chapter 4
Saturday, August 25
Gabrielle fanned herself as she sipped iced tea on the veranda of her family home. She was barely listening to the men discussing politics and business but still kept a keen ear open for any comment or important piece of news that could help her family’s business.
On a summer day such as this, she much preferred the vivid bloom of the rosebushes that accented the bright pinks and yellows of the freshly painted homes on each side of the clean, wide street.
It went without saying, of course, that Blue Haven, her family’s grand, Beaux Arts-style mansion, was one of the more magnificent homes overlooking the Gulf, although some would say her father had close competition when speaking of the McGowan’s property.
But few people cared to speak of the McGowans these days in polite company.
Gabrielle stared at the shining water brimming with sailing boats and pleasure yachts enjoying the late summer sun. In the heat she was glad to have her hair pinned under her hat in a small coiffure of French twists that suited her dollish curls. A few loose, long tendrils brushed against the soft, blushing rose of her cheek.
In the distance, the bustling waterfront was crowded with cargo ships and commercial fishing boats. Before her mother fell ill, she used to bring Gabrielle to the dock fish market to buy fresh seafood. As a little girl, Gabrielle was enthralled watching the dock men hoist pulleys, lift bushel after bushel of fresh produce, and haul nets up overflowing with the daily catch.
She liked to pet the workhorses and give them apple and carrot treats when her mother was busy bartering for the best price on sea trout and flounder. She felt sorry for the big, kind-hearted animals as they stood patiently hitched to their flatbed carts waiting to receive their loads. With a crack of a driver’s whip they were off, hauling their goods to market.
“That’s why you have such a strong, sensible head on your shoulders. Melissa, bless your mother’s soul, could always drive a hard bargain and win,” her father was fond of saying, usually in his more melancholic brandy moods.
Gabrielle heard one of the men refreshing the ice in his glass. “Ahh ... A seawall? A colossal waste of time and money,” Hadlee said behind her. “What Galveston needs is more beachfront vacation property. That’s where the future is.”
“Yes, but I agree with Mr. Caldwell too,” Timothy replied. “We need to protect what we have as we prepare and build into the twentieth century. Isn’t that true, Gabrielle?”
Gabrielle watched a white sailboat glide by, the happy, laughing couple seated at the rudder as though steering their craft on a drifting dream of promise and hope the way Bret and her once—
“Gabrielle?”
Gabrielle turned as though shaken from a pleasant memory. She smiled at her two earnest, well-to-do suitors dressed in their most colorful, debonair summer attire. Always-serious Timothy DeRocha ran his finger along the tip of his freshly waxed moustache. He waited politely for her answer as he glanced nervously at the slimmer, taller, more relaxed Hadlee Foster leaning on the veranda rail, twirling the ice in his glass.
“Yes, of course. Father is always right in these matters.”
Timothy flashed a quick, triumphant grin at his rival.
“Of course. You’re right as always, Gabrielle.” Hadlee glanced away and adjusted his red striped tie. “Say, I am looking forward to Doctor Hellreich’s next lecture though—Eugenics and Social Engineering. Fascinating, but he has some folks quite riled up and fit to be tied.”
Timothy brushed the sleeve of his light yellow shirt. “To be honest, I find his opinions practical and refreshing. You know he favored passing the ‘Chinese Exclusion Act’ into law?” He lifted his head proudly to Gabrielle as though seeking her approval like a faithful pet. “I can see why your father values his opinion.”
Gabrielle smiled. “Yes ... he does cut a dashing figure and the ladies who have met him cannot say enough kind words about the man.” She turned to hide the flush she felt building in her cheeks. “And I confess, gentlemen, that I might count myself among them.” It was cruel, she knew, but oh how she loved to tease men like Hadlee and Timothy who were only a few years older but regarded themselves as wise, worldly men of experience.
And she did hate how they talked down to her sometimes, although in her heart she told herself it wasn’t their intention.
Hadlee cleared his throat. “I see . . . and how does your father feel about even bigger news than that?”
Gabrielle strolled over to the pitcher of iced tea and poured herself another glass. She sipped her drink without looking at Hadlee or Timothy. “What on Earth are you talking about, Hadlee Foster?” She turned to face the men. “What could be more important than our safety and future?”
Hadlee, obviously embarrassed, glanced awkwardly at Timothy. His friend made a sweeping gesture with his hand as though batting away some bothersome fly. “I, for one, believe he should have stayed where he was.” Timothy’s chest seemed to puff up like a seagull with every word. “If he fancied himself such a Bohemian adventurer, let the damn Europeans have him.”
Timothy strode toward Gabrielle. “He’s certainly not a gentleman, at least not the one he used to be. Lord, I’ve heard he even keeps a loaded pistol in that infernal contraption of his as if any self-respecting person would want to steal it.”
Hadlee nodded, seeming quite relieved. “You don’t say? Mmm . . . two years is a long time, my friend. People change, and sometimes not for the better. Isn’t that right, Gabrielle?”
Gabrielle knew what they were trying to do but she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. She raised her chin proudly. “I can’t remember the last time his name or business affairs were mentioned in the paper yet Bret McGowan is always the favorite topic at every social event.”
She twirled a loose tendril between her fingers. “And quite frankly, I’m bored to exhaustion with the subject. There are so many more important things happening in the world than the return of Bret McGowan, although Mr. McGowan would beg to differ I’m sure.”
The men laughed with Gabrielle.
“And what about this business out at Beaumont?” Timothy asked.
“I heard Bret has some foreigner digging around for oil,” Hadlee said. “My God, the man must be more ill than rumor says. Can you imagine?”
Gabrielle frowned with annoyance. “Gentlemen, if you insist on prolonging my fatigue I will seek more stimulating conversation elsewhere. Perhaps I should pay a surprise call on Liam or . . .” A mischievous thought suddenly came to her. “Perhaps I should finally make Doctor Hellreich’s acquaintance.”
Gabrielle beamed with eagerness. “Yes, that’s it. I’ll ask father to take me at once to be introduced. The good doctor may feel like a stroll along the boardwalk. I wonder what we’ll talk about.” She swayed toward the front door.
Timothy hurried to one side. “Gabrielle, I’m sorry . . .”
“Yes,” Hadlee rushed to the other. “Please, we apologize . . .”
Gabrielle stopped and sighed. Sometimes they reminded her of children afraid of being scolded by their nanny. “Fine, but only ten minutes more then I must go to town with Verna.”
The bells of the new Galveston electric trolley cars clanked and jingled faintly in Bret’s ears as he drove past in his new French automobile. He took a deep breath. The scent of oleander wafted by and the palm trees swayed lazily in the balmy breeze. The vivid bloom of the rosebushes on each side of the clean, wide street accented the bright pinks and yellows of several freshly painted homes.
He slowed his vehicle, smiling and nodding to people on the street he recognized and grinning slyly at the women he did not. Bret knew the many people had already complained about the sputtering and chugging noises made by his “infernal contraption” as it rumbled its way down the street, but he didn’t care.
Folks could stare all they wanted and cover their ears. After all, didn’t they know they were watching the future drive by?
Sunlight glinted off the polished bronze trim and the shining red body of the vehicle. Bret glanced at his distorted reflection in the polished, lacquer surface of the metal and adjusted his goggles.
An approaching cart driver pulled his horses off to the side. Many an animal had been known to rear and bolt at the sight and sound of the mechanical monster.
Bret spotted his old friend Liam walking on the sidewalk toward him. He hadn’t seen his friend in more than two years and although Liam was several years younger, he was not as slim and muscular, which made him appear older when standing beside Bret.
He drove up beside him and pulled back on the brake lever. Liam, obviously startled by his clamorous arrival, jumped a few feet to the side. The engine backfired, and the automobile jerked to an abrupt stop. Bret raised his voice over the din of the idling engine. “Liam Dawson, you no-account lecherous bastard. Out buying posies and Yankee notions for our latest strumpet, are we?”
Bret lifted his glass goggles. Liam had definitely put on a few pounds since last they’d met and his thinning hair only aged his appearance more. Bret swept back the dark brown hair of his pompadour, and looked down at his friend, still wide eyed like he’d just been visited by an angry ghost.
Liam folded his arms across his chest and took a step forward. “I should be so lucky to find anything left after you’ve been through the shops, but at least I don’t court the ones who are already married . . . or soon to be.”
Bret threw back his head and laughed loud enough to make several pedestrians shake their heads. “Since when did you turn into a school-marm?” Two young women covered their smiles with dainty lace gloves as they hurried by.
Liam raised his eyebrow. “A gentleman over the age of forty should live up to his name.”
“If only I could, my friend, but I confess. Every beautiful woman is bewitching to me.”
Liam shook his head. “Even Gabrielle? Any man in town would have gladly given his soul for a woman like that. But you—”
Bret held up his hand. “Easy, old friend. After being away for two years I’m in town only a few weeks and folks treat me as if I broke off my engagement to Gabrielle yesterday. Tell me, Liam. Have you ever been in love?”
“Of course. As many times as there are days in a week, maybe even a month. But you’ve loved as many as . . .” He paused and scratched his head. “How many countries did you visit?”
Bret grabbed his chest in feigned pain. “You wound me to the quick. Have I not served my penance, suffered the ostracism of polite Galveston society long enough, all for the crime of misplaced affection?”
“I believe Arley Caldwell is of a different opinion about what you misplaced in his daughter.”
Bret laughed and slapped the side of his suede knickerbockers. “Never going to let me live down my one indecorous moment, are you, Dawson? Climb aboard, and I’ll give you a ride wherever you’re going. My Parisian cherie is getting skittish.”
Liam raised his hands and stepped back. “Not on your life. I wouldn’t—” He stopped and tipped his hat to someone approaching from behind the vehicle.
Bret turned and saw the exquisite back of a well-dressed young woman in pink and white strolling around the front tires. The lady planted the tip of her parasol in the dirt and spun around.
Bret jerked back in his seat, shocked by Gabrielle’s presence. His mouth dangled open as he searched for an enchanting greeting, but his quick tongue failed him, and he could not fill the awkward space. She was even more beautiful than he imagined she would be.
“After two years, I guess I should expect a man like you to be making a loud, showy display upon his return,” She parted the folds of her hat veil and crinkled up her nose and eyes at Bret. “And I see you’re not above conducting your shady business in the open street like a vulgar Yankee money bag.”
The faint shadows under her eyes were the unmistakable marks of tears. Bret had forgotten how many times he had seen her like this, which was usually the result of some selfish, pig-headed thing he had done.
Gabrielle fanned her face rapidly as if trying to prevent him from noticing. “Lord, your horseless carriage makes more racket than a hen house and fouls the air so it’s not fit to breathe.”
Her attendant, a colored girl no more than fifteen, came up behind them. She giggled and turned away, covering her mouth with her apron hem.
Bret swallowed, trying to moisten a dry throat as Gabrielle strode up beside his door.
Whatever he might say to her now would sound like playful jesting compared to the damning silence behind her scornful glare. “Well, if this isn’t a huckleberry above a persimmon,” Bret finally said, unable to bear the scrutiny of her probing stare. “Gabrielle, or should I say Miss Caldwell, as your father would prefer.” He bowed his head and nodded politely to both of them. “Ladies. It’s been so long since you’ve graced me with your presence.”
Upon his leaving, Gabrielle’s virtue was still intact at twenty-seven, though her pride may have been frayed around the edges. Now, judging by the determination of her stance, she could still hold her head high anywhere in Galveston society.
The colored girl turned and smiled. “P’shaw, Mister McGowan. You always say the nicest things.”
Gabrielle cast a stern look at her impetuous servant girl. “Did you know, Verna, that in Europe the word ‘Lady’ is usually reserved for women of the aristocracy?” She turned back to face him. “Sweet talk always flows from you like honey, doesn’t it, Bret? I had hoped you would have learned something of cultured life while you were away, but you still look and sound like the same reckless fortune-hunter.”
The porcelain splendor of her skin was the smoothest and softest Bret had ever touched and kissed. The mere sight of the black beauty mark on her neck forced him to make an extra effort at presenting a disinterested demeanor. “Yes, Miss Caldwell. European high society made a valiant attempt to reform my boorish manner. But alas, there will always be some necessary coarseness in a man’s character that even the most sophisticated woman’s gentle touch will never smooth away.”
Gabrielle huffed and looked away from him. Bret lowered his gaze and forced himself not to smile. He liked the thick curls of Gabrielle’s new French twist hairstyle. A few loose, long tendrils brushed against the soft, blushing rose of her cheek. She pushed the tresses back and looked up, seeming to defy him with the full brightness of her brown eyes.
There was a time Bret would have met her challenge and taken her in his arms, but that opportunity had been washed away by time and tide.
Gabrielle looked back at him and he stared directly into her eyes. “Ahh, but a beautiful, intelligent, and compassionate woman is always the aristocracy of her sex . . . and forever a lady before all men.” Bret winked at the colored girl. “Now, you remember that, Verna, next time your young beau comes a courtin’.”
Gabrielle drew in a sharp breath and stamped her foot. “The nerve of you, Bret McGowan!” She put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. Verna looked quickly up at Bret and grinned before lowering her head once more. Gabrielle turned away again, a sneer obscuring her beauty. “Goodbye, Liam. It was a pleasure to see you again. I’m glad to see you still display courtesy and manners in the presence of a lady and a young girl.”
Liam accepted the compliment with courteous nod. He had been jealous of her affection for Bret in the past but was now overjoyed to see the tables had turned in his favor. Surely Bret was too old for her now anyway. “Thank you, Gabrielle, and I apologize for our friend. He’s been away too long from the civilizing influence of our fair city. I’m sure our next meeting will be more conducive to genteel conversation.”
Bret bowed his head in a contrite gesture. “Then, please, accept my apologies, Miss Caldwell, for my inconsiderate behavior, and let me make amends to you at the McGowan ball. Your father and you have enjoyed them in the past and it’s been quite a few years since I’ve last had the pleasure of your gracious company.” Bret extended an envelope to Gabrielle.
Gabrielle stared at the envelope for a few moments. She glared at Bret and snatched it from him. She handed the envelope to Verna. Gabrielle snapped her veil back into position. “Come, Verna. We’re going home.” She swirled around, and marched away without saying another word. Verna hurried after her.
Bret watched her step across the street. Lord, but that was one stubborn woman. So be it then. Let her go on blaming him until they were both so old and foolish neither one could remember the reason why. He wouldn’t reproach himself or add more guilt to his burden.
Liam patted the side of the automobile. “It seems two years may not have been time enough for our Miss Caldwell.”
“We all have to get on with our lives. I’m surprised she didn’t marry while I was away.”
“And not for lack of suitors and eligible bachelors.” He adjusted his gold cufflinks. “Even Timothy DeRocha thinks he has a chance with her.”
“DeRocha is a good man, but he tries too hard, as though he’s ashamed of his background.”
“Being half Cuban isn’t his greatest asset, but the main obstacle is Gabrielle’s own heart. She already gave it to one man.”
“And I gave it back to her.” Bret extended his gloved hand to his friend to help him into the vehicle.
Liam pulled back. “I thought you would have tired of your toy by now, like you do your women.”
“A 1900 Panhard et Levassor is no toy, mon ami. She’s a design and engineering marvel, the toast of the continental racing circuit for the last ten years.” Bret blew his breath onto his suede glove and buffed the side of his door. “Caesar and his legions had their chariots, and we will have ours to carry us forth into the new century.”
Liam stepped to the front of the vehicle. “These two brass lanterns ogle me like the eyes of some prehistoric monster ready to pounce.” He walked back to the driver’s side. “And the clattering and clanking coming from the engine sounds like an old civil war bomb about to explode.”
A small chill ran up Bret’s spine. Best to stop by the druggist on the way home. “You sound almost superstitious about a common machine.”
“No, sir. These horseless carriages were more like hearses waiting to drive you to your own funeral.” Liam tapped the thick wooden spokes of rear tire. “I really don’t understand you sometimes. I’ve trusted your business judgment in the past, but this? How could you possibly think these frivolous gadgets will still be around in another year or two? Why would you waste your money on something like this when there’s so many reputable American carriage and buggy companies?”
Bret slid his suede driving gloves tight on his finger. “Tell that to the Studebaker Brothers. The New York Times said in two years they’ll be switching over all of their buggy manufacturing to the horseless variety. See if the rest of country doesn’t try to keep up, if they can catch them at thirty miles an hour.”
Liam shook his head and chuckled. “We can talk more about foolish business ventures over fine cigars and cognac at your party on Friday. You did bring a few boxes back from the Riviera, didn’t you?”
Bret smiled and surveyed the busy street. “The twentieth century is almost here, Liam, and it will present opportunities none of us ever could have imagined as children growing up in our little piece of heaven.”
As he lowered the goggles over his eyes, he remembered something his mother told him that his father was fond of saying. “The question is: Will we be ready as men to seize the day when the new morning dawns?” Bret yanked back on the brake lever, easing it slowly forward. The vehicle jerked and rolled ahead, its engine roaring louder by the moment.
Liam stepped aside and watched Bret turn in a semi-circle and drive back the way he’d arrived. He followed the plume of thick, dark gray smoke coming out of the exhaust pipe until the vehicle and turned south at the corner of 17th Avenue. Damn you, Bret. Why did you come back? He kicked a stone across the street. Just when Gabrielle was getting over you.
“They are indeed fascinating to watch, are they not, sir?”
The deep authority of a man’s voice startled Liam and made him twist around awkwardly. Liam looked at the stranger. The man was taller and a few years his senior judging by the lines at the corners of his eyes. It was hard to tell how much older because of his sinewy and lean appearance.
His dark brown hair had a shock of white running through it and was combed back behind his ears. Perhaps one of those health and exercise fanatics that descended on Galveston every summer? How could they vacation in Texas and not want to eat the best steak in the country?
The man straightened the lapels of his trim, light blue suit that seemed perfectly tailored over a strong, taut rack of muscle and bones.
“Why, yes, fascinating, indeed,” Liam agreed out of politeness, “but more the devil’s handiwork than man’s, I think.”
The stranger smiled, his teeth unnaturally white. “Many people said the same of the electric light. Emotional reaction will always be replaced by disciplined reason, and the progress of humanity is always furthered during its periods of scientific enlightenment. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Something about the stranger’s ruddy skin and pointed features made Liam think of someone he’d seen before, however briefly. “Do I know you from somewhere, sir? A mutual acquaintance perhaps?”
The stranger tilted back the brim of his hat. His large black eyes were deep and unfathomable, giving a quiet, stern demeanor to his gaze. “Forgive me. I’ve taken enough of your time. I should very much like to discuss this further, Mister?”
“Ahh, Dawson, Liam Dawson.” He shook the stranger’s surprisingly strong hand.
“Of course. Mr. Liam Dawson, of the Fort Worth Dawsons, of cattle and cotton fame, I presume?”
“Why yes. And you?”
“My card, sir. Please call me at your earliest convenience if you wish to discuss topics that will prove beneficial to both you and your colleagues.” The man lowered the brim of his hat, shading his eyes again. “Good day, Mr. Dawson.”
Liam held the card in his hand as he watched the stranger disappear into the morning crowd on 25th Street. The man’s intrusive familiarity coupled with the stiff formality of his exit struck Liam as disconcerting to say the least. He raised the card to rip it in two when the name in black ink sent a quick nip of frost up his back.
Caden Augustus Hellreich, Ph.D. Doctor of Theogenesis
Liam whistled as he blew his breath out and tucked the card into his vest pocket. If Arley Caldwell was big on this fella, there might be something more to him.
He admired his reflection in the front window of Weems’s Dry Goods and adjusted his tie. Satisfied with his appearance, he stepped inside and asked the female clerk if he could use the telephone.
Gabrielle was certain to be home by now.