Beloved (22 page)

Like most of the other young men in the camps, Tyson was ready. Eager even. He’d wasted too much of his life on pointless amusements or doing what others thought he should do. Now he was about to do something that mattered—fight for his country.

Men from all walks of life had come to Texas to train and serve under Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Roosevelt. The men of the regiment were in perfect health, were skilled with horses, and were crack shots. They were able to learn their duties quickly and to obey their superiors. Tyson was proud to be in their ranks.

“Woolgathering, Applegate?” his friend, Arthur Jenkins, asked from behind him.

Tyson resumed brushing his horse.

“A woman, I’ll bet,” Arthur continued. “I’ve been thinking of my girl myself. Wish I could see her one more time before we leave for Florida. Doesn’t look like that will happen.”

Tyson and Arthur had met on the ship to America back in
February, soon after the sinking of the
Maine
. They’d become fast friends in the past two months. More than that, Arthur had become a mentor in Tyson’s newfound Christian faith.

His prayer, once this war was over, was that God would change him into the same kind of man as Arthur, a man whom other people would respect and want to emulate. He didn’t know where the future would take him, but he knew he wanted to go there as a man of faith and integrity.

TWENTY-ONE

The route of the Independence Day parade followed Main Street to Fifth Street, turned left, proceeded down to Jefferson Street, and then turned left again. In the parade were decorated floats and marching bands, clowns and jugglers and men on stilts, prancing horses and girls waving American flags.

The Applegate family viewed the festivities, along with other men of government and industry, from an expansive raised platform on the lawn opposite the capitol building. Diana and Tyson sat in the front row of chairs. Behind them were her mother, his father, and their ward, as the newspaper would later refer to Ned.

After the parade and after the speechifying—from far too many politicians puffed up by their own self-importance, in Diana’s opinion—the merrymaking continued at the city park, where a band played in the white gazebo while people participated in games and ate food purchased from booths set up around the perimeter.

Ned’s excitement was palpable. He’d confessed to Diana that—as a kid without a home, family, or money—he hadn’t been welcome in such public gatherings before. And the risk had been, if he snuck in and tried to steal some food, he would be caught and returned to the dreaded orphanage. But on this hot, hazy, late afternoon, he was welcomed at every booth, thanks to Diana’s
coin purse and his tidy appearance. And it seemed he planned to sample all the food being offered and try his luck at most of the games too.

At the moment Ned had his eye on a large slice of bright pink watermelon. Diana paid the woman in the booth, then guided her charge to a less congested place so he could eat the juicy fruit and spit out the seeds without bothering others.

“Try not to get it all over the front of your shirt,” she told him, holding in the laughter.

“I’ll try.”

She glanced around for a glimpse of Tyson. She’d left him deep in conversation with some supporters, and although she agreed with her husband’s stand on most issues, she was tired of listening to people talk about the same things over and over again. As for her mother and Jeremiah, she had no idea where the two of them were. They’d said something about finding a park bench in the shade away from the crowd.

“You oughta have some of this, Miss Diana,” Ned said, drawing her attention back to him. The boy’s mouth was pink with watermelon juice, and before she could stop him, he wiped his shirtsleeve across it.

“Hello, Diana.” Brook Calhoun’s voice drew her around a second time. “It’s good to see you.”

She inclined her head. “Brook.” It surprised her, how uncomfortable she felt. What would Tyson think if he saw them together?

“I’ve missed talking to you. Did you receive my note of thanks for the dinner invitation? And the others I’ve sent. It’s been nearly a month and not a word from you.”

“Yes, I got them. But we’ve been so busy with Tyson’s campaign.”

“So I’ve seen from the newspapers. But surely you must have enough time to dine with a friend on occasion.”

What could she say to him? The truth was she didn’t want to dine with Brook. It wasn’t fair to Tyson and … and if she needed a friend, she was starting to believe she’d found one in her husband.

“Miss Diana,” Ned said, “can I try the fishing booth now?”

She looked at the boy, thankful for the interruption. “Of course. Wait just a moment.” She turned toward Brook again. “You must excuse us.”

“So it’s true about the boy,” Brook said, frowning. “Who is he?”

“An orphan we’ve taken into our home.”

“You sure? Maybe he’s your husband’s by-blow. Ever thought of that? Plenty of men have made room for their—”

“That’s enough, Brook.” Anger, sudden and hot, made her voice hard.

“I just don’t want you—”

“Don’t say anything more.” She shook her head as she held out her hand to Ned, not caring that his fingers were sticky with watermelon juice. “It’s none of your concern.”

But before she could move away, Brook looked down. “What’s your name, lad?”

“Ned. Ned Macartan.”

Brook took a step backward. “I’m keeping you both from the festivities.” Then he turned and strode away, disappearing into the crowd.

How glad she was to see him go. It was as if the sun had grown brighter, the air had grown sweeter. “Can I go fish now?”

She smiled. “Yes, Ned. Let’s both go fish.”

Off they went toward the chosen booth.

Brook stood in the shadows, his gaze following Diana, his hands clenched at his sides. The rage he felt was white hot, all-consuming. Every day it became more and more difficult to control the fury from bursting forth and scorching those around him.

His prize, the promise of prestige and fortune, had slipped away from him. He’d known it even before today. Even though he and Diana hadn’t spoken in several weeks—not since the night of the dinner party—he’d known she wouldn’t turn to him again. Not even in friendship. He’d seen it in her eyes when she watched her husband giving his speeches, several of which Brook had attended, always keeping to the background. She’d hated Tyson Applegate because he’d been unkind to her. And yet there she was, loving him again.

Curse her. Curse her husband. By what right were they blessed with good looks, happiness, and great wealth while he was left to live by his wits? They didn’t deserve what they had. Not any of it.

It took some finesse, but Tyson finally broke free from those who wanted to talk politics. As he searched for his wife, he did his best not to make eye contact with anyone else, lest another unwanted conversation begin. All he needed now was to catch a glimpse of that butter-yellow dress Diana had donned that morning. It should be easy to see in a sea of women wearing white blouses and white skirts.

But even before he saw her yellow gown, he caught the melody of her laughter. It drew him through the crowd like a bee to a flower. At last he saw them, Diana and Ned. She was leaning down to see something in the boy’s hand, and both of them were laughing.

Tyson had seen many wonderful things in his thirty-three
years. He’d climbed tall mountains and swum in warm oceans and hunted exotic animals. He’d sat in majestic cathedrals and dined at the tables of lords and ladies. But he’d never seen anything that stirred his heart more than this woman, his wife.

“There you are,” he said as he approached them. “I’ve been looking for you two all over the park.”

Diana straightened. “We wondered if you’d ever tire of talking politics. Are you ready to go fishing?”

“Fishing?”

She held out a stuffed doll with yellow yarn for hair and blue buttons for eyes. But one button had been sewn on lower and closer to the painted nose than the other, giving the doll a comical expression. “You might win yourself a beautiful blonde like this one.” She turned the doll slightly to one side, as if to try to straighten her crooked eyes.

What would I want with a blonde when I’m already married to the most beautiful redhead in the world?

Diana’s smile didn’t change, and yet it seemed warmer and more personal. As if she’d heard his thoughts and welcomed them.

He cleared his throat as he looked at Ned. “What did you win?”

“I got a yo-yo, but I’m not very good with it.”

“Hmm. I think I’d rather have a yo-yo than a doll.” His gaze returned to Diana. “If that’s all right with you.”

She shrugged, mischief in her eyes. “I don’t understand why you would prefer that small toy to this doll. But if that’s what you hope for, so be it.”

He didn’t care what toy came out from behind the curtain in the fishing booth. What he truly wanted to reel in before this day was over, more than anything else, was a kiss from his lovely wife. That’s what would make the entire day perfect.

It was just the three of them—Tyson, Diana, and Ned—who stayed to watch the fireworks display. Jeremiah and Gloria declared they’d had more than enough excitement for one day and walked home well before the sun set. Like people all around them, Tyson spread a blanket on the ground and the threesome sat on it. Finally, dusk crept across the park, and the heat of the day loosened its grip.

Diana breathed out a long sigh. “We’ll all sleep like the dead tonight.” Happiness wrapped itself around her. It really had been the most perfect of days. Seated there with Tyson and with Ned, she could almost believe this could be her future as well as her present. She could almost believe—

“Tyson Applegate!” a woman exclaimed from somewhere behind Diana. “As I live and breathe, we have found you at last.”

Diana saw Tyson’s eyes widen with surprise. Then he rose to his feet.

“We heard you were killed in the war. I was heartbroken. You know I was.”

Diana shifted her position on the blanket.

The woman continued, scarcely drawing a breath, “And then Quentin read that you were running for Congress or some such office in Idaho, of all places. I did not believe him. You always said you would never return to the state of your birth. I made him leave San Francisco and bring me here to prove him mistaken. But here you are.” She embraced Tyson and kissed him on the mouth.

Something cold curled in Diana’s stomach.

Looking flustered, Tyson took hold of the woman’s upper arms and held her away from him. “I never thought to see you again,
Pauline.” He gazed beyond her right shoulder and scanned the crowd. “You say Quentin’s with you?”

The woman, Pauline, waved her hand dismissively. “He’s off trying to help me find you in this crowd.”

“What brought you to America?”

“Business. Quentin has invested in shipping in San Francisco. Can you believe it?”

“What I can’t believe is that you’re here. How long has it been?”

“Four years.” She paused. “But you were never out of my thoughts.”

Tyson offered his hand to Diana. “Pauline, I’d like you to meet my wife.” He drew Diana to her feet. “My dear, Pauline Kingston. She and her brother are … friends of mine.”

Even in the fading light of day, Diana could see that Pauline was pretty and exotic looking—black hair, olive skin, almond-shaped brown eyes—and her husky voice was tinged with an accent men undoubtedly found inviting.

If Diana wasn’t mistaken, that cold sensation in her stomach was jealousy.

“What a surprise to meet you,” Pauline said. “Tyson hardly told us anything about his family when we were together. For a time we thought he had no family at all.” She glanced away from Diana, looked as if she would say something to Tyson, but instead placed her left hand on his arm while she waved at another man weaving his way toward them. “Here’s Quentin now.”

“When we were together.”

Pauline’s brother looked a great deal like her—handsome, dusky, with the same brown eyes—although he was a good six inches taller and quite broad in the shoulders.

Tyson performed the introductions.

“When we were together.”

Quentin bowed over Diana’s hand. “How extraordinarily beautiful you are, Mrs. Applegate.” Again like his sister, his voice was husky and flavored with a foreign accent. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“When we were together.”

The band, which had been silent for the last hour, struck up a new melody, announcing the fireworks display was about to begin.

Without waiting for an invitation, Pauline sank onto the blanket. She tapped Ned on the shoulder. “And who are you?”

“I’m Ned.”

Pauline glanced toward Diana, then toward Tyson. Before she could ask the obvious question, the first rocket was fired into the sky and burst into a display of color. Judging by the
oohs
and
aahs
from the audience, the fireworks that followed were a great success, but Diana hardly noticed.

“When we were together.”

Her day, one that had seemed filled with much promise, was ruined.

“Blast,” Tyson muttered as he lay in bed that night, sleepless. “Blast, blast, blast.”

Why did the Kingston twins have to show up tonight of all nights? They’d never been to the United States before. They’d traveled the world after coming into their fortunes, which was how he’d become acquainted with them.

He got out of bed and walked to the window, wishing for a cool breeze but not finding one. Closing his eyes, he remembered the tight expression on Diana’s face when he’d bid her good night. The fragile progress they’d made over the past weeks. Gone. Again. This time because of Pauline.

No, because of him. Because of his own choices, his own actions. Because he’d indulged his selfish wants and desires for years.

“God, don’t let me lose her now. I love her too much.”

July 1898

War was nothing like Tyson had expected. It was made up of disaster after disaster, chaos upon chaos. Terrible food. Shortages of supplies. The sun in Cuba was fierce, and the men’s uniforms were meant for winter campaigns. Everyone suffered. Some got the fever and died without ever going into battle.