All The Blue of Heaven (Colors of Faith)

by Carmichael, Virginia

  ***

  Allie watched Thomas poke at his food and wondered if he was as bored as she felt. His brows were drawn together and his usual smile was nowhere to be found. It was strange how his features were so familiar, but had changed significantly. The deep indentations on either side of his mouth were still there, but his cheeks had lost some of their youthful roundness. His jawline was strong and sharp, darkly shadowed even though he was smoothly shaven. Allie thought of the mustache he had tried to grow when he was seventeen and chuckled. It was sparse as spring grass and she had teased him mercilessly.

  “Mr. Bascomb, tell us how the plan for the new railway line is progressing,” Mrs. Leeds commanded, her tone imperial.

  Allie glanced up and saw the warning look in her mother’s eyes. She pasted a small smile on her face and hoped that her chuckle hadn’t registered with any of the men. She needed to focus, not swoon over Thomas.

  He inclined his head, sunken cheeks stretched into a smile. “Very well. We have received permission to lay the track through East Tooms in a month.”

  Thomas glanced up. “East Tooms? You must mean West Tooms, across Lake Shore Road, near the steel yards. East is heavily populated and construction would be close to impossible.”

  Mr. Bascomb sighed dramatically. “Nothing is impossible, Thomas, when you have the mayor on your side. The maps have been drawn up, the residents will simply have to move. There is nothing much there to salvage, so as soon as it is cleared, the shacks will be razed. Plus, they would never build a railroad through West Tooms. There are a few fine homes that have not been submerged under the tide of immigrants.”

  Thomas’s dark brows drew down in a dangerous way. “So, if you have an expensive home, you can be assured that the railway line will not cross your neighborhood. But if you have only four flimsy walls and a dirt floor, then you will most likely be forced to vacate, taking your few possessions. Will there be any compensation?”

  “Of course not,” Mr. Bascomb said, “There’s nothing to compensate them for. As you say, the shanty homes are worth little and cost nothing. Why would they be compensated for living there like rats? Speaking of rats, those people have about the same number of offspring.” He shuddered and readjusted his napkin.

  “So, not only are you conspiring to raze entire neighborhoods of the poor, but you have no compassion for those little ones who have no choice in the matter?” Thomas’s face was stiff with fury. Allie’s eyes widened, wondering why she had no memory of ever seeing that expression before this moment.

  “Well, maybe this will encourage them to live better than their parents. It is unbearable to see so many lazy people wallowing in poverty, bringing more and more children into a world that will despise them. ”

  Allie opened her mouth to say that the poor she had seen worked much harder than the wealthy but Thomas interrupted.

  “I’m glad you shared these plans with us, while there is still time to make changes,” he said simply, his dark gaze steady and clear.

  With a twitch of his heavily lacquered head, Mr. Bascomb said, “Changes? Everything is already set.”

  “We shall see,” Thomas said, returning his attention to his plate. The threat in his words was unmistakable.

  A high pitched laugh made its way through Mr. Bascomb’s fleshy lips. “Oh, I forgot. You are the son of a carriage man. No matter what successes you achieve, you will always carry an affinity for the poor, the desperate, the downtrodden.”

  Allie said, “Perhaps an affinity, or perhaps it is only the most basic sense of Christian charity. Some achieve it through their struggles, some learn it through spiritual trials, and- “here she turned to Mr. Bascomb so he could not possibly misunderstand her “- some never do.”

  “Charity?” He laughed again, louder. The sound rang through the richly decorated room. “What use is charity? It is for priests and young women with nothing better to occupy their time than to take baskets of goods to the ugly parts of town. In fact, I think most of the time it is simply curiosity wrapped up in the pretty package of charity.”

  Allie couldn’t suppress a gasp of astonishment. “I can assure you the woman I know who visits the poor is hardly curious.”

  “There might be one or two who are moved by genuinely Christian feeling,” he conceded, shrugging. “But the others are enjoying the thrill of walking the same streets as unsavory types.”

  Thomas said, “Women are often the first to lead the family in true charity. I think it does them a terrible disservice to attribute their work to mere curiosity.”

  Her mother nodded agreement, her delicate jeweled necklace shimmered in the soft light. “We must focus on the needs of our people. And what this town needs is a new rail line. Our baker Mr. Meyer has said that his grain delivery is in jeopardy every time the old one is under repair. He must rely on horse and carriage delivery.”

  “Oh, don’t let Thomas hear you advocate trains over horses, Mrs. Leeds.”

  “I am not worried that horses will go out of fashion because there are trains, Mr. Bascomb. Not many families will be able to afford to travel downtown on their own steam engine,” Thomas said drily.

  Allie laughed out loud. “No, but they just may do away with their carriage horses if they all buy motorcars.”

  “So noisy, so inelegant,” her mother said, waving a hand dismissively. “A fine carriage is what a person will have if they care about presentation. Much better than appearing in a tin trap, hair ruffled and clothing askew.”

  Allie grinned at Thomas, thinking of their ride from the train station. She remembered how the wind had ruffled his dark hair but he had looked rather more handsome for it.

  “There will always be horses. Whether for work, pleasure riding, or carriages, they will not become extinct,” he said.

  “And we will always need men to check their teeth, I suppose,” Mr. Bascomb said. He had hardly touched his meal, only taking a few sips of water. Allie wondered whether he was on a restricted diet. Or hated roasted chicken.

  “Thomas, don’t you think it is time to let your workers take over the everyday concerns of your business?” her mother asked.

  Allie frowned. What business? What workers?

  “They are all competent men. Well, some are very young to be considered men.” He grinned. “But it is best that I make the initial assessments each month.”

  “When you sold Starlight Rose, you should have invested in steel.”

  Allie looked from Mr. Bascomb to Thomas and back. “Whom did you sell?”

  Thomas grinned. “A wonderful horse who became one of the greatest racers in the city. It was a wrench to let him go, but I used the profits to start my business.”

  “I think anyone can check a horse’s hooves and teeth,” Mr. Bascomb said, his pale eyes narrowed.

  Thomas seemed to be counting in his head. “Yes,” he said finally, “but would that man know what he is seeing?”

  Mrs. Leeds patted Thomas’s arm and said, “I think it was a brilliant idea to have your regular clients pay for a monthly check up. You are building a strong business on healthy horses.”

  Allie raised her eyebrows. Is this the Thomas she knew, the one who yearned to tend sick creatures? The one who nursed a newborn rabbit for weeks after it was found abandoned? It seemed that Thomas had been replaced with one who was paid to look at healthy horses.

  His cheeks seemed a bit pink but his voice was level. “It makes sense, not just in business. If an ailing horse is found before the symptoms are so dire that a doctor is called, there is a much better chance at a cure.”

  Mr. Bascomb smirked into his napkin. “Yes, yes. Very noble.”

  “I don’t deny that it has been a very successful plan. We have more clients every week. I have ten men in my employ. But my goal has always been to keep horses from suffering from preventable injuries and disease,” Thomas said, his voice clipped.

  Mrs. Leeds waved her hand again, “It was a brilliant idea, as I said. Now you have a good chance at j
oining the city council. And from there, someday mayor?” Her eyes gleamed with the possibilities.

  Allie struggled to contain her surprise that Thomas was considering a political career. He had never mentioned that was an aspiration. But then again, he was not the seventeen year old boy she had left behind.

  “A veterinarian mayor? How very quaint,” Mr. Bascomb drawled. He straightened his vest, patting the pockets repeatedly.

  Thomas thrust his fork into the last bit of chicken on his rose-patterned china plate and said nothing. A warm feeling bloomed in Allie’s chest at his obvious control. He had always been a thoughtful boy, quick to listen and slow to speak. She admired that sort of man, the kind who could take an insult in silence. Out of respect for the women at the table, of course, since he was capable of a fiery temper as well. She remembered the time he caught Johnny Brewer swinging an old cat by its tail. That was a fight she would never forget.

  “Miss Hathaway finds this all very amusing,” Mr. Bascomb said, glancing at Allie.

  She cleared her throat in confusion. “I- I was just thinking. Of something long ago.” She finished lamely and reached for her crystal glass. It was almost empty of water and her throat felt like it was coated with sand. She thought longingly of her tonic, but it was upstairs in the trunk.

  “Really? Share with us,” he implored, and waited expectantly. The candles flickered in their tapers, sending shadows over Bascomb’s features.

  “It was a long time ago. Thomas―” she caught herself, heat rushing to her cheeks, “Mr. Bradford saw a young hooligan swinging a poor old tom cat by its tail.”

  “Oh, that is rather funny,” Mr. Bascomb said, his face splitting into a skeletal grin. His teeth seemed too long and yellow, like the teeth of an old man.

  “No, that’s not all. Mr. Bradford marched this boy to the bridge and hung him by the ankle over the water until he promised never to do it again. When he let him back up, he said ‘now you know how old Tom felt.’ The boy was pretty well-behaved after that, at least around us.” Allie laughed, shaking her head. She glanced at Thomas and her heart stuttered to a stop, then resumed with a deafening thud that should have been audible to everyone. The expression in his blue eyes told her their connection would never be broken, not by heart ache, years apart, or tragedy. So many memories between them, practically a lifetime’s worth. She felt as if she couldn’t look away, that she was drowning in his eyes.

  ***

  “Thomas, I saw Louise Mayfield at Morton’s today,” her mother said, her tone bland but her bright eyes had missed nothing.

  He blinked, returning to the conversation. “Yes, she’s quite persistent. There is a picnic planned for the mayor’s close friends and she has invited me along.”

  “Very fine. Will you be escorting her or is it a group outing?”

  Thomas flushed. “Yes, I am her escort. An afternoon of croquet and cold fried chicken can’t be a bad way to pass the time,” he said.

  Allie felt a stab of white hot jealousy. The girl in yellow, the one who accused her of having so many lovers, is going to with Thomas?

  “I think you should take her in your motorcar,” she announced with a bright smile.

  He looked at her, a question in his eyes, and then his lips quirked up in a half smile. “That is a fine idea. I think she once mentioned how she loves the feel of the wind in her hair.”

  Allie dropped her gaze in embarrassment. Of course he had heard that criticism in Morton’s Clothing, how had she forgotten? What must he think of her petty jealousy? She hoped he thought it stemmed from a personal dislike of Louise, and not from the fact that she would have hated anyone, no matter whom, if they were his date.

  “We are also invited. It will be a wonderful afternoon, won’t it, Alberta?” Her mother fixed her smile, her gray head held high. Her tone was clear. So many eligible men, so little time. From this moment on, her task was set.

  Allie stuttered out an agreement and tried to cover her despair. An afternoon with wealthy bankers and socialites was not so very difficult. But how could she survive an afternoon watching Thomas give his attentions to that horrible girl? Her heart sank like a heavy stone within her.

  ***

  It seemed as if eons passed before Mr. Bascomb took his leave, bowing deeply over Allie’s gloved hand. The heavy scent of his pomade made her dinner churn in her stomach. He glanced up under his sparse blond lashes and blinked repeatedly.

  “Miss Hathaway, it was a pleasure to dine with you and your mother. You must come to my home next Saturday evening.”

  Allie nodded, knowing her mother was already planning on an invitation. She caught a glimpse of her mother’s pleased expression out of the corner of her eye. “Thank you, Mr. Bascomb. I will plan on it.”

  He released her hand and straightened. “How I would enjoying spend just a while longer with Mrs. Leeds and you, Miss Hathaway, but I have an early appointment with the railway.” He nodded stiffly to Thomas on the way out the door and did not offer to shake his hand..

  Allie let out a long breath and slumped into the side of the sofa. The table had long since been cleared and the room seemed increasingly stuffy and warm. She fanned herself with a lace trimmed ivory fan from the side table. That must have been one of the longest dinners on record, with each course dragging out half an hour or more. Janey must be already in bed, or in the bath. Allie felt a sharp pang at the thought of the little girl being tended by Maggie, and not her.

  “Are you well? Should I call Maggie to help you upstairs?” Thomas’s low voice cut into her thoughts. He stood near the window, watching her intently.

  She glanced up, smiling. “No, no, I’m fine. It was... a long dinner.” She brushed the damp tendrils from her brow, wondering why the heat of the day had not broken at sunset. The dull throbbing at her temples was gaining strength once more.

  Thomas regarded her for a moment, as if considering whether to call Maggie anyway. His eyes looked darker in the dim light.

  “Mr. Bascomb is a very successful lawyer, and such a refined young man,” her mother intoned from the other end of the sofa. Wisps of hair floated around her face, eyes still bright at the late hour. Allie wondered how she kept cool and perfectly coiffed in the stifling room.

  “Yes,” Allie nodded, knowing it was best to agree.

  “He has had a part in every major city development in the last five years,” she continued.

  “I see,” Allie said.

  “The mayor has made him his right hand man,” her mother said, as if daring Allie to point out anything unpleasant.

  “I wonder why Louise Mayfield doesn’t marry Mr. Bascomb?” she asked, her tone innocent.

  Her mother glared, and adjusted her long white gloves. “That girl doesn’t have a lick of sense. She says he’s too advanced in years.”

  Thomas chuckled, rocking back on his heels. “He’s not much older than I am.”

  “As I said, that girl has no sense. What a wonderful match that would be, any girl would be happy to be married to such an upstanding young man.”

  Allie kept quiet, eyes riveted to the far corner of the room, willing herself not to answer in anger. It was all well and good to play match maker when you’re old, and there’s no chance of having to live with one of those ‘upstanding young men’.

  “We must make sure one of the fine dresses have been finished before Saturday. There will likely be a large group for dinner. He entertains frequently. Thomas, will you be there?” Mrs. Leeds asked.

  Allie groaned inwardly. Could her mother really have missed the animosity between those two?

  “I think not. Mr. Bascomb is not as pleased with me as a dinner partner, as he is with me as a veterinarian.” Thomas didn’t sound as if he cared much. He bent down to retie his perfectly shined leather shoe with quick movements.

  Her mother waved a hand. “There will be some who are not able to look past your family’s origin.”

  “And why should they?” Allie asked angrily. “Mr. Bradfor
d, your father was a wonderful man. He was proud to be Irish, and proud of his country. He was a hard worker who cared deeply about his horses.”

  “Oh, Alberta, don’t pretend that you do not understand why Thomas will always be at a disadvantage in good society,” Mrs. Leeds said in exasperation.

  “At a disadvantage?” Allie’s voice rose in protest. She could feel her pulse pounding in her aching head. “A man who has finished his education, achieved a comfortable lifestyle, and is the head of a successful business is at a disadvantage? Not to mention that Thomas is a hundred times more attractive than Mr. Bascomb, with his fish lips and greased hair.”

  There was a sudden silence in the room. Allie felt a blush creep up her neck. She kept her gaze steady but was sure that her flaming cheeks were visible even in the lamp light. Thomas’s eyebrows had risen up toward his hairline, his expression was difficult to interpret.

  “I mean to say, from the perspective of eligible ladies,” she finished lamely.

  Her mother sighed, saying, “As I was attempting to illustrate, in our society Thomas must work harder to overcome his lowly beginnings. He already is quite successful and looks very much a gentleman, but where other men could rest on their family, he must constantly be on guard. ”

  “Well, I don’t want to be part of this ‘good society’ if it counts a man’s wealth as greater than his humanity. You heard how Mr. Bascomb mocked the idea of Christian charity. He called it curiosity!” She felt outrage rise anew.

  “Alberta, there were things about your father that I did not understand but we managed to make a fine home together. Do not let one dinner conversation set your mind against such a promising match.”