"Phyllis A. Whitney - Thunder Heights" - читать интересную книгу автора (Whitney Phyllis A)

But Althea King had seen the river with more personal eyes. She had known the Hudson in its every mood - when its banks glowed brilliant with autumn foliage, when ice encrusted its inlets, when spring laid a tender hand upon its shores and when summer thunderstorms set the cliffs reverberating.
Yet after her marriage her mother had never again set foot on a Hudson River boat until the final summons from her father. "I want to remember," she had said, "but I don't want to turn the knife in my heart." Strange words to a little girl's ears, but her mother's passion for the river had remained, and now Camilla felt eager and alive, ready to fling her arms wide and embrace the new life that must surely lie ahead. That life was her heritage from her mother, and the river was a vibrant part of it.
Nevertheless, the river had taken her mother away, she thought with a twinge of guilt. Althea had never returned from that last journey up Hudson waters to Thunder Heights. Remembering that,
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she wondered what the river might hold in the future for Althea's daughter.
The boat that awaited Camilla was one of the Hudson's fastest - four decks high and gleaming with white paint and gold trim. The tourist season had not yet begun, but there was a continual flow of traffic between New York and Albany, and passengers were already boarding when she reached the pier.
The day was gray again. This was stormbrewing weather, with an electric quality in the air and a wild wind blowing - weather that carried excitement in every breath. It was cold for the first day of April, and the cutting wind sent most of the passengers scuttling for the comfort of the gold and white salons.
Since the trip would be a short one for Camilla, she had no cabin, but as soon as she had checked her flimsy suitcase, she climbed the grand staircase, her hand on the fine mahogany rail, and went into the main salon where passengers were making themselves comfortable out of the wind. She looked about, wanting nothing so tame as this. She wanted to be outside where everything was happening.
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Over her hat she tied a gray veil that matched her gray tailleur suit, knotting it in a bow under her chin. Then she went out on deck into the very teeth of the wind. With a great tootling of whistles the boat was drawing away from the pier, turning its back upon the harbor of New York as it began its journey up the Hudson River. The paddle wheels churned a frothing wake, that sent waves rolling away to rock all smaller craft. Gulls soared and dived in the great air drafts, as if they too felt the excitement of the day.
Every manner of river craft - barges, tugs, ferries, sail-boats, freighters steamed or sailed or chugged about their individual business. As Camilla watched, she let the gale whip color into her face, breathing the fresh, tangy odor - the odor of salt air. It was as if she were truly breathing for the first time since her father's death.
Only one other passenger had dared the cold out on deck. Ahead a man leaned against the rail with his back to her, while the prow of the boat cut through choppy gray water like a great white swan among lesser fowl. He wore a sandy tweed jacket
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and a cap pulled over his forehead. So absorbed was he by the sights of the river that Camilla could watch him curiously without being noticed.
As she stood below him at the rail, a child of no more than four suddenly darted out of a doorway. The little girl was laughing as she ran up the deck, and Camilla, looking about for her mother to follow, saw no one. At once she hurried after the child, lest she come to harm. But the man had heard the sound of small feet running and he turned in time to see the little girl and catch her up in his arms. Then he saw Camilla approaching.
"An open deck is a dangerous place for a child," he said curtly and handed her to Camilla.
His misunderstanding was natural, and she did not take offense, but accepted the child and walked back toward the cornpanionway just as a frantic mother rushed out and looked around in distraction.
"Here she is," Camilla said. The mother thanked her and hurried the little girl back to the shelter of the doorway. When Camilla turned, smiling, she saw the man in the tweed jacket was watching her.
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He took off his cap and the wind ruffled hair that had the glossy sheen of a redbrown chestnut. "I'm sorry," he said. "I thought she was yours, and it's a wonder I didn't read you a lecture. A child was badly hurt the last time I made this trip, and I get impatient with careless mothers.33
She nodded in a friendly fashion and went to stand next to him at the rail, watching the steep cliffs of the Palisades rising ahead. She was glad he had spoken to her. Now she might ask him questions about the river. "Do you know the Hudson well ?33 she began.
He drew the cap down over his eyes again. "Well enough. I've lived along its banks all my life, and I've been up and down its length a few times.33
"How wonderful,33 she said. "It's strange to think that I've lived all my life in New York City and have never sailed up the Hudson River. Today I feel like an explorer. I wish I could go all the way to Albany."
He stared off into the wind without cornment, and she hoped he wasn't shutting her out. In her eagerness and exhilaration she was ready to spill over in conversation with
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almost anyone, but she contented herself for the moment by studying the strong line of his jaw, his straight nose and jutting brows. It was difficult to judge his age probably he was in the mid-thirties. There was a certain ruggedness about him, a muscular breadth to his shoulders that marked him for a man of action, rather than, like her father, a man of books. She observed his hand upon the rail, long of finger and wide across the back. A hand that revealed strength and vitality. The sum of all these things interested her, made her a little curious.
"I'm going upriver to Westcliff," she said tentatively.
He looked at her more directly than before, and she saw that his eyes were gray as the river that flowed past the boat, and set widely beneath heavy chestnut brows.
"WestclhT happens to be my destination too/3 he admitted, but offered her no more in the way of explanation.
The wind had increased its velocity, tearing at her hat as if to snatch it from beneath the enfolding veil, pulling black strands of hair from beneath its brim.
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Camilla pushed them back breathlessly and laughed into the gale in sheer delight. There was something satisfying about resisting its elementary force. She would choose a storm any day to brooding safely in the shelter of a small gray room whose very walls shut her away from the tempests and clamor of life.
"I'm glad you're going to WestclifT," she told him., speaking her mind without hesitation. "I'll at least have an acquaintance in the vicinity. I don't know a soul where I'm going. Do you know the place called Thunder Heights ?"
His face was not one to be easily read, but she sensed that he was startled. The set of his straight mouth was unsmiling, his gray eyes guarded as he looked away.
"Is - is there something wrong with my going to Thunder Heights ?" she asked.
He did not meet her look. "Why are you going there? Surely not to look for employment ?"
"No," she said. "I work as a governess and I believe there are no children in the house at present." She hesitated because she had never before claimed openly her relationship to the Judds. Then she went on
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with a faint hint of happy pride in her voice that she could not suppress. "My grandfather is Orrin Judd. My mother, Althea, was the youngest of Orrin Judd's three daughters. I am Camilla King."
He made no move and his expression did not change, yet it seemed to Camilla that there was a withdrawing, as if something in him moved away from her. He spoke beneath his breath, almost as if to himself.
"Another one," he said, and she sensed hostility in him.
He was judging her in some mistaken way, she was sure, though she did not know what there was in her Judd relationship to misunderstand.
"My grandfather is very ill," she hurried on. "I - I may be going to his deathbed. I believe he had a heart attack a few days ago."
This time she had truly surprised him. "A heart attack ?" he repeated unbelievingly. "He has been ailing for some time, but - how do you know this ?"
"An attorney of my grandfather's - a Mr. Pompton - came looking for me. He said my grandfather wanted to see me. Mr.
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pompton arranged for my passage and I was able to take the boat at once."