A Bright Tomorrow Read online

  Roosevelt stared at the animal, then grinned. The secretary had big, square teeth, and his eyes gleamed behind his spectacles. “Fine-looking animal,” he exclaimed, then took the reins from Amos. He swung into the saddle with practiced ease, and as Prince took a quick step to the side, Roosevelt pulled him up sharply. He winked at Amos. “A little of the Devil in this one, eh?”

  Amos nodded. “Right, sir. Watch him…he’ll try to rake you off on the fence.”

  “Will he? Bully! I like a horse with spirit.” He nodded, adding, “Thanks for the tip, young man!” Then he kicked Prince with his heels and shot out of the yard at a hard run.

  The rest of the party were still trying to mount up, and for a few minutes, Amos and McClendon were busy getting them all into the saddle.

  One of the party, a woman, stood back, giving the mount Amos held for her a rather skeptical look. “I’m not a very good rider,” she admitted. “Is this one gentle?”

  Amos had been too busy to give the woman more than a passing glance. Now he did so. She was young, no more than twenty-one, and very attractive. Light brown hair, dark brown eyes, a trim figure. “Well, miss—” Amos hesitated. “Thunder’s a good horse, but a bit of a handful at times.”

  “Oh, dear!”

  Amos saw her distress and quickly attempted to put her at ease. “I could get you a gentle animal, miss.”

  “Would you?” The woman’s relieved smile came at once. “I think that might be better.” When Amos led Thunder toward the line of stables, she fell into step beside him. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”

  “No trouble, miss,” Amos replied. “Won’t take but a second, and Lady will give you no problem.” He tied Thunder and led the small mare out of the stall.

  As he put the saddle on, the young woman laughed shortly. “I’m not really a part of the secretary’s party. I guess I’m a party-crasher.” Seeing Amos’s look of surprise, she smiled and introduced herself. “My name is Virginia Powers. I’m a reporter for the Journal.”

  Amos had cinched the saddle and was slipping the bridle on, but at her announcement, he stopped dead still and turned to stare at the young woman.

  She laughed then, a delightful tinkling sound, and gave him a roguish look. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “She doesn’t look like a reporter!”

  Amos was forced to smile. He shrugged, continuing to fasten the bridle. “To be truthful, I didn’t know there were any women reporters. But I guess that’s about the best job in the whole world.”

  Struck by Amos’s comment, Virginia Powers narrowed her gaze. “You think so? Are you interested in becoming a writer?”

  Amos nodded but didn’t elaborate, saying only, “Let me help you up, Miss Powers.” He waited until she approached, and when she stood beside him, noticed that she was pale. A thought occurred to him. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”

  “No…and I’m scared to death of that beast!”

  Amos stared at her, then shook his head. “You don’t have to ride, do you?”

  “Yes!” An intense determination fueled Virginia Powers, one that did not hide her fear, however. She took a deep breath and then looked up at Amos. “I’m not actually a reporter…not yet anyway,” she confessed. “William Randolph Hearst is my uncle. Do you know who he is?”

  “Yes, Miss Powers,” Amos answered. “I’ve read a lot about him.”

  Everybody in New York knew about the man who had dropped like a bombshell into the life of the city. Hearst had used his family fortune to buy the New York Journal and had started a crusade to make it the most successful newspaper in the country. These tactics included the use of enormous black headlines, colored paper, full-page editorials, illustrations, and colorful cartoons. The rivalry between Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer for supremacy in the newspaper world had become so heated that almost everyone in the state kept up with it.

  Virginia shrugged her shoulders and her lips grew firm. “It’s like you thought…there aren’t any women reporters. But I kept after my uncle until last week he finally agreed to give me a chance.” She eyed the mare with apprehension. “He said if I could get an interview with Mr. Roosevelt, he’d put me on the staff…so, you see, I’ve just got to get on that horse!”

  “You can do it, Miss Powers,” Amos said quickly. “Look, let me help you on, and I’ll ride right beside you, all right?”

  “Oh, would you?” Virginia’s smile was brilliant. “What’s your name?”

  “Amos Stuart. Now, put your foot in my hand…that’s it—” She was a small woman, and he lifted her slowly and carefully upward. “Just put your leg over the saddle. That’s it. See how steady Lady is? Now take the reins and let me get mounted—” Amos quickly swung into his saddle and brought Thunder around beside the mare. “Just touch Lady with your heels, and she’ll move along. But don’t be afraid. She’s too old and sedate to do anything so vulgar as running away.”

  Virginia sat in the saddle, spine rigid and face pale, expecting the worst. But before they had gone more than a dozen yards, she exclaimed, “Why, this is easy!”

  Amos led the horses out of the yard, and soon they were trotting beneath the trees that overhung the bridle path. The young woman was so delighted with her progress that Amos was pleased.

  As she relaxed, she began to talk about her plan to get the secretary off to one side for at least a few minutes. “Just that much would be enough for Uncle William.”

  Amos shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t know, Miss Powers. The secretary rides like a cowboy—which they say he is. Be quite a trick to catch up with him on Lady.”

  But Amos had underestimated this headstrong female. Virginia Powers came from a wealthy family, where she had gotten her own way more often than not. She was, moreover, a very attractive young woman who had learned how to handle men. She turned to Amos, studying his lean form, and his rugged good looks. “Amos, if you’ll help me corner Roosevelt…maybe I can get my uncle to give you a job on the Journal.”

  Amos looked dubious. “I don’t have enough education for that, but I’ll help you if I can.” He smiled at her, unaware of how appealing he was, with his ash-blond hair falling over his forehead and his dark blue eyes shining. “Look, there’s one stretch of the bridle path that’s different. It’s so overgrown that nobody can do more than walk his horse through. Let’s go, and we’ll waylay the secretary there.”

  Anticipation brought a glow to Virginia’s face, and she agreed at once. “Oh, Amos…let’s do it!”

  He led her to the uncleared section. “We’ll pull back into the trees,” he explained. “I’ll keep an eye out, and when Mr. Roosevelt comes along, we’ll step in front of him. The path is too narrow for him to pass both of us…so you’ll have a few minutes to talk to him.”

  As they waited, Virginia began to question Amos, and despite his reticence, she had soon pried his life story out of him.

  He laughed. “You’ll be a good reporter. I never told anyone so much about myself in my whole life!” Then he lifted his hand to signal silence and cocked his head toward the path on the left. “It’s him!” he said, excitement in his voice. “And he’s all alone! Come on!”

  Amos brought both horses into the narrow path, just as Roosevelt’s horse approached at a fast trot. “Hullo! Is it you, Miss Powers?” Roosevelt asked in a booming voice.

  Virginia turned in the saddle and smiled sweetly. “Why, Mr. Roosevelt, it’s you! I’m sorry, but I’m such a poor rider that I had to ask this young man to help me.”

  Roosevelt grinned at Amos. “You were exactly right about this horse, young man! He jolly well did try to rake me off!”

  “You ought to be used to that, sir. What Prince did was nothing compared to what some of the city bosses and congressmen have done to scrape you out of the way!”

  His reply delighted Roosevelt. He threw his head back, and his hearty “Haw! Haw!” rocked the woods. “What’s your name, young man?”

  “Amos Stuart.”

  “Well,
Amos, you’re dead right! I’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest…and plan to do worse!” Here the path widened slightly, and Roosevelt brought his horse up beside Amos’s. His small eyes twinkled as he demanded, “And do you think I’ll win an office in the next election?”

  Amos had read much about Roosevelt and had a ready answer. “Well, I don’t think you’ll be secretary of the Navy for long—” Amos waited out the dark scowl that came to Roosevelt’s fleshy lips, before adding, “I think the bosses will get you into the race for president of the United States…just to get rid of you around here.”

  Again, Roosevelt was delighted. He grinned ferociously at the pair. “I’d like that!”

  “Maybe I can help, sir,” Virginia ventured.

  “Help me become president?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m a reporter for the Journal.”

  Roosevelt frowned, distaste in his face. “Not a very dignified paper.”

  “No, but people read it,” Virginia shot back. “And William Randolph Hearst is my uncle…and you’ll have to admit that he could help you!”

  Roosevelt studied the young woman with more care. He had ambition enough for ten Caesars. But unlike most politicians who bray that they are in politics only to help people, Roosevelt really meant it!

  Born into a wealthy family, Roosevelt had been a sickly child. He had determined to become a hard, tough, healthy man, and had made himself so by vigorous exercise and discipline. More recently, he had brought that same fortitude into his political life, fighting his way through the crooked machinery of New York, shouldering his way into the office of New York City Police Commissioner. Success in this post had brought him to the attention of the new president, William McKinley, who had appointed him assistant secretary of the Navy. But everyone knew that this was not Roosevelt’s goal, for he made no secret of the fact that he intended one day to occupy the highest office in the land.

  And Roosevelt knew the power of the printed page. Publishers of popular newspapers such as Joseph Pulitzer’s World and Hearst’s Journal were enormously influential in politics.

  “So…Hearst is your uncle?” Roosevelt asked. “Well, now, what does he think of my new programs?”

  The three rode along, Roosevelt both listening and speaking with enthusiasm, and by the time they got back to the road that led to the stable, Virginia had her story. “You’ll see your views in the Journal tomorrow, Mr. Secretary.”

  “Bully! Bully!” Roosevelt nodded, then cast an inquiring glance at Amos. “Now, Stuart, the truth! Did you show this young woman how to ambush me on the path?”

  Amos nodded. “I’m afraid I did, sir.”

  “You rascal!” Roosevelt laughed. “I like to see a young man with initiative! But if I were you, I’d make Miss Powers buy me a steak for it!”

  Roosevelt galloped off, and when he was gone, Virginia turned to Amos. “I’d like to, Amos,” she said with a warm smile. “Buy you a steak I mean.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

  Virginia stared at him. She was puzzled by his manner, for she was accustomed to the brash assurance of the young men of her set. Stuart was not only attractive in appearance, but something about his modesty pleased her. When he helped her off the mare, she grasped his arm. “I’ve got to go write this interview…and I owe it all to you. Tonight I have to attend a play, so I can review it for the paper. I’ve got two tickets, and you’re taking me.”

  Amos shrugged. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

  Virginia liked him the better for admitting it. “Then get something,” she insisted, and kept on, until Amos finally agreed to meet her at the theater.

  “I guess you’re used to having your own way,” he said. “Well, I’m used to doing what I’m told, so I suppose it’s all right. I’d really like to see a play. I’ve never seen one.”

  “Well, you won’t see much of a play tonight,” Virginia told him. “It’s a real stinker, from what I hear. But we’ll have fun, and afterwards we can get a sandwich or something. You can help me think up bad things to say about it in the review.” She turned and put out her hand. “I’ll see you tonight…and thanks a million, Amos!”

  She left, and later when Amos was putting the horses into their stalls, McClendon stopped by. “Well, he’s something, Secretary Roosevelt, isn’t he?”

  “Sure is,” Amos agreed, but his thoughts were on the problem of what to wear when he met Virginia Powers at the World Theater.

  Amos arrived at the theater at seven, an hour earlier than Virginia had mentioned. He had spent most of the afternoon buying a new suit and the shirt, tie, and shoes to go with it. He had also gotten his hair cut, and as he entered the lobby, was feeling a little disgusted with himself. What a fool I am! Spending all my money on this outfit…when I’ll never come to a fancy place like this again!

  He had convinced himself that Virginia Powers would not even show up. “Just putting me on,” he muttered sourly. He stood with his back against the wall, watching the people stream into the theater. He was a little shocked at the dresses some of the women were wearing. Many of them were in the now-familiar bustles, the trains of their dresses dragging the floor. But others wore the new “sheath” gown, a simple tube made of fabric that reached from the hips to the shoetops. The garment had all the charming contour of a gun barrel, and was so tight that the wearer could not take a long step. Still others wore a type of blouse with holes punched in the fabric. These were made of thin semi-transparent material, and were called “peek-a-boo” blouses, so Amos learned.

  He stared at the hairstyles, not knowing that the one he disliked most was called a Psyche knot, created by folding back the woman’s long hair upon itself and giving it various twists until it stood in a short club-like protuberance behind or above the head. Amos thought he’d never seen anything uglier, and hoped that none of his sisters ever appeared in public in such a getup.

  By eight o’clock he was ready to leave, convinced he’d been tricked, but at that moment Virginia came through the door. She looked around the room, her eyes falling on him, but she showed no sign of recognition. Doesn’t even know me! Amos thought bitterly. He moved toward her, and when he was five feet away, he saw her eyes open wide and her hand go to her breast in a gesture of shock.

  “Why, Amos!” she whispered. “I didn’t know you!” She looked at him, taking in the lean figure, enhanced by the trim gray wool suit, the shiny black shoes, the well-shaped cut of his hair. “Clothes do make the man!” she murmured, shaking her head. She had been prepared for a rather embarrassing time, expecting Stuart to come in a cheap suit, his hair ragged and unkempt.

  Amos could see that she was pleasantly surprised. “You look very nice indeed.”

  “So do you, Miss Powers.”

  “Oh, you can’t call me that!” she protested. “I’m Virginia.” She took his arm. “I’m sorry to be late. But we’re just in time for the play.” At her nod, an usher stepped forward and led them down the aisle of the theater.

  The World was neither the largest nor the finest of New York’s many theaters. It had been once but was now surpassed by newer structures. But it was more than adequate, with its enormous crystal chandeliers, its padded seats, and rich-looking purple curtain. Amos sat down next to Virginia, staring at the crowd—then the curtain went up and the play started.

  The play was “The Bride Elect,” starring Christie MacDonald and Frank Pollack. It was a drama, set in Europe, and the colorful costumes dazzled Amos. Not only that, but it was a musical. This too was a source of amazement to him, for he had never heard an orchestra.

  As the play unfolded, Amos found himself caught up in the action, unaware of Virginia’s secret amusement. He’s so innocent, the girl was thinking. It might be fun to make something of him. He looks well enough and he seems bright.

  At the intermission, when they went outside, she smiled at his enthusiasm. “I’m glad you like it, Amos. When it’s over, we can go out and write the review. You can say the good things,
and I’ll say the bad things.”

  But they never wrote that review, for the next act was barely underway when a troop of six young women in beautiful dresses came on and began to sing a number. At her side, Virginia felt Amos stiffen, and when she turned to look at him, she saw that he was not smiling. In fact, he looked ill.

  “What is it, Amos?” she whispered urgently.

  Amos tore his gaze from the stage. She could tell that he was in a state of shock. “That’s–that’s my sister up there!”

  Virginia turned to stare at the stage. “Which one?”

  “The one in the yellow dress.”

  Virginia examined the young woman carefully. “The one you came to New York to find?” she asked, remembering what he had told her earlier. “She’s so beautiful!”

  Amos had not told Virginia the whole story. He had simply said that his sister had run away from home, not mentioning the fact that she had left with a man. Now he said hoarsely, “I’ve got to talk to her!”

  He actually rose, and Virginia was aware that he was going up on the stage! “Wait! You can’t talk to her now! We’ll go backstage after the play. I’ve got an appointment with Christie MacDonald.”

  The play moved along, but Amos heard nothing more. Lylah! He stared at her, unable to believe his eyes. She looked so–so different. Older, somehow, and more alive. He tried to think what he could say to her when they met, but his mind was still reeling. He was so confused that, when the curtain came down, and the actors took their bows, he was unprepared for Virginia’s suggestion. “Come on, Amos. We’ll go backstage.”

  Still in a daze, Amos let her pull him along and found himself at the side of the big stage, just behind the edge of the curtain. The houselights were up, and he looked down the row of actors and actresses who had gone out to span the stage, bowing at the applause.

  Then the curtain came down, and he saw Lylah. She didn’t notice him at first, since she was laughing and talking with a young woman as she left the stage. As she approached the place where Amos was standing, however, she lifted her eyes and saw him. She stopped dead still; the smile suddenly disappeared from her face, and her lower lip began to tremble.