A Song Across the Sea (41 page)

Conrad recovered to the point where he was out of immediate danger. His left arm had been amputated, and Lotte hinted at damage to his face that would leave him disfigured. She hoped his spirit remained intact, although it would be sorely tested by the long convalescence he had ahead of him.

“He wrote and told us how thin he is. He says my mother better have good things cooked for him when he comes home, because he hasn’t tasted good food in a long time.”

The girls, with Mary, were going to visit Adrienne. The rich friendship that flourished between Tara and her mother-in-law after Emory’s departure became a source of strength to both women. Isolated from Reece and the world around her for so long, Adrienne found a lifeline in Tara. The girl was a breath of fresh air in a stale old house, as was Mary. Once Adrienne laid eyes on the baby she fell in love with her, and Tara didn’t dare show up without her.

“She went out shopping yesterday!” Francine informed Tara. “Called for George to bring the sedan around as if it were something she did every day. Took me and Lynn with her, too, to carry little Mary and all the things she bought for that baby, who is well on her way to being spoiled rotten, I can tell you, with all the new toys and clothes she’s gettin’. I can’t believe Mrs. Millinder left the house. Whenever she needed something before, she always had it delivered.”

Adrienne also came to the see Tara in “Rain or Shine,” about which she’d heard so much.

“My son is a lucky man. I knew that before I saw you on stage, but now I’m even more certain.”

Tara didn’t know how to respond. She was the lucky one, after all.

She wished her parents could see her now. How they’d struggled to keep paying for her singing lessons!

She’d written to her Aunt Bridey and Uncle Kevin about events in her life. They did not blame her for Sheila’s mistakes. Tara was still sad about her cousin’s death but felt that by raising Mary, she was doing right by Sheila.

She still thought of Paddy. Try as she might, Tara could not lay down the burden of guilt she felt over her brother’s death. He’d been so young, trusting that his big sister would take care of him. She’d failed miserably. Because of Tara’s poor decisions, he’d never had a chance at life. Paddy’s death was her eternal sadness, the wound that would not heal.

She shared a little of this with Adrienne. Reece’s mother did, indeed, feel like a “kindred spirit.” Although their experiences had been vastly different, they both knew something about loss.

One night Tara talked Adrienne into going out with some of the cast for a celebration.

“They’re so wantin’ to meet me mother-in-law, a real society lady. You wouldn’t be after disappointin’ them, would you?”

In spite of her protestations of fatigue, Adrienne turned out to be the life of the party. Tara felt a flush of pride as she watched her mother-in-law talk animatedly with the others at the table, her eyes bright with excitement. Adrienne was charming and witty, opinionated and well-read. In spite of her long, self-imposed seclusion, she could clearly converse with anyone about anything. Tara finally saw the woman that Reece had described: passionate, strong-willed, beguiling.

Someone laughed at a humorous remark Adrienne made and she looked across the table and caught Tara’s eye as if to say: “I’m alive again.”

•  •  •

On Reece’s patrol from St. Mihiel to Verdun, he saw no evidence of the rumored German troop or tank movements.

Relieved, he turned back in the direction of his base. Flying reconnaissance behind enemy lines was not the most pleasant way to spend one’s morning.

He heard the machine gun before he saw the German Gotha that had him in its sights. Explosive bursts ripped into the right wing of his plane. The Gotha had stayed cannily above and behind him, out of sight, until he turned. He fought to stabilize the plane and pull out of range but moments later, the gunner found his mark again. Blasts tore through Reece’s chest, right shoulder and arm. The pain struck a second later, shocking him in waves. He shook uncontrollably but tried to stay focused, determined to survive though he knew he was badly wounded. With his good hand he yanked open his leather flight jacket. A deep crimson stain bubbled out from his shirt. The agony was paralyzing. He managed to bank the plane sharply to the left, fighting to stay conscious long enough to outmaneuver the Gotha and fire his own machine gun.

His plane was spinning downward out of control. He checked the altimeter. Only 6,000 feet… His arm, his entire right side, was now useless. He jammed his feet against the rudder bar, trying to level the plane, trying not to look at the field of blood growing at the lower edge of his peripheral vision. As long as he was still alive he had a chance.

With a shudder that mimicked his own spasms, the plane finally straightened itself, although the damaged wing made the ride a volatile one. Reece pressed a switch, willing the stalled motor back to life. It sputtered helplessly. Were the fuel lines riddled with holes, too? Miraculously, the engine caught, coughed a few times and finally churned into a reassuringly regular pattern. He had a chance.

At that moment, a dark, winged form passed between himself and the sun like a predator hawk bearing down on a small, helpless sparrow. It was the Gotha. He heard a fresh burst of machine gun fire and thought fleetingly of Tara.

The treetops rushed up to meet him.

•  •  •

It was something of a surprise to find Adrienne waiting in her dressing room for her when the curtain fell on the final act.

“I didn’t know you were comin’ to the show tonight.”

“I didn’t watch it.” Adrienne sat in her wheelchair, having been brought to the theater by George, who hovered in the hallway. She seemed to have trouble finding the words she was looking for. “I thought I should come. To…to bring you this in person. It’s from General Damon.”

Tara’s heart gave a fearful lurch. She suddenly felt as if she might fall down. Trembling, she took the telegram Adrienne held out to her, her hands shaking so hard she could barely read it.

REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR SON’S PLANE CRASHED BEHIND ENEMY LINES. STOP. HE IS MISSING AND PRESUMED DEAD. STOP. MY SINCEREST CONDOLENCES. STOP. REECE RENDERED A GREAT SERVICE TO HIS COUNTRY. STOP. I HOPE THAT WILL BE A COMFORT TO…

“No! Tara wailed. “No…”

F
rustration ate at Muldoon like a cancer. Since Rafferty had brought him the news, he could think of nothing else. Tara McLaughlin was livin’ the easy life of a spoiled, cosseted Broadway star. The satisfaction he’d savored when the flames he lit ravaged her theater and destroyed her vaudeville dreams was gone. The bitch was inexplicably victorious. He couldn’t imagine how she’d done it, but she’d resurrected her career in spite of him. What good was his punishment when in the end, she suffered not at all from it?

She still had to pay for what she’d done to him. Treating him with disdain, as if he were no better than a clod of dirt on the bottom of her shoe.

Muldoon would make her suffer more than she could imagine. This time there would be no happy ending for Tara McLaughlin.

•  •  •

“Tara, there was no need for you to come in. Johanna will go on for you tonight.”

“I don’t need an understudy.”

“It’s all right. Really it is. Take some time off. No one expects you to perform tonight.” Like everyone else, Lattimer assumed the worst.

“I’m going on.” Tara meant it. She was not simply following the show business tradition of not allowing personal misfortune to interfere with a performance. She would don her opening act costume and take her place behind the heavy velvet curtain that night because to do otherwise would be the same as admitting that Reece was dead. She would not play the part of the grieving widow, because she wasn’t one.

“Tara, I don’t want you to go on tonight.”

So that was it. Lattimer thought she would lose her composure on stage. Even now he was watching her closely, no doubt noticing her swollen eyelids and listless expression. Let him look. She’d cried half the night through, and it had been an effort to dress herself and come to the theater, but she was here. And she was determined to go on.

“He’s alive, Ted, so I’ve no need of your pity. I don’t care what the newspapers say. He’s alive because I’d feel it in me heart if he were dead. He’s alive. I gave in to fear and doubt at first and, yes, I cried—as you can see. But I was mistaken. He’s alive. If I don’t go on stage tonight, it’ll be like I’m givin’ up on him.”

With reluctance, Lattimer relented. “I’ll send someone out for ice. Maybe you’d like to put some on your eyes? And Lotte, would you get Tara a cup of tea?”

Lotte nodded eagerly. “Right away.”

Tara tried to smile. “A cup of tea is just what I need.”

Tara wondered if she’d really be able to pull it off. She felt fragile, patched together. She sipped the tea Lotte brought her, holding a chunk of ice wrapped in a handkerchief up to her eyes to bring down the swelling.

Lotte helped her change into her costume, murmuring encouragement while fastening her dress and securing her hat to her hair with hairpins. Lotte, Tara realized, was more nervous than she herself was. Her friend knew how difficult this was for her.

Waiting in the wings just before her entrance, Tara tried to quell the sick nervousness that rose up unbidden in her stomach. She suddenly thought back to her vaudeville audition, when she’d been paralyzed by stage fright. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

She heard her cue and stepped out onto the stage.

“Has anyone seen Uncle Billy?” she asked. “He said he was…” Her voice faltered then failed her altogether. She swayed slightly, trying to collect her thoughts and focus. It was no good. She’d never felt so alone in all the world. The magic of the stage abandoned her. She felt frozen in place. Reece was gone. Reece was gone. Reece…couldn’t be gone.

How much time had passed? Seconds? Minutes? She yearned to escape this tortuous spotlight.

The other actors stared at her in alarm.

“He said he was going to take me to the fair,” whispered the stage manager from his place in the wings.

Tara tried again to shake herself out of her fog. Tears threatened but she fought them back. “He said… He said he…”

“Wasn’t Uncle Billy going to take you to the fair?” Rita asked helpfully.

“Yes.” There was no power in her voice. Could anyone sitting beyond the fourth row even hear her? However would she sing, when the time came? There was no air in her lungs. “He said…” She took a deep breath. “He said he was going to take me to the fair.”

Her voice was back.
Addie
took over.

Tara went on.

•  •  •

She went to Adrienne’s home every day. They were almost able to behave as if everything was normal. Adrienne regularly contacted General Damon and, through him, other people in the Army and Red Cross who might have some word of what happened to her son. So far, there were few concrete details. Another pilot had witnessed his plane being shot down, but the wreckage was too far behind enemy lines for a search effort to be launched.

For Tara, waiting was agony. There were times when she privately gave in to despair, but she refused to admit as much to Adrienne. Her mother-in-law was suffering even more than she was, because she didn’t know if Reece ever received her letter.

“He may have gone to his grave still believing that Ah hate him,” she said once.

Mostly, though, they made small talk. They redecorated various rooms in the mansion with the help of various tradesmen who were invited to bring samples of their wares. They walked in the garden in good weather, played with Mary inside when it was stormy. At Tara’s urging, Adrienne resumed her therapeutic sessions with a nurse.

“You’ll need strong arms to hold Mary, who’s gettin’ bigger by the day.” Tara watched as the nurse bent Adrienne’s limbs this way and that, urging her patient to resist the movement by using her muscles. “Mary’s already a handful.”

“She’s a lamb,” protested Adrienne, patiently enduring the nurse’s ministrations. “Ah think she and Lotte are back from their walk. I heard the front door.”

As Tara lifted Mary from the carriage, cooing happily at the plump, dark-haired angel, a scrap of paper fluttered to the floor.

“What’s that, Lotte?”

“I don’t know.”

“It was in the carriage, tucked under Mary.”

Lotte picked it up and read it, her face crumbling in dismay. Wordlessly, she handed it to Tara.

It read:

“What a beautiful child. It would be a shame if something happened to her.

-M”

Still holding Mary, Tara tried to stave off the panic the note inspired, as if the toddler would be able to feel her rapidly beating heart and the suddenly clammy hands and sense that she was in danger.

Muldoon was back in her life! Who else could it be? There was no one else who bore her such ill will. She’d been a fool to hope he would fade quietly away. Evil, like a weed with deep roots, was a hard thing to kill. He must still hate her.

Overwhelmed, she lost her composure. “When did you leave Mary alone?” she fairly shrieked at Lotte, who cowered in shame before her. “Answer me!”

“I didn’t! Please, Tara. I didn’t leave her. Not for a second.”

With an effort, Tara moderated her tone into something closer to normal. “Think. When might Muldoon have had a chance to put this in the carriage?”

Lotte frowned. “We went walking up Fifth Avenue. I looked in the shop windows. There were so many people on the sidewalk. Maybe someone came right by the carriage and I didn’t notice.”

Tara sighed. “I’m sorry for bein’ harsh with you. It’s just… I was just upset, is all. It’s not your fault. And Mary is all right, after all.”

“But Tara—Muldoon must know where you live. He knows about Mary. It could not be by chance, that he came across us. Maybe he followed us back here and he is out there right now!”