The Shadow Catcher

Despite the invitation’s gloss of intimacy, charity was charity, Clara knew — its chain of command ran in one direction, only. There is no power in receiving, and the possibility that she and Hercules might find themselves indentured to the Curtises was among Clara’s several fears about transporting herself and her hapless brother into unknown territory. Washington — a Territory, not a State. A place so backward it couldn’t organize its citizenry to vote themselves into the Union. What sort of place was this Port Orchard on the Puget Sound? Was it a town — or a stockade? How far away was the nearest piano, the nearest concert hall? As distracting as these questions were to her, her chief concern about accepting Ellen’s offer was Ellen Sheriff, herself, now Ellen Sheriff Curtis. Squat, pale, timid, her mother’s friend had always reminded Clara of that ewe in every herd that manages, through her own passive stupidity, to strangle herself in a fence. A tragic character but without the heroism. Maybe that was part of why Amelia had befriended Ellen — again and again through their long friendship, Clara’s mother could play fiery Athena to Ellen’s tepid Hestia. Or maybe there had been a former fire in Ellen that her marriage had extinguished.

Johnson Curtis had apparently swept Ellen off her feet the way a very bad sneeze can knock a person sideways.

Shiftless, relying on his personal communication with God to get him out of scrapes, Johnson fancied himself an orator, although every bon mot he delivered had been spoken previously, by someone else. In the post — Civil War boom era when businesses in St. Paul flourished on the swell of profiteering, Johnson’s every venture failed, one after another, until, called by God, he declared himself A PREACHER and took off into the hinterlands of northern Minnesota with his second-born son to preach, administer baptisms, intone last rites and marriage vows to the dubiously devout in exchange for a roof over his head, a bit of bread and perhaps a nip or two of spirits less powerful than God but nonetheless dang strong. He abandoned Ellen in St. Paul with their other three Biblically-named children — Raphael, named for the principal Archangel (and not, as Clara’s father hoped, for the Renaissance painter); Asahel, whose name in Hebrew means Made by God; and Eva, the Biblical First Woman. The son that Johnson took with him to portage rivers, cook, beg, watch after him and play his servant, had been christened ELIDAD, a name in Hebrew which means whom God has loved. The Biblical ELIDAD had been a chief of the tribe of Benjamin and one of the appointed to divide the Promised Land among the tribes. But Elidad-the-son-of-Johnson, only twelve years old when his father pressed him into service in the north woods of Minnesota, woke up one morning and rebelled, if not against his servitude, at least against the pretense of his name. Raphael, Asahel, Eva and Elidad Curtis would henceforth be known to their father, mother and the world as Raphael, Asahel, Eva and EDWARD. EDWARD Curtis. Edward Sheriff Curtis, in honor of his mother whom Johnson had left behind, penniless and destitute except for the enterprising efforts of Clara’s mother, her childhood friend, Amelia. Amelia organized a place for Ellen, Raphael, Asahel and Eva to live; organized lessons for the younger two and an apprenticeship for Raphael; organized piecework with a seamstress for Ellen, organized donations of food, furniture and clothes from Christian charities and her non-believing artist friends. Ellen and her daughter Eva were habitual guests in Clara’s family home — most frequently on Sundays when they’d arrive from church just as Clara’s parents were beginning to surface from their Saturday nights. “Aunt” Ellen became a fixture in the house — more like a maiden aunt than a contemporary of Amelia’s, especially after Johnson and Elidad (now Edward) had been gone more than a year and there was no positive assertion that they were ever coming back.