Captains and the Kings by Taylor Caldwell

  Chapter 7

  Though Joseph had rejected the world of men as no part of his own being, except to accede to his secret ambitions, he could not be insensible to the beauty of the land. His innately poetic Irish nature could not detach itself, however he consciously tried, telling himself that nothing mattered or really had any existence beyond what he must accomplish. All else was trivial and a waste of time and strength. He was going today for a look at the mansion of Mayor Tom Hennessey, for he had heard it was the most lavish in Green Hills and he needed another emphatic sword of desire in his growing arsenal. He wished to see how rich men lived and in what surroundings, and to study the environment in which he was determined that his family must live. As for himself, he had no yearning for luxury or beauty or ease. He wanted them only for Scan and Regina, whose lives depended on their brother. He had never been in this particular territory before, beyond the confines of the flat monotony and grit of Winfield and its ugly little houses and unkempt square. He was soon in the countryside, brilliantly green in the spring, lush, leaping with life and urgent wild flowers and patches of wild violets and random pools of daffodils and trees golden with unfurling leaves, and little rills and brooks wandering through copses and even spilling over onto the uneven road of mingled stone and drying mud. It was still shiningly bright and the sun was just beginning to lower in a glitter of radiant orange behind the western trees, and the air was lively and murmurous and piercingly sweet with excited bird calls. In the distance stood the misty softness of green hills, and the ground and road rose towards them. Joseph passed a large pond as purely blue as an Irish lake, and the young yellow leaves of willows bent over it and were reflected in its stillness, and from its proximity now began to rise the chorus and hosannah to life of the peepers. From nearby fields came the nostalgic music of cowbells as cattle prepared to go to their paddocks, and wind stirred the tall new grass at the borders of the road and above it all was a sky faintly green and luminous. Joseph had long forgotten the feeling and meaning of peace. But now he suddenly knew it, and it was accompanied by a pang of such sorrow that it was like a fresh agony. He stood and looked about him, and listened for several minutes, alone in a fresh new world. Then the peace and even the sorrow left him as he thought: This is only for the rich and not for the poor. They live in silent green contentment, but we live in dust and murk and ugliness-for they are the fortified and we are the helpless. For a brief moment or two he had made contact with the world, and it had wounded him once more, so he set his face and stared only at the road as he went on. But he could not shut his ears to the jubilation of young life, nor his Irish soul to the scent of innocent carnal earth and the fecundity of that which lived. Yet he felt that this all mocked him, the destitute and the homeless. The poetry of sound which he heard, the fragrance of the earth, the very poignancy of tree trunks and blue shadows on the grass and the quiet dim hollows of silence in the woods, seemed to cry out to him, "These are not for you, for you have no money. You have no money!" But I will have it! he thought with familiar savagery. I will have it, no matter how! And he lifted his face and his hand to the sky in hatred and determination.

  Now he was approaching the rich residential area of Green Hills, where the safe lived and had their tranquil existence far from Winfield. The road began to wind, and other roads left off from it, and at near or far distances Joseph saw the white brick or sandstone mansions of the fortunate and the cynical, and the gravel walks that led across lawns like green water and past gardens filled with the purple and gold of iris and daffodils and red tulips in spring beds. Almost every estate was guarded by wrought- iron and ornamental fences and tall gates which did not shut out envious glances but announced to passers-by that they must not trespass. The fire of the approaching sunset ignited tall mirror-like windows with its own color, and slate roofs glimmered and occasionally a red brick chimney emitted a feather or two of soft gray smoke. It was very silent and full of a peace which Joseph could no longer feel. He knew that Mayor Hennessey lived on Willoughby Terrace, and he watched for discreet board signs as roads were increasingly named. Then he came on it to his right and he turned off the rough main road onto a narrower but smoother road, very winding and overhung with oaks and elms and maples. A low graystone fence followed the road instead of iron fences and gates and over this he could see the mansions, some sunken below the rising ground of the distance, some bold and standing like monarchs on their land. Dogs barked warningly, and some collies raced across lawns to the stone walls and challenged Joseph's passing. He did not pause nor even look at them.'He was watching for an iron shield embedded in the wall with the number eighteen upon it in Gothic scroll. He finally found it, and stopped to look past the lawns which rolled and spread serenely over several acres. The mayor's white house was the largest and most imposing of any which Joseph had seen so far, and the most opulent and pretentious. Its center was of the classic outdoor portico type of ancient Roman fashion with thick and smooth white pillars and Corinthian capitals and frescoes and ponderous carved bases. The floor within was of white stone, gleaming and polished as marble, leading to mighty double bronze doors of Italian origin. On each side of the tall porticoed entrance structure stretched a two-storied wing, broad as well as high, with ornamental friezes near the eaves and a wide balcony at the end, extending from the upper floor. Ever}' window was partly shaded by shirred gray silk, glimmering as silver; flowering spring shrubs, yellow and snowy, pressed against the shining walls. Great pruned trees were scattered in groups of twos and threes on the lawn, and every blade of grass had its own iridescence in the lowering light of early evening. A marvelous tranquillity lay over everything like a blessing, heightened by the deep sweet sadness of descending robin song. So, thought Joseph, himself lives here and his money came from human misery and death and despair, as always it does. Yet, there is none to reproach him, neither God nor man, and all fawn upon him and he will be a senator and crowds will laud him and he will have the ear of the President and all will honor his riches and consider him worthier than other men because of it. I, too, honor him, for he is a thief and a murderer and a mountebank and a whoremonger-and does the world not prefer such to an honest and devoted man? It can only be that the good and noble man is a fool, despised by God, Himself, for does not the Bible say, "The wicked flourish like a green bay tree" and their children dance with joy in the streets? It is true.

  He leaned his elbows on the wall and contemplated the grounds and the mansion and listened to the evensong of the birds. Here would his sister, Regina, have lived had he permitted it, slowly forgetting that she was of another family, lost to him and Scan forever. She would have slept in one of those chambers of the upper story, and would have run on these lawns. But, she would no longer be Mary Regina Armagh of a prouder name than Hennessey and it would be as if she had died, and she would finally have believed that those within were her family and she had no other, and her love would be for unworthy strangers. Not for an instant did Joseph regret his decision concerning his sister. He could only smile grimly at the house and nod his head over and over as in secret agreement with himself. He heard the shrill ringing sound of a young child's voice, and a very little girl came suddenly running across the grass towards the wall where he stood, and she was followed by an elderly woman in the blue cotton dress, white apron and cap of a nursemaid. Joseph stood in brushy shadow ' and he looked at the child, who was about Regina's age and screaming with malicious mirth. She was somewhat smaller than Regina, but plump, and she wore a frock of white silk and a little jacket of blue velvet trimmed with silver embroidery and as her tiny petticoats swayed they revealed the ruffles of lace pantalettes and little black slippers and white silk stockings. She had a round golden little face saucy and rather flat, and merry hazel eyes, and her smooth brown hair had been trained into glistening curls that reached almost to her shoulders. Her lips were full and red and showed bright teeth, and her nose was tilted. It was not a pretty face, but she had a look of constant mirth that
was very attractive and even fascinating. Regina was grave and thoughtful. This child-Bernadette, is it?-had probably never wept for fear in her life and probably had no thoughts but of her own babyish satisfaction. Like Regina, she was four years old. She had almost reached the wall but did not see the watching Joseph in the shadows. She looked about her with gleeful mischief, and as the nursemaid, uttering loud reproaches, was almost upon her, she darted away like a squirrel, squealing with impish laughter, showing her pantalettes up to her fat thighs. She ran very fast and soon she was lost among the trees and the panting old nursemaid stopped to catch her breath and shake her head. The slow spring twilight began to flow over the lawns and Joseph turned away and began his long walk back to Winfield. A mist was rising over the ground now and the joyous cries of the peepers were louder and more insistent. The sky was a pure soft green and the orange of the west had turned to scarlet. A wind came up, heavily scented by warming pines and living plants. Joseph had just reached the intersection of the private road with the main road when he heard the rattling of wheels and the rapid pound of hoofs. He looked down the broad road and saw an open victoria approaching pulled by two beautiful white horses. A coachman, young and in fine livery, was driving the horses and he looked at Joseph out of a broad and bellicose face, snapping his whip, as the carriage turned in on Willoughby Terrace. But Joseph did not look at him. He was staring at the occupant of the victoria, and he had no doubt at all that this was Mayor Tom Hennessey, for he had once seen his woodcut in a newspaper page which had enclosed his lunch. As Mrs. Hennessey was young Joseph had thought to see a young husband, for the photograph had been flattering. But Tom Hennessey appeared to be a man approaching forty, at least, a big, wide handsome man with a wenching and florid face and slate-gray narrow eyes, and an exigent, even brutal, mouth. He had the Irish long lip, as Joseph had also, but a thick ridge of a nose protruded above it, giving his face an arrogant and scoundrelly expression. His chin was smooth-shaven, as was his lip, and heavy and dimpled, and it indicated common blood. He was clad in fawn broadcloth with a greatcoat of brown velvety cloth, and his waistcoat was richly embroidered. He wore a tall and shining hat, and from under it flowed his brown and waving hair and his brown sideburns. He looked potent and virile and cruel, though his mouth was automatically arranged in a look of amity and humor. His gloved hands rested on an ebony walking stick with a gold head, and his jewelry was flashing and considerably vulgar. Foot travelers were few on Willoughby Terrace and Tom Hennessey's attention was caught by the sight of this tall thin youth with the beggarly clothing and workman's boots and woolen cap. A servant? A gardening hand? Tom Hennessey had the born politician's powers of keen observation and he missed nothing, no matter how unimportant. The sunken blue eyes of Joseph were met squarely in sudden confrontation with the merciless gray eyes of the older man. It was absurd to the mayor, but something which had quickened shot between them and the mayor was fully conscious of it as was Joseph. The mayor touched the rump of his coachman with the tip of his cane and the man brought the wonderful horses to a halt very close to the stranger. The mayor had a round and sonorous voice, the voice of a blackguard politician, and it was mellifluous and fruity in addition, trained as it was by ruthless guile. He said to Joseph, "Do you live on these estates, my lad?" Joseph wanted to go on with a mumble but his own interest in the mayor held him near to the horses' heads. "No," he said. "I do not." Tom Hennessey had been born in Pennsylvania, but his father had been born in Ireland and he well-remembered the rich brogue and it echoed now in Joseph's voice. Tom's eyes sharpened. He studied Joseph calmly but completely from his seat in the victoria. "What is it, then, that you do?" he asked and smiled his engaging smile. But the smile did not have the innocent charm of Daniel Armagh, but the charm of the born rascal. Joseph looked at him in silence and not with trepidation. His thin wide cheekbones, sprinkled with freckles, seemed to become more noticeable. "It's out for a walk, I am," he replied. Now he became wary. If this man spoke to his wife of Joseph's appearance, and his Irish intonations, then she would immediately suspect Joseph's identity. There would be no clanger in that, but to Joseph the whole world was dangerous and should not be informed. He added, "I am a gardener's helper." "Hum," said the mayor. Had not the news been so portentous today, and were he not returning hurriedly home from Winfield to pack for a fast journey to Washington-as a senator just confirmed by the State Legislature-he would have taken the time to satisfy his curiosity about Joseph. Abruptly, he ordered the coachman to drive and the horses skipped on. But Joseph stood and watched the vehicle until it was out of sight beyond a bend in the road. He smiled a little. His conviction that he had been only too right concerning Regina's adoption was confirmed. A father like that-he would inevitably have poisoned that young soul with his own sensuality and coarseness. Shanty Irish, commented Joseph to himself, in scorn, as he walked rapidly towards town. Did America, then, have no pride that she should honor such as Tom Hennessey and raise them to high estate? Joseph, for the first time in years, began to whistle as he walked back to Winfield, and his young heart was lighter than it had been since he had been a child. If the Tom Hennesseys could become rich and famous and honored in this America, then an Armagh could also, and easier. He thought of what he had seen, and he looked back over his shoulder at the silvery mist which was blowing over the softening green hills, and it seemed to him that this was the fairest sight he had ever beheld and that he must live here one day, and on not too far a day. It would be the home of Scan and Regina with himself as guardian, behind high walls, and perhaps the peace he had momentarily experienced an hour or so ago would return to him until the end of his life. Not joy, not wealth for wealth itself, not laughter and songs and travel and beauty and obsequiousness and servants, not love-no, he wanted only peace and forgetfulness until the blessed time when he could turn his face away from it all and be done with it.