The Expeditions by Karl Iagnemma Read Free Book Online

possess the ability to grow. Facts are useless except in service of an idea.” Professor Tiffin drank off the whiskey then handed Elisha the empty glass. “Toilers do, of course, serve a vital purpose. Science requires these people, much as a complex clock requires each minute screw.”
    Tiffin’s manner reminded Elisha of his favorite uncle, Lawrence, who would visit yearly from Boston when Elisha was a boy. Lawrence’s first business upon arrival was to haul Elisha onto his knee and pluck a penny from each nostril. Professor Tiffin was swaying slightly, as if on a rolling ship; then Elisha understood that he was drunk.
    “So, my healthy young friend! What would you like to be: a scientist, or a toiler?”
    Elisha grinned. “Both. I’d like to learn from both Mr. Brush and yourself, if that’s possible.”
    “You don’t recognize the significance of this expedition, do you? Our discoveries this summer will twist the nose of the entire United States!” Tiffin tapped Elisha on the knee. “Your grandchildren will be discussing this expedition. Your grandchildren’s grandchildren. And et cetera.”
    “I’m very honored to be on this expedition, Professor Tiffin, truly I am. I admire your ideas deeply. You’re a great scholar of the Native people.”
    The man belched softly. “I wish I had a hoecake. I am near starved in this funny little town.”
    Elisha said nothing. The word
suntithenai
lingered in his mind, accompanied by a pang of gloom; it seemed a symbol of how little he knew. As a child he’d been indifferent in the schoolroom but a scholar in the creek behind his father’s house. And what had he learned? The feeding habits of fox sparrows. The differences between stone flies and dragonflies and mayflies. He’d spent his days knee-deep in the chilly water, the sun’s hot stare on his neck, gathering specimens and executing pretty sketches. A budding young toiler at work.
    Professor Tiffin was regarding Elisha curiously. “Go now, take some fresh air. Go on. I am told it can be invigorating.”
    Elisha hurried down the corridor. He was still holding the man’s empty whiskey glass. As he reached the stairs Professor Tiffin called, “Young fellow! What is your name?”
    “Elisha Stone.”
    “Elisha Stone! I shall teach you to be a scientist this summer. By expedition’s end you will be teaching me!”
             
    He spent the afternoon lying on the beach near the fort’s pickets, watching Native fishermen navigate the straits in their flimsy bark canoes. They surged through the foaming water, a steersman guiding the craft while a second Native dipped for fat, wriggling whitefish. The boy was at first enthralled by the men’s dexterity but soon grew irritated. He envied them the simplicity of their task: no ideas or synthesis, just a canoe and a net and a river full of fish. He wished he had his sketchbook.
    At six Elisha returned to meet the hotel supper bell, and as he passed the parlor he heard Mr. Brush’s voice. He glanced through the open door: Brush and Professor Tiffin were sitting beside each other on a settee, Brush stiff-backed while Tiffin hunched forward with his chin in his hands. They were staring across the room.
    A woman was sitting beside the fireplace. She was dressed in half-breed garb, a blue strap dress and calico scarf. Her hair was the color of a crow’s wing, black overlaid with a glossy blue hue. Her cheekbones were sloped like a Chippewa’s but her forehead was high and broad, her nose dotted with reddish freckles. She was gazing intently at the two men.
    “Her knowledge is not the point in question,” Mr. Brush said. “It is solely her gender. A woman of her stature cannot bear a fully loaded pack.” Brush bowed toward the woman. “With all respect, madam.”
    “It is a commonly accepted fact, proven by no less an eminence than Dr. Samuel Mitchill, that Native women have heartier constitutions than white women. Edwin Colcroft describes Chippewa women