Beverly Byrne (16 page)

She
tried to see his face, but it was lost behind a red haze of anguish. She
couldn't see anything. Pains shot up her back and into her belly, cramping
pains that kept her from standing upright. "Don't," she moaned.
"Oh, Tommy, please don't do this."

"Me!"
he shouted. "I haven't done a thing. You've done it all."

He
pushed her away and she stumbled against the small loveseat that filled the
space between the dining room windows. She tried to sit down, but managed only
a half sprawl between the seat and the floor.

Tommy
was screaming. It was as if she wasn't there, and his anger was directed at
some unseen enemy. "Don't think I can't see what's going on! It's always
been the same. Poor crippled Tommy.

Needs
looking after. Needs the family to manage his affairs. And you! You're my wife,
but you played right into their hands. New Mexico for Chris sake! Exile.
Banishment so Tommy will stay out of trouble. Oh, they must love it. It's
perfect. I'm a cripple and you're part Indian. New Mexico's goddamn
perfect!"

He
started for the door, and she stretched out her hand to hold him back.
"Tommy, I'm sick. Don't leave me. Please ..."

He
didn't seem to hear.

Delia
found her an hour later, lying unconscious in a pool of blood. An ambulance
came and took her to Lenox Hill Hospital on Lexington Avenue, but she had
already miscarried. For a few hours the doctors thought she might bleed to
death. She did not. Amy opened her eyes twenty-four hours later to a room
filled with flowers and a smiling nurse.

"There,
Mrs. Westerman, that's better. Feeling a bit peaky?

Nevermind,
you'll soon be well."

"My
baby?"

The
nurse shook her head. She wore a starched and ruffled cap that looked as if it
must soon take flight. "Don't you fret about that, child. You're young.
There will be plenty of babies yet. Just a little hiccup in the production
line," she said cheerfully. "That's all this is."

"Where's
Tommy?"

"I
believe Mr. Westerman will be in to see you later," the nurse twittered.
"Your aunt's waiting outside now. I'll just tell her you're awake, shall
I?"

She
didn't wait for her patient to agree. In a moment Amy was wrapped in the
familiar jasmine-scented embrace.

"Oh,
darling, you frightened us so! Thank God, you're all right. How do you
feel?"

"Fine,
thank you," Amy said. She smiled weakly at the inanity of her response.
"I mean, not too bad. Where's Tommy, Aunt Lil? We quarreled. I'm worried
about him."

"He's
fine. He'll be here this afternoon. You mustn't worry about anything. Just get
well."

The
nurse came back and said that Mrs. Westerman must rest. Lit kissed her again
and left. Finally the nurse left too. Amy put her hand on her empty belly and
wept.

Tommy
sat by her bed, but he didn't look at her. He stared at the floor. "I
suppose you must hate me."

"It
wasn't your fault."

"Yes,
it was. I made you upset."

"That
had nothing to do with it. The doctor told me these things are always for the
best. It's nature's way of protecting people."

The
doctor had filled her head full of images of deformed children and idiots, whom
nature aborted as a kindness. She knew that he had meant to comfort, not alarm.
She didn't want to share those terrors. "Are you all right'?" she
asked.

"Oh,
I'm great. Feel like a million bucks, I do. What can you expect?" He
pointed to a vase of long-stemmed roses. "Those are from me. I looked all
over New York, but nobody had any African flame flowers. At least these are
red." She smiled. "I didn't think you remembered the flame trees.
You've never said anything."

"I
remember." He leaned forward and clasped his hands between his legs.
"Look, I've been thinking. Maybe this New Mexico thing isn't so crazy
after all. I haven't had a chance to look at the stuff yet. After I left
you"-he swallowed hard remembering that leave-taking-"I went out and
got drunk. Uncle Warren found me this morning and told me what happened. I went
back to their place to straighten out."

She
had a vision of timid Warren searching for Tommy in all the New York bars. It
made her want to cry again, but she swallowed the tears. "I guess
everything's still at the house. You can look at it later."

"Yes.
I'll go home right after I leave here."

"That's
good. Tommy, I want to ask you something. What did you mean when you said I was
part Indian?"

He
looked startled. "Don't you know?"

She
shook her head.

"Jesus,
chalk up another one for me. I thought you did but just never liked to mention
it."

"Tell
me about it," she said.

"Some
other time. After you're feeling better."

"No,
I want to know now."

He
shrugged. "Ok. I don't think it means anything anyway. It's different
today." He reached for a cigarette, then changed his mind.

"It's
all right. Smoke if you like."

He
lit up and inhaled gratefully. "When they first got married my Westerman
grandparents lived in a little town way up north. Place called Fort Covington.
It seems their maid got herself pregnant and local gossip said the father was
an Indian. It was during the Civil War. There was a lot of feeling about things
like that in those days."

"My
father was born in 1863."

"Yeah,
so was mine. That was part of it. Grandma Westerman had a son the same time as
her maid did. Only the maid was being hounded by everybody. Grandma felt sorry for
her and she believed there was some connection between the babies. She let the
maid stay on and keep her son with her. Then, when the Westermans moved to New
York, Grandma took them both along."

"Her
last name was Norman then? My grandmother."

"Guess
so. It must have been. The way dad told it she died when her son was around
ten. Roland lived with the family until he went away to college."

"So
your grandfather brought him up. He must have paid for Daddy's education,
too."

Tommy
looked uncomfortable. "I'll bet he got it all back. Your father certainly
did well enough."

"Yes,"
she said. "I'm sure Daddy must have paid him back. How come your
grandparents didn't make him a Catholic?"

Tommy
grinned. "I asked the same thing when my father told me the story. The
maid was a Methodist. A real bible thumper, despite everything. She thought the
pope was the Antichrist and all Catholics were going straight to hell. Never
mind what Grandma did for her. In the end I guess your father just figured, 'a
pox on both your houses.' Or something like that."

The
nurse returned and told Tommy he'd have to leave. Then she gave Amy a sedative
and made clucking noises about Tommy's cigarette. He stubbed it out obediently
and kissed his wife goodbye.

Amy
wanted to think about the things he'd told her, but the sedative sent her
swiftly to sleep.

12

WHEN
TOMMY RETURNED THE NEXT MORNING SHE was sitting up in the bed brushing her
hair. "I suppose that's why it's so straight and black," she said.

He
looked puzzled at first. "Oh, the Indian business, you mean. Nothing was
ever proved, you know."

"I
don't mind," Amy said. "At least I don't think I do."

He
grinned. "That's the spirit! Don't let the bastards get you down." He
flushed slightly. "Sorry, didn't mean to be vulgar."

The
memory of the curses he had hurled at her came to Amy's mind as the dull ache
of remembered pain. "I have to ask you," she said, looking at him
with sudden intensity. "Did you mean the things you said the other night?
Is that what you believe?"

"Oh,
God! Of course I didn't. You know what I'm like when I get mad. I don't mean
any of the things I say." He dropped to his knees beside the bed and lay
his head on the sheets. "I don't know why you should forgive me. But I
hope you will."

She
stroked his hair and the brown curls twined between her fingers. "It
doesn't matter," she said. "Just so long as you don't really believe
it."

"Please,"
he whispered. "Say you forgive me. I want to hear you say it."

"I
forgive you."

He
looked up and took her hand in his own and kissed her palm. "Thank you.
It's going to be all right, darling. I called Uncle Donald this morning. I told
him I thought we should try to buy that ranch. We're going to have a new start,
just like you said. Maybe I'll go out there and have a look, later, when you're
well."

Varley
came to the house in deference to her health. Amy received him in the drawing
room. It might have been planned as a backdrop for her. The pale creamy colors
were just those that suited her best. When Varley bent over the sofa to kiss
her he saw that her brown eyes had little gold specks in them, and that her
black hair was tinged with auburn highlights.

"You
look surprisingly wonderful. Where's Tommy?"

"He
had to go to the office for a little while. He knows you're coming, and he'll
be back soon."

 "Good,
I want all three of us talking together this time. "

"Yes,"
she agreed. "That's the way it's going to be from now on."

Varley
smiled. "I'm glad you're recovering so well. What does the doctor
say?"

"That
I'll be up and around before Christmas. Truthfully, I could be now. I'm just
lying here so everyone will be sympathetic." She patted the cashmere
blanket spread over her legs. "Sit down, Uncle Donald. Delia's bringing
coffee."

The
maid came in and put the tray where Amy could reach it. There were three bone
china cups, each sprigged with rosebuds and edged with gilt. "Ask Mr.
Westerman to join us as soon as he arrives, please, Delia."

"Yes,
madam. I'll tell him."

They
talked about the weather, surprisingly mild for December. Varley's briefcase
sat beside his chair. They both looked at it frequently. Amy felt fear begin as
a small cold knot in her stomach. What if Tommy didn't come? What would Uncle
Donald do or say if Tommy changed his mind about this venture. What would
happen to all her plans and dreams?

She
heard his steps in the hall with a sense of relief.

"Hello,
sorry I'm late. Beastly traffic. Christmas shoppers already taking all the
cabs. How goes it, darling?" He kissed his wife and shook uncle's hand.
"Coffee for me too, I hope. It's turning cold. Winter arriving at last,
I'm afraid."

She
filled another cup and held it out. "We haven't talked any business
yet," she said. "We were waiting for you."

"Right."
Tommy turned to his uncle. "Let's get to it then. "

Varley
picked up his briefcase and set it on the table next to the coffee tray.
"I'll give you the bad news first," he said. "But I want you to
know there's good news to follow."

Amy
braced herself.

"I've
talked to half a dozen banks. None of them wants to consider the loan. It's the
war of course. Bankers become very tense when the world is so unsettled. I
expect you understand about all that, Tommy."

Tommy
nodded. "Money's tight all over the city. I have clients that are climbing
the walls to raise a few thousand. Men that would have had no trouble doing it
six months ago."

"Exactly.
And all the latest news is bad. This chap Lloyd George who's taken over in
England, people don't trust him."

"Bit
of a socialist, one hears." Tommy said. "May turn out to be like
those madmen beseiging the Russian Tsar."

"Please,"
Amy interrupted, "what's the outcome, Uncle Donald? How can we raise the
money if the banks won't agree?"

Varley
stood up. He took a cigarette from a slim silver case and offered one to Tommy,
but not to her. Then he began pacing the room, puffing smoke between each word.
"I have spent some time and thought on this matter. It isn't just an
ordinary business arrangement. How can it be? I'm executor of your father's
estate"-with a nod to Tommy-"and until you married, I was your legal
guardian, Amy. Moreover, Tommy is my sister's son. I've known him since the day
he was born. All that changes things. You do understand?"

The
couple nodded their agreement. Amy thought Donald different than she'd ever
seen him. There was great strain on his face. Normally he was a man made
handsome by perfection. The silver hair and the small moustache, the erect
bearing and the exquisitely tailored clothes-all bespoke sureness. Today he
seemed inexplicably frayed at the edges.

"I
have decided to give you the money myself," he said abruptly. The
announcement dropped into the void between the three, and remained there
awaiting comment.

"We
can't let you do that," Tommy said finally. "It's too much to ask.
We're taking a risk with this venture. Both Amy and I know that. Neither of us
knows anything about ranching."

"Yes,"
Varley said. "So the banks pointed out. But you see, I know the two of
you. The bankers do not."

"You
mean it's our wonderful track record so far," Tommy said, leaning forward
to place his empty cup on the tray. "Our history of success? Come on, we
all know better."

"Uncle
Donald's being extraordinarily kind," Amy said quickly.

"Don't
talk to him like that."

"It's
all right, my dear. In fact, it illustrates my point. Tommy has brains and
spunk. And you have both courage and imagination. I am prepared to believe that
those qualities will prevail over the odds against you."

"What
terms are you suggesting?" Tommy asked. His voice was expressionless.

"I
am prepared to buy Amy's inheritance rights. For the amount required to
purchase Santo Domingo--plus an additional ten thousand to give you some
working capital. Sixty thousand dollars in all."

"I
take it you mean an outright sale," Tommy said. "Twenty-five thousand
acres of New Mexico, in exchange for the Norman Diamond Mines. Is that
it?"

"Yes,"
Varley agreed. "If, of course the Norman mines exist after this damnable
war ends. And if they are not conscripted as the spoils of victory by some
triumphant government. I'm taking risks too."

"I'd
have to see the New Mexico property first," Tommy said. "You
understand that, of course."

"Of
course," Varley agreed.

Amy
listened to the voices of the men. They seemed to come from far away. She had
known it would be thus since the day she clipped the advertisement from the
Times
.
It had seemed to her obvious that the only way she could buy a ranch in New
Mexico was to sell Jericho. Then Donald and Tommy had begun talking about a
loan. For a brief time she had thought perhaps she could have both.

Now
she lay on the couch and watched them, the older man and the younger one. They
were united by blood, and by familiarity with a world of which she knew
nothing. Business had a code of its own; it had laws and a language. Tommy and
Donald knew the rules and the tongue. She did not.

She
rested her head on the arm of the sofa and studied the ceiling. Where it joined
the walls there was a cornice. It was a simple trim of white wood, and it ran
completely round the room. Amy stared at it and knew that she must leave this
place. If she did not, all the rest of her days would be just like the
cornice-featureless, with neither beginning nor end. Tommy would be embittered
by jealousy, and she would always think of Luke and what might have been. She
would grow old in this city crammed with buildings and people, all clustered
around a pathetic park imitating nature.

Tommy
and Donald were discussing interest rates and foreign exchange. She cut through
their words without apology. "Give me the papers, Uncle Donald. I'll sign
them."

"Amy,
wait," Tommy said quickly. "I've got to go to Santa Fe and have a
look at this ranch. We can't buy it sight unseen."

"I
can't wait," she said. She looked at him with pleading eyes that said
, I
cannot bear another disappointment
. "Please, Tommy, try to
understand."

He
understood all too well. Guilt was a sour taste in his mouth, and love of her
an ache in his gut. Tommy looked at his uncle. "You tell her," he
said.

Varley
knew what he was expected to say. but it was not the conservative prudent
lawyer who spoke. "We've had an excellent unbiased report," he said.
"And Amy has been through so much ..."

Tommy's
eyes narrowed. He glanced from his uncle to his wife and saw that the two of
them had formed an alliance. He couldn't oppose it, not after what he'd done.
"You're sure you're willing to sell Jericho out-right?" he asked Amy.

"I'm
sure," she said.

Varley's
palms were sweating inside his suede gloves. His hands had trembled when he
wrote the check, but he didn't think they'd noticed. Now he clung to his
briefcase as if it were life, and didn't set it down during the cab ride to
Wall Street. The receptionist at the bank recognized him and sent him through
to the president's office. He was shown in immediately. He put the briefcase on
the other man's desk. It made a satisfying thump.

"From
the look of you. I assume your niece agreed."

"Yes."

"That's
fine. If you'll just give me the papers...."

Varley
handed them over. "They're all in order."

The
bank president smiled a wintry smile. "Yes, I'm sure they are." He
glanced through the documents, making little sounds under his breath. ". .
. and all related holdings," he read aloud. "Yes, this will do
nicely. I'll see that the transfer to your account is made immediately. One
hundred and fifty thousand dollars. As agreed. Of course there's the matter of
my commission and your overdraft, and the sixty thousand paid to Mr. and Mrs. Westerman.
Still, you'll be in credit to the tune of thirty thousand or more. A tidy sum.
"

Varley
felt weak-kneed, pulled between self-hate and relief. "It's not a tenth of
what the Norman holdings are worth," he said softly. "You realize
that."

"Of
course. But you're forgetting the element of risk. The world is a dangerous
place just now. We bankers are willing to take chances, but we expect to be
paid for them."

Tommy
scowled at the assortment of toilet things on Amy's dressing table, as if the
black enamel objects offended him. "I think we've been had," he said.
"I think Uncle Donald's pulled a fast one. You should have waited until I
had a chance to talk to some people. I should go out and see that place before
we buy it."