American Pie

by Maggie Osborne

  "What would you rather do?"

  Her steps slowed as they turned into Elizabeth Street and passed beneath a broken street lamp. She didn't want these enchanted minutes to end. "It would be nice to work in one of the emporiums and sell lovely things. But I don't have the training for that. Or teaching would be lovely. Perhaps at the Settlement House." She slid a teasing look in his direction, amazed by how easy it was to talk to him. "Or maybe I'd enjoy business." This last was pure invention, created out of the turmoil of being near him.

  He feigned a horrified look. "No, not business! Are you one of thosewhat do they call them?suffergettes?"

  Lucie laughed. "And if I were, Mr. Kelly? Would you still wish to walk out with me?"

  His grin flashed a row of even white teeth. "You astound me, lass. Hardly have you placed your feet on American soil before you're speaking of business. It's enough to rattle the poor brain of a conventional man."

  Although she enjoyed his teasing enormously, and his intense interest in everything she said made her feel warm all over, she wanted to know more about him and their time together was slipping through the glass. "Actually I can't imagine myself conducting business," she admitted, smiling. She didn't tell him she still figured her market money on her fingers. "How are you faring, Mr. Kelly?"

  "Jamie."

  "Jamie," she repeated, tasting his name on her lips and feeling another rush of heat flare across her cheeks.

  "I'm treading water, I fear, not progressing an inch. But a man has to begin somewhere." He shrugged and followed her between the buildings into the darkened courtyard. They lingered beside the dripping pump as lamps went on behind the windows.

  "Do you have a dream?" Lucie asked shyly. He stood near enough that she could smell the scent of his bay rum. The realization that they leaned toward each other, heads almost touching, brought another blush to her throat. Then she smiled. "Of course you do. Everyone in America has a dream."

  Jamie returned her smile and drew a line in the dirt with the toe of his boot. "Someday I want to build buildings so wonderful no one will knock them down and put others in their place." Raising his head, he looked at the tenement.

  "And I want to build houses affordable to people like you and me, clean houses with adequate ventilation and airy sunny rooms."

  Lucie stared at him with admiration, restraining an urge to touch his sleeve. "That's a wonderful dream!"

  "All that's needed is a wee bit of Irish luck." Another smile curved his lips. "And a lot of money."

  It was difficult to look away from his mouth; he had a beautiful firm mouth and she decided the sensuality in the curve suggested a poetic bent that fit nicely with his dream. But gazing at his lips made Lucie feel hot and strange inside. She swallowed and turned her face aside, hoping he could not read her mind, or hear the pounding of her heart.

  "I must go inside, Mr.Jamie." The words emerged with reluctance, but she cast an anxious glance toward the dark opening between the buildings. "Stefan could return at any moment"

  "I like you, Lucie Kolska," Jamie said softly. The deepening night blurred his features, but she could feel the intensity of his eyes on her face, responded to the unsettling sense of urgency drawing them together. "I'd like to see you again."

  Uncertainty darkened her gaze. It was wrong to defy Stefan's wishes. So alien to her nature.

  "Please."

  She looked into Jamie Kelly's warm eyes and her heart constricted. How could something so utterly right be wrong? But she knew she should refuse, and when she thought of Stefan she experienced a scalding rush of guilt But she also felt the magnetic heat of Jamie Kelly's nearness and heard the thumping of her racing heart. She saw the admiration in his eyes, felt a tingle when he looked at her. Something larger than logic overwhelmed her senses.

  She ducked her head and studied her hands twisting across the front of her skirts. "I if I should accidentally encounter you again next Tuesday evening"

  A joyful shout broke from his lips, then he hastily looked over his shoulder and gave her an apologetic grin. "Until then," he said, backing toward the exit between the buildings.

  Reason urged him along lest he bump into Stefan. But her rebellious heart wanted him to linger.

  "Until then," she whispered, feeling the weight of guilt pressing against her conscience.

  She stood beside the pump, placing her fingertips on the handle still warm from his hand and she watched him back away from her. At the opening he paused, and they looked at each other across the dirt floor of the courtyard.

  When she realized he would not leave until she did, Lucie made herself turn away and lifted her skirts. Almost floating, her feet scarcely touching the stairs, she hurried up the staircase and into her rooms. Without pausing to remove her hat or light the lamp, she hastened to the window overlooking the street and leaned out for a last glimpse of him.

  She saw him immediately, but he didn't know she watched. He tossed his cap in the air with a shout, then caught the pole of the street lamp in one hand and swung around it.

  His exuberance brought a smile to Lucie's lips and she watched with laughing eyes as he retrieved his cap, settled it at a cocky angle, then, whistling, he pushed his hands in his pockets and walked toward Canal Street.

  Then, because she could not bear to face Stefan knowing she intended to deceive him, she swiftly washed and dressed for bed, then rolled into her mattress and pretended to be asleep when she heard the door open, hoping Stefan couldn't hear the jubilant pounding of her heart.

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  "It's hotter'n a ride in Hades!" Mrs. Greene's booming complaint stirred the steam in front of the shirts boiling on the laundry room range top. Fanning her face with her apron, she emerged from a cloud of white haze and surveyed her domain with a critical eye. "Hilda, how many times I got to tell you?" she bawled. " One part oxalic acid and two parts Prussian blue! Lucie, from now on you mix the bluing."

  Lucie adjusted the sleeve of a maid's uniform on the small bosom board and cast Hilda a sympathetic smile. Then she wet her finger, touched the surface of the iron to check if it was still hot, and applied herself to pressing the sleeve.

  Mrs. Greene loomed over her with a scowl. "Where's your mind, Lucie Kolska? That ain't the proper iron. For sleeves you want a polishing iron, not a coarse iron." She spread chapped red hands and rolled her eyes toward heaven. "Why, Lord? Why is it you seen fit to burden me with a room full of pumblechooks?"

  "Good heavens." Lucie raised the iron and blinked at it. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Greene, I don't know that I was thinking."

  "It's Tuesday."

  "Beg pardon?" Lucie asked with a start.

  "Every Tuesday you get all dreamy airy like you was thinking about lollygagging. You got a young man, Lucie Kolska?" Mrs. Greene demanded. She studied Lucie's flaming cheeks and heaved a sigh. "Lord help us. Ain't nothing worse than trying to coax a day's work out of a love-struck biddy." She fisted her large hands on massive hips. "Well, when you going to marry that young man? That'll take care of any love problems."

  "I my brother objects." Not looking up, Lucie exchanged the coarse iron for one with rounded ends.

  "Is that a fact?" An interested gleam appeared in Mrs. Greene's eyes. "As if it ain't enough having Miss Augusta moping about, now we got you to worry about." Dipping her fist in a basin of water, she began sprinkling a pile of maid's aprons and rolling them into damp balls.

  Lucie hadn't realized her Tuesday euphoria was so obvious, but it didn't surprise her. She lived for Tuesdays and her time with Jamie. Whatever happened during the week—scalded hands, an aching back, missed trainsbecame insignificant when she thought forward to Tuesday night. To seeing his eager smile when she stepped out of the Bowery Street station. That smile put the world right and sent her spirits soaring.

  Tonight when she saw him she forgot the weight of the hot irons and her aching shoulder. Her face lit when she spotted him waiting on the platform and she flew out of the train, made br
eathless by the joy warming his eyes as she hurried toward him.

  For a moment neither of them could speak. Jamie clasped her hands and examined her upturned smile. Finally he spoke in a gruff voice. "Each Tuesday, I'm afraid you've changed your mind. That you'll send me away."

  "How could you think that?" Lucie whispered. But she understood. Every Tuesday as the train approached the station her heart beat faster and she wondered if he would be waiting. Then, when she saw him, her happiness was so overpowering she wondered that she could endure it.

  After settling his gray summer bowler, Jamie tucked her hand around his arm and led her down the steps and across the street to the small Bowery Street pub they had claimed as their own. The moment they entered the beer-jugger brought a pail of Marva stout and two glass mugs to their table.

  "You'll tell us when it's nine o'clock?" Jamie asked the beer-jugger as he always did. Then, to make doubly sure, he placed his pocket watch on the table beside Lucie's reticule. Neither of them wholly trusted the pocket watch. It seemed to run fast on Tuesday nights. "So," Jamie said softly. His wonderful dark eyes lingered on her face. "What kind of week has it been?"

  "I learned about iron rust this week," she said, trying to memorize the angle of his jaw, noticing the way his lips parted when he leaned forward. Each Tuesday they rediscovered the thrill of each other. A laugh bubbled up from her breast. "You don't care about rust stains!"

  "I care about everything that's important to you. Tell me if Miss Delfi received the two-wheeler she's been badgering Mr. Roper to have."

  The spicy scent of bay rum reached her across the tabletop and she inhaled deeply, wondering if he could smell the lilac toilet water she splashed on her wrists before she departed the Roper mansion. "I'd rather talk about you. Tell me what you did this week."

  The exchange of news helped them learn about each other and what was important in their lives and Lucie devoured each word. She also loved the Tuesday evenings when Jamie showed her parts of the city she might not have seen otherwise. They visited construction sites and Jamie explained what she was seeing; they toured the locomotive museum, the harbor, an automotive display. They shared a pint in the popular music halls and attended lectures at Cooper Institute.

  Cooper Institute seated an enormous number of people, and, on the next Tuesday, Lucie found her mind wandering from the governor's speech in favor of examining the people around her. Only when she had satisfied herself that none of the men were as handsome as the man seated beside her did she happily return her attention to Theodore Roosevelt. He strutted and marched across the stage, waving his arms and expending so much energy it wearied Lucie just to watch. The only thing she remembered him saying was: "I wish to preach, not the doctrine of ignoble ease, but the doctrine of the strenuous life."

  "I wonder who he was speaking to," Lucie murmured as they ducked out early. They couldn't remain for the conclusion of the speech as she had to be at the tenement before Stefan returned. "Most of the audience looked to be working people like us. But I hardly consider that we're living a life of 'ignoble ease,' as the governor phrased it."

  Jamie grinned and pulled her forward to catch the horse car. Lucie tried to read the advertising posters on the side of the car before Jamie urged her inside. One showed the new Klinger stove, gleaming black and nickel-plated, featuring a hot water reservoir and a drawer for pots and pans.

  "Some say Roosevelt should run for president. You don't agree?"

  She took a seat next to the window and looked up at him as he clasped the overhead strap when the car lurched forward. A lot of men, most men in fact, would not have taken a woman to a political speech. Certainly they would not have inquired as to a woman's opinion regarding a political topic. Although she did not require further persuasion that Jamie Kelly was a special man, his apparent assumption that her opinion was valid impressed her and she liked him for it. She liked him a great deal.

  They discussed the speech all the way to the entrance of Elizabeth Street, delighted to discover their opinions were of one accord. "Though it hardly matters as I can't vote," Lucie admitted.

  "Would you like to?" Jamie teased her.

  "Maybe I would," she said with a toss of her head. But the face she made stated otherwise. Actually, she hadn't made up her mind if she agreed with those who pressed for woman's suffrage. Voting was a tremendous responsibility. She loved the idea but didn't feel she was informed enough to make a responsible choice. Maybe someday women would possess the education to vote wisely, but she doubted that day would arrive anytime soon.

  She said as much and Jamie agreed. They discussed the subject again the next week as they strolled along Broadway, peering into darkened shop windows, choosing which objects they would buy if money were no concern, laughing at each other's choices.

  Raising her head abruptly at something Jamie said, Lucie turned to him and discovered her mouth inches from his. An explosion of butterflies fluttered in her stomach confusing her thoughts as she asked a daft question, requesting his opinion about belts replacing suspenders. But it didn't matter. She wanted to know everything about him, the silly small things, as well as more important ones.

  She learned about his family the night they inspected the newly constructed New York Yacht Club building, having gone there to admire the galleonlike windows. And she told him about her own family and childhood the evening he took her to a soda fountain and insisted she try a Coca-Cola, which made her laugh with surprise when it fizzed under her nose.

  Among her favorite outings were their visits to the library where Jamie helped her obtain cards for fiction and nonfiction. It astonished her to discover she was trusted to return the books she checked out. She had never heard of such a thing.

  "I read part of The Gentleman from Indiana to Greta last Sunday," she told Jamie eagerly. They were seated in their favorite Bowery Street pub, watching the dial of Jamie's pocket watch speed across the clock face. "It's a first novel by Booth Tarkington. Both Greta and I think the book is lovely!"

  Jamie's warm chocolate eyes met hers across the table top and sent a tiny shiver down her spine. "When you've finished Mr. Tarkington's book, you must read War of the Worlds by a chap named Wells. You'll be amazed."

  The back of his hand brushed hers and an eruption of heat ignited throughout her body. She felt the resultant tingle down to her toes and whatever they had been discussing fled her mind. Just to look at Jamie was enough to raise strange pleasant sensations that she couldn't fully explain. Although the feeling was pleasurable, it was uncomfortable, too. More and more often, she found herself stealing small looks at his mouth, wondering if he would ever kiss her and what she would do if he did.

  When the beer-jugger arrived to inform them it was almost nine they looked up in amazement as if it were impossible. Together they dropped their heads to stare at Jamie's pocket-watch, convinced it must be in error.

  Leaving the pub with reluctance, they walked slowly through the warm August night toward the entrance to Elizabeth Street. This was the best and the worst of each Tuesday evening. The best because Jamie held her arm tightly against his side and the touch of him thrilled her and left her lightheaded. During the weeks of clandestine meetings, Lucie had felt the slow building of an interior pressure that seemed to wind another notch tighter whenever Jamie looked at her or pressed her arm to his side. This was also the worst moment of the evening because it meant it would be seven long days before she saw him again.

  They stopped on the street beside the dark tunnel leading into the courtyard and faced each other. People hurried home along the broken pavement behind them. Two ragged children played in the derelict wagon abandoned at the curb. A group of twelve-year-old boot blacks sat on their boxes, pitching pennies in a circle. Overhead, the evening sky formed a canopy of deep lavender and gold.

  "Each Tuesday when I leave you," Jamie said in a soft voice that recognized nothing but her, "I wonder how I find the strength to walk away from you."

  "I know," she w
hispered, feeling the ache and tension of farewell. Her gaze was intense as she etched his features in her mind to carry her through the next seven days. She wanted to stroke his strong clean-shaven face, to feel his warm skin under her fingertips. She longed to explore the determined line of his jaw, to place her palms flat against the solid strength of his chest and feel his heartbeat beneath her hands.

  His gaze caressed her brow, the curve of her cheek, then settled on her mouth and her chest constricted and she stopped breathing. "Goodbye, dear Lucie. Until next Tuesday."

  "Until next Tuesday," she whispered, her throat so tight she could hardly speak.

  As was their habit she reluctantly stepped into the dark opening between the buildings, feeling his eyes on her hips, her ankles, on the nape of her neck, then at the courtyard she turned and lifted her glove in a farewell wave. After he returned the gesture, she raised her skirts and ran pell-mell toward the tenement door, up the stairs and into her rooms where she went directly to the window. He waited, looking up. When she appeared he waved again. Tonight he touched his fingertips to his lips and blew her the kiss he didn't dare deliver in person. Lucie gasped, and her hands fluttered to her throat then moved to her trembling mouth.

  Then he was gone, swallowed up by the deepening twilight shadows and the night became gray again. For a time Lucie remained at the window, exhilarated by his fanciful kiss, imagining the taste and pressure on her lips, wishing with all her immodest woman's heart that his kiss had been real.

  By the time Stefan returned she had recovered enough to light the lamp, don her apron, and warm the supper she had prepared this morning before she left for work. And she had achieved an uneasy mastery over the ever present guilt, though it was difficult to meet Stefan's eyes.

  "How is Greta feeling tonight?" she inquired as she placed his bread and stew on the table.