Lawless (85 page)

It all faded into insignificance as he said, “After you left this morning, I happened to open your mother’s desk just before it was burned.” The lie was spoken to spare Julia any further ill will. “My letters were in it, wrapped in cord just as you see them. I then questioned Samuel and he confessed he helped her confiscate the letters as they arrived. She ordered him to help her. All of that’s in here—”

He opened to one of the diary’s blotted pages. “And a good deal more that isn’t very pleasant. I just want you to read a little of it.”

He located the passage describing the start of Margaret’s scheming.

“Start at the sentence that reads ‘I shall never do anything so lacking in subtlety.’ Read from there to the end of the page.”

Her head bent over the book. In a moment her hands began to shake. He wanted to touch her but feared that if he did, she might fling the diary in his face.

He started at another outburst further up the platform. It was Prince, marching angrily in their direction. The actor had lost the battle of the Borzois. Their plaintive yelps sounded from the express car.

Prince’s wife clung to his left arm, trying to soothe him. Still clutching his wig, Bascom was doing the same from Prince’s right. The other actors trooped along behind as Prince exclaimed, “No, no,
no!
Explanations and apologies are useless, Bascom. You guaranteed the dogs would ride as passengers. The gold of your word has proved itself mere dross.”

“Listen, I damned near got walloped to pieces for those goddamn mongrels!” Bascom retorted. “Your pardon, Martha.”

Some of the actors laughed. Several passengers leaning out the windows gasped and slammed the windows shut. Out of sight inside, the conductor shouted a warning about foul language on New York Central property.

Prince ascended the steps, the perfect, and perfectly exaggerated, picture of a wounded man.

“In view of your insults, Bascom, I don’t know whether I shall be able to perform in Albany.”

“You better or I’ll sue you from here to the Canadian border. Martha, give him his flask for God’s sake.”

The actors vanished. The whistle blew. Gideon turned back to his daughter—

To find her oval eyes bright with tears.

“I never believed you,” she whispered. “I never believed she lied to us on purpose.”

A weary smile. “I tried to convince you. But I had no evidence. Anytime you wish, you can write Samuel and he’ll confirm what I said about the letters.”

How he hated to see the vulnerability on her face. She was young again—young and hurt. He wasn’t sure she’d forgive him for this pain, either.

She tried to hand him the diary and the packet of envelopes. He blocked them gently with one palm.

“They’re yours. Destroy them if you want. It’s up to you. I only ask you to read the letters, and some of the diary. I’ve come to realize belatedly that I caused a great deal of the trouble that beset our household. I could have gone much further than I did to smooth over the difficulties, but I didn’t do it because—well, because I’d fallen in love with Julia. No human being is perfect, as you’ve discovered too early in life.”

The whistle howled.

Haltingly, he began again. “I used both Julia and the
Union
as excuses to keep me away from an unpleasant situation at home. By doing that, I also neglected you and Will. To all that, I plead guilty. But—”

The conductor leaned down from the vestibule, a ghostly figure surrounded by billowing steam. “Miss? Get aboard, please.”

“Papa, can you ever forgive me?”

The very sound of it was balm to his soul. “Of course. I already have. You’re my daughter: The question is, can you forgive me? Because of all that I did, I don’t suppose it’s possible for you to love me. But certain things can’t be changed. I
am
your father. I love you. I may have failed you, but I love you.”

She was too overcome to speak.

“I only ask that you don’t push us out of your life. Julia and Will and I are all the family you have now. I don’t want you to go on this damned trip, but if you must, then remember we’re here waiting for you to come home.”

“Yes, Papa. I will.”

He almost dropped to his knees to thank a God with whom he was on less than familiar terms. She darted another swift look at the passenger cars beginning to move slowly toward the flare of sunlight at the end of the shed. All at once she was crying.

“I’m so sorry for what I did, Papa, for all the cruel things I said—”

“It’s over! Only the future counts. Write us. Tell us what you’re doing. Whether you’re safe, and well. Write to the
Union
because we may be moving soon. Wherever we go, will you come home when you can?”

“Yes.
Yes.”

“Oh, Eleanor—” He took hold of her free hand. He could feel the sudden tension in her fingers. Had he hurt her so deeply over the past year or so that she recoiled from the touch of another human being? He only hoped it was his touch, and not every man’s, or she was truly a wounded creature.

“Papa, I love you!”

The cry seemed torn from her. Tears streaming on her face, she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him hard for one supremely joyous instant.

Then she turned and ran along beside the passenger car and reached up to grasp the conductor’s hand. Once aboard, she gripped the vestibule rail and looked back at him. She began to wave, her face and form dwindling in the blaze of summer light outside the station.

Why did she have to go? She was too young. Too inexperienced. He was afraid for her to be alone with those people. The Goldman boy and Mrs. Prince seemed kindly, but what about the rest? He was afraid for her to travel to strange places among such a raffish crowd.

He was afraid just as any father would be.

He
was
her father again, he realized. Happiness overwhelmed him, and he stood waving until the last passenger car shrank away to nothing out there in the August light.

He was her father again!

Late that afternoon Gideon fell ill with violent stomach pains. On the advice of his doctor, and over his protests, Julia put him to bed. By nine that night he was running a high fever.

Dr. Melton lanced the sutured bullet wound, relieving a buildup of pus, and prescribed a heavy draft of whiskey for sleep. As Julia ushered the doctor out, he gave his professional opinion.

“All the events you’ve mentioned have undoubtedly been extremely aggravating to his weakened condition. I should imagine that if I were shot in the midst of a riot, lost my wife and then had my daughter decamp with a pack of actors, my sanity would be gone right along with my health. I can’t understand how the man keeps going—”

She smiled. “The Kents seem to be a hardy breed.”

“Hardy but not indestructible. Keep him in bed for the next three or four days. Even if you have to use ropes.”

Gideon was awake at four on Sunday when a man from the
Union
brought him a long telegraph message just in over the newspaper’s leased wires. Out in Chicago, Salathiel Brown had reached a dead end.

In circumspect phrases, Brown reported that he’d spread his
fund
—he meant bribe money—among three guards the Wisconsin and Prairie now employed at its headquarters. The guards had been quite happy to give him the company version of what had happened the weekend of the railroad strike. Lorenzo Hubble had been in Chicago the entire time, and the guards were prepared to swear to it if necessary.

Brown had interviewed each man separately, in a saloon. One of the three, a consumptive roughneck named Kane, had gotten drunk enough to let a damaging fact slip. In between swallows of gin and spells of coughing, Kane said he and the others had been paid a hundred dollars apiece, in advance, in case it became necessary to testify to Hubble’s presence. Kane knew Brown could never prove what he’d just heard by accident, but he threatened Brown anyway, saying he’d do Brown serious injury if the reporter repeated the slip to anyone. The man seemed to enjoy that sort of bullying, Brown noted.

Finally, Brown had done some further checking, and discovered that no reliable witnesses could actually place Hubble in Chicago during the weekend in question. In other words, the report concluded, it appeared that Hubble had been out of town, and that for some reason, the W & P was prepared to prove otherwise.

Gideon flung the crumpled message on the floor beside his bed. Courtleigh’s guilt was unmistakable. But what the hell could he do about it? He could think of nothing except the kind of unthinkable act to which Sime Strelnik had predicted he’d be driven to by this sort of frustration.

He was sorely tempted. Only after an hour of reflection, and a conversation with Julia, did good sense prevail.

Late on Monday, dressed for traveling, Matt came to his brother’s bedside. Hot sunlight blazed in the room, slanting from the west above the park. Gideon felt much better. He insisted he’d accompany Matt to the Cunard pier.

“I won’t hear of it,” Matt said. “Julia’s going with me. I’m only sorry the trip to the West Side won’t be longer. There isn’t time for me to take her away from you.”

Gideon laughed, then sobered. “I’m sorry you won’t stay.”

“I stayed much longer than I ever expected to, Gid.” Matt pulled up a chair. “There’s too much of me still in England, and not enough of me here.”

“There’s a lot of you here now that the book’s published.”

“Maybe.” A shrug. “By the way, I was in that palace of a bookstore on Union Square this morning—what’s the name of it?”

“Brentano’s. August Brentano opened it last year. It’s already the best store of its kind on the East Coast. For an immigrant who used to peddle newspapers and magazines in the streets, August is doing very well.”

“They told me
100 Years
is selling briskly. If the trend continues, maybe the fortunes of Kent and Son have finally been reversed. I’m afraid the etchings are a disaster. There’ll be precious little money for charity—”

“Matt, in a few years one of those sets will be priceless.”

The younger brother studied the older with affection. “I don’t know which of us is the biggest bull thrower.”

“Before you go”—Gideon coughed, then winced; the wound was hurting like fury and leaking pus again—“there’s something I need to ask you.”

Matt pulled out a cigar. “Ask away.”

“Did you speak to Eleanor about an acting career?”

Matt strode to an open window and gazed across at the Park, trying to sound offhand. “Yes, we had a conversation. She asked my opinion on some things.”

“Such as whether she should leave home?”

Matt pivoted. “That question didn’t come up specifically.”

“By implication, then?”

Matt slipped his cigar back in his pocket. He didn’t avoid his brother’s gaze. “I suppose you might say so.”

“Did you encourage her to go?”

He sighed. “Does it really matter? I think she’d have gone whether I encouraged her or not. Or whether or not you approved. I got the very clear impression that she couldn’t do anything else with her life. When that happens to someone, you just have to accept it.”

“
I
don’t have to accept it!”

Quietly: “Gid, your age is showing.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re a very liberal thinker in some ways. But you’ll never understand the kind of life I lead—or the kind Eleanor wants to lead, either. Never understand it fully, I mean. Hell, I don’t myself, or I’d have never let Dolly walk out on me and travel halfway round the world to have our son. In any case, I think I know what’s worrying you. Her age, and her virtue.” Gideon reddened as he went on. “Contrary to what you may think, artists are not all ravening lechers. Some of them are the kindest people on earth. Crazy, but kind. I’ll tell you this. I’d sooner see your daughter in an acting troupe than cast adrift in a room full of politicians. Those bastards would have her compromised in ten minutes.”

“You’re saying actors won’t?”

“Of course I’m not saying that. People are people. But you need to have more faith in your own child. Eleanor’s a strong, capable young woman. I suspect she can take care of herself. She did while you weren’t living here, didn’t she?”

Propped against damp pillows, Gideon grimaced and murmured, “Point scored.”

Matt came to the bedside and embraced him. “Look, my esteemed older brother, it’s too late to change what Eleanor’s done. You said she softened her feelings toward you when you proved Margaret had been deceiving her. Be thankful for that. Be proud of her ambition and her spunk. She’ll probably turn into a Kent we can all admire. I know newspapermen are professional scolds. But don’t let it carry over to your family. Don’t find fault with Eleanor. Enjoy her! We forget how little time we really have to enjoy each other. You’re a damn lucky man, Gideon. You have a fine son and daughter, and a fine lady who loves you—”

“Julia?” He smiled. “I couldn’t survive without her.”

“Don’t try. I swear, if she had yellow hair and blue eyes, I’d abduct her. By the way, do you know how late it is?”

“See here,” Gideon teased, “you’re prosperous enough to afford a watch. If I’m wrong, I’ll buy you one.”

Matt grinned. “No, thanks. I don’t like being reminded of how little time I have left.” He glanced out the window toward the sun-drenched Park. “To judge by the light, I’d better be going along or I’ll miss the ship.”

“Next time don’t make it so long between visits.”

“Listen,” Matt said with his old, sardonic grin, “working on that book, I sucked out the meat of this country, just as if was a ripe orange. There’s nothing left. I’ll come home again when I think something else might interest me. Such as the christening of a new nephew, maybe—?”

“I’m too old for fatherhood!”

“And for all that goes with it?” Matt said with a straight face. “For Julia’s sake, I sincerely hope not.” He picked up his boater, waved and left his brother musing in a dazzle of sunlight.

No, Gideon thought, he would never understand all of Eleanor’s motives, nor what deep need drove her to perform in front of an audience. But Matt seemed to understand, and to think it was an acceptable life. Uneasily, he decided to trust his brother’s judgment.