His voice was old.
"Where is the family?" I said uncomfortably.
"I've told the girls to wait. I wanted to see my brother alone at first. If you mean Gregory and Hans as well, no doubt you will meet them at dinner tonight. But never mind them, lad; just let me visit with you, for a while. It's been a long time." I could see tears, the ready tears of old age, in his eyes and it embarrassed me.
"Yes, I guess it has."
He leaned forward and gripped the arms of his chair.
"Tell me just one thing. Was it fun?
I thought about it. Doc Devereaux... Mama O'Toole... poor little Pru who had never lived to grow up, not really. Uncle Steve. Then I switched it off and gave him the answer he wanted. "Yes, it was fun, lots of fun."
He sighed. "That's good. I quit regretting years ago. But if it hadn't been fun, it would have been such a terrible waste."
"It was."
"That's all I wanted to hear you say. I'll call the girls down in a moment. Tomorrow I'll show you around the plant and introduce you to the key men. Not that I expect you to take hold right away. Take a long vacation if you like. But not too long, Tom... for I guess I'm getting old. I can't look ahead the way I used to."
I suddenly realized that Pat had everything planned out, just as he always had. "Wait a minute, Pat. I'll be pleased to have you show me around your plant—and honored. But don't count on anything. First I'm going to school. After that—well, we'll see."
"Eh? Don't be silly. And don't call it 'my' plant; it's 'Bartlett Brothers, Incorporated.' It always has been. It's your responsibility as much as mine."
"Now, take it easy, Pat. I was just—"
"Quiet!" His voice was thin and shrill but it still had the sound of command. "I won't have any nonsense out of you, young man. You've had your own way and you've been off on a long picnic—I won't criticize how you managed it. That's bygones. But now you must buckle down and assume your responsibilities in the family business." He stopped and breathed heavily, then went on more softly, almost to himself. "I had no sons, I have no grandsons; I've had to carry the burden alone. To have my brother, to have my own brother..." His voice faded out.
I went up and took him by the shoulder—then I let go; it felt like match sticks. But I decided that I might as well settle it once and for all; I told myself it would be kinder. "Listen to me, Pat. I don't want to seem ungrateful, but you must get this straight. I'm going to live my own life. Understand me. It might include "Bartlett Brothers'; it might not. Probably not. But I will decide. I'll never be told again."
He brushed it aside. "You don't know your own mind; you're just a boy. Never mind, we'll speak of it tomorrow, Today is a day of gladness."
"No, Pat. I am not a boy, I am a man. You'll have to accept that. I'll make my own mistakes and I'll not be told."
He wouldn't look at me. I insisted, "I mean it, Pat. I mean it so much that if you can't accept it and abide by it, I'm walking out right now. Permanently."
Then he looked up. "You wouldn't do that to me."
"I would."
He searched my eyes. "I believe you would. You always were a mean one. You gave me a lot of trouble."
"I'm still mean... if you want to call it that."
"Uh... but you wouldn't do it to the girls? Not to little Vicky?"
"I will if you force my hand."
He held any eyes for a second, then his shoulders sagged and he buried his face in his hands. I thought he was going to cry and I felt like a villain, bullying an old man like that. I patted his shoulders, wishing that I had stalled, rather than forcing the issue.
I remembered that this frail old man had risked his health and his sanity to get in touch with me at first peak, and I thought: if he wants it so badly, maybe I should humor him. After all, he did not have long to live.
No!
It wasn't right for one person to impose his will on another, through strength or even through weakness. I was myself... and I was going out to the stars again. Suddenly I knew it. Oh, college perhaps, first—but I was going. I owed this old man gratitude... but I did not owe him the shape of my life. That was mine.
I took his hand and said, "I'm sorry, Pat."
He said without looking up, "All right, Tom. Have it your own way. I'm glad to have you home anyway... on your own terms."
We talked inanities for a few moments, then he had the robutler fetch me coffee—he had milk. At last he said, "I'll call the girls." He touched the arm of his chair, a light glowed and he spoke to it.
Molly came down with Kathleen behind her. I would have known either of them anywhere, though I had never seen them. Molly was a woman in her late sixties, still handsome. Kathleen was fortyish and did not look it—no, she looked her age and wore it regally. Molly stood on tiptoe, holding both my hands, and kissed me. "We're glad you are home, Tommie."
"So we are," Kathleen agreed, and her words echoed in my mind. She kissed me, too, then said just with her voice.
"So this is my aged and ageless great-uncle. Tom, you make me wish for a son. You aren't uncle-ish and I'll never call you "uncle" again."
"Well, I don t feel uncle-ish. Except to Molly, maybe."
Molly looked startled, then giggled like a girl. "All right, Uncle Tom. I'll remember your years... and treat you with respect."
"Where's Vicky?"
"I'm here, Uncle Tom. Down in a split."
( "Hurry, hon." )
Kathleen looked sharply at me, then let it pass—I'm sure she did not mean to listen. She answered, "Vicky will be down in a moment, Tom. She had to get her face just so. You know how girls are."
I wondered if I did. But Vicky was down, almost at once.
There were no freckles on her face, no braces on her teeth. Her mouth wasn't large; it was simply perfectly right for her. And the carroty hair that had worried her so was a crown of flame.
She did not kiss me; she simply came straight to me as if we had been alone, took my hands and looked up at me.
"Uncle Tom. Tom."
("Freckle Face.. .")
I don't know how long we played statues. Presently she said, "After we are married, there will he none of this many-light-years-apart stuff... Understand me? I go where you go. To Babcock Bay, if that's what you want. But I go."
("Huh? When did you decide to marry me?")
"You seem to forget that I have been reading your mind since I was a baby—and a lot more thoroughly than you think I have! I'm still doing it."
("But how about George?")
"Nothing about George. He was a mere make-do when I thought you would not be back until I was an old lady. Forget him."
("All right.")
Our "courtship" had lasted all of twenty seconds. Without letting go my hands Vicky spoke aloud, "Tom and I are going downtown and get married. We'd like you all to come along."
So we did.
I saw Pat eyeing me after the ceremony, sizing up the new situation and mulling over how he would use it. But Pat doesn't understand the new setup; if I get bossed, it won't be by him. Vicky says that she will soon have me "ricketty all through." I hope not but I suppose she will. If so, I trust I'll be able to adjust to it... I've adjusted to stranger things.