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    The Silver Star (House of Winslow Book #20)
    The Silver Star (House of Winslow Book #20)
    The Silver Star (House of Winslow Book #20)
    Ebook438 pages8 hours

    The Silver Star (House of Winslow Book #20)

    By Morris Gilbert

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    About this ebook

    An offer to make movies in California opens a new door for Priscilla Winslow. But surprises await her in The Silver Star.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBaker Publishing Group
    Release dateFeb 1, 2006
    ISBN9781441270450
    The Silver Star (House of Winslow Book #20)
    Author

    Morris Gilbert

    Gilbert Morris is one of today’s best-known Christian novelists, specializing in historical fiction. His best-selling works include Edge of Honor (winner of a Christy Award in 2001), Jacob’s Way, The Spider Catcher, the House of Winslow series, the Appomattox series, and The Wakefield Saga. He lives in Gulf Shores, Alabama with his wife, Johnnie.

    Read more from Morris Gilbert

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      The Silver Star (House of Winslow Book #20) - Morris Gilbert

      Author

      CHAPTER ONE

      I Don’t Need a Man!

      The Great White Way in New York City had enjoyed an extraordinary year. The country was enjoying a financial boom, and New Yorkers were anxious to spend their cash. The year 1904 had played itself out to the month of June, and three major plays dominated Broadway. The most successful of all was James M. Barrie’s Peter Pan, starring Maude Adams. Her youthful beauty alone would have made her successful, but she was a fine dramatic actress as well and a welcome addition to the Great White Way. The play had opened in the Knickerbocker Theater almost at the same time that George M. Cohan’s Little Johnnie Jones opened at the Liberty. In between these two theaters was the Belasko Theater—not as large as the other two but known for the fine quality of its productions. The marquee outside proclaimed in large script, ALL THE FAIR YOUNG LADIES, starring Priscilla Winslow.

      A derelict passing by the theater moved toward the door, but his way was blocked by a truculent attendant who put his hand on the man’s thin chest, saying, Move along, buddy! No handouts here! Don’t linger now! As the derelict stumbled off, the doorman watched him and muttered, Too bad. Too bad. Wheeling briskly around, he stepped inside the theater, stopping at the doors that separated the lobby from the auditorium, then shook his head. They’re still applauding. That must be at least six or seven curtain calls for Miss Priscilla. He opened the door cautiously and peeked in, letting the roar of the standing ovation spill into the quiet lobby. Shouts of Bravo! and Well done! echoed throughout the theater.

      Up on the stage Priscilla Winslow gracefully curtsied to the audience, cradling in one arm an enormous bouquet of crimson long-stemmed roses. Her beautiful figure was enhanced by the lavender off-the-shoulder silk dress with pearls draped over each shoulder, the low neckline adorned with a pink silk rose-and-bow trim, the narrow waistline cinched tightly with a belt. Long, flowing sleeves fell to just below the elbow, and the narrow-paneled skirt was lavishly decorated at the hem with ribbon, lace, and pearls draped between small bows. The effect was stunning and made her appear much taller than she really was. Her honey-colored hair was elegantly arranged and interwoven with metallic braids. Her large blue-green eyes sparkled in the stage lights, and there was a delicate beauty in the curve of her lips as well as in the lustrous quality of her complexion. She curtsied one last time and motioned for quiet. When the thunderous applause died down, she said in a clear voice that carried to the very last rows of the theater, even to the doorman who stood listening, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kindness. None of you will ever know how much it means to me to have you come for my performances. I would be less than honest if I said that I did not enjoy the money and the small amount of fame that has found me, but I will tell you that my greatest pleasure comes not from these but from the response that you have so graciously given me. . . .

      She continued to speak, and the audience remained silent, captivated by the simple honesty and vibrancy that emanated from her. It was for this reason that many of them had come again and again to see her perform in what the critics viewed as a very average sort of play. As she went on, the hush continued, and finally she said, As you may know, this is my farewell performance. She smiled at the murmur of protest that rippled through the audience. I can do no more than say it has been the greatest joy of my life to bring you some degree of pleasure, and I would hope that you would remember me. Thank you . . . and good-bye.

      With a winsome smile and a sadness in her eyes, Priscilla waved to her audience and left the stage, the curtain closing on this chapter of her life. She was immediately surrounded by her fellow actors and actresses, all pressing close to wish her well. She smiled and murmured a reply to each as she steadily made her way toward her dressing room, lingering a moment to speak with Claude Parker, her leading man, before disappearing behind her dressing room door.

      Claude watched her intently until the silken skirts slipped completely out of sight. I hate to see this play end, he said to Alice Payton, an actress who had played a minor role in the production. You don’t find a star like Priscilla very often. Most of them have heads as big as elephants and are impossible to work with.

      Alice had to agree. Priscilla is sweet, she said, turning her large, expressive brown eyes on the tall man. You tried your best to work up a romance, didn’t you, Claude?

      She turned me down flat, the actor admitted frankly, shrugging his broad shoulders. I liked her the better for it. She’s had a rough time with that braggart Eddie Rich. I thought I could just bring her a little comfort.

      Alice grinned broadly and took his arm. "You can comfort me! she nodded. Come along. Let’s go out on the town and celebrate being out of a job."

      Inside her dressing room Priscilla placed the roses carefully on the dressing table, then straightened up and for one moment stared at herself in the mirror outlined by bright lights. Now that she was offstage her face relaxed, but there was still a tension that expressed itself in the erect quality of her stance and the stiffness of her shoulders.

      Well, that’s over! she spoke quietly to her reflection. Her voice seemed to fill the room, and for a while she stood motionless; then she began to undress slowly and thoughtfully. Laying aside the stage costume, she opened her small chifferobe and slipped a satin robe off its hanger. After wrapping the silky garment about her, she sat down before the mirror to remove her stage makeup. She had barely begun when a knock sounded at the door. Come in! she said, not turning around.

      The door swung open, and Phil Donner, the playwright of All the Fair Young Ladies, stepped inside. At thirty-five, he was a rather short man with black hair stiffly parted in the middle. His mustache was clipped short and was almost as black as his eyes. Dressed in a stunning evening suit, he came over and put his hands on the actress’s shoulders with a gesture of affection. That was a magnificent farewell performance, Priscilla.

      Thank you, Phil. Priscilla looked at him in the mirror and offered him her smile. She reached up and put her hand over one of his and squeezed it. It’s been wonderful working with you, Phil.

      The same here. Donner removed his hands, pulled up a chair to Priscilla’s right, and spoke enthusiastically of the performance. He was a successful playwright in a commercial sense. Although having written nothing truly great, his plays were popular and had done well at the box office. It had been at his insistence that Priscilla be chosen to star in the play, and now Donner turned his head to one side and rubbed his mustache with a habitual gesture. I’ve come to talk you out of leaving New York, he said. An enthusiasm came to his face, animating his narrow features. I’m almost through with the new play. I’ve written it with you in mind, Priscilla. It’s better than anything I’ve ever done. You have to stay and help me with it.

      Priscilla listened to him carefully, but now that she had removed the last of her makeup, she wiped her hands on a towel slowly, then turned to face him. I can’t do it, Phil, she said quietly. We’ve been over all this before.

      But . . . but, Priscilla! It doesn’t make any sense! Donner got up and began to pace the floor nervously. You’ve worked hard to get where you are, and it’s just the beginning for you. Why, you can be even better than Maude Adams!

      I doubt that.

      Well, just as good anyhow. Coming back to her, he reached out and took her hands and pulled her to her feet. I know you’ve had a difficult time, he said quietly. You’ve pulled through it magnificently, but you can’t run away and hide now. You’ve got to go on with your career. Never mind about the past.

      Dropping her eyes, Priscilla Winslow had a sudden recall—one of those unexpected moments that summons to attention a part of life one would rather keep locked away. Eddie Rich now invaded her thoughts—Eddie, whom she had met outside a theater and had been so charming she had not been able to resist him. She thought of how he had managed to get her a small role in a play, and how a measure of success had come quickly. Those were not bad memories. Then she thought of how Eddie, who was only a small-time actor and would never be anything more, had proposed marriage to her. When she had accepted, he became her manager. Then the bad memories flooded her mind. She saw the very room where she had stood when a woman came to tell her that Eddie Rich was already married, and that he was deceiving Priscilla as he had deceived her. Pain pierced her heart like a dagger as the memories did their work. Priscilla turned away quickly from Donner and sat down, clasping her hands together to conceal the trembling. Her lips were stiff, and she said slowly, I can’t do it, Phil. I’ve got to get away from New York for a while.

      Donner opened his mouth to argue, and then seeing the stiffness of her back and hearing the tremor in her voice, he knew that it was hopeless to try to get her to change her mind. He put his hands on her shoulders again, gently, and said quietly, You’ll find somebody else.

      Turning quickly, Priscilla shook her head. I don’t need a man, Phil.

      Every woman needs a man.

      No. That’s not true.

      Phil Donner knew when he was defeated, but he tried one more time. Every woman needs a man, he repeated, and every man needs a woman. The trick is in finding the right one. He grimaced slightly and said, I’ve made the wrong choice twice. It hurt pretty bad both times, but you can’t live in a hole and be alone forever. You’ve got to have someone to share your life with.

      I’m going to Wyoming to see my family, Priscilla said. Maybe someday, Phil, we can work together. But now I’ve got to get away from New York.

      Are you still thinking of going to Los Angeles to do that motion picture thing?

      I’m thinking of it. It might be interesting.

      Donner shook his head. That motion picture stuff is just a fad, kid. Stay with the stage. That’s the real thing.

      She put out her hands, and when he took them and kissed them, she smiled warmly, true affection showing in her eyes. You’ve been wonderful, Phil. I’ll never forget you.

      I’m not giving up, Donner insisted. You’ll be back to the Great White Way, and one day you’ll be in the biggest theater on Broadway starring in a Phil Donner play. You just wait!

      ****

      I don’t know who thought up things like formal weddings—but I know whoever it was, she wasn’t a man!

      Dr. David Burns stood stiffly in the middle of the small waiting room at Calvary Temple. He was not a tall man, no more than five nine, though his trim carriage made him seem taller. He was not handsome, either, but his bright blue eyes and his thin, almost delicate face, with the Highlanders’ look, gave him a pleasant air. He ran his hand nervously through his sandy, reddish hair and stared gloomily at Jan Kruger, who was lounging against the wall, watching him with a slight smile on his face.

      You’re enjoying all this, aren’t you, Jan?

      Kruger smiled and nodded. When he spoke, it was with a slight German accent. Why, as a doctor I hate to see suffering, but this isn’t like having a leg cut off, David. You’ll get over it. He was a tall man, lean and strong, with tawny hair, hazel eyes, and a squarish face. He had a real affection for David Burns and now came over and slapped the smaller man on the shoulder. You’ll be all right. I talked to the minister. He said even if the church roof falls in, he’ll plow right along. Whatever happens, no matter how bad, you’ll be married when you leave here.

      Confound it, Jan! I wish you’d be a little bit more understanding! You don’t know what it’s like! Have you got the ring? he asked tensely.

      Kruger’s face suddenly went blank. He slapped his pocket and muttered, The ring—!

      You didn’t forget the ring, did you? There was almost a note of hysteria in Burns’ voice. He was ordinarily the calmest of men, but he had lost this assurance the moment he had stepped inside the small room with Kruger, waiting for his summons to meet his bride at the altar. You can’t have forgotten it! I told you— He stopped suddenly, seeing the bright humor flickering in the other man’s eyes, and watched as Jan reached in and pulled a ring out of his vest pocket. Oh, you! he said. Don’t torment a man at a time like this!

      I’m sorry, David, Jan said contritely.

      Your turn’s coming, and I hope you’re just as miserable as I am!

      Not for a year, Jan said. I’ll have time to work my nerve up by then. He hesitated, then said, You’re all right, aren’t you? I mean, you’re not going to faint or anything on the way to the altar. The door opened even as he spoke, and both men turned quickly to face the minister who stood there.

      Reverend Charles Turner was a tall, thin man with gray eyes and an abundant thatch of brown hair. We’re ready now, he said quietly, then turned and walked out to the front of the church.

      Kruger gave Burns a shove and whispered, Come along, David.

      David Burns walked mechanically through the door, trying to blot everything from his mind except the need to stay upright and to make the proper responses to the minister’s words. His eyes swept the large auditorium, and he almost panicked when he saw that every seat was filled and people were even standing at the back of the church. His legs felt rubbery, and his stomach seemed to turn over, but somehow he managed to get to the front, where the minister turned and smiled at him confidently. He felt Kruger standing beside him, pressing against his arm, and he swallowed hard.

      At that moment the organ music swelled, and at the opposite end of the auditorium, a young woman stepped out of the foyer and moved down the center aisle with a stately cadence. Burns studied the face of Priscilla Winslow, Ruth’s maid of honor. Even with the turmoil in his own soul, he thought, She’s not happy. Outwardly, there was little to tell the young physician this, but he and his soon-to-be-bride, Ruth, had become close to her cousin Priscilla, and he knew the tragic events that had scarred the young woman. She took her place at the front to one side, and then the second bridesmaid moved down the aisle, wearing a companion dress to Priscilla’s—a sapphire blue gown made of tucked linen and sheer white lace with a velvet ribbon belt. All eyes were now upon her, especially those of Jan Kruger. David knew that his friend’s interest was not in the beautiful dress but in the woman who wore it—Esther Winslow, who would be his bride when he qualified as a physician in America.

      Esther was a tall, shapely woman with a Latin look inherited from her mother. The daughter of Mark Winslow, an executive of the Union Pacific Railroad, she had made quite a name for herself recently as a successful news photographer. Her courage to cover the most difficult stories had garnered her the name of The Iron Lady. David Burns glanced at Jan beside him, noting that the tall South African was wholly attentive to the young woman as she came and stood on the other side of the minister. They’re a fine match, Jan and Esther. They’ll be happy together. But then Burns had no more time to think, for Tom Winslow appeared at the far end of the aisle with Ruth, his daughter, on his arm. As the organ fanfare announced the bride’s entrance, somehow Burns became completely and utterly calm at the first sight of the pair. He noted the beauty of the wedding dress, thinking of how much time Ruth and her mother, Faith Winslow, had spent on it. The dress was of the finest white silk available. It had a high-boned neckline and a loose bodice covered with sheer lace and pearls, accentuating it all the way to the waist. The full sleeves gathered at the wrist, trimmed with a row of delicate embroidery and pearls. Both the neckline and the train of the long skirt had been embroidered and were accented by tiny pearls.

      As father and daughter drew closer and came to stand directly in front of the three men and two women who now waited, Burns had a sudden gush of well-being. He had been a lonely man until he found Ruth, having had one unhappy attachment to another woman. But now as he met Ruth’s eyes watching him from behind the sheer white veil, he suddenly thought, If the world stops tomorrow, I’ll be happy.

      Ruth stood holding her father’s arm until the minister asked, Who gives this woman? Her father murmured, Her mother and I, then handed Ruth over to David, who stepped beside her and took her hand. She squeezed it and turned to look at him with a placid smile, though excitement brightened her cornflower blue eyes.

      The ceremony started, and Burns tried desperately to fix every detail of it in his memory, but all he could remember was promising to love, honor, and cherish Ruth, and the sound of her quiet, assured voice promising the same to him.

      After the minister said, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride, he lifted her veil, and she leaned against him. Her lips were soft and yielding under his with a hint of promise, and he vaguely heard the applause as it burst out over the auditorium. Then the two made their way out, followed by the bridal party, going at once to the reception room.

      As soon as they stepped inside, Kruger came forward with a smile on his strongly handsome face. I will be the first to kiss the bride! he announced. He then turned to Esther, and before she could move, he pulled her forward and kissed her squarely on the lips.

      For once Esther was flustered and pushed him away. You mustn’t do that! she protested.

      In my country, it is always customary for the best man to kiss the bridesmaid first.

      I don’t believe a word of that! Esther replied, but her eyes filled with laughter. She watched as Kruger turned and gave Priscilla a resounding kiss, then took his arm. That’s enough of that, she said pertly. I don’t believe a word you say!

      ****

      The reception had been as brief as David Burns could make it, but as he and his bride emerged from the church, they were showered by rice from the laughing members of the wedding party who had remained. Come on! Let’s get out of here, Ruth! he cried, and they ran toward the big yellow Oldsmobile.

      Tom Winslow was holding the door open for Ruth, and as the bride got in, he whispered, God bless you, daughter. You’ve got a good man, and he’s got a good woman. He leaned down and said, Try not to wreck this thing. It cost Mark a fortune, David.

      Burns could only nod nervously, and although he had practiced with the big touring car Mark had insisted they use for their honeymoon, David had to fumble while the car was surrounded by the party. When the large engine suddenly broke into a roar, he shouted, Good-bye! then jammed his foot on the gas pedal. The large automobile lurched forward with tires screaming and almost hit two of the well-wishers, who leaped back frantically. Overcompensating, Burns yanked the wheel to the left—resulting in a grinding crunch of metal as the fenders scraped another automobile—then careened back into the center of the street.

      Don’t kill us before we have our honeymoon, David! Ruth protested.

      David Burns took a deep breath and put his foot on the brake. When the car slowed down to a reasonable speed, he turned to her and smiled. Don’t speak to your husband like that! Show a little bit more confidence.

      Ruth Winslow moved over closer in the seat. She reached up, ran her hand across the back of his neck, and squeezed it affectionately. All right, husband, she whispered. I’ve just promised to love, honor, and obey, and I’m anxious to get started with it.

      David turned to her, removing his eyes from the busy street. You’ll never be sorry. We’re going to have a fine life together, he assured her, then turned back and said, Now, let’s get this honeymoon underway!

      Back on the pavement in front of the church, Mark and Lola laughed with the others at the wild exit of the couple. Seeing Priscilla standing slightly apart from the crowd, Mark took Lola’s arm, and the two made their way over to where the young woman stood. When are you going back to Wyoming?

      Day after tomorrow, Uncle Mark. I was going with Uncle Tom and Aunt Faith tomorrow, but I couldn’t get a ticket for their train.

      I wish we were going with you. I’d like to see Dan and his family.

      Why don’t you come with us, you and Aunt Lola?

      Can’t get away, Mark shrugged. They spoke for a while, and then Mark moved away to speak to Jan Kruger. He had a real affection for this future son-in-law of his and was financing his final training at a New York hospital. Kruger had been qualified in South Africa as a doctor but would have to requalify for a year and a half, or perhaps two, in an American hospital.

      How are you, Priscilla? Lola asked. She was, at the age of fifty-seven, an intensely attractive woman. Her black hair showed only a few strands of gray, and her blue eyes made a startling contrast. She and Mark had met in a jail in a town in the south of Texas near the border, and their courtship had been difficult but extremely romantic.

      Oh, I’m fine, Aunt Lola, Priscilla said.

      Lola reached out and pulled Priscilla’s face around, studying the girl’s countenance carefully. I’m fine, she mocked Priscilla. That’s what we say when we’re dying and don’t want to tell anybody how we feel. It’s one of those meaningless statements that we make every day. How are you really?

      Priscilla felt a brief rush of anger, but she knew in her heart that her aunt and uncle had a very genuine affection for her. Her lips trembled for a moment. We do say silly things like that, don’t we? She hesitated, then said, I’ve made a terrible mistake, Lola. I can’t stop thinking about what a fool I was.

      We can’t go over our past mistakes, raking them up. That does no good.

      I suppose that’s true, Priscilla whispered, and her voice was barely audible over the hubbub of talk. But I just can’t forget. I don’t see how God can forgive and forget the things we do.

      I don’t think God keeps very good records about things like that, Lola remarked. She was truly concerned about Priscilla. She and Mark had talked about it often, both of them being rather astute students of the human character. Though Priscilla smiled a lot and had achieved success in her chosen profession on the stage, each of them had noticed that there still was a fragility about her. God forgives, Lola said, and that’s the end of it. He won’t come back after we’ve asked for forgiveness a week later and say, ‘Now, about that sin.’ That’s what you and I might do, but not God. The Scriptures say He throws our sins into the deepest sea. She saw Priscilla taking all this in, then asked, Are you bitter at Eddie Rich for the way he deceived you?

      Priscilla was silent for a moment. She did not like to talk about Eddie Rich, but now confronted by Lola’s dark eyes, she said honestly, It’s not just Eddie—it’s me. I keep thinking if I was a fool once, I could be one again. After what he did, I don’t want to get too close to anyone.

      That’s not a very good way to think. You’ve got to be close to people. Even when you run the chance of getting hurt. When the younger woman did not answer, Lola asked, What about Jason? She spoke of Jason Ballard, the young man who had followed Priscilla all the way to New York from Wyoming. He had been her father’s foreman and had a hopeless love for Priscilla Winslow.

      I don’t need a man! Priscilla said almost sharply. Then she smiled tremulously and suddenly leaned forward and kissed Lola on the cheek. You’ve been so wonderful to me, but right now I just need to be alone.

      Later, as Mark and Lola were on their way home, Lola recounted her conversation with Priscilla to Mark. I’m afraid she’s headed for trouble. She’s closed the door on everything—especially on men.

      She’s young. She’ll get over it, Mark said hopefully.

      I don’t know. She’s a very stubborn girl, but she’d better get over it. She has a bitterness for Eddie Rich. She seems to think that every man is as untrustworthy and worthless as he is. Part of her heart tells her that’s not so, but still, she’s built a big wall around herself. She’s determined not to be hurt again.

      The two rode on for some time before Lola spoke again. She took Mark’s arm in hers and squeezed it. Sometimes it’s not much fun growing up, but Priscilla’s got to learn that she can’t live alone.

      Mark turned, and his gaze was affectionate. Yes, she does, he said slowly, and the quicker she learns it the better.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Homecoming

      As the locomotive pulled into the station at Mason City with a grinding of brakes and an explosive huffing of escaped steam, Priscilla stared out the window and felt a sharp stab of apprehension. So much had happened since she had left her home—and much of it not good—that she had a sudden impulse to simply remain on the train and make her way to Los Angeles. It was, she knew, a ridiculous notion, for all the letters that had come from her parents were warm and encouraging. They’ll never mention Eddie and the fool I made out of myself.

      As the car made a final jerk, throwing her forward, she steadied herself, then rose and left the car. Several men, who had been highly aware of her during the long trip, allowed their eyes to follow, and one of them murmured in an audible voice, Now there’s a real pippin!

      Ignoring the remark, Priscilla stepped out of the car, and the conductor lifted his hand and assisted her to the ground. He was a tall, grizzled man with hazel eyes and a sweeping, Custer-style cavalry mustache. He brushed it now with his free hand and smiled. Been nice having you on the train, Miss Winslow.

      Why, thank you, Sam. Priscilla turned and returned a smile for his compliment. She was wearing a charcoal gray cotton day dress with striped fabric trimmed in a brilliant yellow. She wore a matching hat and carried an umbrella, making a fetching picture as she turned from the conductor and searched for her father. Instead, she saw her brother Peter striding rapidly across the cinder surface of the station and at once felt at home. Hello, Pete, she smiled and took his kiss. Then he squeezed her until she cried out, Pete, be careful! You’ll break every rib I own!

      Peter Winslow grinned down at her from his six-foot, two-inch frame. He was wearing a pair of scuffed riding boots that raised him another few inches, and a flat-crowned Stetson was shoved back over his auburn hair. He had hazel eyes, wide-spaced and deeply set in his wedge-shaped face. The corners of his wide mouth turned up in a smile as he said, You look good, sis. I’ll get your luggage, and then we’ll be on our way.

      Priscilla waited, looking over the station as Peter disappeared into the train. The train station was a single rectangular building with a low-pitched roof painted an ugly dark red color. The station master, Tim McGivern, gave her a wave and a Welcome home, Miss Priscilla! as he unloaded freight from a car.

      Priscilla returned his greeting, then Peter was back carrying her two bags easily, though they were large and heavy. This way, he said, nodding his head. As they made their way to the side of the station, Peter grinned. How do you like the vehicle?

      Priscilla laughed aloud. It looks like you made it from a dozen wrecked cars, Pete.

      Just about right! Peter laughed, then heaved her luggage in the rear seat and helped her into the front. When she was settled, he cranked the engine to start it. Once it caught, he raced around the side and jumped into the front seat. The engine burst into a roar, and Peter released the brake. Priscilla grabbed the side door to hold herself steady as the car shot into the roadway and headed south, leaving a rolling cloud of pale white dust spiraling into the air behind them. Grabbing her hat, she blinked as the air bit at her.

      Oh, there’s some goggles on the seat beside you, sis, Peter shouted over the noisy engine. He reached down, handed her the goggles, then put on a pair of his own. Hang on now! I’ll show you some speed!

      Priscilla did hang on for her life, for her brother delighted in running the car at full speed. As they sped along, the noisy car succeeded in frightening several teams of horses so badly they reared. More than one farmer shook their fists at him and called out loudly what they intended to do to him if they ever caught him.

      Slow down, Pete! Priscilla gasped. We’re not in that big of a hurry!

      Peter obediently slowed the speed of the car, and soon they were chugging along at a more moderate rate. Glad to be home, sis? he asked, finally turning to glance at her.

      With only a slight hesitation, Priscilla nodded. Yes, I am. She glanced around, taking in the familiar landscape. Suddenly she realized how much she had missed the rolling expanse where a person could see for a hundred miles. Far off to her left were the Indian Head Mountains, and to her right the land fell away, marked only by small spirals of smoke that rose from ranch houses. They passed several large herds of cattle, and finally she said, I didn’t realize how cooped up I was in New York.

      You’re right about that, Peter said. I miss all of this, but I have to go where the action is. He shifted in the seat, twisted the wheel abruptly to avoid a pothole, then when he had the car running evenly again, he said, I’ve been to St. Louis.

      Oh, did you go to the fair? She referred to the St. Louis Louisiana Purchase Exposition that had been the highlight of 1904. She had read that twenty million Americans had already gone to visit the place, viewing exhibits on air travels, the telephone, and more than one hundred of the latest models of the automobile.

      It was like nothing you ever saw, sis, Peter replied. And everybody was singing the song about the fair. Have you heard it?

      The one about St. Louis? Priscilla smiled. Yes, I’ve heard it. She lifted her voice and began to sing the theme song of the fair that had swept over the country. Peter joined in with her, and their voices rose above the rattling of the car as it made its way along the rough road:

      Meet me in St. Louis, Louis,

      Meet me at the fair.

      Don’t tell me the lights are shining,

      Any place but there.

      We will dance the hootchy-kootchy,

      I will be your tootsie-wootsie,

      If you meet in St. Louis, Louis,

      Meet me at the fair.

      Well, I didn’t know I was such a good singer. Now you’ll have to give me a part in your next musical play.

      That’ll be the day, Priscilla said, smiling at her brother.

      He began to speak of the fair, and most of the way home he described in detail many of the new cars that had been on exhibit there. And they had a giant ferris wheel imported from Chicago’s fair, and a death-defying roller coaster. I got on that contraption, but I was ready to get off before the thing stopped. It’s a wonder it hasn’t killed somebody by now.

      As they were approaching the house, Priscilla asked, Are you going to stay here on the ranch?

      You know better than that, Priscilla. Next week I’m returning to Detroit. I took a little vacation, but I’m going back to work for Mr. Ford again. I’m going to learn everything I can about building race cars.

      Is that what you want to do, Pete?

      Turning to her, he suddenly put one hand on the back of her neck and squeezed it, a gesture of affection he had done since they were small children. You’re already rich and famous, Priscilla, he said quietly, and I’m going to be, too. Grim determination stretched his lips into a straight line for a moment, and two parallel marks furrowed between his eyes, a sign that he was deadly serious. I’m going to build the fastest car in the world, and then I’m going to race it and beat every man that drives a car!

      All this was no news, of course, to Priscilla. Reaching up, she covered his hand with hers and squeezed it. I hope you do, Pete. You’ve got more energy than any man I ever saw—and you’re smart. One of these days I’ll be saying, ‘That’s my brother, Peter Winslow, the famous race car driver.’

      Peter squeezed her neck again, laughed, then put his hand back on the wheel. Soon long, low buildings came into view, with the corrals all in the back, and the bright glint of flowers that her mother always had blooming in the front yard. As they pulled into the driveway, Peter asked suddenly, What about Jason? Priscilla turned her head away, and when she said nothing, Peter insisted, He’s in love with you. I think he always will be. He braked to a stop and shut the engine off. Don’t you care for him at all?

      Slowly Priscilla turned back toward him. Her eyes were half-lidded, and there was a stillness in her expression that revealed nothing at all of what she felt. She had learned to wall out everything painful that came into her life, and now she said quietly, I am not thinking about Jason or any other man, Pete. I just want to get on with my life. Please don’t say any more.

      "All

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