American Pie

by Maggie Osborne

  Mrs. Greene's red face relaxed. "If she can do sheets and linens, I can teach her the rest." A water-wrinkled hand clapped Lucie on the back. "You start at six and finish at six. You get eighty cents a day and your midday chuck. Your first two days' wage goes for your uniform." She indicated the white apron she wore over a dark cotton dress and pointed to her cap.

  Having won Mrs. Greene's approval, and feeling slightly overwhelmed, Lucie followed Mr. Grist out of the steam.

  "Mrs. Roper prefers to meet her employees, Miss Kolska. If you will follow me." As she was now one of them, Mr. Grist hastily assured her, "The interview will be brief. Stand straight and do not stammer."

  Later, when she tried to describe the Roper mansion to Stefan, she found herself speechless, unable to recall specific details. The splendor of the crowded rooms lay so far outside Lucie's experience or expectation that her mind failed to register everything she saw. She passed through room after luxurious room, awed by porcelain and brass and silver and polished wood. By damask table dressings and velvet draperies and richly upholstered furnishings. By patterned carpets so richly woven and dyed she loathed to tread upon them.

  When they reached the first landing of a wide curving staircase, she heard music and her mouth fell open. "Do the Ropers employ their own symphony?" she whispered.

  Mr. Grist smiled. "What you hear is Miss Delfi's Gramophone." Her lack of comprehension caused his thin smile to broaden. "It's a windup box that plays music."

  The thought of having music whenever one wanted enchanted her. Such a possibility had never entered her mind.

  Eventually she was led into Mrs. Roper's morning room, a small jewel box composed of air and light and overflowing with yellow daisies. The walls and furnishings were a rich blend of cream and yellow, awash with morning sunlight.

  Even the woman sitting behind the delicate carved desk wore cream and yellow. And she bore a distinct resemblance to the princess whom Lucie had observed alighting from the Stanley Steamer. Her iron-colored hair was caught up in the Gibson style, softening an angular face that sunlight did not flatter. Friends referred to Mrs. Axa Roper as handsome. Those less kind claimed nature had carved lines of vanity and ambition across a face already less than blessed.

  "Well, Miss Kolska." Mrs. Roper's all-seeing glance moved from Lucie's mended gloves to her plain straw hat. "Do you think you will enjoy working in Mr. Roper's household?"

  "Oh, yes, ma'am."

  "What lovely skin you have." The faintest trace of envy entered Mrs. Roper's carefully articulated speech.

  "Thank you, ma'am." A blush of pleasure .tinted her cheeks. "I use a special cream. It's my own recipe."

  "Have you worked in a large household before?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "I'm confident Mr. Grist and Mrs. Greene will take you in hand." Mrs. Roper darted a glance to Mr. Grist who stepped forward and touched Lucie's elbow. The interview had ended.

  Dazed, she followed Mr. Grist back to the kitchen door. There was a moment to notice the kitchen also had a water tap, then she was standing outside on the stoop. And she was employed.

  Restraining a cry of joy she pressed both hands to the rose beneath her shirtwaist, then she hurried around the path to stare with proprietary pleasure at the front of the magical mansion. She belonged here. The realization amazed and overwhelmed her. She wished so much that she could have shared the glad news with Jamie. She was convinced his rose had turned the tide.

  Jamie. The jubilation faded from her expression, replaced by an aching sense of loss. Would she ever see him again?

  The Roper household employed thirty-two servants. Within a week Lucie could identify many of them from the smell and state of their uniforms. Until she proved herself, she was not allowed to wash or iron the Ropers' clothing but was relegated to the servant's laundry and washing household linens.

  By the end of her second week she knew that Mrs. Greene and Mr. Grist despised Monsieur Duffoux, the excitable chef; knew that Miss Clements, Mrs. Roper's personal maid, considered herself head and shoulders above everyone else and was roundly loathed for this but was tolerated as she provided an excellent source of family gossip. The coachman and the gardener both vied for the attentions of the parlor maid and one of the chars was suspected of stealing Miss Augusta's silver thimble.

  Those who served the household were small satellites orbiting the brilliance of the Ropers, depending upon them for sustenance and stimulation. The details of the Ropers' lives occupied every thought, motivated every action, formed the basis for endless conversation and speculation at work and at home.

  "Everyone says Miss Delfi is a handful. She's fifteen and has taken to painting her lips," Lucie told Greta with a scandalized roll of her eyes. "We found rouge on her riding jacket and again on the tea dress she wore last Wednesday."

  "No!" Greta poured a pail of water into the tub on top of the stove. "Does Miss Augusta wear rouge, too?"

  Lucie fed the fire with lumps of coal and wiped her forehead. "If you ask me, she should. She's so pale from all the weeping. You see, Mrs. Roper wants Miss Augusta to marry a European title but Miss Augusta has her eye set on Mr. Whitcomb, who Mrs. Roper doesn't consider suitable."

  "But maybe she loves him," Greta suggested.

  "We all think she does," Lucie agreed sadly. "But Mrs. Roper has her sights set on a count or a baron." Miss Augusta's tale of family interference cut too close to Lucie's own situation to discuss with comfort. Bending over the stove, she stirred the laundry stick through the boiling sheets and towels.

  Today, as on the last Sunday of each month, Lucie and Greta did laundry together, lightening the drudgery with the pleasure of each other's company. Greta updated Lucie regarding the ongoing feuds among the members of the family with whom she boarded and Lucie confided the fairy-tale existence of the Roper family.

  "Tell again about the flowers," Greta begged after they had strung the laundry to dry on the line stretching from Lucie's window to the window of the tenement across the courtyard.

  "I only saw the main rooms once," Lucie said, beginning the story as she always did. "But there was one rooma side parlor, I think it waswhere I saw a bay window and the window was filled to bursting with geraniums."

  "Oh, I do love geraniums!" Greta said, her eyes glowing. She glanced at the poor specimen on Lucie's windowsill. "Tell about the colors."

  Lucie smiled at her eagerness. "The window was filled with crimson and rose and cream-colored whites." When Greta sighed deeply, she patted her hand. "Someday you'll have a window garden filled with geraniums."

  "I know. Stefan has promised." Absently, Greta scratched the rash on the back of her hands.

  "Remind me to give you some more cream," Lucie commented, thinking it was time she mixed a new batch. A frown of concern troubled her gaze. It seemed that Greta's rash had spread. "Does it itch all the time?"

  "Lately it seems to," Greta admitted, tucking her hands under her apron. "I know it's silly to be so vain," she apologized with a blush. Then she smiled. "I'd love to have more of your cream. I think it helps and it makes my skin feel soft."

  Lucie leaned to look at her. "You look tired today. Are you sleeping well?"

  "It's been so hot," Greta answered vaguely. She touched Lucie's flushed face. "Do you still think of Mr. Kelly?" she asked gently, changing the subject. Sympathy filled her eyes.

  "All of the time," Lucie said simply. She dropped her gaze to the mending in her lap, concealing her look of pain.

  "I've spoken to Stefan a dozen times," Greta confided in a low voice. Distress tugged her lips. "I'm sorry, Lucie."

  "Dear Greta, please don't quarrel with Stefan about my troubles. There's nothing anyone can do."

  "Usually Stefan is so kind and understanding." Greta frowned and lowered her mending. "I do swear, I believe the eye of this needle has shrunk! I can't see it at all." She rubbed her eyes and blinked hard at the thread she jabbed toward the needle. When Lucie smiled and took it from her, she made a sound of
exasperation and lifted both hands. Then her expression softened. "Stefan can't forget being humiliated in front of his friends."

  "I know." Lucie's shoulders drooped. "I know."

  For a time she prayed she would encounter Jamie accidentally. Finally she conceded that was unlikely. The city was enormous and crowded with masses of people. Her path and Jamie's had diverged. The likelihood of meeting again was depressingly minuscule. She couldn't bear to think about it.

  When the laundry and mending was finished and a pot of cabbage soup bubbled on the stove for supper, Lucie and Greta carried the dirty wash water down to the courtyard, emptied the tub, then washed their hands and faces at the pump.

  "I hope Maria Brovnic found what she was seeking." Lucie fanned her face with the hem of her apron, stirring the scent of heat-rotted garbage from the piles fringing the courtyard. "Greta, do you ever think about returning? About going home?"

  "Stefan is here," Greta answered simply.

  "They sell cat meat in the carts," Lucie said quietly. "Did you know that people eat cat meat?" Tilting her head, she looked up at the purple sky. "I like my work," she said slowly. "But going to Madison Avenue everyday, where it's clean and where it smells fresh, somehow it makes all this" she waved a hand at the piles of cinders and garbage, at the tin roof latrines and the layers of laundry flapping overhead "seem worse."

  "We won't always live in the tenements," Greta reminded her in a quiet voice.

  "Every day the pot boy puts the Ropers' garbage on the street and the white-wings come and take it away in a big wagon. The ashes and garbage are whisked away like magic. And every night the lamplighter comes and lights the street lamps. No one walks in darkness on Madison Avenue. There are no abandoned wagons at the curb. No brawling in the street. Flowers bloom in the window boxes and every house has a backyard with trees."

  She fell silent looking at the tenements with the broken window panes and sagging metal fire escapes. "I'm not saying I envy the Ropers or that I envy what they have. I know who I am and I know my place. I don't want a lot more, just a little. Just fresh air and sunshine, no bad smells." And Jamie Kelly.

  Greta placed her hand on Lucie's arm. "Someday you and I and Stefan will have a small house of our own," she promised earnestly. "With many windows and a tree outside the door. We'll have water inside our kitchen and geraniums on every window ledge. And so much sunshine we won't light the lamps until after dark. Lucie. I believe this and you must, too."

  Lucie blinked and gave herself a shake. "Forgive me, dearest Greta. Of course you're right. Someday" But someday seemed very far away to one whose soul yearned for sunlight now. And one special man.

  "If we abandon our dreams," Greta said softly, "then we're defeated. We have to hold our dreams close and believe."

  Lucie thought about that as she and Greta prepared supper. Stefan dreamed of one day owning a small prosperous business. Greta dreamed of a sunny kitchen with geraniums on the sill and children to hug and tell stories to. But aside from providing Stefan and Greta's marriage money, what was Lucie's dream? A wistful expression came into her eyes and she sighed, thinking about Jamie Kelly.

  Although Stefan had forbidden her to continue her lessons at the settlement house, Lucie quietly ignored his wishes and continued to attend the Tuesday night lectures. She understood Stefan knew of her small rebellion because he called on Greta on Tuesday evenings and didn't return until thirty minutes after the settlement house closed. Pride prohibited him from admitting he had spoken in anger and haste, but his love for her allowed him to pretend he didn't know she went out on Tuesday nights.

  This Tuesday, however, she would miss the lecture. Mrs. Greene had been teaching her to clean lace collars and neither had noticed the hour. Consequently, Lucie had missed her train.

  When she finally arrived at the Bowery Street station and descended to the street, there was no longer any reason to rush. Enjoying an idle moment, she gazed down the wide street watching the glow of gaslight as lamps came on behind the windows of the beer halls and the entertainment establishments. And she smiled at the people strolling toward the sounds of laughter and music, taking their pleasure in the warm summer night.

  Buoyed by the sight of people enjoying themselves, she turned her steps toward Elizabeth Street, away from the light and sounds of the Bowery. Stefan worried about her walking alone from the station to Elizabeth Street but no one bothered her. Already she recognized a few faces along the route and occasionally someone tipped his cap to her, or one of the women smiled.

  "Miss Kolska?"

  Her heart jumped as a man stood away from a shadowed doorway. When she recognized who it was the color drained from her cheeks, her breath stopped in her chest. "Mr. Kelly!"

  For a long moment they stood facing each other, lost in each other as the pedestrian traffic broke around them. Lucie noticed his sunburn had deepened to a healthy bronze, imparting a golden tone to the eyes that moved eagerly over her face. He seemed taller than she recalled and had his shoulders always been so broad? His teeth so white? Longing overcame her as she forced herself to step backward, her mouth suddenly dry.

  "What a nice surprise to run into you," he said in a deep voice that dispatched tiny shivers down her spine, that made her think of music and honey.

  Lucie couldn't have spoken a word if the world depended on it. Her reticule trembled in her fingers, and a peculiar tightness spread through her body. Hastily she lowered her eyes from his wide mouth.

  "Should you be walking alone at night? May I walk with you?"

  Lucie clasped her gloved hands tightly in front of her skirts. "Stefan would be very angry," she whispered, the words scarcely audible.

  "I know." He smiled down at her. "Every Saturday night as we lock our tools in the shed, I request your brother's permission to call on you."

  "You do?" She hadn't known. As Stefan had said nothing she had assumed Jamie Kelly had accepted her brother's decision.

  "And every Saturday night he refuses and threatens to pulverize me if I ask again."

  His grin teased a shy smile from her lips. "You don't look pulverized," she commented in a low voice. Because being with him made her nervous, she edged backward a step. "I don't think"

  He fell into step beside her. "Stubbornness aside, I truly don't believe Stefan seeks another fight. Although if that's what it takes, I'm willing to have another round."

  Lucie darted a blushing look at him from beneath the brim of her straw boater. He was so handsome he took her breath away. "Please don't fight again, Mr. Kelly." She didn't think Stefan would suddenly appear but the possibility worried her. "You must know Stefan would be very angry if he knew we were walking together." Guilt attacked her pleasure in seeing him and actually speaking to him.

  Stopping, Jamie touched her shoulders, forcing her to look at him directly. A shock of warmth burned under his finger-tips, scalding through her sleeves and into the skin beneath. Her heart lurched and pounded wildly.

  "Luciemay I call you Lucie?the truth is, running into you was no accident." He drew a long breath. "I know I shouldn't seek you out, and I deeply regret any distress my presence may cause you." His dark eyes peered into hers. "I also know it isn't proper to say this, but I can't forget you. I think of you constantly and I'd like to know you. If my interest is objectionable, if you find me offensive, you have only to nod and I won't bother you or your brother again." She stared into his eyes as the lovely rolled r s caressed her ear. "Lucie?" he inquired softly. "Shall I leave you?"

  She closed her eyes and swallowed, scarcely able to think past the thrilling touch of his hands framing her shoulders. The warmth of his fingertips radiated through her body and erupted in an inner earthquake. "No," she answered in a strangled whisper, staring at his mouth and wondering how it was possible for such a light touch to cause such turmoil. It was almost a relief when he dropped his arms. Almost.

  "Praise the saints! I was so afraid you would send me away, or that you didn't feel"

  "I
feel terrible about defying Stefan," she said, guilt and distress darkening her eyes. "I hate deceiving him. But"

  The trailing sentences spoke volumes to them both. "When you stopped coming to the site, I was so worried," Jamie confessed, his gaze shamelessly caressing her lips, her eyes, the heavy coil of chestnut hair. "I wondered where you were and what you were doing, and if you ever spared a small thought for me."

  "I do think about you," she confessed in a voice so low he had to lean forward to hear. His nearness increased the pleasant barbershop smell of bay rum and Madagascar hair oil. A tiny shiver traced down Lucie's spine and she hastily resumed walking, resisting the urge to press her gloves to the fiery heat in her cheeks. She drew a deep breath and summoned a cheerful tone. "But even if Stefan had not forbidden me to return to the site, I couldn't go anymore. I have a job now."

  "That's wonderful!" But his enthusiasm waned as she told him about the laundry room at the Roper mansion. At the entrance to Elizabeth Street Jamie gazed up toward the voices murmuring on the rooftops and scowled. "I hate the thought of you washing other people's dirty laundry."

  Lucie laughed. "I'm not a countess, Mr. Kelly. I'm not afraid to dirty my hands. And I don't shrink from hard work. Truly, I don't mind. Laundry is something I can do and do well. There's no shame in it."

  "I didn't mean to imply there was," he apologized hastily, bending to peer beneath her hat brim. "I just wish it wasn't necessary for you to work at all."

  It was a lovely idea but not very practical. When she expressed the thought, Jamie smiled. "I suppose not," he admitted. "But no man likes to see a woman going off to work. It's job enough to care for a home." A thoughtful expression creased his brow. "But you do that, too, don't you?" Then he laughed. "Actually, I think women are the stronger of the sexes. You do whatever is necessary and without complaint." He grinned and his eyes twinkled. "Tell me, do you really enjoy washing other people's laundry? Or are you making the best of it?"

  Lucie returned his smile, thinking how much she liked him. "The truth?" she pretended to consider. "There are things I'd rather do. But since I have a laundry job, it's best to put a bright face on it."