All the Blue of Heaven (9 page)

           
“Miss Hathaway, so very wonderful to make your acquaintance,” he said, grasping
Allie’s hand and leaning over her glove. The heady smell of the pomade made her
head swim.

           
“Mr. Bascomb,” she said simply, attempting to hold her breath until he moved
farther away.

           
“And Mr. Bradford. How pleasant to see my horse’s doctor at dinner.” His voice
was pitched a bit too loudly for the close room and Allie felt certain that he
meant that to be the opposite of a compliment. The tightness around Thomas’
eyes told her she was right. But wasn’t that what he was? A horse doctor?

           
“It seems we have friends in common,” he said, his voice light.

           
“Surprising, isn’t it?” Bascomb said, as he moved toward the table.

           
Maggie returned with a tureen of tomato bisque, setting it in the middle of the
table. The water glasses had already been filled and as they took their places,
Allie noticed each place was set with a tiny vase of miniature roses. It was a
bright touch that could only come from this shy servant girl. Mrs. Gibson could
cook for a king, but she hated flowers at the table. She was always afraid a
spider would crawl out during the meal.

           
Janey did as she was told and was exceptionally quiet after Maggie had served
the soup. Allie glanced at her and winked broadly, for which she was rewarded
with a gap-toothed grin. How many meals had they enjoyed in Chinatown, eating
food that would be unrecognizable to their dinner companions? But this richly
decorated room, the young men in fine suits, lace gloves and heady perfume all
created an experience that was more exotic than for Janey.

           
“Now Mr. Bascomb, how are your parents?” Mrs. Leeds tipped her spoon toward her
lips and took a delicate sip.

           
“Very well, Mrs. Leeds. They are in Paris for a few more months. My father
enjoys the opera but tells me the artist colonies have completely ruined some
of the finer quarters of the city.”

           
Allie choked on a sip of water and Thomas raised his eyebrows across the table
at her. Perhaps it was better to say nothing, but the conversation in the shop
was still ringing in her ears.

           
“Excuse me, did he say
how
they ruined the city?” she asked.

           
Mr. Bascomb pursed his fleshy lips and tilted his head. “I am sure you are
aware of what goes on in those sorts of places. Things we shall not mention in
front of our little guest.” He blinked his watery eyes at Janey, who stared
back, expressionless. “Then again, she have already witnessed the behaviors of
which I speak. Drunkenness, fighting, loose morals-“

           
”Mr. Bascomb, I understand there are neighborhoods that are unsafe for any
young child to live. A close friend of mine has dedicated her life to serving
the poor wretches who live there. Treasure seekers streamed into the city after
the gold rushes ended, leaving them as poor as when they set out. In despair
they often turn to drink, and all that comes from it. But they are
not
artists.” Allie’s fists were clenched, her jaw set tight.

           
Mrs. Leeds paused, fork in midair as Allie spoke. Her eyes were flashing
warning signs. She felt she had no choice but to set this irritating man straight.

           
“In San Francisco that may be true. But in the City of Light, artists have
ruined the Latin Quarter with their late-night ways. My mother says that at all
hours of the night, music and laughter rings out, making it impossible to sleep.”
He dabbed his napkin primly against his mouth.

           
Allie suppressed a snort. Of course, the real test of civilization is the
ability to keep quiet and adhere to a proper bedtime.

           
“Perhaps that is a quality of the French, and not the artists?” she asked.

           
“Am I wrong? I had the understanding that most people in the arts- dancers,
entertainers, writers, and painters―” here he paused meaningfully, “don’t
follow the schedule of the rest of the world. When we are readying ourselves
for the day, they are just falling into bed.”

           
Allie frowned. It was true that there were nights she worked until daylight,
unwilling to leave her inspiration for another day.

           
“Sometimes, perhaps. But there are other professions that keep odd hours, as
well. You would not object to a neighborhood of doctors even though they are
called in the night to assist the sick.” She glanced at Thomas, who seemed to
be finding his soup very interesting. “For example, Mr. Bradford must respond
when there is a need for a veterinarian, no matter the hour.”

           
“Yes,” said Mr. Bascomb, his voice a drawl, “and a neighborhood of men who take
care of other people’s carriage horses would be an equally unpleasant place to
live, if only for the smell.”

           
Allie sucked in a breath and her eyes flew to Thomas’ face. His handsome
countenance was unperturbed, although a small spot of pink bloomed over each
high cheekbone, and he reached calmly for his glass of water. For just a
moment, Allie wondered if he would toss it in Bascomb’s smug face. But Thomas
was a gentleman to the core.

           
“We cannot always choose our neighbors, but luckily we can always choose our
friends,” Thomas said.

           
Allie wanted to laugh out loud at Bascomb’s confusion. Of course he would see
himself as a very much sought-after friend... and suitor.  He could not
grasp what Thomas was reminding him: that being socially esteemed was no
guarantee that Allie would let him call on her. Thomas caught her eye, then
looked away.

           
Mrs. Leeds rang the bell for Maggie. “This soup was far too salty. I must have
Mrs. Gibson watch her as she seasons it.”

           
“I thought it was very good,” murmured Allie, hoping Maggie wouldn’t bear the
brunt of the evening’s failure. She supposed she should make more of an effort
to converse with Mr. Bascomb, rather than argue.

           
Maggie appeared, removing the dishes and Mrs. Gibson entered the warm room.
Allie could see her cheeks were flushed and there was a light sheen of
perspiration on her forehead. Mrs. Gibson must be working hard to make this
dinner a success. Allie felt remorse come to perch on her shoulder like a fat
crow.

           
“Come, Janey, let the adults have their time,” Mrs. Gibson said, smiling.

           
Janey reluctantly slid from her chair and stood. “Thank you for the lovely
evening, Grandmother Leeds” she said, dipping her blond head. She sent an
imploring look at Allie, but her aunt gave her a small smile, shaking her head
ever so slightly.
Time to go. Be a good girl.

           
With a barely suppressed sigh, the little girl left and Maggie returned just as
swiftly to present a platter of roasted chicken and poached quail eggs. She
deftly slid them between the large floral centerpieces.

           
“Has Janey recovered from the trip?” Thomas asked, as Maggie served them,
beginning with Allie’s mother.

           
“Oh, she seems like we have only crossed the city, rather than the country,”
laughed Allie. “I think I shall need another week to recover but Janey has
already made plans for all the many adventures we are to have this winter.”

           
Thomas smiled, the deep dimples near his mouth in sharp relief. “What kinds of
adventures?”

           
“I think she plans to explore all of the woods east of the house, take up
residence in the attic to watch for ghosts, and become a world-class detective,
all before Christmas.” At the last plan, Allie dropped her eyes to her plate,
intently cutting her chicken into small pieces.

           
How many afternoons had they lay reading those terrible detective magazines in
the grass? For a penny, you could read pages of gruesome murders and shocking
thefts, solved by the brilliant men at Scotland Yard. A silly childhood hobby cemented
their bond. As they grew, the magazines were less and less important, until
most afternoons they sat under the tree, just talking. She confided all her
hopes and dreams to him.

           
“There is nothing more beautiful than the innocence of childhood,” he said, his
tone mild, the expression on his face was inscrutable.

           
Mr. Bascomb cleared his throat and said, “Well, at least Mrs. Gibson is here to
give her proper direction. It is not good for a child to wander unattended in
nature. Nothing good can come of that sort of liberal upbringing.”

           
Allie raised her head, shocked. Children should be given freedom, she wanted to
protest. But a look at her mother’s face and she clenched her teeth. There was
guilt and anger in every line. The best argument against that sort of childhood
seemed to be Allie herself.

Chapter
Seven

           
Thomas sipped the tepid water in the crystal cut glass and wished with all his
heart that he was not at this table. How many minutes more? ?ow many hours in this
stifling room? Bascomb was unbearable. For all his mother’s warnings he was sure
he could not cultivate any kind of friendship with the man. He didn’t care how
many city council meetings they would endure together. Bascomb was arrogant and
ignorant, a lethal combination in his book.

           
He struggled to follow the conversation but his mind wandered. If he was truly
honest, it wasn’t the stifling heat of the room that was so uncomfortable. It
was Allie, in that dress. He knew what she was remembering. It was a terrible
moment for them all and it had haunted his dreams for years. The utter
desperation he had felt when she declared her plans to leave was more than he
could bear to remember.

           
But there she was again, as if the years between had been erased. He hadn’t
been able to hide the surge of joy he’d felt when he’d seen her there. She was
so achingly beautiful. He had clamped down on the surge of feeling as quickly
as possible but the joy still fizzed through his blood. He would do anything to
turn this dinner party into a quiet meal under the oak tree, seated on the soft
red wool blanket, with only the moon for company.

           
Thomas thought of the way Allie tenderly touched Janey’s hand, the way her face
softened when she gazed upon the little girl. Allie was a mother, no matter
what relation Janey was by blood. He felt a sudden yearning to be the father
figure Janey didn’t have, to be the husband Allie needed. And in the next
moment he hated himself for his foolish sentimentality. Sticking his hand back
in the fire, as it were, wouldn’t help anybody. Especially not Allie. She would
find her own way. She always did.

                                   
        ***

           
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 joining 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.