Legacy (15 page)

Father held the flask up to Justin's lips again and again, trying to revive him with the smell of the whisky. For what seemed like an eternity, there was no response. And then he moaned and moved, as if he were trying to get up. Feeling a strange, quiet joy, I held him close to me for only a moment. Then, keeping a firm pressure on the bandage, I gently moved around to one side and lifted him to a sitting position. His breathing came more regularly now, and I thought I saw more color coming back into his face.

When his eyes finally opened, I realized that I had been praying.

The next day I was standing before Father's wide ebony double desk in his library. It was Sunday afternoon. They had allowed me to sleep late, and I had missed church, waking to a haze of recollections. I wondered if they had caught the other man by now. Certainly the constable had missed him last night. He had swum across the river, some said, as we came out, though the constable claimed that he had stayed close to the bank on this side and had been lost in the shadows. No one had seen him clearly, not even Justin, who was well enough to talk now. Father and I had helped him to his house and saw to it that one of the nurses from his clinic stayed at his side all that night after his wound had been properly cleaned and bandaged.

But now Father had called me in, and I knew why. He got up from his desk and went over to the door and shut it. I sat on the chair in front of him, on my side of the desk, and I waited for him to sit down. But he did not. He came and stood at my side.

'I was real proud of you last night,' he said, looking at me for a moment and then at the books that lined the walls up to the ceiling. 'I want you to know that.'

I winced inwardly at what he would have done had he known everything about last night. But I nodded and thanked him and I waited for what I knew he would say next.

'They told me the name of that man,' he said, 'the man who died in the mill. Do you want me to tell you what it was?'

I steeled myself. I nodded. I was not going to give anything away.

'It was Shaw. Just the name you said last night when you were coming awake after he died.' Father put his hand under my chin and tilted my face to meet his gaze. 'They didn't mention Legacy, though, when they identified him. All they said was that he worked at Brad Graybar's mill.'

I said nothing, not knowing what to say. I had made up my mind this morning that I would not help Father one bit in continuing his war with Graybar. One of Father's men had been killed and so had one of Graybar's, and I was not going to add to the conflict by telling what Brad Graybar had done last week.

'I want an explanation, Catherine. How did you know his name?'

'I have nothing to say.'

'You can't mean that.' He pressed my chin harder.

I felt anger build inside me as I thrust his hand away, pushed back my chair, and stood to face him. But even as the hot resentment grew, I was aware that this time I would stay in control. I knew somehow that Father could not goad me to do what I did not want to. I knew I could keep my presence of mind no matter how he might try to force me to break down.

And then it came to me with a welcome icy certainty just what to say. For the truth, I realized, was as damaging to him as to Brad Graybar.

'Very well, then. I did see Shaw, on Legacy. Last Saturday I rode up to . . . our special place at the top - and alone, too, I might add.'

His eyes softened for only a moment, as perhaps he was remembering the times that I, too, remembered so well. Then he compressed his lips in a thin line and waited for me to continue.

'I saw Shaw in the clearing behind that mansion of Brad Graybar's. I hid behind the spruce trees he's planted and saw Brad and two men of his beating Shaw. They kept saying his name; that's why I knew it.'

'By God, that's perfect! You're going to tell Judge Hawthorne all about what you saw, and we'll have old Brad down here in jail just as quick as . . .'

'Just a moment. I haven't finished. They were beating Shaw because they had caught him spiking the logs at Brad's mill. They were forcing him to tell who had paid him.'

'And?'

'It was one of your men who gave him the spikes. Shaw said as much. I really don't think you'll want Judge Hawthorne to hear about that.'

He pressed me for details, and I told him everything I remembered. He tried not to appear concerned. It was all conjecture, he said. Shaw had described a man who looked like Father's man Campbell, but that didn't mean a thing. It could have been anyone.

'That's very true,' I said, 'but what if they decide to investigate? Suppose they bring Campbell in for questioning? Suppose they check up on what he's been doing this past week and find some evidence?'

'They won't. Judge Hawthorne will see to that.'

'Are you sure? There were some powerful men at Brad Graybar's ball last night. I wouldn't underestimate his influence if I were you.'

We stared at one another. I could see that Father was weighing the alternatives in his mind. Then he went around to his side of the desk and picked up a small ingot of gold, about the size of a pocket knife, that he used as a paperweight. He hefted this small metal bar in his palm, still thinking.

Finally he said, 'We can still do it. You just tell Judge Hawthorne that Shaw was the man you saw up on Legacy, tied up and beaten by Brad Graybar. Forget what you heard. You can say you were too far away to hear clearly. Let the judge draw his own conclusions.' He paused, looking at the ingot. Then he continued. 'Likely as not, he'll decide Brad was trying to force Shaw to come set fire to my mill last night. You know they did find two cans of kerosene up there in the rafters where he was hiding.'

I said dryly, 'I doubt you'd succeed in convicting Brad Graybar with that kind of evidence. Anyone could have put that kerosene up there. You'll have to catch the man who ran off last night and make him confess. Unless you do that...'

He cut me off. I could see he was growing angry. 'You're wrong. Don't tell me what will and won't get him. We don't need to convict him. All we need is enough to bring him to a trial. The newspapers will do the rest.'

Of course. Brad Graybar needed money. He had huge loans coming due - that was why he was selling parts of Legacy! And if he were on trial, his reputation would be harmed, even if he were not convicted. A few discreet words from Father's friends, coupled with the publicity, and most banks would refuse to touch Brad Graybar - just at the time when he would need an extension on his credit.

It was, I suppose, poetic justice. Now it would be Brad's turn to sell off his holdings, to cut back as Father had been forced to cut back years ago.

We might even be able to recover Legacy.

It all went through my mind so swiftly - what the newspapers would do with the juicy details of my testimony, the names they would call Brad Graybar for his cruel torture of Shaw, even though it could not be proven. It would set people to talking, and the bankers would listen. And not many would rush to buy a lot on Legacy from the man about whom such things were said.

Yet I knew, too, in the same moment that this would not end the battle. Brad Graybar would struggle back, just as Father had struggled back. The fighting would go on, even though our side had a temporary advantage.

And we would have gained that advantage only by my testimony, which was not the whole truth.

I made my decision. 'I see what you mean, Father.'

'Good. Let's get on with it, then.' He moved to open the door.

'But I won't testify.' It was hard to say those words, but once I had said them I knew I could stand by them.

'What are you talking about? Of course you will.' He stood there by the door, his mouth clamped tightly shut, his jaw muscles working.

I kept my voice in a reasoning tone. 'I won't. I see that it would hurt Brad Graybar. But it would not finish him. It would just be another blow in the fight - and a low blow at that.'

I could feel Father's shock at what I was doing. The disappointment, the anger, the pain all shone in his eyes and hung palpably in the air of that library of his. Outside, the afternoon sun streamed through the leaves of the oak tree by the window. I watched those long, shiny green leaves, for I could not look at Father. I knew how he had longed for revenge; I had longed for it, too. It took all my strength to maintain my refusal, knowing so well how deeply I was hurting him. He could see what I was doing only as a betrayal.

When I looked up at him there was a dangerous light in his eyes. He was keeping his voice controlled. 'Before we go any further, I want to know one thing. Why? For God's sake, Catherine, why?'

'I told you. Nothing would really change. In a few years the two of you would still be fighting.'

'I can't believe that,' he said coldly. 'I can't believe that a daughter of mine . . .'

'Oh, Father! Can't you see? There's been enough fighting! One of your men died last night. One of Brad Graybar's men died last night. Isn't that enough for you?'

He acted as if he had not heard me. In the same chilling, controlled tone he went on. 'No daughter of mine would do Brad Graybar a favor, not after what he did to us. Never. Unless . . .'

He began to come towards me slowly as he spoke.

'. . . unless she had some other reason, some other very good reason . . . unless maybe she weren't doing a favor for
Brad
Graybar at all . . .'

He tried to grab my wrist then, but I was too quick for him. Sensing what was coming, I moved quickly behind his desk.

'You keep away from me!' I raised my voice. Someone would hear. Then I would not have to face him alone.

'Last week you went riding with Steven Graybar. Last night you spent quite a bit of time with him. Don't try to deny it. I had to listen to it from that Amanda Scott at church this morning. And that was after I told you specifically . . .'

'I was polite, only being polite. Justin McKay practically pushed me at him when Amanda . . .'

'. . . specifically never so much as to speak to him!'

The door opened. It was Mother, still wearing the yellow dress she had worn to church, trying not to look worried. 'Now, what's going on in here?'

When Father saw her, a cruel smile came over his face. 'Well, Claire, glad you could come to hear this. It seems that our Catherine, here, has decided she wants to take up with the Graybars. She tells me she thinks too highly of their young Steven to help us give Brad Graybar what he deserves. Isn't that right, Catherine?'

'That's not what I said! You've no right . . .'

'Oh, he must be an attractive young man, this Steven. Amanda Scott said you were away from the dance floor with him for quite some time.' I had never heard him speak with such ill-natured rancor.

'He was showing me the . . .'

'You know what I told you I would do if I caught you with him, don't you?' His eyes danced with malice.

Mother tried to stop him, but he spoke right over her words.

'Well, you'll be happy to know that I've changed my mind. I'm scarcely going to put my head in a noose for the likes of him. What I am going to do is to see Judge Hawthorne myself . . . unless, that is, you decide to change your mind and come with me to testify.'

'I don't see what that would accomplish,' I said. 'You don't have anything to say to Judge Hawthorne . . .'

'If I do go see him, and I will, it won't be to talk about Brad Graybar. I intend to make the legal arrangements right then and there to disown you. You'll be out of my will, and out of this house - forever! Do you understand?'