Until the Dawn (7 page)

Sophie returned to the kitchen, systematically cracking another round of eggs and seasoning them with practiced hands. Quentin Vandermark was going to be a challenge. He didn’t seem to have a trace of warmth or compassion in his entire body. He wouldn’t even accept
food
from her—how was she going to convince him not to destroy Dierenpark? Or perhaps coax him into rehiring Emil and Florence?

All her life, Sophie had tried to look for the good in people. No matter how surly, disrespectful, or difficult, she believed there was a spark of goodness inside each person, but she had never met anyone quite like Quentin Vandermark. He seemed clouded by an iron cynicism he hid behind like a shield.

Would it be possible for such a ferocious man to ever soften? She sensed there was a seed of humor and decency buried deep inside, but it would take professional mining equipment to dig it out and drag it to the surface, and he would probably fight tooth and nail to stop it from happening. Sometimes unhappy people were like that. It was easier to remain locked in their fortress of discontent rather than risk the pain associated with emerging into the light of day.

She finished breakfast quickly, for it was important to get
back to town and telegraph today’s weather data to Washington by noon. Each time she sent off the messages, she liked to imagine the men in Washington as they added her data alongside the messages from thousands of other volunteers. The scientists would transfer her information onto their giant maps and try to make sense of it all. Perhaps it was pathetic that her entire sense of self-worth was based on this simple duty, but most women her age had husbands or children to give them a sense of purpose. She had daydreams of anonymous scientists in Washington who breathlessly awaited her daily messages.

She couldn’t bear to think what would happen if Dierenpark was torn down. She had to convince Quentin to leave the house alone, but how did one appeal to a man who had no curiosity, no desire, no kindness?

She would have to think of a way. She could not let Dierenpark be destroyed.

Sophie’s father was equally horrified at the prospect of the great mansion’s demise. Sitting alongside him behind the mahogany front counter in the hotel lobby, she could barely wait until he finished telegraphing her climate data before recounting everything she’d learned that morning.

Her father was the perfect ally to help save the house. Not only was he the mayor of New Holland, he was also an attorney who was prepared to use those skills to thwart Quentin Vandermark.

After the Vandermarks had left New Holland sixty years ago, the timber mills closed and industry dwindled. The village survived on fishing, but over the decades the fish stocks declined and the fishermen were forced to leave. There was no longer enough business to support an attorney in the village, and since serving as mayor paid nothing, her father poured
his life’s savings into this hotel in hopes of encouraging the tourist industry. He pressured journalists to write favorable articles about the climate and scenic beauty of New Holland. He took out advertisements in Manhattan publications touting their close proximity to the city and a balmier climate than the Adirondacks. Sophie had used her friendship with Marten Graaf to encourage the steamships to add Dierenpark to their stops along the Hudson before heading up toward the more popular tourist destinations in the Catskills and Adirondacks.

Her father had helped fuel the legend of the Vandermark family’s tragic history, although he hadn’t made it up from whole cloth. Despite their staggering fortune, the Vandermarks had been visited by tragedy in each generation, beginning with the first two brothers to emigrate from the Netherlands. While one brother worked on building the house and constructing the pier, the other traveled far and wide to form alliances with the various Indian groups in the vicinity. It proved to be his downfall when he was murdered by one of the Indian tribes only five years after arriving. That tragic death seemed to have set the tone for the bad luck, suspicion, and bitterness that grew with each generation. Even after the family fled Dierenpark, tragedy seemed to follow them, with a string of untimely deaths and scandals that happened no matter where they lived.

Her father paced the lobby of the hotel, rubbing his jaw in concentration. Whenever there was a problem, Jasper van Riijn could usually solve it. The hotel lobby was a perfect example. Five years ago, her father decided that cultivating a lively sense of community would help dissuade people from moving away from the village. He redesigned the hotel’s lobby with decorative moldings and fresh paint, filling the space with comfortable seating and tables for people who wished to socialize or play cards. Ferns in brass planters helped warm the space, and the
room had become so popular it now doubled as the town hall. Sophie took a seat at one of the tables as her father paced.

“What about the mills?” he asked. “Do you think they’ll reopen the timber mills?”

“I don’t think they intend to stay for very long. After destroying the house, they plan to return the land to its natural state. They didn’t give any indication of wanting to stay in New Holland beyond that.”

“You said the house belongs to the grandfather, not this Quentin fellow. Perhaps we can take some legal cover there. Unless they have a written affidavit from the old man, I intend to stop it.”

Sophie shook her head. “They claimed to be demolishing the house on the grandfather’s orders. I’m not sure the village has a right to tell them what they can or can’t do on their own property.”

“Sophie, there won’t
be
a village if that house goes,” her father retorted.

“What if the Weather Bureau decides to build a climate observatory here?”

Her father sighed. “Not that again,” he said, and Sophie winced at the frustration in his voice.

In recent years, the Weather Bureau had begun building upgraded facilities along the coastlines and rivers of the eastern seaboard. The new stations were far more prestigious than the volunteer weather station Sophie manned on top of Dierenpark. Each observatory would have at least ten employees, and Sophie desperately wanted one of those jobs for herself.

Ever since hearing of the new climate observatories, Sophie had been steadily working to get one located in New Holland. She had already written to the Weather Bureau, asking how to nominate a prospective location. She began compiling a proposal that explained New Holland’s key location for transmitting news up and down the Hudson, and had started a petition
to demonstrate the town’s support. She even used her modest savings to fund a geographical survey of the surrounding area to tout the location.

“We are on an important river.” Sophie hoped her voice didn’t sound too defensive. “We’ve got high altitude, which will make our signal lamps visible for miles in all directions. If I could only—”

“Sophie, they’ll never hire you,” her father said. “I can’t bear to see you longing for something that will never happen. It’s time to give up this fool’s dream.”

She swallowed hard. It hurt that even her own father didn’t believe in her abilities. Over the past few months, her work to collect signatures for the petition had made her something of a laughingstock in town. The postman pointed out two spelling errors in the petition she drafted. Marten reminded her that she’d failed natural science in school and questioned why the government would trust her judgment.

No one believed in her. No one thought she should even try.

In a perfect world, she would already be a wife and a mother, but she’d failed three times to land that dream. She had to do
something
with the rest of her life, and over the past few months she had drafted and rewritten her proposal for an upgraded climate observatory at least a dozen times—but had yet to submit it. She didn’t know anything about how to write a proper business proposal and was groping blindly in the dark. Maybe in fifty years she would be an old spinster still fiddling with this outlandish proposal, but it was better than giving up, for nothing was more debilitating to the human soul than the loss of all hope.

Sophie didn’t have much to brag about in this world, but her ability to nurture the flame of hope in the face of despair had been her salvation all her life. And that meant she intended to fight to win a climate observatory for New Holland, just as she was going to fight for Dierenpark.

4

Q
UENTIN
SCRUTINIZED
THE
TRAPPINGS
in the formal parlor. Altogether, there was probably a million dollars’ worth of artwork, silver, Turkish carpets, and imported furniture in this mansion, and his grandfather was convinced the curse would somehow survive unless it was all destroyed, which was an obscene waste. The old man was growing more paranoid and irrational with age, but loyalty drove Quentin to carry out his grandfather’s wishes to the letter. After all, he owed Nickolaas a debt that could never be repaid.

He wandered to an identical room on the other side of the entrance hall. In the home’s glory days, these rooms surely hosted lavish balls and splendid gatherings. Just looking at the portraits gracing the walls was testament to the long line of generals and merchant princes in his family’s history. Their faces were somber, grim even, but weren’t all portraits from that era gloomy? Something about those faces staring at him was disconcerting, as if they knew what he intended to do. Would they approve? Even in the seventeenth century, the legend of the Vandermark curse had begun to haunt their name.

In the kitchen at the rear of the house, he could hear Pieter and his governess bickering about dinner. Mr. Gilroy had driven into town this afternoon to buy food and hire a cook but had returned with only a sack of groceries. Apparently, cooks were scarce in New Holland, and Quentin had ordered the governess, Miss McCarthy, to do her best preparing the food for their evening meal.

It wouldn’t rival what Sophie had cooked for them this morning, which smelled so good he’d been hanging on to his seat by his fingernails to stop from lunging across the table and devouring everything in sight. He was a rational man who controlled his baser instincts, and everything about Sophie van Riijn rubbed him the wrong way. She was too cheerful. Sunny. People like that had no conception of what the real world was like, and he’d survive on apples before he’d eat a morsel of food she cooked.

“We’ll have bread and cheese for dinner tonight.” Miss McCarthy’s voice sounded from the kitchen. “I won’t risk our lives by trying to light the fire in that stove. We’ll just have to wait until your father hires a proper cook.”

“But I’m hungry,” Pieter whined.

Miss McCarthy’s reply was too soft to hear, but Quentin hoped she wouldn’t tolerate that sort of petulant behavior. Pieter had grown soft and spoiled while living with his grandfather, and it was time for the boy to grow up and start acting his age.

Quentin moved closer to the kitchen to listen in. Miss McCarthy was trying to tempt Pieter with the fresh fruits and vegetables Mr. Gilroy brought from town. “These carrots are perfectly fine eaten raw. And the mushrooms, too. There’s plenty to eat.”