A Bright Tomorrow Page 6

  5

  ROSE

  James McClendon, the dour little manager of Greenlee Stables, was a staunch Calvinist as were his forefathers. Thus it was that only two weeks after Amos Stuart came to work with his horses, he was heard to mutter under his breath: “It was all in God’s will—that clumsy oaf Murphy breaking his leg—all so the bonnie lad could come and take proper care of the stock!”

  Amos, if he had heard McClendon’s reasoning, would have probably agreed. After the dull laboring in the glass factory, it was nothing less than joy for him to ride the spirited thoroughbreds each day. He soon proved he was not too good to muck out the stables, as well. Indeed, he was such a hard worker that he drew dark looks from the other hands. He stayed over often, sleeping in McClendon’s office on a cot, and within three weeks it was to Stuart that his employer turned to find out whatever he wanted to know about the horses. Amos knew them all, and cared for them as if they were children.

  One Friday he exercised Prince, unsaddled him, and gave him a good rubdown. Afterward, he went to the office and used some of the manager’s paper to write a letter home.

  Dear Ma and Pa and all,

  I wish I had news about Sister, but so far have not been able to learn anything. As I told you before, sooner or later Miss Adams will have to come back to New York. Mr. Rossi told me her new play will be opening here in three weeks, but said she might come back earlier to practice. I guess you’ll have to keep on praying, Ma, and I’ll keep on looking.

  I love it here at Greenlee. Imagine getting paid for riding fine horses! If Mr. McClendon knew how much I love it, he’d probably cut my wages. But he’s already given me a raise (which the other men didn’t like, I’m afraid), and I’m saving money for tickets home when I find Lylah.

  I miss all of you and long to see you. This big city is something to see, but I miss the mountains. Well, I’ll write as soon as I have found out something.

  He signed the letter, “Your loving son, Amos,” and sealed it. At that moment the manager came in. “Can you sell me a stamp?” Amos asked him.

  McClendon opened the desk drawer, produced some loose stamps, and handed one to Amos. “I’ll hold the cost out of your pay. Now, go home.” The man hesitated, then a glint of humor flickered in his sharp eyes. “Never did I think I’d have to tell a hand to quit work, but I don’t want ye to burn out.”

  Amos smiled. “No danger of that.” He put on his coat and left the office, whistling as he went.

  The sky was lowering, and before he got halfway home, a cold drizzle began to fall. Soon his clothes were soaked, and water dripped down his neck and through his cap.

  He had reached Fifty-first Street when he saw a woman struggling along, headed in his direction. The rain was falling harder now, and her clothing was as bedraggled as his own. Coming up even with her, he saw that the weight of the suitcase she carried was pulling her to a starboard list.

  He hesitated for one moment, then stepped up beside her. “That’s a pretty heavy suitcase, ma’am. Can I help you with it, wherever you’re going?”

  The woman had not heard him approach and turned sharply to face him. She was, Amos saw, very young, and there was a hint of fear in her voice as she said quickly, “No! I–I can carry it.”

  “Well—” Amos shrugged and turned to leave.

  He had only gone a few steps when she hailed him. “Please…can you tell me if there’s a rooming house around here?”

  “A rooming house?” Amos wheeled around and stepped back to the girl. “You’re looking for a place to stay?”

  The cold wind whistled around the corner, keening a thin, high note, and the young woman suddenly set her suitcase down and rubbed her aching arm. She wore a cloth coat, faded and shapeless with the weight of the water that had soaked it, and the cloth hat on her head had collapsed, making her look rather ridiculous. But there was nothing ridiculous about the expression on her face, for it was obvious to Amos that she was not only exhausted, but frightened as well. Strands of dark hair had escaped the pins that anchored them, and now fell limply around her oval face. Her eyes were very large and appeared, in the murky darkness, to be as black as a woman’s eyes could be. But at the moment they were filled with apprehension. She had a wide mouth, and her full underlip was trembling so badly, either from fear or fatigue, that she suddenly bit it nervously.

  Seeing her condition, Amos thought quickly, then came to a decision. “Look, you’d better come with me to my boarding house. I don’t know if there’s a room for you, but Mrs. Castellano knows the neighborhood. She can help you. Here…let me carry that. We’ve got to get out of this rain before both of us drown!”

  It may have been the mention of another woman…or perhaps it was the firm way in which Amos snatched up her suitcase and took her arm…but the young woman responded faintly, and with a note of hope, “Thank you.”

  They were still three blocks away from the house, and the downpour grew steadily worse. So by the time Amos had escorted the girl up onto the stoop and was opening the door, they were as wet as if they’d been thrown into the river.

  “I’m Amos Stuart. What’s your name, miss?”

  “Rose Beaumont.”

  The warmth from the house was a relief. As soon as they stepped inside and closed the door, Anna appeared from the direction of the kitchen. “Amos,” she exclaimed, “you’re wet to the skin!”

  “Yeah, I am. Mama Anna, this is Miss Rose Beaumont. She needs a room.”

  Anna leveled one look at the girl’s soggy form, and took charge, fussing over her. “Look at you!” she scolded. Taking Rose by the arm, she hauled her off toward her own bedroom, which was on the first floor. Over her shoulder she threw Amos a withering glance. “Well don’t just stand-a there! Bring-a the poor girl’s suitcase!”

  He grinned and followed obediently, depositing the suitcase in Anna’s bedroom.

  The heavy woman snatched it from him, then shoved him toward the door. “Get yourself outta those wet clothes! You wanna get sick?”

  Amos shrugged, calling back as Anna pushed him outside and slammed the door, “Nice to meet you, Miss Beaumont!”

  Anna turned to the girl who was standing motionless in the center of the room. “You get-a yourself dried off and into something warm,” she commanded brusquely, digging out a thick towel from the drawer of an ancient oak chest. “Dry your hair good, yes? I come back and get-a you when it’s time-a to eat.”

  “I–I don’t have much money—”

  Anna gave an expressive shrug and said with disdain, “You gotta eat, no?”

  As the door closed behind her, Rose Beaumont stared blankly at it, then without warning, her shoulders began to shake and her eyes burned with hot tears she could keep back no longer. Blindly she moved to the bed, slipped to the floor, and pressed her face against the coverlet, muffling the sounds of her weeping.

  Taking a deep breath, Rose came to her feet and wiped her tears away with the towel Anna had left. Then she opened the sodden suitcase, took out dry clothes, and put them on the bed. After glancing toward the door, she stripped to the skin, dried quickly, and donned fresh underwear and a plain brown dress. She had not slept in two nights, and the warmth and comfort of dry clothes soon combined to produce a delicious drowsiness. But she shook off the temptation to sleep and began to dry her hair.

  Standing in front of the mirror, she pulled out the pins, and her hair fell to her waist in thick waves, raven black. When it was as dry as she could get it, she got her comb and brush from her suitcase. As she brushed the long tresses, she tried desperately to think, but her mind seemed drugged, she was so tired.

  Rose’s arms grew weary, and as she coiled her hair into braids, then pinned it into a halo, she began hoping that the woman called Anna would have a place for her. She dreaded the thought of going out into the cold and wet again. But did she have enough money? The thought of the slender packet of bills—less than ten dollars—floated before her, and a choking fear rose in her throat.

>   Rose closed the suitcase and set it on the floor. It was in her mind to go outside and talk to Mrs. Castellano, but her legs were too weak to support her. I’ll sit down and think about what to say, she decided. Maybe I can help with the housework and cooking to pay for my room and board—

  Sinking down on the faded and rather lumpy upholstered chair by the window, she stared out at the rain, which fell in slanting lines. The darkness was complete now, and the yellow gaslight just outside was an orange globe of light, a luminous cloud. There was something hypnotic about the warmth of the room, and she closed her eyes, leaning back with her head against the chair. The rain made a silvery tattoo on the glass, like the brush of angel wings, she thought.

  Without willing them, memories came trooping into her mind, like specters. She thought of her home, the dingy little border town in Texas. It had been a prison to her since early childhood, and she had always disliked the sterile desert and the tawdry streets. But now there was a certain nostalgia in the memory. At least I had a place there!

  There was no place for her in that town now. Her only tie had been her mother—and the thought of her mother brought a stab of grief, sharp and keen. Maria, half Spanish and half Irish, had not been a good woman. Rose had known that much for a long time. A hard drinker, she could not say no to men—a trait which had brought her many beatings from her husband Earl, a slab-sided, pale-eyed man with a cruel mouth.

  The vision of her stepfather brought an involuntary shiver to the girl. He had been prevented from actually molesting her, Rose knew, only by her mother’s dire threats. The very first time Maria caught Earl at it, she had waited until he was asleep and poured scalding water over his chest. He had been so badly burned that it had been two weeks before he recovered enough to take his revenge. Then he had grabbed Maria and hit her.

  “Go ahead,” she said, glaring up at him. “Beat me half to death. But sooner or later I’ll get well and I’ll catch you asleep, and then I’ll pour the scalding water on your face!”

  Earl had not beaten her, for he understood that his wife would do exactly as she promised. Maria had added, “Touch Rose one more time, and you’ll have to feel your way around…because your eyes will be burned out!”

  Rose thought of the years after that, when she had felt her stepfather’s pale eyes following her. Mercifully, he had been restrained by his knowledge that Maria would scald him if he bothered her.

  Just then a bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the room for an instant, then the thunder cracked, seeming to shake the very foundation of the house. Rose shrank back in the chair and remembered her mother’s funeral, for two weeks ago, it had been interrupted by a thunderstorm just like this one. Her funeral—only two weeks ago!

  Rose seemed to see her mother’s fresh grave, turning slowly to mud as the rain-soaked men shoveled in the dirt. And at once her unwilling mind formed another image of the episode three days later, when her stepfather had come to her room late at night. She seemed to hear the sound of his footsteps again, to hear the door creaking open. And then his voice whispering to her before his groping hands had found her.

  She had screamed and rolled out of the bed, then run wildly toward the door. He had been so drunk he had missed the grab he made at her. Then, when he tried to take the stairs two at a time in pursuit of the terrified girl, he had fallen headlong. Rose had seen him bang his head on the tread, then laboriously crawl to his feet. She could never forget how he had stared at her with his loose mouth and wild eyes. “Go on—run! But I’ll get you! I’ll get you—!”

  He had lumbered off and fallen into a drunken coma, and Rose had crept back to her room, dressed, and packed a suitcase.

  She had saved a little money, enough for a one-way fare to New York. It had been a desperate venture, for all she had was a name and an old letter from her mother’s half-sister who lived in New York. Rose had never met the woman, but she was the only relative she could run to. So she had come to the city with a few dollars and a tattered envelope with her aunt’s name and address.

  Bitterness scored the girl’s lips as she closed her eyes, for the thought of her “aunt” was still rank. She had found the woman, but it had been worse than Texas. Her mother’s sister was living with a man, keeping him by her earnings from hustling drunks at a local saloon. After one look, Rose had turned and fled, not even telling the woman who she was.

  She had stayed for one night in a cheap hotel, another in the train station. It had been dangerous, for men approached her constantly, forcing her to flee. A kindly policeman had answered her inquiry for a section of the city where she might find a cheap room, and it had taken all her strength to get as far as she did before the rain caught her.

  The rain pattered on, and she thought of the young man who had come to her aid…what was his name? Amos something. She was surprised that she had trusted him. But he hadn’t been like the others…not like them at all—

  She dropped off to sleep sitting bolt upright, but jerked spasmodically when a hand touched her shoulder. “Well, now, you fall asleep, eh?”

  “Oh!” Rose leapt out of her chair, looked around wildly, then smiled sheepishly. “I–I guess I did.”

  “You come-a with me.” Anna led Rose out of the bedroom. When they entered the dining room, Rose flushed as every eye turned toward her. “This is Miss Rose,” Anna announced. “Don’t be bothering her, you hear me? Let-a her eat!”

  Rose was extremely grateful for Anna’s warning, for she had no desire to talk to anyone. Slipping into the chair between a boy of about six and another somewhat younger, she kept her eyes down, looking up only when necessary. She noted the good-looking young man sitting next to Amos and the two young women who were devouring their food. She herself ate the spaghetti, beets, and cabbage slowly not because she had no appetite, but because she didn’t want to appear greedy.

  The conversation flowed around her, and once she looked up to find Amos watching her. “Better than getting soaked, isn’t it, Miss Rose?”

  “Oh, yes!” she answered, and gave him a brief smile. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along, Mr. Stuart.”

  Nick, too, had been eyeing the girl openly, impressed by her good looks. When Amos told him of the incident, he had failed to mention her smooth olive skin, the fine sweep of her cheeks, the black hair, and especially the lustrous black eyes, which she kept downcast. What a pippin! Nick thought. Wish I’d been the knight in armor to rescue this one!

  Aloud he asked, “You been in New York long, Miss Rose?” He ignored his mother’s frown and when Rose replied that she’d only arrived a short time before, he nodded. “Well, you’ll have to let me show you around. A pretty girl like you has no business walking around this burg alone.”

  Rose smiled briefly, but made no answer. To head off Nick’s approach after the meal, she made a beeline for Anna. “Mrs. Castellano, could I talk with you for a minute…alone?”

  “Yes. Nick, you help Mary Elizabeth with the dishes.”

  “Aw, Ma!”

  “Come on, Nick.” Amos grinned. “I’ll help, too.”

  When Anna and Rose had achieved some privacy in the small parlor, the young woman faced the older one. “Mrs. Castellano, I don’t have very much money and I don’t know anyone in New York.” Rose lifted her head, and a rosy blush colored her cheeks, for she was shamed at having to beg. “I–I’m strong and used to hard work. If you’d let me stay here until I find a job, I’ll help you with the housework and the cooking.”

  Anna admired the young woman’s spirit, but was troubled. “Rose, I no gotta place for you.”

  “Oh, please! Just a place on the floor in here! Don’t make me go—”

  Anna, with her tender heart, could not bear the sight of the girl’s tears. “Now, wait,” she said quickly. “I don’t have-a no more rooms, but if you don’t mind sharing an old woman’s room—”

  “Oh, no!” Rose made an impulsive move to hug Anna, and the woman melted.

  �
��You gotta some trouble, Rose? You stay with us. The good Lord, he knows how to fix it!” She held the girl, made motherly noises as Rose clung to her. At last she gently moved away. “You go to bed now, child. Tomorrow we talk.”

  Rose nodded, grateful she didn’t have to face the rest of the family or the boarders.

  She went at once to the room, accompanied by Anna, who turned back the covers. “You gotta warm gown? No? You wear one of mine.” She smiled to see the girl’s slim form. “It’ll be big enough for you, I think!”

  Ten minutes later, Rose lay buried in the thick feather bed and felt her tense muscles beginning to relax. She tried to stay awake, but the rain, still falling, danced on the window, and the last thing she remembered was the round, kindly face of Anna Castellano.

  6

  ENCOUNTER AT THE WORLD THEATER

  Amos, saddle Prince!” James McClendon said, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “The secretary of the Navy, Theodore Roosevelt, is coming with a party…we’ll need to saddle every horse that can walk!”

  Amos had never seen the little Scotsman so worked up, and he threw himself into the task. By the time the three big carriages drew up, he’d harried the other hands into action so that nearly every animal was saddled. He himself held Prince’s reins, for the big gelding was subject to uncertain behavior.

  The owner of the stable, Mr. Harold Greenlee, was an ardent student of politics and an equally enthusiastic supporter of Theodore Roosevelt. He walked with the secretary from the carriages to the yard, leading an entourage of a dozen or so.

  Greenlee spoke to the manager at once. “Are the horses ready, James?”

  “Aye, they are, sir.”

  “Greenlee, I want the liveliest mount in your stable!” The secretary of the Navy spoke in a rapid, rather high-pitched voice. He was, Amos noted, of no great height but gave the impression of tremendous strength. Amos had read of his passion for boxing and hunting and horses, and now as McClendon said, “Bring Prince up, Stuart,” he stepped forward.