Dickinson

How's she doing?

Not too good.

Been in bed almost a week now.

I suppose if it's her time, then it's her time.

The Lord takes who he wants.

Sure does.

- Maggie, I'll take that upstairs. - Oh, no. I don't mind.

I said I'd take it.

Very good, sir.

How is your head?

Aching. It's like thunder.

Oh.

Well, I've ordered the whole house silent.

Here.

Please try to eat.

There you go.

So, Dr. Brewster will be here by the early afternoon.

I don't think that's necessary.

You're all peaked and ashen.

Oh.

I'm not taking any chances.

Get some sleep.

Damn.

Mrs. Boltwood's cousin just passed from yellow fever.

It's going around.

Emily doesn't have yellow fever. She has a headache.

Don't get yourself all worked up until the doctor's had a look at her.

Oh, good. He's here.

Who's here?

The doctor isn't expected until this afternoon.

It's not the doctor.

It's the portrait painter, Thomas Elliot Moody.

I'm sitting for him today.

A painter? Heavens.

Send him away.

Mother, no!

Do you know how long I've waited to get a session with him?

He's already done all of the girls in Amherst.

He just finished Jane Humphrey's portrait last week.

He makes everyone look so beautiful. I have to sit for him.

He can return another day.

- Wha... - When Emily's health has improved.

There won't be another day. He sails to Europe next week.

Your vanity astonishes me, Lavinia.

Um... mm...

Thank you.

Your sister is ill.

Which means there are extra chores to be done

- and you'll need to tend to her. - That is not fair.

It's always about Emily.

You want me to tend to her so I can get sick too

and die without ever having a beautiful portrait painted of me?

It'll be like I never even existed at all.

Should I let him in?

He's got a very assertive knock.

I shall leave that decision to your conscience.

Okay, so...

I'll do it.

Consarn it.

- Need some help? - Oh!

Who are you?

My name's Ben.

Where did you come from?

Worcester.

That's not what you were asking.

Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.

I'm Benjamin Newton, your father's new law clerk.

And I'm helping him out until the election. And if he wins...

keeping up his office here.

You must be one of his daughters. Lavinia?

Emily.

Your father said you've been sick.

Oh.

Right.

Mm.

I just needed a book.

From up there?

Yeah.

That's my shelf.

I'd think that your shelf would be a bit lower.

Or in your own room.

My father buys me books, then begs me not to read them.

He fears they joggle the mind.

Bit of a mixed message.

Let me grab it for you.

It's that one right there. The green one.

Emerson.

Cool.

"In the long sunny afternoon The plain was full of ghosts

I wandered up, I wandered down..."

"Beset by pensive hosts"

Dirge. I love that one.

It's spooky, right?

Most people quote love poems.

Nah, I prefer a dirge. It's like a different kind of love poem.

Yeah.

So, you read a lot of poetry?

As much as I can.

But a lot of what's called poetry isn't really poetry, you know?

What do you mean?

See...

if I read a book

and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me,

then I know that is poetry.

If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off,

I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it.

Is there any other way?

Well... um...

here you go.

Thanks.

So, is your wife here in Amherst too

or will you travel back to Worcester to see her?

Oh, um... uh, yes.

Uh, either way.

Well, I should get back to bed.

I'm not sick.

Okay.

I'm just pretending.

Why would you pretend to be sick?

So I can write.

I'm a writer.

Actually...

I'm a poet.

I had a feeling.

Maybe you'll let me read one of your poems some time.

Would you like to?

Only if it takes the top of my head off.

Please don't tell my dad, okay?

About me not being sick.

Solemn oath.

Oh, shit. That's the doctor.

- Can you get upstairs without... - I'm invisible.

Do I look pretty?

Please...

remain still.

Will you make sure to make me look pwump?

Excuse me? I can't understand you.

Pwump.

What are you trying to say?

Plump. I wanna look plump.

It's fashionable, you know, no one wants to look skinny.

I will paint...

the truth.

The truth?

And how is your stool?

Fine. Thank you.

How's yours?

And your vision?

Any spots? Or strange hallucinations?

Not any more than usual.

Do you often hallucinate?

No. Just, sometimes I see...

See what?

Death.

It was not Death, for I stood up

And all the Dead, lie down

- That's good. I gotta write that down. - Oh, just lie down.

Just lie down, my dear.

Try to rest.

There's never an easy way to put this.

Your daughter is going to die.

No.

God, no.

Her symptoms are spotty.

But as there've been more than 100 reported cases

of yellow fever within a mile of Amherst,

I'm quite comfortable making that diagnosis.

I knew it. Mrs. Boltwood's cousin.

- "Tell all..." - Tell all the truth

"The truth..."

But tell it slant -

Dammit, isn't there something you can give her?

Some medicine, some balm, something?

What about leeches?

I hear those have been effective in many cases.

They really haven't.

Dear God.

I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Dickinson.

My examination makes clear

the disease has already advanced to her brain.

There's nothing more that any of us can do.

Can't we just try...

the leeches?

Oh.

Emily.

Does that feel good, my darling?

Thank you, Mother.

Oh, my poor child.

This is all my fault.

No. No, it isn't.

Yes. This all comes from my side of the family.

I'm afraid you got the Norcross constitution.

Frail. Susceptible.

I'll be all right.

My daughter,

I must unburden myself of this long-kept secret.

Maybe... don't.

When I was a student at Yale, there was a night. One heady night.

A party. There was an abundance of cherry rum

and one of our most respectable professors stripped himself naked