A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [29]
“What if the business world turns on me?”
“The odds are that the better business world will follow you.”
The laying of the cornerstone for the employee recreation building turned into a joyous occasion and huge public relations coup.
A band, a picnic, the governor, Miss Rhode Island, and the Boston Pops orchestra sparked a gala. Two thousand one hundred and four steaks were devoured.
While the band played “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” T3 himself broke the ground for the cornerstone.
Chapter 8
TROUBLESOME MESA, 1953
The nun, Sister Donna, set the little boy down at the Denver airport and pointed at Dan and Siobhan across the hall. He ran to them. “Momma! Daddy!”
Siobhan hugged him first. “How on earth did he know us?” she sniffled.
“We’ve been showing Patrick photographs of the two of you and telling him you are his father and mother.”
Quinn arrived with one small bag of clothing, a stocking doll, and eyes filled with wonderment.
During the changeover period, Siobhan was always at Sister Donna’s side, and each time the baby was passed to her she squeezed and kissed him, and every time Dan held him, he looked for an O’Connell or Logan resemblance.
As it came time for Sister Donna to leave, Siobhan inched around her with abstruse theories of the boy’s origin.
“Siobhan,” Sister Donna finally said, “I do not know where Quinn Patrick came from. As they say, I’m only the messenger. This child’s first years are a closed book. It is the passage you and Mr. O’Connell have to pay for such a blessed child. Vows are vows, Siobhan.”
“But Dan is so proud, so Irish, so generational. And Quinn Patrick. God rue the day Dan finds out the boy isn’t Irish.”
“All I know is that he was brought to the convent, and he made us all very happy,” the nun said, staring directly at Siobhan.
Siobhan showed wisdom, Dan was ecstatic. All families have their secrets and closets and things to be whispered. Yet two ghosts—a man and a woman who had given Quinn life—were now part of their life, of the unsaid extended family.
During Quinn’s growing years he was rarely away from hand in hand with his daddy. The great hand held the little one; he rode on Daddy’s horse with Daddy’s arms about him.
Dan was tough, ran the posse, was crowned king of the valley, and won elections, twice as a state senator. Once a Tammany Hall Democrat, he turned into a ranching Republican, detesting…loathing…hating government regulations. Troublesome Mesa was his territory, and he didn’t want anything to do with those bearded hippy pot-smoking scum who called themselves environmentalists. Shit! Telling me I’ve got to move my stream! The day came, an environmentalist, dressed like a normal man, sat down at the table with Dan to work out a small dam that would save the beavers left in the mesa. Dan changed his mind slightly in their favor.
As for little Quinn Patrick, once his novelty had worn off and once he had shown that he had a temper and could be naughty, the calendar of parenthood caught up with them. Almost all the time and on almost every occasion, the boy made them proud.
Siobhan realized that a very clever Quinn was making better adjustments than Dan. When it came time to finesse his dad around, Quinn could side-slip and waylay an argument, or if things tightened up, he’d do something to please Dan.
Yet Quinn and Dan could be stubborn, so much so a fear crept into Siobhan when they were abrasive. As the result of Dan’s frustrations, he often blamed it on the mystery of Quinn’s birth.
Unraveling happened, as it does most times, by accident, a random and thoughtless remark.
“Hey, Quinn,” Frank Piccola said, coming up to the school bus stop.
“Hey, Frank, going to play ball today?”
“Naw, old man’s got a ton of work.”
“If we ever get nine men on the field, we’re going to have some kind of ball club.”
“Hey, Quinn,” Frank continued, “I heard my dad and mom talking in the kitchen, in Italian, like they talk when they don’t want me to hear. I heard them. My dad said he remembered the day the nun brought you to the ranch.”
The element of love was so