Arkwright (9 page)

George was right. This was his true purpose in life—not to sell paperbacks, for he could have written mystery or western novels and accomplished the same thing, but to sell the future. That was how he'd come to be there, standing on the deck of a cruise ship with a privileged view of history. But when he looked over at Nat, there was a dark scowl upon his best friend's face that he'd seldom seen before, as if …

Light blazed across the western horizon, a false dawn coming from the wrong direction. In hues of bright orange and fiery crimson, it illuminated the vast plumes of smoke rising from either side of the distant rocket. At first, there was no sound; the ship lay at anchor seven miles from the launchpad, Harry reminded himself, so the primary ignition of the five first-stage engines wouldn't reach them for another sixteen seconds. But as the Saturn V cleared its skyscraper-size launch tower and rose upon a white-hot lance, a thunderclap rolled across the ocean, so loud that he had to clap his hands over his ears even as he felt the deck tremble beneath his feet.

All around him, his friends and colleagues were staring in rapt fascination as
Apollo 17
roared into the midnight sky. It seemed to pass directly overhead as it arched out over the Atlantic, the rocket itself an invisible mass at the head of a man-made comet. The noise gradually diminished, yet it left behind a tinny ringing in Harry's ears. As if his hearing wasn't beginning to go bad, anyway.

He watched as the fireball sailed out over the ocean, growing smaller with each passing second. A brief flare as it jettisoned the first stage, and then the second stage ignited, and the rocket became a bright star that finally moved out of sight. By then, the applause and excited yells that had accompanied the liftoff had subsided. Everyone lowered their eyes from the heavens to grin at one another; Santa had come down the chimney, after all.

“To the bar!” Bob shouted. “First round's on me!”

Laughter greeted this announcement, but when Harry and George started to step away from the railing, Nat stayed behind. He continued to watch the place where the Saturn V had vanished, as if he could actually see
Apollo 17
discarding its second stage and going into parking orbit around Earth.

“Nat?” he asked. “What?”

“We can't let this die.” Nat's voice was low, choked with emotion. Harry couldn't tell for certain, but it seemed as if there were tears on his face. “Whatever we do, we can't let this be the end.”

*   *   *

“That's always been a special memory for me,” Harry finished. “Not just the launch, but also because … well, it was one of those few times, once we got older, that your grandfather let us see his real self.”

Kate looked at her watch. If she were going to catch the late-evening train back to Boston, she'd have to hurry. “Look, I don't mean to be obtuse, but why are you telling me this? What's that got to do with the Arkwright Foundation?”

“Nothing. Everything.” Harry was quiet for a moment. “You're going to have to get the rest from Maggie and George. I could tell you, but I think it's better that you speak with them. Particularly Maggie.”

Kate was a little irritated. She'd come a long way just to hear an old man tell stories. It was clear that Harry was done, though, and she had a train to catch. “Well, I appreciate it,” she said, standing up. “Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”

“Nothing at all, thanks.” Harry pulled over his stroller and used it to balance himself as he rose from his chair. “Give Margaret my best when you see her.”

He escorted her to the door, slowly pushing himself along. As she opened the door, he said one more thing. “Y'know, it just occurred to me … you've got Nat's red hair.”

“Uh-huh.” Kate stopped to look back at him. “There's not a lot of family resemblance, but at least there's that.”

“But Sylvia doesn't have red hair.”

“No. Mom was a brunette before her color changed.”

Harry nodded. “Must have jumped a generation. Genes are funny that way, aren't they?” He turned away. “Anyway, have a good trip home.”

 

10

It didn't seem like she was getting anywhere with her investigation, so Kate put it aside to begin her next assignment, an article about the effects of deep-ocean dumping. She'd just begun making her way through a stack of reports from Woods Hole when the phone rang. It was Maggie.

“I hear you've been down to Philly to see Harry. Did you have a good chat?”

“If you know that, then you must know what he told me.” Kate leaned back in her office chair. “I guess I'm a bit shocked to know that you and Grandpapa once had an affair.”

“It didn't last long. Just a few months. Then he met Judith and, well, that was that.” A pause. “I knew Harry would tell you. He got over it a long time ago, but it's still something he remembers.”

“I bet.” Kate paused, trying to find the right way of saying what she meant to say without being offensive. “Look, Ms. Krough … Maggie … this is all very interesting, but I've got a lot going on just now. I have another story deadline in front of me, and I can't spend more time hearing about my grandfather's personal life. If you've got something to tell me—”

“I do, and I promise that I won't take up much more of your time. But it's something I can't tell you over the phone. Can we get together for lunch?”

Kate shut her eyes. Why did everyone think that freelance writers were never busy? “I can't come down to New York just now. I—”

“I mean in Boston. I have business up there next week, and I'm thinking we could get together at the Four Seasons. My treat.”

It was an offer she couldn't refuse. She could afford to take a couple of hours away from the desk, and lunch at one of the best restaurants in town was not something to lightly pass up. So a few days later, she found herself sitting across from Maggie in the restaurant of the Four Seasons hotel, waiting for the lobster salads they'd each ordered. Outside the window beside their table, people walked along Boylston, coat collars turned against an unseasonably chill wind that whipped through the Commons across the street.

“So what is it that you wanted to tell me?” Kate pulled the straw from her glass of iced tea. The niceties had been dispensed with, the small talk about the weather said and done.

Maggie didn't respond at once. She gazed out the window, hands clasped together in the lap of her tweed business suit. Kate reflected that, even in her eighties, Margaret Krough was still a very attractive woman. Sixty years ago, she must have been stunning; no wonder both Harry and her grandfather fallen in love with her, if only for a short time.

“As I recall, Judith passed away just a few months before you were born,” Maggie said at last. “That would be sometime in”—she closed her eyes for a moment—“1977, yes?”

Kate blinked. That wasn't something she was expecting. “Yeah, 1977. I was born on November 10. Grandma was already gone by then.”

“I remember it well.” Maggie slowly nodded. “I was with her and your grandfather the night she died. So was your mother.” She shook her head and sighed. “It was a very bad night for all of us.”

 

11

There was a small lounge just down the hall from the room where Judith Arkwright lay dying, and this was where Maggie led Nathan once his wife had fallen asleep again. The doctors at Bay State had warned them that the drugs would do this; she would fade in and out of consciousness during her final hours, but in the end, leukemia would claim her life, and there was nothing anyone could do but wait for the inevitable.

Sylvia was on her way to Springfield, but she was probably being held up by midsummer traffic on the pike, so Maggie decided to take Nat to the lounge until she showed up. When Judie's illness had reached the terminal stage, he'd brought her in from Lenox and since then had been at her side almost constantly. Maggie arrived from New York to find him unshaven and haggard, sitting beside his wife's bed with her hand clutched in his. He hadn't eaten or slept in a couple of days and wouldn't even step into the bathroom to put a razor to his face, but at least he'd listen to his agent and lifelong friend. So when Maggie told him to get up and come with her to the lounge for a little while, Nat obeyed as she'd known he would.

As it turned out, the lounge had a TV, and when they came in, it was showing a late-night news story about the
Star Wars
craze sweeping the country. The movie had been out for over six weeks, but the lines at the theaters weren't getting any shorter. Maggie was about to turn it off, but then she noticed that Nat was paying attention and left the TV on. He sat down and stared in fascination at the brief clips from the movie—Imperial fighters attacking the
Millennium Falcon,
Luke Skywalker handling his father's light saber, Darth Vader stalking through the Death Star—and Maggie knew that, at least for a moment, he'd been transported away from the tragedy of this long, dark night.

“Have you seen it yet?” she asked.

“Twice. Great movie … even if they stole some stuff from me.” He pointed to a shot of X-wing fighters in combat. “I've got ships just like those in the Patrol books, y'know.”

“Yeah, I noticed the same thing. And Han Solo is quite a bit like Hak Tallus, isn't he?”

“I should sue.” He glanced at her. “Do you think we should sue?”

“You wouldn't get anywhere. The studio would just sic their lawyers on you, and even if you won in court, you'd spend more money on the case than you'd get from the settlement.” Maggie forced a smile. “Besides, this could be good for you. Science fiction is hot right now, and you practically invented this sort of thing.”

“Ed Hamilton and Doc Smith invented it. I just improved it.” He was quiet a moment. “You think you might be able to swing a movie deal?”

“I don't see why not. The books have never been out of print, and everyone remembers the old TV show. Let me get in touch with my contacts in Hollywood and see if I can work out an option for—”

There was a knock at the door, and they'd just looked around when it swung open and Sylvia marched in, all but pushing aside the nurse who'd led her there. Sylvia stared at her father in open-mouthed disbelief.

“I love it. Mama's dying, and you're in here talking business with your agent.” She gazed up at the ceiling and shook her head. “Incredible. You're just incredible.”

Had she overheard the conversation, or did she simply make an assumption? Either way, it was hard to deny what they'd been doing.

“Sylvia,” Maggie began, “it's not what you think. We were just talking—”

“Butt out, Margaret,” Sylvia snapped. “This is between Papa and me.” The nurse left, frowning but saying nothing as she quietly shut the door behind her. Sylvia fastened her glare on Nat. “Why aren't you in there with her? Don't you care that she's—”

“Sylvia, calm down.” Nat spoke to her with the resigned patience of a father who'd fought with his daughter so many times that it was hard to remember when they didn't quarrel. “I've been with her ever since she was brought in. She's sleeping right now, and I needed to take a break.”

Sylvia opened her mouth, but Maggie interrupted her. “It's true. Your father has been at her side the entire time. If you want to blame anyone, blame me. I suggested that he come in here for a few minutes.”

Sylvia didn't say anything for a moment, giving Nat a chance to rise from his chair. “I'm so glad you came,” he said as he took a step forward, raising his arms as if to embrace her in an awkward hug. Sylvia visibly recoiled, and he stopped himself. “Did you drive yourself, or did Hank?”

“Hank's downstairs in the florist shop. He'll be up in a few minutes.” A smile twitched at the corner of her lips. “No, he wouldn't let me drive. The baby's fine, thanks for asking.”

Her hand ran down the small, round bulge pressing against the front of her dress. Maggie couldn't help but stare at it. Sylvia was six months pregnant with the child she was having with Hank Morressy, the Boston architect she'd married a couple of years earlier. Nat was looking forward to having a grandchild, but Maggie wondered if he'd ever get to know her. He and Sylvia had never been very close, but Judith had always managed to bridge their mutual animosity. Now that she was going away …

Not for the first time, Maggie regretted the fact that Sylvia didn't know the truth. She was an adult now, but she still needed a mother, just as the baby would need a grandmother. If only Nat had told his daughter …

“Sit down, please.” Nat offered the chair he'd just vacated. “You shouldn't be exerting yourself. Can I get you some water?”

“No. I want to see her.” Sylvia turned and left the room before her father could stop her; as the door swung shut, Maggie heard her out in the hall, calling for a nurse.

Nat stared at the door. He suddenly looked older, pitiful, no longer a successful, middle-aged writer but a man who'd spent too much time at the typewriter and suddenly emerged from the imaginary world he'd spent decades building to find his wife dying and his daughter resentful of years of neglect.

“This isn't the way I wanted it to be,” he said softly. “I never thought she—”

His voice broke. His head went down, and his shoulders began to shake. Maggie stood up and, at a loss for what else to do, took him in her arms. It was the first time in many years they'd embraced, but this time it was as old friends, not lovers. She held him and waited until the tears passed, and then she found a handkerchief and let him dry his face.

“All right,” she said once he was calm again. “I'm here for you. Now let's go see Judie.”

When they returned to the hospital room, they discovered the door was shut and Sylvia nowhere in sight. Hank stood outside, bouquet in hand. He and Nat gave each other a polite nod; they'd never become more than acquaintances, and Sylvia had probably told him nothing but the worst about his father-in-law. Maggie liked Hank; he was courtly, reserved, and completely the opposite of his wife. She suspected that the marriage wouldn't last.