[1782, dusk, American camp outside Fort Orange]
The celebrations began. Fiddlers played. Raucous cheers. Major Luthor could hear the British pipers sing their tunes from the Highlands. A visitor would have assumed that the redcoats had won.
Perhaps His Majesty's armies lost this War of Independence. But this garrison ... this pitiful outpost of imperial power ... had won a victory. Even now, the Union Jack fluttered defiantly in the crisp March air.
The British courier returned to the officers' tent. He had no need for a flag of truce now. He shook hands with men who, not four hours ago, were prepared to put the entire garrison to the sword. Now, they were friends.
Elijah snickered. A friendship enforced by this treaty in Paris.
The courier took off his hat in a grand flourish. "Major, the fort sends you its greetings ... and an invitation." He cleared his throat. "On behalf of the senior infantry and cavalry officers of His Majesty's garrison at Fort Orange, Colonel Fitzgerald extends an invitation to a festive occasion."
Elijah smiled politely. He did not wish to go. The men huddled beside the fires outside. Those who fought at Saratoga, in the Carolinas, even in Lexington so long ago ... they deserved to rejoice. Their suffering is over.
"Please extend my thanks for the colonel's gracious offering, but I must decline," Elijah insisted. "My officers have leave to join you." The courier nodded and was about to step outside the tent.
"Any news from the front?" Elijah asked. "...Yorkton, I mean."
The courier paused. "Washington captured an entire army. He outmanoeuvred Cornwallis. That officer, Wayne, delivered the coup de grace to any lingering counterattack on our part. The Virginians are calling him a hero. A hero of the Revolution."
"A hero, eh?" Elijah muttered. Seven years ago, young Edward Wayne begged for mercy.
I granted it, he thought. Now, this Wayne has won the favour of the Congress, of Washington ...
Of America.
Elijah sat in his tent and drank a glass of rum. "God bless America," he toasted, then drank quickly. No need to savour the taste. Lost glory had none.
An explosion rattled the morning slumber. Not unexpected, since the British had warned them that they were destroying any "miscellaneous" supplies. Too much of a burden for their baggage train, they said. Diplomatic language to hide the reality: they wanted to deny the Yankees any valuable ammunition, gunpowders, stocks and equipment.
The pipers led the way, playing some light-hearted lament for a lost love. This New World, this land of plenty - it now belonged to the Yankees.
Let the dance begin, Elijah pondered. Colonel Fitzgerald took off his hat and bowed in deference to the fort's 'conqueror'.
"On behalf of His Majesty, George III ... I, Colonel Fitzgerald, of the Fifth Regiment of Foot, do beg leave and free passage through these territories."
Elijah also bowed, well aware of his new role as America's ambassador. "I, Major Luthor, of the Continental Army of America, accept your terms. You relinquish Fort Orange and its defenses. We grant you the right to withdraw unmolested."
The regimental flag and the English banner flew proudly before the Stars and Stripes of the patriots. "Will you be returning to England?" Elijah asked.
"We are to return to our bases in the Canadas," the colonel mounted his horse," A frigate will take us to Montreal, where further orders await."
"Then I wish you godspeed ... friend," Elijah remarked. A lone private barged through the ranks.
"No! We should fight them!" the young soldier demanded, "Are you not Englishmen? You dined with them last night, yet they offer no apologies for their offences in New England?"
The colonel moved to strike the impudent lad, but several soldiers shielded the man.
"The war is over," Elijah stated, "America is no longer yours to command."
The soldier spat before the major. "You traitorous bastard! I was there, seven years ago, when your men captured Concord. I was there when you torched the house of Edward Wayne, God curse him! I hid in the woods as your men ..."
"Who - who are you?" Elijah wondered.
The soldier sobbed. "... Robert Cartwright, Massachusetts Loyalist militia. You speak of honour, but showed none to my father!"
Elijah's mind raced back to the past. To Concord. His men had captured a group of Loyalist militamen. General Gage's men were pressing hard. He recalled giving an order, amidst the smoke and musket fire. "Make an example of them," he had ordered.
"Tarred and feathered, he was," Robert cried. "I was but nine! I'm glad this wretched war is over. To know that yours is a hollow victory. To see your glory denied. May you never know the friendship my father once gladly gave to strangers."
His comrades tried to comfort him. "May you never know happiness, Luthor. Damn you to hell! Damn you."
Elijah looked up at the colonel, who scowled and abruptly ordered his men forth. Drummers and pipers played. This time, a defiantly proud tune. This was not a weakened army on its last legs. He had seen those glares before.
In battle.
Two days ago, he would have welcomed the challenge. The chance to fight. Now, those same glares reminded him of unfulfilled hopes.
A redcoat army, bristling with bayonets, marched away. He could do nothing but watch. And regret.
[2002, Outside the Metropolis Hilton]
A continuous stream of students filled the yellow buses. Schools from across the state prepared to leave the big city for the dull routine of exams, football games and proms.
Chloe felt depressed. "But we haven't seen the Museum of Modern Art, the observation desk atop the Daily Planet Building ..."
"Geez, the city isn't going anywhere, Sullivan," Pete remarked, "there'll be other field trips."
"So, what did you learn from 'Heritage Days', Clark," Lana asked. Clark didn't notice, as he browsed through the Daily Planet.
He slammed the paper on the pavement. "I can't believe it!"
Chloe picked up the front page. "What is it Clark?" She skimmed the headlines. 'LUTHOR CORP. BOARD UNANIMOUS: CORPORATE PLAZA APPROVED.'
"I don't understand," Lana appeared puzzled. "Fort Orange was the birthplace of the Luthor legacy. Why would they want to bury it?"
"Money. Politics. Greed. Take your pick. I'm not all that surprised," Pete replied, "Lex backs daddy dearest. Nothing new there."
Lex ran down the street. "I blew off a meeting to see you guys off. Are you sure you need to go back today?"
Clark slammed the Planet against Lex's chest. "How could you? Fort Orange is as much a part of your history as it is America's. To pave it over like a parking lot ... why?!"
"Clark, let me explain," Lex took Clark aside. "I voted against the deal. I would have made the site a new Smithsonian. Nothing would have stopped me."
"The Planet says otherwise!" Clark fumed.
"It's not a clear-cut as that," Lex explained, "Senator Callahan is a powerful man. He sits on all the congressional committees that matter. He could be tapped for governor in a few years' time. He needs this plaza project for the November elections. That means he's in our debt. And make no mistake, I intend to call him up on that debt one day."
"You'd bury your family's historical birthright ... to curry political favours?" Clark snapped, "So the whole museum show was just a ploy ... to soften the edges of the Luthor reputation."
"There were dozens of private bidders who would have paid millions for those artifacts," Lex insisted, "I made sure the museum got them. They don't belong just to the Luthors. They belong to all of us."
Clark began to storm away, but Lex caught up with him. "For the record, our press people suggested that we report the vote as unanimous. The Asian markets were opening up in a few hours and they feared my dissension would rattle investor confidence. I have my responsibilities, too!"
"Yeah - to yourself!" Clark blasted. "I hope Metropolis enjoys your new corporate plaza. I'm sure Elijah Luthor would be thrilled." He quickly jumped into the school bus.
Lex watched the Smallville High bus leave the city. I'll be able to smooth things over once I get a chance to fully explain.
I hope.
[Luthor Hall, Metropolis Museum, 9:10 p.m.]
Lex ushered his guest into the gallery. "This painting dates from 1779. There's George Washington. And my forefather, Major Elijah Luthor. The officer to the rear may seem ... familiar."
The guest inspected the painting. "Some of the painting is chipped. Nothing that a professional restoration can't repair. The frame ... solid oak. The signature is authentic. It's the genuine article ..." He paused.
"Is that ...?"
"Captain Edward Wayne of the Continental Army. Our historians suspect that the portrait was sketched for a New England paper. Just before Elijah and Edward parted ways. My ancestor carried on the fight in the South, ..."
"... while my ancestor rejected family bonds to forge his own destiny ..." Bruce Wayne stepped closer to this relic of his past.
"Look, it's late. Why don't I put you up at the Ritz-Carlton. The penthouse," Lex offered. "I'd have you stay over at the estate, but ..."
"Yes," Bruce noted, "But." Lionel Luthor.
"The cathedral is holding a memorial service for Thomas and Martha on Friday. I plan to attend," Lex noted.
"Lionel would be displeased," Bruce mumbled.
"He's never been pleased at anything I've done," Lex winced, "Nothing I do or say will persuade him to turn over a new leaf. Especially on all things Wayne."
Bruce studied the features of his patriotic ancestor. "I'll be returning to Gotham City tonight. Some loose ends, before ..."
The anniversary. Lex dared not mention it. I could never fathom the despair he suffers every fall, he thought.
"Elijah Luthor and Edward Wayne fought side by side in the Revolution," Lex declared, "Spilled blood. Risked all. Driven to surmount obstacles. That's what sets our families apart from others."
"Our families also fought against each other. Battle of Gotham, 1862 ..." Bruce mused.
"... and that Phoenix Program, 1968 to god knows when ..." Lex added.
Bruce grinned. "Is Lionel still griping about that? Talk about beating a dead horse." The hall lights had dimmed. They would be closing the museum for the night.
"I'll be a moment," Bruce stared at the painting.
"Of course," Lex walked away, "I'll tell Alfred to pull up to the front."
Bruce sat on a bench. In the display case, the Yankee musket still crossed against a British flag.
Edward, I wish I could possess that strength of conviction. To forsake those you cared for most. For a principle, an ideal.
A purpose.
Like you, I must make that choice alone.
Lex peered into the darkened hall. There sat the man who could change history, like his famous forefathers. Like Thomas Wayne.
Should he seize that destiny - to become a great man - he could be my strongest ally.
Or a merciless foe. How many ... how many publishers, corporate raiders and politicians have dared to slander his name? He could not recall - they all folded, failed or crumbled.
Bruce stood up. "Time to go."
"Our destinies await," Lex replied.
They traded glances. With one common thought.
I expect my fate to be better than yours ...
... I will make it so.
THE END
The celebrations began. Fiddlers played. Raucous cheers. Major Luthor could hear the British pipers sing their tunes from the Highlands. A visitor would have assumed that the redcoats had won.
Perhaps His Majesty's armies lost this War of Independence. But this garrison ... this pitiful outpost of imperial power ... had won a victory. Even now, the Union Jack fluttered defiantly in the crisp March air.
The British courier returned to the officers' tent. He had no need for a flag of truce now. He shook hands with men who, not four hours ago, were prepared to put the entire garrison to the sword. Now, they were friends.
Elijah snickered. A friendship enforced by this treaty in Paris.
The courier took off his hat in a grand flourish. "Major, the fort sends you its greetings ... and an invitation." He cleared his throat. "On behalf of the senior infantry and cavalry officers of His Majesty's garrison at Fort Orange, Colonel Fitzgerald extends an invitation to a festive occasion."
Elijah smiled politely. He did not wish to go. The men huddled beside the fires outside. Those who fought at Saratoga, in the Carolinas, even in Lexington so long ago ... they deserved to rejoice. Their suffering is over.
"Please extend my thanks for the colonel's gracious offering, but I must decline," Elijah insisted. "My officers have leave to join you." The courier nodded and was about to step outside the tent.
"Any news from the front?" Elijah asked. "...Yorkton, I mean."
The courier paused. "Washington captured an entire army. He outmanoeuvred Cornwallis. That officer, Wayne, delivered the coup de grace to any lingering counterattack on our part. The Virginians are calling him a hero. A hero of the Revolution."
"A hero, eh?" Elijah muttered. Seven years ago, young Edward Wayne begged for mercy.
I granted it, he thought. Now, this Wayne has won the favour of the Congress, of Washington ...
Of America.
Elijah sat in his tent and drank a glass of rum. "God bless America," he toasted, then drank quickly. No need to savour the taste. Lost glory had none.
An explosion rattled the morning slumber. Not unexpected, since the British had warned them that they were destroying any "miscellaneous" supplies. Too much of a burden for their baggage train, they said. Diplomatic language to hide the reality: they wanted to deny the Yankees any valuable ammunition, gunpowders, stocks and equipment.
The pipers led the way, playing some light-hearted lament for a lost love. This New World, this land of plenty - it now belonged to the Yankees.
Let the dance begin, Elijah pondered. Colonel Fitzgerald took off his hat and bowed in deference to the fort's 'conqueror'.
"On behalf of His Majesty, George III ... I, Colonel Fitzgerald, of the Fifth Regiment of Foot, do beg leave and free passage through these territories."
Elijah also bowed, well aware of his new role as America's ambassador. "I, Major Luthor, of the Continental Army of America, accept your terms. You relinquish Fort Orange and its defenses. We grant you the right to withdraw unmolested."
The regimental flag and the English banner flew proudly before the Stars and Stripes of the patriots. "Will you be returning to England?" Elijah asked.
"We are to return to our bases in the Canadas," the colonel mounted his horse," A frigate will take us to Montreal, where further orders await."
"Then I wish you godspeed ... friend," Elijah remarked. A lone private barged through the ranks.
"No! We should fight them!" the young soldier demanded, "Are you not Englishmen? You dined with them last night, yet they offer no apologies for their offences in New England?"
The colonel moved to strike the impudent lad, but several soldiers shielded the man.
"The war is over," Elijah stated, "America is no longer yours to command."
The soldier spat before the major. "You traitorous bastard! I was there, seven years ago, when your men captured Concord. I was there when you torched the house of Edward Wayne, God curse him! I hid in the woods as your men ..."
"Who - who are you?" Elijah wondered.
The soldier sobbed. "... Robert Cartwright, Massachusetts Loyalist militia. You speak of honour, but showed none to my father!"
Elijah's mind raced back to the past. To Concord. His men had captured a group of Loyalist militamen. General Gage's men were pressing hard. He recalled giving an order, amidst the smoke and musket fire. "Make an example of them," he had ordered.
"Tarred and feathered, he was," Robert cried. "I was but nine! I'm glad this wretched war is over. To know that yours is a hollow victory. To see your glory denied. May you never know the friendship my father once gladly gave to strangers."
His comrades tried to comfort him. "May you never know happiness, Luthor. Damn you to hell! Damn you."
Elijah looked up at the colonel, who scowled and abruptly ordered his men forth. Drummers and pipers played. This time, a defiantly proud tune. This was not a weakened army on its last legs. He had seen those glares before.
In battle.
Two days ago, he would have welcomed the challenge. The chance to fight. Now, those same glares reminded him of unfulfilled hopes.
A redcoat army, bristling with bayonets, marched away. He could do nothing but watch. And regret.
[2002, Outside the Metropolis Hilton]
A continuous stream of students filled the yellow buses. Schools from across the state prepared to leave the big city for the dull routine of exams, football games and proms.
Chloe felt depressed. "But we haven't seen the Museum of Modern Art, the observation desk atop the Daily Planet Building ..."
"Geez, the city isn't going anywhere, Sullivan," Pete remarked, "there'll be other field trips."
"So, what did you learn from 'Heritage Days', Clark," Lana asked. Clark didn't notice, as he browsed through the Daily Planet.
He slammed the paper on the pavement. "I can't believe it!"
Chloe picked up the front page. "What is it Clark?" She skimmed the headlines. 'LUTHOR CORP. BOARD UNANIMOUS: CORPORATE PLAZA APPROVED.'
"I don't understand," Lana appeared puzzled. "Fort Orange was the birthplace of the Luthor legacy. Why would they want to bury it?"
"Money. Politics. Greed. Take your pick. I'm not all that surprised," Pete replied, "Lex backs daddy dearest. Nothing new there."
Lex ran down the street. "I blew off a meeting to see you guys off. Are you sure you need to go back today?"
Clark slammed the Planet against Lex's chest. "How could you? Fort Orange is as much a part of your history as it is America's. To pave it over like a parking lot ... why?!"
"Clark, let me explain," Lex took Clark aside. "I voted against the deal. I would have made the site a new Smithsonian. Nothing would have stopped me."
"The Planet says otherwise!" Clark fumed.
"It's not a clear-cut as that," Lex explained, "Senator Callahan is a powerful man. He sits on all the congressional committees that matter. He could be tapped for governor in a few years' time. He needs this plaza project for the November elections. That means he's in our debt. And make no mistake, I intend to call him up on that debt one day."
"You'd bury your family's historical birthright ... to curry political favours?" Clark snapped, "So the whole museum show was just a ploy ... to soften the edges of the Luthor reputation."
"There were dozens of private bidders who would have paid millions for those artifacts," Lex insisted, "I made sure the museum got them. They don't belong just to the Luthors. They belong to all of us."
Clark began to storm away, but Lex caught up with him. "For the record, our press people suggested that we report the vote as unanimous. The Asian markets were opening up in a few hours and they feared my dissension would rattle investor confidence. I have my responsibilities, too!"
"Yeah - to yourself!" Clark blasted. "I hope Metropolis enjoys your new corporate plaza. I'm sure Elijah Luthor would be thrilled." He quickly jumped into the school bus.
Lex watched the Smallville High bus leave the city. I'll be able to smooth things over once I get a chance to fully explain.
I hope.
[Luthor Hall, Metropolis Museum, 9:10 p.m.]
Lex ushered his guest into the gallery. "This painting dates from 1779. There's George Washington. And my forefather, Major Elijah Luthor. The officer to the rear may seem ... familiar."
The guest inspected the painting. "Some of the painting is chipped. Nothing that a professional restoration can't repair. The frame ... solid oak. The signature is authentic. It's the genuine article ..." He paused.
"Is that ...?"
"Captain Edward Wayne of the Continental Army. Our historians suspect that the portrait was sketched for a New England paper. Just before Elijah and Edward parted ways. My ancestor carried on the fight in the South, ..."
"... while my ancestor rejected family bonds to forge his own destiny ..." Bruce Wayne stepped closer to this relic of his past.
"Look, it's late. Why don't I put you up at the Ritz-Carlton. The penthouse," Lex offered. "I'd have you stay over at the estate, but ..."
"Yes," Bruce noted, "But." Lionel Luthor.
"The cathedral is holding a memorial service for Thomas and Martha on Friday. I plan to attend," Lex noted.
"Lionel would be displeased," Bruce mumbled.
"He's never been pleased at anything I've done," Lex winced, "Nothing I do or say will persuade him to turn over a new leaf. Especially on all things Wayne."
Bruce studied the features of his patriotic ancestor. "I'll be returning to Gotham City tonight. Some loose ends, before ..."
The anniversary. Lex dared not mention it. I could never fathom the despair he suffers every fall, he thought.
"Elijah Luthor and Edward Wayne fought side by side in the Revolution," Lex declared, "Spilled blood. Risked all. Driven to surmount obstacles. That's what sets our families apart from others."
"Our families also fought against each other. Battle of Gotham, 1862 ..." Bruce mused.
"... and that Phoenix Program, 1968 to god knows when ..." Lex added.
Bruce grinned. "Is Lionel still griping about that? Talk about beating a dead horse." The hall lights had dimmed. They would be closing the museum for the night.
"I'll be a moment," Bruce stared at the painting.
"Of course," Lex walked away, "I'll tell Alfred to pull up to the front."
Bruce sat on a bench. In the display case, the Yankee musket still crossed against a British flag.
Edward, I wish I could possess that strength of conviction. To forsake those you cared for most. For a principle, an ideal.
A purpose.
Like you, I must make that choice alone.
Lex peered into the darkened hall. There sat the man who could change history, like his famous forefathers. Like Thomas Wayne.
Should he seize that destiny - to become a great man - he could be my strongest ally.
Or a merciless foe. How many ... how many publishers, corporate raiders and politicians have dared to slander his name? He could not recall - they all folded, failed or crumbled.
Bruce stood up. "Time to go."
"Our destinies await," Lex replied.
They traded glances. With one common thought.
I expect my fate to be better than yours ...
... I will make it so.
THE END