Beyond All Dreams (36 page)

It was a chilly evening, and a gust of wind knocked a few
more of the fuchsia petals to the pavement, but she was glad Luke had brought this spectacular, outrageous bloom to her. She'd try to appreciate its beauty for as long as it lasted.

Luke stared at the wall of the laundry room in amazement. On a day that began as an unmitigated disaster, topped off by shouting at Anna like a rabid dog, he soaked in this glimpse of paradise. The garden fresco Philip painted had transformed the dreary laundry room, breathing color and life into the space. Firs, cypress, and flowering pomegranate trees filled the garden, all beneath an idyllic sky.

“I added a dove with a laurel twig in its beak,” Philip said. “That's because I painted it while you were in peace talks with the Spanish.”

The pride in Philip's voice startled him, and Luke stared at the dove perched on a low-hanging branch as it overlooked the garden. The dove was perfect in form and shading, its alabaster feathers in serene contrast to the azure sky. It made him feel like a failure.

“I thought you were embarrassed that I wanted peace with Spain.”

Philip fidgeted. “Ma nearly bit my head off when I told her about that,” he admitted. “I was just mad. And everyone else seems to want the war, so I did too, but she explained some things. About my grandfather and why you always want to settle things with words instead of fighting.”

Luke's muscles were so worn out he could barely stand, and it was an effort to keep his eyelids open, but none of that mattered. “I'm proud of you, Philip.”

And he was. Even after the catastrophe in the storage closet last October, the boy hadn't let defeat slow him down. After
paying his debt for that bit of folly, Philip had studied, practiced, and produced this stunning mural that rivaled the art in the Smithsonian.

Philip reached up to point at some wispy clouds on the horizon. “Look how I painted the clouds so they add depth to the picture. See how I angled them so it looks like they're miles away? Miss O'Brien said that's how the Renaissance painters captured a three-dimensional effect in their art. I think mine are as good as the examples I saw in the art books.”

“Let's not get carried away with your brilliance yet, Michelangelo,” Julia said from behind them, a smile on her face.

Luke sent Julia a fleeting look of gratitude. Philip had a right to be proud, but he still needed to learn to temper his talent with humility.

Still, the beauty of this fresco made Luke's heart expand and ache. Was he delirious with happiness or about to break down and weep from exhaustion and defeat? He didn't know. All he knew was that he loved Philip more than he thought humanly possible, and that this laundry room was surely the most beautiful in the nation. His nephew's wild, reckless streak had been tamed but not stamped out.

Luke coughed to clear away the lump in his throat. “I hope this mural stays here for the next hundred years,” he said. “When you and I are both long in our graves, I hope that painting will still shed a little bit of grace and beauty for the people who toil in this room.”

Philip's eyes grew wide, and he swallowed hard. “I hope that too.”

“Come on, let's go home,” Luke said, having to summon the energy to get his legs moving.

Philip drew alongside him. “Um, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Can it wait until morning?”

Philip and Julia exchanged glances. “He's been working up the courage to talk with you all day,” Julia said. “Have mercy on the poor boy.”

Come to think of it, Philip did look a little weak around the gills. All Luke wanted to do was collapse into bed and scrub this day from his memory, but he had a responsibility to the boy.

“Let's see if we can find a quiet spot in the breakfast room. It's usually empty at this time of night.” He started heading back to the public area, Philip alongside him, then turned back around. “Aren't you coming too?”

Julia shook her head. “I think it's best for the two of you to talk alone.”

The tension on Julia's face didn't bode well for whatever Philip had to say. He pushed through the door that led to the Willard's lobby, feeling grubby and rumpled compared to the starched formality of the guests in the reception area. As hoped, the breakfast room was empty and dark. He left the door open to allow a patch of light to illuminate the room. The tables were already draped in white linen and set for breakfast service. Luke pulled two chairs out from a table so they could sit and talk.

Philip picked at a hangnail and fidgeted in his seat, looking as if he were waiting for the executioner's ax to fall.

“I'm not going to start this conversation,” Luke prompted.

Philip nodded and took a heavy breath. “You know that spiral staircase in the Bangor house, the one that leads to nowhere?”

“Of course.”

“I decided I'm going to ask Grandma what she wants done with it. If she wants it to stay, I'll design a loft and get it built. I want to do the work myself, even if I have to hire a carpenter to show me how.”

Luke quirked a brow. “And if she doesn't want a loft added to the main room?”

“Then I'll tear the staircase down. Mother hates it, and you're right that it's dangerous.”

A thread of alarm began forming in the pit of Luke's belly, fearing where this conversation was headed. “What prompted this sudden desire to address that staircase?”

“I want to move back home.”

It was as he'd feared. The boy was old enough to make this decision for himself, and Julia was no longer drinking and unable to care for her son. She had done everything Luke had asked of her. She was now a sober, responsible woman capable of looking after her boy, and Luke had no justification for insisting Philip remain in Washington.

“I understand what you said about Uncle Gabe and the way he never finishes things,” Philip said. “I'll take care of that staircase. I'll get an education and quit fighting with the others at school, no matter what they say about me or my mother. And I'll finish things. I want to be an artist too badly to fail.”

“Then why not stay here?” Luke asked. He tried to block the bewilderment from seeping into his voice, but failed. “I can give you everything. Museums, art lessons, introductions to all the right people . . .”

“But I'm an outsider here, and I miss the rest of my family.” Philip scrubbed his palms against the fabric of his trousers, his face screwed up with anxiety. “Deep down, I think you're the only person who really understands me. I've always wished that you were my real father, but you're not, and it's time for me to learn how to get along with Ma just as well. I've heard everything you've tried to teach me over the years, but I don't belong here anymore and it's time for me to go home. Please . . . it's cost all I've got to admit that.”

Luke's heart turned over. He didn't want to lose Philip, but it was time. He reached up to rub the ache in his chest. He hadn't expected this to hurt so much. An old instinctual impulse rose up to refuse Philip's request, to declare that he knew what was best for the family and force everyone to accept it.

But he didn't. If nothing else, Luke had learned the lesson of humility in these past few months.

Luke was right. The bougainvillea blossom didn't survive the night. By morning its spectacular fuchsia petals were limp, and Anna carried them to the rubbish bin outside.

On her way to the library she grabbed the latest issue of the morning newspaper to skim while packed into the streetcar. The outraged reaction to the
Culpeper
scandal was still on the front page, but it had slipped to a smaller story at the bottom. Nevertheless, it seemed the headline was all anyone could talk about.

The House and Senate would vote on a war with Spain today. Everyone expected the House to vote for war, while the Senate, always more insulated from the demands of public opinion, was more evenly divided.

This must be killing Luke. She'd seen the desperation and despair in his eyes, heard it bleeding into his voice. Sometimes wanting something desperately wasn't enough to make it happen, and it looked like today would be his crowning defeat. There was still a chance that the men of the House might change their minds when they actually proceeded to the vote. Saber rattling was easy when there were no lives on the line, but today's vote could send young men from across the nation to fight on an island most of them couldn't even find on a map.

She wanted to be in the gallery for the vote. Hadn't Luke
once said that merely having her in the room gave him strength? There was nowhere else in the city she'd rather be.

The crush to get inside the Capitol was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Crowds of people gathered on the steps and made forward movement almost impossible. Flags snapped in the breeze, a band played music in the distance, and newsboys hawked the latest edition of newspapers. Some men handed out leaflets in support of the war, while others urged peace. Those daring enough to voice support for peace were taunted and heckled.

Anna ducked to get around the broad-shouldered men and nudge her way up the Capitol steps, but as she drew near the top, the source of the congestion became obvious. Members of the Capitol police guarded the doors, turning away all but elected officials and a handful of authorized visitors.

She'd resigned to waiting with everyone else to hear the result of the vote when she spotted Jack Wilkerson. He was busy carrying messages to the police.

“Jack!” she shouted. It was impossible to be heard over the band and a crowd of hecklers taunting a protester at the top of the steps.

Wadding up the morning newspaper into a tight ball, Anna took aim and lobbed it directly at the congressional page.

“Hey!” Jack shouted as he grabbed the missile that had brushed his head. He swiveled to see who threw it at him, then broke into a grin when he saw Anna.

“Miss O'Brien!” he called as he loped over to her.

“Have you been able to get inside?”

“No one's getting in today,” Jack said. “I'm just here to run errands if the Capitol police need anything.”

“Do you know what's going on inside?”

“The House is voting right now. The Senate will start as soon as the House finishes.”

Anna sucked in a breath. Even now, Luke was hearing the roll call as hundreds of men stood up to vote for or against the war. “And how's it going?”

“Last I heard, it was eighty votes for war, two for peace. But there's a long way to go still.” She blanched, and Jack must have noticed her expression. “What's the matter? Don't you support the cause, Miss O'Brien? They killed our sailors.”

She knew he was referring to the men of the
Maine
, but all Anna could think about was her father. She looked up, not a cloud in the blue sky. Would her father have wanted this? Did
she
want this? All she knew was that she didn't want to be alone right now. Jack took a position beside her as they leaned against one of the cold granite columns. She reached out to hold his hand, and he grinned in excitement. Jack Wilkerson had been the bane of her existence since his first day on the job, but for today he was just a boy as desperately curious as she to learn the outcome of the vote.

Twenty minutes later, it was over. The House's sergeant at arms stepped onto the portico, carrying the ceremonial mace, which he banged on the ground. The people in the vicinity quieted, but the roar coming from the crowds made it hard to hear. He shouted the outcome of the vote.

“The joint resolution to declare war on Spain has cleared the House,” he bellowed over the din. “The vote was 311 to 6. The resolution now heads to the Senate.”

Never in her wildest dreams did Anna imagine the vote would be so lopsided. It was a brutal and humiliating defeat for Luke. Aside from him and Cornelius Jones, only four other brave men stood for peace. She bowed her head, Luke's chosen passage from the Sermon on the Mount coming to mind.