© 1992 by Gilbert Morris
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-7038-2
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
Cover illustration by Brett Longley
Cover design by Melinda Schumacher
This book is dedicated
to my son-in-law,
Dr. Ron Smith.
I could not have given
my daughter
to a better man.
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
PART ONE
THE PRODIGAL
1. Necessary Trip
2. Caught!
3. Barney’s Day in Court
4. Castle on the Hudson
5. Lola Makes a Call
6. Mr. Carmody’s Visitor
PART TWO
THE MISSION
7. Homecoming for Barney
8. Rescue Mission
9. The End of Everything
10. A New Barney
11. A Voice From Africa
12. The Company
PART THREE
THE PIONEERS
13. Across the Atlantic
14. Welcome to Africa!
15. Services
16. The Company Decides
17. Bestman
18. Witch Doctor!
19. The Walls Come Tumbling Down
PART FOUR
THE OVERCOMERS
20. Winslow’s Counseling Service
21. Another Voyage
22. “I’ve Got to Go!”
23. The Juju House
24. Powers of Darkness
25. “Good-night, Dear Boy!”
26. The Third Thing
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
A Necessary Trip
Two days into the year of 1894, dark, angry clouds gathered over the city of New York. The temperature plummeted, transforming particles of moisture into crystal flakes that stung the eyes of pedestrians scurrying along the streets, seeking shelter from the blizzard they knew would follow. By four in the afternoon large snowflakes began to fall heavily.
“Oh, Tony!” Katie Sullivan exclaimed. “It’s like a fairyland!”
Tony Barone shifted his eyes from the paper he was reading to Katie, a smile creasing his face. A handsome man of thirty, with sleek dark hair and lidded black eyes, Tony considered himself an expert in two things: gambling and women. He congratulated himself on his decision to hire the girl. Yes, she was a pleasing sight—tumbling blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, flawless complexion, and shapely figure.
Getting up from the table, he walked over and slid his arm around her. She stiffened at his touch. Amused at her reaction, he thought, Like a wild rabbit, ready to run for a hole at the first sign of trouble. Tony dropped his arm and felt her relax. “Yeah, sure is pretty, Katie.” He smiled, then lifted her hand, squeezing it gently. “May keep a few of your fans home, though,” he laughed. “You’re bringing them in, honey—just like I said you would. Ought to make you trust old Tony a little bit more.”
Katie’s face grew warm at his nearness and the bold look in his eyes. She withdrew her hand and said, “I—I do trust you, Tony.”
“That’s good. You go over the new number with Nick and the boys?”
“Oh yes! It’s kind of a silly song—not too hard. But . . . I think Sally is—”
“Sally’s a little jealous?” he asked, catching her hesitation.
She nodded.
“Sure she is, Katie. That’s show business. Folks want to see youth, and Sally’s been around a long time. I’ll have a word with her. Now you—you’re going to have to get a little tougher. You’re on your way up, and when you have to pass people, some won’t like it. I’ve told you this, remember?”
Katie nodded. “I know, but Sally was so nice to me when I first came. I hate to—to go above her.”
Barone stared at her. He had been a denizen of the dog-eat-dog world of show business so long, he had forgotten that gentleness such as Katie Sullivan possessed even existed. Six weeks earlier he had spotted the young woman coming out of a sooty factory, her clothes worn and bulky, yet revealing a nice figure. With a little help, he decided, she could be beautiful.
Getting her to work at his music hall, the Gay Paree, was another matter. Katie was not easily persuaded, in spite of the hard times. It wasn’t that Tony had difficulty finding girls; in fact, they came begging for a chance to work—even as a waitress, which soon led to drinking with the customers and then slipping into a lower life. But Katie was different, and her unspoiled beauty sparked Barone’s womanizing bent for control.
Katie had refused Tony’s first job offer. “I couldn’t work in a music hall, Mr. Barone,” she said with a smile and left him standing in the street, his eyes wide with astonishment.
“Never got chopped down like that, did you, Tony?” said Studs Ketchel, the huge ex-boxer, who had been with Tony. “Wait’ll I tell the guys! Tony Barone—axed by a country girl!” he added, roaring with laughter at the expression on Barone’s face.
“I’ll get her, Studs,” he had retorted. “It’s just a matter of knowing how.”
Stalking the girl became an obsession with him, and he enlisted one of his waitresses to ferret out all she could about Katie. “She’s a country girl, Mr. Barone,” she reported. “Just come in from upstate—right off the farm. All she does is work and go for walks—mostly in Central Park on Sunday afternoons. Don’t have no men friends. One of her girl friends told me her old man’s dead and she sends almost every dime she makes back to her ma. You want I should find out more?”
That was enough for Tony, and the next Sunday he went for a walk in the park. There she was. “Why, it’s you . . . I’ve forgotten your name?” he said, joining her.
Two weeks later—after one more Sunday stroll and supper at a nice cafe—she agreed to go with him to the Gay Paree. Never having seen the inside of a music hall before, she had been appalled at the girls’ scanty costumes and the loose talk among them. Her shocked reaction amused him. Better keep her isolated from the worst, he had decided, though it had been a relatively quiet night—no fights or trouble with the customers. But the next Saturday afternoon, after lunch, he had brought her again. When she heard the number Nick and the band were practicing, she said, “Oh, I know that one!”
“Sing it, Katie,” Tony had urged, and was surprised at the clear quality of her voice. He had left her with Nick, and two hours later they were still singing. Nick had commented privately before the couple left, “Tony, most of the gals you drag in here screech like a crow. This kid has got a great voice. Do yourself a favor and hire her!”
Now as Katie and Tony stood at the window watching the snow fall, he said, “You’ve come a long way in a short time, honey.” He smiled and put his hand on her arm lightly. “Remember how scared you were when you first came?”
“I remember.”
“You were jumpy as a deer,” he
mused. “Afraid of your shadow—and you were absolutely sure I was going to make love to you.”
Katie flushed, the rich color of her cheeks glowing under the yellow light of the lantern. “Yes, I was.” She smiled up at him. “I was wrong, wasn’t I?”
Barone moved slightly closer and lowered his voice. “Don’t bet on it, Katie. A beautiful woman like you—a man would have to be a stone statue not to fall in love with you.” Her eyes opened wide and he suddenly bent and kissed her, then stepped back. If she’d been any other woman, he would have pressed his luck, but not with this one. She’s like a ripe fruit, ready to drop, he thought. But I’ve got to be easy—real easy or she’ll bolt and run.
“You’re sweet, Katie,” he said quietly, not touching her. “I guess I’ve seen so many hard girls I’ve forgotten what a real woman could be like.” He saw that she was flustered, so quickly changed the subject. “Got a treat for you after the show.”
“What is it, Tony?”
“Sally’s boyfriend’s fighting over at the arena. Studs got two tickets, but he can’t make it. We’ll go see it, then take Sally and the pug out for a late supper.”
“I’ve never seen a boxing match,” Katie hesitated. “Isn’t it kind of gruesome?”
“These are professionals. We’ll just watch.” He smiled, adding, “We’ll leave early if you don’t like it, honey.”
****
Andrew Winslow glanced up from the breakfast table and noted the heavy clouds through the bay window. “Dad, I don’t like the looks of that sky. We may be snowed in for a few days when we get to the city.”
“All the more reason for staying home.” Mark Winslow at the age of fifty-three was only five pounds heavier than he had been twenty years earlier, and just as handsome and fit now as he was then. At that time he had worked under Samuel Reed as his assistant superintendent of construction, but his real job had been trouble—whipping any of the thousands of track hands or gamblers who interfered with the building of the Union Pacific Railroad from Omaha to Promontory, Utah.
Mark Winslow walked to the window and looked out, a frown on his face. “I still don’t like the idea, Andy. I know you think it’s something we need to do, but it could make things worse.”
“Dear, we’ve been over that,” Lola interrupted.
As always, Mark listened carefully when his wife spoke. He was proud of her, and his eyes glowed with the warmth of his love. She was so lovely—even in her plain attire. Unlike the ridiculous fashions of the day, she wore a dark green dress with simple lines. Still, she looked much as she had at eighteen. Her dark hair and smooth olive skin, inherited from her Mexican mother, had changed little. From her Irish father she had the legacy of blue eyes and delicate features.
She continued. “We haven’t heard from Barney in two years. What could make things worse than that?”
“Exactly!” Andy nodded. Their twenty-one-year-old son had the rich auburn hair and piercing blue eyes of the Winslow men. He was the same height as his father, six feet, but did not pack the solid muscle of the older man. He jumped up from his chair, his reactions quick and fluid, a phenomenon that had made him one of the finest football players in the nation. With his senior year ahead of him, he was already being sought by all the coaches, for he was equally adept in any position.
“Look, Dad,” he said, his voice crackling with unrestrained energy, “for two years we’ve waited for Barney to write or come home. It’s obvious, isn’t it, that he’s not going to do either? I say it’s time we took the initiative. If he won’t come to us, we’ll go to him! As Mother says, we can’t hurt the situation any.”
Winslow dropped his head, thinking of his oldest son, Barney, who was completely different from Andy. Barney was slow to speak; Andy, quick. Barney never excelled at anything; Andy did everything well—with a dash that excited everyone’s imagination. “I failed somewhere with Barney,” Mark said heavily. “I should have been more patient.”
“You mustn’t say that!” Lola admonished, coming to put her arms around him. “We all misunderstood him, I think—but it’s not too late.”
He held her, drawing strength from her unshakable faith. In spite of the defeated look on his face, he forced a smile. “I wish I could believe that,” he murmured. “Maybe fathers don’t have faith the way mothers do.” He stepped back and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “All right, Andy. We’ll do it your way. Let’s catch the one-fifteen train.”
“I’ll be ready!” Lola cried.
“You’re not going!” Mark said. “What are you thinking of—a decent woman going to a boxing match!” It had been several years since Gentleman Jim Corbett had defeated John L. Sullivan for the heavyweight championship of the world. Corbett had brought some respectability to the sport, but not much. It was still a brutal event, and only showy women attended.
Lola’s eyes glinted. “You won’t be upset about my going, Mark, when I tell you the rest of it.” She waited, enjoying the juicy morsel, the edges of her lips curved upward impishly. “Esther is going with us.”
“You’d take a child to a brutal thing like a prizefight? Lola, you’re not serious!”
“She’s Barney’s sister, and she’s not a child,” Lola replied. “We’re his family, and we’re all going to see him fight. True, it’s not the life we want for him, and God willing, it’s not the life he’ll have. But for once this family is going to do something for Barney without one critical word or deed. I mean it, Mark!”
Painful memories flashed across his mind of those years of rebellion, of struggles to keep his oldest son from a life that was dragging him away from the family. Mark had tried unsuccessfully to bury those images of the past; now he faced her and said slowly, “All right, Lola. I never did anything right with Barney when he was home. We’ll try it your way. I’ll tell Bates to have the carriage ready.”
They left the house at 11:30 and caught the 12:00 train. Scarsdale, the location of the Winslow home, was twenty miles north of the city. Mark Winslow had risen to a directorship on the Union Pacific, and his work kept him traveling. Both he and Lola had agreed to leave the crush of New York City to live in Scarsdale, where they had been since the children were young.
The passenger car was crowded, so Mark and Lola were separated from the children by a few seats. Mark settled back, lost in thought and undisturbed by his wife, who knew his moods well enough to refrain from conversation. Finally he smiled. “Sorry to be such bad company.”
“It’s all right, dear.” She patted his hand. “We must have faith.”
“He’s so different!” Mark sighed.
“Different from whom?” Lola asked gently. “He’s not like Andy, you mean. I suppose that’s where we went wrong. I’ve thought about their childhood a lot, Mark. Barney was such a sweet child! Remember when he was small, how he’d wait for you and run to meet you? You two had some great times.”
Mark nodded. “Yes. I remember that. I think of it every day. We paid too much attention to Andy, didn’t we? Oh, it wasn’t intentional. But when your child does something well, you want to praise him for it. And Andy was good at everything. He still is.”
Lola twisted her hands together. She was a woman at peace with the world and herself—except in this one area. Here she could not conceal her grief. “I don’t know why we didn’t recognize it, Mark. We should have found a way to make Barney feel accepted, not rejected. It must have been terrible for him, always losing to Andy!”
She began to cry softly, and he put his arm around her and drew her close. Mark Winslow had been a hard man in his youth. His enemies would say that had not changed. Yet toward this woman, he was wholly tender and could not bear to see her weep. They sat quietly, listening to the rumble of the wheels intermingled with their daughter’s incessant talking.
“What’s a prizefight like, Andy?” Esther asked excitedly as the train approached the station. She had been delighted to get away. Her brown eyes gleamed beneath a shock of black hair, a copy of her m
other’s.
“Not anything you should be watching,” he replied. “I tried to talk Mother out of bringing you along, but you know how she is when she makes up her mind. Might as well argue with a glacier.”
Esther, at eighteen, had known little of the world’s rough ways, nor had she ever been able to understand her older brother in the least. “I don’t think it’s right, all of us chasing around after Barney,” she pouted. “He’s the one who left home and disgraced us all.”
“He’s our brother,” Andy rebuked her. “And it’s up to us to do all we can to pull him out of the mess he’s in.” He gave her a critical look, adding, “You never showed much affection for Barney, Esther.”
“Well, neither did you!”
Andy hated to be corrected, but he was also a clear thinker, so he nodded. “That’s right, Esther. I was pretty insufferable, I guess. And it’s been on my mind for a long time.” He looked out the window, then back at her. “Look, I want to be a minister—but how can I reach out to people if I don’t care enough about my own brother to try to help him?”
“Andy, he’s gone so far down! Drinking and fighting—and who knows what else. We know he was in jail in Kansas for months.” Esther shook her head. “I think he’ll laugh at us.”
“You may be right—but that won’t kill us, will it?” He shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the window just as the train station came into view. “Hey, we’re almost there. I’ll get your bag.”
****
“You ain’t got no chance boxin’ with O’Hara, kid,” Benny Meyers, a short, fat Russian Jew, said. “He’s a fancy dancer, so I want you should put your head down and go at him like you wuz a mad bull. You got that?”
“Sure, Benny.”
“Okay. Now let’s go, but remember this fight’s important, Barney. O’Hara’s outboxed Jake Penny, Little Gans, and some real good ones. If he beats you, he’s gonna get a shot at Dutch Wagner. But Carmody says if you beat O’Hara, you’ll get the bout. And anybody who beats Wagner gets a shot at the champ. You know what that means?” Meyers’ black eyes bored into the boxer’s, and he whispered around the short black cigar: “It means the world, Barney! All the money you can spend, dames—all you could ever dream of. And everybody will look at you when you come into a hotel, and they’ll say, ‘There’s the light-heavyweight champeen of the whole world!’ ”
The Final Adversary Page 1
