Bicycle Built for Two

by Duncan, Alice

  “She’s not very strong,” Kate admitted. She wanted to say that she didn’t want her mother traveling anywhere without her, too, but was afraid Alex would think she was angling for an invitation to his stupid farm for herself. Now that the shock of his proposal was wearing off, she had to admit, if only to herself, that the notion of spending some quiet time in the country appealed to her frazzled soul. She’d never say so to Alex.

  “Do you think she’d be willing to travel that far?”

  Kate shrugged. “I don’t know. She doesn’t like to be away from us kids very much.”

  “Oh, well, the invitation is extended to you and Bill, too. And your other brother, of course. I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t mention that before.”

  “No. You didn’t.” Kate told her heart to stop leaping around and doing stupid things. It was only an invitation to visit a farm, for pity’s sake.

  “So, what do you think? I think a change of scenery, especially to the countryside, where the air is fresh and everything’s green and pretty, might be beneficial to a sick woman. I was hoping you’d think so, too.”

  Kate studied Alex and his proposition for several moments, wondering what could possibly be wrong with it. On the surface, Alex didn’t appear to be the kind of gent who would use underhanded tactics to get a woman to succumb to his charms. He was too stuffy and proper for that and anyhow, he didn’t seem inclined to view Kate as appealing as a woman. Then again, Kate absolutely couldn’t fathom why he should be going to such trouble for her family. Heck, her own father didn’t give a rap about his wife and kids; why should Alex English care? They were almost perfect strangers.

  Before she’d managed to wrestle all of her convoluted thoughts into some sort of ordered conclusion, her mouth spoke the words she hadn’t agreed to yet. “Sure. I think Ma would enjoy it.”

  Darn. What was the matter with her, anyhow?

  But Alex didn’t know anything about her inner turmoil. Rather, a smile lit his face, making Kate gasp slightly. He was a very good looking man when he wasn’t hollering at her or in a tizzy about something.

  “Wonderful! I’m so glad you agree with me. I’ll talk to your mother’s doctors this afternoon.”

  “Swell.” Kate wasn’t sure what she’d gotten herself in to, but she feared the worst. Then again, what could happen on a farm with Alex’s mother and her own mother there to chaperone?

  “Are you ready to tackle telling fortunes now, Miss Finney?” He pulled out the pretty gold watch he carried and glanced at it. Kate would love to get a watch like that for Billy. He’d love it. “We haven’t used up too much of your work time.”

  “Sure.” She folded her napkin and set it beside her empty plate. It was funny, but now that she’d finished, she sort of hated leaving the restaurant. The meal hadn’t been entirely peaceful, but it had been delicious, and she’d felt sort of . . . at ease or something. She didn’t know why, but she wasn’t keen about walking away from Alex and his money and facing her world again. Alex’s world was so much less stressful than Kate’s.

  It was all money, she told herself. Money could buy peace and quiet, even if it couldn’t buy happiness. All things considered, Kate decided she’d settle for peace, quiet, and plenty. Happiness would probably take care of itself after that.

  “Say, Miss Finney,” said Alex said as he politely held her chair. “Why don’t I meet you outside the Egyptian Pavilion after you dance this evening. I’ll tell you what the doctors say about a visit to the country for your mother, and drive you to the hospital. We can talk about it then. I’ll ask your mother how she feels about a trip to the countryside after I chat with her doctors.”

  Kate’s trouble-sensing antennae quivered. She told them not to be stupid. “Sure. That would be fine.” She should probably thank him, but she’d wait until later when she was better able to judge whether or not he deserved her thanks. In Kate’s world, it was sometimes difficult to tell.

  She felt ever so much better when she went back to Madame Esmeralda’s Fortune Telling Booth. Madame looked up from the palm she was reading when Alex opened the door for Kate. Kate didn’t like the grin that spread over Madame’s face when she entered the booth, but she couldn’t do anything about it.

  “I’ll see you this evening, Miss Finney.”

  Kate took the hand Alex held out and shook it. “Right,” she said. “This evening.”

  She shot Madame a scowl as she hung up her jacket and scooted to the back of the booth to don her Gypsy paint and garb, feeling as if she’d somehow been manipulated into doing Alex English’s will and not quite understanding how it had happened.

  Chapter Seven

  Alex sent a telegram to his mother that afternoon after he left Mrs. Finney’s hospital room and before he hopped into his conveniently waiting carriage and headed back to the Exposition.

  Mrs. Finney had been stunned by his invitation, but she’d also been pleased. He remembered how she’d held onto his hand and whispered, “Oh, Mr. English, Katie needs to get out of the city. This is so kind of you.”

  It was, rather, and Alex was proud of himself for thinking of it. Not that he’d done it for Kate’s sake. He’d offered them his family farm because he thought Mrs. Finney needed some fresh air. His heart twisted when he thought about how this would probably be the last look she ever got of the countryside she loved so well.

  But aside from the inescapable problem of human mortality, he was feeling fine. Absolutely fine. “‘Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do. I’m half crazy, all for the love of—’”

  He quit singing abruptly as he approached the Egyptian Pavilion and saw the crowd gathered there. His smile faded. Dash it, there were always dozens of men hanging about outside the back door of the Pavilion. Alex knew why they were there, too, and their motivations infuriated him. They all thought Kate Finney was a strumpet who’d be delighted to warm their beds for an appropriate sum of money or gifts of jewelry and so forth. If the notion didn’t gall him so much, he might have laughed.

  They didn’t know Kate Finney or they wouldn’t entertain the notion of Kate succumbing to such lures. Not for any longer than it took her to set them straight, at any rate.

  Alex squinted into the gathering gloom of night, trying to make out the individuals who composed the masculine cluster at the door. Something was going on there, but he couldn’t tell what. Unsettled, he quickened his pace. As he neared the Pavilion, he heard voices.

  “Aw, come on, girlie. Just one little drink. I’ll treat you real fine.”

  “Get out of my way, you drunken lout!” Kate’s voice; and it sounded to Alex as if she were in one of her better and more serious rages.

  “Who you calling a drunken lout, girlie?” The slightly slurred voice was the same as Alex had heard before.

  “You, you lousy bum!”

  “Bum? You’re pretty mouthy, you know that, girlie?”

  “Yeah. I know it.” Kate sounded grim.

  A yelp of pain. A surge of movement among the men surrounding the Pavilion’s back exit. A shout.

  Kate’s voice again. “Try it again, and I’ll do the same thing, you stinking pig!”

  That was enough for Alex. He broke into a run.

  The group of men seemed to be heaving erratically when he burst through the outer layer of humanity, grabbing shoulders and arms and flinging bodies hither and yon. Yowls from his victims barely registered in Alex’s brain, which was occupied with terror on Kate’s behalf. He was going to kill whoever that drunken fiend was who’d been harassing her, by Gad, or know the reason why. By the time he got to Kate, a large space had opened up around him, and men stood aside, gaping and rubbing spots on their bodies that Alex had manhandled.

  He screeched to a halt, his chest heaving and his fists clenched. They ached to connect with a hard object, preferably the jaw of the man who’d been annoying Kate. “Kate!”

  Time seemed to freeze for a moment. Alex’s brain cataloged the image of Kate, standing over a man lying on the ground
, her eyes blazing, her hair tumbling from under her small, sober-hued hat. For perhaps a heartbeat, he thought about knights and witches, lances, maces, and pots of bubbling brew. Then Kate moved.

  “Argh!” She jumped back. She looked frightened. Fright was an expression Alex had never expected to see on this particular face.

  His heart continued to race, and he continued to loom over her. She lifted a hand and pressed it to her heart which was, presumably, thundering as hard as his. “Good Lord, Mr. English, you scared me to death.”

  Alex blinked at her. Somebody groaned at his feet, and he glanced down to see the man who had, he assumed, been bothering Kate. He scowled at him before turning his attention again to Kate. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure,” said she. “I’m fine.”

  Her original sentence finally registered on his brain. He goggled at her. “I scared you? I?” His gaze shifted wildly between her and the man on the ground.

  “Yeah. Shoot, I thought you were a madman or something when you came tearing through that bunch of idiots, punching and shouting.” She dropped her hand from her breast.

  “A madman?” Insulted, Alex barked out, “Dash it, Miss Finney, I was trying to help you.”

  “Yeah? Well, thanks, I guess.”

  “You guess? You guess?”

  The men who had been gathered around Kate began fading away. Alex observed their retreat with relief. He had no doubt of his abilities—he’d been wrestling cattle for most of his life; surely he’d be able to roust a gaggle of loutish young men—but he didn’t really want to create a scene at his own fair of which he was so proud.

  “Well, I mean . . .” Kate hesitated, then looked down at the man at her feet. He was beginning to writhe a bit. “Um, thank you, Mr. English, but I really don’t need anybody to come to my rescue. I’ve had to take care of myself all my life.”

  Alex opened his mouth. He shut it. When he opened it again, he still wasn’t sure what to say. He guessed she was right, dash it. But according to the rules governing his world, such things as women having to defend themselves against cads and scoundrels didn’t exist. The fact that they existed in Kate’s world bothered him.

  It was true that he’d never much thought about life in the slums before he met Kate. When slum life had intruded itself on his consciousness, it had generally been via the newspapers through articles about crimes and human degradation. Sometimes his lawyer spoke to him about various charities, to which Alex donated sums of money. Now that he’d met Kate and her kin, however, he knew more about who the people living on the “bad” side of town were. They were a lot like him, in fact, and the revelation had come as a rather unpleasant shock. And when his mother had told him about her own poverty-stricken childhood, well . . . Alex just didn’t know.

  That being the case, he gave up thinking now. He squinted at the man on the ground. He was a well-dressed chap. Alex guessed his age as being in the mid-twenties. He was either well set-up in the world, or had a good job. He was, in other words, exactly like other men in Alex’s station in life, but without Alex’s moral fiber. Obviously, this creature, under the influence of bravery enhanced by alcohol, had been trying to seduce Kate. Alex suppressed a strong urge to kick him in the ribs.

  He asked Kate, “How did you get him to fall down?”

  Kate, also watching the man on the ground and frowning at the sight, said, “Billy taught me how to flip a man over my shoulder. This one hit another man on the way down, or he’d probably be out cold.” She sounded disappointed.

  “I see.” He wondered if she’d ever done that particular flip to her father. The thought both saddened and sickened him. He hated knowing that people like Kate, who was just like anybody else in the world only poorer, had to endure such difficulties.

  Suddenly Alex was tired of the man on the ground. The idiot was wheezing and groaning and generally behaving badly, and Alex wanted him gone. Therefore, he bent over, grabbed him by the front of his coat, and hauled him to his feet. He had to hold on while the man swayed in front of him.

  The man said, “Ung.”

  Alex, shaking him hard, said, “Get out of here, you. Now.”

  The man said, “Arg.”

  “And if I ever see you at the World’s Columbian Exposition again, I’ll have you arrested for assault and battery.”

  The man said, “Ba’ry?”

  Gripping the man in his right hand, Alex reached back with the same hand, as if he were about to throw a baseball, then flung the man, hard, away from him. He watched with satisfaction as the man spun off, his arms windmilling, his feet stumbling, his face a picture of shock and terror. Alex brushed his hands together. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.” He turned to Kate again. “Are you all right, Miss Finney?”

  She’d taken to hugging herself, and Alex noticed that she seemed a little trembly, a reaction he wouldn’t have anticipated in Kate Finney, who put on a good show of being impervious to doubt and fear. “I’m all right,” she muttered.

  After glancing around and deciding the world was safe for ladies for another little while, Alex held out his arm. “Here, you look shaky. Let me take you to a concession stand for a cup of tea or something. I understand hot, sweet tea is good for shock.”

  She shook her head. “No, thanks. I don’t need any tea. I want to get to the hospital.” She took his arm, though, and Alex felt a thrill of triumph. Then she looked up at him, and his heart tripped and wobbled when he saw the worry in her eyes. “Did you see Ma today?”

  He reached for the hand she’d placed on his arm and patted it. He didn’t dare squeeze it very hard for fear she’d take the gesture, which was meant to be one of reassurance and friendship, the wrong way. Kate seemed to take everything the wrong way. These protective impulses that attacked him every time he was in her presence needed some outlet, though, so he allowed himself a small pat. “Yes. She’s doing—well.” That was a lie. The woman was dying. Alex sensed that Kate wasn’t ready to admit the truth yet, so he let the lie stand.

  She glanced up at him, and Alex knew she’d caught him in the fib. She didn’t let on. “Good. Did you ask her about going to the country?”

  “Yes. She wants to talk to you about it.”

  “Yeah?”

  She looked pleased, and Alex got the strong impression she hadn’t anticipated her mother’s reaction to his invitation. It struck him as incongruous, but he had an impulse to reassure her of Mrs. Finney’s devotion to her only daughter. “Your mother depends on you, Miss Finney. She’d never do anything without consulting you first.”

  “Really? Do you really think so?”

  Now how, Alex wondered, did this woman, who appeared at first glance to be about as soft as old leather and horseshoe nails—-maybe chain mail—come by her inner insecurities? Were they another product of her environment and upbringing? Alex, who had never had occasion to think about such things before he met Kate, thought about them now. “Of course,” he said. “You’re the mainstay of your family. Surely, you know that.”

  He felt her shrug. “I guess.”

  Shaking his head, he led her out through the main gate to the Exposition. His carriage awaited his pleasure a few feet away, and he considered how lucky he was. That’s another thing he hadn’t bothered to think about much: Luck. He’d always assumed his successful life and business career were the products of his own hard work and intelligence. Since he’d met Kate, he’d started questioning that assumption. In fact, Kate Finney had managed to tip his world sideways quite effectively, and she’d done it by her mere existence in his sphere. Strange, that.

  They didn’t speak again until he’d guided her into the carriage and climbed in after her. He sat across from her and noted with interest that she didn’t seem ill at ease in his company any longer. If she’d get over being so all-fired defensive, they might actually be able to hold a civil conversation one of these days.

  He heard her take a deep breath.

  “You’re not going to hold that against me, are
you?”

  His nerves twitched. “I beg your pardon?”

  She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “That scene back there. That wasn’t my fault.”

  “Of course it wasn’t. Why would you even think that I’d hold it against you?”

  She huffed softly. “You were going to kick me out of the fair because of my father. He’s not my fault, either. And neither were those guys back there. They’re always standing around the exit. Most of the time, they don’t know I’m the dancer because I change and take all that makeup off. I wasn’t so lucky tonight.”

  He felt his lips tighten and told himself not to be a fuss pot. Recollecting Gil MacIntosh’s brother Henry, Alex made a conscious effort to be as unlike Henry as he could be. “Bad luck.”

  “It sure was.” Her expression turned ferocious. “Even if somebody did recognize me, he shouldn’t assume I’d entertain such vile suggestions.”

  “Yes, well, I expect they think only a certain type of woman would dance that way.” Was that the wrong thing to have said? He sighed. Probably. It also sounded like something Henry might say, and he was annoyed with himself.

  “Yeah? What type of woman is that, Mr. English? One who has to make a living? Is that the type you mean?”

  “Hold your horses, Miss Finney. I didn’t intend any slights. It’s only that most people don’t think about dancing as a—well, as a proper or desirable way for a woman to make a living. Don’t throw anything at me. You know it’s the truth.”

  “Maybe, but it pays a heck of a lot more than working in the slaughterhouses or the department stores.” She was back to being belligerent. Alex wondered if he’d ever knock that chip off her shoulder. “I know it for a fact, because I did both of those things before the Exposition opened.”