Witch Hunt (36 page)

Katherine Winthrop had never been able to sleep well during the week right before Christmas; even at nineteen years old, the excitement was simply too great to bear. This year, however, there was far more than the mystery of brightly wrapped presents keeping her awake. There was also the promise of seeing Alan Hawthorne — who had just arrived home for Christmas break — the following morning.

Her romance with Alan had begun two years earlier, right before he left for college, and they had pursued it during his brief visits home during semester breaks. Although he hadn’t officially proposed, she was sure it was only a matter of time.

Christmas had always been a season of wonder to Katherine. She never failed to be moved by the spirit of love and hope that it evoked. A devout Christian, she kept returning in her mind to the events the holiday was reserved to celebrate. Profound emotions welled up within her, and, unable to restrain herself any longer, she left her bed and crept through the sleeping house to the front room where the fragrant tree shone brightly.

“A beacon in the darkness,” she whispered. She saw the beautiful tree as symbolic of the light Christ had brought into the world. She knelt in front of the tree and rummaged through the packages until she found one with her name. She squeezed, sniffed, and shook it until, satisfied that it contained the ballet slippers she had requested — they were the latest fashion in women’s footwear — she returned it to the pile. She thought about Alan, and her breath grew short and her face became hot.

Katherine was a strange blend of mystic, child, and woman.

The unexpected sound of the telephone’s ring startled her. Glancing at the grandfather clock — it said it was two-fifteen — she crossed the room and picked up the receiver, but her father was already on the extension.

“It’s two o’clock in the morning.” Lloyd Winthrop always answered the phone with a statement of fact.

“Ah, yes, I know. Sorry, sir.”

Katherine knew the caller’s voice, and her heart began to pound.

“Mayor, this is Alan Hawthorne. We need some help.”

“What is it, son?”

“There’s been an accident. My brother-in-law’s been hit by a car; my father was driving.”

“Didn’t know you had a brother-in-law.”

“Yeah, well, neither did we.” Alan paused. “Dad was … well, he was drunk. They’ve arrested him. We’ve never asked for any favors, Mayor, but — ”

“Where are you, boy?”

“We’re all at the hospital. They’re operating on Dori. My dad’s getting stitched up — he cut his head on the windshield.”

“I’ll be there shortly.” Lloyd’s line went dead.

Katherine started to say something to Alan, but he hung up too quickly. She put down the phone and scurried for her room so she could change. In a matter of minutes, she was ready and waiting for her father at the head of the stairs.

“I think you should stay out of this.” He brushed past her.

She followed on his heels. “I have a right to go. I plan to marry into that family.”

Abruptly, he stopped and turned, and she unceremoniously bumped into him.

His look was grave. “I think you should think twice about your desire to become a Hawthorne. Tony and Bea are honest-to-God lushes. And, speaking of God, I don’t think there’s ever been a Hawthorne who gave much thought to Him. Why don’t you find a good Christian boy to fall in love with?”

“Because it’s too late. I’ve already fallen.”

Lloyd sighed, started to say something, then turned and headed back down the stairs. “Well, come on then. If you’re determined to be one of them, you might as well start getting used to their scandals.”

Although his psychic abilities were labeled a gift by the Hawthorne clan, Cliff didn’t enjoy them as such. He might have, if his family had been of a different temperament. But the Montvue Hawthornes were a troubled lot, and for the sake of his own sanity, he had spent most of his life trying to shut them out of his mind. However, the tragedy that night was too extreme to turn off or tune out and he was emotionally ravaged. He paced the hospital’s hallway awaiting final word on Dorian’s condition, contemplating how harsh his home front had become. The battlefront that lay ahead of him couldn’t be much worse, he reasoned. At least the war seemed to make more sense and have more inherent value than the battles fought by his family.

He plopped down on a wooden bench and lit a cigarette. “Damn,” he muttered to no one in particular. The Hawthorne ego trips and power plays had finally gone too far for him to bear any longer. In a way, he was glad for the war. It gave him something to believe in, to stir his soul. He had been an empty shell for too long.

The elevator door slid open, and Lloyd and Katherine stepped off. Cliff sighed. Someone — probably Alan — had informed the mayor of their dilemma, no doubt in the hopes of soliciting a rescue. Cliff took a deep drag on his cigarette and tried to swallow his disappointment. He had hoped that his father would finally have to pay for his actions, but that had been an unrealistic expectation. The Hawthornes were powerful, in many ways.

Cliff was too tired to rise in greeting.

Katherine sat next to him. “The emergency room said that your father was up here on the ward.”

“They’re holding him a while for observation. He hit his head.” Cliff did little to hide the lack of sympathy he felt.

“What happened?” Lloyd asked.

Cliff met the older man’s gaze and hesitated only for a moment. “Dad didn’t approve of Dori … Dorian Wildes, my sister’s beau. He got drunk and followed her when she went to meet him tonight. When he found them together, he tried to run her down, but Dori threw himself in the path of the car and Dad lost control, which spared Glynis, at least. Turns out that Dori and Glynis had married on the sly. It’s been three weeks now, I guess. Looks like Dori’s going to lose his legs.”

Katherine paled, and Lloyd’s expression became dark.

Cliff dropped his cigarette butt on the floor and crushed it beneath his boot. “If you’ve been asked to bail Dad out of this, sir, I’d like to ask you to reconsider.”

“Where’s Alan?” Lloyd asked.

“With Glynis in the waiting room over by surgery. They’re still working on Dori.”

“Your mother?” Lloyd asked.

Cliff chuckled. “Well, to be honest, she’s passed out cold at home. We couldn’t wake her up. She’s … marinated.”

Lloyd unbuttoned his wool overcoat and pulled off his leather gloves. His manner was brusque and businesslike. “Katherine, you go see Alan and Glynis. Cliff, take me to your father.”

Katherine dashed to the waiting room, and Cliff led Lloyd to his father.

Despite the uniformed police officer who guarded the door, Tony was comfortably ensconced in a private room. The guard didn’t hesitate to allow the mayor and Cliff entry.

“Leave us,” Lloyd told the nurse who hovered over Tony’s bed, taking his temperature and checking his pulse.

She started to protest but stopped herself, pulled the thermometer from Tony’s mouth, then left the room.

For an uncomfortably long time, Lloyd stood at the foot of the bed, regarding Tony with an unreadable expression. Cliff, leaning against the door, lit another cigarette and noted that he had never before seen his father appear more vulnerable. Facing Mayor Winthrop, knowing that the secret of his personal ugliness had been laid bare, Tony looked — and felt, Cliff’s gift informed him — scared.

The silence was finally broken by Tony’s lunge for the bedpan that lay next to him, and the sound of his violent retching. The room filled with the sour smell of used liquor. Cliff fought the urge to gag. Lloyd seemed unmoved.

“I’ll get you out of this on two conditions,” Lloyd said, his voice low.

Tony’s trembling hand wiped the perspiration from his brow, and he looked up from the sight of his vomit with haunted eyes.

“First, you do right by that boy, Dorian Wildes. You’ve robbed him of a great deal, and you’ll see to all his needs from now on.”

Tony nodded.

“And second, and more importantly to me, you’ll not allow this romance to continue between my daughter and your son. There’s no way in hell, after what I’ve learned here tonight, that she’s ever to become a Hawthorne.”

Tony’s eyes turned away from Lloyd’s before he nodded his assent.

Lloyd turned to leave, and Cliff stepped aside to allow him passage.

After the door shut behind him, Tony said to Cliff, “I wouldn’t have let that bitch marry Alan anyway. After all she’s not one of us.”

Cliff sighed. “In my opinion, that makes her an extremely lucky girl.”

Along with the arrival of the New Year came Vivian Eldon. Her parents had hastily made the arrangement, but she wasn’t entirely opposed to the plan. If nothing else, she was glad to be out of England; the war had become too much for her to bear any longer. Others of her kind had begun to devote their supernatural powers to the war effort in an attempt to influence Hitler’s mind regarding his military strategy — as a devotee of things occult, he was well primed for psychic suggestion. But at eighteen, Vivian was more interested in exploring her own womanhood than in altering the course of world events. And if all went well, this arrangement should fulfill that need quite nicely.

The opulence of Hawthorne Manor impressed Vivian. The Hawthornes’ lack of refinement did not.

A sloppy, drunk woman who tried to smother her with an overly exuberant hug opened the door. “Oh, my dear Vivian. Welcome to our humble abode.”

Vivian strained to catch her breath, and was sorry when she found it — the sloppy woman reeked of liquor. “It’s not too humble, ma’am.”

“I’m Alan’s mother. Call me Bea.”

Vivian disentangled herself from the other woman and tried to straighten her hat. “It’s good of you to have me, Bea.”

“Sorry we couldn’t meet you at the station, but Tony — that’s my husband — he’s recovering from stitches, and, well, to be honest, our children are somewhat peeved with us at the moment, and we just haven’t got around to telling them about your arrival.”

“That’s all right. Your chauffeur and I got along just fine.” She paused. “Am I then to understand that Alan doesn’t know about me and why I’ve come?”

Bea giggled. “Alan always enjoys surprises. We thought we’d indulge him.”

Whatever have I got myself into?
“A Yuletide gift, fashionably late.”

“Exactly.” Bea giggled. “Come on into the parlor and have some sangria with me.”

Vivian followed Bea, but declined the offering from the crystal pitcher. “I don’t drink alcohol before noon.”

Bea gave her a quizzical look. “But, my dear, it’s got fruit juice in it.” She took a few gulps from her glass and smacked her lips. “Good and nutritious.”

Vivian’s excitement gave way to weariness. “Actually, it’s been a very long trip. What I’d really like right now is a strong cup of tea.”

Bea shrugged her shoulders. “Well, it’s up to you.” She rang a bell, and it took several minutes before a uniformed maid responded.

The young girl curtsied. “Yes, ma’am?”

Bea threw an empty ashtray at her. “What took you so long, Natalia? You’re a stupid, lazy girl. Bring tea, and don’t dawdle.”

The maid dodged the projectile, picked it off the floor, and returned it to the coffee table. She glanced at Vivian with tear-filled eyes before scurrying from the room.