Lawless (84 page)

“Oh my God.” He sank into his chair, read another, a third.

As Julia had said, coming right on top of Eleanor’s departure, the shock was almost too much for a single human being to bear in a single morning.

Julia asked a question about his daughter. He looked up and briefly told her what Eleanor had said. Then he returned to the book.

He discovered some of its pages were splattered with curiously sinister inkblots. Others had holes or rips in them, as though damaged by the nib of a pen. Those were the pages on which she’d referred to Gideon as
him.
The pages conveyed her hatred, her deceit, and the steady deterioration of her mind in a way that left him openmouthed and made his belly hurt.

“She did he to them, Julia. Deliberately. I wasn’t wrong.”

“No, my darling, you weren’t.” There was grief in her voice, pity, too.

Suddenly he stood up, slapping the book against his thigh. A corner of the cover broke away. Black flakes fell to the carpet. “I’m going to throw this back in the fire—”

He saw Julia shaking her head.

“Why the hell not?”
With a trembling hand, he shook the book again. “No one’s going to see this sad, filthy thing. It deserves to be forgotten.”

“By everyone except one person. Eleanor.”

“What?”

“You must get the book to her, Gideon—the book and the letters. Let her read them. Let her be the one to destroy them.”

“Do you know what you’re saying? You want me to show Eleanor this—this testament to her mother’s deranged state?” He uttered a short, bleak laugh. “She already thinks I’m a monster. Now you want to confirm it.”

“I want your daughter to know she was manipulated—just as you said she was. I want her to know it so she won’t hate you for the rest of her life.”

He understood. Pondered. Hesitated.

“It would only defame Margaret’s memory—”

Julia seized his arms and shook him. “Margaret is
dead!
She can’t be hurt any further. The living members of this family are the only ones who count now. If you want Eleanor to be your daughter in more than name—”

“You know I do.”

“Then what’s wrong? Are you afraid she’ll reject you again?”

His blue eye brimmed with pain. His voice was barely audible.

“Yes.”

“Could she dislike you any more than she already does?”

A pause. “No.”

“Then you must show her the diary and the letters.”

Still uncertain, he stared at her.

“You must, Gideon!”

Ten minutes later, dressed and lashing the buggy nag furiously, he went racing down Fifth Avenue in the calash, hoping he wasn’t too late to catch her, find her, make her listen.

T
HE SCHEDULE BOARD
showed only one train for upstate New York during the rest of the day—a noon local which terminated at Albany. An express for Buffalo, Cleveland, and points west had departed at ten after eleven. Eleanor might have boarded that one at the last moment, Gideon thought as he hurried from the station into the train shed, the letters and the diary clutched in one hand.

The local had only three second-class passenger coaches. He sprinted past the rear one, then the second. There was a severe and steadily worsening ache all across his chest—his age showing.

A puff of steam obscured his vision a moment. When the steam cleared, he saw people milling up near the express car. Since most of them were shouting and gesturing, he presumed he’d found the troupe of actors. One of the men, a rascally-looking old fellow with a black wig, was waving a paper at someone inside the express car.

“Your loutish helpers dropped three different pieces of our scenery. The wings for Little Eva’s dove, the ice floes, and the heavenly gates. If there’s so much as one scrape or tear on any of them, this line will pay!”

Gideon shifted his attention to the dirt-streaked windows of the front passenger car. No sign of Eleanor there. He needed to go inside and look for—

He was distracted by a ferocious yapping. Again he looked toward the front of the train. He saw a man with two magnificently proportioned but carelessly groomed dogs on long chains. Apparently the man had been exercising the dogs on the empty track next to the platform on which Gideon was standing, and somehow the animals had gotten excited.

As the companions of the man in the wig closed around him to second his protests to the invisible expressman, the other man’s dogs gave a lunge against their chains. The man nearly pitched on his face on the empty track.

Just in time, he righted himself. The dogs kept dragging him forward. He jumped up and landed on the platform with a thump, one hand clutching his wide-brimmed hat while the other, with the chains wrapped around it, was repeatedly yanked.

All the commotion around the express car merely incited the animals. One of them gave another lunge and tried to climb the front steps of the first passenger car.

By then the owner of the dogs was only a few feet from Gideon. The man wore clothes several years out of date, but they still had a costly look. Although the man was short—the crown of his hat was level with Gideon’s shoulders—he carried himself with authority. He was slim, in his middle forties, with lively gray eyes and wavy dark hair streaked with white.

He gave Gideon an imperious look, as if questioning his right to be on the same platform. Then he swung toward a portly conductor who had appeared in the vestibule above the steps the dog was trying to ascend. While the other dog yapped and turned in a circle, the first kept its paws on the lowest step. The conductor’s path down to the platform was blocked.

“Animals in the baggage car!” he exclaimed. He aimed a kick at the dog but missed. Fangs snapped together, inches from his shoe.

The small man might have been handsome except for a tomato-colored nose that had grown too large for his face. His cheeks turned the same color as he yelled, “Don’t do that again, sir, or you’ll face a lawsuit. Nicolai and Nicolette are not mongrels to be abused. They are full-blooded Borzois.”

To add to the confusion, someone began yelling, “Daniel? Daniel, why don’t you ever wait for me?” A tall, skinny, drably dressed woman emerged from the crowd still hectoring the expressman. Although the woman was as old as the man with the dogs, girlish ringlets dangled below the brim of her hat, and she’d blacked her eyes and rouged her face like a woman half her age. Her jaw was long, her face more than a little horselike. But she had large, vivid dark eyes, and a voice as mellow as a French horn.

“Daniel, you’re a rude boy.” She came hurrying toward him, hiking up her skirts so anyone could see her pantaloons. No one was interested.

“I don’t give a hang if they’re the Czar’s children,” the conductor snarled. “Pets don’t ride with the passengers.”

The small man took a long, deep breath and drew himself up while the wolfhounds snapped and pranced around his legs, winding him in their chains. All at once a little breeze carried an odd aroma to Gideon’s nose. He identified it as hair dressing or cologne, mixed with another scent that had a sad familiarity. Whiskey.

“Daniel Prince’s dogs do not ride anywhere but in the passenger section!” the actor shrieked. The ringleted woman tried to reach his side but was prevented by the wolfhounds still racing in circles. Wrapped in chain, the actor started to topple.

Gideon jumped forward and propped the man up. In the process he got a blast of whiskey breath. He backed away quickly to avoid being bitten by one of the wolfhounds. It was snapping at him while the other one tried to jump up and lick his face.

“Thank you, sir, thank you,” Prince panted as he struggled to extricate himself from the chains. Gideon was impatient now.

“Is the Bascom Tom Company aboard this train?”

The small man couldn’t answer. The Borzois were yanking him toward the empty track again.

The conductor said, “Yes, the troupe’s on board and I wish it weren’t. Theater folks are nothing but trouble. Noisy show-offs, the lot of them.”

Less than cordial, Gideon said, “My daughter’s with the company. I’m trying to find her. Miss Kent is her name—”

The conductor shrugged. “Believe me, I don’t introduce myself to any of them.” He jumped from the bottom step, avoided the entangled actor and rushed to the assistance of the expressman, who was now rolling on the platform, locked in a tussle with Bascom. The latter’s black wig had fallen off, revealing a totally bald head. The members of the troupe were yelling encouragement to both combatants, much to the annoyance of their employer.

Other passengers began to raise the car windows and poke their heads out. Gideon was nearly beside himself with impatience. He’d only been on the platform two or three minutes, but what he’d seen in that short time renewed his fears for Eleanor’s safety and sanity.

He grabbed the handrail beside the steps and started to climb up. A hand touched his sleeve. He spun and found himself facing the woman with the ringlets.

“I bed your pardon, sir. Did I hear you say you are Eleanor’s father?”

“That’s right.”

“I am Mrs. Prince.” She indicated the small man, who was still uttering feeble pleas for help with the chains. The Borzois had worn themselves out. One flopped at Prince’s feet, tongue lolling. “I am indeed happy to meet you, Mr. Kent. We weren’t aware anyone would be seeing Eleanor off. She’s our new Little Eva, you know. A charming girl. Bascom raves about her talent.”

“Bascom raves about anything which moves and wears petticoats,” Prince said. He studied Gideon’s shoulders, then his legs. Someone at an open window snickered. Prince glared.

“My name is Martha,” the woman said, extending her hand. Gideon shook it. Time had marked Mrs. Prince’s face with deep lines, and there was a certain sad quality about her arresting eyes. But she seemed a kind and essentially cheerful woman. She went on, “I’ve only chatted briefly with your daughter, but in that time I discovered she’s quite young. Much younger than she looks, most assuredly. In a group like this, she will need someone to look after her. She has a young gentleman who seems willing to undertake part of the responsibility—”

“A gentleman? Who is he?”

“Mr. Goldman. Another new member of the company.” The name had a familiar sound, but Gideon couldn’t put a face with it. “Daniel and I shall look after her, too. We have no children. We’ll be glad to watch over her as if she were our very own.”

“Very kind of you, Mrs. Prince,” Gideon said, though he wasn’t so sure the actor’s attention would be any great blessing. “It’s quite important that I see Eleanor for a moment. Do you know which car she’s in?”

“Certainly. This one. The third or fourth seat on the other side.”

“Thank you very much.” He raced up the steps.

All at once he was terrified of failure. His heart lubbed so hard, it seemed to drown out the murmur of conversation in the second-class car. The car swarmed with flies, and smelled stale and unclean.

Eleanor didn’t seem to mind. She was seated beside an open window, maintaining a distance of two or three inches between herself and her companion, a young man with a great deal of dark hair. She appeared to be enjoying an animated conversation with the young chap. For a moment Gideon hated a world that made a man and his children grow old and apart.

Heads turned because he was standing motionless, just to the rear of her seat. Her head moved last of all. She glanced over her left shoulder. “Papa!”

She seemed too astonished for anger. Her exclamation brought her companion bounding up. When he swung around, Gideon recognized him at once, although the boy had shot up and filled out since that night in Printing House Square. The boy’s pleased expression showed he remembered Gideon, too.

Eleanor said, “Papa, may I present Mr. Leo Goldman? Leo, my father, Mr. Kent. I think you two met years ago—”

“We certainly did,” Gideon said as they shook hands. “Every man his own king—every man his own priest.”

“That’s right!” The boy had an incredibly rich baritone voice. “I’m truly astonished that a man as busy as you would remember something I said.”

Gideon managed to smile. “Yours was a much better definition of America than many I’ve heard.”

“Leo’s a member of the troupe.” Eleanor’s tone was neither friendly nor unfriendly.

“Yes, you did mention that this morning.” He noticed she was looking at the book and letters under his arm. Then she searched his face, as if to find some clue to his state of mind.

“Leo and I met at the Booth Association,” she explained.

“And you’re on your way to make your fortune, eh, Mr. Goldman?”

“I certainly think so, sir.”

“Splendid,” Gideon replied, not intending it to sound as caustic as it did. “I don’t want to be rude, but time’s extremely short. I must speak to Eleanor privately.”

“Of course, sir.” Leo stepped aside so she could reach the aisle.

Gideon saw Eleanor’s defenses rise as she murmured, “Speak to me about what, Papa?”

His fear worsened. He shouldn’t have come. Even though the book’s authenticity could hardly be questioned, she’d find some way to reject it—or cast the blame for its contents squarely back on him. He almost turned and fled. He’d never been more frightened of losing anything than he was of losing her affection for the rest of his life.

But she’s already lost. That’s why you’re here.

“About what, Papa?” she repeated.

“About these.”

He showed her the handwriting on the letters.

“If you’ll examine the dates, you’ll notice that I wrote you the first of these letters a few days after I moved out. All of them were found in your mother’s desk.”

Her face lost color. Leo craned his head so he could see the letters. Gideon withdrew them. “If you’ll excuse us—may we go outside, Eleanor?”

All the passengers were staring, but he didn’t give a damn. All he cared about was her nod as she preceded him down the aisle. His heart was still beating hard as he opened the door for her.

Fortunately the platform near the foot of the steps was deserted. Daniel and Martha Prince and the Borzois had returned to the express car, where a rumpled Bascom was gesturing with his wig and haranguing a railroad official. One of the other actors was offering the expressman a bandanna for his bloody nose.