The Great Plains (8 page)

Father and son were greeted by Annie. She walked along the narrow paved path, her long turquoise skirt touching the ground. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright.

‘You will need to take sanctuary, my dear,' Annie advised as a number of squeals sounded from behind a low shrub, ‘lest you are cajoled into a game of hide-go-seek. Even Joe and his wife are playing, Edmund, so I doubt your escape.'

Edmund's older brother Joe hurdled the garden fence. ‘Edmund, you best hurry, there's only one place left to hide outside.' Clapping his brother on the back, Joe ran diagonally across the garden, his dark hair bobbing up and down behind a hedgerow before disappearing.

‘I think I'll sneak inside. This all looks a bit active for me. Where's Chloe?' Edmund enquired. His wife of nine years was not known for any activity that could bring colour to her cheeks, in fact Edmund was surprised they had managed a child. There had been two stillborn babes and at least one miscarriage he knew of, but he did have a son, Tobias, born two months ago.

‘She and I have deemed the drawing room a safe haven and have been quite content to tend to our embroidery,' Annie answered.

‘Then I will seek sanctuary in my study.' Aloysius passed the reins of his horse to Thomas, their stable boy.

The lad, a Negro from their plantation, grinned widely, displaying the majority of his gums. ‘You going out again, Mr Wade? Or you want old Chestnut here fed and watered?'

Edmund handed his reins over as well. ‘You can stable them both, Thomas. We won't be going out again.'

‘Yes, do as Edmund says, Thomas. It's Miss Serena's birthday so we won't be needing the horses.'

‘Yes, sir. Miss Serena was telling me that she was going to run and run all day long, just in case it gets cold real quick and she isn't allowed outside again until winter ends.'

‘That's quite a conversation Serena's been having with Thomas,' Aloysius commented as Annie linked her arm through her husband's and the boy led the two horses around the side of the house to the stables. Edmund walked ahead.

‘Oh, he's harmless, Aloysius, and in some ways it's natural they should be friends. Thomas is only five years older than Serena,' Annie replied. ‘And he does keep an eye on her. She has an adventurous spirit. Earlier today he caught her trying to light a fire near the stables, only a small one mind, but fires don't need to be large to cause a disaster.'

Aloysius halted. ‘Indeed, I hope you chastised her, Annie.'

‘Thomas had already done so. Even better, he showed her how to set a fire safely.'

‘What?'

‘I know, I was perturbed as well, but Thomas's reasoning was sound: better she know the correct way of doing things if she is prone to experimentation, especially with her young cousins following her every move. They do look up to Serena you know, even the older ones. She is something of a leader among them.'

Aloysius still found it difficult at times coming to terms with their changed world. A little more than thirty years ago Thomas would have been a slave, instead of a paid member of their household staff, and the son of a freed man who was now a sharecropper.

They walked towards the house as Annie shared the morning's events, which, apart from the fire, included a candy hunt and a rather rough and tumble game of cowboys and Indians. Annie patted Aloysius's arm. ‘There is no cause for concern, Serena was Annie Oakley. It is a happy day.'

‘Yes,' Aloysius took his wife's hand, ‘most.'

Aloysius had not been ensconced in his study for more than ten minutes when he heard the sound of running and giggling in the entrance hall. The study door burst open and Edmund appeared. Carefully closing the door, he leant against it, his chest heaving.

‘Ahem,' Aloysius coughed.

‘Sorry, Father,' he puffed, clearly out of breath.

Closing his diary, Aloysius poured water from a decanter and offered it to his youngest son.

‘Thanks.' Edmund drank the contents gratefully and sat in a yellow brocade armchair.

‘Who's winning?'

‘Serena, of course,' Edmund replied. ‘She's a crafty one. How she manages to get everyone involved in these games amazes me.'

‘Well, she has an infectious personality.'

As if on cue Serena burst into the room. ‘Grandpapa, you can't help Edmund, it's cheating.' She brushed short blonde curls from a sweaty cheek and blinked, her almond-shaped eyes aglow. Her white sailor's dress was marked with streaks of dirt and the blue necktie that formed the dress's collar was awry.

‘Don't you let your grandmother see you like that,' Aloysius chastised. ‘And may I remind you of where you are standing.'

The young girl's brow wrinkled and then smoothed with comprehension. ‘Sorry, Grandpapa, this is your quiet place.'

‘Yes,' Aloysius held a finger to his lips, ‘very quiet, and I asked to see Edmund.'

The child sidled up to Edmund, resting a small hand on his shoulder. ‘You will come back and play though, won't you, Edmund?'

‘Of course.'

She took a step closer to the yellow armchair and, cupping a hand to her mouth, whispered, ‘I'm sorry you're in trouble.' Then she was gone in a flurry of white and blue cotton and bouncing curls.

The empty water glass dangled from Edmund's fingers. ‘I can remember when you brought her home from the asylum. She seemed so quiet, but by the second day all she did was cry for hours on end.'

Aloysius's face clouded. ‘Yes, she was fractious.'

Resting his glass on the arm of the chair, Edmund hesitated. ‘You know I had my doubts, Father, especially when it took so long for Serena to learn to talk. Even now I wonder about her. There are times when she is in a world of her own. I've seen her talking to herself, drawing things in the dirt outside and throwing stones at cats and small birds.'

Aloysius glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. Noon was a touch early for a drink, but cognisant of the noisy meal that would soon be upon him he felt an exception could be made. ‘Whiskey?'

From outside came the patter of feet. The front door slammed. A maid could be heard telling the children to shush up and come inside.

With the amber fluid poured, Aloysius sat back at the desk. ‘I understand your concern, Edmund, however Serena is but a child and as I recall you had an imaginary friend.'

‘Did I? I don't remember.'

‘Well, in any case, your mother and I are delighted with Serena's progress.'

‘I'm pleased Mother finally accepted her into the family. After all her concerns I truly believe that having a child in the house has been somewhat of a blessing for her.' Edmund moved to the fireplace, resting an elbow on the mantelpiece. ‘I would have liked to have met my cousin Philomena.'

‘For her own sake, or out of curiosity?'

Edmund took a sip of whiskey. ‘Both, I guess.'

‘And that's why no-one met her, Edmund. After everything that girl went through, well, I didn't want to upset her further.'

Adjusting the landscape above the mantelpiece, Edmund took a step back to ensure the painting now hung evenly. ‘So you said at the time. You'll have to excuse me for saying this, Father, but her own daughter died and then we took away her grandchild. I hardly think meeting some family members would have been more upsetting than that. I speak from personal experience, as you well know.'

Aloysius studied the young man opposite. His son had experienced great loss at an early age but had managed to move on with his life. A second marriage and a child of his own had matured Edmund. And his contribution to the newspaper was impeccable, although he had not the intellect for the expansionary plans he dreamt of. ‘Why are we discussing the past? It is behind us.'

Edmund shrugged. ‘It's ten years since you brought Serena home and having a child of my own has made me think about a lot of different things, especially after the crash when we lost so much.'

‘Our family and business is built on strong foundations laced with prudent management decisions.'

‘I know that,' Edmund agreed, ‘but I wanted to ask you, Father. Looking back, do you think you made the right decision?'

No-one had ever asked that question of him. ‘Of course.'

Edmund turned his attention back to the landscape. The work depicted a canyon in Wyoming. It had been a gift from Annie. Although a pleasant enough piece, Aloysius knew that it hardly warranted the attention it was now receiving. Edmund didn't believe him. Aloysius had spent the past decade reassessing the events leading up to Serena's birth and Philomena's leaving, and even now he could never be absolutely sure in his heart of the decision made. It was his uncertainty that led him to listen to Harry and only Serena's golden presence validated the actions taken when self-doubt threatened to overtake him. ‘Philomena would have found it near impossible to be integrated back into normal society, Edmund. We did place her needs first.' Aloysius had considered lodging Philomena permanently in the asylum with a view to gradually re-educating her. Yet how could he have allowed such a woman to be locked away, when the chances of her rehabilitation were so slight, and when he would never have allowed Serena to visit her grandmother? It would have been too unsettling for all concerned. Aloysius stared at the whiskey in the glass. ‘At the asylum your cousin would stand by the barred window and stare outside for hours on end. She would slowly knock her forehead against the glass.' He took a sip. ‘Truly, my son, your cousin, magnificent creature though she was, was like a caged animal.'

‘You admire her.'

‘I admire the internal fortitude needed to survive the unimaginable.'

‘And was she really as beautiful as you say?'

‘She was like a jewel, my son, and you don't keep jewels in a box.' Aloysius often dreamt of Philomena. They would be talking and she would laugh delightedly, the green-gold specks in her eyes illuminating the darkest of nights. Usually, after such a vision he would try to recall their conversation, but it never came to him. Instead he would turn on his side, away from the soft snores of gentle Annie, his hip burrowing into the mattress beneath as the first light of a new day angled across the land.

Aloysius drained the contents of the glass. There were some things best not thought about.

‘Mother tells me that you received word some time ago that Geronimo and his followers are now installed at Fort Sill in the Indian Territory, and that my cousin is there as well.'

‘Yes, Philomena has been at Fort Sill these past two years.' He cleared his throat. ‘Officially Geronimo is a prisoner of war. I think of him out there, being fed and clothed, and I wonder at the latitude shown to him when I only have images of blood and despair and ruined lives.'

‘Does Philomena live with him?' Edmund asked.

‘I don't know. I don't want to know.' Although he knew the rest of the Wade family did. The question lay curled in the backs of everyone's minds. Even Annie wished to know the truth – was Serena a descendant of Geronimo? ‘Doesn't Serena seem normal enough to you now?'

‘Mostly.'

‘Then rely on your intuition and be mindful of Dr Fitzgerald's learned opinion. I did not bring the child into our home to be raised as one of our own without due consideration.' Resting his forearms on the desk, Aloysius interlaced his fingers. ‘Consider Philomena ripped from her family and thrown into the world of savages. She has become one of them. She is lost to us.'

‘It would appear so,' Edmund agreed.

‘Now think about little Serena, taken from her family and growing up in this household. She is thriving, happy, healthy, a delight. Dr Fitzgerald's professional opinion, that nurture is of significant importance in the determination of one's behavioural traits, perhaps more so than the characteristics that are handed down to us by our parents and grandparents and so on, has been proved outright. Serena flourishes. Surely the child is testament to the environment she is growing up in, just as Philomena was living proof of hers.'

Finishing his drink, Edmund sat the glass on the mantelpiece. ‘It's Chloe. I'm in agreement with you. Perhaps not totally, as Serena does have some unusual traits, but Chloe is not one for any form of social impropriety.'

Aloysius gave a tight smile. Edmund's wife was more aware of her standing in society than most and was at pains to disassociate herself from Serena as much as possible. ‘Well, unfortunately for your wife,' Aloysius responded, ‘as head of the Wade family I decide what may or may not be considered improper, and I should add, Edmund, Chloe chose to marry into our family. As far as I'm concerned we did not marry into hers.' Yet Aloysius knew that for many people, including their friends, there was no wiping away the stain that was Serena's heritage.

Aloysius escorted his son to the door. At the far end of the entrance hall at the base of the stairs, Chloe was in conversation with Gwen, one of the maids. The two women were polar opposites, Gwen was short and stocky and garbed in a plain black dress and maid's apron while Chloe was dressed in burgundy silk, not a beauty by any means but tall and with pleasing proportions, her glossy nut-brown hair her best feature. Both women turned as Edmund left his father's side. Gwen, generally placid of disposition, fussed with the strings of her apron and quickly excused herself, leaving Chloe standing somewhat awkwardly as if she'd been caught telling secrets. She greeted Aloysius with her usual steely reserve and promptly called her husband to her side. In response, Aloysius shut the door and poured another nip of whiskey.

There were a sheaf of papers on his desk that demanded Aloysius's attention, but now that Edmund had brought up the topic of Fort Sill and Geronimo, he found it difficult to concentrate. He shuffled the papers absently, shifting them from one pile to another. He was considering closing down the mercantile store until the economy improved, but was loath to put his employees out of work.