Beverly Byrne Page 2

  "Do switch on the lamp, Amy," Aunt Lil said. "You'll hurt your eyes sewing in that dim light."

  The girl did as she was bid, and returned to her embroidery. Tommy added cherries to his creations and lifted the tray of drinks to be admired.

  "Voila! The TWS is ready for your delectation."

  "What does TWS mean?" Lil asked.

  "Tommy Westerman Special." He walked with the tray toward his aunt, and Amy caught her breath slightly, afraid he'd spill the drinks. His limp was pronounced at this time of day. The specially builtup shoe he wore on his right foot always seemed less effective by evening. None of the others offered to help him. Amy had guessed that he resented assistance. Now there was no accident, despite her concern. Lil took one of the glasses, and Tommy moved to where Amy sat.

  "Your evening libation memsahib," He bowed with exaggerated deference.

  "I've never had anything but sherry before. And do stop calling me that." She laughed nervously as she reached for her drink.

  "Why? It's what you're used to, and we want you to feel at home. Don't we, Luke? And isn't that what everyone called her when we were there?"

  Luke turned and smiled for the first time that evening. He had an incredibly sunny smile that lit his face. "You're forgetting, I wasn't along on that trip to Africa. Had to go to summer school if I was going to get into Hotchkiss." He laughed and walked over to collect his own drink. "This little brat tormented me for the next year about all I'd missed," he told Amy. "You should have heard his stories. Lions and tigers and giraffes eating out of his hand. Black men bowing and scraping and calling him b'wana for all he was the ripe old age of eleven."

  "They did," Tommy said. "And they called Amy memsahib. And she couldn't have been more than six."

  "Seven," Amy corrected. "But it doesn't mean anything. It's just their way."

  "Damned right too," Tommy said. "Keep the natives in their place and all that sort of thing. Wot?"

  His British accent was very good, and he produced a monocle from the pocket of his vest. Luke wore a blazer and an ascot, but Tommy, as always, was in a three-piece suit and bow tie. He held the tray with one hand while he fitted the monocle and crossed the room to deliver a drink to Uncle Warren. Now he was Jeeves rather than an African.

  Amy giggled in spite of herself. Luke sat down on the arm of her chair. "Don't be fooled by him. It's not humor. It's delusion.Stark mad, my poor brother. Fancies himself Napoleon every time there's a new moon."

  Tommy turned to face them. "Yes, too bad isn't it? And the lad showed such promise too. Never had to go to summer school, that one. Straight A's and never seemed to do a lick of work."

  Amy heard the undertone of bitterness in Tommy's voice, but she saw no answering anger in Luke's blue eyes.

  "This is really quite good, Tommy." Lil sipped her drink with appreciation. "Isn't it good, Warren?"

  "Mmm, yes, all right if you say so." He returned to his book. Neither his sister, his nephews, nor their guest fascinated him. He didn't try to hide the fact. "Fellow here says he's had marvelous results by leaving roses unpruned. Extraordinary. Have to write to him."

  Luke smiled ruefully at Amy. "We must all seem a little mad to you," he said softly.

  "Why do you say that?" she asked.

  Luke started to answer, but Tommy came back to where they were sitting and occupied the other arm of her chair. Amy could see his heavy leather invalid's shoe where it gleamed in the lamplight. "I've arranged for the car tomorrow morning," he told her. "I'm taking you on a tour of the countryside." To his brother he added, "Care to join us?" His voice now held none of the hostility of the moment before.

  "Sorry," Luke said. "I've some letters to write that can't wait."

  Amy had not thought it would be so easy to laugh again. She still wore black, as did Lil, but the house in Cross River was not a place of mourning. The Westermans were deft at handling their grief. It was acknowledged in tiny silences and the occasional bittersweet comment about what Charles or Cecily might have said or done were they there. Sadness was an interstice in the pattern of life. They all seemed to accept that eventually the gap would silt over and only memory remain.

  Amy felt guilty. She did not understand such an attitude, nor was she sure of her right to share it. But her guilt was a sometime thing, deep and poignant when it surfaced, but often forgotten.

  Cross River was a leafy haven near the Connecticut border where rich Manhattan folk had summer homes, and the locals seemed to be born in spring and die in autumn. The next day Tommy took her outside its privileged environs to the rural countryside.

  He drove slowly past perfect little farms with red barns and shining silos and pacific cows that seemed placed by an artist with an unerring eye. Once they saw a couple of pigs wallowing in a muddy puddle by the roadside, truants from an enclosed yard most likely. Tommy regaled her with an endless story of a pig that won so many prizes at the country fair that the proud owner moved into the sty and gave the pig the run of the house. She laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks.

  On the way home he felt less obliged to show her the sights, and he drove very fast instead. The Pierce-Arrow could do better than thirty miles an hour, and Tommy pushed it to its limit. After lunch Amy said she wanted to take a walk. Tommy didn't offer to join her-rambling through the countryside was one of the things he couldn't do-and Luke had already disappeared, so she was alone.

  The guilt came over her in waves then. Crying, she walked only as far as the duck pond and sat there, solitary under the willow trees.

  Luke appeared from the direction of the tennis courts. Amy knew how well he played. She'd watched him a few days ago. He moved across the grass with a dazzling blend of speed and elegance.

  The neighbor who was his frequent opponent was good too, but Luke always won. "As good as young Bill Tilden," the loser said. Amy heard talk of Luke's entering the national championships, or competing at Wimbledon. The suggestion always came from someone else. Luke only laughed. "I play for my own amusement, that's all," he'd told her.

  Now he dropped the racket and came to sit beside her. For some seconds neither of them spoke. "Would you rather be alone?" Luke asked finally.

  "Yes, no ... I don't know. I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. I feel the same way lots of times. That's the nice thing about being a girl. You can cry and no one thinks less of you for it."

  "I didn't think any of you ever felt like crying."

  He looked startled. "What ever gave you that idea?"

  Amy wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. "The way you all act," she said. "Laughing, making jokes, playing tennis. It's just two months since it happened."

  "Maybe it's because we know that's how Mother and Dad would have wanted it." It was a lame explanation and he knew it.

  "That's got nothing to do with it," she said. "I'm not just crying for them. I'm crying for me, because I want them back. I want things to be as they were before we came here. I want to be at Jericho and I want them there too. Do you understand?"

  "Of course I do. You're very wise for such a young girl." He reached for her hand, and Amy let him take it. "You're honest about your feelings. That's a long way toward mastering them."

  "I don't care about mastering my feelings. Just about making it different. Making the Lusitania never happen. "

  "Can't be done, I'm afraid," he said softly. "Amy, if I talk to you about the will of God, will you try and understand?"

  She pulled her hand away. "I'm not a Catholic, you know that."

  Luke chuckled. "That's not what I mean. The will of God is a bigger concept than anyone religion."

  Amy shook her head impatiently and he dropped the approach. "Would you like a change from Cross River?" he asked suddenly.

  "What kind of a change?"

  "I have to go into the city day after tomorrow. I plan to leave right after breakfast and be back around dinner time. Why don't you come?"

  She turned to him with a smile, although her enormous da
rk eyes were still shiny with tears. "Yes, I'd like that. Will it be just you and me? Is Tommy coming?" She felt her cheeks redden. He'd think she didn't want to go anywhere without Tommy.

  "Nope," he said. "Just you and me. Ok?"

  "Fine."

  "Good. I'll tell Aunt Lil."

  They arranged to take the 8:00 A.M. train. The night before their departure Lil came to Amy's room when she was preparing for bed. "I've a couple of errands that need doing in the city. Would you mind, darling?"

  "No, of course not. I'm not very good at shopping, though. Mummy took me with her a few times when we first arrived, but I'm not used to big stores."

  "I know you're not, poor thing," Lil said indulgently. "How could you be after all those years in the bush?" Her tone indicated what a deprivation she considered a girlhood in Africa, but Amy didn't bother to correct the notion. "It won't matter," Lil continued. "They're very helpful at Altman's and they know me. It's just these gloves. I've lost two buttons, and they've nothing to match them in the shops here."

  She handed over a pair of white kid gloves missing two tiny pearl buttons and a note with the name of the sales clerk for whom Amy was to ask. It struck the girl that she'd never seen Lil wear the gloves. Not even on her Sunday trips to the local church. "Is there anything else, Aunt Lil?"

  "Well, if you're near a Schrafft's, get one of those gorgeous fudge cakes. Bessie is a terrible baker. Warren likes cakes from Schrafft's best of all." Her attention suddenly switched. "You like Luke, don't you?"

  Amy was startled. "Of course I do. He's been so kind to me. You all have."

  "I don't mean that," Lil said. "It's just that Luke is such a golden boy. While Tommy ..." Her voice trailed off.

  "Tommy is very amusing," Amy said. She felt obliged to defend the younger Westerman boy, though she didn't know why.

  "He's brilliant, you know that don't you? Tommy's going to make his mark. Politics, I imagine. He's really extraordinarily intelligent. Charles always said so."

  Lit wore a double strand of pearls, and she kept toying with them while she spoke. Her hands, Amy noticed, betrayed her fifty plus years as none of the rest of her did. They trembled slightly and blue veins showed against crinkled skin. "Tommy's quite strong you know. Despite his leg. He does special exercises, and his arms and shoulders are powerful. He can lift anything."

  "Yes, Aunt Lil, I know. I think both Luke and Tommy are wonderful. And I'm very grateful ..."

  "Shh." She leaned forward and put her hands on the girl's shoulders. "I don't want you talking about gratitude. Your mother and father were Charles and Cecily's best friends. We love you, darling, and we're overjoyed to have you with us. Particularly just now. That's not what I mean at all."

  "What do you mean, Aunt Lil?"

  The older woman smiled. "I'm a silly old maid who's still a romantic at heart. I mean nothing, darling, ignore me. Have a nice day tomorrow."

  Luke had to go to Donald Varley's office to sign some papers, one of the reasons for his trip, so he took Amy to Wall Street first.

  "You know Uncle Donald, don't you, Amy?" Luke asked when they were shown into the lawyer's presence.

  "We've met," Varley said. "I'm glad to see you looking so well, Miss Norman. May I call you Amy? Good. The country air must agree with you." He pushed some papers toward Luke while he spoke. Luke hesitated for a moment and exchanged a look with his uncle. Then he signed them quickly, without bothering to read the contents.

  "I had a note from your headmistress the other day, Amy," Varley said. "She's concerned about you. You should write to Miss Taylor."

  "Yes, I know I should. I will, this week. I promise."

  "That's fine. Now, can I offer you two young people lunch? I've a regular table at Luchows. The food's quite good."

  "Thanks, but we've errands to do," Luke said quickly. "We'll get something later."

  They rode uptown on a bus, sitting on the open upper deck, and Luke accompanied Amy on the foray into Altman's. Then they went to Schrafft's for lunch and bought a fudge cake on their way out. It had been cloudy during the morning; now the sum came out and it grew hotter. Amy felt the weight of her black serge dress.

  "You're looking tired," Luke said solicitously. "I have to go up to Sixty-sixth Street. We'll take a taxi." He hunted until he found one of the few remaining horse-drawn cabs, and Amy sat beside him in friendly silence, watching the city pass by. In twenty minutes they pulled up by a large gray pseudo-gothic building. St. Vincent Ferrer's Church, a sign said. Dominican Priory.

  "What does that mean?" Amy asked.

  "The Dominicans are a religious order. Priests who follow after St. Dominic. He lived in the twelfth century."

  "Then they've a long way to follow," she said.

  He smiled his sunny smile, as if her wit were magnificent. "I have to see someone here. Would you mind waiting? You can sit in the church. It's cool and no one will bother you. I won't be long."

  "I don't mind."

  He ushered her inside. Amy just stood, but Luke genuflected and knelt in a pew for a few moments. After he left she sat on one of the wooden benches and studied the long nave and the elaborate statuary. She had no eye for art, but she recognized what was here as being better than the pink and white plaster figures s.cattered around the house in Cross River. Soon Luke returned and they went outside into the sunlight.

  "Look," he said as if the idea had just occurred to him, "would you mind visiting one more church? I'd like to show you something."

  "Can we walk?" she said. "I'd like to."

  They headed further uptown and in half an hour reached Eighty-third Street and Madison Avenue. This church was different from the first. It was of gray stone too, but it had no gothic pretensions. The letters A.M.D.G. were carved over the door. "This is a Jesuit church," Luke explained. "They're another religious order. The initials stand for their motto. Latin for 'To the greater glory of God.' It's our parish church. Our house is nearby."

  The interior was bigger and brighter than that of St. Vincent Ferrer. Luke directed her to a side altar with a statue of the Virgin Mary, drew her to the wall and pointed to a marble plaque.

  It was obviously new, and bore the names of Charles and Cecily Westerman; 'Lost at sea and safe with almighty God' it said. Then the letters R.I.P.

  "I just wanted you to know it was here," Luke said. "I don't know why it seemed important. Crazy, I guess."

  Amy felt a sudden sense of the most terrible and agonizing desolation. In seconds she was wracked with sobs.

  "Oh, lord! Amy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I thought you'd find it comforting. The same's true of your parents. It has to be. Oh, please stop crying. I'm so very sorry."

  "It's all right, it's not your fault," she managed to say. He handed her his handkerchief, and she blew her nose and looked around. Except for themselves, the church was deserted.

  "I didn't have any funeral for my parents," she whispered. "I thought about it, but nobody said anything and we aren't religious so ..."

  Luke looked horrified for a moment, but he masked the reaction quickly. "We can still arrange something," he said. "I'll help if you like. You're Protestants, aren't you?"

  "No," she shook her head. The sobs were still threateningly close. "We're not anything. Maybe it could be here. They could have a plaque next to this one. They were such good friends . . ." Her voice trailed away when she saw the look on his face.

  "I'm sorry," Luke said. "It's not allowed. Because they weren't Catholics. But I'm sure we can find another church. I'll talk to someone right away."

  She shook her head again. "No, that's all right, it's a silly idea. They were never religious. Neither am I."

  They spoke little on the journey home. Luke tried to bring up the subject again, but Amy forestalled him.

  When they were on the train she remembered the chocolate fudge cake. They'd left it behind in the church. In her mind's eye she could clearly see the white box with its blue lettering. She'd left it on the velvet c
ushion of the kneeler in the side chapel, below the plaque to the Westermans. She wondered what the next visitor would think of such an offering.

  3

  "WHAT HAPPENED IN NEW YORK?" TOMMY flipped a flat stone into the pond and some ducks squawked angrily.

  "Why do you think anything happened?" Amy trailed her hand in the water. It was warm and felt slightly slimy. She withdrew her fingers quickly.

  "Because you and Luke haven't said a word to each other since you got back," Tommy said. "Are you angry with him? Hard to imagine good old Luke being anything but a perfect gentleman."

  "Oh, no!" Amy said. "It wasn't anything like that."