asleep in the parlor next to the fire and he did not want to disturb her but his thoughts seemed to go round and round in infinite circles. Visions of John Wilkes Booth and President Lincoln seemed to take over his attention and draw him inward and the strange card he had found had produced flashes of insight. He did not know if he dreamed of meeting a woman named Chelsea near his Grove Street home or if he actually did. It had the flavor of a memory and not the wandering of a vision. Even though his mind was fully present and aware of being in the country manor something in his body felt as though he were hovering on the threshold of something ineffable. He was liminal and the infirmity would at times take advantage of his physically weakened state. He wanted to smoke but did not for fear he could not breathe. He was almost out of his hidden stash of tobacco anyway. The onion soup had rendered him pungent. His scent was powerfully changed by the herb’s intense aroma. He coughed a croupy cough and found he needed to spit often in order to clear himself. The onion was working. He sat very still taking in the blue of the sky through the window and the intensity of the sun as it shone through mapping out a brilliant maze across the floor. As his eyes wandered aimlessly framing the light in most certain composition they caught the unmistakable form of a figure. A woman was standing just in front of him gazing at his easel. There was a small painting resting there and he thought for a moment that perhaps one of the servants had escorted a buyer into his studio. He tried to shake away the sleepiness and the confusion and as he gazed upon the woman further he was aware that she was wearing trousers. No woman he ever knew wore trousers unless she had nothing else to wear. Even poor women had frocks. They might be shabby and worn, threadbare and filled with holes. The female reminded him of the girl in the brownstone --- the one who owned a luxurious toilet. She faded in and out of his field of vision. So he tried hard to concentrate and take her in. Then she moved quickly and was out of the room without a word. Perhaps, someone had actually come for them and he was too infirmed to actually know what was happening. He thought it best to confer with Victoria so he got up slowly and steadied himself. He made his way to the hallway and gazed at Tammany for a moment and then slowly, step by step inched his way back downstairs to his sleeping bride. She was so content as she slept that he hated to wake her. She was wrapped in the bison hide and the warm embers of the fire cast an orangey glow across her hibernating form.

“Victoria.” He said softly. She stirred and then settled again into sleep. “Victoria.” He repeated a little louder and touched her shoulder tenderly. Her eyes fluttered for a moment.

“What are you doing up?” She inquired expecting him to be sound asleep also.

“There are people in the house.” He said softly.

“What?” She replied confused. “No one’s in the house.” She said reassuringly.

“There is a woman who came to look at a painting.” He said. She rubbed her eyes and sat up still unable to comprehend what he was trying to say.

“A woman?” She asked almost absent-mindedly.

“In trousers. Very strange. She wandered into the studio.” He whispered. Then suddenly it all clicked and Victoria was awakened to something she had not truly understood until that moment. The woman who had left the cookies the day before had returned. But somehow the woman was real and yet not real. She was part of a dream. A very vivid, poignant dream that seemed perpetual in continuation. Victoria almost felt outside of herself when she experienced the woman’s presence. It had the flavor of a premonition. The truly otherworldly part of the experience was that she could remember clearly what she looked like, how she felt and exactly what was said. It was most certainly a memory that had not yet transpired. Victoria was eager to experience another exchange and she stood and pulled on her skirt and bodice and made her way to the hallway before realizing that she had left her husband in the parlor alone. She turned to see him gazing pensively at the fire and poking at it with the wrought iron wand. Sparks flew up the chimney and the flames sparkled and lit up the hearth.

“Are you alright?” She asked, one foot in the parlor and the other in the hallway. He held her in his sight for some time. She was so lovely. He could never tire of looking at her, of taking in every bit of her. But as the croup lingered it rendered him exhausted so he took his rest on the buffalo robe and stared pensively at the ceiling. The geometric forms of the crown molding caught the light of day and the shadows of his mind. Victoria hesitated momentarily and then began her quest. She climbed the stairs slowly and Ashley’s lithe form appeared with every move upward. Victoria gathered every ounce of energy and cleared her throat. Ashley turned and caught Victoria’s likeness in her sites and a warm smile bloomed across her face. The ebullience of the moment was contagious as Victoria felt herself warm to her visitor.

“How have you been?” Victoria inquired.

“Very well, thank you. And you?” Ashley said moving closer and wearing an expression of wonder.

“My husband---“ Victoria started.

“---Mr. Rhys?” Ashley interrupted almost with excitement.

“Yes. Mr. Rhys has been quite ill but he seems to be getting better and stronger with each day.” Victoria replied.

“I know he will be fine.” Ashley said with a knowing smile. Victoria felt as though Ashley had some sort of secret and the allure was exciting.

“He’s incredibly strong.” Victoria added. Ashley moved ever closer and she threaded her arm through Victoria’s and though Victoria thought it a bit too familiar she felt a rush and her fingers and toes tingled.

“I did some research on this house.” Ashley began.

“Yes it was once a Dutch farm that I bought and remodeled.” Victoria explained.

“It’s been condemned by the city.” Ashley said and there was a deep seriousness that took hold.

“That is impossible. Why it is almost a palace. Why would anyone condemn this house---MY house.” Victoria said and she began to grow upset. “I shall have to speak with Caroline Astor. Oh, Mrs. Astor is not political. I shall speak with Mr. Roosevelt as I think he may prove to be reliable and trustworthy.” She said.

“There’s no need.” Ashley said reassuringly. “I’m going to buy it and restore it so that you will be proud.”

“It needs no restoration and it is not for sale.” Victoria countered. She was trembling and on the verge of tears. “Perhaps I am wrong. The snows may have demolished parts of it. I have not been able to peruse the property because of the weather, you see, and my husband’s condition.”

“Please don’t get yourself all upset. It will be taken care of. I promise.” Ashley said almost purring and somehow Victoria believed her. “The snows?” Ashley asked innocently. Victoria gazed at her dumbfounded. How could this woman not see the extraordinary drifts and did she not have trouble wading through the white stuff to arrive at the house?

“We’ve had a most wicked blizzard.” Victoria said softly.

“Indeed.” Ashley said not giving away her amazing secret. “You need rest.”

“Have you brought provisions?” Victoria asked.

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry I should have brought something for you to eat. I wasn’t thinking. Please forgive me.” Ashley said. “I feel terrible.”

“No, no, no. It is bad form for me to have asked. Incredibly forward of me. I’m very sorry.” Victoria said as she wanted very much for there to be space between Ashley and she. A personal trait she tried to overcome when she was feeling insecure or embarrassed.

“Nonsense! I arrived at your home empty handed and as a guest I should have brought a little something to nibble on. Bad form on my part. My mother would be mortified.”

“Then…Maybe next time? We have not eaten in two days.” Victoria confided. “Richard needs tending and some kind of beef stock to get him well again.”

“Certainly. I will bring groceries with me next time.” Ashley said and there was a sparkle in her eye. Victoria knew that spark. It was a familiar occurrence. It was the very thing that made Richard so exquisitely charming. And though she felt irrepressible her mind was foggy and confused. Every time Ashley came to visit their exchange left her incredibly excited, yet tired. As she walked Ashley to the back door she found herself interestingly inquisitive.

“May I ask where it is that you live?” She said.

“In Fort Greene. The other side of the park. Very near the Prison Ship Martyr’s monument.” Ashley replied. Victoria was confused, as she had never heard of Fort Greene or the monument. She was aware that some sort of memorial was in the works, but the politician’s at Tammany Hall could not raise the needed funding.

“South Oxford and Lafayette.” Ashley said.

“Oh, yes. I know of the area.” Victoria replied. “Well then. Be careful.”

Ashley nodded and was out the door. The winter wind untethered a few wisps of Victoria's hair and they floated about her weightless and airy. She wandered back into the parlor where Richard was dozing. She lay down beside him and listened to his soft wheeze and shallow breath. There was something so very familiar about Ashley and so similar to Richard that it was uncanny. The deep well of emotion she had for her husband bled over to the new feelings she was developing for her new friend. Then she chocked up the idea of the house being condemned to her extreme fatigue and emotional state. Perhaps she misunderstood or maybe Ashley had been misinformed. It was true she needed rest and so she closed her eyes and the two lovers were intertwined once again in deep slumber.