“Cemetery Ridge? Jubal Early drove us off the Ridge.”
“But he wasn’t able to hold it. Hours after we were wounded, our men recaptured the area. And when Pickett charged, our men cut him to shreds. Rebs died like flies, the poor bastards.”
“It might just as well have been us.”
“Hell, Eric, it was us. Now, what’s on your mind. A great enterprise. That’s what you said in your cable. Well, what?”
“Oil. I’ve found oil.”
“Where?”
“On my farm. That is, on the farm Elaine inherited from her father.”
“Eric, that’s wonderful. Everyone knows that oil is the sine qua non of what the industrial world is to become.”
“No, I am afraid it might not be such good fortune at all,” Eric demurred, “unless I can keep what is mine.”
“Did you retain a lawyer, as I suggested?”
“Yes, and I think he’s an honest man.”
“As lawyers go.”
“As they go.”
Eric proceeded to explain the peculiar provision in the Pennsylvania law, spoke of Phettle’s advisement that a test case be brought to court, and concluded by telling of Benjamin Horace, and the men who had meant to abduct him at the railroad station.
“That Horace!”
“You know him?”
“Eric, I am an investment banker, and I try to learn as much as I can about every area in business. A man from Cleveland, Rockefeller by name—”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“—has bought the leases to the oil field in northern Pennsylvania. He is now negotiating with Horace to buy these southern leases, the value of which—when the news of your strike gets out—will increase a hundredfold. Horace has been delaying a deal, and now his luck is running high. Setting aside, for the moment, the legality of Horace’s claim, he stands in a position to make Rockefeller pay far more than the 1.2 million he had intended.”
“But these rights are not Horace’s to sell!”
“That has not yet been settled in court. The way in which your Pennsylvania situation is now structured puts Benjamin Horace in a crucial position. He can become spectacularly rich, or, if the Creedmore Reservation Clause is found to be without legal validity, he could lose everything.”
“How do you—as a businessman—think the court will decide upon the Creedmore Clause?”
“I think it’s a laughable provision. Any honest court will throw it out. If it gets to court”
“Phettle wants me and my neighbors to take it to court.”
“That” said Randolph, “is one reason why you had that pleasant conversation with Horace’s men this morning. If, indeed, they were Horace’s men. You, too, are in a crucial position. If you are willing to fight”
“I am.”
“Are you really?”
Eric considered his life. Save for Kristin—and Kristin was a miracle the worth of which could not be calculated—discovering oil was the closest thing to wonder that had come to him. At the very least he owed it to Elaine and his new daughter to defend what was theirs. His Gettysburg neighbors, moreover, would not be cheated out of what belonged to them, would not suffer the fate of his former Lesja compatriots.
“Yes, I’ll fight. That’s why I’m here. I want to get a loan to develop the field, if it really can become an oil field. So I’ll need to hire surveyors, and workmen. I’ll need a refinery, connections with the Pennsy Road…”
“Whoa, there. Slow down a minute.” Randolph laughed. “I believe an initial loan will be readily voted by our board of directors, but first you must get your neighbors united behind you. And you had better make haste to do it. The business world is moving forward faster than it ever has. A month, a week, may make all the difference. If Rockefeller wins control, even nominal control, of the southern leases, it will put him in a position to turn a huge profit and pay off his backer Rolfson. If Rockefeller can do this, which is speculative at the moment, he will be so far ahead of anyone else in oil, there will be no catching him.”
Eric, his mind already alive with possibility, made the connections. If Horace kept control of the southern leases, Rockefeller’s cause would be somewhat hindered. He wouldn’t be able to pay his notes to Rolfson on time. This was to the advantage of Gustav Rolfson, who wanted to grasp Rockefeller’s base. Should Eric be successful in wresting control of the leases from Horace, he would be in a position of strength, from which he might deal with either Rockefeller or Rolfson, or both of them, as he chose.
And he would also be in a position to profit mightily himself. He would even his ancient score with Gustav from a vantage of wealth and power.
“How much money can you lend me to start with?” he asked Randolph.
New York belonged to the rich. And, returning now, Eric felt like he belonged, too, because he felt rich. His emotional anxiety grew, however, as the moment drew near for him to announce himself at the Gustav Rolfson mansion. It would be best if Gustav were not present, but there was no way to guarantee such a situation. Eric had already steeled himself to the fact that Kristin had Rolfson’s child, but, no matter what, he had to see her. He fought and fought again the feeling that, true though their love was, they were destined to live their lives apart.
Realizing that Kristin had no idea he was alive, Eric hired a messenger to take her his card and a brief note of explanation, mentioning Colonel Randolph, and stating his intention to call. He waited at his hotel. The messenger returned to report that Mrs. Rolfson would be happy to receive him at any time that day. Afflicted by a welter of emotions that both elated and troubled him, Eric engaged a coach and drove up Park Avenue.
“Eric Gunnarson,” he announced to the butler, entering a vast, glittering foyer. Exactly such a foyer he would have himself, very soon. He believed that only good things were going to happen to him now.
“This way, sir. Mrs. Rolfson awaits you in the drawing room.”
Later, Eric barely recalled walking from the entrance, through a great hall, and into the smaller, comfortable drawing room. It seemed he had lost the feeling in his legs, and his head was very light, but exceedingly clear. Kristin was on her feet in the room, and playing in a padded enclosure on the floor was a tow-headed child of less than a year.
“Thank you, Ellison,” Kristin said quietly, and the butler withdrew, closing the door.
They looked at each other for a long, long time. Then, scarcely aware of how it happened, they were in each other’s arms. Seconds broke down into a thousand parts, one part flowing after the other, so that each portion might be cherished for itself, and eternity beckoned within the circle of their fierce embrace.
“I knew this day would come,” she told him, pulling away slightly to gaze into his eyes.
Eric experienced a terrible, sinking sensation; Kristin believed he had come to take her away.
“I am ready,” she said. Taking his hand, she drew him near the child. “And so is your son.”
Eric’s consciousness seemed to waver. Pridefully, bursting with joy, Kristin picked up the child and placed it in his arms. “His name is Haakon,” she said. “And he looks like the two of us combined.”
The baby gurgled and studied Eric’s face. He held the boy, incredulous, and finally put him down again to play. His son, whom he could not yet claim. Eric felt awful.
“One of my most trusted maids has packed a few small bags for me,” Kristin was saying, “and so we must make haste…why, darling, what is wrong?”
“The time in the carriage on the way to Spuyten Duyvil?” Eric asked, nodding toward Haakon. “He is…?”
Kristin nodded, and put her arms around him again. “What is it, darling? You look so…stricken.”
“Kristin, what I must tell you is the hardest thing I have ever had to do.”
But he did not have to do it. She guessed. “You have found someone else?”
“It was not quite like that, but it amounts to the same thing.” And, with his voice close to bre
aking, he told her of Elaine and Elizabeth.
Wordlessly, they stood apart, considering but unable to alter the chasm of circumstance. Kristin was the first to break the silence. “Then we shall simply have to wait longer,” she said.
But Eric had decided otherwise. “Come with me now,” he urged. “It makes no difference. I am here, and you are ready to go. In due time I shall make what arrangements I can, and we shall be close if not together…”
Tears pearled upon Kristin’s lashes, and she realized, as did Eric, that however much the two of them had been hurt during the course of their love, now it seemed inevitable that their love would hurt others. Uncertain, at that moment, they sought refuge in another long embrace.
“Well, isn’t this a cozy scene, though?”
Eric and Kristin separated, whirled toward the door. It was Gustav, not outraged but rather amused, who regarded them cannily.
“My dear, my dear,” he said slowly, addressing Kristin, “I thought you had made certain progress in life. I see, however, that I was mistaken. Still you must sneak about to consort with penniless commoners.”
“You will not speak that way,”, said Eric, advancing.
Gustav lifted a hand. “Hear me out,” he said. “I am not about to fight you. Already you have left your marks upon my face. But I am prepared now either to chisel your name upon the tombstone of your life, or on the Other hand”—he lifted his hand airily and let it fall—“to offer you an arrangement. You know what it is about, I think?”
Kristin looked astonished, the more so when Eric nodded.
“God damn your soul to hell, Gunnarson,” Gustav went on, “but I need you, and you need me.”
“I don’t need you,” Eric proclaimed.
“Don’t be absurd.”
“What’s this all about?” Kristin wondered.
Gustav sat down in a chair, crossed his legs indolently, and motioned the others to sit down as well. They declined. He did not care. “Your commoner lover has married into a vein of potential luck,” Gustav drawled. “Oil has been found on his wife’s land. As you know, Kristin, darling, if Rockefeller cannot pay back the money I lent him at the time it is due, I shall become a great power in the oil business. But if Benjamin Horace or this son of Gunnar here, whoever might win the rights to the oil lands, were to go into league with Rockefeller…well, suffice it to say that my father and Lord Soames would not be pleased. However, I hold all the cards.”
“You do?” Kristin asked, surprised.
Eric said nothing;
“Yes, I do. And the reason is because I expect Horace to lose in court.”
Eric began to smile. He had deciphered Gustav’s ploy.
“You are amused?” scowled Gustav, his face coloring with slow anger. “Why?”
Eric laughed now. “You think I need you, isn’t that right, Rolfson? If my neighbors and I win in court, Horace will be removed from the equation, and it will be only you and I and Rockefeller still in play. Rockefeller is overextended, and could not loan me money for oil development even if he wanted to. And you—”
“Still have massive English credit,” Gustav finished, “and you, Gunnarson, are broke.”
“I am backed by Randolph Security and Trust of Boston,” Eric told him, with a cold smile.
Gustav was nonplused, but struggled to hide it. “To what paltry extent?” he sneered.
“Two and a half million dollars,” Eric said.
Six words from Eric, and everything had changed. The two men stood there facing one another, remembering the first meeting in Lesja, the battle of the riding whip. Eric fleeing his homeland, Gustav apparently triumphant. Those things had happened. They could not be erased. But Eric had money now, and held a strategic business opportunity. He was in a position to hurt Rolfson badly, and it was clear that he would not hesitate to do so. Before, Eric had been a nuisance, an irritating reminder of Gustav’s incomplete command over every element in his life. But now Eric was dangerous to Gustav, a true threat to his business empire, especially if he were to gain control of the southern oil.
Everything was changed.
Gustav could not conceal his surprise, nor his chagrin. True, he commanded sums far vaster, and had access to a great deal more. But two and a half million made Eric a power instantly to be reckoned with.
“Let us return to my original proposition,” he said. “It is to your benefit to work with me. I shall permit you to develop the southern fields, and use my influence, first, to hold off Benjamin Horace, and second, to bribe the Pennsylvania legislature in the matter of the Creedmore Reservation.”
“I have already decided that matter,” Eric told him. “The Creedmore Reservation is illegal, and a court of law will so decide. Bribes are not required.”
Gustav laughed in his face. “Call it what you will,” he said. “John D. Rockefeller makes cash payments to legislators in New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio. Work with me, Gunnarson. I know the way things go, the ‘ropes,’ as they say here in America. He who does not know how the rope works is likely to find himself in a noose at the end of one.”
“No, thank you.”
Gustav gave a slow smile. He was sure Eric had no choice. “You’ll be able to make many trips here to New York, Gunnarson. You’ll be able to see my wife quite a lot.”
“There is no limit to your lack of integrity, is there, husband?” cried Kristin, flaring.
“On the contrary,” Gustav snickered, patting Haakon’s little golden head. “My integrity is quite well defined by what I have and what Gunnarson, here, has not. My money, and my wife, and my son, who will follow in my footsteps just as I followed in my father’s.”
Eric stood there, looking down at the other man. Those beady wolf’s eyes gleamed up at him, across the ruined nose. The scar, like the bed of a bad river, slanted down over a harsh face. Gustav Rolfson sat easily, with Eric’s son on one knee, controlling the fate of that child, and so controlling its mother, Eric’s great love.
Eric remembered his vow. “I want nothing from you,” he told Rolfson. “I only want what is rightfully mine. And I will have it.”
“Bold words,” Rolfson laughed. “You don’t know what you’re up against.”
“Good-bye, Rolfson,” Eric said, turning toward the door.
“Oh, I do not think it is good-bye. You will be back. You will have to deal with me before you’re through. Darling,” he added unctuously nodding to Kristin, “you may see our guest to the door. I will spare myself the pain of witnessing your tragic farewell, knowing Gunnarson is now married to a sweet farm girl.”
Kristin gave him a glance filled with loathing, and followed Eric into the foyer. He accepted his cape and walking stick from the butler, and then went out onto the steps.
“It is, decided,” she told him quietly, hurriedly, “I am ready to go with you. Haakon and I, both.”
“Yes,” he said. “The time will come. But you must remain here for a little while longer. There will be a great amount of trouble, I am sure, in Pennsylvania. Very bad trouble. Here, at least, you will be physically safe.”
“But what of…?”
“Elaine?”
Kristin nodded.
“She is my wife. I must see to her. It is my responsibility. But Haakon is our son, and you are my love. And I shall see to you as well.”
“If you need me, I shall come to you. No matter what.”
“I do need you.”
“Then I shall come.”
“I cannot kiss you here.”
“It doesn’t matter. There is more than a kiss in your eyes. And wherever you go, I am there.”
Gustav was in a somewhat fouler mood when Kristin returned to the drawing room.
“In future,” he said, handing Haakon to her, “I would strongly advise you against nosing about in my business affairs.”
“Yes, husband.”
“You are thrilled that your plowboy lover did not have his head blown off at Gettysburg. Is that not so?”
&nb
sp; “As you wish, my husband.”
“But just because a man is able to escape death in war does not mean he is also able to avoid a surprise bullet in peacetime.”
Kristin looked at him in horror.
Gustav grinned. “Terrible times we live in,” he drawled, “terrible times.”
X
Eric got off the train in Harrisburg, located Phil Phettle, and hired a horse and buggy. The two men immediately started for Gettysburg and the Nesterling farm.
“Honey!” cried Elaine, delighted to see him. “I didn’t think you’d be gone so long.”
Eric hugged her, and introduced Phil. “He’ll be here for supper and a couple of days, at least. It’s about the oil,” he added, to her puzzled glance.
“Oh, that oil. Why can’t we just farm the land and live in peace?”
Baby Elizabeth, in her arms, set up a squall. “Well, before I fry pork chops for you men,” Elaine said, “someone else needs to eat first.”
Eric paid Melvin and Bonnie Wenthistle for their help, and the two turned to leave. “Hey, wait,” Melvin exclaimed, as if remembering something. “I got to tell you. There was a couple men out hunting on your property.”
“Hunting?” Eric said. It was only September, hardly hunting time.
“Yep,” said Melvin, “an’ they was real curious about that pipe out behind your barn.”
“What did you do?”
“I told them there was nothing but money in it, yuk yuk yuk.”
“Fine Melvin. Anything else happen?”
“Ah…nope.”
“Horace’s men, probably, just as in Boston,” observed Eric, when Elaine was out of earshot.
“It’s hard to say. It is known that you have financial backing from Randolph. So the men could have been working for Horace, or Rockefeller, or even your friend Gustav Rolfson. There is a great deal at stake here now.”
Wild Wind Westward Page 35
