Despite Gwen’s intentions to defend Patrick, it seemed Liam was the only person they wanted to discuss.
“How are we going to explain him to the rest of the world?” Mildred asked. “Are we supposed to actually socialize with him?”
“I will take the lead in introducing Liam to society,” Gwen said. “And I will do so proudly.”
“What about the ten percent of the voting shares?” Edwin asked. “Is Frederick really going to let Liam have them? Ten percent?”
Joshua shifted in discomfort. “It doesn’t seem fair. I’ve been a member of this family for twenty-one years, and all I’ve got is one percent.”
“Cry me a river of tears,” Natalia said. “You dabble in watercolors, but I’ve been working at the bank for the past ten years, and I don’t get a single share.”
“Art is every bit as hard as your finance work,” Joshua shot back. “Watercolors are the most unforgiving medium in the entire art world. Everyone knows that. And I still don’t think it’s fair that Liam gets ten percent right off the bat.”
“That man is a welder,” Mildred said in a horrified whisper. “A welder!” She clutched the horseshoe before her chest as though it were armor to protect her from the distasteful word.
Gwen had heard enough and met Mildred’s gaze squarely. “Yes, Liam is a welder. He is probably the only person on this island with the know-how to forge that horseshoe you’re holding. He and Patrick are both fine, hardworking people who get out of bed every day to earn the clothes on their back. Get used to them.”
Her voice had started to shake. A scolding tone wasn’t the way to persuade these people, and she drew a breath to steady herself before speaking again.
“In three days, we will have our annual lobster bake. You can ignore those not born into wealth and leisure, or you can open your heart to people who work with their hands and minds to make this world a better place. People who make horseshoes so you can play a game on the beach. People who get up in the middle of the night to bail strangers out of jail. You get to pick who is good enough to socialize with and who you’d rather snub, but I suggest you think carefully and choose wisely.”
She whirled away to head back up the cliffside, wondering if she’d helped matters or only dug a deeper hole for Liam and Patrick.
30
The entire family was invited onto Oscar’s yacht for a sunset sail. The outing would feature light hors d’oeuvres, fine wines, and a fireworks display from the shore after the sun went down. The yacht was too large to dock in the boathouse, so a small tender boat carried people in groups of twelve to the yacht.
Patrick dreaded it. Gwen might be dismissive of who had commissioned the hit on Liam, but Patrick still believed one of these people might be out to destroy the prodigal Blackstone. What if Liam “fell over” the side of the yacht? Once the sun went down, he could be knocked unconscious and dumped overboard without anyone noticing. A convenient drowning would be the answer to an assassin’s prayers.
Two dozen people congregated at the boathouse, awaiting their ride to the Black Rose. Patrick stuck close to Liam’s side. “Can you swim?” he asked, and Liam nodded.
“Anyone who works in a shipyard knows how to swim.”
They boarded the tender and ten minutes later were aboard the Black Rose. Patrick gazed about in wonder. The Black Rose was two hundred and thirty feet long, with a shiny black hull and a slim gold line painted just above the waterline. It was powered by both sail and steam, and belowdecks had all the amusements to keep a rich man entertained: a player piano, a bowling alley, and a card room.
Liam seemed equally entranced as he admired the rigging, masts, and booms. The teak deck was coated with a sheen of marine spar, and every few yards a brass deck lamp provided a warm glow of illumination in the gathering twilight.
“This feels familiar,” Liam said, running his hands along the metal rivets on the gunwale. “The smell of the varnish. The sound my feet make on the wood. I remember being on a boat like this with the wind in my face and feeling very happy.”
Gwen’s face ached with poignancy. “Our father used to take you out on this very yacht,” she said. “He loved sailing and often took you. I wonder if that’s what you remember.”
The only experience Patrick had with sailing was the cramped third-class cabin he’d shared with nine other immigrants from Ireland. Sunset parties on a yacht were alien to him, and it was hard to know what to do. How was he supposed to make conversation with people who had never worked a day in their lives? A grown man named Wally played cards in the winter and “summered” in Newport. Who used summered as a verb?
Patrick snagged a flute of champagne from a passing waiter simply to have something to do with his hands, and Liam did the same. Gwen must have sensed their discomfort.
“Let’s go talk to my cousin Edwin,” she prompted. “He’s the one who travels all over the world to buy and sell antiques. You’ll like him.”
She performed the introductions, and Edwin proved to be congenial and polite. He even tried to make conversation with Liam, but it was hard, since Edwin didn’t even know what welding meant.
“It’s something like making steel, correct?”
“Not really,” Liam said. “I help assemble parts of a ship by welding the steel pieces together.”
“Like a carpenter?” Edwin asked.
“Close enough,” Liam replied.
The conversation stumbled to an awkward lull, but Edwin soon jumped in to fill the void.
