The Trainmasters (31 page)

Off in the distance, down below the groggery, John could make out still another man he recognized—Harold Harrison. He had
what appeared to be a paper in his hand and he was moving in John’s direction.

“Father, Father, there you are!” David called out. “We’ve found you. Where have you been?”

John smiled and held out his hand to David, then he stretched his other hand out to Alex. When the boys reached him, they
each slipped under an outstretched arm.

“David, Alex, 1 haven’t seen much of you for the past few days.”

“No, you haven’t,” David said.

“But I’m sure you’ve been well attended to.”

Both boys nodded yes.

“They have both been completely polite and well behaved,” Kitty Lancaster said.

“I’m glad to hear that,” John said.

“Let go of us, Father,” the boys demanded. And so, with a smile, he released them. And the two of them bounded off into the
trees, closely pursued by Peg O’Rahilly.

“You stay here with us,” Deirdre O’Rahilly called out to her, but Peg did not seem to hear her mother.

Francis Stockton, Graham, Teresa, Egan, and Deirdre now reached the crest, and then Tom Collins. And they all gathered around
John and Kitty.

Everyone chatted gaily and amiably—with obvious exceptions—until Harold Harrison arrived, breathless, bearing a telegram for
John.

It was from Edgar Thomson. It read:

MEETING OF DIRECTORS COMPLETED STOP WILLIAM PATTERSON HAS SUCCESSFULLY ACQUIRED FINANCING AND HAS BEEN GIVEN VOTE OF CONFIDENCE
AS PRESIDENT STOP WILL COMMUNICATE FULLY SOON STOP THOMSON

After reading the message, he handed the paper to Kitty.

“Oh, my,” she said when she finished reading. Her voice sounded like doom. “Oh, my,” she repeated. “Those words are so cold
and empty on their surface, aren’t they? But I can sense so much fire… These few, simple words are so like him… Beneath his
cool surface, there is headstrong will and a drive to command and to lead and to dominate … I wonder what he will do now.”

“Your father?”

“Yes, my father.”

“He’ll survive this setback,” John said. “I’m sure he’ll prevail in time.”

“He will, won’t he?” she said. Then she took his hands in hers and her eyes held his in a bond steel could not break, compelling
him to unwavering, absolute concentration upon her. “He trusts you, doesn’t he?” she said. It was not a question but an act
of faith.

“I’d like to believe it.”

“It’s that,” she said, “that gives me hope.”

And then the children reappeared from out of the forest, whooping and hollering like Indians. At their front raced Peg O’Rahilly,
leaping and twirling and cavorting as she ran, her face painted with yellow clay—chevrons across her forehead and lightning
streaks below her eyes. The boys had made her their Indian queen.

Part II

Ten

Tom Collins and Tom Henneberry ascended the short staircase that led to the porch of the administration building in Gallitzin.
As they climbed the steps, they grew more and more apprehensive, for they expected a serious confrontation once they reached
their destination inside. Henneberry’s apprehension was expressed in a heavy anxiety. Whenever he was brought before those
he considered his superiors, he expected to be punished. Collins’s apprehension, however, was of a very different sort entirely:
At the moment Collins thought of himself as a general poised before a decisive engagement. And he was very pleased with his
prospects for victory because he held the superior position.

They crossed the porch and entered the building, then passed through the dining room and moved into the long corridor with
its row of office doors on either side. The last door along the corridor had a brass plate fastened a few inches below eye
level. There was no name inscribed on the plate, only a title: DEPUTY CHIEF ENGINEER.

Collins tapped lightly on the door, and he was asked to enter. He opened the door and walked inside. Henneberry followed.

John Carlysle stood in front of one of the office’s two windows. Although he was restless, he stifled all impulses to move,
to act. He had to keep in control of this meeting with Collins and Henneberry.

“Would you sit down in one of the chairs, Mr. Collins?” he asked, tight-lipped, when he saw Collins.

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” Collins said, in his smoothest, most ingratiating tones. “And I’ve brought my superintendent with
me.”

“You sit down too, then, Mr. Henneberry,” John said.

“Thank you, sir,” the big man said. Henneberry had an abject, braying voice, like a much-beaten dog. But he used it only in
the presence of those he felt were his betters. When he was among the men working under him, Henneberry had a domineering
and imperious manner.

Collins had promoted Henneberry soon after the tunnel cave-in. He had put him in charge of all the workers in the tunnel,
much to their dismay. It was a promotion that John Carlysle didn’t approve of, but he had no say in the decision. Collins
was an independent contractor who did as he liked with the laborers who worked for him. As long as the work progressed at
a rate that fell within the limits dictated by the contract, Carlysle would have to be satisfied with Collins’s management.

Yet the work was
not
progressing according to the directives laid out in Collins’s contract. Even allowing for the setback caused by the tunnel
catastrophe, the work was far behind schedule. Collins had been called to answer for the delays.

John turned away from the window to face the two men. But still he did not speak. He waited in silence, with an easy and casual,
yet expectant, look on his face. John had learned from Sir Charles Elliot a number of tactics for dealing with subordinates.
One of these was what he called the hawk’s tactics: wait high in the air, motionless, watching for the prey to move and betray
its presence. Then plunge for the attack.

John would not reveal his intentions quickly. He would not ask too many questions or force Collins in any way. He would wait,
keep calm, and let Collins talk on his own, in his own way, in his own time. If Carlysle interrogated forcefully, he would
most likely hear nothing more than what Collins wanted him to hear.

And John was far from certain as to what his course of action would be. At the moment he had very little power he could bring
to bear against the little man. A construction schedule was often more a matter of hope than of solid, ironclad expectations.
Every contractor knew this, and every construction contract reflected it. Thus, if the construction of the line was falling
behind, as it was now, the contractor could—and would—marshal up any number of reasons, justifications, or excuses to explain
the delays. That gave Collins his power now.

“I cannot be responsible for acts of God,” the little man had said each time John had confronted him during the past two months.
“I do the best that I can with what I’ve got.”

Typically, Collins would then explain how he had been failed by some event or person.

But John was starting to suspect that there was more to the delays than Collins’s excuses could account for. He decided to
probe until he got a satisfactory answer.

Henneberry fidgeted beneath John’s calm stare. But Collins seemed unperturbed. His hands were joined, and his face was quietly
attentive, as though his soul was intent on silent prayer. There was also haughtiness and defiance in that expression, but
John chose to ignore these and wait the man out.

Finally Collins spoke. “You called me in, then, Mr. Car-lysle?” he added in a tone that said he blamed John for keeping him
waiting, for wasting his valuable time.

John nodded. “That’s right,” he said.

Henneberry pulled repeatedly on the legs of his trousers, just above the knees. His eyes were locked on his hands.

“Well then?” Collins asked. “What’s on your mind, Mr. Carlysle?”

“You are on my mind, Mr. Collins,” John said quietly. “You’re considerably behind your schedule. You’ve failed to finish what
you’ve contracted to do.”

Collins looked surprised, as though this were the first time he had had such a minor matter brought to his attention. “Really?”
he shrugged. And then he launched into the set of excuses John had heard before. “I suppose one could place that interpretation
on things, reading the contract according to its strictest letter, I mean. But you know yourself that we’ve actually done
our best. You know we’ve done all we can do”—he glanced toward Henneberry—”considering the quality of the men available to
us. And,” he added pointedly, the
wishes
of you and the other railroad officers.” He made his supervisor’s desires sound merely like whims.

John nodded as he told himself to stay calm.

Collins then started on a new tack, one that John had not heard before. “And you yourself, sir, are new to this country and
inexperienced in its ways.” He shrugged haughtily, a shrug suggesting infinite disdain. “But I’m sure Mr. Thomson knew what
he was doing when he put you in charge…”

John really had to refrain from hitting Collins after that remark. The little man was so fiendishly exasperating and infuriating
that John’s civilized manners came close to deserting him.

Though Collins was no longer a priest, he had nevertheless retained many pastoral skills. He knew well, for instance, how
to put another in the wrong. And he always seemed cognizant of one’s innermost, most humiliating, most sordid, most shameful
secrets. He was also skillful in communicating how heavily the frailties of others weighed on his conscience and filled him
with sympathy and regret.

Consequently, in any conflict Collins operated from the premise that he owned all grace, sanctity, and righteousness. He was
quite certain that he possessed the very smile of the Divinity himself. His adversaries, on the other hand, were entirely
soiled with guilt and stained with shame simply because they were not on his side.

But John still waited, smiling. The momentary rage had passed.

“As you know,” Collins said, “the men were far too lax before the tunnel fell in. Even in the best of times, they are weak-willed
and self-centered. They will shirk every duty whenever possible; they do not feel obliged by responsibilities to their superiors
and betters, and they will take what advantage they can get. But after the cave-in, discipline collapsed entirely. Perhaps
the tragedy unhinged them.” He said this in a tone that indicated he did not actually believe such excuses; but he was giving
the other side the benefit of his fairness.