Legacy (24 page)

He pointed to the book, which seemed even smaller in his big hand. 'It's Artemus Ward, Miss Rawlings. How about just one story?'

There were cheers, and the book was quickly passed along, hand to hand, table to table, until it reached me. Somehow I managed to get through one of the stories, accompanied by the laughter and then the applause of my appreciative audience, but even that did not begin to touch the emptiness I felt. And the next day I felt just as badly. We toured part of the territory that went with the camp, where we saw two men bring down a great pine tree that stood nearly seventy feet tall, using only axes and pikes. As it crashed to the ground, its boughs hissing and crackling, I almost wished I had been under it.

Now, after a night on this private railway coach of Father's, we were on our way to the third and last stop on our journey, the hotel at Eagles Mere, and I found myself already dreading the thought of going back to Grampian. How could I face seeing Justin again? I had nearly wept in front of everyone the night before while I was reading Artemus Ward because it reminded me so strongly of the time I spent in the clinic with Justin. How would I be able to endure seeing him in Grampian, knowing that his wife might appear at any moment?

Father had been very considerate of my feelings, respecting my privacy whenever possible and allowing me to be alone with the sadness he knew I felt. At our meals together, he had carried the conversation, talking of the details of the camp, the hotel, and this new railway he had built to bring the vacationing guests out to Eagles Mere. He had put a great amount of his fortune into building this railway more than fifty miles through the mountain forests up to the lake, and he had borrowed even more. But in time, he said, he knew it was going to pay off handsomely. There was the hotel for now, and then soon there would be other hotels on the lake, or people would want to build their own homes, and then there would be towns along the railway he had built. Before the decade was out, he predicted just the land he had bought on both sides of the railroad alone would bring him the price it had cost to lay those many miles of wooden ties and steel track.

' 'Course it won't be worth that much until more people start to settle here,' he said, seated across from me in one of the plush red velvet lounge chairs he had had especially installed in his private coach. 'Right now that land's too wild even for farming'. Soil's too rocky and there are too many steep slopes. And it's too far from the river to be worth much for lumber' - he paused - 'unless I decide to use this fancy coach for a logging train. But I think the hotel's gonna be too profitable to bother with timber out here, especially since you're going to have it all shipshape and squared away in the next day or two.'

He waited for me to say something, but I was too absorbed in my own unhappiness to respond. I had been so certain! After so long, after so many doubts, I had finally known that I wanted Justin McKay, and then to have him suddenly go back to his wife ...

'I said, you're going to have the staff all on their toes, isn't that right?' There was an edge in Father's voice now, and I knew he was irritated at my lethargy. The hotel was important; it was crucial, in fact, and here I was acting as though I had nothing to do with it. Yet I could not seem to do anything else.

'I'm sorry, Father.' My apology sounded listless. I felt even worse, because I knew I was not going to be able to keep my promise and give the hotel the attention I knew it deserved. I had scarcely been able even to brush my own hair or to eat properly. I had slept poorly, and I knew I must look dreadfully tired. Whoever the staff was at the hotel, they would see that I was not capable of supervising their work. I was going to fail, and I knew it.

'Well, you're going to have to wake up a bit,' he was saying. 'You said you were going to give me a hand on this trip, remember?'

'I know, I know. I just can't seem to get started anymore.'

'Well, you're gonna have to try. I know this business of Justin McKay has got you . . .'

'I don't care to discuss it, Father.'

'He didn't mean what he said there at the train.'

'I said I don't care to discuss it!'

'I don't give a damn what you care to discuss! I'm not going to watch you fall apart like this over . . .'

Angry tears were coming to my eyes. 'Oh, so I'm falling apart, am I? That's certainly a nice thing to say. That makes me feel a lot better!' I began to cry, ashamed of myself and my own weakness.

'Goddamn it! You don't have to cry over him! He's just gone back to put her away again. Don't you know that?'

The tears came even faster now. It didn't matter why hehad gone back to her. He had chosen her instead of me - that was what mattered. She had asked him to come, and I had asked him to stay, and he had gone to her. The reason was not important. He had gone, and that meant he was still hers. I could never be sure of him. Even though I felt my own love for him so strongly, so irrevocably, I could never know that he had the same love for me. If we were to marry, every day I would have to face knowing that Elaine might call him again and make a mockery of our love.

The tears flowed and my shoulders shook as I sobbed out my grief, feeling utterly alone, even though Father was in the coach with me. I thought I would never stop crying. No matter how I looked at what had happened, there was still no hope. I had seen my own heart, and it was even now still set blindly for Justin McKay. He had broken off our engagement. He had proven he did not care for my feelings at all when they went against what his wife wanted - and even after that humiliation my heart was still unable to give him up. I don't love him, I won't love him, I had thought, had told myself over and over, but it was still no use. I could not stop . . .

At least no one else was on the train to see me cry besides Father, I thought. And my tears seemed to have softened his annoyance. He was no longer shouting at me. Gradually I was able to respond to his gruff, quiet words of comfort.

By the time the engine had come to a stop, I was feeling better. I felt tired, and still the inner aching despair was present, but I was at least able to keep the hurt under control so that my mind and the rest of my body no longer had that numbing, exhausting lethargy to contend with. I had gone into the luxurious washroom at the rear of the coach and splashed some cold water on my face. I looked at myself in the gilded oval mirror that hung above the gold-enameled washbasin. Was that really me? I looked dreadful. My hair was dull, my eyes were lusterless and red from weeping, and my face was pale. Surely I could make myself look a little better than this!

I filled the basin with cold water. Then, taking a deep breath, I plunged my face under the surface of the water and held it there. I opened my eyes, feeling the chill of the water cool their angry soreness. I let out my breath between my lips, and I felt the little bubbles against my cheeks as they rose to the surface on either side of my face. When I could do without air no longer, I stood up again and briskly toweled my face dry. I unpinned my hair and rubbed it with the cold, damp towel, and then I brushed it vigorously a hundred strokes and pinned it up again, being careful not to look in the mirror. Finally I had finished. I glanced quickly at my reflection as I left the washroom, and I was somewhat pleased to see that I had managed at least some improvement.

'Well, your color's back,' said Father when he saw me return. 'I knew you'd snap out of it.'

I managed a tight-lipped smile, even though I knew he was wrong. I could at least go through the motions as best I could. Thank God that terrible weariness seemed to have passed.

As we stepped down from Father's coach outside the hotel, a tall, stocky man with a slim grey mustache stepped forward to greet us. 'Well, Mr. Rawlings!' His smile was wide and professional, the eyes set back, only a small glittering part visible behind the thick folds of his eyelids. 'So glad you could come to see how far we've . . .'

'Right, Gilbert. We're glad, too, but where's somebody to help with the bags?' Father's tone was brusque.

'Oh, he'll be down shortly, Mr. Rawlings. Just attending to some . . .'

'You go up and get him now. And you tell him that the next time this train stops here he'd better be waiting for it if he wants to keep his job - and every time after that. Now, move!'

Gilbert looked crestfallen and irate at the same time, but he turned and walked quickly up the wide flagstone pathway to the hotel entrance.

'You were hard on him,' I said.

'Got to be with these older ones. They think they know all there is to know. If you don't jump on 'em right away, they never listen to you again.'

We walked slowly up the path. I admired the wide green lawn and the big white, three-story hotel, which was set at the crest of the green hill, its white-columned portico commanding a view of both our train platform and, on the far side, the deep blue lake. Father had told me about his decision to stop the railway here, two hundred feet from the hotel entrance. It was less convenient for the guests than the arrangement in Grampian, where the station was only a few steps away from the Deer Park Hotel. But out here in the wilds Father had decided that an impressive first view of the resort was more important. Especially since there were to be attendants on hand to take the luggage, the walk up the gradual incline was intended to be more of a pleasure than an inconvenience, giving the feeling that we were ascending the steps of a temple in the wilderness. So far, at least, it was plain that Father had succeeded in giving this impression. The newly planted grass in front of the hotel had come up smooth and green, just matching the green of the folded porch awning, which hung ready over the tops of the white columns, waiting for a rain shower or the glaring afternoon sun.

'It looks most attractive,' I told Father as we walked. We ignored the rushing figure of the bellhop, who scurried past us, nodding as he tried to fasten his pillbox cap underneath his chin.

Father gave a satisfied nod, but he was not smiling. 'Building's good - saw to that myself. Landscaping looks like it's worked out fine. But the staff! If that sorry excuse for a bellhop is any indication, we may have to clear out the lot and train some new ones in a week!'

Gilbert was standing on the porch steps waiting to greet us again. His smile a trifle strained this time, he began: 'Well, I think that the boy understands now, sir. Now, if you'll just step this way, we've prepared the Plantation suite.'

Father stood stock-still in front of the steps, looking at the empty porch, which was painted a rich forest green. I could see the anger rising within him.

'Goddamn it! Gilbert, where's the porch furniture?'

Gilbert looked nervously towards the rear of the hotel and said, 'Well, it only arrived yesterday. We have it in storage now.'

'I know it came yesterday. I told them to deliver it yesterday. I had the train sent up here with it yesterday! What I want to know is why it's not on the goddamned porch!'

'Well, the fact is, sir, we've been really too busy to get it set up.'

'You got it set up in storage, didn't you? Why the hell didn't you just set it up on the porch, instead?'

Gilbert flushed almost as deeply as Father, who by this time was crimson.

'Well, the paint, sir, the paint was not quite dry.'

'Gilbert, that paint was sent up to you two weeks ago! You were supposed to have it done two weeks ago!'

Gilbert hung his head. 'Well, the fact is, sir, we've had so many other things to attend to. I'm afraid that we've fallen somewhat behind that schedule you set up.'

Father's eyes narrowed. 'How far behind?' he asked, speaking slowly and distinctly. I sensed that he was about to explode once again, and I touched him lightly on the arm. 'Why don't we go inside and see that for ourselves, Father?' I said. 'I'm sure Mr. Gilbert has some things that he'd like to show us.'

Father considered my proposal for a moment and then gave a tight-lipped smile. 'All right, we might as well. Lead the way, Gilbert. The first thing I want to see is the reservation book, but that can wait until you've taken us to our rooms.'

Inside, however, there was more to sec that could not help but arouse Father's fury. The lobby was magnificent, high-ceilinged with light streaming in from the second-story windows. Yet there were several disheveled men playing cards at one of the white wicker tables, and two women, whom I assumed were waitresses or maids, sat gossiping in two of the armchairs. On another table in the corner of the lobby, flies buzzed around the remains of a sandwich. The ashtrays had not been emptied in days, it appeared, and there were footprints on the light blue carpet.