Hunting Midnight

know it’s largely a matter of luck. You don’t pass or fail a test given you by luck, son. No, the test, if that’s what it was, was doing what was expected of him — fighting. And I can tell you in that regard that he may not have been the best shot, or even the most skillful orderly, but he risked his life many times that day, sometimes recklessly, to give hundreds of people in Porto time to escape across the bridge — and to comfort his wounded and dying comrades. Would you really call that a failure?”

*

How to express my feelings at this time? Papa was dead and Mama in despair after learning of his fate. Fanny and Zebra were murdered. We had precious little money, and I had no way to earn a living. There was almost nothing to buy in the markets, and neighbors were eating boiled hide to keep from starving. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore, not even my identity.

Since Papa’s body had not been buried, Benjamin and I recited prayers to ensure that his soul would not wander the earth.

Once, I dreamed that he hadn’t been killed but had fled our family’s misery to a new life over the bridge. After that, I found I regretted having never seen him dead; I felt an urgent need to confirm with my own two eyes that he was gone — and would never again tell me a story of witches and monsters, or bring me stones from his trips upriver, or ask me to read to him….

For Mama, the scent of him in her bed drove her mad. On the rare occasion when she emerged from her room, it was plain that she had hardly slept at all. Once, after she’d wept in my arms, she said, “Now James is having his revenge.”

*

I found that what I most desired now was to forgive Mama and be forgiven. I didn’t have the strength to continue living if it meant fighting with her. She must have felt the same, for she came to me one morning and promised to love me as she used to.

We never again raised our voices or said anything cruel. Our peace was a good thing; I felt as though I’d ransomed the little that was still left of my heart.

*

I told her what Papa had said about taking us away to Scotland. “I don’t know, John,” she replied. “I’m not sure that even standing at the very top of the world would have helped your father and me. It might have only allowed us to see the mistakes we made that much more clearly. Perspective can be dangerous.”

“But we could have made a new start in Scotland,” I insisted. “And you always said you wanted to live in Britain.”

“That’s true, John. It might even now be best for us. Though I admit it scares me when I think of it.” Taking a long, slow look around the sitting room, she said, “At least here, everything is familiar to us.” Seeing my disappointment, she added, “John, I can’t claim to know how two people who’ve lost their way in life can find their way home again. Perhaps your father knew. Perhaps taking up arms taught him what he needed to do to fight for our marriage. He may have seen things more clearly than I could. I’m afraid I can’t offer you certainties anymore, and I’m sorry for that. I know you deserve more from your mother. I wish things were different.”

“But you would have gone if he’d asked you?” It was vital for me to know that we’d have done what he asked and, at the very least, tried to begin again in a new place.

“I don’t know, John. I think it would have been better for just you and your father to go. I’d have just ruined everything between you.” Her voice broke. “Like I … like I ruined so much else.”

She hid her eyes from me for a time, then picked up her embroidery, but her hands were trembling. I took them in my own and sat with her. It was good to feel the closeness and warmth we could still have together — it was like an old dream I thought I’d never have again. Then a startling revelation pulled me to my feet. “Mama, don’t you see? If Papa was making plans to take us to Scotland, then it meant he was willing to give up the idea of having his own vineyard.”

“Yes, I suppose so, John.”

She plainly didn’t grasp the deeper meaning of this. “He was willing to give up even that to win back your love!” I declared. “He’d never go upriver again and leave you all alone. He was going to give up everything to be with us and have another chance.”

Mama’s face turned ashen. She moaned when I touched her, then leaned limply against me. “No more, John,” she begged. “Please, I can’t hear any more of what might have been.”

*

We spent those first grief-stricken weeks repairing our home. Unable to beg more than a few turnips and beans and some rotten cabbage, we were now starving most of the time.

My mother appealed to colleagues who had worked with Father at the Douro Wine Company, where all our savings had long been invested, but we were informed that access to his accounts was impossible. We could not dig up our silver and sell it, even clandestinely, for we could not risk the French learning of our hoard.

*

The French married us to misery and remained our unwanted guests until three weeks after my eighteenth birthday, May the Twelfth, 1809. On that date, enshrined in the history of our city, British and Portuguese forces under Arthur Wellesley, the future Duke of Wellington, expelled them for a second and final time from Porto. Our city was free.

*

As soon as she felt brave enough to leave the house, Mama met again with the directors of the Douro Wine Company to discuss Father’s investments. We knew that selling the deeds to our land upriver could prove lucrative, and Papa’s former employer was the obvious choice for a buyer. Mother offered them all our holdings, but their counteroffer was far less than my father had originally paid. This seemed to us a great betrayal, but the bitterest surprise was yet to come. When she asked under what capacity I might be contracted to work for the Douro Wine Company, as had been her late husband’s wish, she was told in no uncertain terms that I would never be hired, even if perfectly qualified! And so Mama came to learn the level of animosity Papa’s colleagues had harbored against him for his wish to own a vineyard. They also had never forgiven him for bringing what they called a “giant monkey” to their offices.

Our humiliation reminded me of Father’s warning about not counting on anyone for assistance. Surely he had known of the seething resentment felt by some of his colleagues. I finally understood why he’d wanted his own land and to be lord of his own destiny so badly.

*

In early July, Mother read me a letter from Aunt Fiona, inviting us to share the small house in London that she’d recently bought. When she finished, she folded up the correspondence. “Now, John,” she said, “it’s like this. You know I’ve always hoped for a chance to live in London. Now that the worst has happened, it has become a real possibility for us. Your aunt Fiona is a considerate woman and she would not invite us to England if she did not want us there. I wasn’t sure at first, but now she and I are both convinced that it would be for the best.”

“Mama, did you become convinced of this after hearing of Papa’s last wishes?”

“I don’t know, John. I’m not sure I know my own mind anymore.”

The bitter irony of our being able to go to Britain now that my father was dead made me ache with longing to see him.

“John, please,” she said imploringly, “I beg you not to think about what your father would want. Once, a long time ago, you were haunted by Daniel and what you thought he wanted. You ended up jumping from our rooftop. Please don’t make that mistake again. You mustn’t listen so closely to the dead. Don’t think about what Papa would want. Or even what I want, for that matter. Think only about what would be best for you.”

“I don’t know what there is for me in England,” I told her. “Whatever shall I do in London?”

“Continue your education, for one thing.”

“How? We’ve no money for that.”

“We shall find a way. Trust me.”

No sooner did she request that of me than I realized this was precisely what I could no longer do. It even occurred to me that Father had meant Mother, too, when he instructed me to trust no one.

My feelings came down to this: Not only had her marriage failed, but she had also withheld her love for me for years, for reasons I could not fathom. Until I learned the truth, I might forgive her and love her as I always had,