"Eric Flint - 1632" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flint Eric)

ago, in Mike's case. But neither of them had even once considered having Rita married anywhere else.
The pastor was a friend of the family, as his father and grandfather had been before him. The Calvinist
fundamentalism of the ceremony had bothered them not in the least. Mike choked down a laugh. If
nothing else, it had been worth it just to see the way the pastor's fire and brimstone had caused obvious
constipation in Tom's sophisticated parents.

His humor faded quickly. Mike could sense the pain lurking within Tom's eyes. An old pain, he thought.
The dull, never-ending ache of a man whose father had disapproved of him since he was a small boy.

Tom had been born into one of the wealthiest families in Pittsburgh. His mother was old Eastern money.
His father, John Chandler Simpson, was the chief executive officer of a large petrochemical corporation.
John Simpson liked to brag about having worked his way up from the ranks. The boast was typical of the
man. Yes, hehad spent a total of six months on the shop floor, as a foreman, after he retired from the
Navy's officer corps. The fact that his father owned the company, however, is what accounted for his
later advancement. John Chandler Simpson had fully expected his own son to follow in those well-worn
footsteps.

But Tom had never fit his family's mold and expectations. Not when he had been a boy, and not now
when he was of age. Mike knew that John Chandler had been furious when his son chose WVU over
Carnegie-MellonтАФespeciallygiven the reason.Football? You're not even a quarterback! And both his
parents had been well-nigh apoplectic at their son's choice for a wife.

Mike's eyes scanned the room, until they fell on a figure in a wedding dress, laughing at something being
said by the young woman at her side. His sister, Rita, sharing quips with one of her bridesmaids.

The contrast between the two girls was striking. The bridesmaid, Sharon, was attractive in a slightly
heavy and buxom sort of way. She was very dark complected, even for a black woman. Tom's sister
was also pretty, but so slender that she bordered on being downright skinny. And her complexionтАФvery
pale skin, freckles, blue eyes, hair almost as black as her brother'sтАФbetrayed her own ethnic origins.
Typical Appalachian mongrel. The daughter and sister of coal miners.
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Poor white trash. Yup. That's what we are, all right.

There was no anger in Mike's thought. Only contempt for Tom's parents, and pity for Tom himself.
Mike's father had a high school education. Jack Stearns had worked in a coal mine since he was
eighteen, and had never been able to afford more than a modest house. He had hoped to help his
children through college. But the mine roof-fall which crippled him and eventually caused his death had
put paid to those plans.

The quintessential nobody. On the day he finally died, Mike had been like a stunned ox. Years later, he
could still feel the aching place in his heart where a giant had once lived.

"Let it go, Tom," he said softly. "Just let it go. If it's worth anything, your brother-in-law approves of
you."

Tom puffed out his cheeks, and slowly blew out the breath. "It is. Quite a bit."