He’d always been poor. Practically all of his writing had been short pieces-stories, poems, criticisms, journalism. Quick writing for quick money; he’d never known the luxury of enough cash to attempt longer works. Fast Eddy. Do it in a hurry, collect your few coins and stand ready to do it all over again. Run like a frightened deer. Live from dollar to dollar and watch your wife starve because you couldn’t feed her.
His eyes went to the walls covered with red wallpaper, expensive oil paintings and several highly polished gas jets. No cheap tallow candles for Miles Standish. No oil in a wooden dish with a wick tossed in to furnish the most meager of lights. He had excellent lighting and now he wanted the best of women. He wanted Rachel and that’s why he was attacking Poe. He wanted Poe to know his place. Miles Standish was a fleshy fool who believed himself better than Poe, and Poe, always with a need to prove his superiority, was now going to show Standish that he’d made a mistake with this assumption.
Poe sat down. “I assume you know what a Barnburner is. If not, allow me to enlighten you. A Barnburner is a member of that fool faction of the Democratic Party who is against slavery. These rather meddlesome fools are quite willing to destroy this country by seeking active conflict with slave interests. They are like the farmer anxious to rid his barn of rats and does so by burning the barn down. So much for the origin of the name. ”
Poe steepled his fingers under his chin. “How much money would it cost you, Mr. Standish, if those southern cotton growers you represent on Wall Street for high fees were to learn that you, sir, are a Barnburner, that you contribute money, secretly of course, to anti-slavery causes? Would they be pleased to hear that their New York lawyer is a hypocrite, that he only pretends to favor slavery while secretly doing whatever he can to bring it to an end.”
Standish frowned. Some of the arrogance was gone from his voice. “And you, sir, are in favor of slavery?”
“Indeed. Now and forever more. I was raised in Virginia where my family owned and sold slaves and I say to you that there is no shame in this. Had God preferred the Negro to be freed, he most certainly would have done it before now. Since our darker brethren continue in servitude, it is logical to assume that this is in harmony with divine providence. Negroes represent a danger-”
“Danger?”
“Insurrection, sir. Insurrection. There have been more than a few in the history of the republic and each one has meant hazard to the white man and all that he holds dear. Servitude is preferable to the dangers of insurrection. I might add most slaves are loyal and most masters responsible. I see no reason to damage this acceptable balance.”
“And you now threaten to expose what you refer to as my abolitionist sympathies.”
“I remind you, sir, that I am neither your dog nor the carpet beneath your feet and your attempts at putting me in my place go unheeded.”
Standish, standing near the fireplace, took another pinch of snuff. God above, the man was indeed “mad, bad and dangerous,” which is what they said of Byron, who at least had the decency to be dead these past twenty-four years and consequently was less of a burden than he ordinarily might be. Poe was very much alive, unfortunately. And how did he find out about Standish’s anti-slavery activities?
He said, “Rachel says you are not pleased about her association with Dr. Paracelsus.”
Poe snorted. “Spiritualism may be as new as the morning sun but I believe it to be fraud.
“You have not met Dr. Paracelsus.”
“An honor I am prepared to forego.”
Poe sneered, making no attempt to hide his contempt for Miles Standish. Here stands a lawyer in clothing the color of carrot and cabbage telling me of his belief in table rattlings and ghostly noises emanating from avaricious charlatans. Said lawyer then draws a breath or two and uses it to push forth freedom for Negroes. Stupidity compounded.
Poe said, “Are you still entertained by watching the medical profession carve rotting cadavers?”
Standish clenched his fists at his side. He aimed his red-bearded chin at Poe and spoke from behind clenched teeth. “You morbid little bastard. How dare you? How
“Rachel will never love you, Standish. Even supposing you lacked a wife, which you do not, Rachel would not love you.”
Standish fought for control. He snorted, aiming a trembling forefinger at Poe. “What does a freak like you know of love. Everyone is aware that you bow before every woman you meet, like some whimpering schoolboy. You
Standish took one step forward. The corners of his mouth were white with saliva. His eyes gleamed with menace. “You married your first cousin did you not?”
Poe blinked.
Standish whispered, “She was twelve years old, a fact concealed from authorities at the time. And you, you were twenty-six and her own mother consented to this bizarre arrangement. Bizarre, I say, for it is known that the two of you never lay together as man and wife should. You are not a man to lay with any woman so do not talk to me of
Poe, rigid with rage, gripped the arms of the dark brown leather chair he sat in. “From this day, you have made of me a most unforgiving enemy.”
Miles Standish smiled and bowed from the waist. “An honor I am prepared to accept.”
Poe said, “And are you still involved with prostitution?”
Standish quickly straightened up.
Poe, dangerously angry at what Standish had said about his relationship with Sissy, showed no mercy.
“You seem to know an extraordinary amount about me. Can I do less for you? You, sir, are paying church deacons to purchase property which is then turned over to you. Using your legalistic abilities, you make sure that the property remains in the name of clergymen but the real owners are whoremongers, flesh peddlers, men and women engaged in the most loathsome trade of prostitution. Thanks to men such as yourself, this diabolical business does not lack a roof over its head.”
Standish shrieked, “Leave! Leave my home immediately!”
Poe’s gray eyes were bright with triumph. “And what shall I tell Rachel concerning my abrupt dismissal from your presence this morning?”
Standish, hands over his ears, looked up at the ceiling and blinked tears from his eyes. He wanted to kill Poe.
Quickly running to his desk, the lawyer opened a drawer and removed a bottle of brandy. Uncorking it, he drank from the bottle, gripping it with trembling hands. Poe dug his nails into the leather arms of the chair. I shall never forgive nor forget what he said about Sissy and me. He desecrates her name with his foul mouth, and he stands before me to support freedom for black flesh and slavery for white. I condemn him for his pitiful judgment and lack of mercy.
Standish wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We were to discuss my client’s difficulty.”
“She wants the ransom paid and I will not oppose that. It is her belief, as you know, that this Dr. Paracelsus can be of some aid and comfort to her. She desires the body of her husband to be returned and I shall do all possible to see that it is. She claims that the dead can live-” Poe thought of last night and Virginia. Had he seen his wife? Had he dreamed it?
Poe continued, “She claims the dead can be made to live but I do not subscribe to this and you may inform Dr. Paracelsus of my conclusion. The dead cannot be reached in this life. They exist in an uncharted world which as yet can only be imagined and this sir, is how I feel on the matter. I do not believe.”
Miles Standish, still shocked by what Poe knew of his business dealings, turned his back to the writer. Damn him, damn him to hell.
