Chapter 6: To Do Good Work

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

— Common English proverb, often attributed to Saint Bernard of Clairvaux (1090–1153). The sentiment closely parallels the French phrase “L’enfer est plein de bonnes volontés ou désirs” (“Hell is full of good intentions and wishes”), cited in a letter dated November 21, 1604, from Saint Francis de Sales to Madame de Chantal. See: Spiritual Letters of St. Francis de Sales, ed. Henrietta Louisa Farrer Lear, Rivington (London, Oxford, & Cambridge), 1871, p. 70. Public domain.

Gray mornings were common in New England; so much so that they became a bit of a joke that one would comment on if they ever moved away, and many forms of media would make a point of illustrating such poor weather. Some people believed that this was because England was known for its wet and dreary days, and the United States was such a product of its mother nation that it could not help but reflect this quality into the weather itself.

One such dawn was coming about when Jonathan Pellham arrived at the discreetly respectable building on Middle Street. Despite being unaccustomed to leather boots that were more made for working than walking, he wore the trappings because the damp, thawing sleet had turned the cobbles into a treacherous slush.

He scraped the bottom of the footwear at the entrance thoroughly before entering. It was unbecoming to bring dirt, grime, slosh, or filth into a fine establishment such as the law firm of Huntington, Hart & White.

The state of a man’s dress, including that of his shoes, might say more about him than his reputation in such quarters.

When he entered, he saw a clerk or secretary out front. Prudence dictated that he give his card to the man, who accepted it with mild surprise. Jonathan added he wanted to see the man representing Silas Wolcott, so the clerk led him upstairs where a senior partner was working on some form of legal work or another.

Jonathan understood the practice of law. However, in this place, there was a sense of privacy that emanated from every crevice of the building until it came across as imprudent secrecy even as the wood-paneled office that smelled of ink, tobacco, and unkempt legal volumes.

Josiah Huntington did not rise at Pellham’s entrance. He merely gestured at the seat across from his writing desk. He was a narrow man in body and mind, and the sort whose politeness was a thin lacquer over cold calculation.

When it came to being a lawyer, Jonathan could respect that this Josiah Huntington looked the part. From the tailoring of his coat to the freshly polished pair of eyeglasses, he was every bit the man that was accustomed to pretending patience while also counting minutes for the purposes of exact billing.

“Mr. Pellham,” he said smoothly.

He wrote down some numbers onto the parchment for a few moments. He analyzed his work, and when he felt sure of his tabulations and the printing of the letters, he looked up.

“You find us in the midst of tax season,” he replied. “However, I can always make time for a fellow Dreibruch man. Do you take coffee? Or tea?”

“Thank you,” Jonathan replied as he seated himself. “But no. This is intended to be a brief visit, not a social call, sadly.”

He opened his coat slightly, drawing out a folded letter and resting it on his knee. While he did not intend to open it for the lawyer, it went to show his credibility to the opposite man. The sigil of their shared college was on the letter.

“I understand,” he said evenly, “that Mr. Silas Wolcott recently made a gift of fifty thousand dollars to Dreibruch University.”

“That would appear to be the case,” Josiah remarked dryly. “Most would consider such a gift to be a generous act.”

Jonathan supplied his counterpart with a level gaze. Pellham was doing all he could to maintain his appearance of professionalism despite his need for positive personal connections. After all, cheerful connections with other affluent individuals were beneficial in cultivating constructiveness for the future. If one needed a favor, they were more likely to obtain that boon from one who enjoyed their company. Unfortunately, the reminder from Theophilus about Silas’s importance to the work the College was doing came ringing in his ear.

The Dreibruch man knew who was important and what needed to be done. In that arena, Jonathan did not need this Josiah.

“It was a curious gift,” he said. “I knew Silas back in university, and after graduating, he was indifferent to academic institutions. It was a welcome to our Board, but the Dean is curious; hence my journey.”

Josiah leaned back in his chair as men who viewed themselves as important often did. His fingers clamped together and spread apart from one another to give the appearance that he was considering the question curiously yet intently.

“Silas has become ... unpredictable as of late,” Josiah said after a moment.

He removed his glasses from his face and set them aside. Jon suspected this was a show. Either Josiah was truly exhausted by Silas (which was impossible since Silas was one of the most amicable men that Jon had ever met) or Silas was not acting in accordance with what Josiah wanted. The distinction was important.

One told the fault of Silas; the other revealed the personality flaw of a friend, but the other spoke of a selfish disposition of a stranger, and Jon knew to whom he would look disfavorably upon. Prejudice of a stranger aside, Silas was an actual friend. Jon would not be taken in by this leech of a lawyer.

“Since his father’s death and inheriting his family’s fortune, he has taken to making eccentric decisions, including giving large contributions of monetary value to others. He does this without counsel, nor anyone but his butler.”

The way Josiah seemed to hold disdain for the servant was either class or race related by Jonathan’s summation. While he could not be sure, it was clear that Josiah believed himself to think very highly of himself over this butler or even Silas.

“Sudden generosity needn’t imply instability,” Jonathan replied quietly.

“No, perhaps not,” Josiah agreed. “However, I suppose fifty thousand dollars is a substantial sum that benefits you while I must wonder why he would part with such wealth. He diminishes his very estate with each such indulgent behavior. As his family’s legal representative, I must question the foresight of this young man and further his mental faculties.”

Jonathan said nothing to those words. Both he and this Josiah were in the legal field, but scarcely had Jon seen such blatant narcissism and greed on the face of another man. He studied the elder lawyer for a moment to be sure of his assessment. It was all there; concern masqueraded as stewardship but for Jon, this behavior rang hollow.

Josiah was too polished, too rehearsed in his words. He had to have said them to himself in a mirror or maybe he had spoken with his other partners. He was not anxious for a client’s welfare, but for a dwindling account that he could no longer effectively direct. Jonathan wondered what this law firm was up to when Richard Wolcott was ill.

“I’ve known Silas since we were teenage boys,” Jonathan said at last. “He was always peculiar in his thoughts, and some of our professors thought he was too concerned about removing moral ambiguity, but never have I seen a sign that he was unsound. He has a keen mind that might be superior to most men in this city put together—yourself and myself included.”

“A keen mind, you say?” Josiah repeated, the word curdled in his mouth. “Yes. That seems to be the fashion these days: keen imagination over practicality? It will not do.”

Jonathan stood, brushing a crease from his coat.

“I thank you for your candor, Mr. Huntington,” Jonathan said. “I did wonder about my old friend, but if what you say is true, it sounds as if he has simply been struck by the spirit of generosity rather than any actual impediment. I will speak to Silas myself soon enough”

Josiah offered a faint, cool smile and rose at last to see his guest out. He could tell he had been insulted, but since it had been dressed up in cordiality, Mr. Huntington could ill afford to cause a scene. Much rather, he stood up and offered his hand.

“Do let me know what you make of him,” he said at the threshold. “Perhaps you’ll find reason where I found only concern.”

Jonathan accepted the hand and shook it before turning to depart.

“I certainly hope so,” he said in the doorway. He turned and inclined his head.

“Good day, Mr. Huntington.”

“And to you, Mr. Pellham.”

It was another day and another ... three hundred and thirty dollars in a day ... in the study of Wolcott Manor. Silas had coldly calculated money out to the cents and what rolled over when he first thought of the obscenity of the wealthy he had been bequeathed.

The money shook his sensibilities in the beginning, but with time, he was still disgusted by the number, but Thomas was correct. He could do so much more with his time and money if he only focused his efforts. The hospital was making slow, meaningful improvements, and while the tavern was not his main source of focus, he found that when people had a place to enjoy themselves, the community was happier on the whole.

For those reasons alone, Silas smiled. Before the age of thirty, Silas had found a contentment in life that men in their sixties with grandchildren might never know.

The hearth was burning but the study was quiet. It housed volumes from classic literature to law books. There were histories on there that made Silas wish for his father’s resurrection, as only his father could make the past less boring for a child of six.

Silas Wolcott sat slumped in the large chair; the documents of the day were stacked up on the desk, and they had all seen his mind and pen’s attention for the day. He allowed himself a long, meaningful sigh since the servants were retired to their quarters for the day. Everything that needed doing was done. For the first time in a long time, it felt as though there was nothing to do other than know that the weight of legacy for the Wolcott name would inevitably assault his psyche.

He looked down to his lap where a worn volume of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar rested. Its binding had softened by years of his familiar touch. Why should it not? Along with Macbeth, it was one of his favorite plays by the Bard.

He opened it to the scene he favored where Caesar said, “Cowards die many times before their deaths...”

Shaking his head, he could not understand why he was haunted by those words in that moment. Strangely, he did not know why he had been overcome by grief or the paranoia about his own inheritance until the conclusion of cowardice struck him.