The Americans (6 page)

herself which, in her misery and delirium, she transformed into a loathing of him. As he cowered in his room, a whipped animal, he returned to a conclusion he'd reached long before. His mother might be disturbed, but she couldn't be wholly irrational. She was his mother. In his scheme of things, that made her well nigh omnipotent. Thus, he concluded, she must have a very good reason for everything she said and did. The reason could only be that he was, indeed, worthless. That night, she died. In the aftermath of the attack on the house, Margaret's diary was discovered. In the book she'd kept a secret account of her deception of her husband. The disjointed, sometimes almost incoherent, narrative revealed the way she'd deliberately played father against daughter so that Eleanor came to hate Gideon for a time. Margaret's mistreatment of her son was nowhere written down-except on the tablet of the boy's mind. With the finding of the diary on the day Margaret's things were removed from her bedroom and consigned to a bonfire, Eleanor and her father were set on the road to reconciliation. But nothing could undo the damage done to W. Suffering silently, he concluded that the memory of his mother, already badly tarnished, could stand no further staining. He decided he must say nothing about the beatings. Someone had certainly found the hickory rod and tossed it on that bonfire without guessing the purpose to which it had been put. There was no point in accusing his poor mother after she was gone. She'd suffered enough. And she could no longer hurt him. Or so he thought. You'll be a bungler all your life. Months later, he still heard it in nightmares, or in waking daydreams in which he watched the rise and fall of the terrible rod. You'll never amount to anything. NEVER. As the years passed, he continued to hear that voice and never let on. Sometimes the voice was faint, sometimes it was quite loud. But either way, he never misunderstood what it was saying.

Gideon walked into Julia's sitting room. The two of them kept separate quarters for working, but not separate Xrfv beds. They were ideally matched, and found that the approach of middle age had in no way diminished their ardor. Gideon's only regret about their marriage was that they'd been unable to have a child of their own. One had been born-a girl; a sad, blue-faced little creature who had gone to a nameless death in forty minutes. On the advice of doctors, Julia had never risked pregnancy again. She was writing at her desk by gaslight. Notes for another lecture, he supposed. The sitting room was jammed with furniture and all sorts of ornamentation. That was perfectly in keeping with current fashion, but Gideon had to be observant to navigate. Reaching Julia's desk was like running a maze, in and out among the matching pieces of the rosewood set finished in gold brocade. Other areas were occupied by a tall grandfather clock, assorted whatnots, two pedestals bearing marble busts of elderly Romans, a rubber plant, two Boston ferns in expensive jardinieres, and a pair of large cabinets holding Julia's collection of cut glass. Almost every other horizontal surface in the room was equally cluttered. A cloth-of-gold lambrequin draped the mantel of the small fireplace. Several tables were almost completely concealed by long fringed cloths. The cloths in * turn were nearly hidden by books, picture albums, vases, figurines and even a jar full of dried rose petals. Nor did the walls escape. Julia had chosen all the decorations either because she liked them, or because they had some family significance. They included two Audubon prints, a large sketch of couples strolling in the garden of the Tuileries which Matt had done in 1879, two smaller prints based on his etchings for the Kent and Son book, 100 Years, and the stuffed head of a fierce owl with yellow eyes. The owl's head jutted from the wall near three brown- toned photographs showing the Parthenon on the Acropolis, the Colosseum in Rome, and Westminster Abbey. Photographs were becoming quite popular as household art. A memento which the Kents especially prized had come into the family at Christmas, 1880. One of Gideon's favorite hymns was "O Little Town of Bethlehem," which had been written and set to music in 1868. The author of the lyric was the Kents' friend Phillips Brooks, currently head of the Episcopal Theological School in Cambridge and for

mer rector of Trinity Church in Copley Square. Julia had gone to Brooks and asked him to copy the first stanza of the song, then sign it. She'd presented the manuscript to her husband as a surprise gift, and he in turn had insisted she frame it and hang it in an honored place in this room. Julia put her work aside and stood on tiptoe to greet her husband. Even so, she barely reached his shoulder. She was just five feet, with a perfectly proportioned figure, lustrous dark hair, and flawless pale skin that heightened the vivid blue of her eyes. She planted a kiss on his mouth. "Finished?" He pulled another cigar from the pocket of his velvet smoking jacket. "Who's ever finished these days? The world gets busier and busier." "Or could it be that we get older and slower?" They laughed. Julia was forty-three, older than her husband by three years. As she sat down, she noted his expression: "Darling, you're worrying again." He perched on a brocaded footstool beside the desk. He described the little scene with W. When he was through, she shook her head: "I don't quite see why you're worried. The boys have been close for a long time. That's natural for brothers. To have secrets is natural too." "It's a matter of degree. I feel Will relies entirely too much on Carter. Your son's a strong young man-temperamentally as well as physically. Maybe Will needs-was A gesture with the cigar. He groped for the words: "Independence. Independence and toughening. So that when he's on his own as a man, he can think and act for himself, not run to someone else for suggestions about everything from clothes to girls." In silence, Julia considered that. After a moment she nodded. "Very well. If you feel there's a problem, we must try to find some way to solve it." She sighed. "There seem to be problems everywhere. Carter's going to be dismissed from Harvard at the end of this term unless a miracle takes place at examination time." Her tone said she didn't anticipate a miracle. "I've failed to direct him properly, Gideon." He reached for her hand. "Nonsense. All boys his age assert themselves. I did." "Did you always try to impose your opinions and your wishes on other people?" "Sometimes," he said, though he couldn't remember having been so single-minded about it. "And did you absolutely refuse to accept authority?" He grinned. "Unfailingly." "Gideon Kent, you're just trying to make me feel better. You could never have served even one week in the cavalry if you acted the way Carter does." She shook her head. "Sometimes I see so much of Louis in him. Louis's disposition. Selfish. Willful-was "He's a good boy, Julia. You mustn't start believing otherwise, because he'll feel it." The reminder was for himself as much as for her. "He's also a man. Twenty-one years old. I can't control him any longer. But it's evident that I did a wretched job of raising him. In some ways I fear he's still Louis's son." "The past is gone. We ought to work on channeling the talents he's got." "What talents?" she replied in a melancholy way. "A talent for smiling? For charming people? Shall we encourage him to be another Ward McAllister?" Gideon frowned. Julia took her hand from his, covering her eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to say unkind things about my own son. But lately I've been very downcast about his future." "That makes two of us. I've been downcast about Will's." She nodded. "Sometimes I fear Carter hasn't any future, unless it's one like his poor father's-was She patted her husband's hand. "But it's good we got all of this into the open. It greater-than may be that we each need the other's objectivity. You think about Carter and I'll think about W. Perhaps between us-was A knock interrupted. The Kents looked up to see their tall, rather austere butler, Crawford: "Beg pardon, madam-beg pardon, sir. I tried to discourage the visitor, but he was insistent. He demands to see both of you." Gideon jumped up. "He's got a hell of a nerve demanding anything at this hour. Who is this fellow, Crawford?" "The gentleman claims to be from the college, Mr. Kent. He says he's driven alMhe way from Cambridge, and he's in a perfect rage about something. His name," Crawford added, "is Eisler." CHAPTER VII Defiance EDMUND EISLER DEPARTED forty minutes later. But as a result of his visit, the Kents were in no mood for sleep. The servants went to their beds down on the ground floor. Gideon and Julia had the first floor all to themselves. Around three-thirty, a heavy storm broke, drenching the house and the Common. The rain quickly slacked off, then stopped. There was little conversation between husband and wife. Gideon could tell how upset Julia was by the way she made frequent trips to the front parlor window. The rain- glistening slope of Beacon Street remained silent; empty. Four o'clock came. Four-thirty. Five. Finally, just as daylight was breaking and Julia was urging Gideon to go to the police, a soggy and tired-looking Carter have into view. It was Gideon who spied him. He quickly dropped the drapery and stepped away from the window. "He's coming. Minus a shoe, but there's no other visible damage." Julia murmured her relief, then smoothed her features and stood beside her husband, ready to deal with her son. Carter let himself in with his key and came to the parlor door, where light spilled out. Gideon had to admire the young man's brass. His smile was confident and guileless. "Still up? Hope I didn't worry you. The card game lasted until just a while ago." Julia fisted her hands at her sides. "Please don't make matters worse by lying." For an instant Carter's confidence cracked. Then the all but irresistible smile slipped back in place: "Lying? I don't understand. I've been in Willie Hearst's room all evening, playing poker-only not for ten thousand a hand, the way his father does-was Gideon stepped forward. "Young man, you've caused your mother no end of anxiety tonight. As she said-don't compound it by making up half truths. We know where you were, at least during the early part of the evening. Around midnight, we had a caller." He paused to let that sink in, then added, "Professor Eisler." Carter sagged against the doorframe. "Oh, Jesus." "Kindly do not use that sort of language in front of me," Julia said. "This is not a saloon or a bordello." Then, in spite of everything, a plaintive note crept into her voice. "Why did you deliberately set out to humiliate that man?" Jaw thrust out, Carter retorted, "He had it coming. He humiliates me every time I go to class." "Apparently," Gideon said, "that is due in large part to your failure to turn in the assigned work." Carter refused to answer the charge, exclaiming instead, "He's made my life miserable for almost two years!" Julia's eyes filled with angry tears. "What kind of son have I raised?" "Mother, don't make such a damn to-do-was "I should say we will make a to-do, as you call it!" Gideon roared. "But it was just a prank!" "And a very costly one for you," Gideon retorted. "Eisler said you drove a wagon to his house. A wagon which was totally demolished. How in God's name did you get hold of a wagon?" Carter shrugged. "It was easy. I paid good money, and I told the owner a good story about needing it for my club." Gideon seethed: "Just another little test of your powers of persuasion? The ingenuity you've developed in lieu of intelligence-?" Nervous and defensive, Carter smiled. The smile struck Gideon as utterly insolent. He could barely keep from II storming across the Oriental carpet and hitting his stepson. "You might call it that," Carter answered finally. "Do you mind if I say goodnight?" "Not until we've finished with you. Stand up straight!" The younger man glared. But he stopped leaning against the doorframe. Fuming, Gideon went on: "You act as though rules are made for everyone but you. As though life consists of nothing but challenges to your cleverness. Apparently you never trouble to consider the propriety or the consequences of your behavior. What's become of the Carter Kent who helped his stepbrother get into baseball games in Central Park? When you persuaded those slum roughnecks to let Will join in, you were doing something with a worthy purpose!" Carter looked baffled. "I helped Will because I like him. And because I enjoyed wrapping those clods around my little finger-was A glance at Julia. "Just the way you wrap up an audience." "It isn't the same!" she cried. "I'm not playing some- some intellectual game. I mean every word." "I wish I knew what you were getting at, Mother." "At being responsible, not merely successful," Gideon broke in. "Somehow we've failed to make the distinction clear." Julia caught his arm. Red-faced, he turned away, struggling to draw another breath. Carter did his best to act nonchalant. "May I go to bed now?" "You might as well," Julia said. "And there's no point in getting up for your classes. Eisler told us he's going to the administration first thing this morning. I'm afraid you're finished at Harvard." Gideon had recovered and was breathing evenly again. There was iron in his voice as he said, "Nevertheless, Julia, I shall expect Carter at the breakfast table one hour from now." He turned an implacable eye on his stepson. "We will discuss the reparations you must and will make to the owner of the wagon." It was no satisfaction to Gideon that Carter finally looked stunned by the news of his dismissal from Harvard. He limped toward the staircase without another word. His wet shoe squeaked in the silence. When he was gone, Julia leaned against her husband and held onto him. "I really have failed to teach him anything." "The responsibility's mine too." "What can we do with him?" Gideon told her the truth: "I don't know." He feared it was already too late to change Carter's amoral approach to life. But he was obliged to try.

Associate Professor Edmund Eisler hadn't been uttering idle threats. The next afternoon at four o'clock, a special messenger delivered a notice from Harvard College stating that Mr. Carter Kent," Beacon Street, had been dismissed from the second year class and could not under any circumstances be reinstated. It came as no surprise. In fact, Gideon had already planned his stepson's future on the basis of an impending dismissal. At breakfast he had presented Carter with a series of ultimatums. He would take a job at Kent and Son, and from his salary, repay the fair price of the wagon in weekly installments. He would pay for the horse too if it I failed to turn up. Carter was required to call on the bakery owner, admit his deception, and handle all the arrangements. On every point, Carter quickly murmured an agreement. But Gideon feared the young man was secretly unrepentant, and was only making a show to mollify his mother. No matter. He would pay for the damage he had done. Early the next day, he was put to work carrying paper from the warehouse to the pressroom of the publishing house. The paper was heavy, the work tiring. Carter didn't complain. At least not within Gideon's hearing. And although Carter did face the bakery owner and work out details of the repayment, Gideon was still suspicious that the change in his stepson's attitude was merely temporary. He was right. It lasted just two weeks. On Tuesday, shortly after the noon break, Gideon summoned Carter to his office on the top floor of the building. Near the desk littered with ledgers, bills, and galleys stood Mr. Verity Pleasant, the stout, gray-haired superintendent of the pressroom. Pleasant was the great-grandson of Supply Pleasant, the editor of Philip Kent's first newspaper, the