did not follow, but watched after them, measuring the arrogance of the man by the way he walked, when his thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.
"Can I help you at the ticket booth?" Sarah asked as she approached him. "You'll want to talk to the guests." She smiled and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek.
Forgetting his irritation, Raphaelle turned to Sarah. "Ah, Dame Fortune is smiling. The ticket booth is in your capable hands. Thank you."
"Thanks, Cuz. I shall be perfectly sweet."
She smiled at him with such enthusiasm he could only shake his head. Once he had been that eager to please: he wanted to please his father and the world in that order, while Sarah wanted to please Miss Sarah Peale first and then, if convenient, the rest of her world.
"Now you can show Mr. Stuart around," Sarah said and turned toward the ticket booth.
Among James's children the serious one seemed to be Anna, while Sarah had the Peale gaiety, at least for now. Raphaelle watched her as she sat erect on the stool, looking straight ahead, fluffing her hair around her forehead. He wished his own daughters were as eager to study drawing and painting as Sarah was. He would like to teach them what he knew, but it was too late; their mother had already schooled them in the worthlessness of his art. He was not a good teacher anyway.
The Stuart party headed for the Mammoth Room, and Raphaelle thought he ought to join them, but just then Anna approached.
"You're looking lovely," Raphaelle said.
"Thank you." She kissed his cheek without actually touching it. Nevertheless her greeting was warm. "Did Sarah tell you she was copying the still life you left in our painting room to dry?"
When he shook his head, Anna smiled. "You ought to see her measuring brush strokes, comparing her mixed paint to your canvas, and mumbling oaths under her breath when something doesn't please her, which is constantly. But when father or I try to help, she pushes us away and says your canvas is enough."
Raphaelle smiled, but briefly. Sarah would probably outgrow her taste soon enough and concentrate on Rembrandt's portraits or allegories.
As Anna and Raphaelle entered the Mammoth Room, the knot of people around the prehistoric skeleton turned politely. "A most impressive creature," Stuart said. "I dare say we are lucky they became extinct."
Raphaelle had no inclination to discuss the exhumation of the bones, although he had told the story enough to have developed it into a lively five-minute lecture. Tonight he would let them look the immense bones and imagine for themselves—tonight his nerves were too much on edge from the lack of liquor, or perhaps it was the effect of being in the presence of the Stuart apotheosis. His subjects' adoration disgusted Raphaelle. He felt bitterness and jealousy when ever he faced another's success with his own failures. But he never wanted to give in to such a consuming defect in his personality.
Raphaelle was glad to see the light fading enough so they could begin the illumination. He signaled Moses. Together they lit the whale-oil lamps while the guests gathered around the great organ. A woman in a flowered frock played softly. Music was as important to Raphaelle as it was to his father. Harmony is the soul of Natural History, a sign over the organ proclaimed. Soon the lights were blazing and the music became more lively. Raphaelle sat between Sarah and Anna strumming his mandolin and leading the singing.
At nine o'clock he walked to the lectern to begin the lecture. The pain in his right foot had crystallized into a fever that occupied his whole body. He must stand, but he would lean on his crutches, and hope it went along somehow. He asked Moses to assist.
Raphaelle began his spiel in a tone of hearty good-will and wonder at the universe. First he went through the scientific experiments with electricity. When Moses engaged the switches, sparks flew, and the audience gasped. Raphaelle felt the sweat dripping down the sides of his face. He bit back the pain and began the astronomy lesson, animating his talk with illuminated paintings in motion to simulate the night sky. He uttered each word with precise jocularity—an immense effort. Exhaustion clouded his consciousness. Questions, remarks, any sound from the audience had to be ignored. He could not stop or he would never be able to get through it.
Finally, Raphaelle ended the evening with the firing of the brass gas cannon. Applause went up and Raphaelle exhaled a long breath of relief. Moses helped him to a chair and brought him a cup of cider. Raphaelle drank it gratefully as he watched the crowd disperse.
Before leaving, Gilbert Stuart stopped. "It's been an evening to remember. You Peales are amazing. Some of you paint, some collect butterflies and minerals. Old Mr. Peale preserves birds and animals and digs up the great mastodon bones. Some of you write. I hear you have written a theory of the universe?" Stuart's good-hearted accolades did not ring with sincerity. But he was putting himself out to say them, Raphaelle reminded himself. Why must I always think the worst of men like him? I am jealous of his success, and that I should not be.
Stuart prattled on. 'This pamphlet is priceless." With an amused smile, he held up a copy of Essay to Promote Domestic Happiness. Raphaelle winced. His father had written the pamphlet as a lecture to him. Stuart may not have heard the gossip of his unhappy domestic life and his father's well-intentioned essay. "It's all very good advice," Raphaelle said.
"I should undoubtedly benefit from reading it," Stuart said. "But I've grown so fond of my faults." He put down the pamphlets and smiled again at Raphaelle.
Raphaelle could no longer pretend good fellowship. Stuart could go to hell as far as he was concerned. "Good night," he said.
Tom Sully went with the Stuart party, but Anna and Sarah stayed to help close the Museum. After Moses Williams left, Sarah waited until Anna and Raphaelle were safely at the front entry before she blew out the last lamp and scurried down the dark stairs.
It was kind of Anna and Sarah to walk with him. He suspected they wanted to see him safely past the tavern before they turned the corner to their own house. It proved they cared something for his welfare.
"Good night, Anna dear, and Sarah. Thank you both." He kissed their foreheads and squeezed their hands though it pained him. He pretended to walk straight home. They would glance around and see him shuffling off in the right direction.
He ordered a whiskey and propped his feet on a chair opposite him. Pain diminished by degrees. His relief at being off his painful legs was so sweet he could not help smiling at the bar man. "I hope you've had a pleasant day, my good fellow."
"Aye, and you, sir?"
"Capital." Raphaelle picked up his glass and held it high health and prosperity."
Soon the warmth of the liquor raced through him, bringing a tinge of numbness. He would be all right. He would not think anymore of how hard he had striven to excel, to make his father proud of him, and how often he had failed.
He didn't want to think of Patty either. Everything he wanted was unattainable. She despised him and always would. He didn’t want to go home. He didn't want to wake up in the morning. It was warm here. The sound of laughter came and went. Nothing more was needed of him tonight, and soon the pain would ease even more. Perhaps I’ll paint a bowl of fruit so perfect in every way there will never be need of trying again.
Chapter 3
In the subtle light of autumn's dawn, Sarah helped her father and Uncle Charles fit the baggage in the rig. Anna climbed into the seat next to Hannah while Sarah had to swear she would not lose Margaretta's
