Spring had sprinkled Manhattan with bunchberry, violet, and rose mallow as Paul and his partners drearily descended the steps of the lower Manhattan courthouse. They would appeal. Paul had already begun to prepare the paperwork. The New York court would not be the end of Edison v. Westinghouse. The federal court of appeals would be next. And if that failed…there were higher courts still, and Paul could only hope to fall from ever-taller heights.
To further blacken Paul’s mood, the light-bulb suit was not even the only battle he lost that month. Paul also found himself on the wrong side of the New York State Legislature in Albany. The electrical chair was approved for use by the people’s elected representatives. Now Paul would have to take this battle to the courts as well, arguing that this state law was invalid on constitutional grounds. Electrocution, Paul would argue, constituted the very definition of “cruel and unusual punishment” forbidden by the Constitution.
He would have to make this argument quickly, because soon enough some New Yorker was bound to be sentenced to death by Westinghouse’s alternating current.
Paul’s failures did not end there. He was soon summoned to the Huntingtons’ sitting room.
He could hear Tesla pacing the floor above them. He had barely visited the house since his mortifying conversation with Fannie. His work had given him ample excuses, so his evening visits had grown infrequent and brief. Surely Fannie had told Agnes about their attorney’s unfortunate offer. He could not bear to be alone with Agnes, for fear that she might bring it up. His best hope was for his infatuation to be forgotten by all involved. No doubt outings with Mr. Henry Jayne would be enough to occupy Agnes’s attention.
Sitting across from Paul in her typical finery, Agnes wore the same uncracked Mona Lisa look that she wore whenever her mother was present. At one point Paul had imagined he understood some of what lay behind that smile. Now he was certain that he did not.
“Since my daughter’s interview,” said Fannie, “which you so helpfully arranged, we’ve heard no more from that vile Mr. Foster. You have, we believe, succeeded. We are quite grateful.” Paul looked to Agnes for reaction. He found none.
“Thank you,” he replied. “It has been my pleasure, I assure you.”
“I’m sure you’ll understand, then, when I suggest that your friend upstairs should therefore take his leave of this house.”
Paul had expected this from Fannie eventually. But now? “Mr. Tesla has nowhere else to go,” he said. “If I could depend on your hospitality just a little longer…”
“We cannot have him here any longer. I trust you to understand.”
Agnes turned away. This was not her plan, he could tell that much. Nor was it her wish. But she wasn’t prepared to go against her mother.
Fannie went on. “The thrust of the matter is that we’re having some people for dinner in four days’ time. Thursday evening. The Jayne family.” Paul thought he saw the hint of a smile as she spoke. “We haven’t been able to receive guests since Mr. Tesla took up residence here. I’d ask you to see to it that he’s departed by then. I wish it could be helped.”
If the parents of Henry La Barre Jayne were visiting the Huntingtons’ considerably more humble home for dinner, then they were vetting Agnes. Agnes must have done quite well in the courtship thus far. And so the real subject of their visit would be Fannie. She was the one up for judgment. A potential marriage into a family of fortune and stature could not be allowed to be jeopardized by the presence of Nikola Tesla.
“I understand” was all that Paul could say in response.
“We are very sorry about this,” said Agnes. This was the first she’d spoken since Paul had arrived. “I’m so very sorry.”
“I will see that my friend is removed from your hospitality by Thursday,” said Paul. He rose to his feet, buttoning his black jacket in what he hoped appeared to be a gesture of professionalism. “Your patience has been appreciated. And I hope that I might continue to represent you.”
He had started for the doorway when Agnes spoke again. “Where will you take him?”
Paul had no immediate answer to her question. Could any other corner of New York be safe from Edison’s grasp? He could check Tesla into a mountain sanitarium somewhere…except that sanitariums required nurses and groundskeepers and window cleaners.
What Paul needed to do was to remove Tesla to a place where money could not reach. A place where Edison’s connections would do him no good. A place where the lights still flickered from melting wicks.
“Miss Huntington,” said Paul as he arrived upon an unpleasant solution, “have no fear. Mr. Tesla will be perfectly safe. I’ve another place I can keep him.”
I believe it is worthwhile trying to discover more about the world, even if this only teaches us how little we know. It might do us good to remember from time to time that, while differing widely in the various little bits we know, in our infinite ignorance we are all equal.
—KARL POPPER
AGNES INSISTED THAT she accompany Paul and Tesla to Nashville. The forcefulness of her demand came as a surprise, both to Paul and to Fannie. Paul knew that Agnes had come to care greatly for Tesla. He’d spent too many nights with them in the attic room to doubt that. But he had not realized just how much of a fight she would put up to remain alongside him.
Paul would not have thought that Agnes could ever convince her mother to acquiesce to the trip. Yet somehow she did. Whatever backstage dramas went on in the Huntington house, the two women’s negotiations were hidden from him. Whatever Agnes said to her mother was unknown. Whatever Fannie would extract in return was unimaginable. But ultimately Fannie relented. Dinner with the Jaynes was postponed for a week and an understudy given a chance to shine at the Met. All so that Agnes could make certain that Tesla arrived safely in Tennessee.
Had Fannie softened her grip? Or had Agnes hardened her rebellion? Perhaps the warm thoughts of a Jayne courtship had relaxed Fannie’s worry. Perhaps Agnes had grown bolder in her demands for a life outside a polished glass case.
The journey to Nashville took two separate railroad lines and a transfer through Cincinnati. The travelers employed three first-class sleeping quarters. Agnes consumed herself with practicalities. Seats, meals, tickets, departure times. Tesla was quiet and rarely left the sleeping car. This had been his first journey outside in months, and it clearly overwhelmed him. That first night, Paul heard Agnes sing him to sleep through the wall of the car. He realized that he had only ever heard her sing before at the Players’ Club. Tesla had evidently become a frequent private audience. As Paul turned his ear to the wall and strained to better hear the sound, he knew that Tesla was a lucky man.
Paul spent much of the trip worried about how Agnes would react to Nashville. He imagined that she would recoil from the Cravaths’ humble three-story. He couldn’t even fathom what she’d make of his father. But during their meals together, she mostly discussed Tesla. The slow process of his recovery, a recent update from her alienist. She left little doubt as to on whose behalf she had undertaken this journey.
Paul’s offer of a Sunday walk went unmentioned over the two-day trip. So did the name Henry Jayne. She was kind enough not to rub it in Paul’s face. He was appreciative. Between the crowd in the dining car and the time spent caring for Tesla, they were rarely alone. He had blessedly little opportunity to further embarrass himself in front of his client. He enjoyed her company so much that he was almost able to forget that this was likely the last time he ever would.
It was dawn when a terrific scream of brakes announced the arrival of the Louisville Railroad’s Train No. 5 at the Nashville depot. The conductors roused yawning passengers from their seats. Paul hopped the single step from the train onto the platform. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the golden Tennessee light, the bloom of a late-spring day that was just promising to begin.
Behind him, Agnes led Tesla out into the sunshine. She looked bleary-eyed; he was awake, if typically catatonic.
As Paul exited the station, he could see a familiar figure standing tall beneath the willows.
“My son,” said Erastus Cravath, extending his hand.