by Peggy Gaddis
Allez. Henry took a deep, steadying breath. The bout had begun. This was nothing more than a beat. His father’s simple preparatory motion was designed to hit Henry’s blade at its weakest point, but Henry refused to give way. Instead, he returned the jab.
“The fact you went to Harvard was enough reason for me to choose to go elsewhere. Besides, you’re the one who shipped me off to Uncle Jacques when I was just a boy.”
His father glared at him. “You are well aware of the reason you were sent to your uncle’s.”
Henry remained silent, refusing to get drawn into a counter-attack. This match would be played out on his terms.
His father picked up the magazine once again.
“James Lowell took the helm of this magazine, which was founded by Francis Underwood and host of other liberal writers. And he immediately flaunted convention by featuring a female writer on a regular basis. Here’s another article written by that Harriet Beecher Stowe woman. If he keeps up with this kind of behavior, his innovation won’t last. Then, we can swoop in and take it over.”
Henry paused before he spoke. He followed up his father’s attempt at a parry with a riposte, an attack of his own.
“I think Lowell’s idea is brilliant. Miss Stowe is an excellent writer. What does a person’s gender matter if they are the best at their craft? Or at business? I would prefer to work on the expansion of the railroads with Uncle Jacques. Why not let Marguerite take over here? She’s much better suited to publishing.”
His father’s brows knit together, and his face twisted into a sneer. “I did not name my company Cooper and Daughter Publishing. It is Cooper and Son, and for a very good reason. Marguerite spends her days writing sonnets, and not even good ones. Keats and Shelley have nothing to fear. Her job is to get married—and soon, before the eligible pool of bachelors disappears. Your job, however, is to help expand my empire.”
Now they were getting down to it. It was Henry’s turn to parry. “I have no interest in your ‘empire’ or in working for you.”
“Nonsense. Why else would I have called you home? I’m sending you to New York City tomorrow. I have purchased a company there, a small outfit, but they have been experiencing some success. They specialize in those quickly written, lurid potboilers called dime novels. Your job will be to integrate their stable of authors into our company. We don’t need to honor any of their current contracts, but they do have some good authors I want to hold on to.”
Henry glanced at his father, his right hand immediately coming level to the floor and his wrist twisting inward, ready to thrust. He brought his hand down from its fencing position with considerable effort.
“While I readily admit leaving Boston is most appealing, I will only take over the new company if I can have complete control.”
His father took a cheroot out of the top drawer of his desk and made a grand show of lighting it before he spoke again. Henry inhaled the cigar’s soothing aroma as he waited for his father to continue.
Maxwell rolled the cigar in his fingers as he glanced up at his son. “Maybe you’re right, and the publishing business isn’t for you, Henry. Any stiff competitor, such as James Lowell, would ride roughshod all over you. I will need to oversee the business, to make certain you are running it to my satisfaction.”
Henry couldn’t stop the threat from leaving his lips. “It’s complete control, or I go back to Uncle Jacques and work with him.” He almost wished his father would turn his back on him once more. Then, Henry could be free from his undeniable need to please his father. The need that began when he was only fourteen, with the loss of his mother.
“This is your final test, son. If you can’t do my bidding in New York, I’ll find another partner to take over that branch of the company. Perhaps Lowell.”
Henry took a small breath to steady himself. His father was asking for a real battle. “You couldn’t abide working with Lowell, Father. He sees women as equally competent as men when it comes to penning good works of prose. You’ve presented an idle threat. I’ll give you one month, possibly two. If I am still as disillusioned with the publishing business as I am now, you may give the business to Lowell or whomever else you damn well please.”
“You’ll have to prove to me you’re worthy of me turning over the business to you first. Meet my first assignment and sort through the authors. I want you to meet each of them face-to-face and test their mettle. Then we’ll talk about who has control.”
“It’s complete control right now, or I leave for New Orleans today rather than wait.”
His father’s eyes narrowed. Then he spread his hands wide. “All right. Let’s see if you can make a go of it. Page Books has a small press and a shop set up, as well as a business office. It makes sense to keep the entire operation up and running if there are enough good authors to warrant it. We can produce the dime novels from there, and the better books can continue to be published here.”
“And no interference from you? I run things my own way?”
His father huffed. “I said all right, didn’t I? You’ll have dinner with me and your sister tonight, and be off on one of your beloved trains in the morning. My friends the Cabots have relatives in New York, so they can assure your entry into the proper New York circles.”
“I have plans for this evening already, but I will stop in and say goodbye to Marguerite before I leave.” Counter-parry. They had circled around each other, but no real resolution had been gained to ease their strained relationship. They were back where they started.