The Only Gold (30 page)

Jonah leaned against his shoulder. “All right?”

It won him a wistful smile. “There’s something Francis used to say that has stayed with me. More important than the truth you tell others is the truth you tell yourself.” Reid’s smile didn’t reach eyes gone distant and agleam with regret. “I used to tell myself it didn’t matter that I’d never have what other people have. I had work to do and life was full of other interests. And I was fortunate. If God had deprived me of a mother, I had a father who counted my welfare more dear than anything on earth. So what right did I have to be less than perfectly content?”

The hazel eyes, fond and frank, found Jonah’s. “I couldn’t let it matter. I’ve known other men, cared about them—and still I had myself convinced, until you came along.” He shook his head. “All that devotion, only ever tapped for the sake of bank presidents and public trust. And passion—Christ, Jonah—locked behind enough steel plate to keep every vault in the city secure. All that, and the bluest damned eyes….” Reid snorted, seeming torn between embarrassment and darkly cheerful resignation. “I thought it had to be guilt. I’d taken your job, and I wanted to set things right between us. But—no. I’ve been blasted to atoms, as Matthew likes to say.”

Jonah let go of his gaze to look around the churchyard, where the crocuses were showing signs of blooming, despite the snow. He’d heard once that the soul was weightless. He thought it must be true.

Reid laughed. “And you, sitting there smiling like you’ve been promoted to president of the Bank of New York.”

Jonah couldn’t subdue the smile. “This is the better promotion.” Pleased to see all trace of melancholy gone from Reid’s eyes, he stood. “I suppose the Muncys are expecting us—but do you mind if we sup somewhere else, just the two of us?”

Reid seemed to mind not at all. Back on Broadway, they headed down amongst an energetic crowd promenading in their Sunday best. Every open restaurant was thronged, so they settled for a coffee shop, content with sandwiches and cake, and the quiet in which to talk. It was well into the afternoon when they started back to the hotel. Reid, preoccupied again, walked with more energy than ever, and Jonah hurried to stay abreast.

“Shall we get out of the cold?”

Reid seemed to wake, his gaze going to the elevated station down the street. “You want to catch the train?”

Jonah grimaced. “Not this time of year.”

Still walking, Reid turned to grin at him. “One little accident and you’re afraid to ride?”

“I wouldn’t care to be on it the next time ice prevents the switch from closing.”

“It didn’t jump the track.”

“Yes, well, I’ve no doubt those riders are eternally grateful the coupling broke.” Jonah shook his head. “I’ll stick to the surface cars until the snow melts.”

“Stubborn—” Before Jonah could catch him, Reid stepped off the curb into a slush-filled puddle, sinking to his shin. He sucked in a breath and let it out with a word that garnered frosty disapproval from a group of middle-aged women scurrying past. Jonah could not choke back a laugh, and Reid shot him a reproachful glance. “Funny, is it?”

Jonah let his smile bloom. “I’m afraid so.” He jumped the puddle and gave Reid his arm to lean on while Reid bent to wring out his trouser hem.

“Goddamned snow.”

“We’ll go back to the hotel and hang your trousers by the fire.”

“No, I’m all right. If I’d been paying attention—”

“Still worrying over Saturday?” An idea struck Jonah. “I’ve got just the thing to take your mind off it.”

Reid’s lips twitched. “Giving up on our redemption altogether?”

“Not every garden is barred.”

With a bemused Reid in tow, Jonah headed home, where he cajoled Winnie out of a cooking pot, kindling, blankets, and the last of the maple syrup. Reid sat at the stove, drying his trousers, until Jonah gathered him up with everything else and directed a cab to the park. A weak afternoon sun shone upon the snowy landscape, and a number of visitors had braved the chill to stroll the walks and wander the wooded stretches.

Finding an isolated spot under the trees where snow lay lightly, Jonah spread the blankets, lit a fire, and proceeded to heat a pot of syrup. “I haven’t done this in some time, but with any luck….”

Reid dropped beside him and sat cross-legged. “What is it?”

“Taffy.”

“Really?”

“Well, a sort of taffy. Jack-wax. My father called it lockjaw—the reason you will discover if you make the mistake of biting into it rather than letting it melt on your tongue.” He heated the pan another few minutes, then poured the steaming syrup on the snow, where it firmed into a pliable amber ribbon. He gave half to Reid, then rolled his own half between his fingers and put the sticky mess in his mouth. It was as warm and sweet as he remembered. Reid, following suit, sank back against the oak with a rapturous smile, and closed his eyes. Jonah settled shoulder to shoulder beside him, and they sat for some minutes with only the snap of burning wood breaking the quiet.

Suddenly, Reid laughed. “I see what your father meant.” He worked his jaw back and forth, and grimaced. “It’s worse than taffy.” He peered into the pot. “Any more?”

Jonah put the pot back in the fire. “I won’t heat it as long.” He glanced at Reid, who hung over his shoulder. “In all your years in New York, you never made candy in the snow?”

“I had my fill of snow by the time I was fourteen. I shoveled sidewalks at six, to earn a few pennies. When I was older, I took over for cab drivers who fell ill. Miserable work in the winter. Anyway, the nuns made candy now and then. That suited me.”

“Francis kept you busy.”

“A man with plenty to occupy him can appreciate an idle moment better than a man with nothing to do.”

Jonah laughed. “My father used to say something similar.”

“What was he like, your father?”

“Quiet. And, like your Francis, a man with very definite ideas of right and wrong. But he could be understanding. He broke off talking to his own father early on because his father wanted him to study law and he wanted to farm. He said he couldn’t see spending his life sorting out arguments. Men find too many pointless things to argue over.”

Reid smiled. “So he understood when you went into banking.”

“He encouraged it.” Jonah still pondered the reasons. “I’m glad….” He stopped himself, but Reid nudged him gently. Jonah let out a breath. “I’m glad he never knew. Glad I never gave him reason to turn me away.”

“They shouldn’t have turned you away, Jo. Not for any reason.”

“That’s a lot to ask.”

“Not of someone who loves you.” Reid’s fingers slipped around his wrist, warming his skin.

Jonah glanced up pensively. “You shouldn’t—”

“Keeping you out of the fire,” Reid asserted, using his hold on Jonah’s wrist to maneuver the pot.

Jonah lifted it clear of the flames. “I think it’s ready. Shall we?”

The second batch was softer and seemed sweeter. Jonah wished he’d thought to bring coffee, but they could stop along the way home for it. He let the pot cool in the snow before bundling it with the blankets. The fire doused, the air felt colder, and Jonah welcomed the thought of going indoors. He didn’t notice his hurried stride had taken him a few steps ahead of Reid until his hat went flying off his head and into a snowbank. Dropping the satchel, he turned a narrowed gaze on the perpetrator, who stood agrin, shaking damp hands without a trace of remorse.

Jonah scooped a handful of snow and packed it determinedly as he raced after a rapidly retreating Reid. His aim needed work; the snowball glanced off Reid’s shoulder, leaving a smattering of white on his coat. Reid vanished into the trees, and Jonah, gathering more snow, lost sight of him. Traipsing cautiously through the copse, he listened but heard not a thing. A silk hat peeked above the snowline further on, and Jonah aimed and struck, only to discover the hat had been propped on a fallen log.

“You devil….” He turned—and Reid, creeping up behind, promptly dashed him with snow. Staggering, he dropped to sit on the log, but wasted not a moment in gathering all the snow he could fit in both hands.

Reid outpaced him, but Jonah persevered until they were on the path again and running was less of a challenge. His aim was truer, and the snowball burst against Reid’s bare head. Reid twisted madly and bent over to scrub away the snow that had gone under his collar. He was red-faced and laughing as Jonah approached. Jonah spread empty hands and smiled benignly. “Truce?”

Reid shook his hand. “I think you have the advantage, growing up on a farm.”

“As the youngest of three boys, one learns to be quick. Especially with sisters not unwilling to join the fray.”

“And to think I imagined you a stodgy, humorless banker, old before your time.”

“Is that really what you thought?”

Reid brushed the snow off Jonah’s glasses. “For a minute or two.” Suddenly he made a face. “Damn. My hat.”

He found it soaked and tucked it ruefully under one arm as he walked with Jonah to the park entrance. Jonah’s hat was a casualty as well, though drier, but he stayed bareheaded in sympathy. They fell gratefully into the first coffee shop open along Broadway and sat talking for some time, until Reid went strangely quiet again, and Jonah could no longer suppress his concern.

“Something is troubling you.”

Reid seemed startled. “It’s nothing important.”

Jonah refused to accept that or the dismissive smile. “Is it more than just the deposit?” He hazarded a guess. “The hotel management hasn’t found us out?”

That won him a rather more genuine smile. “Not yet. I’ll admit to being worried about the deposit. I thought Mr. Grandborough might reschedule it, with the circus parade set for Saturday. Crowded streets will not work in our favor.”

“I think their route is safely away from the bank,” Jonah ventured. “And in the evening, besides. Well after the deposit has been made and the time lock set. Not even a stampede of elephants will breach it then.”

Reid laughed. “Nor the two-headed cow.”

“Two-headed….” Jonah wrinkled his nose. “Really?”

“So I’ve heard. We can see for ourselves.”

“Have you been to the circus? It’s quite the odorous affair.”

“Father Francis took us as often as he could. He worked in the circus in his youth.”

“Something I am not at all surprised to hear,” Jonah said.

Reid was grinning, shadows gone. “He came late to the priesthood—in fact, believed all priests should. A fellow had to live some, first. He used to tell me a man could better heal broken hearts once his own was broken a few times.”

Jonah raised an eyebrow. “And his was?”

“More than once, I understand.”

“And yours?”

The question slipped out before Jonah gave it any thought. But Reid merely smiled. “There’s not much to tell. My heart’s been batted about, once or twice. Never really broken. Closest I came was nine years ago. I met him in Illinois, and for a while I thought we were suited to last. But he was never easy with himself, not deep down. When I left for New York, I asked him to come with me—or at least meet me to say goodbye. I asked him to shake my hand at the station. I thought I’d know then whether he wanted to see me again.”

“He never came?”

Reid shook his head. “I missed him for months. But on my next visit to Chicago, I didn’t look him up. There was nothing left to say. I cared for one or two others the same way. One was married,” he said ruefully. His glance shifted back to Jonah. “And you?”