Beyond All Dreams (16 page)

“Let's go for a walk,” Luke said. Anything to get out of this dreary room and dwelling on Anna's rejection.

Philip wilted. “Now? I'm so tired the bones in my face hurt, and I've got an astronomy test tomorrow.”

“We'll study for it outside. The night is clear, and we can study beneath the laboratory of the open sky.”

A glint of excitement broke through Philip's fatigue, and ten minutes later they were flat on their backs on the soft grass of the park across from the hotel, looking up at a spray of stars scattered across the sky.

“What's that one?” Luke asked, pointing to a cluster of stars in the western sky.

“Centaurus . . . the centaur. Although those Greeks must have had overwrought imaginations if they saw a centaur in that.”

Luke smiled but added no commentary on the subject of overwrought imaginations, for he'd been suffering from one most of his life. “And what makes the Centaurus constellation unique?” he prodded.

“It has Alpha Centauri. The closest star to Earth.”

“Very good.”

“How do you know all this?” Philip asked.

“Anyone who reads the poetry of Samuel Taylor Coleridge will get quite an education in astronomy.”

They lay like that for hours, studying the stars and the myths fueled by Greek imagination. It was nearing midnight, but the fires of youth had given Philip a second wind. The boy seemed to be enjoying this starlit night as much as he.

“What did you want to be when you were my age?” Philip asked as he stared at the stars.

“A great poet.”

“What happened?”

“I realized I wasn't very good at it.”

Philip sighed. “If I can't become a great painter . . .” His face darkened, and he swallowed hard. “Well, I guess I'll be okay,” he said in a voice heavy with skepticism.

“Always be honest,” Luke cautioned. “Even when you're only talking to yourself.”

Philip brightened. “Okay, then I'll be honest. I want to be a painter so badly I think I'll die if I fail. Like my purpose for living will be over.”

Luke rolled onto his side to look Philip in the eye. He framed his next words carefully.

“If you don't make it as a painter, funnel that passion into something else, but it doesn't have to die. Do you think I would have turned that old boxcar into a traveling library if I hadn't been in love with poetry? My love of poetry was a gift from God. So is your passion for art, even though we don't know yet what form it will take. If you don't make it as a painter, perhaps you'll be a great teacher. Or a museum curator. Maybe you'll become a rich industrialist and fund a museum. Just don't limit yourself by thinking you already know God's purpose for you.”

It was a privilege to help raise Philip and guide him through these treacherous adolescent years. Someday he hoped to have a son he'd love as much as Philip. There were days he wanted a wife so badly his entire soul ached, and he wondered how much
longer he was destined to wait. He still couldn't believe he had misread Anna O'Brien's feelings for him, but he wasn't quite ready to give up yet.

Anna was his opposite. She never did anything impulsively and liked the safety of her map room in the attic of the Capitol. She hid up in that room like a princess in a castle tower, surrounded by a fortress of books and maps.

A slow smile lit his face. He'd never been the type to give up easily, and more than anything he wanted to climb those walls and sweep Anna O'Brien into his life.

And he'd always been good at getting what he wanted.

I
t was mortifying, but Anna was helpless to resist the temptation. Ever since learning of Luke's long-ago obsession with an opera singer, she was consumed with curiosity about the woman. And to make matters worse, Anna knew exactly how she could learn all about Violet Desjardins. With the nation's finest music library just down the hall, all it would take was a quick visit to begin unearthing the information she was desperate to see.

“Name?” Gertrude asked as she withdrew a card and prepared to jot down Anna's request. Anna glanced around the music room, afraid of being overheard by the half-dozen patrons sitting at the worktables nearby.

“Violet Desjardins,” Anna whispered. “She was an opera singer. Anything you can find on her would be much appreciated.”

“Spelling?” Gertrude demanded.

“I'm not sure. I know she toured New England around twenty years ago. That's all I know for certain.”

And that Luke Callahan had adored the woman. What did she look like? Anna wondered. Had she been a good woman, or was she a fortune hunter and Luke's besotted brain never accepted the fact?

Anna still couldn't quite grasp the bewildering conversation she'd had with Luke only yesterday. It was flattering—thrilling, really—but impossible for her to even toy with the idea. He would be utterly disillusioned when he finally got to know the real Anna. How could she measure up to his charm and prominence?

She returned to the map room and tried to concentrate on her work, wondering what it would be like if she had a normal imagination that didn't start spinning fantasies at the least provocation. Maybe she wouldn't entertain foolish daydreams about a relationship with an attractive congressman. Or lose sleep over strange fantasies that the navy was out to get her for questioning the validity of a fifteen-year-old report.

The door banged open, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.

“There you are,” Lieutenant Rowland snapped. “I've been looking everywhere for you.”

Anna clenched her fists, vowing not to be cowed by this man. “Map rooms are usually a logical place to start looking for map librarians.”

The twinge of anxiety ratcheted higher as the surly lieutenant stalked into the room, striding down the narrow aisle and bumping over a stack of atlases. The books toppled over with a heavy thud, their pages splaying open. Anna dashed over and knelt down to correct the damage. Atlases were expensive! Lieutenant Rowland looked down at her as if she were a serf as she scrambled to stack them again.

“Then why don't you stay in the map room?” he demanded. “Why are you pestering Howard Clover about ocean currents?”

Anna whirled around to stare up at the man towering above her. “Librarians at government offices consult with each other all the time. There's no crime in it.”

“You were stirring up trouble.” He squatted down and shoved
his face close to hers. His taunting glare reminded Anna of every schoolyard bully she'd ever encountered, and she'd met a lot of them.

“Is it time for me to have that chat with old Mr. Spofford? It seems this library has a problem with nattering, nosy, and insubordinate females.” Lieutenant Rowland leaned in so close she could see the pores on his nose. “Why were you poking into ancient history and bothering Howard Clover with your nonsense?”

The atlases were heavy as she scooped them up and turned away. He followed, his feet knocking against her skirts as she mounded the atlases on the table. “You haven't answered me, girl. Is there something wrong with your hearing?”

She didn't want to turn around and face him. It felt like she was back in the schoolyard with the bullies closing in, and all she wanted to do was disappear.

Luke climbed the stairs to the map room, feeling like a condemned man walking to the scaffold. After the embarrassment under the chestnut tree yesterday, he'd like nothing better than to hibernate and lick his wounds in private, but Anna had the tariff data he needed and it was too important to ignore.

He was surprised by the angry male voice coming from inside the map room. He paused outside the open door, cocking his head to listen. It seemed Anna was getting royally scolded for something. Had she been neglecting other duties while he commandeered her time?

“. . . poking your nose in where it doesn't belong. What makes you think you're smart enough to question us?” the voice snarled.

Luke's jaw clenched. There was nothing he despised more than bullies. The last time he'd backed down from a bully was
when his father was on a bender and shouting at his mother over some spoiled cheese. The next morning his mother had two black eyes. Luke hadn't backed down from a bully since.

That didn't mean he was going to handle it with his fists either. Locking down all traces of anger, he strolled into the map room. A man shaped like a brick towered over Anna, his face red with anger. Anna looked like a daisy wilting under the scorching blast.

“Why don't you drag out the thumbscrews?” Luke said tightly, startling both Anna and the naval officer. “Or perhaps the cat-o'-nine-tails. Or better yet, I saw a group of schoolchildren downstairs lining up to tour the Capitol. Perhaps it would be more fun to go gang up on them?”

The officer straightened, but the scowl remained. “This is private business,” he snapped.

“Then don't conduct it in a public building.” Luke stepped closer, lowering his voice. “And if you ever comport yourself like a foulmouthed savage again while wearing the uniform of a US military officer, I will see you drummed out of the navy so fast your head will spin.”

Indecision flickered across the officer's face as he scrutinized Luke. He was clearly trying to figure out if Luke might be a higher-ranking officer out of uniform, an elected official, or just an ordinary government bureaucrat. Luke had no intention of enlightening him.

The lieutenant glanced back at Anna. “This isn't over,” he warned before storming out of the room.

Luke turned to Anna. “Someone who wasn't happy with your maps?”

She was trembling. She shook her head and dragged out a chair, lowering herself as though too weak to keep standing.

“I don't know why he's so hostile,” she said. “All I wanted
was for the navy to verify the details of a shipwreck. It seems my request was not well received.”

She tried to laugh a little, but her distress was obvious. It aroused every protective instinct in his body, and he wanted to draw her into his arms until she quit shaking, which was impossible. For now, she was off-limits to him, that much had been made clear yesterday afternoon under the chestnut tree. He walked to the far side of the table to avoid getting too close, pulled out a chair, and sat opposite her.

“What ship?” he asked softly.

“My father's ship was lost at sea in 1882. Fifty-six men died on that ship. I don't believe the navy's official report about the
Culpeper
is accurate, but they refuse to discuss it. They've been very aggressive about discouraging any steps I make to correct the report.”

“What do you mean?”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “You just saw a taste of it. I feel like they are spying on me. Each time I try to get more information about the storm that sank the
Culpeper
, they find out about it and shut me down.”

“They won't shut
me
down.”

She sucked in a quick breath. “You'd help me with this?”

“Of course! Why do you sound so surprised?” His job as a congressman was to be an advocate for the people. If government agencies were throwing obstacles in Anna's way, he'd clear the path.

“It's just . . . people usually come to
me
for help,” she said. “I'm not used to it working the other way around.”

“I'd be happy to ask a few questions. Get people moving.”

The way she looked at him, like he had just slain a dragon for her, made him feel like a conquering hero. She was breathless as she explained a newly released report from the weather
bureau that tracked the paths of historic hurricanes. The report contradicted what the navy wrote about the sinking of the
Culpeper
. She seemed a little irrational in her conviction that this warranted a new full-scale investigation, but weren't librarians supposed to be sticklers for accuracy? Her passion was one of the things he found so attractive about her. He jotted down all the information she could provide.

“I don't know how I can thank you,” Anna said. “I've been so frustrated, and if you could use a little of your influence . . .”

“O'Brien, shut up,” he said with a smile. “I said I would work on it, and you can count on me. Now, show me that tariff data.”

It didn't matter how much work it would take to fulfill Anna's request, Luke was going to find the answer even if he had to pester every navy official and plow through stacks of old files in the War Department's archives. Anna's mistrust of the navy seemed somewhat irrational, but regardless he'd do what he could to help her.

Over the next few days, Luke knocked on doors and tracked down rumors. Normally, his position as a congressman guaranteed that doors were flung wide open for him, but he'd started encountering the same resistance Anna had run up against. When he tried to verify her information about the 1882 hurricane, he found the well of information had already dried up. He went to the weather bureau to locate their newly released report, but they'd retracted the new map showing the path of the hurricane, claiming it needed additional study to verify the course. Luke asked who'd ordered the retraction, and he got back a two-word response: “the navy.”

Maybe Anna wasn't so irrational after all. Frustrated by the bureaucratic quagmire, Luke requested an appointment with
the secretary of the navy. John Davis Long was a politician with no military experience who once boasted he “wouldn't know the stem from the stern of a ship.” All Secretary Long wanted was to return to his family's farm in Buckfield, Maine, to put up fences and watch his cattle graze. He only accepted the appointment to be secretary of the navy at President McKinley's request. The president needed men he could trust surrounding him, and he'd found one in the plainspoken John Davis Long.