Galveston: Between Wind And Water (A Historical Literary Fiction Novel Filled with Romance and Drama) (6 page)

Timothy De Rocha, dressed in his finest dark gray English tailored suit, helped Gabrielle step down. “What a vision of heavenly loveliness you are this beautiful Sunday.”

The morning tranquility was abruptly shattered by the clamorous approach of Bret McGowan’s horseless carriage. Gabrielle and the assembled congregation stepped back in astonishment as he raced toward the surreys and horses bellowing smoke from the back of the infernal machine.

Bret raised his goggles and smiled at Gabrielle as he roared by, making the blood in her heart gather speed in time to the acceleration of his passing vehicle. A few moments later, he turned the corner and was gone from her sight once more. Gabrielle took a few deep breaths and steadied herself. How could she still allow Bret to have this effect on her after all this time?

Timothy looked at Gabrielle and her father with an expression of disgust. “Most men become more refined after they have been abroad. Culture is always wasted on the uncouth.”

“Well put, Mister DeRocha,” Gabrielle’s father said.

Gabrielle held Timothy’s extended arm and walked by his side toward the open church doors.
The absolute impudence of the man!
She took a deep breath.
I should return Bret’s letter unopened. He flaunts his lack of respect in front of God-fearing churchgoers. No self-respecting Christian woman could ever tolerate such behavior in public
. Gabrielle raised her chin and smiled charmingly at Timothy. She thanked God again to be rid of her affection for such a selfish, inconsiderate lout like Bret McGowan.

The service over, Arley Caldwell joined the congregation moving in sluggish unison with the sultry breeze wafting in from the Gulf. Gabrielle, with Timothy DeRocha on one side and Liam Dawson on the other, strolled on the sidewalk just ahead of him, shading herself with a pink-striped parasol. How she reminded him of her mother at times. Arley paused and looked down. And Lord, how he missed his Melissa almost every waking moment of his life.

Arley puffed on his pipe and tried to appear unconcerned when Gabrielle glanced back at him. He certainly didn’t want her to accuse him of eavesdropping.

At the mention of Bret McGowan, Gabrielle waved the men away and turned to him. “Oh, Father. Timothy and Liam are terrible. You mustn’t allow them to talk about Bret anymore and you must forbid me to listen if they do.”

Arley sighed. He could no more do that than he could prevent the spreading hollow in his heart, which each year seemed to make it weaker without the solid center of purpose and authority he had carried as a younger, happily married husband and father.

The approaching snap and click of quick-step boots made everyone turn. A local regiment, preceded by its captain on horseback, paraded in two columns down the street. Sunlight glittered on the brass buttons of their blue coats and the varnished, black leather of their boots as the colors fluttered by proudly in the wind.

Arley paused to watch. How Melissa had enjoyed watching him march. A warm, passionate kiss always awaited a twenty-one-year-old rowdy without a stitch of sense in his britches or a five-cent piece to match. Arley had savored those embraces when he marched through Cooke County toward Gainesville in the bitter fall of ’62.
The worst of a bad situation beyond anyone’s control and best forgotten by all who are still fool enough to remember.

Arley saluted the flag, wincing from the stiffness in his joints. What would Melissa think of him now? He followed the procession until they turned a corner and disappeared. Arley put a fresh pinch of tobacco in his pipe and struck a match.

Gabrielle strolled up and took his arm. “Father, please. If I hear another word about Bret.”

Timothy stepped briskly to Arley’s other side. “As I was telling Gabrielle, sir, Bret spent an entire week in bed when he first returned.”

Liam tried to squeeze in at Gabrielle’s side. “Yes sir. He was in a sickbed with God knows what. Sent his man, Philip, rushing around town for medicine. Still looks paler than a flounder’s belly to me.”

Arley sighed. “Sometimes I think my bones are hardening into granite. My right knee hardly bends these days.”

“I read about some sort of rare metal ring,” Timothy said. “Conducts the body’s natural electricity. Good for rheumatism I believe.”

Arley gazed out into the water. “Sounds like a spare part for Bret’s infernal contraption. We’re men, not machines.”

“Exactly, sir,” Liam said in his ingratiating manner. “That’s precisely what Doctor Hellreich reported in the Daily News. I’m looking forward to attending his next lectures. They’re quite entertaining and educational from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh Father, you must let me attend the next lecture too,” Gabrielle said, twirling her pink parasol. “I hear he favors giving women the vote. He sounds like a very practical man with more common sense than many I’ve heard.” She frowned at Timothy and Liam.

Arley considered both young men. He couldn’t decide which fool he pitied and which idiot he despised. They didn’t have a clue about the doctor’s deeper principles and theories.
Part of a generation of sheep without a shepherd. What would they ever know about how a man must change to survive in a cruel and unforgiving world? And who will miss them when the wolf comes to thin the flock?
 

A spasm of irritation crossed Arley’s face and he turned away to watch an old schooner breaking waves across the Gulf. He glanced back at his daughter’s two suitors.
How were pampered and perfumed men like these entitled to inherit the fortunes created from the blood, sweat and tears of a tougher breed?
Sheepish grins flickered across the young men’s faces then each turned their attention back toward the water.

“Please father,” Gabrielle pleaded. “Won’t you introduce me?”

Arley looked at his daughter again. “I suppose your mother would have found talk of woman’s suffrage amusing. One of my greatest regrets is not being able to hear her laughter with yours.”

Gabrielle glared at him. “Father if you won’t then I’m quite capable of—”

Arley raised his hand. “All right, Gabrielle, since you insist.”

Gabrielle covered her mischievous grin with her fan, turned and strolled back along the sidewalk toward the parked surrey and horses, resting her open parasol on her shoulder.

“She’ll be fine, gentlemen,” Arley assured them. “Sometimes her opinions get the best of her prudence.”

“Certainly, Mr. Caldwell,” Liam said. “Lord knows we’ve all had quite an earful lately about women’s so-called rights.”

Timothy nodded. “What kind of world would it be if a woman’s intuition was thought to be more useful than a man’s intelligence?”

Arley packed his pipe in his smoking pouch and closed the flap. “Good day, gentlemen,” he said without tipping his hat. “I’ve enjoyed our conversation.” As he walked away, he swore he heard the crackle and splinter of his hardening bones with every trudging step.
Every McGowan was a damned fool and it will be a cold day in hell before a Caldwell joins them.

CHAPTER 6

Monday, August 27

Doctor Caden Augustus Hellreich stood straight and confident on the sidewalk in front of the office of The Galveston Daily News, skimming through the pages of the morning paper. With a steady, practiced movement of his eyes, he scanned the text of each article, searching for important words and ideas that might be of topical use in his lectures.

The war between the Boers and the British raged on in South Africa, more Boxer uprisings against Europeans in China, while fears of anarchist plots and takeovers were on the lips of every international leader in the wake of the assassination of King Umberto in Italy.

Not a page was exempt—not even the weather. Each was filled with stories of natural strife and turmoil like the thunderstorms in the Caribbean near the Windward and Leeward Islands, and on the last page . . .

Nothing. Not even a passing mention of the Society today. Caden finished reading the paper and dropped it into an old fish barrel on the sidewalk. Every day out of the public eye was another day of social blindness. Persistence and penetration were the only ways to shape the fickle into the well-formed, or eugenics would remain forever only scant words in old newspaper columns.

The smells of fresh fish and horse manure curled around his nostrils, making him squint. He pushed his way through the afternoon crowds in the town square, edging his way toward the teeming wharves.

His daily schedule of observation and note-taking were essential to good science and none more so than eugenics, the youngest of the disciplines.

Caden kicked away a rotting rind of melon and stepped up onto the side stairs of a produce market. He took out his leather-bound pocket journal and looked out across the churning mass of common folk, his grin creasing the corners of his mouth.

If sorrow knew a depth past which it could no longer descend, then that is where Caden’s heart had settled. These people were slaves to fears and passions that held dominion over their souls from the womb to the worm.

Caden completed his journal entries for the day and stepped down into the crowd where he towered over the rest of his fellow men. Walking at his customary brisk pace, he paused when he approached a group of unfamiliar businessmen congregated around the gray marble doorstep of his new Theogenesis Society Hall on 33rd Street at the corner of Mechanic Street.

The building had been only recently renovated and reopened to the public after some protest from certain conservative merchants and ministers who had complained of what they called its “drab, almost crypt-like exterior.” Not a welcome addition, no doubt, to a city of pretty, floral-colored homes. 

The press was to blame; sensationalism feeds the hysterical appetite but never quells the hunger. Only the truth can fill the belly of the beast.

Caden straightened his lapels, brushed the road dust from the sleeves of his coat, and advanced toward the men, who turned to acknowledge his presence in a cautious manner.

“I should say, Doctor Hellreich,” one said, “you’ve been very fortunate not having the city reverse its decision to allow you to open.”

“My thanks go to the generous donations and interventions from sympathetic souls here and abroad. Now, gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I have much work to attend to before my next presentation.”

As he moved between the men, a hand came from behind him and rested firmly on his shoulder.

“Hold there a moment, Doctor.”

Caden turned to face the person preventing him from carrying on his work and saw a familiar face of a man with a pipe.

“During my lunch,” Arley Caldwell said, “I was intrigued to read in the paper that you and your Society are arguing in favor of extending the renewed Chinese Exclusion Act well into the new century.” Arley pointed at the men with his pipe. “Perhaps you could explain your position, sir, to these fine gentlemen to prevent any misunderstanding on the matter.”

Caden smiled at his friend with gratitude. Arley puffed on his pipe and nodded. Mr. Arley Falkner Caldwell had been one of his early financial supporters and devotees. The older gentleman never missed an opportunity to convey the Society’s message whenever the occasion presented itself. 

He glanced around at the expensively and stylishly attired men with their gold rings and gilded watch fobs in abundance. These were the businessmen he needed to attract to the Society: People eager to hold onto what they had achieved and dreading a future that might take it away from them.

Caden lifted his head over the group. At six foot four with his trained and sculpted physique, he was taller and stronger than most men. He exhaled, feeling once more the advantage of his superior physical and mental attributes. “To be precise, we favor its permanent adoption into federal law and immigration policy. Further, we advocate its immediate and universal application to any group deemed undesirable by our great and sovereign nation. Should I have the pleasure of your attendance at my next lecture I will explain in detail how our Society is working toward the betterment of mankind now and in the future.” He raised his hand to part the men. “Gentlemen, if you will—”

A sudden round of applause caught the doctor off guard. Arley thrust his hand out, took hold of Caden’s, and shook it vigorously. “That was very powerful, Caden. That is exactly what we need to hear these days. It would be an honor and a pleasure for you to finally meet my daughter, Gabrielle.”

Caden felt an unexpected rush of excitement and anticipation. “Certainly, Arley, and thank you.”

One by one the others politely introduced themselves.

“Liam Dawson, sir. We met briefly the other day.”

“Of course.” Caden nodded to acknowledge the younger man.

“The papers paint you as quite the instigator.”

Caden smiled as he glanced toward the Gulf. “No storm has more fury than the one raging in the soul of a race.”

A slow grin crept along the lips of each man.

Caden made a gesture of welcome. “No need to wait until my lecture, gentlemen. If you would be kind enough to step inside, my assistants and I will provide the guidance you need to prepare for the political cataclysm that is surely coming our way.”

Leaving the telegraph office in late afternoon, Bret strolled down Market Street, winding his way through a dawdling host of noisy tourists returning to the shops after a day’s idle at the beach. The cries of the street vendors rose above the shuffling commotion. “Here’s your nice hot corn! Smoking hot! Piping hot! O’ what beauties I have got!”

The richness of every kind of dry good imaginable, from saratogas to sack suits and canopy tops to telephones, promised a future built on the seeming unending successes of American ingenuity.

Shopkeepers, shipping merchants, coopers, and coachmen—how would they fare in the rapid and ruthless new world of international commerce?

“Fresh fish fit for the pan!”

Bret paused to examine a pair of white patent leather shoes with tan kid tops in a shop window. Maybe Gabrielle was right about the drilling at Beaumont. He shook his head. Had he frightened himself into imagining a cold-blooded and competitive economic future that wasn’t anywhere evident in the gracious and welcoming shops of the city?