"PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS," MARGARET USHER SAID BRIGHTLY.
Rix snapped himself back. "Just wandering," he told her, and took another bite of sausage from his breakfast plate. In fact, he'd been thinking about what a gorgeous morning it was; they were sitting on the glass-enclosed breakfast porch at the rear of the Gatehouse, and from here the panorama of the gardens and the western mountain peaks was an unbroken blaze of color. Though it was only eight o'clock, a black gardener in a straw hat was already hard at work, sweeping stray leaves from the field-stone paths that crisscrossed the gardens. Marble statues of cherubs, fauns, and satyrs pranced through the flowers.
The sky was blue and clear. A squadron of ducks flew across Rix's field of view. The breakfast was good, the coffee strong, and Rix had enjoyed a restful sleep after Puddin' had left last night. When he'd taken his vitamins this morning, he'd looked in the mirror and seen that the bags under his eyes didn't look quite as severe. Or was that only his hopeful imagination? Anyway, he felt fine, and even his appetite had picked up, because he was finishing all of his breakfast. He'd missed Cass's cooking in the year that he'd been away.
"I heard Boone come in this morning," Margaret said. Today she wore only a light coating of makeup, to accentuate her cheekbones. "About five, I think it was. You'd be surprised what I can hear when the house is quiet."
"Really?" Instantly, Rix was on guard. Did she mean she'd heard him and Puddin'? Probably not. Her room was at the far end of the hallway, with many rooms between them.
"I can certainly hear Boone and that woman fighting like cats and dogs." She shook her head, her red lips pressed together in disgust. "Oh, I told him not to marry her! I told him he'd be sorry, and you know I'm never wrong. Well, he's sorry all right."
"Why doesn't he divorce her like he did those two others, if he's so unhappy?"
She carefully folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate. A maid came in and began to carry away the dirty dishes. "Because," Margaret said after the maid had gone, "there's no telling what that trollop would say about us if she was let off this estate. She's a drunken little fool, but she's been an Usher now for two years, four months, and twelve days. That's two years longer than either of the others. She knows . . . things about us that might find their way into print if she was allowed to run wild."
"You mean the Malady?"
Margaret's eyes clouded over. "Yes, that. And more. Like how much money we're worth, and what our real-estate holdings are. She knows about the Caribbean island we own, the casino in Monte Carlo, the banks and the other companies. Boone has a mouth as big as a mountain. Can you imagine the headlines if there was a divorce? That little trollop wouldn't accept an out-of-court settlement, like the other two. She'd go straight to the National Enquirer with all sorts of lurid lies."
"And lurid truths?" Rix asked.
"You have a very bad attitude about your family, Rix. You should be proud of who you are, and of the contribution your ancestors have made to this country's survival."
"Right. Well, I've always been the black sheep, haven't I? I think it's too late to act like a star-spangled drummer boy."
"Please don't mention flags," she said coldly. She was remembering, Rix knew, a photograph that had been in several North Carolina newspapers. In it, Rix had been wearing a Jefferson Airplane T-shirt and waving a black flag; his hair was down to his shoulders, and he was walking in the front row of a crowd of Vietnam war demonstrators at the University of North Carolina. The picture had been snapped just minutes before the police waded in to break up their peace rally. Before the fighting was over, nine kids had broken bones and Rix sat in the gutter with a knot the size of a hen's egg on his head, watching a sea of legs flow and ebb around him.
The photograph had also appeared on the front page of the weekly Foxton Democrat, with a circle around Rix's head.
Walen had gone through the roof like a Roman candle.
"You'd do well to study the achievements of your ancestors," Margaret suggested. Rix listened politely, with no trace of surprise on his face. "They'd teach you a thing or two about family pride."
"And just how would I go about doing that, pray tell?"
She shrugged. "You might start by reading some of those books that Walen brought from the Lodge's library. He's been studying the family documents for the past three months."
"What?" Rix's heart gave a kick.
"Family documents. That's what Walen had the servants bring out of the Lodge. Dozens of old ledgers and diaries and things, from the collection of family records. There's a library in the Lodge's basement with thousands of them. I've never seen it, of course, but Edwin's told me about it."
Rix was stunned. Family documents? Right here in the Gatehouse? "I thought you said you didn't know what those books were."
"Well, I don't know exactly what they are, or why Walen's been reading them. But I do know they came from the Lodge's library."
"You saw them?" Steady, he told himself. Don't act too interested!
"Of course I saw them. I was here the morning they were brought in. Some of them are so mildewed they smell like dead fish."
My God, Rix thought. He leaned his chin on his hand to keep from grinning. Family documents in the Gatehouse library! He'd hoped he could find something in there worth his attention, but this was a godsend! No, hold on a minute. There was a rip in the silver lining. "The library's locked," he reminded her. "Even if I wanted to browse through those old books, I couldn't get in, could I?"
"Well, Walen has insisted that he wants it kept locked. But, of course, Edwin has the set of master keys. We do have to get in to dust and vacuum, don't we? If we didn't, the smell of mildew from that room would take over the house." She blinked suddenly, and Rix knew she was thinking about Walen's reek. "That was a nice breakfast, wasn't it?" she asked, recovering quickly. "Boone's going to be sorry he missed it."
Rix was about to ask her more about the Lodge's basement library when he heard a faint, steady whining sound. Birds burst from the trees. The whining noise grew louder. He looked toward the sky as a gleaming silver Bell Jetcopter streaked over the Gatehouse, circled slowly, and then settled down out of sight on the helipad.
"Oh, that might be your sister!" Margaret rose from her chair, craning to see. "Kattrina's home!" she trilled.
But it wasn't Katt who came up the pathway. There were two men, one wearing a military uniform and the other in a dark business suit. The one in the business suit wore sunglasses and carried a black briefcase.
"It's just them again," Margaret said, sitting down. She sighed softly. "They're here to see Walen."
The two men walked briskly through the gardens, then around the Gatehouse toward the front entrance.
"Who are they?" Rix asked.
"One's from the Pentagon. I think you've met him before, but maybe not. General McVair. The other man is Mr. Meredith, from the armaments plant. Dr. Francis told your father he should have absolute rest, but Walen doesn't listen." She smiled at Rix, but her eyes were vacant. "When your father pulls out of this thing, we're going on a vacation. Perhaps to Acapulco. That would be lovely in January, don't you think?"
"Yes," he said, watching her carefully, "it would be."
"It's sunny all the time in Acapulco. Your father needs a nice vacation. He needs to get out in the sun and laugh."
"Excuse me." Rix stood up. "I think I might take a walk. Enjoy the fresh air."
"It's a lovely day for a walk, isn't it? You could go for a horseback ride, if you like."
"I'll find something to do. Thanks for the breakfast." He left his mother sitting on the porch; he couldn't bear the realization that she was living in a twilight world of false hopes and dreams, waiting for her husband to kick off the shroud and dance down the staircase like Fred Astaire. Her next trip would be to the Usher cemetery, on the eastern edge of the estate.
But right now he wanted to find Edwin. He wanted to get that master key and see for himself what was beyond the library's door. He'd have to be very careful; he didn't want anyone knowing what he intended to do, and now he regretted even telling Cass about it. If Walen ever got a hint he was going to shake some Usher coffins, the documents would be whisked back to the Lodge's basement. He stopped a maid and asked if she'd seen Edwin, but she told him she hadn't.
Rix went out of the Gatehouse. The sparkling air smelled like a fine, crisp white wine. Edwin might be any of a dozen places on the estate, commanding the hundred routine duties that went on every day. He walked through the gardens, taking the pathway that would lead him past the tennis courts to the Bodane house.
He passed the garage, a long, low stone structure with ten wooden doors that each slid upward to allow a car into its separate stall. At one time the garage had housed Usher carriages and coaches; now it held Boone's red Ferrari, Katt's pink Maserati, the new limo, a second limo in case the first had mechanical trouble, a red '57 Thunderbird, a robin's-egg-blue '52 Cadillac, a white '48 Packard, a gray '32 Duesenberg, a Stutz Bearcat, and a Model T Ford in perfect condition. Those, anyway, were the cars that were in there the last time Rix had looked; the assemblage might have been upgraded during the past year.
The Bodane house, tiny compared to the Gatehouse, but itself a two-story Victorian manor, was tucked back amid the trees. Next to it was a small white garage that held the Bodanes' Chevy station wagon. Rix walked up the steps to the front door and pressed the buzzer.
The door opened. Edwin stood there, capless, but wearing his uniform. "Rix," he said, and smiled - but there was pain in his eyes. "Please come in."
"I'm glad I caught you." Rix entered the house. At once a wave of nostalgia crashed over him. This house, like his bedroom, hadn't changed a bit: the walls were of softly glowing wood, adorned with samplers and needlepoint that Cass had done; the parlor floor was covered by a burgundy rug - threadbare in places - trimmed in gold; cozy, overstuffed chairs and a sofa were arranged around a red brick hearth where a small fire flickered; above the hearth was a wreath made of pine cones and acorns. The parlor's two large bay windows looked directly toward the Gatehouse.
Rix had sat on that rug and dreamed before the hearth, while Cass read him stories, either Aesop's Fables or Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales. Cass could break your heart with "The Brave Tin Soldier," or make you laugh at the greedy fox who wanted all the grapes. Edwin made the best hot chocolate in the world, and his hand on your shoulder felt as strong as courage. Where had all the years gone, Rix wondered, as he looked around the parlor. What had happened to the little boy who sat in front of that fireplace with dreams in his eyes?
He had been swept into the furnace of reality with his ballerina bride, and all that remained was scorched metal.
"Did you want me for something?" Edwin asked, breaking the spell.
"Yes, I - " Something on the mantel caught his attention. He walked across the rug to it, and stood staring at a small framed photograph of himself at about seven or eight, wearing a suit and a bow tie, with his hair slicked back. On either side of him, holding his hands and smiling, were a much younger Edwin and Cass. A servant had taken that picture, he recalled. It was done on a hot July day - his birthday! His father and mother had gone to Washington on business, and taken Boone with them. Edwin and Cass had hosted a birthday party for him, inviting all the servants' children and Rix's friends from his private school in Asheville. He picked up the photograph and looked closely at it. Everyone was so happy then. The world was happy. There were no wars, or rumors of wars. No black banners or demonstrations or police riot batons. Life was stretched out like a red carpet.
"I'd forgotten about this," Rix said softly. He looked from one face to the next, as Edwin came up behind him. Three happy people with linked hands, Rix thought. But there was another presence in the picture, something he'd never realized before.
Over Rix's left shoulder, jutting above the full summer trees, was one of the Lodge's towering chimneys. The Lodge had crashed his birthday party without his even knowing it.
Rix returned the photograph to its place on the mantel. "I'd like to get the library key from you," he said, turning away from the hearth. "Dad's offered me the use of the materials in there."
"Do you mean . . . the documents that your father brought out of the Lodge?"
"Actually, I'm just looking for something about Wales. And coal mining." Rix smiled. He felt his insides writhe. If there was anything on earth he hated to do, it was to lie to Edwin Bodane; but he feared that Edwin, out of loyalty to Walen, would balk at giving him the key if Rix told him the real reason. "Do you think there's anything in the library on coal mines?"
"There should be." He was searching Rix's eyes, and for a few seconds Rix felt that Edwin was seeing right through him. "I think there's a book on every subject under the sun in there." Then he crossed the room to a shelf with a number of clay jars on it. One was marked CARS, another GROUNDSKEEPING, a third HOUSEHOLD, a fourth RECREATION - and the final three jars were all marked LODGE. He took the HOUSEHOLD jar down, opened it, and brought out a large ring of keys in all sizes and shapes. He found the key he wanted and started working it off the ring "What's your next book idea about? Wales?" he asked.
"That's where it's going to be set. It's about - don't laugh, now - vampires who live down in the old coal mines." Lie was following lie.
"Lord!" Edwin said. An amused grin spread across his pliable features. "How in the world did you come up with that one?"
Rix shrugged. "That I can't tell you. Anyway, I've just started my research. It might work out, or it might not."
Edwin got the key off, returned the ring to the jar, and placed the jar on the shelf. As he offered it to Rix, he said quietly, "Cass told me, Rix."
Oh Christ! "She did, huh?"
"Yes. We talked about it last night."
"Okay, then," Rix said. "What's your opinion?"
Edwin frowned. "Opinion? Well, if you put it that way, my opinion is that Logan will do a fine job, once he teams some patience and discipline."
"Logan?"
"That's who we're talking about, isn't it? Cass told me last night that she let you know about our retirement. I was going to tell you myself, on the ride from the airport, but I didn't want to burden you with anything else."
Rix slipped the key into his trouser pocket, relieved. "In other words, he's impatient and undisciplined?"
"Logan is a young man," Edwin answered diplomatically. "He doesn't put a high value on responsibility yet." He stepped past Rix to straighten the photograph on the mantel. "He doesn't quite understand the meaning of tradition. One generation of Bodanes building for the next, ever since Hudson Usher hired a mountain man named Whitt Bodane as an assistant grounds-keeper. Within four years, Whitt was Usherland's chief of staff. I'd hate to see that long tradition disrupted."
"So you think you can teach a nineteen-year-old boy everything you know?"
"When I began as chief of staff, Usherland employed more than three hundred servants. Now there are fewer than eighty. I'm not saying he won't make mistakes. Maybe I'm not even saying that I'm certain he'll work out. But I'm going to do my damnedest to make Logan understand the importance of that tradition."
"I can't wait to meet him," Rix said with something less than enthusiasm.
"Good." Edwin glanced at his gold pocket watch. "I was just cleaning his room upstairs. I'm to pick him up in an hour, at Robert's farm. I could use the company, if you'd like to go."
Rix wanted to get into that library, but his curiosity burned about the young man who was to take Edwin's place. He decided it would be too risky to search through the documents in broad daylight. They could wait until night. "All right," he agreed. "I'll go."
Edwin took his cap from a hatstand in the foyer and put it on. Then he and Rix went out into the warm morning sunlight, got into the tan station wagon, and drove away from Usherland.