A Song Across the Sea (29 page)

Marie Maxwell was a beguiling blue-eyed redhead with a complexion of pure cream and a honey-toned voice that made men weak. She turned her charm on several young men in their set, finally settling on Reece as a worthy object of her affections. Reece, having temporarily misplaced his sense as some men do in such situations, felt honored and gratified. He was unprepared for the force of the infatuation he felt for Marie. He’d known girls before, of course. Took female attention for granted, in fact, but this was different from those casual dalliances. Marie invaded his thoughts, toyed with him, twisted his emotions this way and that, tamping out the frustrated anger she occasionally inspired in him by causing tears to well up in her eyes.

She rewarded his attentions and eagerly proffered gifts with kisses and finally, with much, much more. Grateful, for he knew that most girls in their set did not offer up that prized possession before marriage, he took it as a sign that their relationship had entered a new, deeper level of closeness. They would be married—he was sure of it. When he saw her giggle at some remark some other man had made, or watched her smile at one of his friends, he contented himself with the knowledge that she was bestowing on him, and only him, that most intimate of pleasures.

Equally gratifying to him was his continuing exploration of the automobile and all its workings. He purchased one, then two and three, and took them apart as he had his childhood toys, to discover their secrets. It was only a short step to those newer wonders, airplanes. He alone among his friends grasped their potential. He studied engines used in airplanes and delved deeper, into wing design and new materials that could be used in construction. He taught himself to fly and used part of his liberal allowance to build his own plane, taking off one windy day from a field on the outskirts of campus. It lifted off the ground and was in the air for only a few minutes before clunking clumsily back to earth, but he was undeterred. He already had ideas for how to make it better. Those scant few minutes in the air gave him a taste for flying that would last his entire lifetime.

So, step by step, he assembled his adult life. The pain of his father’s death gradually diminished, although it never vanished completely. In its place were left good, warm memories. His father would be proud of what Reece was doing.

He would design and build airplanes and automobiles, making them better than ever. He would marry Marie and raise a family and name his firstborn son—if he had a son—Noah.

He was twenty years old, a full-grown man. It was time to take action. He decided to officially propose to Marie just before Christmas. Then he could take her home to meet his mother over the holidays. To this end, he purchased an astoundingly expensive engagement ring that he assured himself was just the thing. Marie had indicated a preference for expensive baubles. She was no woman to be wooed with mere sentiment. Something more tangible was called for.

It took him a few days to work up the courage to propose to Marie.

She laughed in his face.

“Whatever made you dream that I would consider marrying you? You care more for your stupid motorcars than you do for me! You spend more time with them, anyway. I’ve been feeling quite neglected lately, and it’s all your fault.”

Shaken, he resorted to logic. “But, Marie. What…what we’ve been to each other…”

She sneered. “Is that what’s given you this silly idea about marrying me? Do you really think you’re that special?”

“What are you saying?”

“That you’re not the only man I’ve been with. Ask your friend Edward. And Toohey. Truth to tell, you weren’t even the best.”

Her laughter followed him down the stairs and out into the night. He walked for miles before remembering the ring in his pocket. He reared back and threw it as far as he could into the darkness, not caring where it fell, wondering, remotely, who would find it when the snow melted in the spring.

•  •  •

A few days later, Reece headed home for the holidays. His mother greeted him warmly at the door, her face flushed with excitement. When he reached down to hug her, he was alarmed by how thin she still was.

Her buoyant mood was explained a few hours later, over dinner.

“We hope that you’ll be as happy as we are about this, Reece,” his mother said, as Emory Millinder poured champagne into glasses. “Emory and Ah are to be married. I loved your father very much. You know that, Reece. He meant the world to me. I realize that he hasn’t been gone that long.”

She was speaking rapidly, nervously, and it pained Reece to realize that she was trying hard to head off what she anticipated would be his objection.

“I cherish your father’s memory, Reece, and I always will. But Emory has helped me to…to move on. Be happy again. Can you understand that?”

The pleading look on her face was almost more than Reece could bear. He manufactured a smile and even forced himself to drink a toast to the two of them, although the champagne tasted bitter on his tongue. Emory Millinder had accomplished what he’d probably always intended to accomplish. He’d gained control of the Waldron fortune by manipulating the affections of a lonely, ill, grief-stricken widow. Reece had no doubt that any romantic affections Millinder had conveyed to his mother were counterfeit, and rooted in greed. He couldn’t possibly say this to his mother, however, at least not in her present state. Why had he ignored his own doubts about the crafty lawyer?

A small voice inside him did ask if his own recent unhappiness could be souring his judgment. He cringed, remembering Marie’s laughter.

Even as he pretended to be interested in the details of the upcoming wedding, Reece was casting about for a solution to what he was sure would be a disastrous union. Should he pull Millinder aside and offer to pay him off if he would simply leave their employ and their lives? Why should the man take such a bribe, when he stood to come into a great deal of money—more than even a large financial inducement. Was it even right for Reece to interfere with his mother’s decisions? She was not well and in mourning, but she was an adult. An intelligent woman. Perhaps she would retain control of her affairs, in spite of the changes that had come over her since the train accident. Should Reece just sit back and allow Millinder to become his new stepfather, and hope that he would prove to be a good husband to Adrienne?

Dinner was cut short when his mother suddenly took ill. Chalk white, her hands visibly shaking as she set her champagne flute down, she apologized for having to retire early. Reece lifted her from her chair and carried her upstairs to her room while Emory instructed a servant to go for the doctor. Reece lay her gently down on the bed, marveling at how fragile she seemed. He longed for his “other” mother, the proud, opinionated, capable woman who rode horses and argued politics, who loved and hated with equal vigor.

Reece hated himself at that moment. She was doing her best to come back from the brink of sorrow. Why could he not find it in himself to be happy for her?

She smiled up at him, misreading his bleak expression.

“Oh, Ah’ll be all right, Reece. These little spells come over me sometimes. Ah’ll be much better in the morning. It’s still early, and Ah don’t want to spoil your homecoming. Why don’t you go out and do…whatever it is young men do these days?”

•  •  •

New York was like a stranger to him. Every time he came home from school, the city seemed bigger, brighter, grimier, louder, more alive and yet more decayed. The wonder was in how quickly it seemed to change.

He avoided his usual haunts, where he might run the risk of meeting up with someone he knew, or someone who knew Marie. He wanted to be anonymous tonight, invisible among strangers.

He tried one tavern after another, drinking much more than was his custom. Misery dogged his footsteps relentlessly, until finally he descended into the Bowery, where he felt at home. Misery was a permanent condition here, vividly manifested in the desperate conditions he saw around him. He passed a row of dosshouses and pawnshops, seedy buildings crumbling away day by day. A woman standing in a doorway, out of the wind, called out to him. He glimpsed her heavily rouged face and leering smile before hurrying on, repulsed.

He found a small, dimly lit tavern and sat at a snug corner table, determined to drink until he no longer felt any emotions. He had money enough in his pocket, he thought, even for a goal as large as that. The tavern was half-filled with patrons: sailors, derelicts, a few women of the sort who took men up into the rank-smelling rooms above the tavern for a few minutes of paid pleasure. Determined to sit quietly and brood, Reece paid no attention to any of them. The others noticed him, though. His clothing and bearing identified him as a stranger to the Bowery. He was not of their class. Not one of their own kind.

Reece couldn’t remember, later, what started the fight, only that he and a bald, beefy stranger with a thick splayed scar across his lips squared off after an exchange of hostile preliminaries. The man picked a fight with him over some imaginary slight, and Reece let him. His reflexes slowed by liquor, Reece did badly at first. Then the stranger landed a roundhouse punch to the right side of his jaw that sent Reece reeling to the floor and triggered something dangerous in his brain. A deep red flash of pure rage rippled through his consciousness, fueled by pain, humiliation and the large quantity of alcohol he’d consumed. His rage overrode reason, instantaneously transforming him into a vicious stranger.

His opponent stepped back and dropped his guard, triumphant over the blow he’d given the arrogant intruder in the fancy clothes. He’d shown him! Reece, however, was back on his feet in a flash. He swung his clenched fist in the direction of the man’s chin, catching him off guard with a savage uppercut. With that single punch, Reece struck out against everyone who angered or disappointed him: Millinder, Marie, even his father for dying and leaving him.

The bald man’s head snapped sharply back, a surprised look spreading across his face before his eyeballs rolled back in their sockets. His body went limp and he fell heavily to the floor, his head bent at an unnatural angle.

In a sickeningly acute instant of realization, Reece knew that he had broken the man’s neck.

•  •  •

The furtive glances that came his way as he sat handcuffed in the police station confirmed what he already knew. He was a monster. He had killed a man, and over what? He couldn’t even remember.

The conference taking place behind the closed door nearby concerned him. He knew he should try and pay attention. The District Attorney and several police officials were in there, along with Emory Millinder. It had not been Reece’s idea to notify Millinder. Apparently he had contacts with some city politicians, who’d brought him in once they realized his connection to Reece.

After a long time the door opened. His handcuffs were removed. The others faded away silently and Millinder stood over him.

“We were fortunate. The man you killed was of no account. He had a long history of petty crimes and was known to start fights.”

Reece frowned. He felt numb, and still somewhat drunk. “What does that mean?”

“It means I used my influence to get the charges dropped. It wasn’t easy. The death has been ruled accidental. You’re a free man.”

“No.” Reece shook his head. “I killed a man in a stupid, drunken brawl. I must face justice for it.”

“This has nothing to do with what you want,” hissed Millinder, keeping his voice quiet. “Do you know what effect the publicity would have on your family? On your mother’s business affairs—soon to be my business affairs? The Waldron name is a prominent one, even though your behavior tonight was more appropriate to someone who sleeps in a gutter. Do you want us all to be put through the ordeal of a trial?”

“It’s what I deserve.”

“Is it what your mother deserves? Hasn’t she been through enough? Finding out about this would kill her. With the charges dropped quietly, she need never know anything about it.”

Millinder was right. His mother’s fragile health could never stand the shock of learning that her son was a murderer.

Reece nodded. “All right. Let’s go.”

“You have a strange way of showing gratitude, don’t you, Reece? But I should have expected that. You’ve never liked me. You think I don’t know that? But understand this: even if you’re not willing to acknowledge it right now, in your current sorry state, you are indebted to me. And I always call in my markers. It may be tomorrow, or next week, or ten years from now, but sooner or later, I’ll tell you what you need to do to clear our account and you’ll do it. No questions asked.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll have to speak to your mother. It would kill her, weak as she is. And you’ll have two deaths on your hands. Can you live with that, Reece?”

•  •  •

Reece dropped out of Princeton. Returning there was unthinkable; he was suddenly not the same blithe student he’d been before the holiday break. He’d learned all he could in college, anyway. The rest of what he needed to know he’d teach himself.

He took bachelor’s lodgings in the city but visited the mansion often. He and Millinder played out a farce of civility for his mother’s benefit.

His life now centered on his work. He learned to lock his overwhelming feeling of guilt into a stony, unforgiving compartment inside himself. His genius with all things automotive and aeronautical was quickly recognized in those infant industries. He made new friends, like Hap Mercer, who were as keen on engines as he was. He told Hap next to nothing about his personal life, not bothering to correct him when he assumed that Emory Millinder was Reece’s true father.

“Is your father interested in airplanes, too?” Hap asked one day.

“He thinks they’re simply a fad. An expensive hobby. An unwise investment.”

“So he’s not too happy about what you’re doing?”

Reece shrugged. “I don’t give much thought to how he feels about it.”

Thus, the imaginative Hap assumed that Reece’s coldness toward Emory was due to a disagreement over Reece’s chosen career.