Bicycle Built for Two

by Duncan, Alice

  Neither of the boys drank, either, which was probably more of a miracle than anything else, in Kate’s opinion. Their abstinence might be due in part to Kate’s threatening both their lives if they ever succumbed to the lure of booze. Kate hoped so. If either boy took to drink, Kate would never speak to him again, and she couldn’t afford to lose family. There was so little of it left.

  “Walter came to see me last night. He said he’s started keeping company with Geraldine Kelly.”

  “Yeah. He and Gerrie are tight as anything these days. She’s working at that big department store downtown. Wannamaker’s. They’re going to be fine, Ma. You’ll see.”

  Her mother hesitated a moment before saying, “I hope so.”

  Kate knew what she meant. She didn’t think she was going to live to see her children truly established in life. In her more depressed moments, Kate feared it, too.

  “Good evening, ladies.”

  Kate had been so busy holding her mother’s hand and trying to keep the conversation light, that she hadn’t heard the door open behind her. Darn. She’d been hoping she’d get out of the hospital before Alex showed up. Her luck was running uniformly bad these days. With a sigh, she stood up, glad she’d washed off all of her Egyptian makeup and was now clad in a sober-hued skirt, shirtwaist, and jacket, and that she’d brushed her hair into a prudish knot. She really didn’t want Alex English thinking she was a strumpet.

  Alex patted the air with his hand. “Don’t get up on my account, Miss Finney. Please. I’ll just pull up another chair.”

  Mrs. Finney smiled wanly, but seemed to brighten a little bit. “Oh, Mr. English, thank you so much for the beautiful flowers.”

  “Yeah,” said Kate, wishing she didn’t have to, “thanks. That was nice.” It was no use Alex telling her she didn’t owe him anything. If he didn’t know it, Kate did. She’d owe him for the rest of her life for the generosity he was showing to her mother. Kate hated being in debt.

  “You’re welcome. I thought you might like them, Mrs. Finney.”

  “I love roses. And daisies.” Mrs. Finney sighed. “I always wanted a garden where I could grow flowers.”

  Kate’s heart twisted. If her mother hadn’t made the dreadful mistake of marrying Kate’s father, she might well have had her garden. But Kate’s father wasn’t the type to grow things. Rather, he destroyed them. “Someday, Ma. We’ll get you a flower garden someday.” Even Kate knew that wasn’t true, but she couldn’t bear to think about it.

  “Do you like the country, Mrs. Finney?”

  Kate turned to eye Alex with some doubt. While she might, occasionally, offer her mother false coin, as she’d just done, she didn’t appreciate anyone else whetting her mother’s appetite for things that couldn’t be.

  But Mrs. Finney didn’t seem to mind. She smiled more strongly. “Oh, yes. I remember, when I was small, we lived in a village in Country Cork, in Ireland. It was so green and pretty there. And there’s some lovely country outside of Chicago.” She cast a sorrowful glance at her daughter. “We never got to travel out there very often. My children didn’t have—advantages.”

  “I see.” Alex patted Mrs. Finney’s hand. “Maybe we’ll see if we can do something about that.”

  All of Kate’s instincts for survival went on the alert. She pinned Alex with a hard glance. “Yeah? Like how?”

  “Katie,” her mother said gently, her voice taking on an imploring quality. “Mr. English is only being nice.”

  “Nice?” Kate glanced from her mother to Alex. She didn’t believe it for a second. Because she didn’t want to upset her mother, however, she said, “Oh, of course.” When her mother shut her eyes, Kate sent Alex a don’t-you-dare-mess-with-my-family glare.

  Alex deflected the glare—and it was one of her best—with a smile that made her want to smack him. “Your daughter can be a little touchy sometimes, can’t she, Mrs. Finney?”

  To Kate’s utter astonishment, her mother chuckled. “More than a little, I’m afraid.” The sick woman heaved a sigh that set her to coughing. After the spasm passed, she went, “Kate hasn’t had a very pleasant life, Mr. English. I hope you make some allowances. Although,” she added, glancing at Kate, “I hope she’s not rude to you.”

  Darn. “I’m not,” Kate said, knowing she was lying.

  “Not at all,” said Alex, thereby sending Kate’s instincts on the alert again. Offhand, she couldn’t recall anyone else to whom she’d been as rude as she’d been to Alex English, although she’d had good reason to be. She thought. Maybe.

  “I’m so glad.”

  Kate was distressed to see the relief on her mother’s face. Did Ma honestly think Kate was rude to people on a regular basis? Recalling one or two incidents that had occurred recently, Kate feared she might have given her mother that impression. Aw, nuts.

  “Hi, Ma!”

  The cheery voice at the door made all three inhabitants of the room jump a little. Kate whipped her head around and smiled. “Billy! You rat. You scared us all.”

  Her younger brother, the apple of Kate’s eye, swaggered into the room. Kate was pleased to see that he’d bathed and changed clothes before visiting his mother. Bill’s job was a dirty one, and smelly, and since nobody in the Finney family could afford indoor plumbing, Bill had to pay to take a bath. Kate was proud of him that he’d done so before visiting his mother.

  Bill winked at her. “I was hoping I would.”

  Mrs. Finney laughed and held out a hand to her son. Alex, looking uncomfortable, rose from the chair he’d pulled up. With a sigh, Kate did what she knew she ought to do.

  Speaking first to Alex—he had the money, after all—she said, “Mr. English, this is my younger brother, Bill Finney.” When she looked then to her brother, she grinned broadly. “Billy, this is Mr. English, the man who’s paying for all this luxury.” She swept out a hand, indicating the private room.

  Bill evidently didn’t share Kate’s doubts about Alex’s morals and motives. His smile vanished as he held out his hand. “Mr. English, I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing for Ma.” Irrepressible and unable to be serious for more than a couple of seconds at a time, Bill winked. “She’s worth it, believe me.”

  “Billy,” murmured Mrs. Finney, pleased but embarrassed from the look on her face.

  “I’ve already found that out,” said Alex, grinning back at the boy.

  Well, maybe he wasn’t a boy any longer, exactly. Kate herself had reached her twenty-second year without being killed by her father or any of the undesirable people who populated her sphere in life. Bill was only a year younger than she was. He could vote in the next election, for crying out loud. Sometimes Kate contemplated the miracle that had allowed her mother to rear all three of her children to adulthood. That sort of statistic didn’t happen very often in the slums, where babies died every day of everything from starvation to diphtheria to abandonment.

  She listened to Bill as he sweet-talked their mother. He’d brought his own little bouquet, picked, Kate had no doubt, from some rich person’s garden or in a park somewhere. Bill didn’t seem to mind that Alex’s bouquet was grander than his. In fact, he thanked Alex for thinking of doing so nice a thing, and without the sarcasm Kate often heard in her own voice. Dratted boy. He could charm the apples from their trees.

  After a few minutes, right before Kate interfered because Mrs. Finney looked as if she was wearing out, Bill gave his mother a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Say, Ma, I need to talk to Katie for a minute.”

  Mrs. Finney actually managed a creditable twinkle. “Investments, Billy?”

  Her son winked again. “You got it, Ma.”

  “Investments?” Alex, who had been watching the interplay between mother and children with what appeared to be genuine interest, glanced at Kate and Bill.

  Kate didn’t want him butting in almost more than she didn’t want her mother to think she was rude. The latter sentiment prevailed, however, and she reluctantly said, “Yes. Billy has invested some money
in various enterprises.”

  “Really?” Alex stood up. “Ah, would you mind if I join you? I dabble in the investments myself.”

  Yes. Kate would mind a whole lot. The darned man was taking over every aspect of her life.

  Mrs. Finney whispered, “How kind of you, Mr. English.”

  Which pretty much put the kibosh on anything Kate had been contemplating saying to the man. She muttered, “Sure. Why not?”

  “I could use some advice,” Bill said, overflowing with good will and gratitude. His was the sunniest nature in the Finney family, perhaps because Kate and her mother had kept him away from his ogre of a father as much as possible. Kate, who valued his good disposition but believed it was overrated under certain circumstances, wished they were still little kids so she could kick him.

  “I doubt that I can offer any advice,” Alex said modestly. “I was hoping to get some from you.”

  Liar. Kate turned around so her mother couldn’t see the grimace she adopted for Alex’s benefit. He only grinned at her. Figured.

  “If you don’t mind, everybody, I’m going to rest now,” Mrs. Finney said.

  Kate’s attention instantly snapped back to her. Hazel Finney was the important one here, she reminded herself, and she mattered a whole lot more than Kate’s uncomfortable sensation of being overpowered by Alex and his money. Bending over her mother, she kissed her on the forehead. “Sure, Ma. Rest up. I’ll put Billy’s flowers in water while the gents gab about stocks and bonds.”

  Mrs. Finney’s eyes remained closed, but she smiled. Kate took that as approval of her plan, picked up Bill’s pathetic bouquet, and marched for the door, past her brother and Alex.

  Bill held out a hand. “Wait, Katie, I want to ask you a couple of things.”

  Sure, he did. As if Kate knew beans about stocks and bonds. She snapped, “Be right back,” and kept walking.

  Before she reached the door, Alex was there, opening it for her. As she stomped past him, he said, “Don’t worry, Miss Finney, I won’t squander the family fortune.”

  She felt her face blazing with fury and humiliation as she walked down the hall.

  # # #

  The colors and scents of spring rioted in the countryside. The grasses growing alongside the highway were as green as sun-sprinkled emeralds, and the wild flowers shouted their presence in bright reds, yellows, blues, and purples. Birds sang. Crickets chirped. In green, green pastures, cows lowed and bulls pawed the ground, wanting to get at the cows. Sheep dotted the far hills like flecks of ivory, and the apricot, peach, and pear trees were radiant with blossoms.

  Chicago’s filth and stinks lay behind Alex like a bad dream. This was where he belonged: in the country. The city was good for a change of pace every once in a while, but this was what he loved. He breathed deeply and contentedly of the clean country air as his traveling coach neared the family farm.

  “Family farm,” he muttered aloud. He wondered what Kate Finney would say if he referred to these acres and acres that had belonged to the English family for generations his “family farm” in her presence. Nothing nice, he was sure.

  The girl was driving him crazy. He’d known he for two weeks now, and he still couldn’t fathom her. She didn’t appreciate anything he did, she had a chip on her shoulder the size of the Rock of Gibraltar, and she treated him with absolute contempt. What was her problem?

  Kate hasn’t had a pleasant life, Mrs. Finney had said. My children didn’t have advantages, she’d said.

  Alex guessed that must account for Kate’s cursedly insufferable attitude, but it was still hard to take. It crossed his mind that his own attitude might not be so genteel if he’d been reared in the slums of Chicago rather than the glories of this clean, green countryside. He was still brooding about Kate Finney when the coach barreled through the iron gates and approached the house.

  Because he’d been puzzling over the Kate Finney problem since he’d climbed aboard the carriage in Chicago, Alex observed the English farmhouse with a new and critical appreciation, thinking of it in terms of Kate, Bill, and Hazel Finney.

  The house was typical of those built in the early days of the century. Two stories. White paint. Green shutters. Huge front porch with an awning that extended the entire length of the house. Lots of big, shady trees lending their loveliness to the picture. Cows in the pastures that surrounded the landscape. Alex couldn’t see the chicken coop, but he knew the chickens were in back of the house, scratching and clucking. The barn, painted red out of adherence to tradition more than anything else, stood a few yards from the house. It looked mighty tidy, considering it was a barn. The pigs resided behind the barn, far enough away from the house so that the family didn’t have to smell them, but close enough to slop, even during the snowy winter months.

  Alex was proud of the appearance of his family estate. He’d worked hard to keep it up and make it better. Still, it was basically a farmhouse, and he was basically a farmer.

  He shook his head. Judging from her reaction to that simple little Polish beer garden, Kate would probably be stunned into silence if she were invited into what she would certainly consider such a grand home.

  He couldn’t suppress a grin at the delicious thought of Kate being stunned into silence. It might be worthwhile to bring her out here for the mere pleasure of shutting her up. He was sure she’d think Alex and his mother and sister resided in a great and fabulous mansion, complete with grounds and servants.

  To Alex, the English farmhouse was a comfortable old family home. Big enough, certainly, for a family of six or more, and with quarters for a household staff, but it didn’t come close to mansion-size. In fact, the place was pretty much a typical farmhouse, if one operated a prosperous farm, which Alex did. And, dash it, that hadn’t happened by accident. It had been he, Alex English, who had built the family enterprises to their present level of prosperity.

  Recalling Kate’s brother Bill, Alex acknowledged that he was attempting to do the same with his family’s assets, such as they were. Bill had to work on a much smaller scale, but still . . . The boy should be commended for attempting to dig his family out of the gutter.

  Alex had told Bill so, more diplomatically, of course, when they’d spoken in the hospital two weeks ago. He had also given Bill a couple of tips he’d garnered from his investment-minded friends and associates, and had offered him the opportunity to profit from the World’s Columbian Exposition, as well. Since Alex was in a position to do so, he’d offered Bill shares in his own Agricultural Cooperative at a greatly reduced price.

  Bill, unlike his sister, had thanked him for the information and the offer. He’d made arrangements on the spot to take advantage of the Agricultural Cooperative offer. Bill’s appreciation had been overt and absolutely genuine. Every time Kate thanked Alex for anything, Alex could tell it just about killed her to do it. Dratted woman.

  Conky, Alex’s no-account bird dog, set up a frenzy of barking that jolted Alex out of his broody mood. The dog was a total failure as a hunter, but his rapture at seeing Alex again cheered him up a little. “Hey there, Conky!” he called out the window. The dog, leaping joyously and making a horrible racket, trotted alongside the carriage, jumping up and scratching the door panel every now and then. Alex sighed. What did it matter if the animal scratched the paint? Conky might be worthless, but Alex counted him as a friend, and a man couldn’t have too many friends.

  “Alex! Alex!”

  His mother’s happy shout yanked Alex farther out of his mood. He leaned out the window, cupped his hands around his mouth, and hollered, “Ma!” like he used to do when he was a boy. Conky barked, too, as if he were echoing Alex’s shout.

  Kate Finney called her mother “Ma.” Maybe they weren’t so fundamentally different from one another as surface indications would lead one to believe.

  “Don’t be an ass,” he advised himself.

  When the coach horses drew up to the huge front porch, Alex saw his little sister tripping merrily down the steps. Mary Jo, t
he youngest of the five English children, was fourteen years old now. The rest of Alex’s siblings were married and living in or near Chicago. Mary Jo thought she should be married and living away from home, too, but everyone knew that was only her age determining her attitude.

  Alex loved her even if she was going through adolescence. He also gave her some extra latitude because he knew she missed their father, the older Alexander English, who had passed away only two years earlier. Alex missed their father, as well, so he tried not to be too hard on his little sister.

  “Alex!” Mary Jo screamed. “Alex! Minnie had her kittens!”

  Minnie, the barn cat who kept the rodent population under control on the English farm, had been doing her duty for years now, supplying kittens on a regular basis to serve in the feline rat patrol.

  “Are they as ugly as the last batch?” Alex called as he opened the door and let down the carriage steps.

  “They’re beautiful!”

  Before he could properly brace himself, Mary Jo threw herself into his arms, propelling him back through the open coach door. He ended up sitting on the steps with her in his lap, Conky leaping on both of them, and unable to catch his breath for laughing.

  “Mary Jo, you little fiend, are you trying to kill me?”

  “Mary Jo, really,” their mother said, trying to sound stern. She couldn’t. She’d never been able to, actually, which was probably one of the reasons her children loved her so dearly.

  The haggard, life-destroyed face of Hazel Finney intruded into his mind’s eye, and a notion that had assaulted him several days before in the hospital tapped him on the shoulder again. He wondered what Kate would have to say about it, provided his mother approved. Nothing good, he imagined.

  But to hell with Kate Finney. Alex had become quite fond of Mrs. Finney and Bill Finney. If Kate didn’t want to accept Alex’s offers of friendship and help, he’d just take his suggestion to the other, more amiable Finneys. Dratted woman.