Bonds of Earth (17 page)

Enthusiasm was not in short supply on this day in Hudson, however. The new electric street lamps along the promenade were festooned with brightly colored bunting, doubtless hung by the members of one of the trade unions. There was a thirty-piece band tuning up on the platform near the water, and the park was rapidly filling up with people from two to seventy-two, all of them outfitted in their Sunday best. Michael discovered the vitality and joy of an entire town on holiday was infectious and soon found himself smiling and nodding at passersby who tipped their hats to them.

“Sarah, go help Mister Seward,” Mary murmured, casting a glance over the hill. Following the direction of her gaze, Michael spotted Seward about two hundred yards away, making his slow progress across the lawn. He had not followed them once Michael parked the car, choosing instead to seek his own route. Michael caught a glimpse of him heading off toward the commercial street, which he thought curious since less than a handful of shops and restaurants in the town were open today.

“I’ll help him,” Michael offered. “You run along and see if you can find any of your school friends.” Needing no further encouragement, Sarah smiled and took off running, her skirts billowing about her legs.

“You’re spoiling that child,” Mary murmured, though there was no censure in her tone.

“It’s a fine day for it,” Michael quipped, leaning in to give Mary a peck on the cheek that left her flustered and blushing. He jogged in Seward’s direction, meeting him before he had made much progress, then fell into step beside him.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Seward groused after a few moments of silence. “I’m merely taking my time.”

“Mm-hmm,” Michael said. “Where did you go shopping?”

“What?” Seward asked, taken aback.

Michael hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I saw you heading toward Warren Street earlier. If you were looking to shop, I could have driven you.”

Seward shook his head. “I wasn’t shopping.” The tone of his voice told Michael in no uncertain terms that the discussion was over. Shrugging, Michael subsided back into silence.

Presently Sarah came flying up to them with a handbill clutched in her small fists. “A man gave this to me,” she said to them, thrusting the paper at Seward.

Seward unfolded the paper and swiftly scanned the contents, then passed it to Michael. It was an invitation for children to participate in various contests that had been planned for the day, including a shooting gallery and a three-legged race. The prizes were listed at the bottom, but it was an instruction at the top that caught Michael’s eye:

Fathers are asked to participate with their sons and daughters
.

“I asked him if an uncle would be all right,” Sarah said quietly, her gaze on her shoes. “He said that would be fine.” She glanced up at Seward before looking away again. “We could pretend. He doesn’t have to know you’re not really my uncle.”

Michael and Seward exchanged mute glances. Michael reviewed the paper quickly, studying the list of contests. Some of them would be too strenuous for Seward, but he could manage a few without exhausting himself.

“Sarah,” Michael heard Seward begin, “I don’t know—”

“How about two uncles?” Michael interrupted, squatting down in front of Sarah while the blood pounded in his ears. He felt oddly lightheaded, divorced from his own body, as though someone else were extending the offer to the girl. “Would you mind if we both helped you? I’m a terror at three-legged races. We’re sure to win that one.”

Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Both of you?”

Michael grinned. “Both of us.” At her pleased smile, he swung her up into his arms and stood, perching her on his hip. When he looked over at Seward, he was confronted by the other man’s raised eyebrow.

Michael clapped him on the shoulder with his free hand, drawing him along with them. “Come on, uncle,” he said merrily, ignoring the pointed glare he received.

B
Y
FOUR
o’clock that afternoon, Seward lay sprawled on the blanket, one arm shielding his eyes. “I hate you,” he groaned.

Michael lifted the arm and peered down into Seward’s scowling face. “Now, is that any way to talk? Look how happy she is.” He pointed over to where Sarah was showing off her prize for third place to her schoolmates, a two-foot-long wooden ship complete with rigging and sails.

“They expected a boy to win that, obviously.”

Michael shrugged. “She seems pleased enough with it. She’s not the sort to play with dolls anyway,” he added, remembering the neat rows of tin soldiers in the attic. He studied Seward more closely. “Are you truly hurt?”

Seward sighed and pushed himself up on his elbows. “No,” he grunted. “Only a little sore.”

“I’ll rub you down when we get home,” Michael said, and only when Seward’s eyes widened did he realize how intimate the words sounded, especially after yesterday’s impromptu massage.

Seward cleared his throat and looked away, breaking the awkward moment. “I’m sure a hot bath will be sufficient.”

Michael reached for a cookie from the basket and took a bite. “Perhaps you’re right.” He lay back on the blanket, keeping a respectable distance from Seward.

Seward occupied himself with studying the crowd. “I haven’t been to one of these since I was a boy.”

A smile tugged at Michael’s lips. “You were once a boy? Astonishing.”

Seward flicked an irritated eyebrow at him, but there was a glint in his eye. “Oh, shut up,” he groused.

Michael found he couldn’t resist needling him a little. “Were you a good boy or a mischievous one?”

Seward looked at him, then nodded in the direction of the bandstand, where a concert had finished a few minutes ago. “I had my moments. I once tried to set the bandstand on fire.”

Michael released a startled laugh. “Did you object to the musical selections?”

The corner of Seward’s mouth curved. “Alas, there was no one playing at the time. I wasn’t that mischievous, I suppose. What about you?”

“Well, I wasn’t an arsonist, but only because I wouldn’t have known what that word meant.” He looked at his hands. “I did just about everything else, though.”

“I think we’re allowed some youthful mistakes.”

Michael looked up and was immediately trapped by Seward’s unflinching gaze. It was the first moment of true sympathy they’d managed to achieve, and yet Michael felt tempted to ruin it.
Would you be so understanding,
he thought,
if you knew my entire life had been a series of mistakes?

The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, but before he could say them, Mary walked up with Abbott, sending both men scrambling to their feet. “What a lovely concert,” she breathed. “The music was stirring. It made me think a little of….” She trailed off, her gaze lighting on something only she could see. “It made me think of happier times.” Abbott said nothing, merely sat on the blanket and rested his forearms on his bent knees. Michael thought he had never seen him look quite so old.

It was to this melancholy mood that Sarah returned shortly after, and it was only when Michael looked up at her that he realized she was crying.

“Goodness, sweetheart, what’s the matter?” Mary asked, concerned.

Michael tugged Sarah into his arms, and after a moment she sat in his lap, though she remained silent, clutching the boat in her hands.

“Won’t you tell us what’s the matter?” he asked, smoothing back a lock of her hair. “Was one of your friends unkind to you?”

She shook her head.

“Did you fall down?” Michael said.

Another shake of her head.

“Then why are you sad, sweetling?” Mary asked.

Sarah sniffled, and Seward reached into his trousers pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. She took it and wiped at her nose. “I don’t want to be happy.”

“Why not?” Michael asked gently.

Sarah’s eyes brimmed again. “Because I shouldn’t be happy. It’s not right.”

Michael frowned. Momentarily at a loss for words, he stroked her back while Seward squatted down beside her.

“I felt the same way myself once,” he said softly. Michael stared at him, shocked, as Seward continued, his gaze fixed on her the entire time.

“My mother died when I was thirteen, and for a very long time afterward I felt that it was wrong to be happy, since she was not with me.”

“Did you miss her?” Sarah asked in a small voice.

“Oh yes, very much,” Seward murmured. “There were nights when I was certain I could not live without her.”

“What about your father?”

Seward hesitated, as though he was searching for the proper words. “I was angry at my father,” he finally said, simply.

“Why?”

“Well,” Seward said, “he was a brilliant and very successful doctor, and so he was often too busy to spend much time with my mother and me. And my mother—she tried to recapture his attention by pretending she was sick. Perhaps you once pretended to be sick when you didn’t want to go to school so that your mother would fuss over you and be especially nice to you?” Sarah nodded reluctantly. “Of course you have; we all have. Well, it was a little like that, except that of course as a doctor my father could tell she was lying, and eventually he stopped listening to her complaints. And when she truly got sick, he didn’t believe her until her condition was very serious. She went into the hospital your grandfather visited, but she never came out.”

Sarah looked at him with round eyes. “I was really sick, too, and I didn’t get to say goodbye to her. Did you get to say goodbye to your mother?”

Seward shook his head. “No. My father wouldn’t let me. I slept on the steps of the hospital for three days waiting for him to change his mind, but he didn’t.”

Michael’s heart stopped, then lurched into motion again.
Dear God.

Sarah frowned. “Why wouldn’t he let you see her?”

Seward scratched his chin. “You know, I never quite figured that out. Some doctors thought—still think, I imagine—that it did not do to upset the patients in any way, and that anyone who might cry and fuss over them should be kept out of hospitals.”

“That just sounds mean,” Sarah said firmly.

Seward smiled fondly and smoothed his hand over the girl’s head. “Thank you. I think so, too.”

Sarah patted Seward’s arm consolingly. “Is that why the hospital makes you sad?”

“Yes, that’s why,” Seward answered. He glanced at Michael, then turned back to Sarah. “But my point is that we must remember that the people we loved also loved us very much. What do you think they would say if they were to see us right now and see that we are sad when we should be happy? Would they want us to never laugh again because we feel badly that they are not with us?”

“No,” Sarah said. “My m-mother used to laugh all the time.”

“Well, then,” Seward said, smiling, “I’m sure she would like nothing better than to see you smiling.” He touched her cheek gently, then pointed up toward Warren Street. “Now, there is a very nice restaurant over there that has ice cream and cake for dessert. Shall we all go there together for supper?”

“Oh, yes!” Sarah said, clapping her hands and jumping up. “I haven’t ever eaten in a restaurant before.”

“Well, my fine lady, we must correct that,” Mary said, extending her hand for Sarah to take. As Michael rose to his feet, he saw Seward and Mary exchange glances over Sarah’s head, saw Mary nod at him and smile her thanks, her eyes bright.

As the Abbotts made their slow progress toward the car, Seward folded the blanket carefully while Michael packed up the scattered remains of their lunch. They did not speak, though Michael had to bite his tongue to keep from asking any of the thousand questions that were crowding together inside his skull. It was as though half the missing pieces of Seward’s mysterious puzzle had dropped into his lap, and he was desperate for an opportunity to sort them out, to form from them a picture he could recognize.

And what will you do if you like what you see?
a small voice in his head demanded.

Shrugging it off, he hefted the basket, then began the walk to the car, Seward a silent presence at his side.

T
HE
restaurant meal was excellent. Michael ate a steak that was far better than any he’d ever eaten, tender and dripping blood, while the others dined on similarly lavish fare. Sarah asked for and received her ice cream—the waiter took a fancy to her and presented her with a chocolate sundae that was nearly the size of her head, resplendent with whipped cream, slivered almonds, and cherries.

By the time they had finished, it was near time for the fireworks ceremony, and while every one of the adults was tired, no one wanted to disappoint Sarah. They resolved to find a spot on the Promenade that would be close to the car and found it at the far end of the park.

Busy helping Abbott to a nearby bench, Michael did not see the heavyset man approaching until it was too late. He barreled into Seward, knocking him to the ground.

“Hey!” Michael shouted, rounding on the man. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

The burly fellow wobbled slightly as he faced Michael, and Michael sighed. This, at least, was more familiar to him than sack races and band concerts in the park. “I have no quarrel with you, friend,” the fat man said, raising his hands.

Michael stabbed a finger at Seward, who was slowly picking himself up. “If you have a quarrel with him, you’ve got one with me,” he growled. “Now why don’t you take yourself home and sleep it off?”

“Sleep it off,” the man said, nodding in an exaggerated fashion. “That’s a good idea, sleep it off. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Mr. Reilly.” Michael had never heard that pleading tone in Seward’s voice before this. He would not have believed Seward capable of begging. “Please, I—”

“You shut up!” Reilly snarled, turning to glare at Seward with his fists clenched. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

To Michael’s dismay another man, this one more fit and a good deal younger, ran up at that moment to join the fray. “Dan, there you are,” he breathed. He looked Seward up and down and nodded. “John. I didn’t expect to see you here.”