North and South: The North and South Trilogy (50 page)

George spoke softly to her. “I don’t think you need to say any more.”

Constance knew he was asking her to end it there; not demanding that she do so, but asking, so that trouble wouldn’t keep piling on trouble. She heard that clearly and understood. Yet it made no difference. Her brush with death had unleashed feelings long suppressed.

With her eyes on Isabel, she said, “Oh, yes, there’s a lot that needs saying. You should be horsewhipped for being so ungrateful. I’d do it if you weren’t such a pitiable creature—”

“See here—” Stanley began, but Isabel’s cry drowned him out:

“You Irish bitch!”

She scooped a jagged rock from the ground and ran at Constance. George jumped in front of his wife, tore the rock away from Isabel, and hurled it toward the blazing pyre of the train.

Isabel whipped up her fist to strike him. George seized her forearm in his left hand and gradually but firmly forced her hand down. His voice shook.

“She’s right, you’re ungrateful. You’ve done nothing but heap unkindness on Constance ever since she came to Lehigh Station. She’s looked the other way—tried to forgive you—and so have I. But this is the end. She saved the twins, and instead of thanking her—”

“George, you’ve overstepped,” Stanley rumbled behind him.

George didn’t look at his brother. “Keep out of this. Isabel, I will always insist that my family be civil to you, but that’s all. Henceforward I don’t want to see you at Belvedere. Don’t ever set foot in my house.”

“You will not speak to my wife that way,” Stanley exclaimed, grabbing George’s shoulder. Stanley’s impulsive act was a match touched to an emotional fuse. George spun, slammed Stanley’s hand away by striking his forearm, then stepped back to set his stance just right.

Stanley was spluttering. Steady on his feet, George ignored the last faint plea of reason and did what he had long dreamed about. With all his might he hit Stanley in the stomach.

Isabel shrieked. Stanley gasped and so did George; he had struck so hard he thought his hand was broken.

“Papa,” one of the twins howled, and burst out crying. Stanley attempted to stay on his feet, but the blow had knocked him off balance. His arms windmilling, he staggered backward, then collapsed on his rump. The light of the burning cars made his cheeks glisten red. As he gazed up at his younger brother, a forlorn comprehension crept into his eyes. He struggled for breath. He was paunchy, soft-looking, as he sat there. Old, suddenly. Impotent.

God, I wish I hadn’t done that, George thought. But the blow could never be called back. It would exist in memory forever, an embarrassment to him and to all of them. It was odd that he could regret what he’d done and at the same time feel relief and a sense of pride.

He walked forward and held out his hand to his brother. “Let me help you up.”

Stanley grasped George’s forearm and pulled himself to his feet. He acknowledged the assistance with a flicker of his eyelids, but there was no gratitude in the glance—not that George expected any. There was, however, something else. An emotion George had seen, or at least suspected, before. Now it was unmistakable.

He’s afraid of me. He’s always been afraid of me.

If George had recognized that fear in the past, he had never recognized the power it gave him; not until now.

Stanley sidled past and reassured Isabel that he was all right. Then he turned to the twin who was crying. He picked the little boy up and comforted him. George and Constance held their children close. Billy went to Maude and stayed with her. No one said much during the next few minutes. A kind of shock had set in. George wasn’t sure whether the cause was the wreck or the fight afterward.

Stanley and Isabel avoided looking at George and his family. George’s guilt was fading rapidly. An accounting with Stanley was long overdue.

Some twenty minutes later, Virgilia arrived with five men from the hamlet of West Haven. Two of them bore Maude away on a pole-and-canvas litter. By then George had made up his mind to stop regretting his action.

When the sun rose, a couple of hundred railroad workers and volunteers were swarming over the site of the wreck. The Hazards were by then resting in a New Haven hotel. Virgilia decided to go on to Newport. Several servants were already there. The New Haven tradesmen, responding to the emergency and the chance for profit, brought stocks of clothing and fully outfitted the entire Hazard family.

By late morning rail service in both directions was restored. Virgilia’s train left at three. Billy volunteered to watch the children while they napped, so George and Constance accompanied Virgilia to the station, then went off to shop for some additional items. When they returned to the hotel, they looked in on Maude, who was still in bed. Two of her ribs had been broken, but apart from some dizziness, she claimed she felt fine.

“That’s good news, Mother,” George said. “I believe I’ll try to find Stanley.”

Maude looked at her son without reproof. “Where has he been all morning?”

“I don’t know.”

“He and Isabel and the children disappeared into their rooms right after breakfast,” Constance put in.

Maude sighed. “I’m happy you’re going to talk with him.”

George stroked his mustache with the tip of his index finger. “Not solely to apologize. Stanley and I have some things to straighten out.”

Resigned to it, she murmured, “I understand. I have seen it coming for quite a while. Perhaps this is as good a time as any.”

She closed her eyes and rested her hands, one on top of the other, on the clean counterpane. He was glad she understood. It made what he was about to do considerably easier.

He knocked softly at the door of his brother’s suite. Isabel answered, informing him coldly that Stanley was downstairs, in the saloon bar.

George found him hunched over a large glass of Kentucky whiskey.

He ordered one for himself but left it untasted. He made an effort to maintain a temperate tone as he said:

“I am going to assume responsibility for the company bank accounts.”

“Oh? You’ve spoken to Mother?” Stanley asked with weary bitterness.

“I have not. This is solely between the two of us. When we reach Newport, we’ll compose a letter to each of the banks we use.” His heart was beating fast. “From now on, my signature will be the only one that can authorize expenditures above fifty dollars. There’ll be no more private rail cars for a while.”

Stanley stared into the mahogany-bordered mirror behind the bar. Above it an antlered stag looked over their heads with glassy disinterest. Abruptly, Stanley laughed.

“I thought something like this was coming. I don’t give a damn. I’ve never liked the iron trade anyway, and you’ve pushed and pushed to take over the whole thing.”

George suppressed anger and continued to speak calmly. “I can give it my full attention. You’re developing other interests. I gather you wouldn’t be averse to holding political office.”

“Eventually,” Stanley agreed. “For one thing, it would get me away from Lehigh Station.”
And you
was the unspoken conclusion.

George avoided the bait. “Then I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding. I’m sorry for what I did last night.”

He held out his hand. Stanley glanced at it, then curled his fingers around his glass and bent forward, as if to protect it. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather drink by myself.”

“Whatever you say.”

George left the bar.

The others sensed that a change had taken place within the family. Isabel didn’t hide her resentment, but Stanley showed occasional flashes of relief. He laughed and joked as he hadn’t for years.

They remained in New Haven an extra day, completing and signing depositions about the accident for the railroad’s management. The following morning they rather nervously boarded another train for Rhode Island. They had been traveling about an hour when an incident took place that signaled that the transition of leadership was complete, and final.

They were talking about christening their summer place; all such estates in Newport had names. Stanley mentioned that in front of the house there was a broad and beautiful expanse of grass. He suggested the name Fairlawn.

“Very pretty,” Maude said. “But what do you think, George?”

George thought the name unimaginative. Then he remembered one of the lessons of West Point. It behooved an officer to show courtesy to a beaten opponent.

“I like it,” he said, smiling at his brother.

Disdainful, Isabel said, “Then I suppose that settles it.”

It did. Stanley looked boyishly grateful.

F
AIRLAWN WAS A SPLENDID,
airy house, three stories high and gleaming with a new coat of white paint. The landscaping had been neglected, however. Weeds choked the flower beds; dead limbs disfigured the trees. And the low brick wall surrounding the property needed mortaring. At George’s request, Stanley supervised the masons and gardeners. He appeared to enjoy himself.

The price of the house had included all the furnishings. The women liked very few of the pieces, however, and spent the first couple of days ordering replacements. Constance deferred to Isabel whenever possible. The effort did nothing to moderate Isabel’s animosity.

Everyone in the family kept as busy as possible, sensing it would help them forget the wreck. Maude’s injuries were the most obvious reminder. Her dizzy spells persisted, and she moved slowly because of the broken ribs. Constance suffered from nightmares, always a recapitulation of her struggle to escape from the burning car. William dreamed of the accident too; he awoke crying and thrashing every night for nearly two weeks.

The Mains arrived on the fifth of July, one day after President Taylor ate too many cucumbers and drank too much cold milk at a patriotic celebration and fell ill. On July 9 he died of
cholera morbus.
Some editorialists said he had really been killed by worry and the pressures of office, particularly those created by sectional antagonism. Millard Fillmore assumed the presidency on July 10.

By then the Mains had settled into their rented house, just a short distance away on Old Beach Road. Both families eased into the abundant pleasures of a Newport summertime. There were pony-cart rides and outings to the beach during the day, lawn games during long evenings sweet with the smell of freshly scythed grass. Newport Beach was close by but crowded; the family preferred a more private bathing area at the south end of the island, within sight of a jutting offshore formation local people called Spouting Rock.

At first Tillet seemed uncomfortable on Yankee soil. Soon, however, he renewed acquaintances with several other families from South Carolina, including the Izards, and after that he relaxed and enjoyed himself.

Except when he read the news from Washington. Fillmore intended to support Clay’s compromise bills, which were now seen as certain to pass, probably before the end of the year. A group of younger congressmen led by Stephen Douglas of Illinois had pledged to break the voting stalemate created by the old guard.

The four young people spent a great deal of time together. Both Ashton and Brett got along well with the stocky, cheerfully pugnacious Billy Hazard, though he was chiefly interested in Ashton. He was fifteen, she one year younger; Brett was a mere child of twelve.

Charles, fourteen, gave the impression of being the most mature of the foursome. His height had something to do with it; he was already a full head taller than Billy. He was handsome and prone to laugh a lot. Charles and Billy were as cordial as could be expected of two boys getting to know each other. Orry and George watched the new friendship with great interest.

George bought a skiff, and one evening after supper, the boys took it down to the beach to experiment. George and Orry went along to keep an eye on the neophyte sailors. Billy had a little experience with small boats, but Charles had none.

George and Orry sat on opposite sides of a big rock. The Atlantic was calm, with just enough breeze for fine sailing close to shore. Orry lifted a handful of sand and let it trickle away. The vacation seemed to be relaxing him. Yet on occasion George still detected a bitter undertone in his friend’s speech.

Not tonight, though. Orry smiled as he gazed toward the skiff. “Look at them. Re-chisel a few of the features and that could be the two of us. Stick and Stump the Second.”

George nodded and puffed his cigar. “I hope they’ll be as good friends at West Point as we were, even if they will be a year apart. Charles is a devilishly handsome fellow, isn’t he? Almost the perfect picture of the dashing Southern gentleman.”

Orry chuckled. “Who’d have believed our salt crow would turn into a hawk? He cleaned up right well, as the saying goes.”

“Your father says you deserve the credit.”

Orry shrugged. “Charles loves to scrap. When he found there were ways to do it without being tossed in jail or having everyone furious with him, it was a most impressive lesson. He’s learned it well.”

“And a lot of other things. I always thought I was pretty good with the ladies, but I can’t bow and kiss a woman’s hand as gracefully as he does. The first evening you came to Fairlawn, he fussed over my mother till she blushed like a girl.”

Rowdy shouts rang across the water, then a gleeful whoop and a splash. Billy dumped Charles off the skiff.

Orry and George jumped up. Charles quickly clambered back onto the little boat. He pointed at something on the horizon—something nonexistent—and when Billy turned to look, grabbed Billy’s belt and shirt and threw him in. Soaked, the two boys sat laughing in the skiff a few moments later.

“I’m proud of the way he’s turning out,” Orry admitted as he took his place on the rock again. “I had my share of regrets when I came home from Mexico. Charles has helped me banish some of them.”

“The change showed in your letters. It was welcome.”

“And this has been a welcome vacation. Well, in most respects. I still hate the stench of those weeds you smoke.”

George laughed. Orry stretched his right arm high above his head and yawned. The sunset flung their long, attenuated shadows across the beach. The wind picked up. Snaky veils of sand blew past them.