by Karin, Anya
"I think not. She invaded the privacy of this estate. That is unacceptable. Her father should have disciplined the child harshly until she stopped."
"Sounds familiar," Preston said with wry laugh. "Anyway, I was trying to remember. Didn't dad used to pal around with her sometimes? I talked to Peter and he mentioned something about that."
"I don't quite...oh yes, now that you mention it, that does sound familiar. He loved those mushrooms so very much. I've never seen anyone with such an affliction for plants. You enjoy your roses, but it's nothing to what your father did with those awful fungi. Do you remember that he used to deliberately cultivate them back there?"
"He did? No, I don't remember any of that at all. He was pretty distant, you know."
"He was a busy man. And he never expected to have a child and no-"
"Anyway, the mushrooms," Preston interjected. "What about them?"
"Right, sorry, sir. Three or four times a year, I can't remember precisely, your father wandered the property and collected various logs and plants and so on that he thought would be conducive to certain types of mushrooms. Then he placed them in that little swath of forest by the fence – where that awful child came in – and grew his fungus."
Preston grinned at just how irritated Gadsen was at a barely-teenaged girl crawling under the fence and gathering mushrooms. Truly remarkable, he thought, that someone can get this mad about something that ridiculous.
"I had no idea. I mean, I knew he liked to gather them and all that, but I didn't know he had a mushroom hobby."
"Oh yes, sir, he did," Gadsen's eyes lit up in a way they hadn't for a very long time. "Speaking about your father brings back memories, sir. He really did his best."
"I know. Sometimes it just feels like I didn't really have a father the way most people do. Probably has a lot to do with never leaving this place." He put his hand up to ward off what he knew was coming. "I know, I know, it's for my safety, I'm not angry about it," right now, he didn't say, "I'm just saying how strange it is to grow up like this."
For a few moments, they chewed in silence, and then Preston broke it with an appreciative moan. "This is good. Thanks again."
"Oh yes, of course." A light flickered behind the old man's eyes. "But what was it you were asking about? Your father and that girl?"
"Right, I'd almost forgotten," he turned the corner of his mouth in a half grin. Preston Webb never forgot anything, but no one knew that. "Peter mentioned it when I spoke with him, and I was wondering if you knew about it."
"Of course. Your father really liked that little creature. I remember," he leaned back in his chair, "the first time he came in one evening, probably ten years ago now, with the biggest grin I'd ever seen on his face."
It took Gadsen about fifteen minutes to recount two minutes of information, which amused Preston to no end. Halfway through, he had opened his mouth to stop the old man, but then closed it again and just kept listening. As he looked across the table, a mixture of emotions bubbled up in his chest.
Preston appreciated that he had anyone at all looking out for him. Lots of kids, he knew, didn't have even that. Then his cheeks flushed with anger. As much as he was glad for the man, he hated him just as fiercely. It didn't make him proud to be so furious, but there was nothing he could do about it. And to add to his confusion, he also loved him, in a way. Preston's left arm twitched and tingled. The muscles in his shoulder had started to do this sort of thing recently, and he was yet to figure out why.
Gadsen finished telling the story that Preston already knew. When he did, apparently, the old man forgot all about the contract he asked after when they sat down. So taken up was he in recounting the terrible tale of his father daring to enjoy the company of a funny little girl who had a curiosity in mushrooms, he was unable to consider anything else at all.
"That is all to say," Gadsen finally concluded, "that yes. He saw her a few times and specifically instructed the security team to leave her alone. He liked her. I think in a way she reminded him of your mother possibly, or perhaps of the other children he always wanted, but never had. Your father had a big heart."
"Huh," Preston grunted. "Well thanks. I always wondered about that, and then like I said, Peter reminded me of her."
"Why were you asking about her in the first place? A bit of a strange memory to dredge up, isn't it?"
No, not really, not if you knew the things that have been rolling around in my head all day, Preston wanted to say, but held inside.
"I guess, yeah. You know who she is, right? That girl?"
"Not a clue. I expect some ragamuffin from the neighborhood near that end of the property."
Preston nodded. "She is that, yes. Her name is Alyssa Barton, if that helps."
At the same moment, both realization and anger flashed behind Gadsen's eyes.
"Just tell me what it is you're trying to tell me, sir," he said with a little snarl. Every ounce of nostalgia was obviously gone. "I don't like games."
"I don't either. She's the daughter of the man I have doing my ledger entries. He's a good man, and he raised her."
"What does this have to do with anything?"
"I was thinking about the trust after you left me with the contract yesterday. Trying to figure out how I could possibly do what I'm supposed to do." He waited a minute to make sure Gadsen got the point. "And then, I found that other letter, from Mr. Barton. He told me that his daughter was coming back to town, although since you said that letter was a few days old when I got it, she's probably already back."
"What are you saying? You can't possibly expect this to be acceptable. And why would you even think about her? You don't know her any better than you do anyone else."
"That's true. Very true. I just...actually," Preston sucked his bottom lip inside his mouth and ran his tongue along it, lingering on the place where it was crossed with a scar. "I do know her. In a way. I know her father and, like I said, he's a good man, and I've seen her before. I used to watch her. I'd stand in my bedroom and watch, hoping to see her come out of the woods, hoping that somehow she'd see me. I don't know what I expected to come of it, but I dreamed that she would see me somehow. It all sounds silly now."
"This is insanity," Gadsen yelped. "She's not even got a name worth mentioning."
"A name? What is this, 1066? What does that matter?"
"I can't abide this waste of time. I'll not even respond to this silliness. You're either joking or insane."
"Am I? Well then, maybe you should just do what I'd like for once instead of scheming behind my back and pretending like I have some choice at all in what happens in my life. Either that, or just be honest about it."
"You don't know what you're saying, sir, you've been taken by one of your dark moods." The butler pushed back from the table and stood. "I'll let you calm down. Great men are given to this sort of thing; I have to keep my head about me. That's my place in all this."
"Sit down!" Blood pumped hot and fast through Preston's cheeks. His whole face seemed to burn. Normally he'd be afraid of an impending headache, but not this time.
Gadsen balked at the shout and fumbled his fork which fell to the floor. He immediately feigned concern for the carpet and bent over to clean up the drops of sauce.
"Sit. Down."
"You can't speak to me like that, sir. Your father-"
"Is dead! You might be some sort of bizarre king-regent until this company transfers fully to me, and until now I've just gone along with it, but I have to think of other things. The future of this company depends on me living up to an agreement with a dead man. Do you really want that room full of old, bald, white men to run this company?"
"I just-"
"Sit! Now!" Preston's eyes flared their different colors like a blue and green nova. "Either you sit and listen, or you're fired." His voice was ice cold.
"You can't – you wouldn't fire me. You don't know your way in the world."
"Just like you planned, huh? I can't fire you from the company,
that's true enough. But unless I'm mistaken, my name is the one on the deed for this house and I can remove whoever it is I want to remove. Don't think I won't."
Gadsen sat.
"Thank you. All I want you to do is to set up a meeting, like you've done with Mr. Barton before. That's all. I've thought about this since last night. I can't concentrate on anything else unless I at least talk to her. I have to know if there's any chance. I just do. Please, Gadsen, don't make me force this."
The butler pursed his lips into a wrinkled circle and then sucked his cheeks into his mouth.
"Fine. But-"
"Thank you. I knew you'd be reasonable. And I'm sorry I snapped at you. But this is something I have to do. I realized I've been thinking about her for a lot longer than just the last two days, and it has me in a very strange state of mind."
"There's so much to do, sir that I don't want you to sit around and fret over this. Something must be done to get this ridiculous notion out of your head."
Preston stopped paying attention immediately after Gadsen said he'd set up the meeting. Thinking about it, he wasn't sure why he didn't just do it himself, but maybe, he thought, there was something about what Gadsen said, or maybe it was something he himself said. He hadn't ever had any control over his life. Not really.
"Good, well, thank you again." He stood up. When Preston was standing, Gadsen looked very small, almost frail. It was especially apparent when the young Webb looked down on him, which almost never happened. The old man's shoulders slumped inward so sharply that he seemed to be developing something of a hump in his back, but when he stood, he consciously pushed them backwards and his chest out.
As he looked at the old man who raised him a prisoner in his own house, sweat beaded up on Preston's temples. He blinked once, then again, and wanted to take back everything he'd said.
Guilt raged inside him, like it often did when he lashed out, and he sucked a deep breath into his chest, wishing he had just kept quiet.
Being quiet is easier, he thought. Just letting Gadsen do whatever he wanted, that was easier still. With these thoughts rumbling around his skull, Preston pushed his chair under the table and ran his hand backward through his hair. He couldn't take his eyes off the old man, no matter how he wanted to turn around and go outside to his roses.
"I-" he stopped himself short of apologizing. Not this time, he thought, not this time, Preston. Time to grow into these years you've got on you.
The walk to the front door was a long one. Halfway there, Preston stopped to rub his legs. For the last couple of days, they'd been getting stiff, and he wasn't quite sure why, but he didn't give it much thought.
In the front, he turned left and followed the path to his garden – his favorite place in the entire estate – and slowly plodded along the stone. As soon as he was in his sanctuary, surrounded by his roses, Preston let himself take a deep breath, then hold it before he exhaled. The way the swirl of scents made him feel, he couldn't think of anything better.
"Ouch."
A little trickle of blood welled up where he absent-mindedly grabbed a rose and it pricked. He sucked the red spot off his finger and looked at the plant that did it. Staring into the spiraling colors that had taken him a decade to breed, he lost himself in a red and white pinwheel that he turned in his hand as he stared.
"Alyssa," he said into it, as though saying her name out loud made his crazy plan real somehow. "I hope this isn't too much for you to deal with. I really do."
Chapter Six
"Gentlemen, you have got to stop him." Gadsen paced the entire length of the board room in thirteen steps, then turned back and went the other direction. "If he manages to pull off this idiot plan, everything we've worked for is ruined. The whole plan, ten years, no, thirty two years, and-"
"And what? We don't talk about that, remember?" Erwin Greggs, chairman of the Webb Oilworks board, shifted his heavy body in his chair and took out a handkerchief to mop the ever present sweat off his forehead. "Anyway, what business is it of ours? If he manages to fulfill the trust terms, we can't do anything about it."
"Can't," Gadsen said pacing back in the other direction, "or won't?"
Erwin took a long swallow from his glass and licked his lips. Gadsen stared at him in disgust, imagining a hippopotamus in lapels as he wrung his hands.
"And anyway," the Chairman continued, "what would you have us do? Kill him?"
"No, of course not. That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" Evette Bishop said from the other end of the table. She was wearing the same powder-blue sweater and pants set that she wore to every board meeting, no matter how close together they fell. She smelled of patchouli and makeup, and the patchouli was the most subtle part of her. "Seems like you proposed something along those lines once before."
"Shut up!" Gadsen hissed. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Alright. Look," Dan O'Brien spoke from next to Evette, "we've got more pressing things to worry about than Mr. Webb Jr.'s marital status. Like that contract that was supposed to be signed and delivered already. You know, Mr. Cartwright, the one for the pipeline that'll connect us to the north-and-south line and make us as rich as God? Or John Lennon?" When he finished speaking, the ruddy man crossed himself.
Gadsen sucked in a breath at the mention of the contract. "What do you mean it wasn't delivered? Preston told me-"
"You know where he stands on this issue. He's concerned with the environmental effects, or how it'll ruin the land it runs under, and then how it will hurt Newtown. The oil won't, but the construction very well may," Dan said. "I can't believe you managed to fail at something as simple as that."
"But-"
"No, enough of your crackpot plans and wild ideas, Gadsen," Evette said. "I know you've been with this family longer than most – many – of us have been alive, but you need to realize that you're too close to all this. You think that tiny details matter. They don't. All that matters is the end result. Do you understand? It doesn't matter to us how you go about getting done what must be done. Just so long as you do it."
"Now hold on just a minute," Carl Dixon, the longest standing member of the board, broke in. "I can see why the old man's worried about this. If the kid really does convince this woman to marry him somehow, that could seriously disrupt what we've been trying to accomplish." He was a tall, thick man with a tone that came from Mississippi, but a speaking speed from New York.
"I'm sorry, but I think something has gone completely over my head," Dan O'Brien said. "Why does it matter whether or not the young Webb gets his trust for our purposes?"
"You weren't around for the agreement, were you?" Erwin shrugged with some effort. "It isn't as much of an issue as it's been made to be, but when Preston Sr. died," he looked around the room, "when he died, we found out that against what we asked, his will has a clause where control of the company only reverts to the board if Preston Jr. hasn't managed to find himself a fertile missus by the time he turns thirty-three."
Gadsen resumed his pacing. Erwin and Carl followed his movements. Evette returned to her habitual knitting. Dan licked his lips.
"So what are we doing? Where do we sit right now?"
"Well, as of now," Evette let her easy New-England accent flow slowly, "we are acting as the company's board. Mr. Webb exists only in an advisory role as heir to the company. When he fulfills the terms of the trust, full control of the company reverts to him, and we become an advisory board." She looked around to a room full of nodding heads, a few with fingertips rubbing foreheads. "Tell me, Mr. Cartwright, how did he come upon the idea that he should go out and find himself a wife? I thought he was kept quite isolated from the rest of humanity?"
"He has, but not for that reason," Gadsen said. "His scars are substantial."
"Scars?"
An uneasy hush descended over the room. No one spoke, no one moved. Even Erwin Greggs calmed his fidgeting.
Seconds turned into a minute, and finally, Evette's knitting needles clicked toget
her again. Slowly, life returned to the room. One after another, the board members resumed their various movements and hand wringing and squeaking.
Gadsen's creased forehead was the perfect place for him to rub. "Anyway," he said, "that's where we stand. I had no idea that contract had been held up or diverted or whatever you want to say."
"Is there really much of anything tosay? Seems to me the issue will resolve itself. There's no way this woman that he's fixated on will actually go along with him." Erwin mopped the bald middle of his head. He only has a few months left, right?"
Gadsen nodded. "Right. But, you never know how these things go. Stranger things have happened."
"They have, yes," Evette said with a smirk. "They most certainly have. But what say you keep anything like that from happening this time, alright, Gadsen? I don't think any of us want to do anything drastic again. Whatever that might be." Her voice trailed off.
Soon, the only sounds left in the room were her clacking needles and Erwin's pen scratching on a slip of paper.
"Just to cover ourselves," he said. "Here is a list of document boxes that are in storage at the house. Should anything happen, these need to be, ah, removed from the record. Understand, Gadsen?"
"I do. I'll do what you say. And I'll find that contract, whatever it takes. We can't fail again."
"Oh, we won't, Mr. Cartwright. Don't worry about that. See that you get all of them."
Chapter Seven
"Mail came," Alyssa said, grabbing the handful of letters, about ninety-eight percent of which looked to be garbage, and pushed the door open with her foot. "Expecting anything?"
"No, nothing in particular. Usually all I get a bundle of crap from Sears and bills from places that refuse to join the new millennium."
"Alright then," she handed her dad the mail and watched him flip through it, then throw all but two pieces in the garbage. "Tell me if you need anything, I'm gonna go up to my room and finish that book you told me read."
"Which one? I gave you a reading list of things you avoided when you were in school. Or at least I think you did."