Twenty-Five
Marianne was cautious as she joined the others at the breakfast table on Monday morning. Vera had yet to appear, pleading a headache, but the others had gathered, chattering about Clyde’s big speech before Congress this afternoon as though the catastrophe of last night hadn’t happened.
“I’ll be talking about tax law for hoofed livestock,” Clyde said. “Those are valuable animals, but they can die in their pens while waiting for the tax man to sign off on miserable paperwork. No hoofed livestock should be at the mercy of a neglectful government.”
Sam’s fist tightened around his spoon as he sent a worried glance toward Clyde. “Does the government shoot and kill hoofed livestock?”
Marianne’s heart squeezed. Ever since her brother shot Bandit, Sam had grown increasingly fearful of all manner of things. He worried about Vera’s pet parakeet coming to harm, or if rosebushes felt pain when their blooms were cut. It was all Andrew’s fault, and her brother never expressed a hint of remorse for his cruel treatment of Bandit.
Clyde evaded Sam’s question with the ease of a natural politician. “You needn’t fear for the livestock, Sam. My plan will assure every animal is properly accounted for. Livestock are valuable creatures.”
The tension around Sam’s mouth eased. “I think so too.”
The fact that Sam was still traumatized by what happened to Bandit seared, and Marianne shot a glare at Andrew. “You should be so proud.”
The subtle insult was understood by everyone at the table except Sam, but Andrew didn’t bat an eyelash. “I am, Marianne. I am,” he said smoothly.
No normal family would tolerate what happened to Bandit. Their family was blessed with wealth and privilege. They had everything anyone could ever need, and yet still people had to walk on eggshells, fearing the next outburst, scandal, or unforgiving punishment. Who was to blame for all this?
She looked at Andrew, then at Clyde, the leader of their family. She stood and addressed her father. “Why do you tolerate this? Why do you look the other way?”
She truly wanted to know. This wasn’t how a loving family should operate, but Clyde was the only one with the authority to put his foot down and demand change.
A pause lengthened in the room, disturbed only by a few birds chirping outside the window. Her heart pounded, and she prayed that Clyde would see reason even as she quaked in fear of his reaction.
“Sit down, Marianne.” He spoke calmly, but the order was unmistakable.
She sat, a complete and total coward. This family was off-kilter, and she was too fainthearted to correct it. Could she live with this the rest of her life? She loved Sam and her parents too much to imagine leaving. Even though they sometimes made her frustrated and angry, she would be unmoored without them, so she’d sat down like a coward.
“My speech is scheduled for one o’clock,” Clyde continued. “I suggest everyone arrive early so we can have lunch in the congressional dining room beforehand.”
Marianne intended to see Luke this morning, not spend the day at the Capitol. She chose her words carefully.
“I need to pick up my list of assignments from my supervisor,” she said. “It’s what I always do on Monday morning.”
“But not today, surely,” Clyde said. “Your mother wants everyone to ride in the carriage as a group to the Capitol.”
It was time to gather the threads of her shattered courage and fight for something. Luke had to be her priority this morning, not submitting to the niceties of her maladjusted family.
“I’ll still have plenty of time to make my way to the Capitol for your speech after I see my supervisor.”
“You’re not riding with us?” Delia asked pointedly.
“I have a job,” she replied as she rose, eager to leave the table. “I need to pick up my list of assignments for the week, and I’ll meet everyone to watch Father’s speech at one o’clock.”
She did indeed pick up her assignments, but by eleven o’clock she was headed to the jail to see Luke. Would they let her see him? She’d never visited an incarcerated person before, and maybe there were restrictions or procedures.
It wasn’t going to be easy. She learned that the moment she walked through the main doors and asked to visit a prisoner. She was directed down a maze of poorly lit and twisting hallways where visitors were instructed to ask permission. She took her place at the end of the line and waited, glancing nervously at the clock ticking on the wall and hoping she’d have enough time to visit Luke and still see her father’s speech.
At last it was her turn, and she approached a thickly muscled officer manning the counter. “Your relation to the prisoner?” he asked.
“A friend.”
“No friends can visit,” he said brusquely. “Family or legal counsel only. Next.”
He turned his attention to the next man in line. It was a blow, but there was no point in arguing with a man who didn’t have authority to change the rules, especially since she had other allies in this building. Superintendent Castor had been a decent man when he met with her in February. He’d been disappointed in the Department of the Interior’s lack of action from the pictures she’d taken. Perhaps she could persuade him to let her take more today.
The superintendent’s secretary gave her the bad news. “He’s in meetings all morning, but he has an opening at three o’clock if you can come back.”
Marianne had no choice but to agree.
Troubles with the streetcar delayed Marianne’s trip back to the Capitol, and it was five minutes after one o’clock when she finally arrived. An usher opened the door to let her slip inside the gallery overlooking the House floor, and her mother shot her an incendiary look, for her father was already speaking. At least Sam sent her a cheerful wave before going back to hanging on the railing to watch Clyde in the chamber below.
Marianne crept toward an empty seat, wincing at the squeak it made as she sat. She ignored the poisonous look Delia sent her and scanned the House floor. What a disappointment! Only a dozen congressmen were in their seats, and her father spoke to a mostly empty chamber. Still, she straightened in pride as she watched. Clyde urged a revised system of taxation for livestock that would benefit small ranchers throughout the country. It was a well-reasoned proposal. The fact that Magruder Food would benefit if this legislation passed shouldn’t be held against him.
What a shame there weren’t more people to hear it. Her gaze traveled to a cluster of spectators in the front row of the gallery. Given how they were jotting notes on pads of paper, she suspected they were journalists, and one was looking directly at her.
Dickie Shuster. His yellow jacket was so loud, she was surprised it was permitted in these dignified chambers. He sent her a smile and a nod, and she returned it. Barely. Luke had warned that Dickie had long known the scandal about her birth, and it was disconcerting to see him here.
Her father’s speech came to an end, and time was allotted for questions from the floor. Marianne scanned the few congressmen in the chamber, hoping one of them would raise their hand as her father patiently waited to field questions. He’d been preparing responses to possible challenges for weeks, but no one seemed to be paying any attention. After a few moments, the man sitting in the speaker’s chair broke the silence.
“Seeing no questions, the House shall now move for the presentation of a bill to provide pensioner burial stipends, sponsored by the gentleman from Rhode Island. Thank you, Congressman Magruder.”
Clyde gathered his notes and left the podium. That was it?
Clyde returned to his seat while another man rose and began his presentation, but it all seemed rather anticlimactic. Apparently the only congressmen gathered in the chamber below were ones who had speeches lined up to deliver to the nearly empty room.
She leaned over to Vera. “Can we go now?”
“Shh!” Vera said angrily. Marianne’s tardiness still annoyed her mother, but it was hard to sit here and listen to pension benefits when she had a three o’clock meeting with the jail’s superintendent. A glance at the others indicated they all intended to sit quietly and listen to the rest of the presentations this afternoon. How could she escape?
Her gaze landed on Dickie Shuster, who gave her another smile and then a pointed look toward the exit door. He wanted to speak with her.
It was all the excuse she needed. “I’m going to speak with Mr. Shuster,” she whispered to Vera, then left without waiting for permission. The chair let out a painful squeak as she rose and angled her way down the aisle toward the exit door. An usher held it open for her. Dickie came right behind.
“What a surprise to see you here today,” Dickie said with an artificially bright smile.
“Really? I thought it only natural to come for my father’s speech.”
“Of course, of course.” Dickie’s voice echoed down the marble corridor. How ironic that there were more people in the halls than in the chamber. “Actually, I’m glad for the opportunity to see you again. Tell me, do you have any insight into the recent article that appeared in Modern Century? I can’t imagine it went over very well in your family.”
How much did he know? “Why do you think I’d know anything about it?”
“You have an affiliation with the Poison Squad,” he said. “I saw the photographs you took of the young men. Delightful photographs, by the way. You are to be congratulated.”
“Thank you, but I don’t have anything to say about what was written in Modern Century.”
The article was an embarrassment for the Magruders. She’d always blindly accepted what her father said about the safety of chemical preservatives, but now she’d seen proof that at least some of them were dangerous. According to Dr. Wiley, the levels of salicylic acid used in Magruder’s Creamed Chipped Beef were unacceptably high. It wasn’t bad enough to cause immediate illness, but it was impossible to know the effects of long-term exposure. Luke had done the right thing in sounding the alarm about it.
She hurried down the corridor and quickly got lost in the confusing maze of hallways, but Dickie followed closely behind. Soon she was in the hall of statues, a cavernous room lined with life-sized sculptures of American heroes. Tourists crowded the room to gawk at the statues, but Dickie kept pelting her with questions, coming uncomfortably close to her association with Luke.
She gave up trying to evade him and spoke frankly. “I once met a man who said you were not to be trusted. He warned that you were cunning, clever, and underhanded.”
Dickie’s look was part amusement, part pleasure. “Moi?” he asked innocently. “I am a harmless guppy.”
“A guppy with fangs, claws, and a poison pen.”
“I rather like that analogy. Who said it?”
She shook her head. “I’m not telling.”
“It sounds like something Luke Delacroix might say. He’s in jail, in case you are interested. Did you know that?”
She folded her arms across her chest and stared at him, praying her expression revealed nothing. “Once again, I can’t imagine why you think this is relevant to me.”
“The war between the Delacroixs and your father is heating up again,” Dickie said. “Given that the article appeared in Modern Century, it surely came from Luke. The more interesting question is how he got his hands on those studies.”
Her breath froze as Dickie scrutinized her. She was under no obligation to speak with this man and turned to walk away. Dickie followed, pelting her with more questions as she headed toward the nearest usher.
“This man is bothering me,” she said to the burly usher. “Can you detain him while I leave the building?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Dickie looked incensed, but Marianne ignored him as she hurried toward the great rotunda and out the front door of the Capitol.
She made it to the jail in time for her three o’clock appointment, but the news was not good.
“I’d welcome more photographs,” Superintendent Castor said. “The problem is that I’ll need to get authorization from the city administrator. That will take at least a week. At least, that was how long it took when I applied for permission to take photos last February. Can you wait?”
She’d wait until the stars fell from the sky, but hopefully Luke would be out of jail well before the week was out. Still, it was best to be cautious.
“I can wait,” she said.
A guard led Luke down the narrow hallway to the meeting room where he’d be allowed thirty minutes with his attorney. The leg-irons made it hard to walk, but his escape attempt meant he had to wear them every time he was outside his cell. They were painful and humiliating, clanking with every step and hobbling him like a criminal, but nothing was as bad as the crawling sense of panic that had been with him since the moment of his confinement.
The meeting room wasn’t much larger than his cell. It was intended for two people, but Gray would be there as well, so they’d be crammed together like sardines in a tin. His mouth went dry and his skin broke into a sweat at the prospect.
“Give me a minute,” Luke said to the guard just outside the meeting room. He used his sleeve to blot the sweat from his face and neck, then forced himself to breathe normally. He didn’t want Gray seeing what a pathetic wreck he’d become after less than twenty-four hours of confinement.
He also needed to keep his head screwed on straight to come up with a way out of this fiasco without implicating Marianne, and Gray wasn’t going to make it easy.
“Thanks,” he said to the guard. “I’m ready now.”
The guard nodded and opened the door. “Thirty minutes,” he said as Luke stepped inside the matchbox of a room. Mr. Alphonse, a criminal defense attorney with a huge walrus mustache, stood and shook his hand. Gray was on the far side of the table and there wasn’t enough room to maneuver around Mr. Alphonse for a proper greeting, so they simply nodded to each other.
“What’s going on?” Luke asked as soon as they were all seated.
“Bad news,” his attorney said. “I asked the judge of the DC District Court to intervene in the case, citing your desire to protect a source under the First Amendment protections afforded for the freedom of the press. He declined to intervene.” Mr. Alphonse put on a pair of spectacles to read from a letter. “‘It is my opinion that the House of Representatives is acting within its rights to detain those in contempt of its authority.’” He took off his glasses. “That means that unless you want to plead guilty, this case is going to trial. The judge is going to side with Congress, and unless you give up your source, you are likely to be found guilty.”
It felt like the walls were closing in on him. It was like he was back in Cuba, locked in, trapped, helpless. He couldn’t last in here forever, but he couldn’t throw Marianne to the wolves either.
Gray leaned across the table. “Luke, you can be out of jail by the end of the day. Just tell Congress what they want to know.”
Nausea welled up inside him, and he prayed he wouldn’t be sick. It would be the ultimate humiliation. He shifted in his chair and turned away so Gray wouldn’t see how badly this hurt.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
Mr. Alphonse’s voice was calm and professional. “As your attorney, anything you tell me will be held in complete confidence. If you give me the name of your source, I can appeal to that person or his attorney for a means to mitigate the damage. It’s your best shot of getting out of here.”
Revealing Marianne’s name to his attorney would be the first crack in the dam. It might seem harmless at first, but it could lead to events he couldn’t control.
“Is it her?” Gray asked, watching him carefully.
Luke met his brother’s eyes. “What makes you think it might be her?” He was glad Gray didn’t bring up Marianne’s name. Mr. Alphonse had promised him confidentiality, but Luke didn’t quite trust him.
“Just a feeling I have,” Gray said. “If it’s her, the law might go easy on her. She has connections.”
Luke’s heart pounded. “Those connections might throw her out into the cold.”
“It was the risk she agreed to take.”
“I won’t.” All hope for a quick release from prison evaporated, and he looked at Mr. Alphonse as a crushing sense of resignation took root. “I’m not saying anything. Please prepare for a trial.”