Caden plucked a white grape from the bunch in the silver dish. “So, what concerns you about Arley Caldwell’s daughter?” He examined the fruit’s skin for any minute blemishes or bruises.
Timothy moistened his lips with his thick tongue. “She is exactly as you described. A great beauty with a classical profile the world’s greatest painters have always sought to capture, but could never surpass. But more than that . . .”
He picked up his drink. “She has a keen mind and a quick wit. She can hold her own with any man and is not confused or bored by our discussions. Other women say she is too strong-willed and independent, but—” he took another quick gulp from his glass, “are those not the very qualities that must be passed onto future generations to ensure our success against the rising adversity of the world?”
Caden rested his elbows on the table and raised his forearms upright. He parted his fingers and methodically tapped the tips of each against the other. “Why have you not approached her father about your intentions?”
Timothy looked down at the floor. “I will. Soon.” He raised his gaze. “But not until Gabrielle has heard all that you have to say. When she and her father both understand the logic . . . the . . . the necessity of making the right decision in these matters, she will come to see me as more than a friend, and finally forget about that damned Bret McGowan!”
He rose from his chair. “Gabrielle will love me as a kindred soul, a man with the same virtues and strength of spirit as her own.”
That name again. McGowan. How many years had it been? Almost forty now. He had not been much older than the boy himself then. But what was his name? Caden could forget much about the past, yet the past, it seemed, was not yet willing to forget about him.
He ran the tip of his index finger back and forth over the edge of his chin. “I’m sure she will, my young friend, but now, please sit down and relax. You must take time to prepare for the moment when you must stand up and be counted the only man in her eyes.”
His overly earnest guest plopped himself back down in his chair. “But she can be so proud, Doctor, and ambitious. It makes me angry sometimes.”
Caden looked over to the closed door leading back to the stage. “In these challenging times, a young woman’s mind becomes filled with too many excitements, too many distractions. They are divine creatures, yes, filled with infinite emotional strength and compassionate resolve, but sadly . . .”
He turned and faced the embarrassingly sincere young man. “Their critical faculties are wanting.” Caden clenched his hands. “They must be guided by our intelligence and reason to make those decisions that are truly in their best interests, and ultimately . . .” He opened his hands as if he were offering the young man a gift. “Those of all mankind.”
The forlorn suitor’s interest appeared to be waning as he seemed more interested in heaping his plate up with food then taking up the thread of their discussion. So much the better for all concerned. Let this young fool wallow in the pit of his animal instinct and leave the desire for the advancement of humanity to those best suited to serve it. “Please, Tim, let me pour you another.”
The young man shook his head. “She . . . she speaks constantly of Bret too. Even when she berates the man there is more heartbreak than hatred in her voice,” he said between mouthfuls of smoked sea trout. “But why does she embarrass herself like that? Everyone knows that the bastard broke off their engagement for no apparent reason and left for Europe the very next day! Spent two years whoring and wasting his family money, and now he returns with promises of oil riches under the dirt in Beaumont?”
Caden poured himself a small cognac and leaned back in his chair staring intently at the earnest young man.
“That is why I really wanted to talk to you, Doctor. Gabrielle has become more silent and melancholy whenever we speak. Tomorrow night, Bret is throwing a grand party. She has been invited and almost certainly, she will be there, allowing him every opportunity to—”
He gobbled down his food then gulped at his drink. “Ingratiate himself back into her good graces. Like yourself, he has a way of speaking to women that they find . . .” He lowered his gaze and voice. “So appealing.”
Caden took a small sip of his cognac and glanced away to conceal his brief grin. He placed the glass back down on the table. “Lift your chin up, Tim, and unburden yourself. First, tell me more about our charming Miss Caldwell. Then, all that you know of this ne’er-do-well Bret McGowan. And please, trust that you can tell me everything.”
CHAPTER 10
Friday, August 31
Caden quickened his steps as he approached the corner of 16th Street and Broadway. On the other side of 16th, the cedar shingle-covered garret of the magnificent Caldwell manor rose above the roofs of the neighboring homes. The pastel rose-colored exterior of the wood gave the structure a fairytale-like appearance of a castle where a king would seek out his future queen.
Arley had explained his hasty exit during their brief telephone conversation and apologized. As a way of making amends, Arley suggested that his trusted friend pay a social call on Gabrielle when he, her busy father, was attending the next seawall meeting.
Caden dusted off the sleeves of his jacket and stepped out onto Broadway. So this Bret McGowan was to blame again. I must resolve this troublesome situation once and for all.
Strolling across the street, he passed by one of the old nuns from St. Mary’s Orphanage. The corpulent woman waddled on her broad hips and held a blanket-wrapped infant in her arms. She led a litter of nine orphaned guttersnipes, trailing behind like ducklings following their mother.
Caden removed his freshly washed handkerchief from his breast pocket and covered his nose. Looking down into each unwanted, ignorant, and fearful face, he saw the living vindication of everything he knew to be more truthful with each passing day: The coming age would grant no quarter, no respite, and no mercy.
There was no joy in his certainty, only the sorrow of knowledge and the weight of quiet sadness that he knew he must carry, or be dragged down into the muck with the rest of them.
The future demanded it and eugenics assured him that mankind could afford no other. Surely, because of Gabrielle’s highborn status, that was why she had been so intent on hearing him speak in the first place.
The last child in line, a wilted freckle-faced girl with red ribbons on her ponytails, smiled at him. She was missing a front tooth.
“Hurry now, Emily,” the stout nun called, “Or we’ll be late.”
Caden paused for a few moments and smiled back at the little waif. Perhaps, there would still be a chance for some. Perhaps, with proper instruction, nutrition, and—no. Mankind was flowing like a great, dark river of souls, brutal, ceaseless and unrelenting, and however one tried to fight the current, they must soon surrender to its unyielding surge.
He paused before stepping onto the sidewalk and sneezed into his handkerchief. Wiping his nose, he glanced around at the girl once more.
The child called Emily kept turning around to look at him as the nun tugged at her to reach the opposite side of the street. A moment later they merged with the jostling throng and their small, fragile bodies disappeared into the midst.
Preferring to keep his nose covered, Caden continued on down the sidewalk, carefully weaving his way through the dawdling crowds and gawking tourists until he stood before steps leading up through the white wood pillars that framed the Caldwell’s arched doorway.
Folding his handkerchief, he placed it in the pocket of his walking coat and studied the ornately crafted wood frieze trim running along the top of the wall at the second story of the mansion. It continued on the third story where sloping dormers rose to meet flat parapets on either side of the central garret.
Caden removed his hat, held onto the railing, and climbed the stairs. Standing at the threshold, he cleared his throat and straightened his posture. He lifted the door knocker and rapped it down on the surface several times.
After a lengthy silence,
he heard the quick, clacking steps of hard-soled shoes approaching the door.
“Just a moment, please,” a charming voice came from the other side of the closed door. The door opened a few inches to reveal the woman’s gracefully sculpted face.
Caden smiled sincerely and offered a slight bow of his head. What a treasure she was.
“Yes? May I help you?” she asked.
“Miss Gabrielle Caldwell?”
“Yes?”
“Good day, Miss Caldwell. My name is Doctor Caden Hellreich. Your father, Arley, is a close, personal friend. I telephoned you earlier today about delivering important society papers for him. Your father said that it would be appropriate for me to call so that we may have the pleasure of finally making each other’s acquaintance. I hope I’m not being too forward in doing so.”
Gabrielle flushed ever so lightly in her cheeks. She glanced away for a few moments. “Why, yes, of course, Doctor, please come in. I attended your last lecture and thought it wonderful. Father is still at his meeting but I was expecting your arrival. I’ll have my girl, Verna, prepare a late lunch.”
Caden smiled and waved his hand. “No need to go to such trouble, Miss Caldwell, and I apologize for the inconvenience, but I will be out of Galveston on urgent Society business for the next week or so. I didn’t have time to properly discuss this with your father but he was most insistent that I deliver this information today, but if you prefer . . . please tell him I will try to deliver it when I—”
“Nonsense. I won’t hear of such a thing.” She opened the door completely. “Please, come in, Doctor Hellreich. You are just the person I need to see about settling a pressing matter.”
Caden smiled, his heart swelling in his chest. “Of course, if I may be of assistance, but first, I insist that you call me Cade, which I prefer. Friends should be on a first name basis, don’t you agree, Gabrielle?”
He extended his hand but remained on the other side of the threshold, so transfixed by this stunning, exquisite beauty, he could not cross for fear of appearing too eager in doing so.
Gabrielle shook his hand like a lady, sending warm, pulsing tingles up his fingertips. “By all means, Cade.” Gabrielle furrowed her thin brows. “But is something wrong?”
Caden bowed his head. “Forgive me, Gabrielle. A shaft of sunlight blinded me a few moments ago and my eyes were just adjusting to their new surroundings.”
Gabrielle smiled demurely and turned away.
Entering the parlor behind this elegant goddess, Caden was shocked to see that she was not alone. He faltered on the Persian carpet, almost dropping his black leather valise.
“Careful there, Doc,” the now-familiar face said. “I don’t think you’re the kind that can patch themselves up if they break something.”
Caden recognized the vigorous, able-bodied man in the finely tailored, white summer suit. The gentleman sitting on a rose upholstered wing chair by the bay window was the same man who had challenged Caden during his lecture.
The smug contempt still fresh in Bret McGowan’s easy-going eyes, he turned away from Caden as if more intent on the chirping fowl cooling outside in the three-tiered stone bird bath.
Caden paused to assess the undesirable visitor’s presence. The man seated before him was a stranger in every aspect, except by name. But in another time and place . . . could this have been . . . He flinched from the sudden sharp, stabbing pain in his groin. Caden’s eyes narrowed and he drew a breath. “Excuse me, sir.” He recovered his firm stance. “But have we been introduced before?”
“Not directly,” Bret replied, without turning away from the window. “But your reputation has proceeded you.” He shut the clasp of the brown leather valise on the oval side table and turned to face the doctor. “All the way down the hall, in fact.”
“Strange. I have the sense that we’ve seen each other—” Caden snapped his fingers, feigning a sudden recollection. “Ah, you attended my lecture last evening. Yes, I enjoyed our lively debate. It is the spirit of the coming age to question everything, is it not, sir?”
Bret shrugged. “Guess I had to see and hear what all the excitement was about. I heard enough.”
“And your thoughts, sir?”
“Not sure you want to hear them, considering there’s a lady present.”
Gabrielle glared at her visitor. “This is Bret McGowan, Cade, and he was just leaving.” She put her hands on her hips. “Weren’t you, Mr. McGowan?”
Bret’s eyes had darkened when Gabrielle spoke her new friend’s informal, intimate name. Cade grinned and stepped closer to Gabrielle.
She faced Caden and touched his forearm. “Forgive him, Cade, but my old friend has acquired quite the bohemian attitude during his long travels abroad and it is only with the greatest effort that respectable people have been able to put up with him since his return.”
Caden patted her hand and consciously relaxed his strained forehead muscles, hoping to maintain the serene look of unruffled superiority that he so cherished. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he assured her. “I can see that I’ve interrupted your conversation, but perhaps Mr. McGowan . . .” He turned to the younger man. “Would be kind enough, one day, to discuss matters with me—matters that could bode well for his future, and of all men with such an obvious passion for . . . expressing their opinions at the expense of manners.”
“I appreciate your candor, Hellreich.” Bret rose with an unfriendly smile. “But I think you sugarcoat your words when you’re trying to feed them to strangers.”
Caden grinned. “Only to children, sir, to sweeten bitter medicine and so hasten the cure.”
Gabrielle stepped between the two. “Gentlemen, please, enough!” she said. “Bret, I’m ashamed of you acting like this, and in my own home, and Cade, please, you can leave the papers on the bureau desk. I’ll make sure my father receives them.”
“Forgive me, Gabrielle.” Caden bowed politely. He turned to her guest. “And you too, Mr. McGowan. I only wish to make your acquaintance and be of whatever assistance I may.” He smiled respectfully at Gabrielle. “Your father has taken me into his confidence and I would never do anything to jeopardize that trust with either his family or friends.” He nodded at Bret.
Caden glanced down at the Persian carpet and stepped over to the bureau desk by the second bay window. He removed the papers from his black leather valise and placed them on top. Satisfying himself once more that everything was in order, he turned and walked toward the hallway.
“Sorry, Doctor,” Bret called from across the parlor. “Gabrielle is right. No need for everyone to get off on such a bad start.” Mr. McGowan extended his hand. “I would like to extend an invitation to you and your family to attend my party this evening. I know it’s short notice but we would enjoy your company.”
Caden paused for a moment before clasping Bret’s hand. Exchanging a short, vigorous handshake revealed much of what he wanted to know.
Mr. Bret McGowan was a strong man, perhaps as strong as he, but there was also something else, the underbelly of a secret weakness he was trying so hard to conceal. And what would that be?
Bret glanced at Gabrielle. “It’s one of the most popular gala balls of the Galveston society calendar, isn’t that right, Miss Caldwell?”
Gabrielle offered up a brittle smile. “Without a doubt. That’s all some people have been talking about all week. That is, those who have nothing better to do.”
Bret chuckled. “So what do you say, Doc?”
Caden examined a framed portrait propped on the desk of Arley Caldwell as a young Confederate regimental sergeant. “That is very hospitable of you, Mr. McGowan, but I’m afraid we have too much business to attend to these days. Perhaps another time.”
Bret seemed relieved. “I understand. But if you should reconsider . . .” He tipped his head in silent acknowledgment. His strained features became noticeably more relaxed.
Caden stepped with confidence back to Miss Caldwell’s side. “I’m glad that we’ve cleared up wh
atever misunderstanding there may have been between us, Mr. McGowan.”
Bret stuck his hands in the side pockets of his suit as if searching for a cigar or something he hoped to find and so draw attention away from the crisp flush in his cheeks. “I . . . I’m surprised that I’ve never . . .” he removed his hands, letting his arms hang at his sides, “Met you or any of or family in town before.”
“The Society keeps us busy with constant travel, Mr. McGowan.” Caden examined the brim of his hat. “And as for our dedicated young women, some still believe in Euripides’s maxim but I, for one, do not.”
Bret looked at Gabrielle. “Forgive me, but classical studies were never of great interest. Perhaps you can help educate your less sophisticated friend here, Miss Caldwell?”
Gabrielle frowned at him and politely cleared her throat. “‘Women should keep within doors, and there converse.’ When I was at Vassar College I thought it would have been so interesting to have lived in fourth century B.C. Greece so that I could have conversed with one of the great dramatists.”
She glanced at Bret for a moment. “And then he would have known exactly what we talked about behind those doors. I daresay he might have found more inspiration for his play writing.”
Mr. McGowan laughed and slapped his thigh. “A man would have to be a glutton for punishment or just plain stupid to try and keep you cooped up. He’d never hear the end of it.”
Gabrielle turned back to Mr. McGowan. “And I suppose you think that’s funny? Driving women to idle distractions and malignant gossip all because men refuse to treat us as equals and thus lock us way from the real affairs of the world?”
The smile on Mr. McGowan’s face fell and he shook his head. “You know I’d give you the vote tomorrow if I could, dear Miss Caldwell, I was just having some fun. We can still do that, can’t we?”
Gabrielle let out a long breath that seemed to calm her. “Don’t condescend to me, Bret McGowan. That’s the thing about men that irritates me the most. You always think you have to give us something.”
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