Blessed are the Merciful (17 page)

Joseph focused on Rachel this time and drew a shuddering breath. He nodded slowly. “You’re right, honey,” he said in a whisper, wiping tears from his cheeks. “How could this horrible thing have happened?”

“I don’t know. Apparently she was walking home because Cecil hadn’t come to pick her up.”

“But why didn’t someone else give her a ride? Krantzes have a butler. There had to have been a good number of women at the meeting. Someone could have given her a ride.”

“I don’t understand it either, Daddy. She shouldn’t have been out in that storm by herself. And I can’t fathom that the person who hit her just drove away, leaving her lying in the street.”

A woman came in carrying pencil and paper. “Excuse me. I’m
Gail Lockyer. I’m in charge of records and admittance. Are you the relatives of the lady who was brought in a few minutes ago?”

Joseph nodded.

“I need to get some information from you.”

When Gail Lockyer left them, Joseph and Rachel sat in silence, holding hands. She looked at her father and said, “Daddy, we must believe she’s going to pull through this. We—”

The door opened and a man in a white smock came out.̣ “Mr. Mason? I’m Dr. Richard Alban.”

“How is she, Doctor?”

“Still unconscious. The orderlies gave me what details they could. Mrs. Mason was run down by some kind of vehicle. It struck her head, and the wheels went over her when she went down. She has some broken ribs. The large lump at her temple tells us she took quite a blow. The vehicle must have been moving at a good clip.”

Rachel struggled to keep her voice from quavering as she said, “Doctor, do you have any idea when she might regain consciousness?”

“She will regain consciousness, won’t she doctor?” Joseph said.

Alban lifted his shoulders slightly. “We can’t tell for sure, but I have to be honest with you. Two other doctors have examined her with me, and we’re in agreement. There is little hope that Mrs. Mason will survive. We’re afraid there might be extensive brain damage.”

A tiny whimper escaped Rachel’s lips, and Joseph slumped back on the couch.

“I wish I had better news for you. But I don’t want to give you false hope.”

“We wouldn’t want you to lie to us, Doctor,” Joseph said. “But Rachel and I can’t leave here. We have to stay until Nancy either … leaves us or shows a turn for the better. That is possible, isn’t it? She could fool us and come out of it?”

Alban tried to smile. “Stranger things have happened, I’m sure. I’ll let you know of any change. We’re going to be working on her
for some time yet. We’re not giving up, but we have to face the facts we have so far.”

Rachel and Joseph thanked the doctor. When he was gone they clung to each other in fear and sorrow.

After several minutes Rachel spoke. “What kind of a low-down person drove that buggy or wagon or carriage that ran Mama down? I don’t understand how anybody could do such a thing! How could he just heartlessly drive away and let her lie there?”

“I don’t know, honey. I don’t know.”

Adam Burke wheeled his buggy into the alley behind his apartment house and jerked on the reins. He put horse and buggy in the barn, then trudged through the mud and driving rain into the apartment building. When he entered his apartment and slammed the door, he felt lower than he had ever been. He and Philipa had shared so much together. They had spent so much time talking about their future, about the children they would have, about how happy they would be.

And now it was over.

In addition to his hurt and anger, Adam was cold and wet. He thought about a hot bath, then dismissed the idea. It would be too much trouble right now. He went into his bedroom and peeled off his wet clothes and briskly dried himself off.

He put on an old comfortable pair of corduroy pants and a well-worn sweater. As he was pulling on dry socks, his gaze fell on the photograph of Philipa in a gold-edged frame. She was smiling at him.

He pulled on his slippers and walked to the dresser. “Don’t smile at me, woman! You’ve been a thorough disappointment. I wonder now what I ever saw in you.” He picked up the frame. “How could I have been such a fool, Philipa? Oh, I saw little signs of your self-centeredness, but I was so head over heels in love with you that I overlooked it. But there’s no overlooking this! You said you never wanted to see me again. Fine. You never will.”

He rushed from the bedroom, carrying the photograph, and went to the small kitchen. There he lifted the lid of the trash receptacle and dropped the photograph into it.

He built a fire in the cookstove and pulled the coffeepot onto the grate to reheat it. It was left over from breakfast and would be strong.
Good
, he thought.
Just what I need
. He went to the tiny pantry, took out some bread and cheese, and cut off a couple slices of bread and some chunks of cheese.

When the aroma of coffee filled the room, he poured a steaming mug of it and carried it with the bread and cheese into the living room. He placed the plate and mug on a small table beside his favorite chair, lit the lantern, and turned it down to a soft glow.

His attention was drawn to the sound of the rain on the roof and the windows. It was beginning to let up. He couldn’t recall hearing any lightning or thunder in the past few minutes either.

He took a big bite of bread and cheese and sipped the strong, hot coffee, and let his weary mind go over the scene on the back porch of the Conrad mansion. He could still hear Philipa’s high-pitched voice telling him that she hated him.

“How could I have been so blind?” he said aloud. “Why didn’t I see her for what she really was? Too much in love, that’s what I was. And that love isn’t gone yet, either. That’s why it hurts so much.” He took another sip of coffee. “Maybe—just maybe I’ve been spared a lifetime of misery. It might never have worked.”

When Adam finished his simple meal, he washed cup, plate, and knife, and put them away. He went back to the comfortable chair and replayed the argument with Philipa. After a while he laid his tired head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.

It was close to midnight when Adam awakened. He roused himself enough to leave the chair and go into the bedroom to take off his shirt and pants and climb into bed.

But sleep eluded him now.

He began to think about what he would do next. First thing would be to talk to George Benson and give his notice. Benson was
out of town but would be back in a couple of days. As soon as he had told Benson of his plans to go to Nebraska, he would make train reservations, then wire William Dauntt and tell him when he was coming. He was going to North Platte even if there was no office space available. When he got there he would work something out, even if he had to have a small building built.

The more he thought of his move to North Platte the more excited he became. There was nothing to keep him in Philadelphia now. He finally fell asleep, thinking about the wide open spaces and his new life in Nebraska.

It was a beautiful rainwashed day that greeted Adam when he stepped out of the apartment building the next morning and headed for the small barn and corral to hitch his horse to the buggy. There was a touch of fall in the air.

When Adam entered the law office, he was greeted by Bradley Smith, Eric Walters, and Jill Hawkins. He greeted them in turn and tried to cover his weariness and the hurt Philipa had put in his heart.

“So what did you think of that storm yesterday, Adam?” Smith asked.

“It was a good one,” Adam replied. “I was about ready to trade my buggy in for a boat.”

Walters gave an appreciative chuckle and said, “Well, people, I’ve got to meet a client at his office over on Fifth Street in about twenty minutes. Guess I’d better pick up his file and scoot.”

“I’ve got a long hard day at my desk,” Smith said. “So what’s on your schedule, Adam?”

“I’ve got to be in court at ten o’clock. I’m defending a client who’s in a real sticky lawsuit.”

A half hour later, Jill came into Adam’s office. “Here are your morning papers, sir,” she said, laying three newspapers on a small table beside his desk.

“Thank you, Jill.”

Adam worked on his plan of defense for another half hour, then left for the courthouse. He waved at Jill and Bradley Smith, who were in conversation at her desk.

When Adam was gone, Jill said, “Mr. Smith, does Mr. Burke seem all right to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“He just isn’t himself today.”

“I didn’t notice anything.”

Jill snickered. “Of course not. You men have no intuition at all!”

“My mother could always read me no matter how hard I tried to cover what was going on inside me.” He chuckled. “I thought when I left home to get married those days would be over. But my wife reads me even better than Mom did!”

Jill was alone in the office at two o’clock that afternoon when Adam came in, carrying his briefcase.

“How did it go?” she said, giving him a bright smile.

“Just fine. We won.”

“Isn’t that how it is every time Adam Burke takes a case?”

“Not quite. I’ve lost some too, Jill.”

“Well, not many.” She paused and squinted at him. “Mr. Burke, I don’t mean to be nosy, but … well, you’re just not yourself today. I can tell that something’s bothering you.”

“Oh, you think so?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And exactly what makes you think so?”

“Woman’s intuition.”

Adam’s face tinted. “Jill, I won’t fib to you. I’m carrying something pretty heavy, but I just can’t talk about it right now. Thank you for caring enough to ask, though.”

Jill smiled. “I’ve got two good listening ears if and when you want to talk about it.”

“Thank you. Well, I’ve got a stack of work waiting for me in my office. Best get to it.”

Adam entered his office and closed the door behind him. He set his briefcase on the desk and took out the folder from the case he had just won in court, filing it in the cabinet behind him. He glanced down at the newspapers Jill had placed there. The one on top was the
Philadelphia Enquirer
. He was about to turn to some work on his desk when his eye caught small headlines near the bottom of the front page:

Adam picked up the paper and read the first few lines. They told of a tragic incident last evening during the violent rainstorm in Philadelphia’s affluent district, at the intersection of Oak Street and Franklin Avenue.

When those words registered, Adam’s breath hitched in his chest.

Two men had come along in a buggy and found Mrs. Mason lying in the intersection, bleeding and unconscious. They had taken her to Ben Franklin Memorial Hospital.

The victim was the wife of Joseph Mason, owner of American Securities Company, one of Philadelphia’s most prominent brokerage firms. She was struck down at approximately 5:45 to 6.00
P.M
. by an unidentified vehicle. The driver had left the scene.

Adam recalled his wild drive home after his argument with Philipa. A wave of nausea washed over him.

Doctors at the hospital said she was in critical condition, and as of nine o’clock last night she had not regained consciousness. Chief of police Mandrake Bennett said there was no way to identify the person or persons who struck Mrs. Mason then left the scene. There were no eyewitnesses to the incident, and the rain had obliterated any clues that might have been left in the muddy street.

Adam laid the paper down and pressed his face into his hands.

There was a tap on the door.

“Yes, Jill?”

“I have a telegram for you, sir.” She handed him the yellow envelope. “Mr. Burke, are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“You’re very pale, sir. Can I get you something? Water? Something else?”

“Ah … no, thank you. I—”

“Why don’t you go to the lounge and lie down for a few minutes? You’re white as a ghost.”

Adam swallowed hard. “Tell you what, Jill. I’m really not feeling well. I think maybe I should go home and lie down.”

“Maybe you ought to see a doctor.”

“No need for that. I’m sure I’ll be all right if I can get some rest. I really haven’t been sleeping lately.”

“Yes, sir. But I’ll be glad to get a doctor here if you’ll give me permission.”

“No, thank you, Jill. I just need to go home for the rest of the day. I’ll be fine by morning. I have a court date at nine o’clock, but I’ll come into the office first.”

Adam’s knees felt weak as he climbed into his buggy and headed home. The intersection of Oak Street and Franklin Avenue drew him like a magnet. He drove slowly through the intersection and eyed the very spot where his buggy had struck Nancy Mason.

When Adam arrived at his apartment, he washed his face with cool water, then lay down on the bed. Tears came, and he wept over what he had done, crying out, “Oh, dear God in heaven, don’t let her die! Please … don’t let her die!”

He finally gained control of his emotions and sat up on the side of the bed. He remembered the telegram Jill had handed him, and he pulled it out of his pocket and tore open the envelope.

It was good news from William Dauntt. He had located a nice office for him and had put some money down to hold it. The office
was occupied at the moment but was being vacated within a week.

Adam wanted to shout for joy, but Nancy Mason was so heavy on his heart that the shout turned into a moan.

It was not his fault! Why should he put a black mark on his career by going to the police and confessing that it was he who ran Mrs. Mason down? Besides, she had stepped into the path of his buggy. There was nothing he could have done … or could do now. Even if he turned himself in, it wouldn’t change Mrs. Mason’s condition.

He would think on it for a day or so and see what happened to Mrs. Mason. His life had already been torn apart by Philipa. He didn’t need it shredded any more. A great future lay ahead of him in North Platte. He must not allow anything to take that from him.