The Savage Son (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 6)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  I opened the box, saw what it was, and closed it quickly. I said, "Well, look at that."

  My father smiled and said, "Just seemed right, somehow."

  Holding the box in my hand, I said, "Hold on."

  I walked over to the tree and found my gift for Carter. I picked it up and handed it to him. "You should open this before I show everyone what it's in my box."

  He smiled at me as he tore open the paper to reveal the now familiar Shreve and Company blue silk box. He opened it, looked at the sapphire and platinum cuff links, and held one up for everyone to see. "These are really handsome, Nick."

  I opened my box and showed it to him. "And this is the platinum and sapphire ring that goes with them." I broke into a big grin and looked right up at him.

  . . .

  We each kept one unopened box before we went into the kitchen and handed out presents. This was a tradition that my mother had started. I had never heard where she'd gotten the idea for it although, during the war, I had known a couple of sailors from England who'd explained to me about Boxing Day. That was the day after Christmas when the servants in the big houses were given gifts by the people they worked for. I realized my mother had borrowed that tradition and brought it up to date. And I agreed with her. Why should the cook and the maids and the chauffeur have to wait a whole day?

  After the gifts in the kitchen were opened, we had another round of toasts, and then went back into the sitting room.

  Mrs. Wilson's final gift was the pearl brooch I'd bought for her. She put it on and it looked good on her. In return, she gave me a kiss on the cheek, which I was happy to get.

  My father's final gift was from Carter and it was a book he'd found at a bookshop on Post Street. It was a privately published history of the Gold Rush and had an entire chapter on my great-grandfather, the one who'd struck it rich. His legacy was the one that my Great-Uncle Paul had taken, increased almost beyond belief, and then handed down to me. In return, my father heartily slapped Carter on the back and winced slightly when he realized it was all muscle.

  Marnie's final gift was from her mother. It was a small antique lacquered wood box from Austria. There was a large mother-of-pearl oval inlaid on the top. Inside was a pair of pearl earrings and a simple blue silk ribbon. When Marnie asked her mother about it, the reply was, "Something borrowed, something blue. The earrings are on loan and the ribbon--" Marnie's hug and the tears that followed cut short whatever her mother had been about to say.

  Carter's final gift was an envelope from me. He opened it, pulled out a card, and read, "Good for one gymnasium." Marnie burst out laughing. He looked at me and I replied, "When we get back, Marnie's got someone lined up to convert the basement into your own private gymnasium." What I got in return was a manful hug with a whispered promise of more to come.

  My final gift was from Marnie. The box said it was from George's on Market Street. That was the place where Ike had bought all his clothes (which he'd finally picked up on Wednesday). The box was too small to be a shirt, so I wondered what it was. I opened it up and pulled out a small piece of stretchable black fabric. I asked, "What is it?" Marnie giggled while Carter strode over and shoved it back into the box, his face red. He leaned over and whispered, "It's a small pair of swimming trunks. For Brazil." Then I turned red while Mrs. Wilson laughed. My father just lit his pipe and pretended he hadn't seen any of that.

  . . .

  After we had exchanged gifts, everyone else was sitting while I stood by the fireplace. I was, once again, just taking it in as I stood by the mantel, feeling the warmth of the fire on my legs. Carter was leaning over and telling my father some edited versions of our adventures in the last few days while Marnie and her mother sat on the big sofa next to each other and talked about the wedding.

  Zelda came in from the kitchen. She moved over to where I was standing and said, "Come with me." So, I did.

  . . .

  I hadn't been in my old room since my father had kicked me out in '39 when I was 17. It had been remodeled and was now a guest room. The one large window still overlooked Sacramento Street and that view wasn't much different. Zelda had asked me to wait while she went to something, so I did.

  After five minutes, she walked in and handed me a small photo album that looked new. Without saying a word, she slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

  I sat down on the bed and opened it up. The first photograph was of my mother when she was a young girl. She was standing outside in a garden and was holding a huge lollipop. I could see Janet's face in hers. It was uncanny.

  The next photograph was of my father. He was posed next to the horizontal length of a newly-cut redwood tree. The trunk was at least twice his height. He was probably 14 or 15. He was standing next to the tree as if he had felled the giant thing himself. I laughed. It reminded me of how I'd felt during the summer when Carter and I had been cutting down pine trees in Georgia.

  The next photograph was of Uncle Paul, and a man named Joseph Davidson. They were standing in front of the Palace of Fine Arts during the Pan-Pacific Exposition of '15. This was the photograph the Examiner always used whenever they wrote about Uncle Paul. I ran my hand over it and could feel the embossed stamp that the photographer had used when he'd developed the image. This was the original. I wondered how the Examiner ever got a copy. It was probably from the photographer.

  I heard a knock on the door and Carter poked his head in. "Can I come in?"

  I smiled and said, "Sure. This is my old bedroom."

  He walked in, closed the door behind him, and looked around.

  I said, "It didn't look like this back then."

  "I guess they took down all your photographs of firemen with their handlebar mustaches."

  I laughed.

  Carter continued, "That's how I always picture your childhood bedroom. Kind of like an exhibit of San Francisco's finest. All provided by your Uncle Paul, of course."

  I fell back on the bed and started laughing. And, of course, crying.

  . . .

  My husband said, "She's so beautiful." I sat next to Carter and leaned into him as he traced my mother's face with his big finger. "I see you in her. And Janet, too."

  "I don't really remember much other than her laughter. In my memory, she's always happy."

  "Do you have any idea why she left?"

  I shook my head. "No."

  I stood up and walked over to the window. Feeling very emotional, I said, "Thank you."

  From the bed, Carter asked, "For what?"

  "For always making this easy for me. From the moment we met, you've never demanded explanations or wanted to dig through the memories. When I answered your questions, you always took them at face value."

  Carter put the album on the bed, stood up, and walked over to stand next to me. It was a beautiful day outside. The sky was that particular blue that everyone always said didn't exist anywhere but in our jewel of a city, the one by the bay. It was cold outside, but the sun was bright in the sky.

  "What else could I have done?" Carter asked. "I love you so much, Nick. It sometimes takes my breath away." He looked down at me. His face was kind and generous and loving. "Mike once told me to let you be you." He put his hand under my chin. "And he was right."

  I smiled up at Carter. He leaned over and kissed me deeply. We were standing like that when someone knocked on the door. I took out my handkerchief, wiped the tears from my face, cleared my throat, and asked, "Yeah?"

  From outside the door, a voice asked, "Can I come in?"

  I said, "Of course, Father." Carter released me from his embrace as I walked over to open the door.

  My father walked in and looked around. "Now this doesn't look anything like it once did." He put his pipe in his mouth and smiled.

  I said, "No. But I like it. It's a nice room for guests."

  My father said, "Yes." He walked towards the desk, turned to look at me, and said, "Now, Nicholas, there's something very important I need to discuss with you.
"

  Carter started for the door and said, "I should go back downstairs."

  My father said, "Nonsense. This has to do with you both." His voice had its familiar gruffness, but now I heard an undertone of affection that I'd never noticed before.

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "The first thing I want to tell you is how sorry I am about all the terrible things that happened in the past."

  I was surprised.

  "I've been a real horse's ass and make no mistake."

  I started to say something, but he waved his pipe in front of me. "No. Let me speak, Nicholas."

  Instead of frowning, as I would have normally done, I just listened.

  He continued, "My siblings and your cousins are not happy about this marriage."

  I nodded and waited.

  "You see, they think I'm marrying beneath me, which is patently absurd. One of Leticia is worth the whole lot of them. Well," he paused and examined his pipe. "That's had me thinking." He looked right at me. "I'm sorry about the whole blasted lawsuit. I look at what we got up to and I almost can't believe we did that to you. To my own son." His voice cracked.

  I reached out and put my hand on his arm. He patted it and walked over to the window. Looking out, he said, "It's a fine thing for a man to treat his own son like a life insurance policy. Make no mistake, that's what I was doing. If I had your money, I thought I would live forever. But, then again, it would probably all be gone. I don't have the gift like you do."

  "What gift?" I asked. There was that word again. Carter's Uncle Leroy had said that to me back in Georgia.

  Carter snorted.

  Both my father and I turned on him. "What?" I asked.

  "You know. The gift. We talked about this. Like your Uncle Paul."

  I nodded. "I know what you're talking about. I just don't get it."

  Carter turned to my father and said, "Do you know what new crazy thing your son is up to, now?"

  My father shook his head and smiled. "No. What?"

  "He's building a twenty-story office building at the corner of Montgomery and Market."

  My father looked at me in astonishment. "You're the one who bought that property? Is that true, Nicholas?"

  I nodded. "We need a modern building so we can expand our business."

  Carter and my father exchanged looks. Carter crossed his arms and said, "And it has nothing to do with the location, the rock-bottom price you got on the land, or the new plan to build a subway and put a stop right at that corner, across the street from your new building?"

  "What subway?" I asked.

  My father said, "Really, Nicholas. Don't you read the newspapers?"

  "No. Not since--" I didn't feel comfortable being that direct with my father. At least not when I wasn't mad at him.

  Carter said, "See? You have the gift."

  I laughed. "OK. I have the gift. I have no idea what you two think is so important about this. All I know is that I keep making lots of money. But I'm not doing anything to make that happen."

  In near unison, they both said, "See?"

  I smiled and shook my head. "No. I don't." I knew they were right about something, but I honestly didn't understand. Carter and I had had a conversation like this back in Georgia and I was still as confused as ever.

  My father walked over to the bed. "What's this?"

  "Zelda gave it to me," I said.

  He flipped through some of the pages. He sighed. "She was so beautiful."

  Carter walked around me to stand next to my father. For a moment, he looked menacing. "Don't you think it's time you told Nick the truth?"

  I looked at Carter and then at my father. Dr. Parnell Williams was offended. I knew that look. "Well, young man, if you would give me a chance, I will explain that I came up here to do that very thing. I wasn't sure, but Leticia insisted."

  Carter and I both laughed when he said that.

  "Did I say something funny?"

  I said, "We both know what it's like to be up against that particular hard place."

  My father smiled and said, "Leticia can be quite persuasive. I've learned to appreciate her wisdom." He paused thoughtfully. "She is never wrong."

  Carter crossed his arms and said, "Never."

  I watched as my father pulled an ivory envelope from his inner coat pocket. Handing it to me, he said, "This is for you, Nicholas."

  My hand was shaking slightly as I took it. The creaminess of the paper was astonishing. I recognized her handwriting immediately. It said, "For my son, Nicholas, on the occasion of his twenty-first birthday."

  I looked at my father and realized I was already crying. I handed the envelope to Carter who took it and said, "You want me to read it to you, Nick?"

  I nodded.

  My father said, "Well, I'd better--"

  Carter put out his arm and blocked my father's way. "Old man, you better stick around and listen. You know I can be just as stubborn as Mrs. Wilson down there."

  My father nodded and didn't move.

  Carter opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. He read it through first. As he did, his forehead wrinkled in concern. He sighed when he got to the end, and then read it out loud.

  My dearest Nicholas –

  As you read these words, I will be long gone, having passed from this world and into one that is far different than the one we know. I am so sorry just to vanish in the night but I cannot think of a better way than to do just that.

  You see, my son, my body is riddled with cancers and I shall not recover. So I leave today for Mexico and the warm waters beside a shining sea. One day I will simply slip away and be here no more.

  When you read this, I hope you will forgive me and forgive your father. He has been so very upset since the news of my illness, and I doubt he will recover quickly.

  I have no words of wisdom to impart other than to sincerely suggest that you be kind to all you meet, help those in need to the extent you can, and let as much love as you are able to allow into your heart.

  I have wonderful images of a bright future for you and your sister. I hope your lives will far exceed what I can imagine.

  With all my heart and all my love,

  Your mother.

  I stood there for a long time after Carter stopped reading. Earlier in the year, Carter had said he wanted us to live more like husbands and less like friends in love with each other. When he'd said that, something in my heart burst open and I felt so relieved.

  The feeling I was having right at that moment, in that room, with my father and Carter standing beside me was like that, but more so.

  I now recognized all those impulses I'd had since I'd inherited all that money from Uncle Paul. I wanted to give it away. All the time. And now I was doing that, more and more. I thought about how much fun it had been to go shopping on Tuesday and buy all those gifts. It was as though I could hear my mother talking to me and I never knew it.

  And, it was a relief to know she hadn't left us for any other reason than that she wanted to slip away. Some might not approve, but I understood the feeling perfectly. I knew that someday I would probably do the same thing.

  I walked over to my father and embraced him. At first, it was awkward. But then he relaxed and hugged me back. I took his hand in mine and said, "I'm so happy for you, Father. And I know my mother is, too, wherever she is."

  One tear rolled down his leathery cheek. He wiped it with the back of his hand. "Speaking of which, let me go see what those girls are up to downstairs. You two come down when you're good and ready." Before either of us could say anything, he slipped out and pulled the door closed behind him.

  Carter walked over to the bed and picked up the album. Looking at the photo from '19 that he'd been admiring earlier, he said, "She was really something, your mother. Not that I'm surprised." He put the book down on the small desk.

  Walking to me, he took me by the hand and pulled me over to the bed. He sat down and patted the space next to him. As I sat down, I leaned i
n and he pulled me close.

  "So many things about you make sense now. I've never met anyone so generous in my life. And I take back what I said in the summer."

  "What?" I asked.

  "When I said you didn't like to win. That wasn't true. You want everyone to win. That's what sets you apart. It's astonishing to watch."

  I said, "I think you're flying too high for me, fireman."

  "Yeah?" His voice was husky.

  "Yeah."

  With that, he pushed me down on the bed and made love to me for a long time.

  Epilogue

  Copacabana Beach

  Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

  Monday, December 28, 1953

  Just past 4 in the afternoon

  I couldn't believe how warm the sand and the water could be. As I waded out into the surf, I could feel the sun on my skin. I looked over at Carter, who was splashing in the water with the other Nick and felt myself relaxing and enjoying the noisy and crowded beach.

  As we'd driven over from the airport, Jerry had explained how the big New Year's Eve party at the beach would begin on Wednesday, the 30th, and wouldn't actually end until sunrise on the first day of the year on Friday.

  I waded back up to the sandy beach, dodging men, women, and children, all crowding the beach during the summer holiday. I walked over to the small encampment that Jerry had set up for us. It included an umbrella, a couple of chaise lounge chairs, a stack of towels, and several bottles of beer and soda pop in a cooler filled with ice.

  "How's the water?" asked Jerry as I toweled myself off.

  "Not as warm as the beach in Panama City. But that was like bath water. This is perfect." Nick and Jerry had taken us on a day trip to the small Florida town on the Gulf of Mexico back in August at the end of our adventures in Georgia.

  "Those little black trunks are perfect for you!"

  I blushed. "They're comfortable but--"

  "Oh, honey. They show just enough. Don't you worry."