A Song Across the Sea

by Shana McGuinn

  “You don’t have a nasty, dirty job.”

  Tara suppressed a rising sense of exasperation. “I told you. I was lucky.” And talented, she thought to herself. Immodest though her reflection was, it was true that her talent had provided her with the means of earning a reasonable living. “Do you sing or dance?” she asked. “Because if you do, I’ll ask Mr. Glass to give you an audition.”

  Sheila smiled, the sultry gray eyes narrowing in amusement. “Not one speck of talent do I have, cousin, and you well know it. But why do you keep talkin’ on and on of work? There are other ways for a resourceful girl to make her way in the world. Maybe I’ll work just long enough to meet a rich American who’ll marry me and keep me in a lovely home, and I’ll have nothin’ to do all day but take care of the babies.”

  “Sure, and you can’t wait for some man to come along and take care of you, Sheila.”

  Sheila stared at her curiously. “What about you, Tara? Are there no young men in your life? I think they’d be fallin’ all over themselves to get to you.”

  And I keep them at arm’s length. Tara bit her tongue to keep from explaining herself to Sheila. She didn’t want to admit to the painful tear Reece Waldron had left in her heart.

  “I’m simply too busy for romance right now,” she said, trying—and failing—to not sound prim. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

  Let Sheila think she was on her way to becoming a proper spinster. It wasn’t far from the truth. The men who approached her were miserably inadequate compared to Reece. She didn’t encourage their tentative advances. It didn’t take long for each would-be suitor to get the unspoken message that she was not interested.

  “I don’t know how you can say that,” remarked Sheila, gazing at herself in the mirror. “I think of the lads all the time.”

  Hap, Delores and Kathleen had warmly welcomed Sheila into the fold. That friendliness and goodwill evaporated on Sunday, however, when Kathleen tarried a little too long in dressing for an outing with James, and kept him waiting in the parlor downstairs.

  “I just happened to see him standing there,” Sheila told Tara later. “The poor lad looked bored, so I thought I’d speak to him while Kathleen got ready. I was after doin’ her a favor, is all. And look at the thanks I got!”

  The version Tara got from Kathleen was remarkably different.

  “I came into the parlor and what did I see but herself battin’ those long eyelashes at me James! Leanin’ so close to him—pressin’ up against him, really—that the poor lad’s face was flamin’ red with embarrassment.” Kathleen’s account was tinged with fury. “And she knows he’s my beau, Tara! I showed her his picture, in me gold locket. I was after boxin’ her ears when I saw the wicked way she smiled at him. And then, when James and I were walkin’ in the park, wasn’t he askin’ all sorts of questions about her? How old was she, when did she come over? He tried to pretend that it was merely idle curiosity, but I knew better. That hussy has bewitched him, Tara. I know she’s your cousin, but that’s what she is—a brazen hussy!”

  Angry tears dampened Kathleen’s face. Tara handed her a clean handkerchief, and she noisily blew her nose into it.

  “Sure and I know you’re upset, but I don’t think Sheila meant any harm. She’s just a silly young girl with no sense in her head. James is a grown man. I’m sure she was just after tryin’ to impress him.”

  “But he kept askin’ about her!” Kathleen wailed.

  “You’re hardly givin’ James any credit at all. Why, he’s mad about you. Brings you lovely gifts, takes you here and there. And haven’t you two been keepin’ company for some time now? A few minutes’ conversation with another girl isn’t going to change all that.”

  “For two years he’s been my beau,” Kathleen sniffed.

  “You see? Two years! You’re practically married. James is not likely to forget what you two have and allow himself to be swayed by a simple country girl like Sheila.”

  “She’s not all that simple, Tara. You just don’t see it, because she’s your cousin.”

  “I’m tellin’ you, you’re worryin’ over nothin.’ Someday I’ll be dancin’ at your weddin’ and we’ll have a good laugh over this.”

  Tara thought that ended it. Kathleen continued to see James, although he no longer came to the boarding house to pick her up. Instead, they met elsewhere: at church, at the penny arcade or the park.

  Tara made it a point to take Sheila to a vaudeville performance one evening soon after her arrival, so she was surprised to find her cousin backstage a few weeks later after an early afternoon performance.

  “James arranged it,” Sheila explained vaguely. “Thought I’d enjoy seein’ another of your shows, and I certainly did.”

  “And where did you see James?”

  “I met him yesterday on me way home from school. When he told me the time of the show today, I knew it wouldn’t be any trouble to leave me classes a little early.”

  “You…met him? Just…on the street?”

  “By accident.” Sheila looked wounded. “Honestly, Tara, you act as if there was somethin’ wrong with it. I happened to take a different way home, and there he was, walkin’ down the street! I was as surprised to see him as you are to hear of it, but what could I do? Ignore him? That would have been rude. And then when we were talkin’, and I was askin’ about his work, and he happened to invite me to a show. He was just bein’ kind.”

  Kind, indeed.

  “And your teachers don’t mind your absence from school this afternoon?”

  Sheila smiled indulgently. “Sure and you sound more like me mother than me cousin. How could I sit in a stuffy classroom when I’d a chance to come and hear you sing again? You were grand, Tara. Really grand. I’m prouder of you than I can even say.”

  The conversation ended with Tara once again feeling cast in the role of the stern, disapproving spinster aunt, opposite Sheila’s self-assured, fun-loving ingénue. Could she, like Kathleen, be reading too much into Sheila’s behavior?

  But her doubts reemerged when she passed a soda fountain a few days later and saw Sheila and James sitting on stools inside. Their backs were to her but there was no mistaking James’ ears, or the saucy way Sheila tossed her head. That night, Tara paid a visit to Sheila’s room.

  “I saw you and James today. At the soda fountain.”

  “Really?” Sheila seemed unconcerned. Dressed in a long, white cotton nightgown, she sat on her bed and brushed her hair in low, slow strokes. “Why didn’t you come in?”

  Tara thought carefully about what she would say next. Sheila was only fifteen. Far too young to be out unescorted with a lad. She wasn’t Sheila’s mother, but she knew Aunt Bridey would not approve. That the lad in question was James made the situation even more delicate.

  “Sheila, you haven’t been here very long, so you don’t know the way things are.”

  Sheila arched an eyebrow. “And how are things, Cousin Tara?”

  “James and Kathleen are quite serious about each other. They plan to marry some day.”

  “That’s odd. He didn’t mention it to me.”

  “I know what I’m talkin’ about.”

  Sheila put her brush down and got into bed. “Maybe James has changed his mind about Kathleen.”

  “You’re after makin’ a fool of yourself.”

  “We’ll see.” With a smug little smile, Sheila turned onto her side, facing the wall, so that her back was to Tara. “I’m awfully tired. If you’ve got more lecturing to do, can it wait until tomorrow? I’ll be happy to listen then, although I think you’re bein’ overly concerned. James and I are just friends, is all. What harm could there be in that?”

  Frustrated, Tara turned down the gas light to darken the room. “What puzzles me most is why you’re doin’ this. I don’t see James as bein’ to your likin’ at all. Is it that you’re simply practicin’ up for the other men who’ll come your way?”

  There was no answer. Tara went to her own room, deeply tro
ubled.

  She found it difficult to look Kathleen in the eye the next morning at breakfast, especially since her friend talked happily about the glorious birthday gift she’d bought for James.

  “It took me forever to save the money for it, Tara, but I know he’ll adore it. It’s a bicycle with two seats. We can ride it together!”

  Tara tried to be enthusiastic, but she was secretly miserable. Should she tell Kathleen that all might not be quite right between herself and her beloved James? What if there’d only been those two meetings between James and Sheila? Tara’s speaking out might create a problem where there was none.

  “I do hope he’ll be able to find the time,” Kathleen fretted. “James has been so busy workin’ lately, I’ve hardly seen him these last two weeks.”

  But not too busy to take a certain girl to a soda fountain for refreshments. Tara looked down the table at Sheila, getting only a blank, noncommittal stare in return.

  The tandem bicycle was presented to James, but Kathleen’s report on his reaction was oddly hollow. Then, even James’ Sundays became unaccountably too busy for dalliances with Kathleen and Sheila took to disappearing on Sunday afternoons and reappearing at bedtime with little explanation of where she’d been.

  Kathleen confronted Tara about her fears regarding Sheila.

  “I love him, Tara, and she doesn’t! I’d such plans for meself and James. I know he’s not the handsomest man, but he’s kind and good and would make such a good husband. He was so shy when I met him he’d barely speak to me. Now, he’s obviously got enough confidence, doesn’t he? Feels that he can step out with another girl. That hussy!”

  Tara let the insult go unanswered. In truth, she almost agreed with Kathleen. What other name could there be for the kind of girl Sheila had evidently become?

  In the days that followed, Kathleen sat red-eyed and stone-faced at the dinner table, brooding in silence and eating very little. She never looked Sheila’s way, and Tara noticed that when the two passed in the hallway or the parlor Kathleen averted her head.

  Her manner toward Tara changed too, much to Tara’s sorrow. At first Kathleen came often to her friend’s room, to cry and talk about James. Or, she’d join Tara and Lotte for shopping expeditions and streetcar rides. But by early September, Kathleen started to avoid Tara, and Tara could easily guess why. She was the one who’d brought Sheila here, introducing a disruptive element into the calm and convivial atmosphere that had previously reigned over the boarding house. She couldn’t blame her friend for turning against her.

  Perhaps she and Sheila should move to other lodgings. One thing Tara could not do was to quit her job at the theater, although more and more frequently it gave Sheila a convenient excuse to hover around James, on the pretext that she’d come to see Tara.

  The unpleasant and protracted episode did serve one purpose. It distracted Tara, keeping her from dwelling on the fact that Reece’s wedding date was drawing ever closer.

  • • •

  The two dozen blood-red roses that arrived backstage bore a card with a cryptic message on it: “See you after the show.” It was signed: An Old Friend.

  Tara was mystified. She often received flowers and bouquets from gentlemen admirers in the audience, but the note seemed to be from someone she knew. Who could possibly have sent these?

  “They’re lovely,” Sally commented. “Have you been holding out on us? Secretly seeing some man?”

  Even Roxanne was impressed. “They’re a lot classier than the cheap nosegays I usually get from these jokers. I’ll bet they cost a bundle. Whoever this guy is, you’d better keep him.”

  There was only one man she wanted flowers from, and they were not from him. They couldn’t be. But what if…? She rubbed rouge onto her cheeks, trying to stop her mind from exploring the fantasy. What if Reece’s approaching wedding—only two weeks away now—had jolted him to the realization that it was Tara he loved? He’d broken off his engagement with Miriam and sought Tara out to make amends and declare is love. Right now, he was sitting out front, waiting for her to go on.

  “You’re daft,” she muttered sternly to herself.

  “What?” asked Sally, sitting next to her. In the lighted mirror, Sally transformed her rather small, nut-brown eyes into dramatic pools of glamour with the ebony outlines she painted on, as skilled as any artist.

  “Just thinkin’ out loud.” It would never happen that way, anyway. Would never happen at all. Tara had best put Reece out of her mind and get on with her life. She finished applying a dusting of translucent powder to her face and went out to wait in the wings for her turn on stage.

  Much later, spent from her performance, Tara sat again in front of the dressing room mirror. She dipped a cotton ball into a jar of cold cream and used it to remove the stage makeup from her face. With her hair tied back out of the way with a crimson ribbon and her skin pink and tingly from its recent cleansing, she looked even younger than her eighteen years. And yet…as she examined her face in the mirror, she could see changes.

  Bold cheekbones highlighted naturally by subtle shadows drew one’s eye downward toward full lips curved in an ironic smile. Her eyes—fringed with lacy lashes the same chestnut color as her hair—were elegantly framed by dark, well-defined brows. Beneath the untroubled, sapphire surface of her eyes she kept her secrets. One could discern, in their depths, the disappointments and triumphs of the last few years, if one looked long enough. People lost to her forever. New friends found. The terror in the cold waters around the Titanic, hunger and uncertainty on the streets of New York, and finally, vaudeville—her home, her salvation. Whatever adversity or disillusionment she faced in the future, she’d survive it all as long as she could perform.

  The reflection of an adult stared back at her from the mirror, but she felt like a child, further away than ever from fathoming what went on between men and women. She untied the crimson ribbon and shook her hair free, so that it rippled in burnished curls down her back.

  A face appeared above hers in the mirror.

  “You! What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been in New York for some time. I’m doing quite well, as it were.”

  She turned around on her stool to face Muldoon directly. He presented a prosperous façade. He wore a brown tweed button-down suit and fashionable derby. The hand resting on the carved eagle’s head topping a knotty cane was studded with beaten gold rings, and gold-plated cuff links winked on the starched white cuffs protruding from his jacket sleeves.

  “You’re the last person I expected to see,” she said icily. She might have added: “Or wanted to see.”

  “Really? I knew we’d renew our acquaintance sometime.” He settled into a wicker chair, looking as if he meant to stay for awhile. He gestured toward her costumes, hanging in a nearby closet. “You’re doing rather well yourself, I’d say. A vaudeville star. Who could have predicted that little Tara McLaughlin would someday be singin’ on the stages of New York City?”

  “I think you should leave now, Mr. Muldoon. I can’t imagine why you took the trouble to find me. I’ve nothin’ to say to you.”

  “You’ve a curious way of thankin’ me for the flowers.”

  “You should have saved your money. Now please leave.”

  Tara faced the mirror again. She seized the tortoise-shell brush from the dressing-table and began to brush her hair with jerky, vigorous strokes.

  He leaned toward her, unpleasantly close. “Now that’s not very grateful. I’ll give you a chance to do better when you have dinner with me tonight.”

  “You cheeky sot! Go, before I have you thrown out! There was nothin’ between us in Ireland, and there’ll be nothin’ between us here. Your spankin’ new clothes don’t fool me for an instant. I’ll wager you’re still the same law-breakin’ scoundrel you were when I last saw you, and I’ll have nothin’ to do with you!”

  He stood up suddenly, tore the brush from her grasp and hurled it against the wall, then grabbed her roughly by her upper arms
and hauled her to her feet.

  “D’ya think you can dismiss me, as if I were no more than a lowly servant and you some fine lady? Now that you’re so high and mighty, you think you’re too good for me? I’m a man of substance in America, you ignorant girl. I have many connections in high places. You’d be smart not to make an enemy of me.”

  She tried not to show how much his quicksilver turn of temper frightened her.

  “If you don’t leave, I’ll have you thrown out.”

  He brought his face close to hers. “You’re just as beautiful as I remembered. And as cold-hearted. But I know how to change that, I do.”

  He pulled her toward him in a clumsy embrace. She put her hands on his chest and tried to shove him away, but the arm wrapped around her was like iron. He grabbed her chin and tilted it upwards, pressing his lips against hers. She wanted to gag at the sensation.

  “Oh, dear. Are we…interrupting?”

  Muldoon released her suddenly and Tara looked toward the open doorway in consternation. The cloyingly sweet voice that had made the inquiry belonged to, of all people, Miriam Sedgewell. Miriam’s knowing smile made Tara’s discomfiture even more acute. The other girl obviously felt that she’d interrupted a tender little love scene.

  Miriam was adorned in the latest fashion sensation from Paris, whose designers, this season, were mad for all things Oriental. Miriam’s close-fitting jade gown artfully hugged the curves of her perfectly proportioned figure.

  Reece cleared his throat awkwardly. Had he seen the near-kiss? Of course he must have.

  “We just wanted to tell you…how much we enjoyed the show.” His expression was hard to read. “You really were wonderful, Tara. I had no idea you sang so beautifully.”

  Miriam laughed gaily. “I’m glad to see that you’re fully recovered from our little automobile mishap.” She looked conspiratorially at Muldoon. “I suppose she told you all about that?”

  Muldoon didn’t answer.

  Miriam turned toward Tara. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your young man?”