Hers the Kingdom (43 page)

     Knowing at once what she meant, I hugged her. "Thank you, sweet friend," I said. Rose quickly ran to hug our knees and Sara lifted her and kissed her hard on the cheek.

     "I will want to leave it here, with you," I told Sara. She seemed not surprised, and said nothing, but nodded assent.

     "I do have one favor to ask," I went on. "Would it be possible for Wing Soong to see it? He will be coming into the city in a few weeks to tend Mrs. Gray's garden, and I'm sure he could find his way here."

     "Of course," Sara said, breaking suddenly into a wide smile.

     "Whatever is so funny?" I demanded.

     "I was just trying to imagine Garvey's face when confronted by a giant Chinaman—with a perfect English gentleman's accent!"

     We dissolved in giggles, then, the three of us—Rose not sure why, but happy to be included in the merriment. "You will probably grow up to be the wickedest of us all," Sara told her and Rose answered, "Yes, wicked!" with such seriousness that we were sent into fresh spasms of laughter.

The family returned from Hawaii in good health and high spirits, their teeth white against the tans of their faces, the three of them exuding good health. Thad's wiry little body was deeply tanned. He had grown, I thought at first, in those few short months, but then I decided it was more how he carried himself, in imitation of his father. I saw that Owen was aware of his little shadow. He
frequently touched the boy. It was good to see them so, filled with stories to tell and presents to open.

     "Come with me," Willa demanded, "come see what I've discovered for us." Pulling me into her bedroom, she unwrapped a dozen long, loose dresses of various bright colors, many with flowered patterns.

     "What clever wrappers," I said, not knowing what else to say of these brilliantly colored costumes.

     "Not wrappers, Lena—dresses!" Willa insisted. "The missionaries fashioned them to cover the native women's nakedness—a foolish idea, to begin with. But if one must wear something in the heat, it seems to me this is the perfect answer. They are so loose and cool, no tight corsets to gird you. So I have decided that this is to be our uniform on the Malibu on very warm days. Nothing less!"

     I laughed at her. "I couldn't wear such a thing, I would feel altogether . . . altogether."

     It was Willa's turn to laugh. She could see that I wasn't convinced, but she was in much too good spirits to spend time trying right then. Another travel bag was filled with jewelry made from sea shells.

     That first evening at home, Rose and Thad sat in the corner of the front parlor, Thad pressing a large shell to her ear so that she might hear the roar of the ocean. It was impossible not to smile at the expression on her face. Her eyes seemed to grow ever larger as she heard the echoes.

     Owen sat at his desk, riffling through the papers I had put aside for his immediate attention.

     "What's this?" he said, his voice puzzled. "A citizen's group has requested a hearing of the County Board of Supervisors to allow public access to our ranch roads."

     Willa dropped the shell beads she had been inspecting into her lap, her face grew worried. "Neighbor Shurz?" she guessed.

     "He is going to be something of a permanent thorn in our sides, I do believe," Owen answered.

     "I think, then, that we should look for a way to remove that thorn," Willa answered sharply.

     Owen was already studying yet another official-looking paper, and this one made him frown.

     "You won't like this any better, Willa," he warned her. "It seems that there is a petition before the Interstate Commerce Commission to allow passage of a railroad line through the Rancho Malibu y Sequit."

     Willa drew in her breath in a sharp gasp. "Charles?" she asked. "Would he do that?"

     "He did," was all Owen answered.

     "Did you know anything about this?" Willa accused him. His look told her that she should be careful.

     "I can't believe he would do this without so much as warning you!" she exclaimed, clearly both angry and chagrined.

     Owen's face was grim. He knew Charles well enough to know that he could be formidable. He would have to study this, have to think about what, exactly, Charles might have in mind.

     "He has spoken about it in the last few years," he said, more to fend off questions than anything. "He knows I have considered the possibility of a coach road—reviving the old custom. But a railroad, no. Not a railroad."

     "What will we do?" Willa asked.

     "I don't know, at least right now I don't know. Except that we will have to be careful, very careful!" Seeing Willa's face, he quickly added, "I don't think we have to worry all that much. Charles likes to take surprise steps, to catch one off guard. It is part of his method. It doesn't always work, and this time it will not. That does not mean, however, that we are at war with Charles. In fact, it is extremely important that we do not seem to be at war with Charles, do you understand?"

     "You may not be," Willa answered, "but I am. I can't believe he would do this, not after all the years we have known them. Even if it is only, as you say, his 'method'—I don't much like his method."

     Her adamant stance made Owen angry. "Please be clear, Willa," he spoke strongly, and his glance included me, "our relations with Charles and Sara are to remain as cordial as ever. Neither of you is to speak of this matter to them. If they should approach you to say anything, deflect the conversation. We will want to be careful."

     Willa started to object, when I blurted, "My relations with Sara will not change. I doubt she will say anything about the railroad. She is not Charles' agent, but if she does I shall feel obliged only to say that you have asked me not to speak of it. I cannot lie to Sara. She knows my feelings for Charles are less than affectionate."

     Willa agreed. "I was about to say as much. I am sure Sara cannot like what Charles is trying to do. I think she has little influence on him."

     We fell silent for a time, then Willa said, in a voice so loud it made me start, "It would be a terrible scar on the land! I won't have it. I won't. A railroad would change the Malibu forever."

     "My dear," Owen said with tenderness, "if Charles had any idea how fiercely you feel about this place, he would not have the courage to challenge you."

     I chuckled. "You are something of a tigress, where the Malibu is concerned."

     Willa smiled, in spite of herself. "Well, Charles shall feel my sharp teeth if he presses too close."

     I gathered the beads that Owen and Willa had brought me, and called to Rose that it was past her bedtime.

     "I have to say that I don't understand Charles," I said to them. "You have been friends for such a long time—there are so many business connections, and Sara of course, but I must say there is something perverse about the man . . ."

     A look passed between them. They knew about Helen, I was certain. "Are you ever with Charles when Helen is present?" I asked, catching them by surprise.

     "A great deal more often than we like," Willa murmured, her eyes down.

     Owen, annoyed perhaps by the admission that Willa had just made, snapped, "Why doesn't Sara travel with him? She has no children to keep her home—only that infernal art."

     Angered, I answered more sharply than I had intended. "Maybe she doesn't like to serve as chaperone to Charles and Helen any more than you do."

     Owen swore, then, something I had never imagined he would do. "Did you suppose Charles to be discreet?" I asked. Willa looked at me and I knew the sorrow in her eyes was for Sara. She had thought to spare me.

     "I wonder if any of us know the dimensions of Charles' capacity for duplicity?" was all she said.

     Owen had assumed that Sara's interest in art had been to blame for the failure of her marriage. In fact, it was the failure of that marriage—measured, most basically, by Sara's failure to have a child—that had caused her to turn to the serious study of art. Her travels to England and the Continent, to New York and Philadelphia, had put her into contact with some of the most famous American artists of the day—not a few of them through letters of introduction written by Owen. Soon Sara would have her own first show, and I felt certain that her talent would be recognized.

There are timetables which become clear only in retrospect; events that come together, seemingly by chance, a series of coincidences, all of which can, if the timing is precise, be fateful. We are left to ponder, long after, what would have happened if only.

     Wing Soong went into town to work in the garden of the widow of Judge Gray (and to see Rose's portrait). He left a week after Owen's return. I marked the day in my journal, which only later struck me as strange. Still, Soong had become part of the routine
of my life, and routine is often sweet in itself. Perhaps it is not so strange that I would mark his departure, since he left on a Monday and it was always on Monday that I made my entries.

     "Where goes Wings?" Rose had wanted to know.

     "To help a friend," I told her, and she nodded as if to say that was a perfectly good reason.

     The garden did seem empty without his familiar blue-clad figure moving about on the periphery of our vision, the edges of our lives.

     Owen had written the agricultural agent to ask how best to get rid of the moles that had become the scourge of our vegetable garden. As it happened, Ignacio went into town to replace a broken plow disc, traveling on the same wagon that took Wing Soong. While there, he picked up the mail, which included a reply from the agent. The most efficient way to rid the garden of moles, he assured Owen, was to mix raisins and bits of raw carrot with the poison strychnine, and place little mounds of the poison mix near the newest holes.

     Owen and the diminutive Soo Lin, who cared for the garden in Soong's absence, worked together the whole of one afternoon preparing the concoction.

     We went into the garden the next day. It was sunny and bright. A brisk wind made it difficult for me to do my needlework, and it blew Rose's small tin tea set about. So we moved into the solarium to keep Thad company. He was propped there on a chaise, having complained of feeling poorly. His spirits were further dampened when Willa went off to track a pair pf young condors which had been sighted just north of the ranch, while Owen had shut himself in his third-floor office to concentrate on some business papers.

     "What are condors?" Rose wanted to know.

     Thad, feeling perverse, told her, "They are giant birds that swoop down and carry little children away in their claws."

     Rose's face clouded.

     "Thad, that's not true," I admonished him, "don't scare Rose like that. We've come to keep you company. Rose is going to have a tea party, do you feel like joining her?"

     "I don't like tea," he answered, sullenly, wanting to be coaxed.

     Rose obliged him. "Then a birthday party," she said.

     "It's not my birthday," he replied.

     "A pretend party," Rose said, undeterred, "with pretend cake and pretend tea."

     "Pretend's no fun," Thad grumbled. "Can we have real cake?"

     Rose looked at me, and when I nodded "yes" she clapped her hands with pleasure and skipped out the door, calling back to us, "And we'll have
real
flowers." I smiled, knowing she would return with a clutch of daisies.

     We sat in silence, Thad and I, he looking out of the window restlessly, I concentrating on the hem I was letting out of one of Rose's pinafores. She was growing fast now.

     When it dawned on me that she had been gone quite long enough, Rose appeared in the doorway. The daisies were in one hand, in the other a bulging kerchief. Her face was flushed.

     "Look what I found for our party," she said, in a voice that was strangely dull.

     "What is it, dear?" I asked, "Do you hurt?"

     "My back, Lema," she answered, leaning against me and spilling the handkerchief, out of which scattered raisins and bits of carrots.