Steeplechase Read Free Page A

Acton Turnpike. The front door of the house looked across Quarry Pond Road to the burying ground, and across the green to Nashoba’s parish church, where the Reverend Horatio Biddle held sway. Within sight of the house stood the building that was the bailiwick of the Reverend Josiah Gideon himself, a large structure with many windows and a good-size barn. It had once been known to the people of Nashoba as the workhouse, but under the directorship of Josiah Gideon, it was now the Nashoba Home Farm.
    The most remarkable feature of this small country town was not a building, but a tree. At the bottom of the sloping burying ground grew a venerable chestnut tree, massive in diameter and lofty in height. It was the pride of Nashoba, famous far and wide as the Nashoba Chestnut. Now in late May, its myriad new leaves trembled in the light breeze as Josiah ducked under the lower limbs and climbed over the stone wall.
    He was taking a shortcut from the church after an ugly confrontation with his neighbor, Reverend Biddle. As Josiah crossed the road, his head was still teeming with powerful argument, all the crushing things he might have said. But when he saw the doctor’s gig at the gate, his anger dropped away, leaving only the accustomed pang.
    The dining room of Josiah’s house had been turned over to his wounded son-in-law. The table and the clutter of dining room chairs had been pushed aside to make room for James’s upholstered chair, his bed, washstand, and bookshelf, and also for the chair on which Isabelle sat to attend to his needs, which were many and grievous.
    James did not look up when Josiah entered the room, but his wife smiled at him and Dr. Clock stood up and shook hands. Isabelle merely glanced up at her father as she tried to slip a spoon into James’s mouth. James turned his head away.
    Then Josiah was surprised to find another visitor in the room. The young man introduced himself as Eben Flint. “James was my friend before the war,” said Eben, “and I think you know my mother, Eudocia.”
    Josiah tried to sound heartily cordial. “Eudocia Flint, of course.”
    Isabelle put down her spoon and spoke to Dr. Clock. “I was so sorry to miss your wedding. Your wife was my friend in school.”
    â€œYes,” he said, “Ida was sorry, too.” It was a painful subject. Everyone in the room knew why Isabelle had missed the wedding. She had been with James, following him from one hospital to another while army surgeons did all they could for him.
    There was an awkward silence. Eben could not look at Isabelle, and he did not know whether it would be kinder to look straight into James’s face as he would with any normal friend or look away.
    But Isabelle’s mother spoke to Eben gently. “Your little nephew must be a big boy now.” Then Julia turned to Alexander. “And I hear he has a baby sister.” Quietly, she added, “I’m so sorry about the loss of your first little one.”
    It was apparent to Alexander that her sympathy was genuine, and he was touched and grateful. But the tension in the room was unbearable. It could not be good for James. Alexander caught Eben’s eye and stood up, promising to return before long.

    Eben looked straight into James’s face and said, “So will I.”
    Josiah and Julia accompanied their two visitors to the door, but it was a silent departure. What, after all, was there to say?
    Alone with James, Isabelle dipped the spoon once again in the bowl and said calmly, “Remember, James? These peaches are from the summer when you first came calling. Remember how you stoked the stove?” Lifting the spoon, she said again, “They came out very well.”
    But once again, James turned his head away.

    If it were only that he were half-blind, he could have borne it lightly. Or if he were half-blind and had but one arm how easy it would have been to be a man like other men. Yes, even if