Beverly Byrne (15 page)

"That's
crazy! Luke has nothing to do with this. He's only part of it in your sick
mind. You're afraid to face up to your responsibilities, so you spend money we
don't have and don't pay the bills! And since you brought it up, you're right.
Luke would never do such a thing."

"Aagh!"
He screamed the wordless cry of anguish and struck out at the innocent bibelots
on the table. They crashed to the floor at his feet, and he slammed out of the
room.

He
didn't return for three days. When he did they made it up and promised each
other it would be different in the future. Amy had paid all the bills in the
meantime.

"How'd
you do that? Uncle Donald?"

She
shook her head. "No, that would only have made it worse. I sold my diamond
ring. I got four thousand dollars for it. There's still a few hundred left.
"

He
reached for her hand to confirm the story. There was a little white space where
the ring had been. "Oh, Jesus," he whispered.

"It
doesn't matter. When we go home there are lots of diamonds. They're in a vault
in the bank in Dar es Salaam. I told you that." She tried to sound gay.

Tommy
didn't say anything, but he examined her other hand and saw that his
grandmother's sapphire, the ring he'd given her to mark their engagement, was still
in place. So were the pearls around her neck. He reached up and fingered them.
"You could have sold something else," he muttered.

"Those
were presents from you to me," she whispered. "The diamond was my
own. It's different."

Later
they talked about living on just his salary. Amy hadn't known until now how
much it was.

"Seventy-five
a week," he told her. "Until I learn the ropes and have clients of my
own. It's generous of them, I suppose, but I want to do better. They keep
telling me to be patient, that I'm too young to take charge of any
accounts."

She
did some rapid calculations with pencil and paper. "We should be able to
live on seventy-five a week." She frowned and nibbled on the eraser.
"Maybe we should let Delia go and just keep the cook."

He
took the paper and pencil from her and lay them aside. "Let me worry about
all that. You just concentrate on keeping you and the baby healthy."

They
stopped the socializing. Amy suspected it was as much a relief for Tommy as for
her.

The
first time Amy saw the advertisement in the
Times
was a day in October.
She had taken the paper and gone to the park to sit in the sunshine. She did
that a lot lately. Among the trees bright with autumn and the laughing children
watched over by sturdy governesses, it was possible to let her thoughts drift.

She
dreamed about Jericho and about her baby. She was in a kind of limbo, waiting
only for a letter from Dar es Salaam. Somehow, Amy convinced herself, her links
with reality would then be reestablished. She could go home.

On
this particular morning a girl stood on a nearby soapbox and preached about
giving women the vote. The speaker looked to be about her own age, and Amy
wondered what it must be like to be able to spare thought for problems outside
oneself. The notion was depressing, so she pushed it away and opened the
newspaper.

She
liked to read the real estate section. There were always a few columns devoted
to properties outside New York, and she'd invented a little game in which she
compared them to Jericho and was pleased because they never measured up. Today
one almost seemed to do so. It offered for sale not a country house in an
eastern town like Cross River, but a piece of the fabled American West.

"New
Mexico," the announcement read. "Youngest State in the Union and Land
of Enchantment. Ranch for Sale. Amazing Opportunity." There were more
details. A cattle spread was being offered, nearly three thousand head of prime
beef on the hoof. "House and numerous ranch buildings," the
advertisement promised. "Heartbroken owner must sell at a loss due to ill
health. Don't miss out. Act now."

Amy
remembered how she'd once thought of the West as being like Africa; then she
turned the page.

The
next day the advertisement was repeated, and the next. After that it
disappeared and she assumed that the property had been sold. The following week
she was surprised to see the advertisement again. This time she cut it out
carefully and tucked it beneath the velvet cushion of her jewelry box.

That
afternoon she went to the library on Eighty-sixth Street and read everything
she could find on New Mexico and the Southwest.

One
book had a colored drawing of golden grasslands, fringed by the snow-topped
Sangre de Cristo mountains. She looked at that picture and felt a stab of
pleasure that was almost pain. It looked remarkably like the Africa she had
known.

Amy
walked home carrying the book and staring pensively at the pavement. Her body
was growing a little heavy, her sense of balance changed by the life within.
She moved slowly and had time to think before she reached her front door.

That
night she slept with the book about New Mexico under her pillow. She was a
little afraid that Tommy might find it, but he didn't.

Two
days later she went to the
Times
office on Broadway and spoke to the
advertising manager. She wanted to know if the ranch had been sold, but he
couldn't tell her. "Our only instructions are to run the announcement
three days a week until further notice."

He
ruffled through some papers. "The gentleman paid for a month's worth of
insertions. Why don't you write to him?"

A
dozen times she took up her pen, then put it down again. The idea wasn't just
outlandish, it was a kind of dying. The rancher was asking fifty thousand
dollars for his spread. To get that kind of money she must forfeit Jericho. It
was too much to ask; she couldn't do it. She put her writing things away, then
returned the book to the library.

Next
morning the papers were full of the news of more allied losses in Europe and,
for the first time, serious speculation that Wilson was considering taking
America into the war. Amy read the reports and the columns carefully after
Tommy went to the office. Africa seemed to be receding into the distance. It
was moving beyond her reach because of events totally outside her control. She
put aside the newspaper and sat down and wrote to the man who wanted to sell a
ranch in New Mexico, the land of enchantment.

11

"THIS
IS THE  LATEST LETTER." AMY PUT TWO SHEETS of flimsy stationery on Donald
Varley's desk.

The
handwriting was large and open and marked by many flourishes. In some places
the ink had blotted the paper. Varley held it to the weak November light of the
window, then made a noise of impatience and switched on a lamp. He read in
silence. "Did he send the photographs you requested?" he asked
finally.

"Just
one." Amy handed him a speckled gray card-board folder. It opened from the
top and had one of those flap arrangements that allowed it to stand by itself.
The picture was of an enormous black steer, staged against a gray and white desert.
The beast had curved horns and massive shoulders, and it looked at the camera
with malevolence.

Varley
snorted, "Not much help is it? One bull posed to have its picture
taken."

"Mr.
DeAngeles says it's representative." She leaned forward and ran a black-kid-encased
finger over the letter lying on the desk. "He says all the stock is of the
same high quality."

"Yes,
and that the land is magnificent and the houses likewise. Do you believe him,
my dear?"

Amy
shrugged. "It's a gamble, I know that. But surely he wouldn't ask fifty
thousand dollars if it weren't all true'!"

Varley
smiled. "It's not the asking that's difficult. It's the getting." She
looked pained. "I can do some independent checking," he added
hastily. "I'll ask around and find a reliable attorney in Santa Fe. Then
we'll have an unbiased report."

Fifteen
days later Amy returned to the office. Varley produced a manila envelope from
the bookcase behind his chair.

"Will
you read it, or shall I summarize?"

"Tell
me what he says."

"Quite
a bit. A lot more than Mr. DeAngeles. First, and most important, there's water
on this ... what's the place called?" He rifled the pages searching for
the name of the ranch.

"Santo
Domingo," Amy supplied. She sat primly on the edge of her seat, tense with
expectation.

"That's
right. As I said, there's a waterhole. Extremely reliable, my colleague says.
It's on DeAngeles land, but shared by treaty with two other ranches. That's not
uncommon apparently. And at the last count"-he ran his finger down the
page searching for numbers--"there were three thousand head of cattle.
That's certified by the government. We've been lucky there. "

"I
don't understand."

"Four
years ago, when New Mexico was admitted as a state, the federal government sent
in assessors to make a survey. That's the source of these figures." He
tapped the manila envelope. "To continue, there's a main dwelling of ten
rooms and various outbuildings. They're in need of some repair because the
present owner has been ill. 'But basically sound' …" he read aloud. "
.. .'And once a true showplace' …" Varley looked up and smiled at her. Amy
glowed with pleasure.

"Oh,
yes," he added. "There's water laid on to the house. The report
stresses that. Not unreasonable when you come to think of it. Water must be the
key out there."

"I
saw the Sahara once," she said enthusiastically. "I went on a trip
with Mummy and Daddy when I was five or six. It was beautiful."

"But
can you imagine actually living in a desert?" Varley put down the report,
leaned forward and took her hand. "I want what is best for you, my dear, I
mean that most sincerely. This ranch sounds excellent, but the Southwest is
still a frontier. Conditions are bound to be primitive. Have you really thought
about all that?"

"Yes,"
she said firmly. She withdrew her hand from his and sat up very straight.
"I've considered it most carefully, Uncle Donald. I'm sure it's the right
thing to do." Her tone changed and she rummaged in her handbag for a
handkerchief. "You were never in Africa, so you can't understand. But the
moment I saw those pictures in that book I knew. It's the closest thing to home
I'm going to find."

She
blew her nose, but she did not cry.

Varley
said, "I admit that's my one remaining reservation. How would you two get
on so far from the family and civilization? What does Tommy say?"

"I
haven't told him."

"But,
Amy, we agreed! After your last visit we agreed you'd discuss it with Tommy
before we went any further. Really, my dear, I cannot pursue this matter
without the consent of your husband. Apart from the legalities, it simply isn't
right."

Amy
took a deep breath. It was imperative that she enlist Donald Varley as an ally.
To do so she would have to tell him at least part of the truth. "Tommy has
always been a little insecure because of his handicap. He worries that I don't
really love him."

"I
see," Varley said. "And do you love him?"

She
hesitated. "I care very much for Tommy. I believe we can be happy
together. But not unless we leave New York. We need a new life, a new
challenge. If things were different, we could go to Jericho. I would give half
my life if we could do that. Apparently we cannot. This is the next best
solution."

"You've
thought it out carefully, haven't you? I grow more and more amazed at your
maturity, my dear. Somehow I didn't expect it."

 "I've
said before that girls grow up more quickly in Africa. Perhaps now you'll
believe me." Amy put the handkerchief away and closed her bag with a
decisive snap. "You haven't told me the conclusion of that report. "

Varley
smiled. "If you were a man, my dear, I should make you a trial lawyer.
Very well, according to my Santa Fe colleague the asking price for Santo Domingo
is not unreasonable. It is perhaps a bargain."

"That
settles it then-if I can raise fifty thousand dollars. "

Varley
stood up and walked to the window. Wall Street was a narrow ribbon, bepurpled
by the long shadows of the setting sun. "I wish to consider the question
of the money a little longer," he said. His voice sounded strained.

"Do
you think it can be found, Uncle Donald?" Her words were a plea.
"Will I be able to buy Santo Domingo?"

"I
wish to consider the matter," Varley repeated. He turned back to her.
"In the meantime you must find an opportunity to discuss this affair with
Tommy. We can do nothing final until you have his agreement."

"I
will," she said. "I promise."

She
got up to go, and he didn't escort her out as he usually did. Instead his voice
stopped her before she reached the door. "Amy, I had a letter from Luke
yesterday. He's just taken his first vows. He's well on his way to the
priesthood now. Did you know?"

She
froze for a moment, realized the evidence her stiff back was providing, and
willed herself to relax and speak normally. "No, I didn't. We haven't had
a letter yet. The post probably."

"Yes,
probably," Varley agreed. "You must tell Tommy about that too."

"I'll
tell him everything," Amy said. But she wouldn't of course. Not quite
everything.

"Are
you crazy?" Tommy stared at his wife. Then he looked down at the papers
and pictures she had spread before him on the dining-room table. "What is
all this stuff? Where did you get it?"

"I 
told you, I've been corresponding with Mr. DeAngeles for a month, and Uncle
Donald has written to a lawyer in Santa Fe. His report was very favorable.
There's water on the property, you see. That makes it a good ranch."

She
was wearing a pink chiffon tea gown, trimmed with feathers. The color cast
flattering highlights on her creamy skin. She looked to Tommy infinitely
desirable, more so because the soft clinging fabric betrayed the small sweet
mound where once her flat belly had been. Her pregnancy was a mark of his posession,
an affirmation of his manhood.

"Listen,
I don't want to upset you. Sit down. We'll talk about it."

Amy
pulled a chair close to his so they could look together at the papers.

She
found the picture of the steer and stood it open on the table between them.
"Isn't he a marvelous-looking brute? And there are more than three
thousand of them! Look at this picture." She pointed to the book. "That's
New Mexico, but it could be German East. Do you remember the grasslands? You
saw them that one time you visited. Remember how they were all golden in the
sun and stretched on and on with Kilimanjaro in the distance?"

"You're
beautiful. Your eyes shine when you get excited. "

She
pushed away the hand he placed on her arm. "Please listen, Tommy. And look
at all these things. It's very important. It's our whole future. Ours and the
baby's."

She
hadn't meant the gesture as a rejection, nonetheless he saw it so. "You
listen," he said in the hard voice of a stranger. "Looking after our
future is my job. And I'm not doing as badly as you seem to think. You're ok
aren't you? This house and a couple of servants, it's not too much like
poverty, is it?"

"Tommy,
I never said that. I don't think it. It's just that this is such a wonderful
opportunity."

He
stood up and limped a few steps away, standing with his back to her and his
hands plunged into his pockets. "Are you sorry you married me? Is that
what you're trying to tell me?"

"No,
of course not!" Her palms were sweating. Tommy was skirting close to the
truth, and that meant disaster for both of them. "This is such a
challenge," she said with forced brightness. "That's what I'm trying
to explain."

"Little
Miss Explainer, that's my Amy. Done a lot of it, haven't you? Probably even to
sainted brother Luke. Have you written to him about this new scheme?" He
turned to face her. The tic beside his mouth pulsed wildly.

She
couldn't bear the fury in his eyes. "No," she whispered. "Why
would I do that?"

"Yeah,
why?" He put his hands on the table and leaned forward. She could feel his
breath when he spoke. "Maybe because you're still regretting that you're
not married to him. But it's too late, baby. Luke took vows last week. He wrote
to tell me all about it."

"I
know," she said. "Uncle Donald told me. Why are we talking about
Luke? It's you and I that matter. Please, Tommy ..." She reached for him,
but he pulled away.

"I
know something else," he said. "Get ready for a big surprise,
sweetheart. That kid you're carrying could never be Luke's, no matter how much
you want it to be." He laughed, but it was a sound without mirth.
"He's a eunuch, my holy brother. Sterile. Never could be a father, so he's
turned saint instead. How do you like them apples?"

"I
know," she said hoarsely. "He told me before he went away. It's
nothing to do with anything."

"Told
you? Luke told you the sordid details of his sex life. Oh, Jesus! What a fool
I've been. I thought you were little Miss Innocence when I married you. Now it
comes out you had a nice intimate relationship with my big brother." He
thrust his hand beneath her chin and yanked her face up so he could look at
her.

"When
did he first have you,
memsahib
? Tell me all about it."

Amy
wrenched free of his grip and backed away, clutching at the pink tea gown as if
it were protection. "You know there wasn't anyone before you! Luke told me
because he wanted me to understand about his being a priest." She felt as
if she couldn't breathe.

Tommy
looked from her to the books and papers on the table. "Shit!" he
said, sweeping the pile to the floor with one savage motion. "That's what
this whole thing is. Just shit! You and Luke and all the rest. Well, you aren't
doing it on me. Not me, baby! You got that?"

He
moved to where she stood. She was doubled over in fear and pain and grief.
Tommy grabbed her shoulders. "Stand up! Stand up, you bitch whore, and
look at me so I know you're listening!"