Gear, W Michael - Novel 05 by The Morning River (v2.1) Page B

toward the pantry where what remained of
breakfast—crumbled corn bread, a well-hacked joint of venison, and shreds of
smoked side pork—rested in tins on the warming shelf over the stove.
                   Richard seated himself by the window across
from the Virginia planter and made the best of the fare. What
would it be like to be married to Laura Templeton? She'd always be there, ready
to listen to him, supportive of his studies of philosophy. He could imagine her
bustling about the room, ensuring that the house was immaculate.
                   And later, they'd ascend to the bedroom. He
swallowed hard, a flutter in his chest. Unlike the rest of his fellows, he'd
keep himself sacred unto her, and her alone. In his imagination, he could feel
himself snuggling under the covers, her warm body next to his.
                   What was it like, to have intercourse with a
woman? Obviously better than those shameful occasions when he ejaculated in his
dreams. Did the idea of intercourse worry her as much as it worried him? Or
were women different when it came to such things?
                   The steward had no more than removed the plate
when the Virginia planter rose and stepped to Richard's
table.
                   "Cigar, sir?" The Virginian extended
a prize specimen. "Charles Lamont Eckhart, at your service, sir."
                   "Richard Hamilton." Damn! The image
of Laura had slipped away. Richard opened his copy of Kant and looked up.
"Thank you, sir, but I don't smoke cigars."
                   The Virginian raised a dark eyebrow. "Now
is as good a time as any to start, sir. I offer my private stock, produce of my
own fields."
                   "I'm sure they are wonderful, but I must
regretfully decline your offer."
                   The cigar was withdrawn to a deep coat pocket.
" Boston , aren't you, sir?"
                   Richard stifled a sigh as the Virginian seated
himself across the table. "Yes, Boston ."
                   "Your speech gives you away."
Eckhart used a thumb and forefinger to flick breadcrumbs from the scarred
table-top. "What brings you to the frontier, Mr. Hamilton? I would assume
from your books, writing, and demeanor that you are a scholar."
                   "You are correct, sir. Philosophy."
                   Eckhart rubbed his smooth chin, eyes
thoughtful. "You are going to Saint Louis to teach?"
                   "Business."
                   " Santa Fe trade, I suppose." Eckhart pulled out
his cigar, lit it, and exhaled a cloud of acrid blue smoke. "Yes, a smart
young man should do very well. . . provided, of course, that you have the
ambition and character necessary for the frontier life."
                   Richard chuckled. "I can already tell
you, I don't. My duty, sir, is to go to Saint Louis , see to some arrangements, and return to Boston with the greatest dispatch. Thereafter, I
shall retire to the university, and never again endure such bad food"—he
gestured at the pantry—"ill company, or the human dregs such as you see
floating along on flat-boats."
                   "Dregs, sir? Our fair countrymen?"
                   "I shudder to think of the society such
men will create out here in the wilds. Anarchic ignorance does not breed
greatness." Richard pointed at a flatboat coasting slowly along the south
bank, the craft nothing more than a tent pitched on a log raft. Two men,
dressed in what amounted to rags, used long poles to fend the craft from the
bank. "Imagine, the noble red man has been made to give way before such as
them. At least when Rome sent out her shining legions, they were followed by the administrators,
engineers, and merchants. Now, in our modern world, at a time when the works of
men like Rousseau should occupy the finest of minds, we've unleashed a horde of
unwashed animals as