LEGACY
Chapter Six
As the train pulled to a stop,
Tom took a deep breath of the crisp morning air. Home! He was almost home! In
amazement, he realized that it was from this same train station he’d departed.
How many days had passed? How many weeks? How many lifetimes? Would he have
gone, knowing that he would get hurt? That Mr. Hockley would provide him with
little new information?
"So, this is
California," Cal stated, shaking off the exhaustion of the trip.
"Beautiful, isn’t it?"
Cal continued to gaze out the
window and muttered, "I prefer civilization."
*****
With anticipation, Rose watched
the sleek black car pull up in front of her home. She squinted, trying to see
into the back windows. Was it Tom? Was he in pain? Why hadn’t she watched him
closer?
Her breath caught in her throat
as a tall, domineering man stepped out of the car, leaning back in to
generously tip the driver. After all this time...
Her nails dug into her palms as
she watched him help Tom out of the car, watched her son grip the monster’s
forearm to keep his balance. So many years gone by...
"Cal!" she called out,
her voice clearly cutting through the air. Startled, he turned, and looked
straight at her, straight into those haunted sea-green orbs.
Had she changed? Was she happy to
see him? What should he say to her?
Before Cal had time to think, he
heard more voices, voices all around him. The sound of brothers shouting,
"Tom! Tom! You’re back!" And suddenly Tom was pulled away from him,
suddenly Tom disappeared in the arms of two blond boys who ran up to greet
their older brother. And then there was a deeper voice, a man’s voice. "We
missed you, Tom!" He should have been prepared. He should have been
prepared, but he wasn’t. Rooted in place, Cal could do nothing but watch dumbly
as Tom pulled away from his brothers and leaned in to happily greet the only
father he ever knew.
*****
Holding onto his dad and one of
his brothers, Tom made his way into the house. Was it always this small? This
hot? Suddenly, his mother’s arms were around him, her fiery hair flung across
his cheek, her soft voice telling him, "Don’t you ever do that again. Do
you hear me? Never leave like that. I nearly died." She always had a flair
for the dramatic.
He pulled away and looked around.
"Mom, you know Mr. Hockley."
"Rose, it’s a pleasure to
see you again." Perfectly composed, Cal took Rose’s hand and leaned in to
kiss the back of it. He dimly noted that the hand he held was deathly cold and
shaking, as if touching a ghost. "I’m absolutely obliged to your kindness.
I know what a burden this must be to you, but I would just feel awful sending
Tom home all alone. It’s a dangerous world out there."
Rose shook her head at him,
unsmiling. "Don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Hockley. It’s our pleasure to have
you here. It’s the least we could do. You remember Jack?"
Cal turned, a smug smile tracing
his lips. "Mr. Dawson. Your home is beautiful."
Unfazed, Jack calmly thanked him,
then motioned to the two boys standing beside Tom. "I’d like you to meet
our other sons, Mark and Joseph." As they greeted him, Cal looked from one
to the other.
Mark was clearly the younger of
the two, perhaps ten years old. Even now it was eerie to face him, the spitting
image of Jack Dawson in his younger days. And yet, looking into his bright
eyes, Cal knew that Mark would never have the pain, the suffering that
stubbornly clouded the countenance of his father.
And then there was Joseph.
Joseph. It was Rose’s father’s name. God, would past ghosts ever escape from
Cal’s life? Joseph looked a few years younger than Tom. His hair was streaked
with strawberry blond and his eyes were a little deeper, a little greener.
So these were the sons, the heirs
to the Dawson legacy. Cal nearly laughed. Why was Jack blessed with three sons
to call his own? What did he have to pass on to them, what name did these sons
have to bear? Why had God smiled so kindly on the Dawson household, and yet
given Cal nothing but disappointment? Girls. Four girls were the outcome of
fifteen years of marriage. Delicate, ambitious, beautiful girls. How his father
had scorned him. How his brothers had hidden their smiles. No fortune would be
left to a son whose daughters would merely have to present it to their
husbands. Girls were liabilities, auctioned off to the highest bidder. Not
heirs.