by Ron Hevener
“Food? You made your own, when you were lucky. With water and flour, you can make bread if you have a fire or a coal heater. A glass of water in a diner and ketchup is enough to make soup. Clothing? Only the rich and powerful had anything new or beautiful then.”
He said more than he should have, perhaps. But too much history was being forgotten now, especially by the young, and The DeCroy Man must know these things if he was to teach a way around or through them.
“So you see, there are more serious threats than conspiracy to the people of a country,” Wembly said now. “Political terrorism is a form of hardship not unlike what we faced during the Crash. But we made it through, Benjamin. And that is the important thing! Those guts on the street? There was a different kind of blood and guts inside those who made it through. They had hearts as great as the racehorse Secretariat. And his was the biggest heart ever!”
Wembly smiled now with confidence and faith. “Fear, Benjamin, has been with us as long as uranium itself. Since the day of the caveman! But if hunting down smugglers and bringing them to justice is the only task you see for us, then you are gravely, gravely mistaken. The world is a big place. It is an old place. The Earth is great and savage and bountiful. It is forgiving and it is merciless, both. Do not limit yourself, Benjamin, ever. Become as refined and sophisticated as the advertising campaign that paves your way to success right now! Become smooth enough to cross any political or social boundary and walk through any door. Blend into and affect any situation in the name of one cause, and one cause only: Love. Love!
“You will see many threats by terrorists and government rebels in your lifetime. Many attempts to destroy life and personal freedom as we know it. But have conviction! Commit your life to a higher purpose, Benjamin. Decide—as I did and others like me—that nothing is more important than showing the masses what they have within their grasp…what is possible for them if only they try…how great and important they are! They are worth something! Men and women who feel worth something—who value everything around them because it is worth having—who feel good about themselves…such people are unconquerable!
Wembly steadied himself against the wall of the balcony now. “They call me an eccentric, Benjamin. Perhaps I am. But inspiring the masses to open their eyes is a dream worth trying. If we can do that—if we can defeat the confusion and lack of self-esteem infiltrating our cities, our schools, our music and laws—there is nothing more noble worth fighting for.
“Victory comes at a price. It will not come in a week, or months, or perhaps it will not happen for years, because the battle did not start a week, a month or just a few years ago. It is an ancient battle, Benjamin.” His face was filled with love now, and he touched Ben’s shoulder. “But it is the greatest battle of them all.”
Exhausted now, he brought their discussion to a close. “I have said enough. You will either understand, or I will have bored you. If I have bored you, then I have failed, and you are not the solution for which I hope.”
It would be the first of many such insights into world consciousness…insights Ben would hunger for, reach for, like the branches of the growing trees Wembly and Ezra so often spoke about. As they said good-night, Ben knew there were things he would never know about this strange and visionary man. They would respect each other’s integrity, privacy and personal differences, but even sharing a home now, like a father and son, they would never know each other completely, no matter how their arrangement might look to others. As Ben left for his room, Wembly gave a curious lift of the glass he had been holding throughout the dissertation, and, with a knowing smile, said, “Good-night to you, Mr. Franklin.”
“Back to finish what I started?” Ben asked, acknowledging that their conversation had come beautifully to a full circle. “What about the rest of my revolutionary friends?”
Mysteriously, Wembly smiled and pointed to himself. “Lafayette, perhaps?”
Wembly delayed going to bed and stayed by the balcony, preoccupied. When Ben was completely out of sight, he reached for his billfold. Once again, he studied the warning on the recent snapshot taken of the yearlings at Mattison Farm and the magazine clipping that had arrived at the store by special delivery that morning in a white envelope with no return address.
Splashed crudely across the beautiful faces of Ben and Sidney Leigh, someone had dribbled “KEEP OUT” in bright red nail polish.
CHAPTER 16
We Really Are the World
“As we mentioned earlier, you were pretty effective in the advertising game,” Diane says. “Winner of awards. Even winner of Most Successful TV Commercial of the Year at one point.”
“Thank you,” Benjamin answers, waiting for her next comment.
“And what you’re saying is there was an international network of businesses funding a worldwide advertising campaign, which really came down to psychological warfare. And you’re saying all this time, a war was going on and nobody even knew it?”
“In essence, yes. A war in which no cities are destroyed, no people are killed and no bombs are dropped.”
“Thoughtful of you,” she says with a touch of sarcasm.
He makes no comment, but observes her.
“So whose idea was it, really, to save the world?” she asks as if she doesn’t really care one way or the other.
“That decision was something we didn’t even have to question,” Ben answers. “Maybe it’s how we were raised. Maybe it’s just our way of thinking.”
“Citizens of the world,” she says. “You take those words literally. Enjoyers of the good life wherever you go.”
“I prefer to think of us as people who realize the worst boundaries are the very ones we make ourselves; people who discover creative power within themselves are incredible.”
* * *
New York City
Ezra had not been entirely selfish in guiding his part of the empire. Although it encompassed a wide-ranging scope of business activities, there were certain practices and policies making Ben proud to be part of such a financial consortium.
Before a business could enter its ranks, members within the same industry, trade or profession reviewed a written profile of the company and its officers. A great deal of consideration was usually given to the latest acquisition or person to be financed. Factors such as a person’s reputation and character, political relationships, impact they might exert on the environment, personal health, and effects on international economy were evaluated.
The Brotherhood must follow the highest set of ideals and moral standards; a code of ethics making it all the more unbelievable that any part of the Brotherhood of Gold could be involved in looting the American public of its riches. But there was no escaping the fact: The general contractor for the Phantom Lake project was financed by the Brotherhood. And Ezra had owned the land. At least he owned it before he gave it away.
“You still won’t go to the authorities,” Benjamin said as he and Wembly went over sketches for new designs in the fitting room at DeCroy’s one night. “Why not?”
“So they can discredit us, Benjamin?” Wembly asked, as he ran various fabrics through his fingers.
“But, if we have nothing to hide?”
“How do you know? How do you know we have nothing to hide? Was Ezra a saint?”
Of course Ezra was a saint, Benjamin thought. “He was a decent man!”
“Decent men, too, have their secrets, Benjamin.”
“Wembly, if we keep going like this—trying to play government ourselves—sooner or later they’ll find out we’re messing with...”
“With what?” Wembly asked.
“Government!” Ben said at last.
“But does not a government belong to its people?” Wembly asked.
“Well, yes, I guess it does,” Ben answered.
“Then, why are you afraid?” Wembly wanted to know.
“I’m not!” Ben said. “I’m not.”
“No?”
“No,” Ben shook his head. “I�
��m not. I guess I just think, while I’m learning all about the business like this, and all this feel-good, PR stuff, I want to be sure it’s not just busywork, you know? Keep him busy? Keep Ben out of our way?”
“Benjamin! What is wrong with you?”
“Well, let me do more!”
“But, Benjamin! You are risking everything! Everything you have, all the power at your disposal, is opposing the plan of nameless, faceless radicals out there who want to destroy our way of life! If we fail to do something about it, it is our Brotherhood that will be blamed, Benjamin—not theirs. We will be blamed for Phantom Lake and whatever happens with that uranium because we’re the only ones the public can identify. They can’t see the real terrorists—they can only see us! Phantom Lake was a set-up—us owning the contractor and mining the uranium was their cover, their insurance in case we ever blew the whistle. The advertising campaign, marketing the good things in life worth fighting for, it’s our only chance to influence public opinion against them in a way they can’t do anything about. If we ever lose control of that chance—if the wrong authorities ever step in and push us aside, no matter how good their intentions are, they will fight in an entirely different way and you must run for your life!”
“Learn as you go, Benjamin. Become strong. Encourage creativity. Stand up for manufacturers, retailers and inventors. Spread the word of what’s beautiful. What is new. What is great and worth living for. The DeCroy Man offers what no terrorist, no individual or group forcing supremacy or tearing down qualities has ever done: He offers hope!
“We fight our battles with different weapons than swords and guns and poisons,” Wembly said.
“Send me to the Middle East,” Ben said.
“Benjamin?”
“We have business there. You can send me.”
“Benjamin, yes, of course our campaign message reaches the Middle East. It enters that part of the world and you could make public appearances. But you belong here with me. If you want to know about the Middle East, I will send any information you need. We have a company in Lebanon.”
“No! If I’m in this thing because of war…”
“You are in it because you must be, Benjamin! Because there is no one—no one left but us—to protect humanity’s treasures! The diamonds, sapphires, rubies and pearls that are every beautiful and gracious thing we strive for in this human life and the gold that is the creative spirit holding it all together!”
It was a new twist on the old saying that anything is worthless until somebody else wants it. And time was of the essence.
Time was of the essence because Theodore Trimble had called, saying, “I’ve got news you’re not gonna like. They’ve started an investigation. High up.” It meant only one thing: Time was running out.
* * *
Pennsylvania Dutch Country, Mattison Farm
“Sarah?” It was Wembly on the phone.
“Can’t talk long,” she said. “I have an early morning. Me an’ Sidney are taking horses to the track.”
“I just want to know how the ads are working for you,” he said.
“I love it!” she said, over the rustle of bedsheets as she sat up. “We’ve been getting calls just about every day. People are coming to see horses all the time now.”
“Anyone with a camera?” he asked.
She froze. He never asked anything without a reason. “Well, sure, Wembly. All the time. Why do you ask that?”
“Nothing to worry about,” he reassured her. Changing the subject, he asked, “Sarah, I’ve been thinking. Can we talk about the show game sometime?”
“Like, Nationals? Scottsdale? That kind of thing?”
“Like, the Salon du Cheval in Paris.”
“Wow! When you think, you think big! What do you want to know?” she asked.
“Entry information is a good place to start, yes?”
Saying good-night and hanging up, Wembly thought again of the picture and its warning. If anyone was watching them, Ben going to the farm for a weekend would break the routine of his training in New York’s cultural and business centers. The one who sent the picture had found a way to penetrate the invincible walls of DeCroy, and whatever else they knew, it was too much.
As Wembly puzzled over anything threatening the most important design of his life, Ben was vibrating with curiosity and excitement. With a chance to explore the business world and its possibilities, he could see for himself how far the power of money could reach. He could answer the burning question: How could Ezra—someone he thought he knew so completely—have lived a whole life in secret? The respectable banker may have been stuck at home. But Wembly, the fashion designer with a transcontinental lifestyle had been the perfect international “tree doctor” for their orchard.
They say we can recognize others of “the same cloth,” and it didn’t take long for Ben to realize the stylish grooming and new clothes had more to do with the right connections and influence than with anything else. Until now, he had never looked at fashion as anything more than shirts, pants and underwear. But now he began seeing it as a more than that—much more, in fact. The right clothing and accessories for every occasion, the cultured manners, the elegant posture were a uniform; a uniform recognized by others on the same path.
Ben was beginning to feel a new sense of purpose, a magical sorcery around him, whispering “Don’t stop. Keep going.” He was free. His only laws were the immutable laws of commerce: supply and demand. He was The DeCroy Man—the embodiment of all things worth living for, all things beautiful; and he wanted to know more.
When Ben caught up with Sarah again, she was different somehow. Not much. Just a little around the edges. The eyes perhaps. The hairline. The curve of her jaw and neck. The slack of one slightly lost, slightly off-center now. He could feel it in how she treated him now; listening attentively, more than she used to when all anybody thought of him was, He’s just a kid.
They talked long into the night in her living room cluttered with books and horse magazines, the usual hot chocolate in their mugs. How carefully she was studying him as he explained Wembly’s long-range plans. Her coal stove spread a deepening warmth all the way to his bones, as if saying, I will always be here for you. I will always love you.
There was a sense of permanence in that living room, in the old stone house with its antiques and paintings, in the colors she surrounded herself with. Everything was in its place here, even the loneliness now that Ezra was gone, and soon him and soon after that, he was sure, Sidney. That’s how it was for people who made a place the center of their lives instead of other people. But places like this would never leave you first. Mothers could love you and they could leave you.
He knew some people might think he asked too often, wondered too much, was, maybe, even somewhat of a little boy whining for his mother. But he couldn’t help it. “What do you remember about my mother, Aunt Sarah?” Though impulsive, it seemed like the most natural conversation for them, so comfortable there, and she considered her answers carefully. “Besides…” and they both said it together with a big laugh, “FINGERNAILS!”
“Those damn nails!” Sarah kept laughing. “She couldn’t do a lick of work for Ezra ’cause, God forbid, she might get ’em dirty. Oh, that Ruthie!” Sarah shook her head and the hair tossed loosely around her neck. “She was a strange one, Bennie. She really was. But an interesting kind of strange. Not in a bad way. She was just…different. You know? Maybe she was ahead of her time.”
“Did you like her?” he asked.
Sarah thought for a moment. “Part of me hates her. You know, with Ezra’s will an’ all, but overall, yeah. She wasn’t so bad. She was never a horse person, so we didn’t have much in common. She was good at other things, though. I can tell you that! When Ruthie wanted something, she made sure she got it. No matter how long it took, she got it. After she left, I never saw her anymore, because she would meet Ezra in town and it was always hush-hush private, you know? Can you believe, in all these years, I never got clos
e to his daughter? Sometimes I just amaze myself!”
“There are a lot of things I believe now,” Ben said, thinking about his conversations with Wembly.
“Ruthie and I could have been great friends if we wanted to,” Sarah said, reflecting on the possibilities. “We were just about the same age. And I like people with guts.”
“Guts, are what Wembly was just talking with me about,” Ben said. “Did you know he and Grandpa went all the way back to the Crash?”
“No,” she said, curious. “I didn’t.”
“Yeah, he told me. He said he knew Grandpa back then, and it was Grandpa’s faith in people that helped him through the Great Depression, or something like that.”
“Interesting,” she said. “Ezra introduced us because of the horses, but he never told me how he met Wembly.”
“It was my mother,” Ben said, holding his mug of hot chocolate with the Arabian horse painting on it. “Wembly wanted to marry her.”
“What?” Sarah laughed. “That can’t be true.”
“Serious!” Ben said. “He wanted to marry her when she was expecting me. He followed her to Steitzburg and met Grandpa.”
“No kidding!” Sarah was intrigued. “He can’t be your father, Ben, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t,” Ben said. “For one thing, I’m taller than he is!” he teased, and they both let the matter slide.
“Look, I just want to know if my mother was really such a cold-hearted bitch that she truthfully never wanted to see me. If I can just get a grip on that, I’ll put it to rest.”
“Why didn’t she want to see you? Is that what you really want to know?
He nodded.
“Well, I don’t know the answer to that, Bennie. Maybe she thought New York wasn’t a good place for you to grow up? Ezra never told me. I guess if I asked, he would have. But I just never did. You were so cute, I wanted you all to myself once I got to know you!” She reached over and smacked him on the leg.