She shuddered from the memory of her father’s warning last night. At first, she’d thought Dad was joking. But the fear in his eyes left no room for humor of any kind. He’d only ever yelled at her once before, when she was walking atop a fieldstone fence and about to make a misstep. He’d seen danger then that she hadn’t. Was the same true again?
In the Napoleon House, she’d hurried back to his side and askedhim what was wrong. But his stumbling response had been so devoid of substance she couldn’t bring it to mind, even now. All she was left with was dread.
The train rocked, and her body swayed to its rhythm. In her lap, she held openThe Age of Innocencebut couldn’t retain a single line. A newspaper rustled across the aisle from her. A young woman with pink cheeks and bobbed hair walked up and down between the compartments offering cigars, cigarettes, magazines, newspapers, and Hershey chocolate bars.
Lauren bought two of those, saving the one with almonds for Anita. Once the salesgirl had gone, she sank back into her own private world of thoughts.
Setting aside the novel, she peeled back the candy wrapper, broke off a creamy rectangle of chocolate, and popped it into her mouth. Was Dad’s behavior unusual for him? She didn’t know. How could she when up until this fall, she’d been estranged from him for years? If her father had been displaying signs of nervousness, fear, or uneasiness, she wouldn’t have been around to see them.
Obviously, he hadn’t been himself when he arrived from Newport the day after Thanksgiving. But that cause was plain as day. He’d just returned from seeing the roofless Napoleon House. As if that hadn’t been enough, he’d also fallen from the platform onto the tracks at Grand Central. Thank goodness he hadn’t been injured worse.
Lauren stared at the empty seat across from her and wished her father had agreed to come back with her this evening. She couldn’t miss any more work, but that didn’t mean it was easy for her to leave Dad alone in that empty mansion, knowing he wasn’t at ease. Either he had no reason to fear or he did and he wasn’t explaining it to her.
She couldn’t decide which was worse.
Lauren did decide, however, there was no need to tell him about the note she’d received on Christmas Eve, which would only scare him further.
Ready to put those thoughts behind her, she reached for the novel again. It opened to the place where she’d tucked a letter fromher mother. She’d forgotten until now it was there. She unfolded the page. This one had been written when Lauren had been fourteen years old. A year before Mother’s death.
This letter was short, and Lauren wondered if Mother’s strength simply would not hold on for longer. It didn’t mention anything about her health or decline. She had read several other letters between her parents by now and had noticed that Dad’s response to news of the disease’s progress had either been dismissive, unrealistically optimistic, or absent altogether. Perhaps by the time Mother wrote this letter, she’d given up informing him about what he clearly did not want to hear.
What Lauren read in the second paragraph stopped her cold.
It’s not Egypt Lauren wants but you. Egypt is just the way to your heart, and she knows it.
The words pursued and pressed against her. But it was not a weight intended to hold her down. It was a wrist to her forehead, a hand to her cheek, an ear to the wall of her chest, listening. It was her mother diagnosing the daughter she loved. It had taken nineteen years for the verdict to find her.
And Mother was right.
Truly, Lauren loved Egyptology and the privilege of working at the Met. If she had the chance to travel to Egypt, she would take it. But her quest to get there had been a quest to be close to her father, or at least to earn his approval if not his outright affection.
Maybe this was why she hadn’t felt more enthusiastic when Dad had mentioned the expedition. The closer she grew to him, the less important that trip became. A relationship with her dad was more important than anything. Reconciliation and redemption, as Mother had wished, were more important even than Egypt. The hole he’d left in her life for years could only be filled with him.
And if she was going to avoid creating a similar void in her own family someday, she had to find a way to be close to him that didn’tinvolve following too closely in his footsteps. She’d still like to go to Egypt, but she wanted to come home and live with the people she loved, who loved her in return. If God saw fit to give her a husband and children, she would not abandon them to the same fate she and Mother had suffered.
What a lonely life Dad had led. Lauren had spent so much time thinking about how his choices hurt Mother and her, she hadn’t considered how Dad’s running had isolated him, too. Her heart stretched and pulled to make room for a growing compassion. Was it possible that his stories and posturing were his attempt to win back Lauren’s esteem? He needed to know he had that already. They needed to begin again.
Exhausted, Lauren tucked the letter away and ate another piece of chocolate, letting it melt on her tongue. She closed her eyes and leaned back. She would be in New York soon.
A soft thud announced her novel had slid to the floor. When she opened her eyes to retrieve it, she caught a quick movement accompanied by a short flash of light. Odd. She couldn’t spy a camera from where she sat, but if someone had taken a photograph by accident, he or she was surely ruing the waste of film.
Twenty minutes later, the train pulled into Grand Central Terminal. Lauren gathered her things, pulled on her coat and hat, and joined the passengers shuffling off the car and onto the platform. Red Caps were at the ready, helping travelers with luggage and hatboxes.
“Help you, miss?” one of them asked Lauren, his smile bright in his dark complexion. The name on his uniform was Morris Williams.
“Thank you, but I can manage what I’ve brought. It isn’t much.” Her valise wasn’t large, and the hamper was now empty. “However, I would like to thank the man who helped my father off the tracks the day after Thanksgiving,” she added.
Mr. Williams tilted his head. “Here?” he asked.
“Yes, it would have been right around here, I suppose. He was on the train coming back from Newport on November 27. I wasn’there, but he told me he lost his balance in the crush of the crowd and fell in the gap. He’s about my height, age seventy. White hair.”
A train whistle pierced the air. Lauren and Mr. Williams began walking away from the tracks, toward the main concourse, where they could more easily be heard.
“Miss, if there’s ever an accident,” he told her, “even so much as a shaving kit tumbling to the tracks, let alone a human being, I know about it. I’m the assistant supervisor for all the Red Caps. They report to me, immediately. I haven’t heard a single report or rumor from any Red Cap about this.”
Lauren paused inside the entrance to Vanderbilt Hall. “I don’t understand. Apparently my father’s fall attracted a small crowd, and he specifically said it was a Red Cap who helped him out. He came home from the terminal with scrapes and cuts. Perhaps someone forgot to tell you about the incident?”
Mr. Williams widened his stance and folded his hands in front of his brass-buttoned uniform. “That’s highly unlikely. When something like that happens, the passenger could sue, so I need to know about it right away. If I find out a report is delayed in getting to me, the Red Cap is fired. These are good jobs for these men. They make good money here, enough to fund their higher education. No, it’s highly unlikely any of my men would risk termination by not reporting an incident like that.”
