Bicycle Built for Two

by Duncan, Alice

“Huh,” said Alex.

  When Kate arose, she saw that he was watching her like a hawk, a sharp, assessing look in his eyes. What did that mean? Had she done something wrong? Mary Jo spoke, and she couldn’t dwell on her actions and Alex’s reactions.

  “And he chases Mrs. Howell’s cats off, too,” said Mary Jo, adding, “I like cats, but Mrs. Howell’s cats always try to fight with Minnie.”

  “Who is Minnie?” Kate felt as though she were swimming in a confusion of names and wanted to sort them out before her brain exploded.

  “She’s our barn cat. She’s real nice.”

  “Yeah? I don’t know any cats. Or dogs, either.” Kate wondered how she could have lived to be this old without encountering more cats and dogs. Oh, sure, she saw the same mangy street animals all the time, and the Schneiders let a couple of cats sleep on old towels in the back of their shop. Those felines were tolerated because they kept the rodents out of the butcher shop. Still, Kate didn’t think of those working-class cats as anybody’s pets. They were only scrambling to survive like everyone else in Kate’s neighborhood.

  “We’ve always got lots of barn cats. They kill the mice and rats and gophers and stuff like that.” Mary Jo shuddered delicately.

  Kate didn’t think that a cat doing its duty and killing vermin was anything to shudder about. “That’s their job, I guess.”

  “I guess so. And Minnie just had four kittens.”

  “Oh.”

  “Maybe you’d like to have one.” Mary Jo looked as if she considered this a brilliant suggestion and a kindhearted offer on her part.

  “Don’t burden Kate with any more problems,” Alex advised, smiling, but meaning it. “She’s got her hands full already.”

  “Little kittens aren’t any trouble,” Mary Jo protested.

  They would be trouble in Kate’s life. Sometimes Kate thought that if she had to handle one more little thing, even something so little as a kitten, she’d crumple up under the weight of her responsibilities. She glanced quickly at Alex, her gaze got stuck on his, and all at once she perceived something that left her breathless.

  He understood.

  It was impossible—and wonderful. He understood. Alex English, of all unlikely people in the universe, understood Kate and her life and her problems and her need to have no pets.

  “Drop it, little sister,” he said, tugging on one of Mary Jo’s braids. “Kate doesn’t want a kitten, and that’s that.”

  “Well, I think kittens are more adorable than any nasty old cows or pigs,” Mary Jo said with a sniff.

  “I’m sure they are, but I don’t have room for pets in my flat.” Kate spoke gently, hoping to convey gratitude along with a firm rejection of the girl’s offer. She wasn’t sure she achieved her aim, but Mary Jo skipped off in front of them, so she guessed it didn’t matter.

  “Don’t mind my pesky sister,” Alex said, slowing down even as Mary Jo sped up, followed by the dog, who wanted to play.

  “I don’t. I think she’s nice.”

  “She’s been very sheltered.”

  “Yeah?” Kate glanced up at him again, hoping she wouldn’t get trapped by his beautiful eyes this time. “I wish . . .” But she decided not to finish the sentence, because it might sound as if she were whining. It was true, though. She wished somebody’d bothered to shelter her a little once or twice.

  She felt Alex’s hand on her arm, and her heart sped up and her skin got warm. “I wish you’d been more sheltered, too, Kate.” His voice was deep and soft, and it made Kate’s insides puddle up and steam. “Life hasn’t been fair to you or your mother.”

  Kate swallowed. “Yeah, well, we’re doing okay.”

  His chuckle did its usual damage to her composure. “Don’t get all defensive on me, Kate. You’re doing better than okay. You’re doing wonderfully, all things considered.”

  She didn’t believe him. Worse, she didn’t believe he meant it.

  “I mean it, Kate,” he said, as if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. Which he had.

  This was a serious problem. Kate feared it was destined to grow larger, too, and she didn’t know what to do about it. Sometimes, she thought that meeting Alex English had been the best thing ever to happen to her. At other times, she thought it had been the worst. Most of the time, she feared both statements were the truth, which was absolutely, dreadfully, drastically, miserably awful.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dinner at the English family farm was served at six o’clock. According to Alex, this was earlier than most society folks dined, but farmers had to get up early in the morning and go out and plow fields and milk cows and do all the other chores that constituted the farming life.

  Kate forked up a bite of potatoes and gravy. “So far, I haven’t seen you do anything like that.”

  Mary Jo laughed heartily. So did Mrs. English. Mrs. Finney frowned at her daughter, and Kate got embarrassed. Louise, who was serving the delicious dinner that had been cooked by Mrs. Gossett, sniffed.

  “That’s only because I’ve been successful,” Alex told her. “And I’ve been taking a holiday to help organize the Exposition. That’s work, too, you know.”

  Slipping him a surveying glance out of the corner of her eyes, Kate decided he wasn’t mad at her for being so undiplomatic. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. What I meant was that I thought farmers had to do all sorts of hard work, and that they worked from dawn to dark every day, and never had any time off.”

  “Sort of like you, in other words.”

  She could tell by the laugh in his voice and the grin on his face that he wasn’t mad at her. That being the case, Kate decided not to blow her stack at him for saying something that she considered moderately insulting, although she couldn’t have said why, since it was the truth. She grinned back. “Yeah. Sort of.”

  “Believe me, Kate, Alex and his father and his father’s father worked from dawn to dark every day for years and years. Decades. Even on Sundays, before we all went to church. They did that for a little more than a century, actually. Thanks to Alex’s abilities and business sense, the farm and his other enterprises have prospered so greatly that he’s been able to hire several men. We’ve got a foreman who oversees the cattle and dairy businesses under Alex’s direction, and hired men who do most of the plowing and planting, under Alex’s supervision.” Mrs. English gave her son a doting look. “Alex has taken off some time in order to work on the Columbian Exposition, but believe me, he works as hard as any of the other men most of the time.”

  Oh. Well, that was interesting. Kate gazed at Alex, too, although probably not with as doting an expression as his mother. On the other hand, she wasn’t sure about that, which was worrisome all by itself. “I see.” Sensing danger in Alex’s direction, Kate switched her attention to Alex’s mother. “This chicken is delicious, Mrs. English.”

  “It is, indeed,” agreed Mrs. Finney.

  When Kate glanced at her mother’s plate, it didn’t look to her as if Mrs. Finney had eaten enough of her meal to form a judgment. Her mother caught her worried frown and stabbed a couple of English peas. “It’s a delight to be here in the country, Marguerite.” She delivered the peas to their intended destination, and Kate decided she couldn’t very well fuss at her mother while they were guests in the English home. Darn it, Ma needed to eat more.

  “It’s such a pleasure to have you here,” Mrs. English countered sweetly.

  Kate almost allowed herself to conclude that Alex’s mother was a genuinely nice woman, although she didn’t dare commit herself after so short an acquaintance, since she didn’t think she could stand the disappointment of learning she’d been mistaken. Still, there was no law that said Kate couldn’t treat her as if she were nice until she proved herself otherwise. “This is such a pleasant place, Mrs. English. I love your house. It’s so homey and large and comfortable.”

  “It’s old,” Mary Jo announced, wrinkling her nose. “I want Alex to build a new house.”

  “Why?” Kate
stared at Mary Jo, unable to credit the sentiment that had prompted her statement. “I think it would be a crime to tear this house down. It’s—it’s—” She swept an arm out as she dug around in her mind for the appropriate word. Unable to find it, she said, “It’s absolutely perfect,” and thought the two words fell short of the mark.

  “Do you really think so?” Alex’s expression fairly screamed gladness about Kate’s assessment of his home.

  “Do you really think so?” Mary Jo, on the other hand, seemed dumbfounded. She glanced around at the walls of the room—they were taking supper in the breakfast room, since it was smaller than the large dining room—and scowled.

  Kate, too, glanced around. She took in the shiny plates hanging on the walls, souvenirs from various places members of the family had visited on business or pleasure trips. She thought it was swell that people collected stuff like that. The only thing her flat collected was dust. Her family wasn’t chock full of heirlooms, unless you could count poverty and unhappiness. “I do,” she said firmly. “I think you have a beautiful home, Mary Jo, and you ought to appreciate it. Shoot, if you had to live where I live, you’d appreciate it, believe me.” She smiled at the girl, since she didn’t want Mary Jo feeling sorry for her. At the moment, Kate was feeling sorry enough for herself; she didn’t need company.

  “Ah, Katie,” murmured Mrs. Finney.

  Kate wished she’d kept her fat mouth shut, a wish she entertained far too often. “It’s all right, Ma. I’ve got a great life.” Liar, liar. On the other hand, her life could be worse, she guessed.

  Mrs. Finney, seated next to her daughter, gave her a sweet, sad smile. “If wishes were horses, Katie.”

  It was one of her mother’s favorite sayings, and Kate smiled back. “I know, Ma. I know.”

  Alex cleared his throat. “We went out to the west pasture today, Ma. The rhododendrons are going wild.”

  “Yes. Kate was kind enough to bring me a lovely bouquet,” Mrs. English said, smiling fondly at Kate, who didn’t know what to do when strange ladies smiled fondly at her, so she ate a bite of chicken as a cover up. “And she brought Hazel a gorgeous bouquet, too. Mary Jo and Kate added some roses and Queen Anne’s Lace, too. Isn’t the centerpiece beautiful?”

  “It’s very pretty.” Alex smiled at Kate. She didn’t know what to do when he smiled at her, either, so she ate some more peas.

  After she swallowed, she asked, “Where’d all the plates come from?” Her nerves itched as if a chorus of circus fleas were biting on them. All this fancy stuff was alien to her, although she wished it wasn’t. As her mother would say, if wishes were horses.

  “Oh, my, they come from all over the place.”

  “That one over there came all the way from France.” Mary Jo, undoubtedly defying a lifetime’s worth of training in polite manners, pointed at a plate on the wall over her mother’s head.

  Mrs. English said, “Mary Jo,” but she didn’t scold.

  “France.” Kate gazed at the plate pensively. It was pretty, but no more so than many of the other ones. But it had come from France. France, for Pete’s sake. Maybe even Paris. “My goodness.”

  “My father and I visited Europe several years ago. It was a business trip, believe it or not. We were looking at some new grain hybrids in France.”

  “And don’t forget the English pigs,” Mary Jo told her brother. She giggled.

  “Grain and pigs? In France and England? Somehow, when I think of France and England, I don’t necessarily think of grain and pigs.” Kate and Mary Jo shared a grin.

  Laughing, Mrs. English said, “Nor do I. I think of fancy dresses and the queen and the guillotine.”

  “Maybe we don’t, but Alex never thinks about anything but the farm,” his sister informed their guests.

  “Mary Jo,” muttered her mother again.

  Kate got the feeling Mrs. English wasn’t exactly a stern disciplinarian. That was perhaps the only thing she had in common with Kate’s own mother.

  “People the world over rely on farms and farming techniques.” Alex frowned at his little sister to let her know she oughtn’t be impertinent. “And people experiment with new techniques and hybridizing in every place people are fortunate enough to have developed agriculture. Some of the new hybrids, both here and abroad, are much hardier than the older types. And the Shropshire pigs we brought home are the best ever.”

  Mary Jo, whose face was quite expressive of her inner feelings, wrinkled her nose again. “They’re huge and smelly, if you call that best.”

  “I guess huge is a good quality if you want lots of pork,” Kate said doubtfully.

  “Exactly.” Alex bestowed another smile upon her. She stuffed some potatoes and cream gravy into her mouth in a hurry.

  “We got that plate above Ma’s head in France. The one over there . . .” Alex tilted his head to indicate a rose-colored plate to the left of the French plate. “. . .we brought home from Shropshire. In England.”

  “My goodness. Developing new sorts of pigs and grain never occurred to me.” Kate realized the English plate had a pig on it, and would have laughed if she were at home. An English pig. Imagine that. A hybridized English pig. Would wonders never cease?

  # # #

  After supper, the English family and the Finneys retired to the huge, screened-in front porch to sip tea and watch the fireflies. Alex wasn’t sure, because he was unhappily certain now that he was besotted with her, but he thought Kate seemed softer and less brittle after her brief sojourn in the country. And they still had another day to go. By Gad, she might even turn human if this kept up.

  Kate had darted upstairs to fetch a light shawl for her mother. When she brought it out onto the porch, Alex took it from her. “Let me do that, Kate. You sit there and enjoy the country evening air.”

  Softer or not, she meant to fight him for possession of the shawl. She reminded him of Conky, but she was nowhere near as good-natured as his failure of a dog. He leaned over and hissed harshly in her ear. “Dash it, go sit by your mother! How much longer do you think you’re going to be able to do that?”

  Her stricken look didn’t shame him much, and he was glad she took his advice without launching a pitched battle. As soon as she’d settled herself on the chair beside her mother, he said, “Here, Mrs. Finney. Please let me drape this around your shoulders. It’s not cold, but there’s a slight breeze tonight.”

  “Thank you, Alex. You’re such a kind man.”

  “Nuts,” he said in unconscious imitation of Kate. He used to think he was kind. Before he met Kate and her mother, he’d have told anyone who asked that he was a nice man, and a kind and generous one. Then Kate had smashed forever all of his conceptions about himself. But he was learning. So far, he’d learned that true charity doesn’t condescend. Nor is it blind. True charity comes from the heart, and it respects its recipient.

  Taking the chair closest to Kate, he took a deep breath of fresh air. A hint of manure smell kissed his nostrils, and he smiled to himself. “Wind’s blowing from the east,” he observed. “I can smell the cows.”

  “It smells good to me,” said Kate, breathing deeply.

  “You should smell it during the heat of the summer,” Mary Jo chimed in. “It’s awful.”

  “It’s the smell of money.” Mrs. English laughed.

  So did Mrs. Finney. Alex noticed Kate staring at her mother as if she didn’t understand why she considered the smell of money something to laugh about. There were times—many of them, and one of them right this minute—when Alex didn’t think he and Kate could ever find a common ground.

  But the evening was a fine one, the fireflies came out and blinked up a storm, thereby entertaining Kate and her mother madly, Mary Jo behaved herself for the most part, the two older ladies seemed content, and Alex decided not to worry about common ground. There were other things to do this weekend, the primary one being to give Hazel Finney a pleasant memory to take with her to her grave.

  Alex feared that time wasn’t far off and
decided on the spur of the moment to do some research. He aimed to find a hospital or a group of doctors and scientists doing research into tuberculosis and become a major contributor to the cause. If someone could discover a cure for the white plague, the world would be a much better place.

  The night air seemed to stir Mrs. Finney’s cough, unfortunately. After only a few minutes on the porch, it became obvious that she was fighting hard for breath. Damnation. If he’d met Kate two or three years ago, he might have been able to do something substantial for her mother. Now, all he could do was watch her die, try to make her last days on earth as comfortable as possible, and feel helpless. He hated that. “Are you all right, Mrs. Finney?”

  After hacking into her handkerchief for several seconds and then taking several desperate sips from the flask in her pocket, she turned eyes filled with water upon Alex. “I’m so sorry, Alex. I guess it’s the night air. It’s so beautiful here, and I don’t want to go indoors, but . . .” She sighed, thereby precipitating another paroxysm of coughs.

  Alex’s insides tightened. Kate got up from her chair. “Come on, Ma, let me help you upstairs. We can look at the countryside from the window.”

  “Good idea.” Alex got to his feet at once and put a hand on Mrs. Finney’s arm. “Please, let me help you.” He caught Kate’s eyes across her mother’s head, and the pain in them made his own heart ache. Hoping a sympathetic—but not a condescending—smile might help her cope, he gave her one. She dropped her gaze instantly. Alex sighed.

  “Thank you both.” Casting an apologetic glance at Mrs. English and Mary Jo, who had also risen from their chairs, Mrs. Finney said, “Please, you two, don’t bother with me. I’ll be fine with these two helping me.”

  “You bet,” said Kate, her voice a sprightly contrast to the agony in her eyes.

  “Absolutely,” confirmed Alex.

  They walked slowly through the front door and to the staircase. At the foot of the stairs, Alex took matters into his own hands again. “I apologize for the presumption, Mrs. Finney, but I’m going to carry you upstairs.” And, with a swoop, he picked her up.