Hers the Kingdom (55 page)

     For the first time, Wen flushed.

     "Nothing like that, Mother. Of course I don't wish to take your place. It is just . . . well, friends of mine, people who knew and respected Father, they wonder if forming the company was the wise course of action, given the economic circumstances . . ."

     She cut him off. Her patience was thinning. "Since the businesses are thriving in the consolidated company, I can't quite imagine what your friends mean, but in any case it was your father's best judgment, and since he was the one who amassed the fortune, I see no reason in refuting him."

     "Yes, well," Wen said, muttering now, "Father could not have foreseen, of course . . ."

     Willa was tired of the talk, tired of trying to reach some agreeable plane on which she could live with her son. "Wen," she said, "if you wish to study the business, you are welcome to join us. I know that Joseph will be happy to show you exactly what we are doing. He will explain what we plan to do and find a way for you to learn all you need to know to fit into our organization. I will have to be blunt—I have no intention of turning my position over to you, not now and not in the near future. I happen to like being at the top of a business. There will be plenty of room for you to join me, and plenty of time in which to do it. But I suggest that you aim your sights a bit lower. You will first have to prove yourself, to me and to Joseph."

     These words had a peculiar effect on Wen. His face flushed deep red and he began to rub the palms of his hands on his pants.

     "Prove myself," he exploded, "to Joseph Brennan? To that . . . Irishman?" He spat it out. "There are some things you don't understand, Mother. The Joseph Brennans of this world—they go to schools like Fordham and think they are educated, when really they're not first-rate. Joseph Brennan, well . . . I don't know if you have any idea . . . Father certainly could not have known that Brennan would involve himself with that radical bunch that call themselves 'Lincoln Republicans.' I'm certain Father would not have approved, not at all."

     Willa allowed herself a tight smile. "I do know, Wen," she said, "I make it a point to know what is going on in the world. I wonder how much you know about the Good Government League? The Lincoln Republicans are trying, with some success, to break the grip of the Southern Pacific on the state of California. If you know anything at all about the history of this family, of our long struggle to keep the Southern Pacific out of the Malibu, you should know that we are in full accord."

     "On the matter of the railroad, perhaps," Wen agreed, "but Brennan and his bunch are also calling for regulation of utilities, and that will hurt us. And workmen's compensation and the conservation of forests, well—I for one don't want the government or any trade union dictating what we must pay our miners, or what trees we can cut in our forests."

     She answered carefully. "Joseph and I have had more conversations than you could imagine about any conflict of interest on his part. He has offered to resign on a number of occasions, when he felt that the interests of the company were in conflict with his conscience. It has always been my opinion that good business practices can and must work in concert with the best interests of the workers, and with such things as conservation of our resources. We must not cut down all of our forests, or what will be left for your children? We must not rip all of the coal out of the earth and, in the process, kill miners as if they were dispensable because of poor safety practices."

     Wen looked at her with scarcely concealed contempt. "You need me more than I thought," he said.

     She had had enough. "What do you think of women's suffrage, Wen? And the initiative, referendum, and recall—remember those?"

     His blank look told her that he had little understanding of the political process. "Well, just tell me what you think about women's suffrage. Would you give them the right to vote?" Her tone was falsely cheerful.

     "No, Mother, I would not," he answered. "The women I most admire are those who understand that their highest calling is as wife and mother, who feel that is power enough."

     "Oh, Wen," she sighed, "that really is enough. I know we haven't made any decisions at all, but let's do some thinking now, and approach the whole issue again in a day or so."

     Still, Wen sat. He had something more to say, and he was turning words over in his mind, trying to start. Willa waited.

     "Mr. Emory came to see me when he was in Boston a few weeks back," he finally blurted. "Oh, don't worry, Mother . . . He started by telling me he understands that he is not well loved by our family and that he had no intention of compromising me."

     "Compromising . . . did he use that word?" Willa asked.

     "Why yes, I believe so. Something like that. At any rate, he said nothing very substantial, we had a nice chat, that was all. He can really be quite charming, Mother. After all the stories, I had expected a monster with sharp teeth."

     "Was it from Charles Emory that you learned about Joseph Brennan's political activities?" she demanded.

     "Why do you say that?" he came back sharply. "I know many people in Santa Monica, I have other sources of information."

     "It was Charles," she said. "Stop right there, Wen. Charles Emory is a dangerous man, but you can believe what you want. If you don't wish to take my word, so be it, because I don't propose to try to convince you. I will tell you this much, however. Joseph
Brennan is as good a friend as this family ever had, and you of all people have first-hand knowledge of that. He is a good and a decent man, and your father trusted him implicitly. So, too, do I. So if you expect to join the family business—which I direct, with Joseph's invaluable help—you had better understand from the start that you are going to have to earn our respect, Joseph's and mine."

     "And if I don't choose to accept Brennan as my superior?" he asked, flushing.

     Willa looked at him with a mixture of pity and contempt. "You will be twenty-one next year. As I remember, according to the terms of your trust you will have complete control of those funds. You should be able to live respectably—if not lavishly—on the income from your trust. Your father and I decided, when the funds were set up, that we wanted our children to be truly independent of us at age twenty-one. So it seems to me that you are free to do whatever you wish, with the exception of supplanting either Joseph or me at the company."

     "When Father was my age, he had control of the whole of his father's business."

     "Your father's mother was not alive," she said. She did not say that he was no match for the man his father had been at twenty-one.

     "I'll be on my way, then," he said, somewhat pathetically.

     "On your way? Where?" she said. "You've only just come home."

     "Home?" he answered. "How can this be home, when I'm only welcome when the servants are away?"

     Willa nodded. She felt a dull ache in the center of her. Something was over, done with. Wen was right. The Malibu was not home to him, and it never would be.

     Watching him drive off, unable to think of any comforting words, I said only, "Thad seems to be happy to be home."

     "I hope I am able to mend fences with Thad better than I did with Wen," Willa said. I put my arm around her waist, and she
put hers around me. We stood there for a time, watching the red motorcar throw up its trail of dust as it roared down the avenue of palms.

     Willa clapped her hands as if to clear the air. "Speaking of fences," she said, "I've decided to go ahead with the building of a fence across the beach road at Las Flores, at that point where the palisades leave only a narrow strip between them and the beach. The warning signs we've posted have done no good at all. It's time for a fence."

     "Are you sure?" I asked, doubt in my voice. "It might just stir up folks—things have been quiet lately."

     "Quiet, maybe, but all sorts of people are passing to and fro through the ranch. I run into some of them every time I go out, and I'm beginning to see the remnants of fires they build. Then there are the losses we've been taking in the herd. Ignacio is worried about the rustlers."

     "I doubt a gate will keep rustlers out."

     "You're probably right, but it will let everybody know I am losing patience with the idea that they have a right to come and go at their pleasure."

     Wen had left and Willa was about to put up a fence so that whoever came, came at her bidding. I did not tell her what I was thinking—I did not say that I wondered if she were locking Wen out, along with all the others who would try to wrest control from her. I said nothing because I knew that the lines were drawn, that she and Wen would never be able to act in concert, that whatever might have been between them was no longer possible. It would not do, I knew, to look for villains. Still, I could not help noting how often Charles Emory surfaced at painful times in our family's life.

We sat on the verandah, Porter, Kit, and I, in the late afternoon. The two had a large bowl of peas between them which they were to
shell for our supper. I loved watching them work—Porter opening a pod, studying the groupings of the peas as if they held some secret message, counting them. And Kit, shelling three or four in the space of the time Porter took to do one, working quietly and steadily, responding to whatever he might have to say. Thad teasingly called them Grandma and Grandpa, because they were "such mature four-year-olds." That made Kit spill over with laughter.

     The two were a continuing puzzle to the house servants. They were almost constantly together, yet they seemed never to disagree. It was assumed that Porter was the leader since Kit almost always walked in his wake. In fact, the balance they achieved was almost perfect. He was tall, intense, always questioning while she, being smaller and quicker, tended to follow through. She never hurried him; he never failed to listen to whatever she might have to say. Others credited them with having some magical connection because they were twins.

     One day, as Wing Soong and I sat watching them, I said, "He is so like you—so gentle and strong, and so filled with curiosity. I think he is going to be a magnificent man."

     Soong had smiled, and—perhaps because of the homage I had paid, allowed himself to offer a rare opinion. "Sometimes I look at them—our twins—and I see you and me, without our chains. She looks so much like you, Lena—that beautifully delicate face, the same generous spirit, but without your crippled back. And Porter, though I feel his best qualities are more akin to yours, sometimes I think that he will be able to do so much more than I, because he is free of the stigma of mixed race."

     Now, shelling peas, I allowed myself a secret smile. It did not escape Kit. "Are you feeling happy, Auntie?" she asked, but before I could answer, Porter interrupted.

     "My big brother Owen did not stay long. Why?"

     Kit nodded. She was wondering, too. "Wen's finished college," I said, "now he must begin to work. That is what a man must do, work." I hoped it was enough.

     Porter nodded wisely. "I understand," he said, "all societies are built on the labor of the working class."

     I flinched. At least Willa was not there to hear. I would have to speak to Soong about sharing his socialistic sympathies with our son. Especially after Wen's diatribe, it would not do for the family to separate into opposing political camps.

     "I work," Kit said. "So does Auntie. So does Mama."

     "We all work, sweet," I answered, "though I do believe that you and I are doing a larger share than Porter here."

     Kit laughed. "Porter gives three peas to his mouth and one to the bowl."

     His dark eyes lit with mischief, and he tried not to chew the crunchy peas that he had just popped into his mouth.

Thad was out, roaming the ranch, for his first full week at home. We saw him in the evening, when he would return from a day on the range, dusty, tired, and happy. His neck became sunburned, his hands raw. Everything he saw seemed to please him.