The Americans

by John Jakes

  Nell asked no questions, so when he was finished, he checked the slate to make sure she’d written down the essential information. She had. She promised to pack the box with fresh bran once a day.

  “Good.” Will wiped his hands on a towel. “The bran will absorb any discharge from the wound and help keep the dressing dry. Dr. Barton’s treatment is an old one, but it’s very good and still very popular—oh, by the way. Replace the linen as soon as you can find gauze.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Will rolled down his sleeves and took out his pocket watch. More time had passed than he’d realized. Soon he’d have to be on his way to the railway station.

  Jackson was awake again. He’d listened to most of Will’s instructions. Though obviously in pain and still intoxicated, he managed to mumble a garbled thank-you to the man who had helped him.

  Will appreciated the thanks. He took satisfaction from having done his job with reasonable competence. Yet the satisfaction couldn’t offset a larger disappointment he was experiencing now that his mind was no longer focused on his patient.

  As he put on his coat, he was conscious of the stillness of the house. Laura and her friends were still out in the sleighs, having a fine time. As he walked out of the library, he realized the carriage would probably leave for the depot before Laura returned. He wouldn’t see her—not today or ever again, thanks to what he’d done. That was bitter medicine.

  “Will?”

  Astonished by the voice, he looked toward the doors to the living hall. “Laura!”

  ii

  She hurried toward him. The silken dust ruffle inside the hem of her skirt showed briefly, a pale froth. Her stride, and her determined expression, kept Will from smiling to show his delight.

  She’d taken off her fur hat and muff but still wore her fur-trimmed jacket, which was much too heavy for indoors. Perhaps that accounted for her flushed look. That, or anger.

  “I thought you were with the others—” he began.

  “At the last moment I decided not to go. I thought it was more important to stay and speak with you. Please come outside so we won’t be overheard.”

  “But it’s snowing hard out—”

  “Please come outside.”

  This time he didn’t argue. He was overjoyed at seeing her again, and anxious to know what had put such intensity in her voice.

  iii

  He followed her out the front door, down the steps, and around toward the east side of the mansion. She seemed unconcerned about the snow, although it stuck in her hair, melted, and ruined her coiffure.

  She stopped under a large window consisting of pieces of red, orange, and yellow stained glass arranged to represent a sunset. Gaslight inside cast a bloody glow on the white ground, and on Will and Laura as they faced one another.

  “You quite spoiled my morning, Will Kent.”

  Anger flared again. “I’m very sorry. A man needed help.”

  “I decided to let you indulge your humanitarian instincts this once.”

  “Christ, that’s charitable of you!”

  The force of that made her blink and step back. All at once, gazing at her through the curtain of the snow, he was again struck by her incredible beauty. His rage moderated. He even tried to excuse her behavior by telling himself that no one was perfect: everyone’s character—his own included—had objectionable aspects.

  Laura, too, seemed in a gentler, more conciliatory mood all at once. Her gray eyes softened as she and Will stood gazing at one another in the falling snow. She moved closer again.

  “I don’t want to quarrel with you, Will. It’s forward of me to say this—altogether improper, but I”—she looked away—“I’ve been taken with you since the moment Marcus first mentioned your name and what you did. You’re ever so much more interesting and—well—substantial than the drones he usually brings home.”

  Will’s face lost its strained look. “I don’t want to quarrel either.” A sheepish smile. “And I owe you an apology for swearing again.”

  “No, you don’t. In the library, I said what I did because I thought the others were listening. I disapproved of your profanity for the sake of appearances, that’s all. You’ve no idea how important appearances can be in our circle. I’ll have to impress that on you if we continue seeing one another.”

  Not when. If. Was her turn of phrase intentional or accidental? He’d better find out.

  “I thought that my decision to help Jackson made it certain that we wouldn’t see each other.”

  “Not quite. I like you, Will. I decided one indiscretion was forgivable—if we could strike a bargain. I admire your idealism, but it must be channeled, my dear. Kept within practical limits.”

  He thought of their earlier conversation. Of the image of the lioness who allowed her mate to appear dominant but who in fact controlled everything he did.

  She laid a hand on his arm. “My proposition’s a very straightforward one. If we permit our friendship to ripen— and I hope we can—this morning must be the first and last time you ever leave my side to do your horse doctoring.”

  “Horse—” Stunned, he couldn’t go on. It took him a moment to recover and say, “You still don’t understand. That man Jackson—”

  “Is the kind of patient who is not worthy of your attention. You squander your talent and your energy when you deal with people of his station. It’s beneath you! What’s worse, if you continue with that kind of work, you’ll soon give everyone the idea that you want to do nothing else. That you’re capable of nothing else.”

  How icily calculating that sounded. She was concerned with subtleties of which he wasn’t even aware. How was that possible when she was so young?

  The face of her mother flashed into his mind. A modest, retiring woman. Deceptively so. “My dear—if you please.” She ruled her husband, and she’d evidently taught her daughter all her skills. Until this moment, he hadn’t quite believed the word lioness was appropriate, but at last he did.

  Laura was saying, “If you’ll just realize that the impression you create is every bit as important as your actual ability, you can be a very successful doctor. Prosperous. Prominent, too.”

  He smiled, surprised. “I can’t imagine that you’d be interested in the medical profession.”

  She touched her upper lip to flick away a flake of melting snow. “I am because you are. When Marcus first described you, Papa made disparaging remarks about doctors. He said they were undistinguished and poverty-stricken. That isn’t true, is it?”

  “Not for all of them. Some do exceptionally well—if they have a touch of luck, and a few friends in the right places.”

  “Do you mean sponsors? Patron families who help them establish a practice?”

  “Yes.”

  Her gray eyes seemed to bore through him. “Sponsors such as the Pennels, for example?”

  He nodded, trying to soften the strange, almost uncomfortable intensity of the moment by smiling again. He had a curious feeling that she knew much more about his chosen profession than she admitted. Had she been asking questions? If so, why?

  He could only find one explanation; but it was one which pleased him. She felt a physical attraction as strong as his. He saw it in the scarlet lights glowing in her eyes. She wanted him the way he wanted her—

  Of course that could only come with marriage. But she seemed to be hinting that it surely would come if he obeyed the rules.

  Her rules.

  But would that be so hard to accept if she took him where he wanted to go? He decided the answer was no.

  Again she startled him by doing the unexpected. After a swift glance over her shoulder, she put her hands on his upper arms and held him tightly.

  “I’m afraid I’m quite taken with you, Mr. Kent. I don’t know exactly how it happened, or whether it’s wise. But they say the heart is seldom wise. Still—there are terms. If you can’t agree to them, I’ll feel terribly brokenhearted, but I imagine I’ll survive. So tell me, my dear. Do you want to s
ee me again?”

  He was almost giddy with happiness. And yet, in a remote corner of his mind, some small voice protested that her performance was too perfect to be sincere. She couldn’t possibly care for him as she said she did—

  Or was that only his sense of inferiority trying to rob him of happiness by telling him he wasn’t worthy of it?

  She stood on tiptoe. No one would see; the storm was intensifying, and they had become the only living things in a vast white wilderness. The swirling snow blurred the limestone wall of the house just a few feet away, and bleached the red light falling through the window.

  “Do you want to see me again?” she repeated, her mouth only an inch or two from his.

  He thought of the Vanderbilt mansion.

  Of Vlandingham ordering luncheon in French.

  He thought of Carter.

  Then he heard Roosevelt speaking from the sundrenched platform in Dickinson. He fought to banish the memory. Emotion and ambition struggled with conscience and slowly, slowly overcame it—

  “Very much,” he said.

  “Then you must promise me that you’ve done your horse doctoring for the last time.”

  He hesitated only a moment. “For the last time. I promise.”

  She flung her arm around his neck. She raised her face and body and kissed him, opening her mouth for a moment to let him savor the delicious promise of her tongue.

  Then she withdrew, patting her hair and whispering, “I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve never done it with any other boy. I couldn’t help myself. Don’t think less of me.”

  Tumid with excitement, he tried to speak calmly. “No, I don’t. I couldn’t. Ever.”

  Laura squeezed his hand. She looked much older than her nineteen years as she smiled and said, “We’d better go back inside before we freeze.”

  Without waiting for agreement, she swept past him, her shoes crunching in the deepening snow and her skirt leaving a trail. She kept her hand in his, leading him.

  Since he was a step behind, it was impossible for him to see her face; impossible for him to see her shut her eyes, as if immensely relieved about something; impossible for him to see the joy and satisfaction that flooded into those same eyes a moment later; impossible for him to see the smile that curled her mouth. It was a satisfied smile, as if a plan had been carried to a successful completion, and a victory won.

  CHAPTER XI

  CASTLE GARDEN

  i

  EVERY OTHER WEEKEND DURING the early months of 1888, Will took the train to New York City to visit Laura.

  The Pennels’ city residence was an opulent mansion located on the east side of Fifth Avenue above Fifty-second Street. They had formerly owned another place downtown, near Madison Square, but had sold it when the area began to decline. Will found it a good omen that their present home was within hailing distance of the William K. Vanderbilt chateau that held such significance for him.

  Laura always had the weekends completely planned by the time he arrived. They watched Gilbert and Sullivan operettas from the Pennel box at the Standard Theater, went sailing on Long Island Sound with friends of hers and Marcus as soon as the weather grew warm enough, and attended a number of subscription balls for which Will was forced to buy complete formal dress.

  He didn’t care much for the people he met at these weekend outings. Young or old, they seemed a self-centered, snobbish lot. But he learned to hide his feelings, reminding himself frequently that a doctor didn’t have to like his patients in order to profit from their illnesses. Whenever he spoke to Thurman Pennel, he never discussed politics, or mentioned his father. It was soon evident that his restraint improved his standing with Mr. Pennel. He assumed Mrs. Pennel already approved of him; otherwise he wouldn’t have been permitted to court her daughter.

  His uneasiness about lacking social graces began to disappear. Laura was free with advice on everything from proper manners to the proper attire for each hour of the day. Anxious to learn, he took the advice with good grace. Soon he found that he could wear his evening clothes with no sense of awkwardness, and could carry on trivial conversations with Laura’s friends and not fret about whether his next word would be the correct one. Memories of his mother seldom bothered him.

  Thurman Pennel had a stream of callers that spring. He was deeply involved in an effort to remove Grover Cleveland from the White House. One of the visitors was a portly but vigorous-looking Ohio congressman named McKinley. On the afternoon Will and Marcus were invited to meet him, he was still venting his fury over the President’s tariff message the previous December: “A body blow to every single native manufacturer! Let England take care of herself—and in God’s name let Americans look after America!”

  Laura’s father was even less restrained when criticizing Cleveland. “Marxist” was perhaps the kindest term he used. If there had been any doubt about the chief executive’s radical leanings, Pennel declared, his signature on the Interstate Commerce Act the preceding year had removed it. Of course Cleveland quibbled and said he was “suspicious” of the new legislation.

  “But the blackguard signed it!” Pennel roared. “It’s nothing less than a shameless attack on the business community!”

  The purpose of the new law was to regulate the railroad combinations, those lines which got together to fix rates among themselves. The practice resulted in rebates for volume customers of the cooperating railroads, and exorbitant rates for smaller shippers—especially the farmers of the midlands who moved their crops to market by rail. Under the new law, all discriminatory rates were forbidden, and the railroads were required to file tariff schedules with the newly created Interstate Commerce Commission. Pennel deemed the whole thing an assault on American liberty, and predicted the decay of personal incentive and the collapse of the country unless the Republicans elected a man who was probusiness and protariff. Senator Benjamin Harrison, grandson of the ninth president, was a name mentioned in Will’s hearing.

  In the late spring, Will and Drew prepared for year-end examinations. Drew was anxiously awaiting answers to letters he’d sent a month earlier. He was hoping to find a volunteer medical post for the summer, one in which he could gain some practical experience.

  Two weeks before the examinations, Will again traveled to New York. He hated to take time from his studies but the Pennels—minus the head of the household—were about to sail for three months of sightseeing on the Continent.

  The night before the departure, Will took Laura to Tony Pastor’s variety theater, then to supper at Delmonico’s. On the way home in a hired carriage whose driver had been instructed to go slowly, she permitted Will to touch her breast while they kissed, and even put her own hand over his to increase the pressure. When they broke the embrace, she apologized for letting her emotions overwhelm her sense of propriety.

  He laughed and told her he didn’t mind a bit. Her ardor encouraged him to say what he’d been thinking all evening. “I don’t know how I’ll survive the summer without you.”

  “Nor I, my dear.”

  Another moment of hesitation. Then: “I love you, Laura.”

  “Oh, my sweet boy—” One arm curled around his neck. She pressed her cheek against his, her eyes closing. Her voice was husky with emotion. “I feel the same way. I know it’s wrong, but when I’m with you, I want to do the most wonderful, shameful things—”

  Then, as boldly as Aggie at Madam Melba’s, she reached down and grasped him.

  Her hand, working and working, almost drove him crazy. She moaned softly. It would have been so easy to hire a cheap hotel room for an hour—

  But he couldn’t ask that of her. A man who respected a girl had a responsibility to help her maintain her honor. Old-fashioned as that might be, he still believed it. He moved just slightly. She understood the signal and, with a small, disappointed sigh, let go.

  “Will, I’m so terribly sorry. I got carried away all over again. It’s never happened with anyone but you.”

  “I’m glad.” After a
pause he blurted, “I want to marry you, Laura.”

  He was terrified that she’d laugh. But all she did was hug him and whisper, “When, my darling?”

  “In two years. As soon as I’ve gotten my degree.”

  “I don’t know whether I can wait that long. But I’ll try. In case you don’t know it, Will Kent, I think you’re a perfectly splendid catch. We’re going to turn you into one of the finest, richest doctors in all of New York. In the whole country! It’s about time the Pennels had a member of the family who can claim some intellectual accomplishment.”

  Is that what I’m to be? A family trophy?

  But what was wrong with that? he asked himself a moment later. The kind of plan she described would give him everything he wanted, absolutely everything. He’d have no worries for the rest of his life—

  He gathered her into his arms and kissed her again. The carriage creaked slowly on toward upper Fifth Avenue.

  ii

  Will saw the Pennels off at the North German Lloyd’s pier, then returned to Boston, where his father made some disparaging remarks about his fondness for his newfound friends. Will was too much in love to let the sarcasm bother him for long.

  Besides, Gideon wasn’t himself these days. In the wake of Theo Payne’s death, four successive editors had been hired to take charge of the Union. Each had been found wanting. While the search continued, circulation fell steadily. Gideon was growing desperate.

  “I have only one more possibility,” he said to Julia. “An editor on the night desk of the World. His name’s Moultrie Calhoun. I’ve heard he’s unhappy, so I’m going to write him a letter and ask him to have dinner. I don’t like raiding a competitor—not even one like Joe Pulitzer—but if I must go raiding, I will. And I must say Joe’s reputation gets worse by the week. I hardly ever agree with him anymore, and everyone on Park Row says his nervous disorders are making him almost too irascible to deal with. I’m not surprised Calhoun wants to leave.”