Bicycle Built for Two

by Duncan, Alice

  Kate tried to resent his assumption of authority over her and her mother, but couldn’t do it. He was too darned nice to resent. “Here, Ma, take my arm.”

  “Thank you, Katie, darling.”

  Mrs. Finney took Kate’s arm and together they walked up the stairs. From out of nowhere, or so it seemed to Kate, a man appeared, lifted Kate’s shabby carpetbag—without even sneering at it—and trotted up the staircase before them.

  “I’ll unpack for the two of you,” Louise said brightly. “You can decide which rooms you want. They’re both all made up. The Missus has been so excited about your visit.”

  “She has?” Kate would have shaken her head and maybe batted at her ears a couple of times if she’d been alone. She couldn’t account for Louise’s state of excitement. Maybe Mrs. English really did want them here.

  “This is so kind of Mr. English and his mother,” Mrs. Finney said, gasping only slightly.

  “Take it easy, Ma. You can talk once we get upstairs.”

  “Mr. English was quite crippled towards the end of his life,” the chatty Louise informed them. “He talked about installing one of them electrical lift things that they have in grand hotels, but he died before they could have one installed.”

  “My goodness,” said Kate, genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know that.” Mr. English being crippled didn’t fit with her image of a member of the English family.

  “Oh, my, yes.” Kate had slowed her pace so as not to outstrip the ladies she was guiding. “He was all bent over with the lumbago. His joints hurt something terrible. He used to be such an active man, too. Why, he plowed the fields until he was in his late sixties. Until the lumbago took over.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Indeed,” assented Mrs. Finney, who’d stopped walking at the top of the staircase so that she could catch as much of her breath as her lungs would allow. “I’m sorry to hear about his infirmity.”

  “Yes, well, I guess the good Lord works in mysterious ways. As you should know, ma’am, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. Mr. Alex speaks so highly of the both of you. It’s a crying shame that you came down with the consumption, Mrs. Finney.”

  Mrs. Finney smiled. “I think so, too, Louise. Thank you.”

  “Me, too,” added Kate, not quite sure what was going on here. Everybody was so darned friendly. Shouldn’t they be looking down their collective noses at her and her mother? And had Alex—Mr. Alex, indeed—actually, honestly and truly, said nice things about them? Her mother deserved them. Kate feared she didn’t. She’d actually been sort of mean to Alex since they met. Not that he hadn’t deserved her rancor—at first.

  “My uncle Harry caught the consumption. He worked in the mines in Pittsburgh. They say that black coal dust kills more men than accidents.”

  “My goodness.”

  As much as Kate appreciated Louise’s friendliness, she wished the girl hadn’t mentioned her uncle’s death from black lung. The reference didn’t seem exactly diplomatic to Kate. On the other hand, she could forgive verbal missteps as long as the intent behind them wasn’t malicious. “Yeah,” she said, hoping to turn the conversational topic. “I hear black lung is really bad. Say, are these the rooms?”

  “What?” Louise looked startled. “Oh, I see. Yes. Mrs. English had us prepare the two rooms closest to the staircase. She said it’ll cut down on the number of steps you have to take and all.”

  “She’s very considerate,” Kate’s mother said.

  “She sure is,” Kate agreed. Louise pushed the door of the first room open, and Kate’s heart executed another flip. “Oh, my!”

  The room was gorgeous. The pretty yellow-trimmed chintz curtains had been drawn aside and the windows had been thrown open to the bright summer afternoon sun. Forgetting for once that her mother was more important than she was, Kate went to the open window and gazed outdoors in something as close to awe as she could get. “Oh, Ma, it’s a room with a view!” She felt stupid as soon as the words popped out.

  “Isn’t it grand?”

  When Kate turned at Louise’s comment, she saw the house maid standing in the open doorway, her hands clasped together at her waist, and a huge smile on her face. “It sure is. Can you walk over here, Ma? Do you need help?”

  “I’m fine, Katie.” But it didn’t escape Kate’s attention that her mother was slipping the flask into her skirt pocket.

  Her heart quailed as she watched her mother walk to the window. She was so frail, she scared Kate. The notion of life without her mother filled Kate with a hurt so deep, she was pretty sure it would never heal. In spite of that, or perhaps because of it, she pasted on a jolly smile for both their sakes. “Look. You can see all the trees and flowers blooming, Ma. It’s so pretty.”

  Mrs. Finney put her hand on Kate’s shoulder and looked out the window. “Oh, Katie, it reminds me of home.”

  “Home?” Kate hadn’t heard that wistful quality in her mother’s voice before. “You mean Ireland?”

  Hazel Finney nodded. “Aye, Katie. It’s green in Ireland. Just like this. The green just rolls on forever.”

  Kate gazed out, trying to see the countryside from her mother’s point of view. Couldn’t be done. She saw great beauty, but the only thing she could relate it to was pictures in fairy-tale books. The nuns had never allowed the children to read fairy-tale books, but Kate had cleaned house for a rich lady with children, and she’d looked in her children’s books sometimes. Those books with their pictures had been one of Kate’s guilty pleasures, moments of joy stolen from a life of drudgery. As she stared upon the view, the same feeling of doing something she shouldn’t be doing washed over her.

  “Jeepers.” Although she knew she was being irrationally uneasy, Kate eyed the scene with renewed appreciation, not that she hadn’t appreciated it before, for her heritage’s sake. “Does it really looks like Ireland?”

  “Very much. In spots.” Mrs. Finney laughed softly. Kate held her breath, but her mother didn’t start coughing.

  “I’m so glad you like the room and the view.”

  Kate had forgotten about Louise. With a sigh, she turned away from the window, only to find Louise opening her carpetbag. At once, all of her feelings of insecurity attacked her. “What are you doing?”

  Startled, Louise jerked upright. “Why, I was going to unpack for you. I assumed your mother would stay in this room since it’s the closest to the staircase.”

  Mrs. Finney, close on Kate’s heels, again put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Thank you so much, Louise. That’s a good idea. I’ll be very happy in this room. But Katie packed clothes for both of us in that bag. Perhaps it would be better if you left the unpacking to her. May we see the other room?”

  “Of course.”

  Louise looked a trifle put out, and Kate wished she’d held her tongue. Again. Sometimes she despaired of ever leaving the slums behind. Even when she had opportunities, like this one, the slums seemed to travel with her and spoil everything. In an effort to redeem herself in Louise’s eyes, she smiled hard and decided to tell the truth. Might as well, since it always managed to catch up with her anyhow. “Thanks, Louise. I’m not used to people doing things for me.”

  Louise relaxed instantly. “Oh, I know exactly what you mean, Miss Finney! I’m the same way myself. Come along. Miss Finney’s room is right next door. It’s done all in pink. Miss Mary Jo decorated it.”

  Thank God they’d got over that one. Kate vowed she’d watch herself and not step in any more mud of her own making than she could help. Vigilance was what was needed here. She’d just be vigilant. She was always vigilant, for that matter, but this weekend, instead of watching out for her father, she’d be watching out for herself.

  It was an odd and uncomfortable concept, but Kate feared it was about right.

  Chapter Twelve

  Alex couldn’t remember ever fussing over guest accommodations at the farm before. His mother was a supremely capable woman, she loved to have visitors, and she never, ever a
llowed the least little attention to go wanting where her guests were concerned. He fussed anyway.

  “Are you sure the tea will stay hot until they get downstairs? I don’t want to serve tepid tea to Mrs. Finney.” Frowning, Alex gazed at the table in front of the comfortable, slightly worn parlor sofa. Mrs. Gossett had set out gingerbread, frosted fairy cakes—she said the recipe had come from some Irish ancestor or other, and she thought Mrs. Finney might enjoy them—little tea sandwiches, and a flowery teapot accompanied by flowery cups and saucers. He hoped to heaven the Finney ladies wouldn’t be intimidated by all the finery; he was sure they’d consider matching cups, saucers, and plates finery.

  “Mrs. Gossett covered the pot with a cozy, Alex.” Mrs. English smiled as she arranged teacups on the table. Alex got the feeling her smile wasn’t for him, but for something private that she found amusing and didn’t intend to share.

  Alex gave up on his mother’s smile and frowned down on the covered teapot. “Is that what that thing is? What did you call it? A cozy?” Ridiculous name for a piece of quilted fabric.

  “Yes, dear.” Mrs. English began rolling napkins and fitting them in some brass holders Alex’s father had brought to her from a trip to New York. “Everything will be lovely, dear. You’ll see.”

  “I hope so.” No longer was Alex able to disparage Kate for her upbringing; not since he’d met her mother and father and had come to understand exactly what her circumstances had been. Now his only aspiration was to make Kate and Mrs. Finney’s lives more comfortable, however he could. In the attempt, he especially didn’t want to make them feel inferior.

  He jumped slightly when Mrs. English patted him on the arm. “Sit down, Alex. Everything will be fine.”

  When he turned around and saw her watching him, catlike, as if she suspected him of caring more about Kate and her mother than he actually did, he frowned again. “Of course. I just don’t want to serve them cold tea. Mrs. Finney’s health makes her movements rather slow.”

  “Of course.” Mrs. English’s scrutiny didn’t fade appreciably.

  “I like them,” Mary Jo said, snatching a frosted cake before her brother could stop her and popping it into her mouth. “I can’t wait to talk to Miss Finney about the Exposition.”

  Alex turned on his sister, his glower feeling more comfortable than it had felt when he’d directed it at his mother. “I won’t have you pestering the Finneys, Mary Jo. Mrs. Finney is deathly ill, and Kate has enough to worry about without you annoying them.”

  Mary Jo spoke with her mouth full, she was so indignant. “I’d never! I would never pester them!”

  “See that you don’t.”

  “I think,” said Mrs. English with a hint of a laugh in her voice, “that your brother is worried about making an impression, Mary Jo.”

  “Nonsense,” Alex barked, self-conscious and with his ire climbing. “I only want to make sure this weekend is pleasant for them both. The two of them haven’t had much pleasure in their lives.”

  “Really?” Mary Jo’s eyes went huge, and Alex wished he’d kept silent on the subject of the Finneys’ relative absence of pleasure.

  “Their circumstances have been unfortunate, Mary Jo,” her mother explained. “Alex doesn’t want anyone to embarrass them by bringing them up.”

  “Really?” Mary Jo repeated. She had to swallow twice in order to get the cake down. “What kind of circumstances do they have?”

  “Straitened circumstances, dear. They have very little money and no family support, evidently. I was poor when I was a child, too, so I know how uncomfortable it can be.”

  “Oh.” Mary Jo pondered the nature of impoverished childhoods. “I guess we’re lucky, aren’t we?”

  “Yes,” said Alex firmly. “We’re very lucky.” It occurred to him that before Kate Finney and her atrocious father had been thrust into his face by Gil MacIntosh, he’d pooh-poohed the notion of luck having anything to do with his own position in life. What an ass he’d been.

  “And here they are!” cried Mrs. English loudly.

  Alex presumed she wanted to make sure her children didn’t continue the conversation regarding the Finneys and luck, thereby causing the newcomers social discomfort. He walked to the door, smiling up a storm. “Come in, come in, ladies. I hope you found your rooms adequate.”

  “Adequate?” Kate stared at him as if she suspected him of irony. Alex could get lost in those heavenly blue eyes if he didn’t watch himself. “Both rooms are exquisite. Thank you very much.”

  “Indeed, yes,” said Mrs. Finney. She held onto Kate’s arm and walked slowly.

  Both ladies had on the same gowns they’d worn for traveling, an indication, had Alex needed one, that they were both of limited means and scant wardrobes. They both looked neat and trim, and Kate had tidied her hair. Poor they undoubtedly were, but neither Finney lady allowed her poverty to interfere with cleanliness or resourcefulness.

  That being the case, Alex wondered if Kate had sewn her mother’s outfit, as well as her own. It wouldn’t have surprised him to find out she had, necessity being the mother of invention and all that. Or poverty being a prod to personal industry. Alex knew poverty didn’t always breed industry; some folks floundered and sank under the weight of it. The Kate Finneys of the world overleaped their circumstances, or tried to. He knew it was presumptuous of him, but he was proud of Kate.

  His heart hurt as he accompanied the pair over to the parlor sofa. Kate looked so damnably exhausted, and her mother looked so damnably sick. If he knew a magic spell that would cure both of them, he’d use it in a minute. Unfortunately, unlike Madame Esmeralda, Alex didn’t know any charms or curses. Which reminded him of something he’d been meaning to ask Kate.

  After he’d deposited her on a comfortable chair and her mother on the sofa, and his mother had started pouring out cups of tea—which still steamed, verifying his mother’s prediction on the subject—he said, “Say, Kate, does Madame really believe in fortune-telling? I’ve wondered about that for the longest time.”

  After shooting him a suspicious glance, which he deflected with a raise of his eyebrows and an I’m-not-being-condescending-dash-it shrug of his shoulders, she said, “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure. She said she—” Kate stopped speaking abruptly. “Thank you,” she said when Mrs. English handed her a cup of tea.

  “She said what?” Alex asked, holding the plate of sandwiches and cakes out to her so that she could take her pick. “I’m only curious,” he added, knowing how defensive Kate could get without half trying. “I won’t hold anything Madame Esmeralda said to you against you.” He laughed to let her know he meant it and that he considered this all in fun.

  Kate shrugged and took a small sandwich. “She said she’d put a curse on my father.”

  “Good heavens!” Mrs. Finney stared at her daughter, her cup halfway to her lips. “Did she really?”

  “I’m afraid so. Sorry, Ma.” Kate took a bite of her sandwich, looking uncomfortable.

  But Mrs. Finney, replacing her cup in her saucer before she’d taken any tea, leaned back against the sofa and laughed so hard, she started coughing. After taking a swig from her flask, she gasped for air and apologized. “Oh, my, I’m so sorry. But, Katie, darling, that’s the nicest thing Madame could ever do for any of us.” She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief snatched from a pocket. “Oh, my. I must be a terrible person to find such a thing amusing.”

  “Nuts,” said Kate. “You’re right. I hope the curse works. And soon.”

  “I have to agree with your daughter, Mrs. Finney. If you still have feelings for the man, I’m sorry, but I think he deserves a good curse, at least.”

  “Alex,” murmured his mother, “I’m sure I don’t know what to think of you.” She smiled, though. “I tried to teach my children manners, Mrs. Finney, but you can see how much they learned.”

  “Oh, no, Mrs. English,” Mrs. Finney protested. “Your children are wonderful. You must be so proud of Alex.”

  “I am.”<
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  Alex turned his eyes up and gazed at the ceiling, praying this part of the conversation would end soon.

  Mary Jo said, “I didn’t say anything about any old curse. I have manners.” She grinned. “But I’d love to know how she did it.”

  The tea break progressed smoothly and with much good humor. Alex was proud of his mother and even of his little sister, who could sometimes be a trifle difficult due to her age. He dreaded the notion of Mary Jo getting Kate off by herself, because he didn’t trust either one of them. Mary Jo could be offensive without even knowing it, and Kate could become offended even when no offense was meant.

  When it became clear that Mrs. Finney’s strength was waning, Alex signaled to his mother to do something to end the tea party. As ever, his mother rose to the occasion. “Hazel—” They were all on a first-name basis by this time. “—Let me show you around the house a little, and then I think you ought to rest for as long as you need to. It’s been a long, tiring trip for you, I’m sure.”

  “Thank you.” Mrs. Finney’s pinched features appeared more relaxed than Alex had heretofore seen them. “I do need to rest a good deal. But the trip wasn’t difficult at all, thanks to your son and his generous attentions.” She smiled at Alex. “You have a such a kind and generous son, Marguerite.”

  “I think so,” said Alex’s fond mother.

  Alex hoped to heaven the heat he felt creeping up his neck wouldn’t be noticeable in his cheeks. He was too dashed old to blush.

  “I can see Ma upstairs,” Kate said.

  Everyone turned to look at her, and she dropped her gaze. “Unless you don’t want me to,” she muttered.

  “Why don’t I show you the grounds, Kate,” Alex suggested, feeling both protective and appreciative. Her defensiveness had spared him embarrassment in case he had been blushing, since nobody was looking at him any longer.

  “Oh, yes!” Mary Jo cried. “I’ll go with you!”

  Bother, thought Mary Jo’s affectionate brother. He didn’t want her along; he wanted to be alone with Kate. Yet he couldn’t think of an appropriate way to rid himself of his pesky sister without making an embarrassing scene. “Fine.”