An Evening at the Carnival with Mister Christian

And for a moment she felt like she was being watched -- again, and once she thought she saw a fairy darting among the trees, like a mischievous sprite trying to hide. But from what? The wind? Her? Or was there something else hiding in the shadows?

But had the old man scattered on the wind? Had he ever been real? Or could it be that the man was only as real as images within the broadsheet? All of it a preposterous fantasy, her mind lost in a mischievous daydream?

The wind grew insistent and cold in that moment, and Jennifer felt a warning in the sudden chill, for just as the wind now held her in place, just as the mysterious man's music had swirled through fields and trees, all feeling now gave way to this sudden cold. In that sundered air, in the split second between warmth and coldness, she relived the moment of the old man's passing and felt the strength in his eyes once again -- only now she seemed to turn to ice as memory bit into her, and she looked homeward, started to run. She started to run not because she felt alone, and not simply because she'd suddenly felt cold, or even afraid. She started to run down the path, away from the forest glade, where the old man and the fairy must have gone to hide, because she knew of only one place on earth where real safety could be found.

She ran towards home, to the safety of her oldest brother's arms.

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Jeremiah Clemens was cooking dinner for his family, for his two younger brothers and his little sister, a dinner of venison and freshly picked vegetables. He stood beside the gaping fireplace inside their low-ceilinged cabin, in the very heart of his house, the fireplace being the focal point of their lives. This bare room was itself not much larger than fifteen feet on each of it's four timber framed sides, but there was a stone cellar beneath the thick -- planked floor where the family stored vegetables and supplies for the winter. There were no windows -- yet, and there was but a single, heavy door. Overhead was a tiny sleeping loft he had finished the summer before, and this was where little Jennifer slept.

She was the light of Jeremiah's life -- and everyone in the colony knew it. In her room were the last remnants of the family possessions that had crossed the sea with their parents, and that was only right. She reminded him of their mother, strong-willed and inquisitive, always a smile on her face -- and in her heart. He paused as he always did when his thoughts turned to their parents -- both had passed on the voyage to the colony from some sort of pox, and his missed his father's steady hand most of all.

He'd lost track of the passage of time, but he was sure his little family had been in Massachusetts seven years now, yet even so he did not yet consider their life here secure, and he wondered what the future held for his family. He missed his father terribly on days like this, however he worked hard to conceal these uncertainties, because more than anything else he didn't want to let his father down, not ever. That, and seeing to Jennifer's safety. That had been the last promise he'd given his father.

Jeremiah turned the spit to turn the haunch of venison roasting over glowing embers; from time to time he shuffled the coals atop a thin layer of stony earth that covered freshly picked corn, baking slowly in their dampened husks -- just as the natives had shown them. In moments like these, while he cooked in this, the bosom of their home, Jeremiah's thoughts usually turned to his mother and her gentle strength. But not today.

No, on this day he thought about the broadsheet he had found tacked to a tree in the woods on his walk back from the wharves. He had trouble thinking of anything else, really, even as he shot the deer that would feed his family for the next few weeks, even as he had gutted the animal and washed the meat in a cool stream not far from the house. As he salted some of the meat, as he cut thin strips of the meat to make pemican, his mind drifted to the impossible forms that had swirled within the vexatious paper, to images that revealed themselves in haunting detail, images that taunted him, called out to him, soon filled his every thought with visions of a world filled with opportunity beyond measure, of a faraway time that called out to him. He could see the future so clearly now, but he wanted to know more. He always wanted -- more.

He was brought back to the present by his sister; he heard her footsteps, running toward the cabin, and something about what he heard made him think she was running from danger. Jeremiah Clemens grabbed his musket and made for the door, but Jennifer burst into the room before he could get there.

His sister stood in the doorway, gasping for breath...

"What is it! Jennifer? What has done you wrong?"

His sister was wild-eyed, bent over at the waist, breathing hard, but even so he could tell she was growing less frightened as his voice washed over her. There, inside the calm of the cabin, she knew whatever danger had passed, and after a moment she stood and looked out the door to see if anyone had followed her. All she saw was the forest on the far side of their fields, the fields that lay just beyond their cabin door, and the path down which she had just come running. The music too had come and gone, and then come again, and she heard it still -- as though it hovered in the air just outside the cabin. It taunted her now, teased her with it's insistent call to revelry, implored her to come out into the night and share in the hypnotic dance that would unfold.

But in that moment she became aware of an insistent pain in her brother's voice, a growing sense of alarm hiding within the walls of their home, and she turned to face the danger. When she saw his eyes she understood, she knew that he too had witnessed the summons, for his eyes were filled with the same frenetic apprehension that had filled her own. There was no denying the mist in the air now, for she could see now that the experience clung to them both. The very air they breathed was full of shimmering expectation, excitement that could only have come from the music that hovered just outside their door. There was no denying the truth of this moment, and she saw that Jeremiah had seen the truth in her eyes -- and that he, too, understood.

"Did you see him?" she asked her brother. "Did you see the old man on the path?"

He looked at her, not knowing of what she spoke -- yet understanding the import of her words.

"The old man within the broadsheet? You saw him, you say?"

"Oh, yes!" Jennifer said. "And I should think he must be a sorcerer. At the very least, a magician, but oh! Jeremiah! I was possessed of a thought as I ran home that I had just been visited by that old wizard, Merlin. You remember, the story that Father used to tell us. What was it, the story about the young King? Ooh, what was his name? Something about Knights and a Round Table?"

"And I am not convinced that it wasn't Lucifer himself that I saw!" her brother Timothy said as he walked into the room. "Damn him, and damn the vexatious visions he has planted in my mind! Lascivious images of idolatry and debauchery, of demons dancing on our father's grave, and oh! of our sainted mother now the Devil's concubine! NO! The man I saw was no ordinary demon! He was the Fallen One, Himself!"

"Oh piffle, Timothy!" she said. "The man I saw was the very essence of peace! He had something important to tell me, and though I was afraid to open my mouth, I could not understand a word he said!"

"And too good for you that you were afraid, Sister! That demon would fill your mind with every kind of perverted image -- all to lead you astray. I know, for I have seen the people in the village in the time it took me to walk home. The colony as a whole is alive with talk of this man, this demon, and of this carnival he brings -- that comes to 'entertain' us. There is talk of little else around the harbor just now, for it seems that everyone has seen this apparition! A carnival it is, indeed! It is Satan come to visit, for he sees opportunity here! He comes for a harvest of souls!"

Langston Clemens stood behind his brother Timothy, and when he was sure that both Jennifer and Jeremiah had seen him he shook his head and made the face he always did when Timothy had taken a bit too much God with his afternoon tea.

"I must say, Timothy, what I saw in the wood would not lead me to think this man and his carnival are evil," Jeremiah said. "Langston, perhaps you have seen this same broadsheet that your sister and myself chanced upon, and perhaps you have an opinion? It is obvious Timothy has seen something much different from that which the two of us happened upon."

"Aye, brother, the notice was tacked outside Gallagher's wharf on the road by the commons; at least the one I had chance to see. I heard from many others who've been about that the notices are posted almost everywhere people may easily come upon them. It is odd, no doubts be about the matter, but what I laid eyes on...well, what I saw did not lead me to believe the affair to be of malign purpose. Far from it, I think. It seemed to point the way to riches beyond the dreams of avarice. At first I thought the matter some hoax of humorous intent, but the more I studied the images revealed, the more logic I could see underlying the plan. I believe there are wonders to be found at this carnival, and I intend to go!"

"Not I," thundered Timothy. "I'll have no part in Satan's cravings! No, not with you weaker natured fools. And now, see here! I forbid it! I forbid you all to go!"

Jeremiah looked at his little brother and saw the fear inscribed in the lines of his brother's face for what it had always been. Too much scripture, too little reason -- and absolutely no common sense. The boy never thought of anything save the 'Good Book,' and looked to no other voice to help see his way through this life. The sooner the next boat for Britain came, the better. It pained him to speak of his brother this way, but Timothy's bleak world view was debilitating, and there was no room in this new land for his brand of clinging intolerance.

"Oh Timothy, go blow your nose," Langston chided. "I think something is blocking the air from reaching your head. Daft you are sometimes, and for no good reason."

"And see here, Timothy," Jeremiah said, "I think it best we all go. Father always said it is good to know what your friends are about, but even better to understand your adversaries' plans. Does it not seem to you that most everyone from the Colony will be at this carnival?"

"Aye, Jeremiah," Langston said. "It is as I said, and Timothy too. There is talk of little else now. I should be surprised if any failed to come. We must go, for it is as Father said. We should not walk through this life in ignorance, for ignorance will grow strong in us and block our way to understanding."

"But it is not ignorance, brothers!" cried Timothy. "What we have seen is Satan's handiwork. The hand of Satan guides us now, and Satan can only guide us to our doom!"

"Oh, brother, how can you speak thus?" Langston said calmly. "You repudiate all you believe with your every word! Every tale in the Book stands clearly to tell us that it is our Free Will and the exercise of choosing good over evil that marks our path to either salvation or damnation. And here you stand, plainly the heretic and afraid to make any choice but to hide, and in so doing you would deny every man the right to chose!"

"I am NOT afraid!" Timothy cried.

"Of course you aren't!" Langston boomed. "Why else would you try to deny others the right to make their way through this life unfettered by dogma -- without first dictating to them how they should live it. You fear for your own choice, Brother, and you seek to strengthen your resolve, and indeed your very choice, by imposing your will on any child foolish enough to stop and listen to you. Yours is the worst kind of hypocrite, for your strength is cowardice!" Jeremiah could see that Langston was getting worked up about this, as he almost always did, and he walked between his brothers before Timothy could summon the courage to strike out at his older brother.

"I do not . . ." Timothy yelled, but he seemed glad for Jeremiah's intercession.

"Stop it! Both of you now, stop this foolishness!"

But this time it was Jennifer who shouted at her constantly bickering brothers; Jennifer who pushed Jeremiah aside and stood between Timothy and Langston. Now they stood open-mouthed when they felt her presence that -- like a wall -- forced them to reconsider the consequences of their actions. Would one pull back from the abyss?

Jeremiah looked at his sister, at the change that had come over her. She held everyone's attention now, but she turned and looked at Timothy and put her hand gently to his cheek.

"Dear brother," she said. "You must learn to control your passions, and soon."

Yet it was Langston who broke the current stalemate; he shrugged off the impasse and turned to the stone hearth, then Timothy stormed from the cabin without saying another word.

Status quo ante, as always, Jeremiah thought.

As Langston warmed himself by the fire he stepped back from the brink and smiled at his sister, and while he wanted to laugh at life, he looked at her and thought better of it. The seriousness in her eye only served to make him want to laugh all the more -- but he too was taken aback by the sudden purpose he saw in her eyes.

"It's not funny, Langston," Jeremiah admonished, but try as he might, Jeremiah began to laugh and it was as if the sudden pressure had run from the cabin like smoke up the chimney. Only Jennifer remained still and unconvinced.

She was lost in thought. Not at Langston's bravado nor Timothy's somewhat less than innocent attempt to assert control over the family once again; no, now she was lost within thoughts of the old man and the benign expression on his face. And those eyes! Still she heard his music, still she watched as the old man walked past her and disappeared within the forest. Though it had all happened not so long ago, in this moment his presence felt ephemeral, smoke-like, lingering wraithlike -- in this very room.

"Ever-present," she whispered, "and nowhere." What had Timothy once called God? "The Unmoved Mover?"

Jeremiah stepped back to the fireplace to tend to their meal; Langston walked over to a wooden chest and opened it. He took out a red shirt and sniffed at it, then took off the faded blue shirt he wore most days when he worked at the shipwright's workshop by the town wharf. He wanted, after all, to be clean for supper tonight.

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Being on the water's edge, the colony's leaders understood from the beginning that small boats would be needed to conduct commerce, both with other colonies along the New England coast and with the people native to this land, and the first manufacturing enterprise that flourished was ship building. A Shipwright's Guild had formed along the same lines as organizations in southwest England, and when young Langston Clemens demonstrated an aptitude to work with both wood and iron he had been taken on as an apprentice. He was now a senior apprentice, and a very good one at that, as many remarked when they examined the young man's handiwork, and he had been regarded as a very valuable member of the colony's work force for some time.

But the Guild Master saw a faraway look in young Langston's eyes, and he knew -- in his experience, anyway -- what that look meant. It was as if the vessels the young man worked on were but a means to an end, never merely an end in and of themselves. The young boy was, the Master saw, and adventurer, a wanderer, and it was with both sadness and envy that he realized the boy would never be content to simply make boats. He would, in the fullness of time, need to sail them, to take to the sea in search of far horizons, in search of profit and adventure perhaps, but always in search of the future.

There was the sea in the boy's eyes, and in his blood, a visiting pilot told the Guild Master one summer day, and there was nothing else to do for it. So now there was talk of handing Langston over to one of the colony's pilots, a rogue that had only recently settled in the colony, so that he could learn navigation and map-making. His training as a shipwright would never come to waste, for the best pilots inevitably learned both numbers and drawing as young shipwrights. There's was a natural progression, and young Langston might become more valuable still to the colony as a pilot. Destiny was odd in that way, yet how different than his older brother he was!

Jeremiah Clemens, the Guild Master thought wryly, seemed rooted to the very earth he had settled on. The young man had taken to the soil when the colony settled by the bay, and the elder Clemens had been clawing at the earth ever since, planting and building and dreaming as his roots set and spread. And few doubted Jeremiah's integrity, just as none doubted the boy's father's. Samuel Clemens had begun as the son of a freeholder in Devonshire, and a born dairy farmer and cheesemaker he was, too, but after studying law at Oxford he had tended the family farm only when not advising his Lord on delicate legal maneuvers that went along with guarding such a large estate from an ever encroaching monarchy.

Young Jeremiah had grown up on land he knew would one day be under his stewardship, so he was devastated when his father announced the family was moving to the New World, and the boy had wrestled with the idea for weeks. But one day, just a few days before sailing, his father pulled him aside and told him that while he had sold all their holdings, there would be vast monies left after buying shares in the Colony to build on the oceans of land available in Massachusetts, land available for the taking. When Jeremiah had seen the logic in his father's plan he dedicated himself to its success, and when his father lay dying during their passage to the New World, the son had promised his father that he would honor his name and build a worthy enterprise in the colony, and that the son's work would be in his father's honor.

Once Jeremiah Clemens set foot on this new land, he had quickly, and purposefully, set out to find the very best land to farm, and the family -- his family now -- had followed without question or complaint. They now worked several hundred acres of fine meadowland, had good supplies of clear, running water under their control, but most important of all, Jeremiah had the will to work the land, not to mention his family, for all it was worth. They had a house built within weeks of their arrival, and by the their second summer the first of several barns was complete. Supplies ordered and loaded on the next ship from Exeter included dairy cattle and the tools to build a bigger mill on the waterfalls they controlled, and Jennifer had spoken of putting the water to use to make cloth, too. The Clemens family would be one to reckon with for generations to come, because of his -- and their father's -- vision.

And it was in this way, the Guild Master knew, that Jennifer and Jeremiah had cemented their relationship forever. They held a durable love for this new land, land they now called their own, and of more importance, they held a vision of it's future. Oddly enough, that same vision compelled all the other colonists to never waste one moment of time, to never put off for tomorrow what could be done today. This land presented opportunities that their old British holdings would have never allowed -- for those with the Will and stamina to pursue such vast opportunity, and yet both Jeremiah and Jennifer could feel that the future of their family was bound up inextricably within the seemingly infinite horizon that fell beyond the setting sun. Even the apprentice in Langston seemed possessed by this need to succeed, to prove himself, and to push westward.