The Americans (72 page)

to "Will we see him again while we're here?" "No." He realized he was immensely relieved. "But you always thought so much of him-was "That was a long time ago. We all grow up." He flexed the fingers of his right hand. He would feel a lasting regret about hitting his stepbrother. But Carter had, after all, invited it with his churlish remarks about Jo. Well, they had served warning on each other. If there was friction in the future, so be it. The Carter Kent of yesterday was not the Carter Kent of today and, sad though that was, Will would accept it. Jo would make it much easier. Looking into her eyes with boundless affection, he leaned forward and scandalized two elderly ladies by kissing her on the mouth. "We all grow up," he said again. "Thank God." The following weekend, William Randolph Hearst's yacht Aquila left San Francisco harbor and steamed south toward Senator Hearst's 48,000-acre Piedra Blanca ranch. The ranch was an old Spanish grant in San Luis Obispo county; it had been raw land when the Senator purchased it, but now there was a spacious ranch house on a slope above the sea, and even a sturdy wharf jutting into San Simeon Bay. Since the run down the coast was just about two hundred miles, Willie frequently took excursion parties there for long weekends. It could not be said that his guests were his friends. He had few; Carter was one of the chosen. Mostly-as on this occasion-those traveling aboard the superbly appointed yacht were associates and employees from the paper. They had weighed anchor at eight in the morning. As the yacht steamed south in the light Pacific chop, a splendid breakfast including broiled trout, chicken in wine, and rum omelets was served to the ladies and gentlemen in the main saloon. Competitors, and even the Senator, often called the free-spending young publisher Wasteful Willie, but when it came to generosity to his employees, their permanent mistresses, or temporary female friends, no one minded that he was extravagant After consuming a third glass of champagne, Carter rose from the table. Willie had told him earlier that he wanted to speak privately. As they left the saloon, the waspish Mr. Bierce was explaining his employer's theories of journalism to a reporter from Seattle: "comy see, Templeton, the difference between your indifferently successful paper and ours is Mr. Hearst's understanding that stupefying news events do not happen every day. Yet what we wish to publish-every day-is stupefying news. We therefore create it." The guest looked skeptical, while a pretty, genteel and well-dressed girl seated near Bierce watched admiringly. She and Willie exchanged glances as the young publisher went out with Carter. Willie had found Tessie Powers waiting tables in a Cambridge restaurant. He had kept her during his undergraduate days. Following his dismissal from Harvard, he had brought her West and installed ker in his fine house on a Sausalko hillside. On deck, Willie swung his walking stick in a relaxed way. He had a whole collection of them, including a trick one which whistled. Carter had adopted the fashion for himself. Two elegant young gentlemen, they strolled forward to Aquila's bow. Willie looked little different than he had at Harvard. More prosperous, perhaps, but physically, he had hardly changed. Carter felt nervous. What was this all about? The flawless morning, the spectacularly beautiful California coast slipping by, the sense of being surrounded by fine, influential friends-all these paled because he knew something was on Willie's mind. At last Willie said: "I don't want to spoil the trip with an endless discussion of the city we left behind, so let's conclude our business now and enjoy ourselves." Frowning, Carter said, "I didn't know we had business to conduct." "Well, ah-was That shy, nervous smile. "I have some." He looked closely at his companion. "Because we're friends I must issue a warning to you. I'm going to get the Boss." Carter chuckled, although in a nervous way. "That's hardly news. You've been after Buckley for years. I think he got that idea when you helped defeat the city charter revision he and that Republican, Bill Higgins cooked up." "It was a fraud," Willie said, squinting at the ocean. "It would have resulted in even stronger boss rule-why are you smiling?" "Because sometimes, I'm damned if I can figure you out. Willie the millionaire-Willie the aristocrat-Willie the workingman's friend. It doesn't fit together." "No, it doesn't," Willie acknowledged with a slight smile. "I don't know where I came by that streak of democracy. Probably my father picked it up wandering around the desert searching for a mother lode. You don't meet princes or plutocrats in the diggings, and you soon come to appreciate how hard most men work for the little they get. But you're quite right, I do stand with the grip- man." He was referring to the mythical San Francisco cable car worker who set the standards for what the paper would publish, and how it would publish it. Carter had frequently heard the litany: "If it wouldn't amaze the grip- man, don't print it. If he wouldn't understand it, rewrite it. If it's against his interests, I'm against it too." "In any case," Willie went on, "I'm compelled to tell you that powerful forces are forming an alliance against the Boss. It isn't merely a newspaper crusade." "Yes, I've caught hints of that." Willie bent forward, a queer, stork-like figure in the splendid sunshine; he seemed to be peering at his friend to make certain he understood: "Buckley's going down, Carter. The machine will fly apart. Don't get hit by the pieces." Carter took a deep breath. "I appreciate the warning. And I won't. First and foremost, I look after Carter Kent." Willie coughed. "I really am not comfortable in this role-was Carter frowned. "What role?" "Middle man. I was-asked to approach you." "By whom?" "Certain gentlemen who must as yet remain anonymous. Certain influential people organizing a reform coalition whose object would be Buckley's ouster." He understood then. "You're talking about Democrats. Members of the Boss's own party." After some deliberation, Willie said, "I won't deny that assertion. These gentlemen are wondering how badly you want to protect yourself from a debacle that will surely destroy a great many careers. Enough to cooperate, perhaps? Pass along information if it's ever requested?" Hastily he raised his hands. "This is all theoretical, you must appreciate -" Carter gazed at the sunlit water and the wild, lonely coast running into the south. This was something new; something disturbing, and not at all clear cut. Democrats were conspiring against Democrats. Willie was clearly interested in seeing Carter save himself, yet at the same time was uncomfortable over the treachery that would be involved. He thought of the past. Of all the hard lessons he'd learned. Would he ignore those lessons now? When the question was framed that way, it took him only an instant to make his decision. "I'd be happy to have an exploratory discussion with these gentlemen, Willie. At some safe, confidential location, naturally. I'm not saying I would cooperate. But I'll discuss it." With a relieved smile, Willie whacked his stick on the rail. "Splendid. That's all I need to know. You have a promising future, and I hate to see it cut short, though I was hesitant to make the overture. You've served old Chris Buckley well up to now." Willie murmured something that sounded like, "Mmm," and leaned his elbows on the rail, scanning the sea. Astern, members of the cruise party were coming out of the saloon, laughing and talking loudly. Carter tried to subdue the remorse he felt about his decision. Buckley had befriended and trusted him, and now he was preparing to betray that trust if it became necessary to save his own hide. Well, what of it? The lifeboat analogy was valid. Even if it did make him feel guilty. He fought the guilt and, ironically, just as he was beginning to overcome it, Willie caused it to flood back by saying: "A shame your stepbrother couldn't join us." "Oh-was This shrug was far too studied. Willie noticed. "comhe preferred to stay and see the sights. Besides, wives are never comfortable on these little trips. "YouVe seen very little of your stepbrother." "That's true." Anger welled up, but Carter forced a brittle smile. "We don't have much in common anymore." "I think you told me just before he arrived that he was a doctor." "That's right." "Quite ambitious, too." Carter's face hardened. Eyes fixed on the immensity of the Pacific, he said, "I was wrong about that." Then the past, and the ties of blood, obliterated cynicism and tore the next words from him. "My stepbrother is the decent one in our family. I'm afraid 111 have to be content being the successful one." Willie turned his head sharply, and started to speak. But he didn't know how to answer such a strange remark; one so filled with pain. As was Carter Kent's face. "I 78He's gotten value for what he's paid," Carter said. "He's old enough to know that on a sinking ship, one man doesn't ask another for permission to jump into the lifeboat." caret Epilogue *, was And Make a Mark A FEW DAYS BEFORE Christmas that same year, Gideon was moved to compose a year-end editorial for the Union. On the evening he went into his office at home to work, the house on Beacon Street was already festively decorated. The rooms were fragrant with the smell of pine boughs, candle wax, popping corn, and the spiced apples Julia was preparing in the kitchen. A special effort to give the house a holiday air had seemed desirable since all three of the younger Kents would be arriving by train to spend the week between Christmas and New Year's. Carter was coming all the way from the West Coast While Gideon located paper and a pen, he tried to banish thoughts of his failing health. Of late the pains in his chest had become more frequent and more severe. Just the short walk from the dining room to the office left him winded. He laid his writing materials on the desk, then warmed his hands at the fireplace. The office felt cozy. A heavy snow had fallen during the afternoon, settling in large, loaf- like mounds on the sills. The storm had passed rapidly out to sea and now the evening was clear and starry. Distantly, carolers sang. It would be a treat to have the entire family together, even though there were definite signs of strain. It was no secret that Will and Carter had quarreled when Will and Jo were in San Francisco on their wedding trip. Will took all the blame. And he'd sent Carter a formal apology. Neither of them would go into detail about the cause of the quarrel -Julia had questioned Carter in several letters-but both young men let it be known that they had fundamental disagreements which would forever keep them from being as close as they once were. Perhaps that kind of tension and separation was to be expected, Gideon thought as he walked slowly back to his desk. He and his brothers, Matt and Jeremiah, had taken separate paths. The country was becoming a sprawling, diverse place too-so why think it unusual for an American family to display some of that diversity? The Kents were certainly doing so. Will, for example, showed every sign of becoming a reformer; the kind of man damned in public and feared in private by those he opposed. In the short time he'd been in practice in the Mulberry Bend, with his friend Drew as his partner and his wife managing the office and serving as a visiting nurse, Will had become a friend and staunch ally of Jacob Riis. Riis's book on the New York slums had created a powerful movement for reform. Will helped that movement by writing to, and testifying before, any state or municipal agency responsible for enacting and enforcing health or real estate laws. Once Gideon had feared that Will cared about nothing except personal security and prestige. How wrong he'd been. Will's decision to marry Jo Hastings had wrenched the young man around a full hundred and eighty degrees. Gideon was immensely proud of his son. Eventually, in his own way, Will would live up to the family tradition, and carry it on. He would make a lasting mark. Carter was another matter. He was still working for Boss Buckley, but watching local developments very closely. In a recent note to Julia, he'd said that Buckley's enemies were trying to empanel a special grand jury in Sacramento. The jury's stated purpose was to investigate the activities of San Francisco's paid lobbyist. But that was only a diversion. Buckley, and the Buckley organization, were the true targets of reform elements in the Democratic party. Carter claimed the reformers really wanted Buckley's power for themselves. The worsening situation, as well as Carter's own ambition, had prompted him to think of moving to a larger- and safer-arena. Washington.- By means of his friendship with young Hearst, he thought it might be possible to gain the notice of Senator Hearst and, through him, some kind of political appointment in the nation's capital. Once there, he'd have a whole range of new options available. But he had to protect himself until it all worked out. He'd hinted to Julia that he had made a secret overture to the San Francisco reform group. He closed his letter by saying that some might consider his plans a betrayal of his employer, but he did not. It was a matter of survival. He was sure Buckley would have done the very same thing in his position. In Gideon's opinion, Carter was not precisely dishonest, but he was a young man who savored power, and wanted more. Whether that power would corrupt him completely, Gideon couldn't say. It corrupted many politicians-and Carter already showed signs of being tainted. Yet politics might be the only arena in which Carter could accomplish anything even remotely worthwhile. He'd evidently made a good record in San Francisco. He'd risen rapidly in the local party organization. Gideon suspected that his stepson would make a mark, though whether it would be an entirely admirable one remained to be se caret not. If he went to Washington-a pit of trimmers and privilege-seekers-the outlook was doubtful. Make a mark. The words which came to mind so easily, were a painful reminder of his own shortcomings. Another constriction in his chest bent him over his desk for half a minute. After the pain passed, he took several deep breaths, nearly gasping to get them. When his breathing became more or less normal again, he glanced at the portrait of the family's founder. As always, the determined set of the jaw and the faintly truculent expression in the painted eyes brought a smile to Gideon's face. How he wished he could have spent even five minutes with old Philip. He knew they would have liked and understood one another. Yet thoughts of Philip, and Philip's remarkable life-so well summarized by the briquet, the tea bottle, and the Kentucky rifle-only served to reinforce Gideon's feeling of