Mason's Daughter (17 page)

“Oh, now, stop that,” Clyde handed me his hanky. His voice grew softer. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m just concentrating on something and I plumb forgot you was in the car with me.” He patted my head. “Is Esther okay?”

“Esmeralda’s fine.” After wiping my eyes and honking into the hanky, I turned and sat facing forward in my seat again.

Clyde steered the car onto the road once more and we drove to the airstrip. Daddy paced up and down outside the manager’s office. Clyde got his duffel bag out of the trunk and I waited in the front seat. Daddy walked around to the back of the car to speak to Clyde, but I couldn’t hear what they said. When Clyde set the bag down, it clunked like there were heavy tools inside.

As Daddy walked by, I leaned over the edge of the open window and asked him if I could go for a ride today.

“What?” He frowned and glanced at Clyde.

“Can I, um, may I go for a ride today?”

“Sure, Clyde will take you. Just wait here or go play in the office until we’re ready to leave. Miss Weatheridge will give you some pencils and paper.”

“Not Clyde. Danny.”

But my father had already walked away. I opened the car door and followed him toward the office, but decided to look for Danny in the hangar instead. I wanted to be sure he knew I was allowed to take a short ride before his big trip with Daddy. Maybe he would do a crazy-eight loop, like I’d seen in the Saturday cartoons at the movie theater.

Daddy and the manager were talking to Danny in the manager’s office. There was a big window looking out into the hangar and Danny stood with his back to me. I tiptoed past toolboxes and storage bins. Daddy’s airplane was already parked on the airstrip next to the hangar.

Before I had taken ten steps, Clyde came around the corner from the airstrip and waved at Daddy. Then he went out the side door toward the car. All Esmeralda and I needed was the pilot.

I tucked my doll under my arm and headed for the plane. The passenger door was unlocked and I climbed in the front seat. Danny had called me ‘his little co-pilot’ last time, even though I didn’t do anything for the five minutes we circled around the airport. Maybe I’d learn to fly when I got older. I put Esmeralda in my lap and twisted sideways to find the seatbelt. It wasn’t too tight when I strapped it around both of us.

Danny tapped on the glass on the other side of the cockpit.

I grinned and gave him a thumbs-up, the way I’d seen Clyde do.

He shook his head. “Mr. Wallace says nobody’s flying anywhere today.” He opened the door and picked up a large envelope from the seat.

I felt like someone had just broken my favorite crayon on purpose. Frowning, I stuck out my lower lip. “But . . . but I really wanted–”

“Okay, okay, how about a quick spin on my motorcycle before I leave? Let me get the right packet from the manager, kiddo, and we’ll zoom.”

While Danny went to the office, I took Esmeralda to the parking lot and waited next to Danny’s motorcycle. I liked the red and orange flames he had painted on the tailpipes. “Vroom, vroom!” I imitated the sound of the motor for Esmeralda.

Danny returned with another envelope, which he tucked inside his jacket. He threw his right leg over the seat and pulled the motorcycle upright, releasing the kickstand. With Esmeralda snuggled under my arm, I jumped up and down with excitement. He started the engine and let the wheels roll forward a few feet, then he took my arm and swung me up behind him, as if we were riding a horse together.

“Uh-oh!” I squealed. “Esmeralda’s shoes have fallen off.”

Danny started to take off, but stopped when my father appeared, waving his arms like a traffic cop.

“Not this trip, Sally. You have to get off the motorcycle.”

“But you said–”

“Get off now!” He grabbed me by the arms and tried to pull me from the seat, but I held tight to Danny’s shirt. “Damn it!” He let go of one arm and pried my fingers open.

“No! No!” I screamed as he lifted me forward. “You said I could go.” I wiggled until he almost dropped me. Esmeralda tumbled to the pavement and I stretched out my arms to try to reach her. “My doll! You made her fall.”

Daddy shifted me sideways to carry me over his hip, then he whirled around and bent to pick up Esmeralda.

“She’s barefoot. We have to get her shoes.” I kicked and begged, but he didn’t listen and slung me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

He gestured with his thumb to Danny to get going. As Daddy returned to the manager’s office, I bounced along upside down, hanging over his shoulder, crying all the way.

Clyde waited for us and his face looked pale, like he’d seen a ghost. “Do you know when she climbed on?”

Daddy shook his head and let me slide to the floor. He sat down suddenly, as if he’d lost his balance.

They both took a few deep breaths and then Clyde said, “Come on, Sally. How ‘bout I buy you an ice cream cone on the way home?”

I wiped my eyes with the edge of my sleeve. “I don’t want ice cream. I want Esmeralda’s shoes.”

Clyde and my daddy traded looks, like there was something they were not going to say.

I stamped my feet. “Danny can bring them the next time he visits our house.”

But he didn’t. Danny and the shoes and my excitement about maybe learning to fly when I grow up all disappeared the next day when I heard that his motorcycle crashed soon after he left the airfield.

When Daddy told Mother the news of Danny’s death, she threw two china figurines at him, one after the other smashing against the wall, and then flopped on her bed, burying her sobs in her pillow. He didn’t hold her hand or pat her shoulder or even offer her an ice cream. He just walked out of her dressing room, leaving me to wait until her crying stopped.

I was worried she had smothered herself in the pillow. I asked her if she wanted a glass of water, but she screamed at me to get out of her room. I raced out into the hallway and burst into tears, until Mrs. Gussmann came and hugged them away. She explained that when Mother got upset, it was like she didn’t recognize anyone, even me, and I should ignore her nasty tone of voice. But I couldn’t forget how mean she sounded.

The next morning, Daddy left on a business trip, and I was glad he’d gone. Mother didn’t come down for meals until three days later, and there was nothing I could do to make either of us feel better. By the time she returned to the hospital the next day, I was starting to forget what Danny looked like, but Mother couldn’t even remember who he was.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The whimpering of an aborted siren summons me to my front porch. After the captain assures me someone will be in touch, he climbs aboard the last of the three red engines as it chugs its way through my circular driveway and stops at the far end. With the show over, the neighbors disappear inside their homes, and the street remains all but deserted.

Parked across from my house sits the long, gray limo I had seen at the art gallery on Saturday. I turn toward Angelique, who drifts across the trampled lawn to stand next to me. “What’s he doing here?”

“Waiting.” Angelique waves at him.

I scowl. “For what?”

“He’s concerned.” She coughs twice, from deep in her lungs. “And he’d like to be of any assistance, if you’d let him.”

My father gets out of the limo and crosses the street. Once he reaches the edge of my driveway, the fire captain hops off the truck to greet him. Of course they are previously acquainted, since Nate’s connections extend beyond ordinary boundaries. They exchange a few words, and the captain nods several times. Nate pulls a small white card from his inside suit pocket and hands it to the captain. They shake hands again, and my father walks toward us as the fire truck drives away.

“What was that all about?” I ask. His concern can wait forever, for all I care.

“I gather they suspect arson.” He glances at the ashes and debris in what is left of my garage. “I offered a reward for information, plus a bonus if it leads to an arrest.”

My heart thuds several beats as I stare at him. He can’t predict the outcome of his own actions, and yet there he stands, manipulating my life again with his fortune.

“Nate, that’s very generous of you.” Angelique weaves her arm through his and smiles at me. “But there are some other details you might want to hear.” She jerks her head toward my house several times, but I refuse to acknowledge her signal. She clears her throat. “Can we all go inside? Hard to believe, but the smoke out here bothers me.”

Before I can object or stall for an excuse, she ushers us up the sidewalk and through the front door. Consumed by a spell of coughing, Angelique heads for the kitchen in search of a glass of water.

My father stands in the entry under the chandelier and looks around my house as if estimating how much money he can make from its sale. “Nice job, finishing the inside like this.”

“Mother would have liked it.”

He jingles the coins in his pocket.

“In here, you two,” Angelique calls from the living room.

What the hell is she thinking?

My father waits for me to pass, then follows me through the doorway. Angelique has set a tray with three glasses and a pitcher of iced tea on the coffee table. Any other time, I wouldn’t mind if she assumed the job of hostess, but it is hard to see my father sitting calmly in the house I inherited from my mother.

“By this hour, Sally, you must be exhausted.” Angelique hands us each a glass of tea. “How do you need us to help?” She drops to a chair and lays her wrist on her forehead for a moment before she sits erect and holds her head high, signaling the queen’s court is in session again. “I can have three dinners sent over from Raúl’s restaurant.”

Us? Three? Has the smoke gotten to her brain? My gaze bounces from her face to my father’s and back. “Do you mean one extra for Colton?”

“Of course, that’ll make four if Mike finds him before dinner time.” She smiles. “Five, if we can get Mike to stay for supper.”

That charming Angelique. In addition to flirting and wheedling, I can now add maneuvering to her playbook. Damned if I will share a meal in my own house with Nate.

“There’s nothing anyone can do right now,” I say. “The fire captain will finish his report, Mike will take the investigation from there, and meanwhile I’ll call the insurance company to file a claim. Then I’ll have to find someone who can demolish the garage. Shouldn’t take long to rebuild. Carriage houses aren’t complicated, but my greenhouse came by special order.” I take a sip of tea. “I don’t know about the coverage on it.”

“I regret to tell you,” my father says as he sets his glass on a coaster, “the insurance company won’t pay until the inquiry is settled. If the investigator determines the cause is arson, the settlement will have to wait until he rules the policy holder is not at fault.”

My knees feel weak, and I plop on the couch next to Angelique.

“Ridiculous bureaucrats.” Angelique suppresses a sneer. “No one in his right mind is going to believe Sally set fire to her own house.”

I jerk so abruptly that my glass tumps over. Does she think the evidence won’t convince an insurance investigator my son resorted to arson? Every citizen in Mason’s Crossing has probably come to the same conclusion by now. Why wouldn’t they? I am starting to believe it myself.

Angelique dabs at the spreading liquid with paper napkins from the tray, but I end up going to the kitchen for a towel to finish the job. After she clears away the mess, she yawns and announces her intention to take a nap. “Unless you need me to keep vigil with you two until Colton shows up.”

“Go ahead and get some rest. I don’t know when Mike will be back.”

“Don’t worry. Mike knows all the hiding places around here. Let’s only hope Colton didn’t hitch a ride with someone.” She turns toward the doorway and the stairs beyond. “He could be halfway to Louisiana by now, well outside Mike’s jurisdiction.” She yawns again and stretches her arms out in front of her, twisting her shoulders from side to side as if she hears samba music, before she pads out of the room.

Her words drop a bomb. Who would be authorized to locate or detain Colton if he flees Mason’s Crossing, much less the county or the state? Sure, Mike can make some phone calls to his associates, but will they exert themselves to find a possible runaway? They will if they think he could be a fugitive, an arsonist.

There has to be some other way to keep Mike’s search for Colton out of the official pipeline, and especially out of the news. I can imagine my son hiding until after sunset, afraid to show his face, starved, shivering, ready to faint. Sirens, voices, flashlights chase him deeper into the woods, beyond my power to rescue him. Who can save him from the darkness gobbling up his life?

“So, when Mike Avery finds him, will he bring your son here?”

I blink. My father’s voice breaks through the cloud surrounding me, though I refuse to see him as anything but a threat. Angelique might believe introducing Colton to his grandfather will provide the saving grace for my confused, unhappy son, but I know better. The familiar dislike boils inside me, until I remind myself she always acts from her heart. “
If
he can find him.”

Nate frowns, as if the information doesn’t add up. “He ran away from home.”

My eyes burn as I stare at him. “Will you really pay out a large sum if Mike Avery takes the arsonist into custody?”

“I already offered it to the captain.”

“You don’t know what you’ve just done.” I want to laugh with an avalanche of derision. “You’ll have to hand over the reward money to me if it turns out to be my own son.”

How ‘bout them rotten apples, Mother?

“I see.”

Doesn’t anything faze him? “You don’t see anything.” I stand up. “You never have.”

“What do you mean?”

Here is my chance to lay the charges at his feet and watch him struggle, the man I’ve hated almost all my life. What he did to my mother is inexcusable. How can I ever forgive him for deserting us? There can be no defense for his cowardice. I shake my head.

“If you have something to say after all this time, Sally, I’m willing to hear it.”

God, he acts cool. Doesn’t he realize my accusations will draw blood? I want him to limp back to his big, fancy-assed limo and slink out of town. It won’t make any difference to him or to our broken relationship, but it’s the only satisfaction I will ever get.

I stand behind my chair, ready to use it for a battering ram, and then step in front of it. I want him to get the full force of my anger. “You’re the one who ran away. Every time Mother needed something, you were gone on a trip. Your business deals meant more to you than your family.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, no? You were never there the times she got sick. The servants took better care of her than you did.”

“Mrs. Gussmann kept me informed of her condition. I tried to make your mother happy.”

“Not you. I was the one who did that.”

He rises from his seat and paces toward the double doors leading to the library. “Some women thrive when they have children. I thought motherhood would help her . . . get back what she lost.”

“And what was that?”

“Balance in her life.” He turns to face the center of the room. “There were so many highs and lows. She rarely seemed to function at a regular pace.”

“So you blame her? That’s rich. You caused the ups and downs. Never around, never involved. The biggest mistake she made was to marry you.”

He grimaces, as if my verbal knife has struck a nerve. “You didn’t know her in the beginning, before her illness. I never imagined such a young beautiful girl would love me so much. She was only seventeen, and I was much older than she.” He sighs, a sound I’ve never heard from him before. “Stability. That’s what I thought she needed, after her father died.”

Nate stretches open his palm and studies the inside of his hand. “When you came along, I hoped tending a baby would help her settle into a routine, but she grew even more unpredictable. I tried to understand her, but I never knew what I would find at home when I returned.” He walks slowly toward the windows overlooking the gardens on the side of the house. “She might be tearing out the ceiling in the dining room or having the pool moved to the other side of the lawn. Other times, she couldn’t find the strength to get out of bed.”

“Mother felt overwhelmed by sadness and couldn’t help herself. She thought you’d deserted her.”

His voice softens. “I always came back, didn’t I?”

“But once she got to be too much for you to handle, you exiled her to the mental institution.”

His tone grows stern as he parts the sheer curtains and rests his hand on the windowsill. “I had to.”

“No, you didn’t. I was old enough to understand her moods. I could have kept her happy.” I raise my voice. “She missed me. You took us away from each other!”

“You don’t understand what happened–”

“I know you paid other people to say she was
crazy
! That’s how you justified the horrible thing you did. But she
loved
me.”

“I couldn’t let her stay at home. I was afraid to leave her with you.”

“Why? What were you afraid of?”

He shakes his head and lets his hand drop to his side.

“My mother wanted to stay at home and instead you sent her away,” I yell. “I needed her. How could you do that to us?”

My father whirls to face me. “Because she tried to kill you.”

The bones in my legs might as well be melting. I grab the back of my chair. The room spins. After a few deep breaths, the nausea passes, replaced by a blast of heat, starting at my waist and gushing up to my scalp. “She would never have . . . ever hurt me.”

“Not in her rational moments.” He rubs his forehead. “You don’t remember what happened the first time.” My father looks directly into my eyes. “Weesie knew I had a trip coming up, and she was angry. She pitched one of her fits before I left for Toronto. Two days later, Mrs. Gussmann phoned the embassy and told me your mother threatened to jump over the railing of the third floor balcony with you in her arms.”

“I don’t recall any of that.”

“How could you remember? You were only a toddler, not even two years old yet.”

My mind’s eye was fuzzy, like it was covered with a veil. The sound of deep water rushed by, below my feet. I looked down through an iron maze where gray mist floated toward the sky. There was no water, only laughter. The clouds drifted close enough to touch, but they shied away from my fingertips. I clung to the tree while its trunk swayed in the wind. Its branches reached for me and held me close as the wind tried to lift me and carry me over the edge of . . . what?

We climbed higher than the treetops. We? When did I become not one, but two? If the mist could not hold us, the music would. The violin’s tune tickled the soles of our bare feet, as a chorus of singers called my name. Her name. Come back, they sang.

The wind increased its strength, and she, the one not I, pulled the scarf from around our necks and shoulders and tossed it into the arms of the breeze. At first it rose and fluttered like a young bird, and we laughed again. But it could not fly and it fell. Disappeared from sight, down into the gray mist below our feet.

The violin’s strings grew silent one by one, as slow chatter drowned its notes. Someone coaxed us away from the sky and pulled me apart from her. The music turned heavy and sad, from a cello doomed to weep. I was tucked and tied into a different scarf, against some other tree trunk. There was neither breeze nor any laughter.