Serafina and the Seven Stars
Page 23
Mr. Vanderbilt listened intently to Braeden’s words, but did not speak.
“Your library is one of the largest collections of books in the country,” Braeden continued. “And you yourself are considered one of the best-read men in all of America.”
“What is your point exactly?” Mr. Vanderbilt said, cutting him short.
“I was just wondering if maybe we could start a school here,” Braeden said.
“You mean a school for you,” Mr. Vanderbilt said flatly, “so that you can stay at Biltmore. Is that what this is all about?”
“A school for me, yes. But also for Cornelia in a few years. And for Serafina. And for Jess Braddick as well. We need to ask Jess to stay at Biltmore, Uncle. We can’t just send her away. She saved our lives. Doesn’t she deserve the best schooling we can give her? And what about the children of the servants? We’ll call the school Carolina School, or Asheville School, or Biltmore School, or whatever you want to call it. We’ll spend the money in my trust to do it. You’ve been assigning me books to read from your library, and I like that. We could keep doing more of that. And you could teach us about art and ballet and opera. The men at the Biltmore Forestry School that you set up could teach us about the trees and the mountains. Serafina’s pa could teach us about electricity and machines. And we could bring in tutors and teachers from all over the country. We could build a very good school, something we could be proud of.”
When Braeden finally stopped talking, his uncle did not speak. He just looked at him. And then, after a long time, he asked, “When exactly did you come up with all of this?”
“When I crossed the border into Tennessee.”
“Why did Tennessee make you think of creating a school?”
“Because Vanderbilt University is in Tennessee,” Braeden said.
Mr. Vanderbilt smiled, as if he was beginning to realize the extent to which his nephew had thought this through.
“Vanderbilt University is one of the most respected universities in the country,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.
“And your grandfather founded it,” Braeden said.
Mr. Vanderbilt nodded and smiled again, like a man who knows he’s being checkmated, but isn’t quite sure if he minds or not.
“I know that traditions are good, Uncle,” Braeden continued. “It’s how we pass down the good parts of our lives from one generation to the next. And I truly respect that my father wanted me to attend school in New York as he did. But sometimes, old traditions need to be changed and new traditions need to be made.”
“I’m sensing this isn’t the only tradition you’re talking about,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.
“There is one other,” Braeden admitted. “It has been a tradition in our family for a long time to host the hunting season. And in the Blue Ridge Mountains it has been a tradition to hunt mountain lions, to kill off all the predators that live in these forests. But I think, in our family at least, we all agree now that, tradition or not, we’re not going to do it anymore, we’re not going to allow that kind of hunting on our land. We’re going to protect our forests and our wildlife as much as we can.”
Mr. Vanderbilt stared at Braeden in silence. At first Serafina thought that he must be angry. But then she realized that wasn’t it at all. She could see in his eyes at that moment that Mr. Vanderbilt was immensely proud of his nephew.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Mr. Vanderbilt said. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
“I think that some traditions need to be valued,” Braeden said, “but others need to change. We shouldn’t just follow the ways of the past. We should lead the way to a better future.”
“If we move forward with this school idea of yours, it will require a considerable amount of work and commitment,” Mr. Vanderbilt said as he studied Braeden. “It’s obviously far more difficult to build an entirely new school than it is to go to an established school. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes, I’m sure, Uncle,” Braeden said, glancing over at Serafina. “I’m very sure.”
“Once we start, you’ll have to follow it through.”
“I understand,” Braeden said. “I’m ready.”
And then the master of Biltmore turned and looked at her. “And what do you say about this idea?”
Serafina smiled excitedly. “When can we get started?”
That night, she sat with Braeden on the grass of a small hill nestled in the Biltmore gardens.
“Do you see that planet up there?” Braeden asked, pointing up into the star-filled sky.
Jupiter, Serafina thought wistfully. She had seen it nearly every night while he was gone, even on some of the cloudiest nights when no other planets or stars were visible. She could almost always see Jupiter shining through.
“When I was up in New York,” he said, “I couldn’t see most of the stars because of the lights of the city. But I could see Jupiter. And I always imagined it was you.”
For a long time, she did not move or speak. She just let the moment flow around them and through them, his words, his tone of voice, his presence sitting beside her. She had never felt so deeply calm in all her life. And she wondered what could ever disturb that calm.
“It seems like we keep having to fight these battles to stay together,” she said.
“And we’ll keep fighting them,” he said. A few more seconds passed, and then he added, “You know why I came back to Biltmore that night by the lake, right? And you know why I couldn’t find the words I wanted to say before I left in the morning.”
Serafina’s heart began to pound in her chest.
“I think I do,” she said, feeling as if her lips were suddenly going dry.
“I jumped off that train because I wanted to be with you, Serafina,” he said. “I didn’t care about anything else.”
She smiled, letting the words soak down into her soul. And then she said, “Maybe next time wait until the train comes to a stop.”
“Aw, that’s no fun,” he said, laughing softly. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” she said, “no sense of adventure,” as she put her arm around him and rested her head gently against his chest.
And she knew, in that simple gesture of affection, that the great river of their lives had shifted course, and was pouring now across new ground, new worlds, places they had never seen or felt before.
“I love you, Braeden,” she whispered.
“I love you, too, Serafina,” he whispered in return.
Robert Beatty is the #1 New York Times best-selling author of Willa of the Wood and the Serafina series. He lives in the mountains of Asheville, North Carolina, with his wife and three daughters. He writes full-time now, but in his past lives he was one of the pioneers of cloud computing, the founder/CEO of Plex Systems, the cofounder of Beatty Robotics, and the CTO and chairman of Narrative magazine.
Visit him online at www.robertbeattybooks.com.
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Serafina and the Splintered Heart
Willa of the Wood