Aly's House (17 page)

In alarm, Aly looked around for Marshall who materialized beside her as if out of her thoughts. He took her arm just as someone pointed and cried, “Oh, my God! Look what's coming!”

G
et under the van!” Marshall shouted above the hysterical din of screams and shouts, the freight-train roar that suddenly filled the once-still afternoon. He scooped up two children whose faces still registered the shock of seeing their Easter baskets snatched from their hands by the dusty winds preceding the black funnel twisting across the plains.

Aly obeyed, managing, with Marshall and his charges right behind her, to herd another small child under the low frame of the Winnebago just before the fury hit. Ear-deafening and unearthly in its power, it slammed like an enraged beast into the vehicle, rocking it back and forth over the helpless victims pressed into the earth below. The ground exploded around them, stunning and choking, pelting arms and legs with burning rubber. Aly could only surmise that the van must have been picked up and set back down with such force that all six tires had blown at once.

Later they learned the insanity lasted only five minutes. To Aly it seemed more like a lifetime in hell. She would remember always, more profoundly than the moment she realized they had survived the ordeal, the sound of Marshall's voice in her ear when the calm had come. “Aly? Aly? Say something to me, honey!”

“I'm all right, Marshall,” she assured him, spitting out dust and shifting away from the protection of his body to release three squirming little figures who wriggled out from under the Winnebago in crying search of their parents.

Marshall squinted at her through sand-coated lashes. The side of his mouth quirked. “I'll say one thing. When Alyson Kingston throws a party, she throws a party.”

Overcome with inexpressible gratitude, Aly answered by wordlessly laying a grimy hand against his gritty cheek. Marshall's hand closed over it. Then they heard the first stirrings and cries of the survivors. “Not everybody seems to have had a good time,” she said. “Let's go see what that gatecrasher did.”

They crawled out from under the wrecked camper to a spectacle not quite resembling the atomic aftermath Aly had expected. Vehicles lay overturned and the debris of canopies and sheds littered the fields. A whole side of beef, dripping barbeque sauce, had caught in the sagging fence. She took a deep breath and looked toward the house. Miracle of miracles, it was still there. The top of one chimney had been sliced off, part of the roof had lost some shingles, and the cedar trees in front lay in a straight, serried file as if felled by one gigantic ax stroke at their base. But the house still stood.

Searching for her family among the dazed and recovering people who had not made the safety of the house and storm shelter but had hidden under cars and trucks, Aly was amazed that no one had suffered more serious injury. The cries seemed to be coming more from fright and relief than pain.

“I think we just got a nip of the damned thing,” opined a weather-wise farmer to Aly, looking off toward the direction the tornado must have taken. “I think it's headed straight for Claiborne.”

Others agreed and while Marshall and Willy headed for the barns to check on the horses, Aly went to the house to seek her family, grateful that Peter and his parents were in Duncan.

Her father met her at the door of her house, impeccable and calm, but startlingly aged. “Aly!” He said her name with such relief that for one of the few times in her life, she went to him and put her arms around him. She felt him tremble as he embraced her.

“It's all right, Dad. I'm okay. How's Mother?”

“Shaken up, of course, but otherwise all right. She's lying down. We were in the house when it hit. On occasions like these, people are inclined to get sticky fingers. We thought our presence might be an effective deterrent.”

“Thank you, Dad. I noticed a couple of windows broken in your car, but it should get you and Mother home. That is…”

Lorne looked at her sharply. “That is what?” he said.

“Well, the tornado seems headed for Claiborne. We must have just gotten a sideswipe—”

“Good God!” exclaimed Lorne.

“Let's go check the weather news. That is, if the electricity is still on.”

“It was last time I checked. Also the phone is still working.” Her father pulled out a gold pocket watch. “I think, however, I'll go collect your mother and we'll be on our way. I'm curious to see the damage, which should have been done by now.” He turned back to her as they started inside. “By the way, Aly, if I don't see you before Tuesday morning—”

“Oh, Dad,” Aly spoke in disappointment. “You can't have the stockholders' meeting on your mind at a time like this?”

Ignoring the question, Lorne said, “Most of the proxies have arrived, and as I suspected, they have voted against retaining the present board. That look young Marshall gave you a while ago—you know the one I mean. Has it any significance?”

“None whatsoever. He was just needling you.”

“And I need have no fear that you will do something foolish?”

“Not in the least.”

“Good,” he said with satisfaction. “I have always relied on your word, Aly, for the simple reason you've never broken it.”

Only part of Claiborne found itself in the path of the storm. The wrath of the tornado veered away from most schools, churches, and businesses, bypassing the wealthiest and poorest residential sections to concentrate almost solely on the middle-class neighborhoods. Victoria's house was in one of these. The Kingston State Bank remained unscathed.

“Never mind, darling,” said her mother the next morning as the Kingston women gathered to help Victoria sort through the mess for salvageable items, “you can live with us until a new house is built. This time you'll build in our neighborhood.”

Which will insure protection from further tornadoes
, Aly flashed to Victoria, who smiled wanly in understanding, her eyes still glazed from the shock of finding her home demolished. “Where do you want us to start?” Aly asked.

“You start over there,” said Victoria, pointing to a space that had once been the library. “You'll know what's important among Warren's papers to try to salvage. The rest of us will just look for anything keepable.”

Due to the rain that had fallen in the wake of the tornado, everything was sodden. The women had been sorting for an hour with very little to show for their labor when Aly came across a heavy-duty, letter-sized portfolio half-buried in the mud. Aly untied the string and drew out a number of documents. One was Victoria's marriage license. Though damp, the signature of the justice of the peace and the typed information stating date and place of the marriage remained decipherable. Aly puzzled over the date. It declared that Victoria married a month later than the anniversary she and Warren celebrated each year. There must have been a mistake.

On the verge of bringing it to Victoria's attention, Aly lifted her head and looked across what was left of the hall at her sister sorting through the remnants of a record collection. Then something—a conviction that went through her with a decimating certainty—made her cry out. Victoria glanced over at her, the blue eyes wide with alarm. “Aly? What's the matter?”

“Nothing really,” Aly said, her vision hazy. “I—had a pain across my chest, that's all.”

Victoria got up, her expression worried. “What kind of pain?”

“Pleurisy, I guess.” She smiled fleetingly. “Grandmother used to have it.”

“You've never complained of it before.”

“I was in the rain so much yesterday, trying to round up the horses.” Aly rubbed the area above her left breast. “I probably caught a cold or something…”

“Let me get Mother—”

“No—no, Victoria.” Aly looked over at their mother a good distance away. She was intent on the task of sorting through her grandson's clothes. “Here,” she said, pushing the documents back into the folder. She thrust it at her sister. “These seem relatively undamaged. I'd better go home. Don't say anything to Mother.”

“Aly, your eyes look like a wasteland. Are you sure you're all right? Why don't I come with you?”

“No, I'm fine, really, Victoria. Say hello to your men for me.” She summoned a smile and called good-bye to her mother and sister-in-law, who was working a number of rooms over. Forcing her legs to her car, she saw that Victoria still gazed after her as she drove off, the mud-covered portfolio in her hand.

In the car, Aly moaned her grief aloud, gripping the steering wheel. She sped toward Cedar Hill, where she had always taken her griefs.
Elizabeth
, she sobbed inwardly.
Elizabeth!

She left her car in front and used the handrail to help her up the porch steps. Once inside she collapsed on the chair by the refectory table. She sat there, staring at the aquarium whose denizen-life had begun to return to normal after the disruption of the storm.

She had always assumed that Victoria had eloped with Warren on the rebound after an ego-shattering affair in New York. And this only after the facts indisputably cleared Victoria from the suspicion that she was pregnant when she married. Today's evidence proved otherwise. Peter was one month on the way when his mother stood before that justice of the peace.

Now Victoria's odd reaction to Marshall, her denial that she had seen him in New York were explained. No wonder she had not introduced Peter to him. No wonder she had taken her family somewhere else for Easter. She had wanted to keep Peter away from his father. Marshall was Peter's father.

Aly picked up her most recent picture of Peter from the table. She should have suspected the truth earlier. Already father and son were beginning to look alike. Those dark brown eyes and lean good looks they had in common. How long before Peter's hair turned darker, increasing their resemblance? Elizabeth had said that Marshall had been born with blond hair. The irony was that Marshall did not suspect the truth either. He had no idea that Victoria had been pregnant with his child when she left New York.

Now what? Victoria was worried sick that Marshall might discover the truth. No doubt right now she was blessing the tornado that justified leaving Peter in Duncan for a few days. Marshall would be gone by the time she collected him again. He most likely would never come back now that he had lost the bid to take over the bank.

The phone rang beside her, all but jerking her out of her skin. She answered it reluctantly, thinking Victoria was calling to check on her welfare. But Joe was on the other end. “Aly?” he said.

The silky way he said it sent a crawly feeling down her backbone. “Yes, Joe?”

“In sorting through Aunt Hattie's desk, I came across the last annual report of the Kingston State Bank. Found it mighty interesting reading after I had a friend of mine who knows about such things explain it to me.”

“That so, Joe?” Aly struggled to keep her voice conversational.

“Uh-huh. He told me some things that you should have told me, Aly. He told me that you don't have to own the majority of stock to control it. I reckon Marshall came to town in control of enough shares to take care of your dad for good once he bought Aunt Hattie's stock. But then I imagine you figured that out for yourself the night I was out there.”

Sitting very still, Aly did not reply. Joe continued. “So I figure that since I'm not selling my shares, Marshall is out there at Green Meadows sniffing after yours, a fact you also know. Would I be right about that, Aly?”

After a brief pause, Aly replied, “Go on.”

“Well, right now I'm just guessing, but knowing you, I figure that you're giving that lad enough rope either to reel him in or to hang himself. Which is it?”

“Joe, that has to be my business.”

“I see. Well, Miss Kingston, I don't mind sharing my business with you, not at all. Because I still owe you for Benjy, I'm gonna wait until this all-fired important stockholders' meeting for this little game of yours to play itself out. Then I'm selling my shares Wednesday morning, the minute Judge Peabody finishes the probate hearing and releases Aunt Hattie's assets to me. Otherwise, I end up with nothing, don't you see—no money and no girl.”

Aly froze. “Who—who—do you plan to sell them to?”

“Why Marshall, of course. That way I have the satisfaction of doing what Aunt Hattie would have wanted.”

“Joe, listen!” Aly gripped the receiver. Good Lord, if Joe sold them to Marshall, he would stay in Claiborne. As majority stockholder, he would be able to accomplish on Wednesday what he would not be able to do tomorrow. Even if she informed her father now of Joe's intent, he would not have enough time to block the takeover. “Sell the stock to me,” she pleaded. “I'll pay you anything you ask—”

“Too late, Miss Kingston,” Joe sneered. “You should have made me that offer before you threatened me on account of Marshall. Now you're going to find that not only did you lose a man you never had, but you've just lost the best stable manager in Oklahoma. The only thing you're getting from me is the promise that I won't say anything to Marshall until Wednesday. You can send me the wages I got coming. So long, Miss Kingston.” He hung up.

Aly sat in stunned anguish. It would only be a matter of time before Peter matured into a recognizable semblance of his real father. What would Marshall do when he perceived the likeness? Would he identify himself to Peter? Would he fight for him? A custody battle would cause more scandal and damage, ruin the Kingstons more thoroughly than taking over a hundred of their banks.

Aly's head jerked up. Her body stiffened as an idea began to form. She would make a trade. She would trade her shares for Peter…She got up, paced in thought for a few minutes. No one need ever know her real reason for giving Marshall the stock that would allow him to take over the Kingston State Bank. Everyone would think that she was so besotted over him—hadn't she always been?—that he'd been able to finagle her into selling out her family to him. But with acceptance of her stock would go a condition. Marshall would have to promise that he would leave Claiborne and never return. He could run the bank from a distance. He could sell it. He could appoint a chairman and a president. She didn't care what arrangments he made as long as they did not include living in Claiborne where someday he would discover Victoria's secret.