“No debt is owed, Emily,” Olivia said with an easy smile. She turned to a woman seated on the other side of Governor Flynn. “Amanda? How are the plans for the new wing at the Gad’s Hill Library coming along?”
“Stalled, I’m afraid,” Amanda answered.
“Excuse my interruption, ladies,” the governor said with a charming smile. “But I think Emily has brought up a little bit of a mystery—and I love mysteries.”
Olivia saw Mary’s back as she moved out of the room with a stack of dishes. Matilda stood behind the governor, and Olivia gave her a slight nod, sending her out of the dining room as well.
“Yes, Liv, you’ve ducked my question before, so now I’ll be droll and ask you again in front of everyone,” Emily said, her cheek dimpling playfully. “How is it that you knew about the fire before it happened?”
“I’ve been dying to ask you that too, Olivia,” another woman piped up from the other end of the table.
“I . . . didn’t exactly know. . . .” Olivia looked quickly to Richard for help.
“I don’t know about everyone else, but that fire isn’t my idea of appealing dinner conversation,” Richard told the group. “Does anyone need anything? How about coffee? Tea?”
“Don’t be fractious, Richard. We’re not talking about the grisly details of the fire,” Emily’s husband, Stanley, put in. “We’re asking Olivia how she came to be able to call and warn us not to attend with our Susan. Something we’re so thankful for—”
“Yes, Olivia—tell us.” The clamor for information began.
“C’mon, Liv—everyone is grateful for the warnings. We just want to know how you knew to make those calls!”
“I heard it was because of a . . . maid.” Emily Torrent looked directly across the table at Olivia. “Is that true?”
Olivia’s heart sank as Mary and Matilda reentered the dining room with a dessert cart between them.
“We have Bea’s famous chocolate mousse for dessert,” Olivia announced.
“Actually—I heard it wasn’t exactly a maid who knew something terrible was going to happen. It was her son,” Emily said with a look of satisfaction.
“I’d really rather not talk about this, if you all don’t mind.” Olivia tried to soften the statement with a smile and nodded to the two women with the cart.
Mary placed a crystal cup of chocolate mousse in front of each of the guests as Matilda pushed the cart forward.
“Don’t be coy, Olivia,” the governor chuckled jovially. “The more mysterious you make this, the more we’ll insist on answers.”
“Oh, this is silly,” Emily huffed as Mary moved behind her and slid her dessert into place. The woman reached out to put her hand on Mary’s arm.
“You have to be so incredibly proud of your son.” She turned so she could look up into Mary’s eyes. “You’re Mary—and his name is Jack, isn’t it?”
Olivia, wishing there was something she could do, watched Mary hesitate. “Yes, my son’s name is Jack.”
“And he’s the one—isn’t he? I mean the one who predicted the fire.”
“Emily, really . . .” Olivia pleaded.
“Anna told Susie,” Emily went on, lifting her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “It’s ridiculous to keep it a secret. The boy is a hero.”
“Understandably, Mary would like to protect her son from any . . . publicity about this,” Olivia answered. “Jack is a special child. He’s a deaf-mute, so obviously he can’t answer any questions about . . . about what he does. . . .” Olivia’s voice trailed off as she looked apologetically at Mary.
“Then the plot thickens!” the governor declared. “The mystery of how he does what he does is as fascinating as the fact that he can do it at all!”
Mary’s heart was pounding in her chest as she continued to move between the dessert cart and the table. It wasn’t that familiar, fearful clutch of her heart . . . more of a tripping into uncharted territory. They were talking about Jack. The governor thinks Jack is fascinating. My son . . . special. Fascinating . . .
“Mary?” Governor Flynn addressed her directly.
Mary stopped and looked at him. “Yes, sir?”
“Might we have the honor of meeting your son? Is he here with you?”
Will seeing him turn fascination to pity because he can’t hear? Her natural instincts as a mother to protect her child made her feel very wary.
“He’s in the kitchen, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather not bring him in,” she finally said. “He’s shy and not used to attention. I’d . . .” She glanced at Olivia but knew her kind benefactor had done all she could in the circumstances.
The governor tented his fingers together and pressed them against his mouth before offering her his kindest smile. “Anyone can see what a wonderful, protective mother you are, Mary. But surely you know how valuable someone with Jack’s gift could be to the world.”
Valuable . . . to the world . . .
“Personally, I’d like to shake the hand of the young man who helped several people in this room, as well as others in our community, avoid a terrible heartbreak,” he said.
She heard other guests around the table murmuring agreement, and she looked into faces of people who seemed to sincerely want to meet her son.
Mary finally nodded at the governor. “All right. I’ll go get him.”
“Excellent.” Governor Flynn beamed a smile around the table. A ripple of conversation followed Mary out of the room. She heard Emily Torrent say smugly, “There now—the secret’s out, and the roof didn’t come crashing down.”
“It wasn’t my secret to tell, Emily,” Olivia answered quietly.
Matilda was just placing the last cup of chocolate mousse in front of the last guest at the table when Mary reentered the dining room, holding Jack’s hand.
A collective intake of breath as they saw him took her by surprise. She looked at the faces all turned toward her son. They’re looking at him with wonder—respectfully . . . admiringly. . . . The realization filled her with tenderness, with pride.
“This is Jack,” she said as she led him toward John Flynn, all the while conscious of the whispered speculation and observations from the people at the table.
“So handsome!”
“What a beautiful boy. . . .”
“He looks wise—doesn’t he?”
“I think he looks like her. . . .”
“Ah, young Jack, the man of the hour,” Governor Flynn said, turning his chair so that he could look right into Jack’s face when Mary stopped next to him at the table. He smiled at the boy, but Jack stared back impassively. The governor looked up at Mary. “He is indeed a fine-looking lad.”
“Thank you.”
“Does he perhaps read lips—or communicate in some other fashion—sign language maybe?”
Mary shook her head.
“Oh, well, that’s . . .”
Please don’t say “too bad”—or “that’s terrible”—or “I’m sorry” . . .
“. . . even more impressive, then,” the governor finished. “I have an idea. Why don’t you let Jack show us what he can do?”
Mary drew him into her arms, wrapping them across his chest. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Oh, come on. What’s the harm?”
“It’s not like that,” she explained. “It’s not something he can just turn on and off at will. There isn’t always a . . . a prophecy, a special word, when he touches someone.”
The governor smiled broadly. “Well, then—I repeat. What’s the harm in giving it a whirl?”
She wasn’t prepared for this. She and Jack had no experience with a room filled with people who would all be watching—and judging— and leaving the room with ideas about her boy that would be formed in the space of just a few minutes. She shook her head again.
“Like I said, he’s shy, and I just don’t think it’s . . . it’s wise to put him on the spot like this. . . .”
Olivia started to say s
omething, but the governor waved her off. “Pardon me for saying this, Mary, but when Jack was born . . . the way he is, you were obviously given a great responsibility as his mother to see that he fulfills his potential. I think Shakespeare said it best: ‘Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them.’ Let Jack be great,” he finished with a politician’s authority and confidence.
Mary let her gaze sweep around the table at the rapt expressions on the faces of the guests. Let Jack be great. . . .
“Would you mind if . . . if we turned off the lights?” Mary asked.
The governor looked surprised but shrugged. “All right by me if it makes him feel less self-conscious.” He looked across the table. “Olivia? Lights?”
Olivia looked at Richard, who got up from the table and went to the switch for the chandeliers. The only lights now left in the room were the candles glowing over the table.
“Are we good?” the governor asked Mary, but she shook her head.
“Please. The candles too,” she insisted.
“You heard the lady,” the governor said. “Out they go.”
Guests leaned forward to extinguish the candles, leaving only the sheen of moonlight coming through the windows.
“This is like a séance.”
“Did you know Mary Todd Lincoln, President Lincoln’s wife, held séances in the White House?” someone chuckled.
“Awful rumors—”
“Don’t you need crystal balls or something?”
“How would you know, Emily?”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” Mary interjected, keeping her voice as steady as she could. “There is absolutely no attempt to communicate with spirits or mediums. Never.”
The room went silent.
“Please hold still when I put Jack’s hand over yours, sir,” Mary said softly in the dark room.
“Okay, ready when you are,” Flynn said.
Mary was sure she detected a note of amusement in his voice, but she ignored it as she took Jack’s hand in hers and placed it on the governor’s hand. She thought she felt Flynn stiffen for a moment, and then in seconds she slipped Jack’s hand from the governor’s. After a moment she said, “The lights can come back on.”
The guests blinked as the chandeliers blazed back to life. Mary stood with her hands on Jack’s shoulders.
“Well, that was painless, wasn’t it?” The governor smiled broadly. “Now—how do we find out what Jack is predicting for me?”
“We need a pencil and a piece of paper,” Mary said quietly. “Unless you’ve changed your mind . . . ?”
The governor reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo and withdrew a pen and a business card. “A good public servant is always prepared.”
Mary felt every eye on them as the governor pushed back from the table and guided her into his chair. She pulled Jack onto her lap and placed the card facedown on the table. She placed Jack’s fingers into position around the pen, and everyone’s eyes were glued to their hands moving slowly and carefully across the back of the card. In less than a minute, she put Jack back on his feet, stood and smoothed out her skirt, and handed the card to Governor Flynn.
“Thank you for sharing your son with us tonight, Mary,” he said warmly, but his eye was on the small rectangle of white in his hand.
“You’re welcome,” she replied.
“I’d love to have Jack tell me what’s in store,” Emily Torrent said, obviously attempting to be humorous.
“Me too,” another woman added from the end of the table.
“I don’t think we should impose on Jack again tonight,” Richard said in a tone that brooked no argument.
Mary took Jack’s hand and turned toward the doorway.
“Mary, once you get Jack settled with Bea, I think we’re ready for our coffee,” Olivia called.
“I’ll be right back with it,” she said, hurrying Jack from the room.
The guests turned their attention back to John Flynn, who was studying the card, a frown on his face.
“Well? What does it say?” Emily demanded.
The governor looked at Olivia. “Numbers? The boy wrote some numbers—what’s that supposed to mean?”
“How well do you know your Bible, John?” Olivia asked.
“What? My . . . Bible?”
She nodded. “As I understand it, it’s kind of a code. Mary explained that the first number is the sequential book of the Bible. The second number is the chapter of that book, and the third is the verse.”
“He uses the Bible to convey what he sees happening?”
“Actually, according to Mary, what he sees are the numbers . . . the words—and meaning—are found by following this code.”
John Flynn looked down the length of the table at Richard and grinned. “Richard, my man—we need a Bible.”
Richard pushed back from the table. “I have one in my study. I’ll be right back.”
He hurried from the room, but before Olivia could say anything, the guests were all following suit—pushing back chairs, dropping napkins beside empty dessert cups, all talking at once as they moved out of the dining room.
They gathered around Richard’s desk while he opened the Bible to the index. Richard made brief eye contact with Olivia and then looked at Governor Flynn.
“What’s the first number, please?”
John held up the card—a showman enjoying the attention. He adjusted a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and announced, “It’s nineteen!”
“Olivia—where on earth did you find them—Mary and her son?” Emily asked as she stood next to her husband.
“I happened upon them several weeks ago. She and Jack were actually . . . in rather dire straits. No one would allow her to keep Jack with her while she worked. I just wanted to help, and I hired her.”
“Most generous . . .” someone murmured.
“Not at all,” Olivia deferred. “We’re just so grateful—she’s a wonderful worker, but now we’re even more grateful to both of them.”
“Here it is,” Richard said, finger in place on the index. “The nineteenth book is the book of Psalms.”
People were immediately attentive. The governor looked back at the card in his hand. “The next number is one hundred and nine.”
Richard flipped pages and looked up again. “All right. That’s the chapter—what’s the verse? What’s the next number?”
“Eight,” the governor said with a grin. “Eight—guess that’s the number that tells my fate!” A ripple of laughter ran through the room as Richard ran his finger down the page. His eyes slid over the words, but he didn’t look up.
“Well? Are you going to read it or not?” Stanley Torrent said. “Come on, now, Richard. Don’t keep us in the dark.”
“Yes, Rich—tell me. What does the boy predict?” Flynn’s voice boomed out like an announcer at a carnival.
Richard looked up at the assembled group, his eyes stopping briefly on Olivia—and then back on the page. His reluctance to read it aloud was clearly evident. He cleared his throat. “ ‘Let his days be few; and let another take his office,’ ” Richard read slowly.
The room was filled with grave silence. Finally the governor was able to force a chuckle. His wife moved closer. “Well—guess I’d better dust off my law degree,” he quipped. “My days in the governor’s mansion seem numbered.”
A rumble of supportive comments surged out of the group, but none sounded sincere in their reassurances that it was all an enormous mistake.
Richard started to close the Bible, but Governor Flynn stepped up and put his hand between the pages. “Mind if I take a look?” Though he had tried to keep his voice light, there was an edge to the question.
Richard wordlessly handed him the book. “Sorry about the chapter and verse, but November is months away—things can change for the better. . . .”
“He’s just a kid. A deaf-mute kid, at that,” the governor tossed out.
&nbs
p; Constance came up beside him and looked down at the open pages of the Bible, and then put her hand on his arm. He shrugged it off and slammed the Bible closed.
“John, I have a photographer here waiting to take some pictures for the society page. Could we impose on you and Constance?” Olivia asked skillfully.
“Impose away,” John said as he put on a smile and ushered his wife from the room. The other guests left the study in small groups, heads together—talking in subdued tones.
Olivia tucked her arm through Richard’s as they trailed behind their guests into the formal living room. “What do you think?” she whispered.
“I think we should tell Tildy not to serve the Dom Perignon with dessert,” Richard said in a voice meant only for Olivia.
“But it’s the twenty-one vintage—the best we have in the cellar.”
“I know,” he said wryly. “Tell her to switch to the Taittinger—no use wasting the good stuff on the losing candidate.”
Chapter Fifteen
WHEN SHE LOOKED BACK ON IT, Mary realized it was one of those times when she should have clearly seen what was happening. But in the middle of it—the exciting, flattering, satisfying, gratifying middle of it—she had no idea the world, once more, was shifting beneath her feet.
It began the day after the governor’s dinner when Olivia answered another phone call about Jack, this time from a newspaper reporter. Mary was passing through the foyer with Jack as Olivia lifted her eyebrows at her and cupped her hand over the mouthpiece.
“It’s a reporter from the Chicago Daily Times. He wants to come over with a photographer and do a story on Jack for the morning edition. What do you want me to tell him?”
A reporter to do a story about Jack? Everyone will know about his gift! They will know he’s far more than a deaf-mute. The thought was thrilling, but in the next instant she remembered. Jerry. Mary had a sudden mental image of Jerry sitting at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread in front of him on a Saturday morning. Only the local paper—he’d probably never see a paper from Chicago. But still, to be on the safe side . . .
Mary shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure? They’ll probably run a story anyway. At least this way you’d have some control over the content,” Olivia said quietly, her hand still over the phone.
The Silent Gift Page 10