The Sands of Time (15 page)

The next afternoon, after the Requiem mass, she was carried through the cloister by the nuns to the private, walled cemetery where even in death the nuns kept their enclosure. The sisters, three and three, lowered her carefully into the grave, supported on white bands of linen. It was the Cistercian custom for the dead to lie uncovered in the earth, buried without a coffin. As the last service they performed for their sister, two nuns started to drop soil softly onto her still body before they all returned to the church to say the psalms of penance. Three times they begged that God have mercy on her soul:

Domine miserere super peccatrice.

Domine miserere super peccatrice.

Domine miserere super peccatrice.

There were often times when young Megan was filled with melancholy. The convent gave her serenity, and yet she was not completely at peace. It was as though a part of her were missing. She felt longings that she should have long ago forgotten. She found herself thinking about the friends she had left behind in the orphanage, and wondering what had happened to them. And she wondered what was happening in the outside world, the world that she had renounced, a world where there was music and dancing and laughter.

Megan went to Sister Betina.

“It happens to all of us from time to time,” she assured Megan. “The church calls it acedia. It is a spiritual malaise, an instrument of Satan. Do not worry about it, child. It will pass.”

And it did.

But what did not pass was the bone-deep longing to know who her parents were.
I’ll never know,
Megan thought despairingly.
Not as long as I live.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

New York City

1976

T
he reporters gathered outside the gray façade of New York’s Waldorf-Astoria Hotel watched the parade of celebrities in evening dress alight from their limousines, enter the revolving doors, and head for the Grand Ballroom on the third floor. The guests had come from around the world.

Cameras flashed as reporters called out, “Mr. Vice-President, would you look this way, please?”

“Governor Adams, could I have one more picture, please?”

There were senators and representatives from several foreign countries, business tycoons, and celebrities. And they were all there to celebrate Ellen Scott’s sixtieth birthday. In truth, it was not so much Ellen Scott that they were honoring as the philanthropy of Scott Industries, one of the most powerful conglomerates in the world. The huge, sprawling empire included oil companies and steel mills, communications systems and banks. All the money raised this evening would go to international charities.

Scott Industries had interests in every part of the world. Twenty-seven years earlier, its president, Milo Scott, had died unexpectedly of a heart attack, and his wife, Ellen, had taken over the management of the huge conglomerate. In the ensuing years she proved to be a brilliant executive, more than tripling the assets of the company.

The Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf-Astoria was an enormous room decorated in beige and gold, with a red-carpeted stage at one end. A balcony holding thirty-three boxes with a chandelier over each one curved around the entire room.

In the center of the balcony sat the guest of honor. There were at least six hundred men and women present, dining at tables gleaming with silver.

When dinner was finished, the governor of New York strode onto the stage.

“Mr. Vice-President, ladies and gentlemen, honored guests, we are all here tonight for one purpose: to pay tribute to a remarkable woman and to her unselfish generosity over the years. Ellen Scott is the kind of person who could have made a success in any field. She would have been a great scientist or doctor. She would also have made a great politician, and I must tell you that if Ellen Scott decides to run for president of the United States, I’ll be the first one to vote for her. Not in the next election, of course, but the one after that.”

There was laughter and applause.

“But Ellen Scott is much more than just a brilliant woman. She is a charitable, compassionate human being who never hesitates to get involved in the problems that face the world today…”

The speech went on for ten more minutes, but Ellen Scott was no longer listening.
How wrong he is,
she thought wryly.
How wrong they all are. Scott Industries isn’t even my company. Milo and I stole it And I’m guilty of a far greater crime than that It doesn’t matter any longer. Not now. Because I’ll be dead soon.

She remembered the doctor’s exact words as he read the lab report that was her death sentence.

“I’m dreadfully sorry, Mrs. Scott, but I’m afraid there’s no way to break this to you gently. The cancer has spread throughout your lymphatic system. It’s inoperable.”

She had felt the sudden leaden weight in her stomach.

“How…how long do I have?”

He hesitated. “A year—maybe.”

Not enough time. Not with so much still to do.
“You will say nothing of this, of course.” Her voice was steady.

“Certainly not.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

She had no recollection of leaving Columbia-Presbyterian Medical Center or of the drive downtown. Her only thought was:
I must find her before I die.

Now the governor’s speech was over.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor and privilege to introduce Mrs. Ellen Scott.”

She rose to a standing ovation, then walked toward the stage, a thin, gray-haired, straight-backed woman, smartly dressed and projecting a vitality she no longer felt.
Looking at me is like seeing the distant light of a long-dead star,
she thought bitterly.
I’m not really here anymore.

On the stage she waited for the applause to die down.
They’re applauding a monster. What would they do if they knew?
When she spoke, her voice was firm.

“Mr. Vice-President, senators, Governor Adams…”

A year,
she was thinking.
I wonder where she is and if she is still alive. I must find out

She talked on, automatically saying all the things her audience expected to hear. “I gladly accept this tribute not for myself, but for all those who have worked so hard to lighten the burden of those who are less fortunate than we are…”

Her mind was drifting back forty-two years to Gary, Indiana…

At eighteen, Ellen Dudash was employed at the Scott Industries automotive-parts plant in Gary, Indiana. She was an attractive, outgoing girl, popular with her fellow workers. On the day Milo Scott came to inspect the plant, Ellen was selected to escort him around.

“Hey! How about you, Ellie? Maybe you’ll marry the boss’s brother and we’ll all be working for you.”

Ellen Dudash laughed. “Right. And that’s when pigs will grow wings.”

Milo Scott was not at all what Ellen had expected. He was in his early thirties, tall and slim.
Not bad-looking,
Ellen thought. He was shy and almost deferential.

“It’s very kind of you to take the time to show me around, Miss Dudash. I hope I’m not taking you away from your work.”

She grinned. “I hope you are.”

He was so easy to talk to.

I can’t believe I’m kidding around with the big boss’s brother. Wait till I tell Mom and Pop about this.

Milo seemed genuinely interested in the workers and their problems. Ellen took him through the department where the round drive gears and the long driven gears were made. She showed him through the annealing room, where the soft gears were put through a hardening process, and the packing section and the shipping department, and he seemed properly impressed.

“It’s certainly a large operation, isn’t it, Miss Dudash?”

He owns all of this, and he acts like an awed kid I guess it takes all kinds.

It was in the assembly section that the accident happened. An overhead cable car carrying metal bars to the machine shop snapped and a load of iron came tumbling down. Milo Scott was directly beneath it. Ellen saw it coming a fraction of a second before it hit and, without thinking, shoved him out of harm’s way. Two of the heavy iron bars hit her before she could escape, and she was knocked unconscious.

She awakened in a private suite in a hospital. The room was literally filled with flowers. When Ellen opened her eyes and looked around, she thought:
I’ve died and gone to heaven.

There were orchids and roses and lilies and chrysanthemums and rare blooms she could not even begin to identify.

Her right arm was in a cast and her ribs were taped and felt bruised.

A nurse came in. “Ah, you’re awake, Miss Dudash. I’ll inform the doctor.”

“Where—where am I?”

“Blake Center—it’s a private hospital.”

Ellen looked around the large suite.
I can never afford to pay for all this.

“We’ve been screening your calls.”

“What calls?”

“The press has been trying to get in to interview you. Your friends have been calling. Mr. Scott has telephoned several times…”

Milo Scott!
“Is he all right?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Was he hurt in the accident?”

“No. He was here again early this morning, but you were asleep.”

“He came to see me?”

“Yes.” She looked around the room. “Most of these flowers are from him.”

Unbelievable.

“Your mother and father are in the waiting room. Do you feel up to seeing them now?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll send them in.”

Boy, I’ve never been treated like this in a hospital before,
Ellen thought.

Her mother and father walked in and came up to the bed. They had been born in Poland and their English was tentative. Ellen’s father was a mechanic, a burly, rough-hewn man in his fifties, and her mother was a bluff northern European peasant.

“I brought you some soup, Ellen.”

“Mom—they feed people in hospitals.”

“Not my soup they don’t feed you in the hospital. Eat it and you’ll get well faster.”

Her father said, “Did you see the paper? I brung you a copy.”

He handed the newspaper to her. The headline read:
FACTORY WORKER RISKS LIFE TO SAVE BOSS
.

She read the story twice.

“That was a brave thing you done to save him.”

Brave? It was stupid. If I had had time to think, I would have saved myself. That was the dumbest thing I ever did Why, I could have been killed!

Milo Scott came to see Ellen later that morning. He was carrying another bouquet of flowers.

“These are for you,” he said awkwardly. “The doctor tells me you’re going to be fine. I—I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you.”

“It was nothing.”

“It was the most courageous act I’ve ever seen. You saved my life.”

She tried to move, but it sent a sharp pain through her arm.

“Are you all right?”

“Sure.” Her side was beginning to throb. “What did the doc say was wrong with me?”

“You have a broken arm and three broken ribs.”

He couldn’t have given her worse news. Her eyes filled with tears.

“What’s the matter?”

How could she tell him? He would only laugh at her. She had been saving up for a long-awaited vacation to New York with some of the girls from the factory. It had been her dream.
Now I’ll be out of work for a month or more. There goes Manhattan.

Ellen had been working since she was fifteen. She had always been fiercely independent and self-sufficient, but now she thought:
Maybe if he’s so grateful he’ll pay part of my hospital bills. But I’ll be damned if I’ll ask him.
She was beginning to feel drowsy.
It must be the medication.

She said sleepily, “Thank you for all the flowers, Mr. Scott. And it was nice meeting you.”
I’ll worry about the hospital bills later.

Ellen Dudash slept.

The following morning, a tall, distinguished-looking man came into Ellen’s suite.

“Good morning, Miss Dudash. How are you feeling this morning?”

“Better, thank you.”

“I’m Sam Norton, chief public-relations officer for Scott Industries.”

“Oh.” She had never seen him before. “Do you live here?”

“No. I flew in from Washington.”

“To see me?”

“To assist you.”

“To assist me in
what
?”

“The press is outside, Miss Dudash. Since I don’t believe you’ve ever held a press conference, I thought perhaps you could use some help.”

“What do they want?”

“Mainly, they’re going to ask you to tell them about how and why you saved Mr. Scott.”

“Oh. That’s easy. If I had stopped to think, I’d have run like hell.”

Norton stared at her. “Miss Dudash—I don’t think I would say that if I were you.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

This was not at all what he had expected. The girl seemed to have no idea of her situation.

There was something worrying Ellen, and she decided to get it out in the open. “Are you going to see Mr. Scott?”

“Yes.”

“Would you do me a favor?”

“If I can, certainly.”

“I know the accident’s not his fault, and he didn’t ask me to push him out of the way, but—” The strong independent streak in her made her hesitate. “Oh, never mind.”

Ah, here it comes,
Norton thought. How much reward was she going to try to extort? Would it be cash? A better job? What? “Please, go on, Miss Dudash.”

She blurted it out. “The truth is, I don’t have a lot of money, and I’m going to lose some pay because of this, and I don’t think I can afford all these hospital bills. I don’t want to bother Mr. Scott, but if he could arrange a loan for me, I’d pay it back.” She saw the expression on Norton’s face, and misread it. “I’m sorry. I guess I sound mercenary. It’s just that I’ve been saving up for a trip, and—well, this screws everything up.” She took a deep breath. “It’s not his problem. I’ll manage.”

Sam Norton almost kissed her.
How long has it been since I’ve come across real innocence? It’s enough to restore my faith in womankind.

He sat down at the side of her bed, and his professional manner disappeared. He took her hand. “Ellen, I have a feeling you and I are going to be great friends. I promise you, you’re not going to have to worry about money. But the first thing we have to do is get you through this press conference. We want you to come out of this looking good, so that—” He stopped himself. “I’m going to be honest. My job is to see that Scott Industries comes out of this looking good. Do you understand?”

“I guess so. You mean it wouldn’t sound so good if I said I wasn’t really interested in saving Milo Scott? It would sound better if I said something like, ‘I like working for Scott Industries so much that when I saw Milo Scott was in danger, I knew I had to try to save him, even at the risk of my own life’?”

“Yes.”

She laughed. “Okay. If it’ll help you. But I don’t want to kid you, Mr. Norton. I don’t know what made me do it.”

He smiled. “That will be our secret. I’ll let the lions in.”

There were more than two dozen reporters and photographers from radio stations, newspapers, and magazines. It was a man-bites-dog story, and the press intended to make the most of it. It was not every day that a pretty young employee risked her life to save her boss’s brother. And the fact that he happened to be Milo Scott did not hurt the story one bit.

“Miss Dudash—when you saw all that iron hurtling down at you, what was your first thought?”