It is quite the marvel to see clouds, rain, and fog descend upon the gentle hilly terrain of Virginia—especially the late-middle of Autumn, and especially in the early 19th century. Sunny and splendid Virginia beckons forth the vibrancy of life, and yet, a week of rain can run on through and enchant the land to something seemingly new. The temperature drops. The leaves turn. The wind less predictable. The fog oozing through the hills, forests, and mountains. Gardens and tea converge into trench coats and boots according to the work of nature.
Here he comes. A country gentleman in trench coat and boots, with his faithful horse Coriander—she truly was zesty when crushed. He gallops along the middle lane of his estate. A row of mulberry trees that hardly cast shade any longer, and columns of lanterns as dusk likewise gallops.
Arrived, he unmounts Coriander, walks her to her stable, and gives her a long brush. Exiting the stable, it was that calm and mysterious time of day where one can see objects ahead, but they are nearly invisible. He made his way to the front porch main porch and ascended the steps, passing columns on his left and right. He removed his boots and took a hard look at them, for he was a man that thought carefully of all his doings and of every moment that could imbue something grand. He loved those boots, and he loved his estate. He gave the front wooden door I hard pull. It creaked open.
“Randolph William, sir.” spoke a mild-appearing man. He was neither tall nor short, neither thin nor thick, but he had quite remarkable hair. Long and wavy like a man who should lead a cavalry.
“Pleasure to meet you.” he continued, now standing with hand extended.
“Bennett Mason. It’s a pleasure to have you join us. We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival. I hope you have not waited long.”
“Oh, not too long. I’d say about 40 minutes, but it is no bother, especially when there are so many amusing things amassed in just a single room.”
“What was your favorite?”
“My favorite what?”
“Your favorite item,” answered Bennett.
“Oh, that is tough…I’d say the painting of Cicero. The Roman Republic. What a marvelous epoch of history,” said Randolph with shy gleefulness.
“You are a learned man, Randolph. Your friends speak well of you. Every one of them. They say your mind is not quite like any others in Oakdale. You follow where the breadcrumbs lead, and you find trails that no mind has discovered because they are stubborn in their ignorance. You will do well here.”
Bennett resumed after a brief pause and warm glance, “I apologize for my late arrival. I had affairs in town to attend to. Now, let me show you your place.”
They proceeded through the long hallways of the estate. It was dark, so mostly all that could be seen were the candles leaning from the walls like torches. But there were all kinds of pictures along the wall, like the gallery that served as a museum of a eccentric intellect. At last, they turned a corner and where before a spiral staircases stretching in both directions. They went down, curving around stone walls now lit by torches. Toward the bottom, the view emerged—as much as is possible in darkness lit by faint torches. It was a massive study, or was it a library? Perhaps it was a dungeon, but of a cozy sort.
Randolph marveled. It was the kind of place that mirrored his soul while simultaneously enriching it. It was dark and mysterious, yet incredibly uplifting. He could not believe he had landed this opportunity, studying for the legendary Bennett Mason. After another walk as seemingly long as the path to the stairs, they passed various nooks with an array of books, desks, chairs, and now obscure artifacts. It was that perfect blend of orderly yet messy, traditional yet eccentric.
“And here, Randolph, you will let your mind wander. You will begin when you choose, and you will end at your liking. You will room here, and you will board here. You will also garden here. You cannot see it now, but in the morning the rays of the sun shall wake you, and you shall behold a long meadow with a forest backstop that is seemingly miles away. There is a vegetable garden, a kitchen garden, a flower garden, and a wet garden. Do as you see fit. Follow each poetic breadcrumb to your liking.”
Bennett looked down smiling, and gradually lifted his chin saying, “Randolph. You’ve earned this. I have not needed to see myself, for the report of others serves enough for me. Do not let wonder and beauty escape you. The other researches will occupy their studies to research the domains of their mastery, but you master them all. You’ve earned your stay. The only ask, as we discussed earlier, is that you gather a report from each researcher during breakfast and translate it into a plan of action for my day. Should leisurely gardening be what you need thereafter, follow that instinct. Should it be researching something of your interest, follow it. And should it be delving into the topics of the other researchers, pursue it and share your findings.”
“I am honored beyond measure and lack words. I will not disappoint on your daily report, and I will treasure this opportunity. I am grateful.” replied Randolph shy gleefulness
“Very good, this treasure suits you.” retorted Bennett. “Now get some rest, and be ready to great the woods and gardens in the morning. Chamomile tea is available at the end of the hallway, should you desire. A goodnight and warm welcome.”
The sunlight came just as Bennett predicted. Magical yet not detached, the impression anchored Randolph. He caught the smell of something buttery, and exited his room and helped himself to biscuits, blackberry jam, and breakfast tea—all of it made from the estate’s bounty, according to the elegant chalk menu. On his long walk to the breakfast nook, he caught a glimpse of all the studies. In the evening, they were magical, and now, in the morning, they were impressive. At each study nook was a wooden sign with a name and title, such as “Frances Lee, Mathematician.”
He was a bit nervous to know who these cast of characters would be, but he was mostly excited. It was like stepping into a fictitious world that was even more fictitious because it was real. He was distracted momentarily from his reflection by the noises of pots, pans, and voices.
“The jam is splendid. Five years we have made this, and I do not know if it is better or worse. What matters is that it came about. Another seasonal routine in motion that will soon turn to memory. A double savor.” exclaimed Mrs. Mason.
“Unbelievable.” thought Randolph.
After this ordinary moment bliss, Randolph remembered that Bennett had mentioned the researchers would arrive shortly after breakfast, and so, he took a quick bath and got himself dressed.
“Good Morning, Frances. I appreciate your commitment. Tis an ordinary day, but my gratefulness does not require novelty. How are the wife and kids? Has your wife recovered from her cold?” Randolph, exiting his room, heard Bennett say at the top of the stairwell.
“Thank you, sir. Tis a privilege to exercise my mind today. She is all well now. A little rest and tea did its work, and the kids will play in the woods today. It gets no better than that.” replied Frances.
“Certainly. Please take biscuits, jam, and tea home for the family if you desire.”
“Thank you, sir.” said Frances warmly.
“And Frances,” concluded Bennett, “Randolph has arrived. Please greet him once he emerges from his quarter. Good day to you.”
Frances immediately met Randolph who was standing at his nook.
“Why is that Randolph William? Pleasure to meet you—Frances. Frances Lee from Bedford. We’ve all heard great things. Remind me where you came from.” said Frances warmly.
“Likewise, Frances. It’s a privilege to be here. I hear you study mathematics. When did you start here?” asked Randolph eagerly.
“I joined as a researcher about 7 months ago. Great experience. I’ve been architecting the plans for a library for Oakdale. In fact, I finished the plans yesterday afternoon. Imagine that. Here you go. Mr. Mason will be delighted.”
“These look…splendid.”
“Good things take time, Randolph. Remember, this has been 7 months in the making, and Mr. Mason conceived of idea years ago. He is the businessman. I could never make deals like he does, but he is a learned man and poet inside. Anyways, I better get started with my day. Now that the plans are complete, I’ll need to put together a more detailed budget report. We break for tea at 11, and I’d be delighted to talk more then. Really glad to have you here.” concluded Frances.
And so, Randolph had many conversations of this kind, meeting all the researchers of Mr. Mason’s estate. It was a dream. They really did break for tea, and he really talked to Frances about the history of Cartesian mathematics, amongst other things. It was as if Randolph’s mind had a nest in Frances and the other six researchers.
However, good discussion was just one layer of the joy he felt that day. He felt like a kid in a candy shop as he toured the estate with its long hallways, creaky doors, assortment of books, items, and picture frames. Later that evening, Randolph gazed out into the nearly black view of the woods and gardens, crunching up on his bed with a candle and scone to read for pure leisure. He had found a vocation that felt more like a dream.
And in this dream he remained. The first six months felt like a decade as every moment was new, sublime, and imbuing his life with wonder. Things were not perfect. He had messed up the morning report, so that when Mr. Mason went to town to utilize the research for practical affairs, there was miscommunication. Bennett remained calm, fatherly, and somehow even his rookie mistakes felt dreamy and something he could relish with candle and scone.
The next five months weren’t this kind of magical, but they were still magical. Things moved alone more quickly having become more familiar, yet still happily, like the rereading of good novel.
Things changed in one Summer evening.
“Gentleman. I called you together this evening to be honest about my affairs. As you know, your research has been instrumental to developing various kinds of buildings and projects in the town of Oakdale. This work has been highly successful, and we thank God. However, Mr. Lee’s library plans have led to an unexpected situation that is hurting business.
It turns out that the library transferred ownership from the town of Oakdale to Isaac Nettleton, a wealthy gentleman from the settlement of Eggleston, and he has brought with him three hundred Scots-Irish workers.
“Three hundred workers! But I came with you to town just the other day, and there were not that many new homes established.” remarked Nigel Baxter, the historian.
”Why Nigel, they all reside in the library. The have a rotation such that workers are researching in the library all night and day. They closed off public access to the basement, and the workers sleep there when they are not on duty. They live like cats and dogs I tell you, but collectively they’re learning like Da Vinci.” explained Bennett.
“This unending rotation of studying has produced the most fascinating results,” continued Bennett, “and they’ve invented many things. For instance, they have discovered a new design for buildings that costs a fraction of our traditional wooden homes. They have remade old Roman cement and have used it to quickly make a cube-shaped home.”
“I saw one of them.” interjected Nigel. “Truly an eyesore, surely one would go mad in of those things.”
“People will make do if they are coming from even madder conditions, like those coming from the remote communities along the western part of our state. Such a home is quite an upgrade if it brings them to Oakdale.” explain Bennett.
“And what else have they invented?” asked Mr. Roberts, the scientist.
“They are able to review legal codes at six times the speed as Mr. Walker…”
“Certainly this is a violation of town law. Give me forty minutes, and we shall have our lawsuit!” interrupted Mr. Walker.
“That will not do,” answered Bennett, “for they are protected by a charter from the state. There is much interest in inventions for our young state and country, and there is money to back that interest.”
“How much are they making? And how did Nettleton secure such a charter?” questioned Frances.
“Enough to purchase my estate and provide you with an equivalent salary.” answered Bennett. “Nettleton has familial ties going back to Williamsburg. He is a learned man and was able to convince Richmond. He had a prominent military career in our late war and settled in Eggleston hoping to make a profit in that remote region. In any case, they are outpacing all our affairs, and they are securing better profits.” Bennett stared solemnly at the floor. It would be a moment for tears in novels, but real life is often dry under such duress. “We have one month to continue operations, gentleman.
“Oh forget it all! What have we come to that a library of rough men, living like cats and dogs, are being rewarded for producing ugly buildings. What of beauty, and honor, and custom?” asserted Taylor Mosby, the linguist.
“Profit overlooks the treasure of a creaking door that is slightly imperfect. I’m afraid we are a creaky door operation of sorts, and the times are changing.” replied Bennett solemnly.
Randolph could not believe what he was hearing. On the one hand, he had heard rumors of these sorts of disturbances in other states, but nothing of this degree. He was happily naive to forget this news in a dreamy world of candles, stones, and leisure. Bennett had secured from him something distinctive from the University, or even the local school, and for all his brilliance he assumed this arrangement would last.
He paused, as he usually did. It was always quite a sight to him starting into the distance with his hand on his chin. Would the others see his wonder or believe him to have gone mad? In either case, he was madly deep in thought. Scenes of history flashed past his brain, looking for historical parallels that might provide a solution. This and other such analytical tactics made him practically non-present.
He grasped what had occurred. Nettleton had found a vulnerability in Mr. Mason’s plans. He dared not compete as another man of business, for even three hundred men would not outdo Bennett’s established success. Instead, he framed his plans as research, leveraging familial ties in Richmond to garner support. This was impressive but not remarkable. What was astounding was his insight to lead research like he was leading troops. Presumably anyone could have done this, for Bacon long ago publicized science, and Mr. Mason had the ingenious idea to scope this down to a town. It required carrying out a total affront to custom, as Mr. Mosby had astutely observed, and surely Nettleton should have been the most attached to it.
Now, however, was not the time to comprehend how Nettleton came to the strategy that he did. It was time for Randolph to counter with his own. The path of least resistance was to mimic the operations of Nettleton and compete with similar products, or to move from Oakdale and apply his operations elsewhere. Alternatively, an agreement could be sought with Nettleton to have Bennett’s men direct the library operations. But for a mind like Randolph these ideas could never move beyond a faint thought. Beauty, honor, and custom could never be compromised.
He paced back and forth and his surroundings seemed to vanish while simulatenously pressing in all at once. This was no intellectual abstraction. He thought of the wives, boys, and girls of the researchers. He recalled the candle, scone, and fireflies that were adjacent to his magical threads of inquiry over summer nights. He recalled the smell of the buttery biscuits and chamomile tea, and the warm smile of Mrs. Mason that served them. That all this could evaporate called forth the powers of an already active mind.
“We shall garden” stated Randolph boldly. “We will offer to garden the various landscapes of Oakdale, but only on public land, for we dare not make a product out of man’s leisure. We will also maintain a vegetable garden on the southern slope of the town, having the fruits be administered through the church for those whose harvests fell to misfortune. We will be ready to build estates with creaky doors. We will offer to help write humane legislation as long as it takes to get it right, and we will grow our own food so long as it takes to outlast this present fever.”
Randolph was still staring away from all others yet all eyes were on him. “I will sacrifice my research time, but I will not trade away work as poetry. It may be a year (or years) where we spend little, but your little ones will have enough. Better to toil away in our gardens than to lose them without toil.”
This is what Frances Lee saw in Randolph. The plan was so simple, but to most taking on such hardship would not have been considered. Or, if it had, it would not have been committed to without any shrivel. Men like Lee knew that it was not just the plan but the contemplation and confidence behind it that made Randolph Randolph.
As soon as Randolph uttered his concluding sentence, a loud knock on the front, creaky estate door could be heard. Shortly thereafter, Mrs. Mason exclaimed, “Sir Goodwin Marshall from Richmond has come to see you.”
“Coming dear,” replied Bennett.
But Goodwin had already made his way to the basement. His boots could be heard coming down the stairs before his body came into frame. At the bottom of the stairs, Bennett was prepared to greet him as the researchers, rather anxiously, looked on from their meeting table.
“Splendid estate, Mr. Mason,” shouted Goodwin.
“Bennett Mason. Pleasure to meet you, sir. Thank you. We have put in much work since my grandfather transferred ownership to me.” responded Bennett.
“What a sight to gallop through the column of trees and torches as fog mingled through the estate’s backstop of woods. The columned porch and creaky front door, and the smell of pumpkin pie and cinnamon tea as I walked in. You surely are from English stock.” Goodwin paused. “This all seems too good to be true for a man who is neither an academic, lawyer, politician, reverend, or military captain. I hear you have been running some sort of…operation down here.”
Mr. Mason nervously answered, “Why, yes. The University has become rather fussy about its demands for scientific research, reducing the magical quality to something rather mundane. Moreover, we hope to shape institutions and communities that we will see unfold with our bare eyes. And so we have aimed at making Oakdale a reputable town away from Virginia’s more historic stays.”
“And what of this Isaac Nettleton?” interrupted Goodwin.
“Yes, sir. Well, he has seen the reputation of Oakdale and sought out a charter from Richmond. He has produced the scientific output of the University in the most grotesque fashion. His men are working like cats and dogs, treating research like a machine and working without break.” said Bennett.
“And you are without work?” countered Goodwin.
“Well, we were in the middle of discussing our next steps. If we do not pivot, then our livelihoods will tossed to the ruins.”
“There will be none of that,” spoke Goodwin. “Nettleton and his men have until the end of the month to return to Eggleston, and their charter has been suspended.”
Mr. Mosby dropped his spoon, causing an echo to reverberate through the basement.
Goodwin placed his hat back on his head and turned to head up the stairs. “Surely, you good men of Virginia did not second-guess Richmond and her duty to preserve the beauty, honor, and custom that makes Virginia Virginia. Enjoy your labors!”
So Oakdale continued.