The Heavenly Fugitive (29 page)

“I remember, all right. Did she come too?”

“I thought it might be a good idea if she’d visit with Miss Rosa. She needs some company, I think.”

“Okay, okay.”

“And that’s not all. She had her cousin with her. He’s a photographer, a young guy. I thought he might be some
company for Jamie. You know how he’s always crazy about anything to do with cameras and picture taking.”

“Sure, sure, okay. Well, bring Kildare in here and send the other two off to be with the kids.”

“You want me to stay in with you, Mr. Morino?”

“Yes.”

Hurrying back down the hall, Dom said quickly, “He’s ready for you, Ryan. Miss Amelia, Miss Rosa’s room is up at the head of those stairs. Second door on the right. Just go on up. She’ll be glad to see you. I think she’s going stir crazy.” Turning to Wes, he said, “Be nice if you could teach the kid something about cameras and picture taking. Nobody around here knows anything about it, and it’s all Jamie thinks about.”

Wes had been hoping to meet Big Tony Morino, but he quickly agreed, “Be glad to meet the young man.”

“I’ll show you to his room,” Dom said.

****

Amelia mounted the stairs and knocked on the door that Dom had indicated. She heard Rosa say, “Come in!” Opening the door, she stepped inside to the sounds of ragtime music coming from the Victrola in the corner. Rosa was sitting on the bed reading a ladies’ magazine, dressed in a pair of silk pajamas and matching robe. They were a light orchid and looked very good on the young woman, despite her ill appearance.

“I heard you were sick, Rosa. I came to visit.”

“Who told you?”

“We ran into Dom downtown. Your dad wanted to speak to Mr. Kildare, so I thought I’d come along to visit with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Come on in.” Rosa got up and went over to her Victrola, lifted the arm off the record, then went back and sat on the edge of the bed. Her face was flushed and her hair somewhat awry. “I feel rotten,” she announced gloomily.

“You don’t look like you feel very well. How long have you been sick?”

Amelia sat down in a winged-back chair by the bed and listened as the girl spoke. Then without warning, Rosa sneezed explosively.

“God bless you,” Amelia said.

Rosa found a handkerchief and blew her nose. She stared gloomily at Amelia. “Why do people always say that when you sneeze? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, you’re in luck today. As a matter of fact, I just happen to know why we say that.”

Rosa stared at her suspiciously. “Why?”

“At one time it was thought that a sneeze was caused by demons either leaving the body or coming in. So when people sneezed, calling for God’s blessing was theoretically protecting the sneezer from harm.”

“How in the world would you know a thing like that?” Amelia laughed and shook her head. “My brother is a walking encyclopedia. He reads all the time and never forgets anything. He told me about it.”

“That must be awful to have your head so cluttered up with facts.”

“Phil says it’s like a closet you’ve stuffed full. Sometimes he gets frantic when he knows that he knows something, but he can’t sort it out.”

“What other kind of stuff did he tell you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s see. Did you know that when you squoosh a mosquito you’re killing a mother?”

“A mother? You’re kidding.”

“No. According to Phil, only females bite, and they do it to get blood to nourish their young.”

“What do the boy mosquitoes eat?”

“Just plant nectar and water. There, now you’ll be able to explain that the next time the subject comes up.”

Rosa finally smiled. It was good to have company after four days of being cooped up in her room. She had listened
to her gramophone records until she was sick of all of them. She listened with interest as Amelia told her stories about her travels on the road and about meeting a few celebrities. She mentioned meeting Douglas Fairbanks and then added, “I had quite a crush on him when I was about twelve or so.”

Rosa did not speak for a moment. “I had a crush on Phil when I was younger.”

Amelia had been very much aware of this, for Rosa was not particularly adept at hiding her feelings. She could also see that her crush was still very much alive. Rosa seemed embarrassed, so Amelia quickly said, “You know, when I was a teenager, I fell madly in love with my science teacher. Oh, did I ever dream about him!” She smiled at the memory. “I was going to become a great scientist like Madame Curie. He would fall in love with me. Then we’d marry and find cures for all sorts of diseases.” The memory amused her. “I know those feelings are painful when you have them, but you’ll look back on them and feel differently.”

“What happened to him—the science teacher, I mean? Did you fall out of love with him?”

“Oh, I found out he had false teeth!”

This delighted Rosa. “Tell me some more about when you and Phil were growing up in Africa.”

Willingly, Amelia spoke for some time about her childhood and saw that Rosa was fascinated by her stories.

Rosa finally said, “I went to the mission once, the one where Ryan preaches sometimes.”

“Did you? How did you like it?”

Rosa glanced down. “It scared me.”

“Scared you? What’s there to be afraid of?”

“He talked about things I’ve never heard of. I’ve been worried ever since.”

“What sort of things did he say that bothered you?”

“Well, he talked about Jesus a lot. I’m not used to that. I don’t think about Jesus much. I guess I think more about Mary.”

“Mary was a wonderful woman and used by God to bring Jesus into the world. But you know the Bible says that there is only one mediator between God and man—and that’s Jesus.”

“Mediator? What’s that?”

“It’s someone who stands between two people. For instance, if I wanted you to get your father to do something, I might get you to ask him for me. And that would make you a mediator.”

Rosa was quick to understand. “So if we pray to Jesus, he talks to God for us?”

“Well, yes . . . something like that. He’s the one who died for our sins, so He can stand before God for us.” Amelia felt uneasy trying to explain spiritual matters to the young girl. She knew all the words from her Christian upbringing, but she also knew that her life didn’t reflect those words. She began to wish that Phil were here in her place. He’d know all the right things to say.

Rosa jumped up and went over to the dresser. Pulling open a drawer, she pulled out a book and came back. “This is what Phil gave me for Christmas a few years ago.”

“Why, that’s his old Bible!”

“Yes, he wrote everywhere in it. Look, almost every page.”

“I remember this Bible. Phil was always writing in it. Have you been reading it?”

“Well, I read what he wrote more than I read the Bible. It’s so interesting. Let me show you.” She thumbed through the pages and read, “I killed a leopard today. He was the one that has been breaking into the compound. I was so proud of myself, but I know God helped me get him with one shot.” She looked up and said, “Isn’t that something?”

“I remember that day. Leopards are very dangerous in Africa.” Amelia took the book and looked at the page Rosa indicated. It was in the margin next to Psalm Ninety-one, which speaks of God’s protection. She read some of the verses aloud:

“He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of
the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust. . . . There shall no evil befall thee. . . . Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder. . . .”

Amelia quietly handed the Bible back to Rosa, who held it in her hands and said bluntly, “I guess I’m worried about hell. Do you ever worry about that?”

Amelia, for one instant, could not answer. Then she said carefully, “I have to be honest with you, Rosa. My parents are wonderful Christians and so is Phil, but I’m . . . well, Phil says I’m running away from God. And maybe I am.”

Rosa stared at the young woman in amazement. “Are you? Why would you do that?”

Amelia thought for a minute. “Maybe because I think God wants me to do some things I don’t want to do. I’m not really sure.”

Rosa considered that and sighed. “I guess I don’t want to do things people want me to either—mostly my parents.”

Amelia was anxious to change the subject. “I’ll tell you what, Rosa. As soon as you get well, why don’t you and I spend some time together? There are lots of things to see in New York that I haven’t seen. I’ll bet you could show them to me. I’ve never been to the Statue of Liberty.”

“Oh, I have! It’s fun!” Rosa’s face brightened, and she said, “Could we really do that?”

“Sure we could.”

****

While Rosa and Amelia were talking, Dom had taken Wes to Jamie’s room on the first floor. Dom knocked on the door. “Hey, Jamie, I want you to meet somebody.”

Wes stepped inside the door and found himself in an extremely large bedroom. It was cluttered with the things a sixteen-year-old boy would enjoy—mostly model cars and airplanes that he’d made. The boy was sitting on the bed tinkering with a model.

Wes noted that Jamie was not tall. It appeared he would
probably be stocky when he grew up. He had dark eyes, dark eyebrows, and hair as black as night.

Dominic went on with his introduction. “This is Wes Winslow, Jamie. He’s a famous photographer. Don’t you keep all the
National Geographic
s?”

“Yeah—I’ve got ’em from years back.”

“Well, get Mr. Winslow here to show you the pictures he took down in the jungle somewhere. He’s got all kinds of cameras. Thought you two might get along.”

Jamie did not move, so Wes stepped forward with a smile and put out his hand. “I’m glad to know you, Jamie. I hear you’re interested in photography.”

Jamie did not notice that Dominic had slipped out the door. “Yes,” he said. “So you took pictures for the
National Geographic?
”

“Yes, my sister and I made a trip to the Amazon a few years ago and photographed a primitive tribe there—the Guapi.”

“Wait a minute. I think I’ve got that issue here somewhere!”

Jamie quickly shuffled through a stack of magazines and found one with a fierce-looking tribesman holding a long spear on the cover, entitled, “The Guapi—Lost Tribe of the Amazon.” He brought it over to the table. “Is this it?”

“Sure is. I’ve about worn out my copy. I was so proud to have one of my pictures selected for the front cover, I showed it to everyone I knew!”

The two sat down at a table, and Jamie fired question after question at Wes. Finally Wes said, “I’ve got some of my equipment out in the car. Maybe you’d like to see it.”

“Boy, would I!”

“Well, come on down and help me bring it up.”

Thirty minutes later the two were sitting in the middle of the floor with the photographic equipment all about them. Wes could hardly answer the questions as rapidly as Jamie could ask them. He finally took a deep breath and said, “Whoa, Jamie, you can ask more questions in a minute than I could answer in an hour. You really like cameras, don’t you?”

“Yes, more than anything else.” Jamie hesitated, then asked shyly, “You want to see some of
my
pictures?”

“I sure do.”

For the next twenty minutes Wes examined the boy’s photographs. Apparently he had unlimited funds for film and even had the means to develop and enlarge his own. “Why, these are great, Jamie! Look at this one. How did you get so close to that squirrel?”

“I built a blind and fed him for a long time. I was hiding there when he came to get his food, and I snapped the picture.”

“Well, you’ve got the light just right.”

Jamie’s face glowed. “I want to be a photographer when I grow up. Do you think I could?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“What are you working on now, Mr. Winslow?”

“Why don’t you just call me Wes? I’d like that.” He grinned at Jamie. “Well, right now I’m working with a writer on a book about New York City.” He went on to explain that he wanted to include segments on every part of New York and people of every kind.

Jamie’s face sobered and he stared at Wes. “You came here because my dad’s a gangster, didn’t you?”

“Why, no such thing!” Wes protested. “I was with my cousin Amelia when Dom came to get Mr. Kildare. We just came along with him.”

“You didn’t know my dad was a gangster?”

Wes considered lying, then abandoned that idea. “I’ve heard of your father, of course. Almost everyone has.”

Jamie dropped his head and was silent. When he finally looked up, his eyes reflected the shame he felt. “I wish he would do something else. It’s wrong what he does. Everybody knows it.”

“Have you ever talked to him about it?”

“No. What would I say? He wouldn’t quit just because I asked him to.”

Wes felt a wave of sympathy for the boy. “Maybe he will change. In the meantime, you can be your own man. You don’t have to do what your father does.”

“I’m not going to,” Jamie said quickly.

Wes considered the boy, then said, “I’ll tell you what. Tomorrow I’m going up on top of a half-finished skyscraper. Maybe you could come with me. Nothing but steel up there. To tell the truth,” he said ruefully, “I’m not too fond of getting up in high places, but I want to take some pictures of the workers.”

“Boy, that ought to be fun!”

“You know the workers on high steel are almost all Mohawk Indians?”

“Real Indians?”

“Real Indians. Nobody knows why, but they have a great sense of balance and no fear of heights. Almost all the steel-workers on the skyscrapers are Mohawks. Maybe you could bring your camera and get some pictures too.”

“Gosh, could I really? I’d give anything to go.”

“Well, you’ll have to get your father’s permission. I couldn’t take you otherwise.”

“I’ll go ask him right now!”

****

When Ryan had first shaken hands with Tony Morino, he was shocked at how the big man had aged. He knew his health had been bad, but his condition was apparently more serious than he’d thought. He let none of this show on his face but smiled and said, “Good to see you again, Mr. Morino.”