Part 3 (1/2)
”We'd better stop and unload Mr. Lange here,” Caleb said to Jon Maddocks.
I must have made some involuntary sound of protest because Hillary reached back to touch my knee. ”I'll be fine, Laurie, and so will you. I'll see you early tomorrow. It's better not to spring me on your grandmother until you've had a chance to get acquainted with her.”
”I'll come in with you for a moment,” I said as Jon got out to help Hillary with his bags. ”I'd like to see the hotel.”
Caleb came with us. A board sidewalk in good repair fronted the building, which was set slightly above the street, with three steps to mount. There was even a narrow porch, painted white like the rest, and for the moment empty of chairs. Wide double doors stood open, and when Caleb motioned to us I stepped into an older world.
Outside there was still considerable dilapidation and neglect, 45.for all the effort that was being made, but here the good-sized lobby was perfect in its restoration. Furnis.h.i.+ngs of Victorian sofas and pedestal tables had been installed, and the carpet wore large cabbage roses in its pattern. If the red velvet draperies at every long window were modern synthetics, one would never know. The gold cords that tied them back were untarnished, and again undoubtedly synthetic. On the wall had been hung prints of Remington paintings and photographs of famous Colorado mining towns-Telluride and Cripple Creel; in their past glory. Mark Ingram, whatever else he was, had renovated well.
A room opened off the lobby, and I glimpsed the long mahogany bar with the picture of a reclining and scantily dressed lady above it, and a bra.s.s spittoon at each end. Small table; were set about the room, and a few patrons from among the workers in the town had wandered in, to be served by a florid gentleman in s.h.i.+rt sleeves, vest, and flowing mustache, who moved with a.s.surance against a background of mirrors and bottle-filled shelves. This, too, was authentic. And at the same time synthetic and only make-believe. Was this the way to recover the past? I didn't know.
At the far end of the room was a small stage, empty now, with its crimson curtains looped back in folds at either side. All was ready for the performance that would begin whenever a tourist audience appeared. Or a movie company with attendant crews and actors.
Behind me Jon Maddocks set down Hillan 's bags, and as I turned I caught his sardonic look and sensed that he liked the refurbis.h.i.+ng no better than I did. But when I gave him an uncertain smile, he merely looked past me and followed Caleb and Hillary toward the handsome black walnut desk in the lobbj. There a middle-aged woman with unlikely red hair greeted us, nodded to Jon, and then regarded me with frank interest as I moved to join the men.
She, at least, had not yet been renovated to match the period furnis.h.i.+ngs. Her well-worn jeans made no attempt to hide generous proportions, and a red sweater with snagged sleeves fitted her snugly.
”Mr. Lange,” Caleb said, ”this is Mrs. Durant. Belle, Mr. Lange is here from New York. He may move over to Mrs. Morgan's later, but he will stay here for tonight. Miss Morgan, this is Mrs. Durant.”
”Belle,” she corrected, giving me the full regard of warm brown eyes that seemed naturally cheerful. ”n.o.body calls me anything but Belle.”
Her voice was oddly harsh and unmusical, a little hoa.r.s.e, as though she might be more accustomed to shouting across a field than to speaking decorously indoors.
”So you're the long-lost granddaughter?” she added.
Since women usually forgot me once they'd seen Hillary, 1 knew it was only burning curiosity that made her look at me so intently.
”I didn't know I was lost, but I'm Laurie Morgan,” I said.
”Morgan used to be a big name around here. How do you feel about coming back after all this time?”
”Morgan is still an important name,” Caleb corrected, saving me the need of answering. ”Miss Morgan was a small child when she left, so she doesn't remember Jasper very well.”
Belle Durant smiled at him-a rather knowing smile, as though she didn't especially care for him. Then she turned to Hillary.
”You want to look at the room before you move in, Mr. Lange? There's only one other guest right now, so you can have your pick. Mr. Ingram hasn't got things going yet.”
”Whatever you have will be fine,” Hillary said, and turned upon her the same look of smiling interest that he gave everyone he met. I could almost see her melt.
”Come along,” she said. ”I'll take you up.”
47.Jon Maddocks had moved to the door, his back to us indifferently, though I had again the curious sense that he missed nothing.
For a moment I clung to Hillary's arm, suddenly aware that I was losing an anchor. He kissed me warmly and unselfconsciously. ”You'll be all right, honey. Don't forget that you're the one who is doing your grandmother a favor by coming here. I'll see if I can storm the palace early tomorrow.”
”Early” might not be before noon, I knew, since Hillary had the actor's habit of rising late. A long stretch of hours without him lay ahead of me, but I managed to smile with makebelieve confidence. I had to learn to lean on myself and no one else. I'd better get on with it.
Hillary carried his bags toward the stairs at the rear of the lobby and went up them in Belle's wake. Tien they'd gone, I followed Caleb out to the jeep. Jon was already in the driver's seat, and Caleb and I got in back again. Once more overjoyed that I had reappeared, Red waited for me.
”Do you remember anything at all about the town?” Caleb asked as we b.u.mped along the narrow street, slowing to let a man with a ladder cross ahead of us.
I shook my head. ”Some of the fronts seem familiar.”
Behind the buildings on our left the next parallel street dropped to a lower level, and beyond that the mountain pitched off into the steep cliffs of the canyon. I seemed aware of the general topography without an}” clear view out the windows. Above on the right the mountain rose a thousand feet, with only two more parallel streets carved along its side. The town was stretched thinly along this narrow ledge between mountain height and the drop-off to the stream below, which undoubtedly accounted for the fact that it hadn't sprawled out like other boom towns.
We drove slowly over ruts in broken pavement. At least the road had been paved at one time and wasn't covered by the *
original mud. I tried to still a rising sense of anxiety as we neared my grandmother's house, reminding myself that I was no longer the child who had left here twenty years ago and there was no reason to be engulfed by fears I should long since have outgrown. There was nothing real to worry aboutyet I went right on worrying.
”There's Morgan House ahead,” Caleb said. ”People around here used to call it the Silver Castle. In honor of the mines, of course. But after her father died, your grandmother took over, and she would allow no other name but Morgan House. It's still pretty impressive.”
It didn't look quite as overwhelming to me as it had when I was small, yet I was immediately and irrationally terrified of every inch of it.
”Please stop,” I called to Jon Maddocks. ”Could we wait just a moment before we go on? I want to-to get used to this again.”
He braked the jeep on a street that had emptied of activity at this end.
Caleb glanced at me uneasily. ”Are you all right?”
I wasn't all right, but I couldn't explain. I sat staring at that intimidating house rising ahead of us out of long mountain shadows. This was no frame house, but a mansion built solidly of red brick. Wooden posts ran around a wide porch that surrounded two sides and the front of the house, holding up the extended roof of the porch. Above, set back from the porch, all the windows of the two upper stories were arched with brick horseshoe frames. Wide brick steps rose to the porch, and an arched gla.s.s door stood closed and unrevealing at the top. The house sat at right angles to the street, arrogantly blocking any access from the town to whatever land lay beyond. From four round windows its central tower looked commandingly out upon Jasper and the mountains. Across the front of the property, and disappearing around the sides, ran a chain link fence, 4C.
astonis.h.i.+ng in this setting, and obviously intended to repulst intruders.
By today's standards perhaps it was an ordinary house, foursquare and without much grace or beauty, yet it demanded respect. Occupying a place where the land narrowed, it domi nated Jasper to a greater degree than the larger Timberline or Opera House, and to me ft gave no welcome. Its staring windows seemed to focus upon me, rejecting, blaming. Blaming for what?
”You can see Ingram's problem,” Caleb said.
That wasn't what I'd been considering, and I gave myself an inward shake back into reality.
”Yes,” I said. ”I begin to understand.”
”As things are now, the town can't grow an inch,” he went on. ”It never could because of the Morgans. It has gone up and down as far as possible, while all the remaining desirable land lies beyond your grandmother's house-thousands of acres, owned by her. Ingram wants to commercialize Jasper, turn it into a tourist attraction, and only your grandmother stands in his way. She's rich enough to fight him. But too old. Right now he's trying to scare her out-and maybe he'll succeed.”
”I don't see why she wants to fight,” I pondered. ”Why would anyone want to stay in a place like this?”
In the front seat Jon Maddocks made a sound of disagreement, a derisive sound. I seemed to be endearing myself to him less and less.
”Let's go on,” Caleb said curtly. ”You'll have to ask your grandmother yourself, Miss Morgan. I've done my best to persuade her to move out. It's pointless to stay.”
”Why should she move out if she wants to stay?” Jon Maddocks demanded, and I wondered again about him. Who was he? What role did he play in the Morgan scheme of things? A hired ranch hand who told off the family attorney?
Caleb gave me a thoughtful look. ”Ingram's not a man to 5.
cross swords with. He's enormously powerful, wealthy, and he does what he sets out to do. One sick old woman isn't going to stand in his way for long. I'm sure he could be vindictive if she gives him cause. Sometimes it's better not to fight, and I've so advised her.”
Some feeling I didn't understand seemed to motivate this rather unemotional man. It showed in the sudden movement of one hand-a spasmodic, dismissing gesture. It showed in the tightening of his straight mouth, and seemed to etch more deeply the long creases in his cheeks. He really did want my grandmother out of her house, and I wondered if he had stated his true reason.
”Is that why she sent for me?” I asked. ”Because n.o.body else will stand by her?”
”We all want what is best for your grandmother.”