The Spice King, page 30
He sat, and Maude Larkin stood.
“I’ve got something to say,” she announced.
Major Gilligan looked at her in surprise. “Ma’am?” He gestured her forward. “Please step up to the table so the stenographer can hear.”
Maude came forward with a copy of the contract and determination in her eyes. She pointed to the line in the contract where the Margruders agreed to print the ingredients on every can of food sold to the military. “I’d like to know why food sold to ordinary people won’t have the ingredients on the label. You charge a lot for baked beans, and we’re entitled to know what’s inside. Are you using bacon or not?”
“Of course,” old Jedidiah said. “Plenty of bacon.”
Maude nodded. “Good. I think you should print the ingredients on the label for everybody, not just the military. Because if there’s no bacon, I’m not buying.”
Major Gilligan looked at the Magruders. “Is there any reason you don’t print ingredients on the cans sold to the public?”
“Because it’s pointless,” Clyde said. “Everyone knows what baked beans taste like.”
Major Gilligan looked amused. “You have to admit, the lack of bacon can break a deal.”
The clicking of the stenograph machine continued, capturing every word, but hopefully Clyde had forgotten he was on the record. He leaned over to confer with his father, speaking behind cupped hands. After a moment, Clyde addressed the crowd.
“Too much administrative hassle,” he said simply.
“If there’s nothing wrong with it, why not just print the ingredients on the label?” Major Gilligan asked, appearing genuinely curious.
Jedidiah’s brows lowered in annoyance. “Our baked beans are one hundred percent pure. Real beans, real brown sugar, real bacon. We’ve already met with a pair of your government lawyers after that magazine story slandered our products. There are no fillers or substitutes in our baked beans.”
“Then I’d like to see the ingredients on the label,” Maude said. “I want to know if there’s real bacon in the can or just pork fat. Because real bacon—”
“It’s real bacon,” Jedidiah groused.
“Then put it on the label so everyone can see,” Maude said. “Not just for the military, but for everyone.”
“Fine!” Jedidiah said. “Fine. Clyde, make the changes.”
Clyde opened and closed his mouth, uncertain how to overrule his father, for it would look bad if he backtracked now.
“While we’re on the topic, I’d like to discuss your maple syrup,” Maude said.
Major Gilligan pinched the bridge of his nose. “No disrespect, ma’am, but we are veering far off topic.”
Gray stood. “Not at all. The army is also contracting for condensed milk, pancake mix, and maple syrup. It fell below the threshold for public consideration, but the American people have a right to know if the government has been overpaying.”
“You certainly have been,” Maude said. “The Magruders use flavored corn syrup and pass it off as maple. Corn syrup costs ten cents a tin, while maple syrup is ninety cents more. Now mind you, I bought a tin of that fake maple syrup, and it tasted fine. But I had a right to know that it wasn’t the real thing. Frankly, I overpaid, and I’d like my ninety cents back.”
Clyde opened his wallet, peeled out a dollar bill, and handed it to the orderly. “Please give this to the good lady on the far side of the room. Tell her she can keep the change.”
The young man held the bill, uncertain what to do.
Maude raised her hand. “I’ll take it.”
Muffled laughter rippled through the crowd as the orderly carried her the bill. Maude rolled it neatly and pushed it into her coin purse. Now she was ready to bring out the big guns.
“Based on my calculations of how much syrup the Magruders sold last year, the people in Kansas overpaid $240,000 on artificially flavored corn syrup. Thank you for my dollar, but I think you owe almost a quarter of a million dollars to the rest of Kansas. I’ve got the numbers for what people overpaid in Oklahoma Territory, Nebraska, Missouri, and both Dakotas too. I’ll let the east coast come after you on their own.”
Major Gillian looked baffled. “Is there a point to any of this, ma’am?”
Gray had to bite his tongue. Everything in him wanted to stand up and drive the point home, but it would sound better coming from Maude.
“The point is that by tricking people about what they’re selling, the Magruders have cheated us out of our hard-earned money. And that’s just maple syrup.” She held aloft a piece of paper. “I’ve also got numbers for their pancake mix, applesauce, condensed milk—”
Jedidiah smacked the flat of his hand on the conference table, causing the water glasses to jump. “That’s enough, woman,” he growled. “Our products are pure. Our products are excellent.”
Maude wasn’t intimidated. She raised her chin and met old Magruder’s gaze without flinching. “Not your maple syrup. I was cheated, and your son just admitted it.”
“I know all about genuine maple syrup,” Jedidiah said, his voice trembling with anger. He stood and jerked his suit jacket off, then began rolling up his sleeves. Clyde tried to coax his father down, but Jedidiah shrugged him off. “I was harvesting and boiling maple sap when I was eight years old. You see these scars?” he demanded, holding up his forearms. “That’s what comes from getting scalded on a sap boiler. I’m proud of these scars. I’m proud of every product coming out of a Magruder factory. Of course our maple syrup is pure. I have no problem listing exactly what is in every tin of Magruder syrup.”
Clyde stood and tried to force the old man to sit down, but Jedidiah was having none of it, continuing to rant that all Magruder products were pure. The journalists scribbled to keep up with the stream of angry promises, but most important was the government stenographer, whose rattling machine captured every word. Jedidiah’s ranting carried no legal weight, but he was still painting his company into a corner.
Maude held up a paper summarizing their research from the Library of Congress. “I’d also like the company to address their fraudulent applesauce, vanilla flavoring, coffee—”
“That will do,” Major Gilligan interrupted. “This is irrelevant to the military, but you can send those papers over to the Department of Agriculture. They’d probably care; they love that sort of thing.”
“Actually, we’re here,” someone said at the back of the room. Four men in plain suits stood, introducing themselves as members of the committee for food standards. “We are overjoyed the Magruders have agreed to list ingredients on their products for all the American people. Well done, sir!”
Jedidiah finally realized his every word was being recorded, and plopped back into his chair, breathing heavily, while Clyde remained standing and took over for his father.
“That’s not going to happen,” Clyde said. “I know that government bureaucrats may lack an understanding of the complexities of labeling processed food—”
“I don’t,” Gray said. “It’s actually quite easy to get new labels printed up. I can show you how.”
Clyde’s eyes narrowed, no doubt remembering the laughing mice on the label Luke had designed. “Nothing said here today is legally binding,” he bit out. “The only thing that matters are the words written on that contract, and it’s for baked beans and chipped—”
A commotion in the doorway caused Clyde to pause. Two bull-necked men entered the room, followed by Caroline pushing a dour-looking woman in a wheelchair. The first lady? The middle-aged woman wore a high-necked gown, and her steel-gray hair was braided around her head like a crown. Caroline met Gray’s gaze across the crowded conference room and winked. In front of her, Ida McKinley sat in the wheelchair like it was a throne, wearing a fierce expression as she banged her cane on the floor with considerable vigor.
“Why did this meeting start without me?” the first lady demanded, her voice ringing through the chamber. Even Maude Larkin dropped into her seat, stunned into dazed silence.
Major Gilligan rose, looking distinctly uncomfortable as he adjusted the collar of his uniform. “We were unaware you planned on attending, ma’am.”
“I take an avid interest in the health of our troops. Everyone knows that.”
Major Gilligan gestured to a young orderly to make space at the table. “Please join us, ma’am. We certainly welcome your insight on supporting our troops.”
Ida McKinley was as welcome as a wasp at a picnic. She was notorious for her surly disposition and gauche personal attacks, which was why she rarely made public appearances. Caroline looked serenely smug as she positioned Mrs. McKinley’s wheelchair at the conference table, then glided into the neighboring chair like a princess. With a smile at Clyde, she set a copy of Good Housekeeping on the table before Mrs. McKinley.
Clyde looked ready to choke. His eyes narrowed and his hands fisted, but Mrs. McKinley was sermonizing about the health of the troops, and he could hardly interrupt the first lady.
“The canned food served to our troops during the recent war was an abomination,” Mrs. McKinley pronounced. “What did those newspapers call it?” she asked, turning to Caroline.
“Embalmed beef, ma’am,” Caroline supplied.
Mrs. McKinley smacked the table before her. “Embalmed beef!” she said in a scornful tone and turned to Major Gilligan. “To send our young men overseas and feed them slop? I’m ashamed of our conduct. Ashamed! I certainly hope there is no embalmed beef on that contract before you.”
“No indeed, ma’am,” Major Gilligan said. “Magruder’s chipped beef is the only canned meat in the contract, and I can attest it is a recipe I myself enjoy. Our troops will, as well.”
Mrs. McKinley swiveled her steely gaze to Clyde. “You are Mr. Magruder?”
Clyde gave a stiff nod.
“Aiming to be Congressman Magruder, if the rumors are true,” Mrs. McKinley said.
“They are,” Clyde said. “I aspire to represent the great city of Baltimore.”
“It is indeed a great city,” Mrs. McKinley said. “Baltimore is the home of Fort McHenry and birthplace of ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ Next month the crown princess of Greece will be visiting, and her itinerary will take her through Baltimore. I can only hope there will be no counterfeit applesauce on the menu?”
“Of course not,” Clyde said, flustered by this unexpected turn in the meeting.
“Good, because some of the shoddy food I’ve seen in Washington never fails to amaze me. You should have seen the stale tea cakes I was served by the Ladies Temperance Union. You would think those women would have—”
Caroline placed a hand on the first lady’s wrist, and she immediately stopped talking as Caroline whispered in her ear, gesturing to the military contract on the table. Mrs. McKinley nodded and straightened, focusing her attention back on Clyde.
“Well, we aren’t here to revisit that luncheon, no matter how substandard the tea cakes. I need to be assured that the leading food manufacturer in this nation, led by a man who hopes to grace the halls of Congress, will not foist counterfeit applesauce on the crown princess of Greece.”
Clyde flushed and got to his feet. “If I am honored to meet with the crown princess, all will be prepared by the finest chefs—”
“Because the princess has very discriminating tastes. I would take it as a personal embarrassment if she’s fed embalmed beef.”
“Of course, ma’am. And may I state that my company had no part in the embalmed beef controversy during the late war.”
Mrs. McKinley sent him a withering stare. “That’s a low bar, Mr. Magruder.”
Gray could almost feel sorry for Clyde Magruder. He didn’t deserve the attacks coming from Mrs. McKinley, but the journalists were catching every word, and tomorrow’s newspapers would laud the first lady for valiantly standing up for American troops while castigating Magruder Food.
Clyde Magruder’s congressional hopes had just been dealt a body blow.
After the meeting, Annabelle stood beside her parents, watching the aftermath continue in the lobby. Her parents gaped at Mrs. McKinley as she was wheeled out of the conference room, reporters surrounding her to take advantage of her rare public appearance. Caroline dutifully stood beside her, keeping the journalists at a distance but gamely helping Mrs. McKinley field their questions.
The meeting had surpassed Annabelle’s expectations, exposing the Magruders in a fashion that would delight Luke’s mischievous sense of humor. Thanks to Maude, the food company’s practice of cheating people a few pennies at a time had been laid bare. Ida McKinley’s distaste for cheap Magruder imitations had been icing on the cake. While Mrs. McKinley’s tirade appeared impulsive, Annabelle had noticed the subtle interplay between Caroline and the first lady and suspected both women knew exactly what they were doing. Even now Caroline and the first lady seemed to be enjoying themselves while the reporters scrambled for attention.
Not so the Magruders, who made a beeline for the exit, avoiding questions and looking as dark as thunderclouds. They had gotten their military contract, but not without a pummeling to their reputation. Although the fight for legislation for pure food would be waged for years to come, the drumbeat of change had begun. She and Gray had played only a small part in it, but no matter how long she lived, Annabelle would be forever proud of what they’d accomplished.
She gazed at Gray across the crowded lobby as he stood beside Caroline. What a proud, magnificent man he was. She drank in the sight of him, trying to imprint it in her memory, for by this time tomorrow she would be on a train back to Kansas.
“Time to leave if we’re going to meet Elaine for dinner,” her father said, cutting through her thoughts.
“I know.”
Even as she spoke, she met Gray’s eyes across the lobby, and he began angling through the throng of people toward her. She braced herself, not sure how to say good-bye. He seemed ill at ease too.
“The two of you are good soldiers to have in a fight,” he said to her parents, offering both of them a handshake. “Well done, Maude. Roy.”
Roy nodded but Maude beamed. Then Gray turned his attention to Annabelle, and it felt like her heart was in her throat.
“So you’re leaving for Kansas tomorrow?” he asked.
Her gaze locked with his, and the first cracks in her heart began to split. She wanted to rush into his arms and lay her head on his shoulder, turn back the clock, and run away with him.
Instead she managed a smile. “My boss gave me a sack of durum wheat. We’ll be the first farm in Kansas to test it. Maybe it will be the answer for us.”
Gray’s eyes warmed in affection and a hint of regret. “I hope so,” he said and extended his hand. “Best of luck, Annabelle.”
Was she really going to bid farewell to the only man she’d ever loved by shaking his hand? But she did, and he touched the side of her face before turning away to follow his sister out of the building.
After the thrill of the day’s events, Gray found the loneliness in his townhouse unbearable, for there was no one with whom to share his triumph. Annabelle was leaving for Kansas, Caroline now lived at the White House, and Luke . . . well, Luke was probably gone forever.
Like the irresistible urge to wiggle a sore tooth, Gray felt the need to torment himself by heading upstairs into the cold loneliness of his younger brother’s bedroom. Everything was exactly as Luke had left it four months earlier. A half-used bar of shaving soap lay on a dish alongside a canister of tooth powder. Some books from the local library were stacked on the corner of the dresser. It was past time to return the books and dispose of the toiletries, but Gray had been delaying the inevitable. He just didn’t want to face the fact that Luke wasn’t coming back.
He sighed and paced the room, turmoil and loneliness clawing at him. The only sound in the empty house was his footsteps echoing in the empty room. Thud, thud, thud, thunk . . .
That was odd. He stepped on the hollow-sounding spot again. Thunk.
The floor was covered by an oriental rug Luke had bought a few years ago. Gray remembered being surprised by it, for although Luke had always been a sharp dresser, he’d never spent anything on furnishing the house. So why the pricey rug?
Gray knelt to peel back the carpet and saw that a square about two feet wide had been cut into the floorboards. His heart accelerated and his palms began to sweat. Whatever was hidden here, Luke had gone to a lot of trouble to hide it.
A notch on one of the boards was barely large enough to wiggle a finger into and lift up the board. Dust swirled and Gray’s nose twitched as he lifted the other boards free. The cache was filled with books and papers. He dreaded what he was about to see, for the top documents were in Spanish.
Nausea filled his stomach. If this was related to Luke’s treasonous activities, did he have the fortitude to surrender it to the government? If it could save lives, it would be the right thing to do. It was still a vile thought. Was this how Annabelle felt when she’d been confronted with the exact same situation?
He lifted out the first book, staring at the title. He couldn’t read Spanish, but the language was enough like French that he could tell it was a book about the banking system of Spain. Banking? The pages were filled with mathematical charts and monetary tables. The other books in Spanish looked equally harmless, merely books on the history and economy of Cuba.
He quickly rifled through the other documents, and relief trickled through him. There was nothing relating to the military or troop positions, but Luke had gone to a great deal of trouble to hide these papers, and Gray desperately wanted to know why.
He kept digging into the cache, but the other books were entirely different. There was a well-thumbed copy of Saint Augustine’s Confessions and a fat book of commentary on the New Testament. Works by Thomas Aquinas and Martin Luther and copies of the Bible in Greek, Latin, and Aramaic. Tiny notes in the margin were all in Luke’s handwriting.
