THE HEART GOES ON
Chapter Two
September, 1912
Cal
Bonner, my valet, stood in the
hall of Crosswinds, our Philadelphia house. We had had been here five months
since the night of the abortive, never-happened engagement gala. Rose had
disappeared off the face of the earth, my world had fallen apart, and I been
summoned back to Crosswinds in disgrace by my fuming father.
"Excuse me, Mr.
Hockley," Bonner was saying. "Your father and stepmother are
returning this afternoon after their tour of the mills, and he has requested
that you be at dinner." I frowned; this was the last thing I needed.
Another audience with my dear father and the witch of a stepmother, Sylvie.
"Oh, and sir, your brother,
Gerard, is returning from business in Virginia as well."
I turned abruptly away from
Bonner. "Yes. Very good!" I snapped. I needed to collect my thoughts.
The news that my darling brother Gerry was coming home made my mood even
bleaker.
I walked out into the September
afternoon sunshine, lit a cigarette, and looked over the manicured gardens,
feeling ill at ease in letting my thoughts wander back.
*****
The small, ten-year-old boy
stood awkwardly before his stern-faced father in his study, shuffling his feet.
His father was immaculately dressed, his arms folded, his gaze unyielding.
"Caledon, stop
wriggling," he demanded. "And stand up straight. You are a Hockley
male. Stand up with pride!" he roared.
I had looked up at my father’s
face with fear. Tears welled in my dark brown, almost black, eyes. "I miss
Mama," I whispered, missing my mother’s soft, scented embrace.
My father’s eyes flashed
angrily. "Stop wailing for your mama." He wagged a finger at me. I
felt so small and tongue-tied.
"Mama has gone to heaven.
You know that. She was always frail after your birth, Caledon. No more sons
after you, mores the pity. What a disappointment she was."
I looked at him, agog. My
father was frightening; he had never once kissed me or hugged me. He was quick
to scold me and chastise me with his razor strop. Only my beautiful mother,
Demelza, had ever held me, kissed me--gray-eyed and fair-haired, a soft, warm
smile, and loving arms.
"Caledon, listen!"
my father, the great Nathan Frederick Hockley, barked. "You have a new
mama now. I got married last year, and your new mama has a new baby, your
brother. Gerard Dubois Hockley. And my new wife is called Sylvie. I want you to
afford her the respect you would afford your mama. She is your mama now. I
never want to hear you mention Demelza Tremaine Hockley as your mother ever
again. Do you understand me, Caledon?"
"Yes, sir," I
replied in a childish whisper. So it had begun--the wilderness years.
My father brought his second
wife, Sylvie Dubois Hockley, to Crosswinds, and she ruled it with an iron fist.
She was French, chestnut-haired, passionate, and demanding, her loves being my
father--she was more than a match for him--and their son, my brother, Gerard,
ten years my junior, with his winning smile, beguiling nature, and soft,
chocolate brown hair and eyes. Everybody’s darling. And I, the oldest son of
the dead, forgotten first wife. She never liked me, and pushed her darling
Gerard’s advantage forward at every turn. I was so glad to escape to school,
where no one got in my way or ruled me!
So, I fought back. I made
myself strong, my father’s son, the one he could be proud off, the one like
him. The one he would leave the Hockley steel fortune to.
*****
I ground my cigarette under my
foot and walked quickly up the stairs to my suite. I had to change for dinner
before I entered the lion’s den, and I wanted to be ready.
*****
A servant poured me a glass of
wine. I picked it up and surveyed my family around the table, having
after-dinner drinks.
At the head sat Nathan, Father,
straight-backed, gray flecking his black hair, his lined black eyes like
mine--steely. He was listening to Gerard retelling some story of his trip to
Virginia. Gerard was talking animatedly, waving his hands about. His only
likeness to me was his firm Hockley mouth. He had his mother’s smooth, silky
brown hair and her big, brown eyes. Oh, the women loved him. Our father
indulged him. His mother adored him!
I regarded Sylvie. I had never
called her Mama, always Sylvie. She had on a rich, red, low-cut gown and her
hair was dressed elaborately. She was staring at Gerard with motherly
possessiveness and pride.
As if my father could feel me
watching him, his eyes swept to me.
"Caledon," he said in
an icy tone. "Any news of that missing fiancée of yours?" Gerard
looked at me. Sylvie gazed at me, a smirk on her lips.
"No, but Bonner is working
on tracking her down as we speak." I dabbed my napkin against my lips.
"Humph." My father
sighed, then said, "I believe that you deliberately threw out the girl’s
mother, Ruth. Is that correct, Caledon?" He gazed at me intently.
I met his stare. "Yes. That
is correct, but I was angry with..."
"Caledon!" he yelled,
throwing his cutlery down so it clattered. "I will pay for a private
investigator to find that girl and her mother. You wanted that marriage badly,
so I suggest she be found and a match made soon. You know what will happen if
you don’t marry Rose DeWitt Bukater!"
Sylvie turned to him and said, in
a deliberate tone, "Pray, Nate, remind me what your wishes are regarding
Caledon’s nuptials?" She smiled. Gerard looked like he was holding his
breath. His eyes dropped. My father’s outbursts always reduced him to silence.
"Well, Sylvie, sweetness, if
Caledon doesn’t get his act together, make Rose his wife, and produce heirs,
firstly, Hockley Steel won’t have successors, and someone won’t inherit their
millions," he continued in a separate tone directed at me.
"God knows, Caledon, once I
knew you had your eyes on her, I took the opportunity to make sure the Bukater
girl would be yours for the taking by relieving Daniel of his riches."
"Father, please!" I
exclaimed, and set my wine glass down, desperation making me want to retreat.
My interruption made my father angrier.
"I hear that girl made a
fool of you with another man, a guttersnipe. Hockleys don’t make that sort of
mistake!"
Anger burned in my gut.
"Caledon," my
stepmother mocked. "I should hurry up and find your Rose; she is a handful
and obviously needs a man to tame her. Did you know Gerard has his heart set on
a match with Emily Harrington Smyth? Her father is well-connected and is very
approving of the match. Emily is so sweet and gentle." Gerard coughed, embarrassed.
I stood up abruptly. "Excuse
me," I said. Blindly, I pushed my chair back. "I am going to have an
after-dinner brandy."
My father nodded curtly, turned
back to Gerard, and talked as if I wasn’t there. Gerard shot me a sympathetic
look. I did not want his sympathy. I wanted Rose back, and I would get her
back, by whatever means. No one made a fool out of a Hockley. She would not
cost me everything I had ever wanted and was born to.