"Have you not seen all those men on the commissary steps?" Wilkie said, his voice quickly shifting from annoyance to anger. "Be grateful your congregation has work when so many don't. Save your proselytizing for your congregation, Reverend, and remember you serve here at our indulgence."
Bolick glared at Wilkie. The fire-scarred side of the preacher's face appeared to glow with some lingering of that long-ago violence.
"I serve only at God's indulgence," he said, reaching for his hat.
Pemberton had been looking out the window and now he spoke.
"Here comes my wife," he said, and the others turned and looked out the window as well.
Serena paused at the ridge crest before her descent. Lingering fog laid a thick mist on the ground and the ridge, but the morning's brightness broke full on the summit. Threads of sunlight appeared to have woven themselves into Serena's cropped hair, giving it the appearance of shone brass. She sat upright on the gelding, the eagle perched on the leather gauntlet as if grafted to her arm. As Bolick pushed back his chair to rise, Wilkie turned his gaze from the window and met Bolick's eyes.
"There's a true manifestation of the godly," Wilkie said admiringly. "Such an image gave the Greeks and Romans their deities. Gaze upon her, Reverend. She'll never be crucified by the rabble."
For a few moments no one spoke. They watched Serena descend into the swirling fog and vanish.
"I'll listen to no more of this blasphemy," Bolick said.
The preacher put on his hat and quickly walked out of the room. Doctor Cheney remained seated until Pemberton told him his services were no longer needed.
"Of course," Cheney said dryly as he got up to leave. "I forgot my input is needed only in matters of life and death."
Pemberton went to the bar and brought a bottle of cognac to the table, went back and got the crystal tumblers. Buchanan looked at the bottle and frowned.
"What?" Pemberton asked.
"The liquor. It could be perceived as a provocation."
Harris looked up from his newspaper.
"I was under the impression we were meeting the Secretary of the Interior, not Eliot Ness."
THE park delegation was twenty minutes late, by which time Wilkie had gone to the commissary for a bromide. Everyone shook hands, the visitors unsurprised when Serena offered hers. Pemberton surmised they'd been told she was not a woman of deference, and that it might help their cause to acknowledge as much. Except for Kephart, who was dressed in a clean flannel shirt and dark wool pants, the visitors wore dark suits and ties, lending the meeting a formal air despite the room's rusticity. Albright and Pemberton sat at opposing ends of the table. Davis, Rockefeller's lawyer, seated himself to the right of Albright, Kephart and Webb near the table's center. Cuban cigars and cognac were passed around. Several of the late arrivals took a cigar, but all in the visiting contingent politely declined the alcohol except Kephart, who filled his tumbler. Gunmetal-blue streams of cigar smoke soon rose, raveled into a diaphanous cloud above the table's center.
Harris folded the newspaper and laid it on the table.
"I see you've folded the paper to my most recent editorial, Mr. Harris," Webb said.
"Yes, and as soon as my constitution allows, I plan to wipe my ass with it."
Webb smiled. "I plan to write enough articles on this park to keep you well supplied, Mr. Harris. And I won't be alone. Secretary Albright informs me a New York Times reporter will arrive this weekend to write about what land has already been purchased, as well as complete a profile on Kephart's role in the park's creation."
"Perhaps the article will discuss Mr. Kephart's desertion of his family," Serena said, turning to Kephart. "How many children were left in Saint Louis for your wife to raise alone, was it four or five?"
"This is not really relevant," Albright said, looking at the table as if for a gavel.
"It's very relevant," Serena said. "My experience has been that altruism is invariably a means to conceal one's personal failures."
"Whatever my personal failings, I'm not doing this for myself," Kephart said to Serena. "I'm doing it for the future."
"What future? Where is it?" Serena said sarcastically, looking around the room. "All I see is the here and now."
"With all respect, Mrs. Pemberton," Albright said. "We are here to discuss a reality, the creation of a national park, not engage in sophistry."
"The sophistry is on your side," Harris said. "Even with the land you've bought, this park is still nothing more than a fairy dream on a goat hill."
"Rockefeller's five million dollars is real enough," Webb countered. "This country's eminent domain law is real enough also."
"So the threats begin," Harris said.
The door opened and Wilkie entered. He apologized profusely to all though Pemberton noted the old man's eyes were on Secretary Albright as he spoke. Albright stood and offered his hand.
"No need to apologize, Mr. Wilkie," Albright said as they shook. "It's good to finally meet you in person. Henry Stimson speaks highly of you as both a businessman and a gentleman."
"That's kind of him to say," Wilkie replied. "Henry and I go back many years, all the way to Princeton."
"I'm a Princeton man myself, Mr. Wilkie," Davis said, offering his hand as well.
Pemberton spoke before Wilkie could respond.
"We are very busy, gentlemen, so please tell us about your proposition."
"Very well, then," Albright said, as Wilkie took his seat. "The initial price we offered Boston Lumber Company for its 34,000 acres was, I admit, too low, and with the generous help of Mr. Rockefeller we can make a far more substantial offer."
"How much?" Pemberton asked.
"Six hundred and eighty thousand."
"Our price is eight hundred thousand," Pemberton said.
"But the land has been appraised at six hundred and eighty thousand," Davis objected. "This country is in a potentially long-term depression. In this market our offer's more than fair."
"What about my eighteen thousand acres?" Harris asked.
"Thirty-six thousand, Mr. Harris," Davis said. "That's two dollars an acre, and, as with Boston Lumber, a substantial increase on our initial offer."
"Not nearly good enough," Harris replied.
"But think how much you already have profited here," Webb said with exasperation. "Can't you give something back to the people of this region?"