REPUBLICA

2. Meetings

By the time she had to leave for the meeting, Jenny's fiery, "screw-them" resolve had dampened. A confirmed bookworm, she would much rather go to bed early and read. She pulled the abridged Lewis and Clark Expedition Journals off her bookshelf and flipped through the pages.

She loved the fact that Captain Meriwether Lewis's dog, Seaman, had a starring role in the westward trek. She also was tickled to learn that Lewis's mother Lucy — like Jenny — was an herbalist. Step-cousin Lewis, eh? Jenny replaced the book and shook her head, wondering if she should believe the ancestry report.

The writers' group meeting was scheduled for 5:00 pm. A few noncommittal snowflakes floated by as Jenny walked to The Bistro, where the meeting would take place. She held the all-important book, titled Return to America, close to her wool coat and under her shawl. She had spent the afternoon skimming through the pages, which lamented the abolishment and disappearance of the original US Constitution but exhorted readers to press for a new written law of the land. The authors had wisely chosen to remain anonymous.

As she walked, Jenny felt comforted by the familiar Colonial and Federal era buildings that lined the narrow streets of Exeter, New Hampshire. There were fewer historical markers now, as policymakers attempted to erase many of the heroic dead. Jenny had grown up in this town, and the worn yet stately architecture seemed like an old friend who remembered along with her.

The sun was now setting just before 5:00, nearly an hour later than in December. It was still light enough to see the historical marker near the bridge that President Washington had crossed, but cold enough to make Jenny pull her shawl over her long, ash brown hair. She paused about halfway over the bridge, took a deep breath, and gazed across the frozen Exeter River. "Hello, Mr. President," she whispered for the first time in years, adding with childlike sincerity, "Help us."

Within minutes, Jenny was walking down the stairs to The Bistro, a cozy restaurant that was closed that evening "due to emergency." Of course the "emergency" was the secret writers' group meeting, which this evening consisted of ten people.

Jenny was the only member who had a paid writing job, but she was in awe of the gifted poets, essayists, and novelists in the group. Jo, for example, was a full time landscaper who wrote stunning haiku and engaging essays. From elementary school teacher to bank vice president, all members shared a passion for the power of the written word.

"Hey!" Jo's voice sailed across the room the moment they spotted Jenny. "Look who's here, everybody!" Wishing she had worn something cooler than her wool sweater and jeans, Jenny cringed as heads turned toward her. She remembered the real reason she avoided meetings: her excruciating shyness that made her shut down as soon as anyone noticed her.

For Jenny, the remaining two hours consisted of avoiding people's eyes while trying to appear interested in the conversation and endless stream of questions:

"What did you think of the author's statements on the original US Constitution?"

"Does anyone know where the original Constitution is these days?"

"We don't even have a Constitution now."

"Can you imagine the courage it took for James Madison to draft the Constitution?" He's my cousin, Jenny wanted to say but remembered Jo's admonition to "be careful.".

She felt as though she were letting down the group's common cause, as well as the featured book and anonymous author— who wasn't even present. Worst of all, she could feel Jo's eyes burning a hole through her, wondering why Jenny wasn't "participating."

Jenny did volunteer to attend the open Town Council meeting, which was scheduled for the following week. Attendance at local political events was part of a strategy recommended by the author of Return to America. It was also something Jenny could do without having to interact with anyone. At least that's what she hoped.

Jo and Jenny walked back to the apartment building under a clear, dark sky after the meeting. "Don't feel bad," Jo said brightly, her breath forming small clouds in the sub-freezing air. "Some of the greatest leaders in history were painfully shy. I'll bet some of your famous ancestors were shy!"

After closing her apartment door behind her, Jenny was too exhausted to get ready for bed. After a light supper of soup and sandwich, she dozed off on the couch.

*************

A smoky fragrance awakened Jenny. Her feet felt cold. Where am I? She opened her eyes in a dark, quiet log cabin, lit only by a crackling fireplace. She lay on the floor, still in her sweater and jeans, wrapped in a heavy, dense fur blanket. Jenny heard liquid pouring into a cup. And she was sure she heard a dog panting, first close behind, then farther away, then close again. A man whispered, "Shh! Good boy." It didn't occur to her to panic, run away, or move at all. Not a thing in the room was familiar, other than a safe feeling that Jenny just couldn't place.

The man cleared his throat. Hesitant footsteps came toward Jenny. The tall, slender man, who wore a flannel shirt and deerskin pants, knelt beside her. A large black Newfoundland dog followed and lay down beside him. Backlit by the fireplace, all Jenny could see of him was the flickering outline of his forehead, cheekbone, and short hair.

With no hint of a smile, he scrutinized Jenny. The shadow hid his eyes, but she sensed a profoundly concerned gaze. He didn't seem to realize that she was awake and watching him. As Jenny observed him through half-closed eyes, he placed a tin mug of sweet-smelling tea on the floor next to her.

Jenny had had enough of the suspense.

"What's going on?" she asked, suddenly propping herself up on one elbow. It must have been the last thing the poor fellow expected; his jaw dropped, he lost his balance, and he fell over backwards, knocking over a stack of books, and finally crashing into an empty kettle and several pots and pans which stood next to the fireplace.

"You're dreaming," the young man said as he winced and attempted to stand up. As Jenny's eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw that the man was probably in his mid-thirties, maybe a few years younger than Jenny. The dog worriedly licked his master's face, then lay down between them.

"Oh," Jenny said, relieved. "So you're not really here."

"Oh, I'm here, alright," he answered, carefully touching the back of his head and then examining his fingers for blood. He looked directly at me and pointed at the mug. "Drink that," he said. "It will warm you." Hmm, Jenny thought.

The dog suddenly raised his head and looked at the door, listening intently, as dogs often do, to sounds only they hear. He barked, scrambled to his feet, barked twice more, and wagged his tail. The man chuckled and shook his head. Attempting to be serious again, he stood up and faced the dog.

"Seaman! Quiet!" he ordered the Newfoundland, who was now pacing, his tail still wagging.

Seaman? The Seaman? What a cool dream.

"C'mon back and lie down! C'mon! The raccoon will be there tomorrow!" The man sheepishly turned toward Jenny. "My dog, Seaman. Sorry." He looked at the floor, then back at Jenny, no doubt noticing her dumbfounded expression. An awkward half-smile briefly illuminated his face. Jenny sort of smiled back. Seaman ambled back to his master and lay down again, resting his head between his paws and sighing heavily.

Captain Meriwether Lewis stared at Jenny. "Are you going to drink that?" he asked with good-natured impatience. "It tastes best before it cools." He sat on the floor next to Jenny and pushed the drink toward her.

"You know, I always dreaded social gatherings, too," Captain Lewis said, with an accepting smile that almost made her cry.

Jenny sat up, took the mug, and blew on the steaming liquid. She sipped warily. The infusion tasted grassy, bitter, and berry-like all at once. Captain Lewis watched her, assuring himself that she was drinking the entire contents. Her insides warmed immediately. She became less curious about where she was, and more interested in falling asleep under the heavy blanket.