The Truth According to Us (41 page)

Felix watched her closely. After a moment, he said, “I think she wants to go, Sam.”

Vause was quiet, his blue eyes searching hers. Finally, he said, “Your daddy told you to forget about me.”

She could take that. “Your daddy said worse about me. And you're still here.”

“He can go to hell,” Vause replied automatically. He was still watching her. “You'd go? With me? Leave everything behind?”

“Yes.” If she made him laugh, he'd take her. She knew it. “As long as we're going to California. I don't want to stop in any old Kansas or someplace.”

He laughed. “So it doesn't have anything to do with me? You'd go with anyone, long as he'd take you to California?”

She nodded. “That's right. I'd go with Porter Spurling, except he hasn't asked me.”

“Porter Spurling,” said Vause ruminatively. “Fair enough. What about Nels? Would you go with Nels?”

She nodded again. “If he gave me a blindfold.”

Chuckling, he caught her in his arms and pulled her into his lap
.

“Jesus, wake me when it's over,” said Felix, dropping onto his back and pulling his hat over his eyes
.

“Would you do this with Nels?” asked Vause, kissing her slowly
.

She nodded. “It's my dream!”

She could feel the smile on his lips when he kissed her. It meant yes. Electric with joy, she pressed her body into his to make him want her more, and he kissed her harder, opening her mouth with his. This was thrilling—nobody had ever done it before, not that she had heard of, and it made her tremble
with excitement. Vause put his mouth against her ear. “If Nels Donag ever so much as touches you, I'll kill him.”

She giggled weakly
.

“If anyone besides me ever touches you, I'll kill him,” he said. “You're mine.”

She nodded, hoping he'd kiss her again
.

“Say it.”

“I'm yours,” she whispered. “I'll always be yours.” There was nothing, nothing but him in the whole world
.

He lifted her up to meet his mouth again. “I don't see how I can love you so much when you're so little,” he murmured, his fingers opening in a brief, warm handprint against her belly. “We'll get married in California.”

“California,” she repeated, unable to attend to anything but the traces of his hand. “California. That will be fine.”

“In an orange grove,” Vause continued. “Hey, Felix, will you be my best man?” he called over his shoulder
.

“Sure,” mumbled Felix from under his hat. “I don't think you're going to make it all the way to California, though.”

Vause looked at Jottie and grinned. He found a pebble and tossed it, hitting Felix square in the chest. “Wake up,” he said. “We've got plans to make!”

Felix brushed the pebble off his shirt and propped himself up on his elbows. For a moment he watched them, smiling affectionately, and then he rose to his feet in one fluid movement
.

“Where're you going?” Vause asked
.

Felix stopped in mid-step and half-turned. “We got to get a car, don't we?”

“Yeah,” said Vause. “You going to steal one?”

“Certainly not!” Felix recoiled, insulted. “I'll buy a car like anyone else! Honest to God, I don't know where you get your ideas,” he said with dignity. “I'm going to go earn some money, is where I'm going.”

Vause and Jottie watched in respectful silence until he was gone. Then Vause dropped back against a tree trunk and let out a contented sigh. He closed his eyes as his long fingers sought Jottie's, and their hands wove together
.

Sol's voice jerked her into the present. “I know he's your brother,” he was saying awkwardly.

She gasped, “That's not—you can say anything you want about Felix. You've got the right.”

Sol gazed at a cement urn overflowing with grapes. “I guess you don't want to marry me.”

“Sol,” she began, and stopped to catch her breath. The pain was terrible, like something being pulled from her body. Vause was gone; he was gone yesterday and today and tomorrow and next year and every day until she died, hundreds and thousands of days she was going to have to go through without him. She put her hand over her mouth to hold back the sound she was about to make.

“What?” Sol turned toward her hopefully.

She swallowed. “That wasn't very romantic.”

For a moment, he squinted at her in perplexity. Then his face cleared and broadened into a smile. “Is that why you're crying? Jottie?”

“Some,” she admitted. It was true. It was true, and she longed for Vause. Both things were true. It was all wrong. She had never imagined this part of it. She hadn't thought that the scar would open like that. She had pictured only safety, calm and nice—a stroll in the serene landscape enclosed by Sol's regard, not this bomb-cratered plain. She had expected warmth, and here, instead, was death again. She hadn't been prepared.

“Here,” Sol said, gently brushing her cheeks with his handkerchief. He looked out over the graves and took a deep breath. “I never proposed to anyone before, and I didn't expect I was going to do it today—maybe you could tell?” He waited for her to smile, but she didn't oblige. “I guess I should have planned it better.” He frowned. “I'm going to make it up to you, honey. Not now and not”—he winced—“here. All right?”

She nodded.

He leaned down to look into her face. “I'm sorry, Jottie.”

Layla whisked through the library door and pulled it shut behind her. “My God,” she exclaimed over the din. “How long have they been doing that?”

Miss Betts pushed back a straggling lock of hair. “This is the fourth day.”

From below, the chorus welled. “Sit down, just keep your seat! Sit down, and rest your feet! Sit down, you got 'em beat! Sit down! Sit down!”

Layla grimaced. “Sounds like Winslow's joined the CIO.”

“That John L. Lewis has a lot to answer for,” said Miss Betts. She shook her head as if to clear her ears. “What can I do for you, Miss Beck?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Layla breezily. “I just need to check something in the clippings file.”

“Help yourself.” Miss Betts nodded toward a metal file drawer and then glanced at the clock. “We close at five, you know.”

“Fine, fine! This won't take but a few minutes,” Layla called over her shoulder.

“When they tie the hands of the union man! Sit down! Sit down!” A passionate vibrato caressed the vowels. “When they give 'em a pact, they'll take them back! Sit down! Sit do-ow-own! SIT DOWWN!”

Miss Betts stood. “I'm going downstairs to talk to Hank,” she shouted.

Bent over the drawer, Layla nodded inattentively. Hamilton was quite a large file. She flipped through it: Hamilton Elected to Virginia House of Delegates, Hamilton Purchases 200 Acres, Hamilton Dead at 67, Hamilton Builds, Hamilton Weds, Hamilton Lauded for, Bowers–Hamilton Nuptials, Hamilton Arrives, Hamilton Weds, Spurling Née Hamilton Weds, Hamilton an Investor, Hamilton Heir Accused, Hamilton to Visit Boston, Spurling Née Hamilton Dead, Hamilton Late of this Town, Storied Past of Pella, Hamilton to Lead Parade, The Great Macedonian, Twins Born to Nevius Family, EXTRA EDITION! AMER-EVERLASTING BURNS TO GROUND! VAUSE HAMILTON III FOUND DEAD IN CHARRED RUINS!!!—

Her eyes flew past the screaming headlines:

SEPTEMBER
4, 1920.

The American Everlasting Hosiery factory was destroyed in a great inferno beginning around midnight last night, and the calamity redoubled when the remains of Vause Hamilton III were uncovered in the smoldering ruins.

Fire Chief Halbert Leed declared smoke asphyxiation to be the cause of death and delivered the astounding intelligence that Mr. Hamilton was found with a sack containing $2,000, evidently taken from the company's safe, which though fire-proof was discovered open and plundered of its contents in the wreckage of the company offices this morning. Mr. St. Clair Romeyn, President of the concern, attested that the safe held over $5,800 in cash money when he left the offices the evening before. Police Chief Oscar Whiting and Fire Chief Leed concurred that Mr. Hamilton had “cracked” the safe and robbed it, afterward setting an arson-fire to mask his crime. A second sack containing the remaining thousands was presumably
lost during Hamilton's desperate attempt to flee the flames. The corpse was discovered under a partially collapsed staircase adjacent to the Unity Street door; a long corridor connected this part of the works to the company offices, where the safe was housed.

St. Clair Romeyn broke down at the news of the robbery, saying, “He was like a son to me. I can't believe Vause would do this.” Young Hamilton was a close chum of Mr. Felix Romeyn's; they attended school together and embarked upon the Great War in the same company.

Felix Romeyn, a Superintendent at the factory, today confirmed Chief Leed's suspicion that Hamilton was in possession of the combination to the safe. “Of course he knew it. He knew the mill backward and forward,” said Mr. Romeyn, his haggard mien attesting to the strains of the night.

The conflagration was the greatest ever seen in Macedonia. Fire-fighters were called in from Keyser, Leesville, and White Creek to assist Macedonia's three engines in subduing the fire, but the teams' manful efforts were overmatched by the dreadful power of the flames, and as dawn broke this morning, the factory buildings, including the offices, storerooms, warehouses, and manufacturing plant, lay in smoking ruins. St. Clair Romeyn twice attempted to rush to the aid of the fire-men in the course of the night and was restrained by his assistant, Mr. Parnell Rudy. Scores of bystanders watched the stormy battle from the…

But she already knew all this. This explained nothing. Frowning, Layla dropped the brittle paper back into its place and flipped to the next clipping, Death of Vause Hamilton III, featuring the same smiling face she'd seen in
The Hellene
.

She scanned the obituary: twenty years of age, of smoke asphyxiation,
remains discovered in the aftermath of Saturday's fire at American Everlasting Hosiery Company, returned last year from the battlefields of France to the home of his parents where he resided at the time of his death, funeral services were held, pallbearers were, in addition to his parents he is survived by, interment in, Hamilton was probably the most outstanding athlete ever produced by Macedonia High School, numerous victories in, captain of, member of, manager of, president of, editor of, vice president of, known throughout the state for his—

Nothing.

She glanced over her shoulder and pulled open the drawer marked R–T. Romeyn was considerably slimmer than Hamilton. Forrest Romeyn to Wed, St. Clair Romeyn to Return Home Saturday, Miss Cappilanti to Wed, St. Clair Romeyn Opens American Everlasting Factory, No Panic at American Everlasting, Twins Born to Mr. and Mrs. Romeyn, No Clouds of War at A-E Fest, Gov. Appoints Romeyn Textile Guild Pres., Mrs. Romeyn to Preside at Rose League Tea, Romeyn Denies Guilt—

Felix Romeyn, 19, of this town, yesterday denied accusations made Thursday by Solomon McKubin, 20, also of Macedonia, that Romeyn set the fire that destroyed the American Everlasting Hosiery Company on September 4. In a statement made at the Macedonia Police Station on October 14, Mr. McKubin charged that Mr. Romeyn was the instigator of both the robbery and the fire that occurred at American Everlasting, which resulted in the death of young Vause Hamilton, whose remains were found in the charred ruins of the company offices on East Main Street. Mr. Hamilton is presumed to have been in the process of robbing the company when he succumbed to the flames.

“I know Vause didn't do it, not on his own lookout, anyway. It's got Felix written all over it. I don't care what
he says. He's lying,” Mr. McKubin alleged on Thursday. “I want an investigation. They've got to investigate Felix. He can't just go free.”

Mr. McKubin's accusation was yesterday denied by Mr. Romeyn. “I don't know what Sol [McKubin] means. Why would I burn down my own father's factory? Vause did it, I don't know why. I thought he was my best friend.” It has been established that at the time of the fire, Mr. Romeyn was at the home of Mr. Tare Russell. “We were playing at billiards,” confirmed Mr. Russell. “My servant showed Mr. Romeyn in at eight o'clock on the evening of the 3rd, and we played until two the next morning. He won.”

Mr. Henry Odell, a friend of Mr. Romeyn as well as of the deceased and Mr. McKubin, speculated, “Seems like Sol's gone crazy. I don't know why he said all that.”

Police Chief Oscar Whiting promises “a complete and thorough examination of the evidence” in the coming days.

Layla's head jerked up and the scrap of yellowed newsprint fluttered from her hand. She snatched it before it touched the floor and slipped it back in the file. Any more? Just one: St. Clair Romeyn Dead at 59. Leaf by leaf, she sifted through the pile, carefully inspecting each frail piece of paper. There was nothing more about Felix. Then she looked in the Hamilton file again, finding no more about Vause Hamilton's death.

She straightened up, absently rubbing her back. For a long while she gazed at the dust motes waltzing through the streaming light. Then she pulled out the L–M drawer. There was no file for McKubin.

It had come to nothing. An accusation, never proved. Dismissed.

And now everything made sense. “Sol McKubin was like to die; I never saw a man cry like that in my life.” He'd gone crazy and accused Felix of setting the fire that killed his best friend—no wonder Felix hated him. “He's a liar, all right?” And Shank had hired Sol, probably
took a vindictive pleasure in hiring him, to be his right-hand man—a sort of slap in the face of the Romeyns. Maybe they even plotted it, to keep Felix from his rightful position. “And I'm sure the poor man
hoped
that Felix would take over the business, but,
well
, that was impossible after—” Because Shank and Sol McKubin had edged him out. It was an insult. It was a shame.

Something chafed, bothering her.

Emmett. Emmett was a friend of Sol's. Why?

She pondered the complexities of brotherhood. Hadn't she heard a million times of discord between brothers? Discord, mistrust, and, most of all, jealousy. Cain and Abel, for example! But Emmett and Felix didn't seem like rivals. They seemed, actually, to be fond of each other. But perhaps their strife was buried deep beneath the cordial surface. It was, sometimes. Perhaps befriending his brother's enemy was some kind of declaration of independence Emmett felt he had to make. Awfully childish, but, then, he was the younger brother. It was generous of Felix, the affection he displayed to Emmett in spite of his petulance. She wasn't sure she could be so generous, if it were her.

And there was Jottie, too. She'd greeted Sol at the mill. Didn't she realize he'd nearly destroyed Felix's reputation? Of course, Jottie had been staunch to her brother—after all, she'd taken care of him and his children for years—but still, it seemed disloyal, that casual greeting. And she'd called him fickle! Poor Felix was on his own. Instantly, Layla longed to stand between him and loneliness, to protect him with herself. He'd been betrayed by his best friend, and instead of receiving comfort, he'd been accused of stealing and practically murder. On a whim, if the paper was to be believed. And when? Six weeks after the fact! Didn't anyone wonder why Sol McKubin had waited six weeks to make the charge? It was ludicrous. Yet even now the idea persisted. People like Mrs. Lansbrough insinuated and gossiped. They were barking dogs, snapping at his heels. It didn't matter, not to her, what other people thought of him. She would stand by him. Let the dogs bark, Felix. You have me. I'll protect you.