American Pie

by Maggie Osborne

  "All things considered. Mr. Kelly. I wouldn't say no to it."

  What he heard was the usual "no." He returned to his chair and was reaching for his pint before he realized what Stefan had said. By the time he grasped that a miracle had transpired, Stefan was pushing through the door.

  Jumping to his feet Jamie threw some money on the table, grabbed his hat and dashed through the crowd, catching up to Stefan on the street outside.

  "Good God, man," he shouted, gripping Stefan's broad shoulders. "Do you mean it? You're finally saying yes?"

  "I'm saying yes." Grinning, Stefan clasped his hand. Then he leaned forward and stared hard into Jamie's exuberant expression. "But there's something I want to know. Have you been seeing my sister behind my back?"

  The excitement faded abruptly from Jamie's eyes. "Aye," he admitted when the silence between them lengthened. "I love her." They stared at each other. "I accept full blame. I instigated the deception and I didn't allow Lucie any choice in the matter. Both of us deeply regret the necessity for deceiving you."

  Stefan's dark eyes narrowed and his fists tightened against his sides. "You bastard mick! I should clean your clock, Kelly. I should pound you into sawdust."

  A twinkle softened Jamie's answering stare. "Aye, that you should," he agreed firmly. "If I were you, that is exactly what I would do." He fell into step beside Stefan, matching Stefan's furious stride. "But I wouldn't do it immediately, like tonight. I'd take my time and plan my strategy."

  "Where do you think you're going?" Stefan demanded as they crossed the street and passed beneath a sputtering gas lamp.

  "Why, I'm going home with you so we can discuss when and where you'll clean my clock." Jamie grinned at him. "We can negotiate the details over supper."

  Stefan stopped and blinked. "You're inviting yourself home for supper?" An exasperated smile spread beneath his mustache. "Jamie Kelly, the Irish were thinking about you when they invented the word blarney. Ifand I say ifI don't come to my senses and change my mind, Lucie will still be there tomorrow."

  "Aye, but she's there right now, tonight. And consider this, Kolska. Before I commence serious calling doesn't it strike you as imperative that I learn if the lass can cook?" His grin widened. "I can uncover this vital information in an unobtrusive manner while we're discussing clock cleaning. Surely you agree common prudence demands that a man learn if his lass can stir up an oat cake."

  Stefan threw out his hands. "Blarney. Utter blarney. I really should clean your clock."

  Jamie's expression sobered. "I truly regret deceiving you, Stefan. I sincerely wish it could have been otherwise."

  For a long moment Stefan said nothing. Then his shoulders rose and dropped in a gesture of resignation. "In your place I'd have done the same."

  Greta adjusted the rag stuffing the hole in the window pane, then pressed her lips together and studied the geranium on the sill with an unhappy expression. "If I move it away from the cold, it won't receive any sunlight at all," she said uncertainly. "But if we leave it on the sill, it may freeze. I can't decide what to do."

  Glancing up from the stove, Lucie smiled at her with affection. "Would it help if I move the pot to the table when I come home at night?"

  Removing her glasses Greta absently polished them against her apron hem. "We could try that," she agreed. "I've cut two starter slips and placed them in water" After replacing her glasses on her nose, she leaned again to peer out the window.

  "Greta Laskowski, you can't sit still tonight. If you're looking for something to do, bring in the butter."

  "I'm watching for Stefan," Greta explained. After cautiously removing the stuffing rag, she reached through the broken pane and lifted the butter bowl inside. "I have news and I'm having a terrible time waiting for Stefan to tell it!" After placing the butter on the table, she stuffed the rag back to block the rush of frosty night air.

  "What's your news?"

  "I'm dying to tell you, but you'll have to wait. I want to tell you and Stefan together."

  "I tell you all my secrets, you have to tell me yours." Laughing, Lucie chased her around the table, pelting her with a towel. "I won't stop until you tell me."

  "Lucie Kolska, don't make me laugh, I'll start coughing again."

  "You're already laughing. So tell me your news."

  Greta paused behind a chair, coughed into her hand, then, when she had caught her breath, she looked at Lucie with shining eyes. "Well Mr. Church gave me a raise. Oh, Lucie, I'll earn ninety-five cents a day starting Monday! Isn't that wonderful?"

  "Ninety-five ?" Lucie rushed to embrace her. "Greta, that's wonderful, congratulations!"

  "If I don't increase my expenses, I can save fifteen cents a week. Think of it!"

  "Or you can buy new winter boots. Or a felt toreador hat." They both looked toward the door as footsteps sounded in the corridor.

  "Oh, my, look at us," Greta said, her hands flying to her head. "Our hair is falling down, and we look a mess."

  Lucie laughed and touched her cheek. "Stefan won't care how you look as long as you're here and supper is almost ready." Stepping to the stove she reached for the supper plates on the shelf as the door opened.

  "Oh, my!" Greta gasped, jumping to her feet.

  "Lucie? I've brought someone home for supper."

  She heard the astonishment in Greta's gasp, heard the smile in Stefan's voice. And her heart sank. The last time Stefan had brought someone for supper it had been Mr. Pachecko. The evening had proved an endless ordeal. Drawing a deep breath she squared her shoulders and slowly turned, dreading what she would see.

  Jamie Kelly stood in the doorway behind Stefan, grinning at her expression. The gasp that sent her hands flying to her mouth, sent the supper plates crashing to the floor.

  "Jamie!" Heat flooded her face with radiant color before she made herself look at Stefan. "Does this mean ?"

  Jamie crossed the room in three strides and caught her hands in his. "Stefan has learned of our Tuesday trysts and he's rightfully enraged. He and I are agreed he definitely should beat me bloody." Another gasp broke from Lucie's lips and her eyes widened like dark pansies. "We're negotiating the whens and wherefores now." Lucie heard Stefan laugh near the door, saw him grin and shake his head.

  For an instant she didn't understand, then she comprehended that somehow, in some miraculous way, they had resolved their differences. Disbelief widened her eyes, then, as the realization of what this meant filled her mind, elation illuminated her expression. She could not look away from Jamie's warm twinkling smile. It was so hard to grasp that he was actually standing where she had imagined him so many times before.

  "In the meantime," Jamie continued, his eager brown eyes caressing her face, the chestnut strands floating about her cheeks, "I am permitted to call on you."

  Closing her eyes, Lucie swayed on her feet, unable to believe what she was hearing. Surely she was dreaming. When she opened her eyes, Jamie still stood before her, gripping her hands and grinning his delight. She leaned to one side to look at Stefan who waited near the door, his arm around Greta's waist. They both smiled at her.

  "Oh, Stefan," she whispered, blinking to see him through tears of happiness. "Thank you. Thank you from my heart!"

  "This man, Kelly, is a blarney artist, not worth the powder to blow him to kingdom come," Stefan insisted, transferring his grin to Jamie. "I'll never understand why you want him."

  Jamie laughed into Lucie's shining eyes. "With such a shiftless no-good brother, lass, I can't think how you turned out so fine."

  Laughing and crying she walked into his arms and rested her forehead against his chest. Suddenly the room didn't smell of coal smoke and lamp oil and decaying plaster. With Jamie's arms around her, the stained brown walls seemed warm and intimate. In the emotion of the moment, she imagined she heard Miss Delfi's Gramophone playing a waltz in her ear.

  Jamie must have heard it too because he bowed before her, then danced her around the table, gathering speed as Greta and Stefan cla
pped and cheered and her hem and apron strings flew out behind her. And in his warm smiling eyes, the eyes she could not look away from, she saw the future she had crossed an ocean to find.

  * * *

  Chapter Eight

  Winter's early darkness had descended and the damp air promised snow, Lucie thought as she emerged from the Ropers' kitchen door. She pulled her thin collar close around her throat and hurried toward the side of the house and the hazy glow of the gas lights lining Madison Avenue.

  The thought of seeing Jamie tonight warmed her despite the chill of the evening air. Nearly a month had elapsed since Stefan had granted them permission to see each other, but she still marveled at their changed circumstances and her own happiness.

  "Miss Kolska?" A disembodied whisper floated out of the night darkness, anxious and urgent.

  Lucie's gloves flew upward and pressed hard to her pounding heart. Spinning, she peered into the shadowed garden. "Miss Augusta?" A pale blur moved forward. "You gave me such a start!"

  Augusta Roper stepped into the golden light that fell from the kitchen window and Lucie noticed her cheeks and nose were red with cold as if she had been standing outside for some time. This surprised her as, aside from being clad in a silk dinner gown too thin and bare shouldered for outside wear, everyone knew Mrs. Roper had confined Augusta to the house. The contest of wills between Mrs. Roper and her headstrong daughter continued unabated.

  Lucie cast a hasty glance toward the light falling through the window, then stepped off the walkway into the frosty garden shadows, wondering what catastrophe would result if Mrs. Roper spied Miss Augusta standing outside.

  "You really must return inside. It's too cold to be out without a wrap." She spoke gently, knowing she overstepped her bounds. But Augusta's frothy sapphire silk offered no protection against the damp bitter cold. Silver vapor concealed Lucie's lips as she spoke, and the night breeze penetrated her coat as easily as a needle passing through paper.

  "Please, Miss Kolska. I require a word with you." Augusta passed a hand over her eyes, then wrapped her arms around her bare powdered shoulders. A violent shiver rustled her skirts and caused her diamond earrings to flash in the dim light.

  "With me?"

  Biting her lip to prevent her teeth from chattering, Augusta gave Lucie a searching look, then turned her head away. Indecision tightened her profile. "Oh, dear, perhaps this is a mistake." Her hand shook as she raised it to her lips. Leaning back against a dark tree trunk, she closed her eyes and let her head fall forward. "Heaven help me," she whispered. "I'm so confused, I just I don't know where to turn or what to do."

  After a quick glance to reassure herself the garden was deserted, Lucie stepped closer. Now that she was permitted to see Jamie, she felt increased sympathy for Augusta Roper's unhappiness. Everyone in the laundry followed the saga of Miss Augusta's thwarted romance with great regret and much clucking of tongues. Miss Clement had glimpsed Baron Grieple and described him in terms that made everyone shudder.

  "Are you ill?" Lucie asked.

  Augusta worried a lace handkerchief between her fingers. "I wish I was! I'd rather die than marry the baron!" Tears glittered on her cheeks in the frosty moonlight. "Miss Kolska, forgive me for burdening you with my troubles, but that day in the laundry you seemed sympathetic to my plight. I don't know where else to turn." The words poured forth in a rush. "Mama has forbidden me any contact with friends. You must knowyou've seen which gowns I wearthat I'm not permitted to go out or to accept invitations. My friends are informed I'm indisposed, and my correspondence is monitored. I'm a prisoner in my own home!"

  It was true. The entire household responded to the tension straining the family and knew of the dreadful scenes that daily transpired between Mrs. Roper and her daughter.

  "I'm sorry," Lucie murmured, feeling genuine regret.

  But she didn't understand why Miss Augusta had waylaid her in the garden. While they were about the same age, and it was true Miss Augusta had been denied a confidante, it was also true the social gap between them was too vast to be bridged. Any overture of friendship would have shocked them both.

  "Do you pity me enough to help me?" Augusta whispered. Pleading dark eyes fastened on Lucie's startled expression.

  The need for assistance explained the puzzling encounter. But Lucie couldn't comprehend how she might be of service. "Help you?" she repeated.

  Leaning forward from the tree trunk, Augusta grasped Lucie's hands, the gesture an indication of her agitation. "Please, Miss Kolska, I beg you. I don't know where else to turn."

  "But what could I possibly do?" An uneasy frown disturbed Lucie's brow.

  Augusta reached into her bodice and withdrew a sealed envelope, which she pressed into Lucie's glove. "Charles—Mr. Whitcombis waiting at the el station. If you would just give him this message." A look of despair filled the young woman's pleading gaze. "Please! Please, Miss Kolska. If you refuse me, I truly do not know what I shall do!"

  Lucie blinked at the cream-colored envelope. If Mrs. Roper discovered she had acted as an intermediary between her daughter and the hated Mr. Whitcomb, Lucie would lose her position in the laundry. It wasn't a consequence she expected Miss Augusta to consider; she doubted Augusta Roper had given a moment's thought to the terrible position in which she was placing Lucie. Her own misfortune was all absorbing.

  "I don't think"

  "Oh, please don't refuse!" A tear spilled down Augusta's pale cheek. "I appeal to you, Miss Kolska. If ever you have loved, if ever you have known the anguish of being separated from one you care for like life itself, I implore you to take pity on me!"

  The suffering in Augusta Roper's eyes tugged at Lucie's generous heart. In the end it didn't matter that Augusta didn't recognize the enormity of the risk involved. What mattered was the young woman's pain. Turning aside from Augusta's despair, Lucie scanned the white frost coating the garden branches and considered the anguish she would feel if she could not see Jamie again. The pain would be unbearable.

  Slowly she turned the envelope between her fingers. There truly was no one else to help. Perhaps she exaggerated the risk. A sigh formed a puff of silver before her lips as she tucked the envelope into her reticule. She need never again wonder if she possessed a romantic streak, she thought with a wry smile. "How shall I recognize Mr. Whitcomb?"

  "Oh, thank you! Thank you!" Tears of gratitude sprang to Augusta's eyes. Her grip on Lucie's hands tightened painfully. "I'll pay you."

  "That won't be necessary." Pride stiffened Lucie's small shoulders. To profit from Miss Augusta's misery impressed her as dishonorable.

  The winter moonlight was bright enough to reveal Augusta Roper's distress. "Forgive me if I've offended you, I assure you that was not my intent" She drew a breath. "As you won't accept payment, I can only assume you must have endured a similar circumstance. May I inquirehow did your situation end?"

  Thinking of Jamie raised a buffer against the cold breeze and brought an unconscious smile to her lips. "It ended well."

  "I'm happy for you. I only wish" Augusta raised a hand to her temple, then released a sigh before she informed Lucie how to recognize Mr. Charles Whitcomb. "No one has a smile as wonderful as his," she finished, her voice soft. Then she looked at Lucie and bit her lip. "I do wish you would allow me to repay you in some manner." Her eyes brightened. "I know. I found some cream Mama said you made. It was wonderful, truly it was. Perhaps you would allow me to purchase some?"

  It had not occurred to Lucie that anyone might pay for her cream. But the longer she considered the suggestion, the more it appealed. Moreover, to her great delight Mrs. Roper had requested another sample thus she already planned to mix another batch. Purchasing the cream would fulfill Miss Augusta's desire to repay her and Miss Augusta would receive value for value given. Lucie wouldn't feel she took advantage.

  "I'm pleased you enjoyed the cream," she said carefully. Her mind raced trying to decide a fair price. "Does twenty cents seem too high a price?" she asked shyly.
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  "Twenty cents is perfectly agreeable." Augusta glanced anxiously toward the kitchen windows. "Mama will be searching for me. Thank you, Miss Kolska. From my heart, I thank you!"

  Standing beside the skeletal-looking elm, Lucie watched Augusta bolt toward the kitchen door and vanish inside into the light and warmth. Then she pressed her reticule to her side and hurried around the corner of the house, walking rapidly toward Madison Avenue. The envelope lay in her reticule like stolen goods. Guiltily, Lucie looked over her shoulder half expecting Mrs. Roper to jump from the shadows and apprehend her.

  She didn't relax until she completed her mission by delivering Miss Augusta's envelope to a haggard-looking young man whom she located smoking and pacing near the ticket chop-box. He gazed at the envelope with such rapture that Lucie's reluctance at being involved evaporated like morning mist.

  "Thank you, Miss ?"

  "Kolska," she said, enjoying his elation. Charles Whitcomb wasn't as handsome as Jamie but she could see how his blond boyishness had stolen Miss Augusta's heart.

  During the train ride to the Bowery Street station, Lucie smiled, anticipating Greta's reaction to the romantic tale and her own small role.

  Three days later she discovered her role was not to be as small as she had imagined. When she emerged from the el, hurrying not to be late to work, Mr. Whitcomb was waiting, eagerly scanning the crowds. His expression lit when he spied her and he rushed to intercept her before she descended the station stairs. After thrusting a dark blue envelope into her hands, he instructed her to place it under the stone beneath the kitchen elm, and he did so in a manner that suggested he believed she had agreed with Miss Augusta to be the lover's regular go-between. He was gone before Lucie could correct his impression.

  Biting her lip Lucie regarded the envelope with a troubled expression. Then she sighed and pushed it into her reticule. Plant a seed and reap the harvest, she reminded herself. If trouble ensued, she would have no one to blame but herself.