The Great Plains (7 page)

But if the right choice had been made for all the correct reasons, why did he feel so adrift?

Aloysius backed away from the door and continued along the hallway. He passed the dark of the bay window where the passageway turned and listened to the sound of his own footsteps as he neared his escape. He would never return to the asylum. He would never see his niece again.

The baby began to cry and instantly an unearthly scream echoed through the building. It was Philomena. Deep inside, Aloysius yearned to do the same. He was mad at the world, at the Apaches, at his dead brother, at Harry Fitzgerald. He was mad at Ginny and his beloved father for sending them to such a ruthless frontier. Most of all he was mad at his niece, unable to fathom how a child of her breeding could choose to forget her old life so completely.

Aloysius gathered up his overcoat from the brass hook on the wall at the entrance to the asylum and swung it over his shoulder, before heading directly for his surrey. The dawn air was cold. It nipped at his cheeks as he placed the baby in the basket on the seat beside him. He draped the coat across his knees, wrapped Annie's travelling rug around his shoulders and flicked the reins impatiently at the hungry horse, who had waited for him these many hours. Soon they were trotting down the dirt road, the baby bawling, the last of the stars fading through the foliage overhead.

It was then that it struck Aloysius, something that he'd said to Annie,
that a mother would do anything to keep her children.
It was the most inconceivable of thoughts, however, what if Philomena
did
remember who she was. What if his niece had understood what he'd been saying all along?

December, 1886 – Dallas, Texas

Annie stared at the crying baby in the basket and then, lifting the carrier, placed it on the table closest to the fireplace, where the child would receive the benefit of the flames' warmth. Aloysius's wife had been astounded upon his arrival with the baby some hours ago and time had done little to improve her disposition.

‘I cannot believe you would bring the child here without first having the courtesy to discuss it with me.'

It was as if his detailed explanation of what had transpired at the asylum had been totally ignored, but at least, Aloysius decided, his wife was deigning to speak to him. They were sitting in the drawing room awaiting the arrival of the promised wet-nurse. Tea had been served with small moist cakes and Aloysius had tried not to gorge himself. The night's events had left him tired and hungry; moreover, he was not of a mind to tolerate any argument. ‘Must I repeat my reasoning, Annie? What would you have done? Let the baby be taken in by total strangers? Look at her. She's a beauty and clearly white-skinned. Why, even now at this early stage of her young life the Wade resemblance is visible.'

‘Well, I see you are enchanted by her, but then most men are overwhelmed by babies.' Annie seated herself on the chaise-lounge and began to cool herself with an ivory-handled fan. Despite the wintery temperature her wrist flicked back and forth until a small tempest blew tendrils of hair about her face.

Aloysius passed the plate of small cakes to his wife. She waved the food away.

‘There was no time for consultation, Annie.'

‘Of course there was,' she disagreed, snapping the fan shut. ‘The baby could have been left at the asylum until we'd had a chance to discuss the matter.'

He rang for more tea. The maid appeared almost immediately. Aloysius guessed the young woman was eavesdropping, keen for a snippet of gossip, eager to discover who the child belonged to. ‘Maryanne, more tea please and tell the cook I would like a late breakfast of bacon and eggs before I leave for the office.'

‘Yes, sir,' Maryanne replied pleasantly. Taking the silver teapot, she walked close to the basket, slowing to peer at the baby within on her way out.

‘You can't possibly be thinking of going out, Aloysius?' Annie complained once the maid had departed. ‘What am I to do with a starving baby? What do I tell our family?'

‘The truth,' Aloysius said calmly. ‘We have taken the child in to be raised as one of our own. Dr Fitzgerald believes that Philomena's grandchild will be moulded by and flourish under our care and so we will do our part to ensure that she is welcomed as a member of this family, which I might add,' Aloysius concluded firmly, ‘she is.'

‘But –'

‘This baby,' he pointed at the basket, ‘is Joseph and Ginny's great-grandchild.' His voice had risen to a shout. ‘And in their absence we shall raise the baby that their daughter, my niece, cannot.' He was puffed and red in the face by the time he'd finished speaking, but his words had the desired effect. Aloysius watched as his wife rose stiffly, smoothed her skirt and approached the basket. She lifted the baby and instantly the child stopped crying.

‘Did Philomena see her?' she asked coolly.

‘No, there was no point. It would only have caused distress once the baby was taken from her.'

Annie held the infant at arm's length. ‘And the doctor believes she will be quite normal?'

Aloysius joined his wife as she rested the tiny form next to her shoulder. ‘Clearly the Wade heredity has dominated the inferior bloodline. We can only rejoice that this blessing has arisen from such unspeakable tragedy.'

‘Of course,' Annie agreed.

By her tone Aloysius knew that his wife did not share his enthusiasm. Annie's hand rested on the baby's back. Aloysius patted it affectionately. ‘It is not what I expected, as you know, but we must take what God sees fit to bestow.'

‘None of it has been as we hoped, Aloysius. Philomena's abduction has clouded our married life.' Annie jiggled the child on her shoulder.

‘Do you think you will grow to love this little one?'

Annie cradled the baby's head protectively. ‘Don't ask too much of me too soon, Aloysius. I will play my part in what fate has handed to us. Anything else must come with time. In spite of the child's outward appearance there will be issues regarding her heritage for years to come. She is of mixed blood and no amount of money or education or position in society will alter that fact.'

‘I'm aware of that and I intend to do my utmost to shield her from the past.'

‘You won't be able to protect her forever, Aloysius.'

‘Maybe not, but I'll do my best, with the support of our family. You best gather them all together for the announcement, Annie, the announcement and the introduction to the newest member of the Wade family. In the meantime I'll meet with Clarence Hocking today and have the necessary papers drawn up.'

‘What papers?'

‘Philomena's granddaughter will be my ward.'

‘I see. You have been quick to make these decisions.' Annie's voice grew taut.

‘The child must be protected, Annie, should anything happen to us she would be at the mercy of our children. I don't want her to be forced to rely on their generosity, nor do I want our children to feel obliged to care for her. She must have her own place in the family, with monies to match. It is only fair.'

‘Joseph was very fortunate to have a brother such as you.'

‘I am only doing what I hope they would have done for me had our roles been reversed.'

‘And what shall we name the child?'

The baby was crying again. It was a soft, plaintive sound as if the infant wept for its mother, and for the grandmother she would never know. Aloysius recalled the nurse at the asylum commenting on how placid the baby was, how serene. Taking the child from Annie's embrace, he gathered the little girl up in his arms. How she reminded him of Philomena when she was a babe, and Philomena had grown up into a beautiful woman, the image of her beloved mother Ginny. He had no doubt that this child would be just as lovely, with a temperament to match. Aloysius placed a finger against the child's dewy cheek. ‘Serena. We shall call her Serena.'

Ten years later
December, 1896 – Dallas, Texas

The linotype operator, Brian, often complained to whoever listened that he was manacled to the machine like a hapless bride tied to an unloved husband. Six years of his life had been spent in servitude to the machine: three years in the study of how the contraption functioned and a further three in learning how to repair it before he could officially be classed as the primary machinist. With ten thousand parts, five thousand of which were moveable, Brian may have been highly strung with a tendency to exaggeration, however he was a crucial component of Wade Newspapers.

The printing room was stuffy at the best of times. Located on the ground floor at the rear of the building, the molten lead used in the process kept the airless room warm. Brian, a perfectionist, demanded the windows remain closed and the room at a constant temperature, much to the other employees' annoyance, a fact that amused Aloysius, for there was no proof that the machine worked best in a specific environment. Three typesetting machines now sat unused along an opposite wall while at the other end of the room, the printing press operator was carefully oiling and cleaning his machine in readiness for the next edition.

‘Brian.'

Aloysius's greeting was returned by a distracted wave of a hand. Brian sat before the linotype, tapping on keys like that of the ordinary typewriter as he read from the editor's manuscript. Edmund stood to one side, a newspaper tucked under his arm. Aloysius joined his son and together they watched as Brian typed. There was a rhythmic efficiency to his work. Aloysius kept pace with the typing by tapping his foot on the floorboards – spell, space and stop, capitals, small letters, notes of astonishment and interrogation, signs, numbers, and so forth. Line after line of type, metal blocks cut into letters, words and sentences created to be imposed and printed from.

‘Hearst is using publicity stunts to swell circulation and the advertising. Why, there are more advertisements than stories.' Edmund passed his father the month-old New York newspaper. ‘We should be expanding.' His voice competed with the clickety-clack of the linotype.

William Randolf Hearst had been in the newspaper business for sixteen years, starting first at his father's
San Francisco Examiner
and employing talented writers such as Mark Twain and Jack London. Edmund had watched his meteoric rise with a mixture of jealousy and admiration. ‘So where would you like to relocate to?' Aloysius enquired. This was not the first time they'd had such a conversation.

‘Truly?' Edmund replied. ‘Beyond America. England perhaps, or Australia.'

Aloysius couldn't hide his amusement. ‘You've grown ambitious, Edmund, but I think it's best for a person to stick to what they know, in their own country. You would have to move east, source a potential paper, preferably one that was failing, and hope you could turn it around.' The national financial crisis of 1893 had affected everyone, including the Wade family. They'd had money invested with one of the five banks in the city that had failed and had been forced to virtually close down the plantation when cotton prices dropped below five cents a pound. ‘But, by all means, if you can find an appropriate newspaper and a financier for the business, I won't stand in your way, Edmund.'

They watched as Brian moved a line of letter matrixes to a mould where molten lead was injected. The line was then ejected and the matrices distributed automatically into the magazine funnels above the keyboard, ready for use again. It was a far cry from the days of the manual typesetting machine. Aloysius could now print thousands of pages a day and newspapers were no longer restricted to eight pages.

‘Since Hearst purchased the
New York Morning Journal
last year he's been in a head-to-head circulation war with Joseph Pulitzer of the
New York World
.'

‘He's a canny operator,' Aloysius replied, ‘I'll give him that.' He flicked open the paper. There were stories of municipal and financial corruption, clever cartoons and opinion pieces on the government of the day. However, it was the book section that caught his attention.
Wynema: A Child of the Forest
written by a Creek Indian woman, although published almost two years ago, was mentioned in an opinion piece. Aloysius had read the work on publication, hopeful of gaining some perspective into Philomena's life. It had not eased his regret.

Edmund peered over his shoulder. ‘I thought we were talking about expansion.'

‘You were talking expansion,' Aloysius countered. ‘I have enough businesses here to keep me gainfully employed.' Folding the paper, he dropped it in a waste bin. Dallas, like the rest of the country, was still recovering from the recent panic and business was tough. Hundreds of people had left the city, the lumber and flour markets had all but vanished, cotton was yet to improve and soup kitchens still fed hundreds daily.

‘I wouldn't go east. I was thinking of heading north, maybe Kansas or even to Oklahoma.'

‘What?' Aloysius had never considered his youngest to be the adventurous type. ‘The Unassigned Lands?'

‘They're not unassigned anymore, Father.'

‘I know that,' he replied irritably, ‘but every outlaw in the country has been holed up there for years,' Aloysius argued. ‘Those lands are right in the middle of Indian territory.'

‘That won't last. The land run of '89 saw thousands of homesteaders stake a land claim. Oklahoma City is growing at a tremendous pace. The railroads aren't travelling through a three-hundred-mile wasteland anymore, Father. Homesteaders have opened up the area to commerce and eventually the government will bow to pressure and take over more reservations. A good portion of the western reservations have literally been unlocked.'

‘I agree with the opening up of that area. I remember telling Clarence Hocking years ago that it was a damn waste giving Indians thousands of acres. Let them have a plot like everyone else and make their living like other god-fearing souls. But to move there, with your family, Edmund? Four years ago a lot of those settlers were starving and living on turnips, most of them are still dwelling in sod houses.' The printing press operator doffed his cap as Aloysius left the noisy room, Edmund on his heels.

Hugh Hocking was lingering out in the corridor and kept a polite distance behind father and son as they entered a large oblong room lined with desks. Much like a school room, each table belonged to a reporter who was either scribbling down notes, talking on the telephone or discussing story developments or angles with senior journalists. Edmund turned once, twice to look behind him. Sure enough, Hugh followed discreetly. Edmund wondered how long he'd been standing outside the linotype room. The young man was intelligent with the benefit of an extremely retentive memory, which could be considered a downfall where more sensitive subjects were concerned.

‘Mr Wade, I wonder if I might have a moment, sir?'

Clarence's boy was now aged twenty-five and had joined his father in their accountancy practice.

‘Yes, Hugh, if you're quick.'

‘I won't keep you long. No doubt you're off to celebrate Serena's birthday.' Hugh's gaze flicked to Edmund and then back to Aloysius. ‘Well, it's about Father. I'm worried about him.'

‘Worried, why?'

‘He's not been well. He's had some financial difficulties and –'

‘I'm well aware of that, Hugh.'

‘Well I just thought that as it was the buying of your silver shares that led to our current predicament … perhaps you could offer some sort of assistance?'

‘Hocking & Son already occupies an office here, Hugh, at a much reduced rental. As for the silver shares, I should remind you that in good faith I gave your father first offer to buy my brother's shares after his death. As your father has spent a lifetime advising me in all manner of business, I can't accept responsibility for a financial decision that went awry. We have all suffered during the downturn. I don't really know what you expect me to do. Your father still has his business, he is certainly not starving. Many are, you know, lad.'

Hugh frowned. ‘He is losing clients, sir, and he's taken to the bottle. I thought that you might have a word with him or perhaps visit some of our clients with a view to allaying their fears. If we lose many more customers we will be at risk of going under.'

‘I have already suggested that he retire. I can interfere no more than that.'

‘No,' Hugh replied, standing to one side so that they could pass by, ‘of course you can't.'

‘That was awkward,' Edmund whispered as they walked along the hallway to the front door.

‘Just one more thing, Mr Wade, sir,' Hugh called from where he stood.

Aloysius turned reluctantly. ‘Yes, Hugh?'

‘You don't own any silver shares anymore, do you?'

‘You keep my books, Hugh, you know I don't.'

Once outside, Edmund turned to his father. ‘Have you spoken to Clarence recently?'

‘Last month,' Aloysius admitted. ‘The man is usually inebriated by noon.'

‘I heard that Hugh's fiancée cancelled their wedding.'

‘No well-bred woman is going to marry a man whose father is a drunkard and whose business is slowly failing. I'm sorry for Hugh but I can't be held responsible for what's happened.'

‘Perhaps they should relocate their business, Father. We have a reputation to uphold as well and continued association with them –'

Aloysius held up his hand. ‘There will be no more talk of evicting Clarence. The man was here with your Uncle Joseph and I from the very beginning. He was invaluable in the early stages of our business and remained an excellent advisor for many years.'

‘But he didn't agree with you taking Serena in or making her your ward.'

‘No, he did not, and in business pertaining to family, Edmund, employees, no matter how loyal, should never cross the line. Now can we change the subject please? What were we talking about before Hugh interrupted? Oh yes. Try to see if you can raise our circulation figures here in Dallas. That should be enough of a test in the short term for you. We're neck and neck with the
Tribune
.'

‘Easier said than done when the masses like what those muckrakers are printing.'

‘So we'll emulate Hearst and create a new edition, an afternoon paper that sells for a penny.' Aloysius untied his horse from the hitching rail.

‘And who will be sourcing and writing this garbage, Father?' Edmund untied his own horse and flung himself up into the saddle without the aid of the stirrup.

‘Show-off,' Aloysius complained as he placed his foot in the stirrup and, with a groan, swung his leg over the horse's rump. At fifty-nine years of age he was becoming too stiff in the joints to ride to work every day, especially now winter was upon them. ‘Why, the muckrakers that we steal from the
Tribune
of course. Find out who the best ones are, offer them employment and increase their wages.'

‘I like it. We retain the high standard that people expect from the
Wade Newspaper
and offer a cheap version for the scandal mongers. Jeffreys at the
Tribune
won't like it.'

Aloysius flicked the reins. ‘I never cared much for Jeffreys' opinion. The man arrived in Dallas ten years after your Uncle Joseph and I first came from Charlestown. He will never be classed as one of the original families and his lack of breeding is reflected in his journalism.'

They trotted down Main Street and turned into Murphy. There were still a number of empty buildings in the centre of town, one of which belonged to Clarence Hocking. Aloysius kept his eyes on the road ahead as they passed the vacant building. Six months after Clarence had purchased the silver shares in '92 he was almost financially wiped out, the combined effect of a flooded silver market and overexposure to the investment-failing railroad industry. It was terribly bad luck, although Aloysius was personally pleased he'd divested himself of any interest in silver.

Aloysius clipped the horse's flanks with his heels, as a shadow passed overhead. He squinted into the sun. Directly above them a golden eagle circled once, twice and then flew away. Aloysius followed the progress of the great bird until it was a distant speck in the blue sky.

They rode along companionably, even Edmund's out-of-key whistling couldn't dampen Aloysius's spirits. It was a typical winter's day, reasonably mild with a light wind blowing that rustled the trees lining the roads. Soon their familiar two-storey brick and wood home, with its dominant yet decorative front-facing gable, rose to greet them in the distance. A number of sulkies were parked out the front of the house adjacent to the white garden fence and as they neared, they could see children running along the wraparound front porch. It was Serena's tenth birthday and Aloysius couldn't help but feel young again. Every birthday the child had reinforced the joy that had sprung from such grievous beginnings. She was such a spritely child, always begging to play outside, no matter the weather, and a tomboy of sorts, much to Annie's dismay. Only yesterday she appeared with a tiny bird's skull polished white by the sun. This she stowed in the garden shed next to a jar of long dead snails. Aloysius sensed a scientific mind.