“I certainly try to be. Unfortunately, Theodore, that is not the end of the bad news.”
“Spare me; I’ve heard enough for today.”
Hay ignored his request. “As the Germans contracted their perimeter on Long Island and, in effect, gave the Island back to us, they burned or destroyed just about everything they could not use in order to deny it to us. The land is a ruin.”
“Dear Jesus.”
Hay looked at him sadly. “I am truly sorry to report that one of the places destroyed by fire was your home at Sagamore Hill.”
There was a stunned silence for a moment, then Theodore Roosevelt began to weep tears of pain and impotent fury.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE SCHUYLER ESTATE was located about twenty miles south of Albany on the east side of the Hudson. Upon first seeing it, Patrick could readily understand Trina’s description of it as a castle. There was a barbaric splendor about the multistoried stone and brick structure. As he came closer, he saw it was basically a three-level building with a stone turret that carried another two levels into the sky. Using his soldier’s background, he reviewed the place as a fortress and decided it would hold out quite well against light opposition. As he eyed the construction more closely, it became apparent that some of it was quite old and perhaps had been built with defense against Indians in mind.
Trina greeted him at the massive oak door and showed him his quarters, a three-room suite with a view of the forest. He was honored, she assured him; less-favored guests had views, and smells, of the barn and stables in the back.
Later, when he had changed and refreshed himself from the one-day trip, he met her outside for a tour of the grounds. She wanted to show him around while it was still light. The interior of the house could wait until later.
Her choice of clothing shocked him at first, then pleased him. She wore a man’s flannel shirt and denim pants. It was the first time he’d ever seen a woman in pants, and it was a little disconcerting. Because the pants fit quite well, he decided two things: first, she had a delightful figure and, second, the pants had been made especially for her. She confirmed the latter by saying they had been custom tailored for her by Levi Strauss & Company.
Trina took his hand and showed him the buildings around the main house. In addition to the house and a large barn with storage and animals that made the estate almost self-sustaining, there was a stable with a number of horses.
The house, she explained, had been started by an early ancestor in the eighteenth century and added to by succeeding generations of Schuylers. Along with quarters for a half-dozen servants, there were ten bedrooms, living and entertainment areas, kitchens, baths, a ballroom, and a pool. There was also indoor plumbing, electricity run by a generator, and a telephone.
It was impressive and Patrick was a little awed. “Eighteenth century? Does that mean you’re actually related to the Schuylers who fought in the Revolution?”
“You mean the one who lost Ticonderoga to Burgoyne? No. We are a different branch of that family. Any relationship is now quite distant.”
As the afternoon shadows lengthened and dinnertime approached, they walked a little through the woods. Trina was quite agile as she navigated the narrow trails. The terrain was a very good reason not to wear a dress.
“When I was a little girl I liked to walk through the woods and think of fairy tales and trolls and things like that. It can be a scary place. Delightfully frightening when you’re small.”
“How much of this is your family’s?”
“From here to Oregon,” she replied with a straight face. “Are you really so concerned about how much my family owns?”
He flushed, confused. “Concerned? No,” he finally stammered. “But I confess to being intimidated. I’ve met people before whom I considered rich, but you are far beyond that.”
She took his arm and squeezed. “Well, don’t worry about it. Actually it’s rather pleasant being rich, and I’m not in the slightest ashamed of it. Some of my friends feel guilty that they have so much while others do not. I look on it as an advantage that gives me the opportunity to do things that might prove useful. I hope most of them will be for the right causes and reasons. At any rate,” she said merrily, “I have no intentions of giving it all away just so you can have more money than I do.”
A look at the sky told her they’d stayed outdoors later than they should have. “We have to get back for dinner. Wear your uniform and all the stars. It’ll impress my father more than you know.”
The largest dining room could seat fifty. With only four people present, they used the library and seated themselves about a mahogany table in front of a small but sparkling fire in a large brick fireplace that took up almost all of one wall.
Staying at the castle with Katrina’s father was a buxom, dark-haired woman in her early thirties who was introduced as Sylvia Redding. She was, the elder Schuyler explained, a widow and a companion. Katrina was slightly nonplussed at her presence, but she was polite. Patrick was also courteous. The woman appeared to be her father’s mistress, and she turned out to be quite charming. Jacob Schuyler, Patrick decided, had taste.
Whereas Sylvia Redding was charming, Jacob Schuyler was fascinating. About the same height as Trina, he was a powerfully built man with a full beard and mustache that were almost totally white. His equally full head of hair was also long and white and made Patrick conscious of his own darker, but thinning, top.
But it was the eyes that held Patrick. Deep blue and penetrating, like Trina’s, they radiated intellect and force. Jacob Schuyler was someone to be reckoned with. The foursome started the meal as “General” and “Mister,” but the relationship quickly evolved to a first-name basis.
“Trina has written me of you, Patrick. She is impressed by you, which is very interesting, as there is not much in this world that impresses her.” Trina flushed slightly at the comment; Sylvia smiled wisely.
“Well, I am impressed by her as well,” Patrick responded. “Perhaps more than impressed.” That earned him a gently placed foot against his leg under the table. “It seems as though we have known each other a very long time, even years, but it has been only a few short months.”
“Yes, war has a way of contracting and expanding time. Fortunately, I’ve managed to avoid war all my life. I’m sure Trina told you that I received a guard commission during the Spanish war but spent it entirely in New York. Probably for the better. You were in Cuba, I take it?”
With that, Jacob Schuyler began a gentle interrogation that resulted in a complete telling of Patrick’s life up to the time he met Trina. Schuyler seemed to be well versed in what Patrick was doing now, which led Patrick to realize that father and daughter were a little closer than he had at first thought.
“Most impressive,” Jacob said. “And when this is over, you are going to write?”
“I hope to. As well as teach.”
Jacob Schuyler nodded approval, took out a couple of cigars, and offered one to Patrick. He glanced quickly at Trina, who nodded a yes. Smoking in the presence of women was unusual. He lighted his cigar with a candle and drew in deeply. Again he was impressed. Jacob Schuyler liked very good cigars.
The rest of the evening was spent in congenial small talk, and they retired well before eleven. The next day Patrick was awakened early by a servant and informed that breakfast would be ready shortly. He dressed in hiking clothes and devoured a plate of eggs and bacon while Trina and Sylvia watched amused at his appetite. “Army food,” he explained between mouthfuls, “gives you an appreciation for real food.”
They walked again through the woods, this time with a small hamper containing sandwiches and cold tea. The surroundings were beautiful, and Trina finally confessed that her family owned a couple of thousand acres. “This is such a wonderful place. Almost my own little country.”
“Between here and New York, you must feel you have a perfect existence.”
Trina made a face. “New York? No, Patrick, that is not my home—this is. New York is where I went to school, bought my clothes, and enjoyed the theater; but this is where I return when I need some peace. New York is far too huge to call home. Do you know it now stretches almost sixteen miles up the Hudson? What’ll it be in the future? Besides,” she added sadly, “I wonder if the New York of old will ever return. Certainly not for a very long time. First we have to get rid of the damned Germans.”