do.â
âI donât believe you.â
âLucky for me, I donât give a damn what you believe!â shouted Sir Edwin, loudly, more loudly, perhaps, than heâd thought he would. He was so tired he thought he might become delirious.
âYou canât have it both ways,â said Father. He was amused by his wifeâs artist, his sonâs artist, for Godâs sake, but this amusement was mitigated by a general distaste for people who boiled over too easily, like spoiled horses, and who thought it was all right because they were thoroughbreds. He felt as well the strong manâs increased desire to defeat a weaker man once that weaker man has displayed the weakness and its probable trajectory toward greater weaknessâif he could use such a term, he did not like it at all, but how else might he put itâdecreased vigor? Increased vulnerability? Fever? Nausea? Infantile impotence? Terror?
âBoth ways? Describe, please, these two ways which are no longer mine.â
âSoulful visionary and virile man of consequential action.â
âI was encouraged in my youth, it is true, to think that the artist was like no man so much as a religious martyr, the practical consequence of which was the subtle but steady wasting of my resources and the silent but insidious ravaging of my health. But I am making up for it now with the vivid, vital violence . . . that only the mortally wounded . . . apostate anchorite is capable of.â
Sir Edwin was very pleased with his speech, but was not quite finished. Trembling with vengeful glee, he thrust his ace in Fatherâs face: âAnd besides, I have your son to do my living for me.â
Father smiled patronizingly and shook his head. âYou have no such thing,â he said in seemingly gentle reproof. âCharles is enrolled in your little kindergarten here of public performance, but will soon be moving on. He has real work in Minnesota in the fall. The Commission of Public Safety.â
âYou wonât,â asked Keogh, âbe going âover thereâ?â
âHe will be going over there by staying here. There is a formidable enemy here as well. Iâm sure I donât have to tell you so.â
âTerrible news, however the situation stands, about your theater,â murmured Keogh. Something in his tone of voice, however muted and drawling it was, alarmed Charles and caused him to look directly into Keoghâs eyes. The penetration was allowed for a moment. Keogh then smiled and turned to Amelia.
âWe want,â he said, âto help in any way we can. Of course with money, but publically, morally, we want to do everything that can be done to help bring a patriotic show like The American to its rightful audience.
âThey are saying nowââ Amelia began.
â Who is saying now?â interrupted Mother. âWho is saying what now?â
âIt was a small fire, I am told,â said Father. âEasily contained and causing little damage. Everything can be quickly and easily replaced.â
âThat is excellent news,â said Keogh, smiling at one and all.
âA boy was killed,â said Charles.
ââthat it was deliberately set,â Amelia continued, picking up the controversy of the earlier strand in the conversation left dangling. âThe fire marshal believes a small explosive device was launched by a cadre of anarchists under cover of the fireworks displayâthat is to say, by one of them, a crack archer who used a window purposefully left open as his target. And yes, that a child was killed makes the investigation far more important than it might have been, Father.â
âI left the window open,â Charles said. âAnd the arrow came through a window that wasnât open.â
Father nodded, but nobody really cared very much about that sort of detail.
And so Charles sat on the blanket feeling weak and stupid and cold,
James Kakalios
Tara Fox Hall
K. Sterling
Jonathan Maberry
Mary Balogh
Elizabeth Moynihan
Jane Hunt
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley
Jacquie Rogers
Shiloh Walker