Read Online Coffins by Rodman Philbrick - Free Book Online Page A

conversation, ferret out the cause of his father’s illness, but the whole enterprise seemed doomed to failure.
    After a few minutes I looked up, startled, as a shadow entered the parlor.
    â€œSo you are still here,” said a familiar voice.
    â€œMiss Wattle! Yes, well, so I am,” I stammered, rising, as the young cousin glided close enough so that her exquisite face was visible, pale and perfect over the satiny blackness of her mourning attire. “Why—why would I not be here?”
    She laughed softly before sitting primly upon a chair a few yards from me, spreading out her full black skirt, her pale hands folded upon her lap. Her lustrous hair, I could not help noticing, was held in place with a black ribbon, and her porcelain complexion required no powder to achieve an exquisite paleness. “I thought perhaps the events of last night might have driven you from our company,” she said. “You were disturbed, were you not? I certainly was. That horrible screaming, and the pistol shot. I’m obliged to stay—indeed, I have nowhere else to go—but you are not.”
    â€œBut I am,” I said resolutely, settling back into the chair. “Jebediah is my friend.”
    â€œAh,” she said. “Your friend. And in the name of friendship you’re willing to brave the fiends of the night?”
    â€œFiends of the night? Surely you’re joking!” I exclaimed.
    But she relieved my anxiety with the warmth of her laughter. “A bad habit of mine, making jokes at a time like this.”
    â€œNot at all.”
    She shook her head. “You’re being polite. I’m well aware of my deficiencies.”
    No deficiency was visible. Hers was a lovely head, with a long neck, large expressive eyes set wide, full lips, that flawless complexion, and fine thick hair. A delicately crocheted black shawl covered her shoulders, and served to accent the startling blue paleness of her eyes. A black satin dress, tightly corseted, showed off a slim waist, and the skirts were full and of a length to conceal her ankles and even her shoes. Her crinoline, which in fashionable belles can make the width of the skirt a full six feet, was much more modest. Boston is known for its jeweled beauties—it is the Hub of society, after all—but I’d seen none there to rival this young woman. Not that she wore jewelry, of course—to do so while in mourning would have been inappropriate.
    I knew little about her, beyond her connection to the Coffins, and the vague and possibly erroneous suggestion that she was a suffragist. If so, she was an uncommonly lovely suffragist, but then Jeb and Nathaniel could have been pulling my leg in that regard. That matter aside, I had gotten the impression she was something of a poor relation, or anyhow had need of shelter, being alone and unmarried, and I longed to be better informed, but could not think of a way to ask without sounding presumptuous.
    â€œYou and Jeb were college chums, do I have that right?” she asked brightly. “No doubt like most college boys you frequented gambling halls, and dens of iniquity, and the like.”
    â€œI do not gamble,” I replied, rather stiffly. “To my knowledge, neither does Jebediah.”
    Lucy’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “What a shame! All that naughty fun in the big city, and you didn’t partake. I suppose that means you’re a serious young man. Were you at the divinity school, then?”
    I understood that she was teasing me, and did my best to respond in kind. “The Reverend Bentwood at your service,” I said, effecting a seated curtsy. “But no, I’m sorry to disappoint you. My interest was more science than religion. I’ve a conceit that Emerson’s teachings about the mind and spirit can somehow be tied to modern medicine. So far I’ve failed to find the connection.”
    That brought another kind of smile to her face.