"Of course I did."
"Then you did me an injustice. I kept you because no one works harder or better. As for the promotion, you should have been promoted a long time ago. You manage people well, you show initiative, you're smart and you get the job done right the first time. Moreover, you were the only person besides myself to recognize the bearing wall was misaligned. At least the only person who had the courage to say so."
Stefan's narrowed gaze did not waver. "I didn't expect you to recognize or admit any of that."
Jamie smiled. "Believe me, I wish you weren't the man you are. Every time I look at you, I see an obstacle standing in my way. But firing you was never a consideration. Whether I like it or not, you're needed on the site and you're the best man to manage the concrete crew."
Stefan's chin jutted. "The answer is still no."
"I'm not going to give up, Kolska. I'll continue requesting your permission to call on your sister."
"The answer will always be no." When Jamie smiled and shrugged, Stefan frowned at his mug, moving it around so that it left damp circles on the counter. "There's something else," he said finally. "It wasn't right for you to fire those other men. They had families."
"They were slackers." Jamie shifted on his stool and looked at Stefan directly. "We can't afford to carry men who aren't giving a day's work for a day's pay. It wouldn't be fair to those of you who do earn your packet. But I agree to this extenta man who loses his job should have some recourse. He should be protected from personal animosity. He should be entitled to know why he was terminated. And he shouldn't be sacked on impulse the way Henry Gustoffer was."
Surprised, Stefan said, "That sounds like union talk. Are you a sympathizer?"
Jamie didn't answer immediately. "In some ways I guess I am. I've been following the coal miner's efforts in the newspaper reports. As a man who hopes to own a business one day, I understand a business owner's desire to control his operation and make a profit. I also understand the working man's need to earn a decent wage for his labor and not feel he's being exploited to service another man's greed. At present a large gap exists between those two positions. Maybe the answer is to unite."
Stefan's nod was emphatic. "Right now only three and a half percent of all workers are organized. But the unions are coming, and we need them. Even with a promotion and a raise, I can't support a wife and family. Damn it, a man who works ten hours a day six days a week ought to be able to support a family."
"I agree. Everyone in this country is watching what happens with the new United Mine Workers. Those fourteen miners who died and those who were wounded in the Mount Olive massacre in Illinois last year deserved better. All they asked was fair working conditions. Now that the bituminous workers have joined the anthracite workers, maybe their next strike will make a difference. If the United Mine Workers can be successful, other industries will follow."
"But that's the question: Can they succeed? The iron and steel workers struck in 1892 and didn't win a damned thing. All they got was no pay for five months. And the AF of L seems more interested in signing up members than in doing anything for them. I believe unions are the fist of the future and the only way we're going to change things. But so far the unions' record is dismal."
They discussed the miners' ongoing struggle and rumblings of unionization within the garment industry, then Stefan gave him a curious look. "You said you hope to own a business of your own. What kind of business?" When Jamie finished explaining his love for design and construction, Stefan hesitated, then confided he too hoped to own a business one day. "But I'm not as fortunate as you. I don't know yet what I want to get into. I just know I don't want to spend the rest of my life working for someone else. That isn't why I came to America."
Later Jamie could not recall if he ordered the second growler or if Stefan did. Regardless, a full pail appeared before them and neither was willing to waste his money by leaving it behind. Over another pail of ale the conversation drifted to the hurricane that had recently devastated Puerto Rico and the rebuilding that would be necessary. Then they rehashed the Jeffries/Fitzsimmons heavyweight title fight thrashed out in June at Coney Island.
"I wish I'd seen it," Stefan said. "No one can beat Jeffries."
They talked about the new catch phrase, "conspicuous consumption," and what it meant. They talked about F. F. Stanley driving his steamer to the top of Mount Washington and they argued the future of the automobile and the need for improved roads and what would happen to horses and related businesses such as carriage makers, stables and feed stores.
Two hours later, slightly foxed, they clapped each other on the back and shook hands, preparing to part company.
Misjudging the hours of pleasant companionship Jamie gripped Stefan's hand and asked, "Stefan, may I call on Lucie?"
Stefan's eyebrows knitted together. "No."
The following Saturday, Jamie discovered Stefan waiting beside the horse trough when he finished locking the shed. They studied each other for a moment, then fell into step and returned to the Bag and Boodle.
"Will you be wanting sausage and pickled eggs?" Jamie asked, eyeing the platter the barkeep slid to their end of the counter.
"Lucie and Greta are waiting supper for me."
"Who is Greta?" Jamie inquired, as if he were hearing the name for the first time. After Stefan's explanation he murmured, "Your fiancee sounds like a lovely young lass. I'm sorry her health isn't all it should be." Lifting his head, he met Stefan's eyes in the back-bar mirror and smiled. "I'm interested in a lovely young lass, too. Shall I tell you about her?"
Stefan raised his eyes to the tin ceiling and spread his hands. "What's wrong with you, Kelly, that you can't recognize 'no' when you hear it?"
"A man doesn't get what he wants by hearing no. You know that, Kolska. Every person who comes through Ellis Island knows that. The way to succeed is to keep trying. Isn't that why you came to America?"
"I came to America because Russian cossacks were raiding the border villages conscripting men of my age into the army. I didn't want to give the czar twenty-five years of my life."
"You wanted to succeed in a life of your own choosing. And you will if you keep your eye on the prize." Jamie sliced one of the pickled-eggs with his pocket knife. "You and I aren't so different, Stefan. We want to make our own mistakes and our own successes. We want a loving wife, a family and a business to build for our sons."
"The answer is no."
"Jamie, Stefan has not spoken a word to explain why he returns late on Saturday nights." Lucie raised a puzzled expression and looked at him across the table. She couldn't keep her mind on the comedian performing on stage and was glad when the gaslights dimmed and intermission arrived. "I don't understand."
"I'm not sure I do, either," Jamie admitted. They had arrived too late to obtain a seat near the stage and sat at the back of the hall beside a window fronting the street. A flake of snow tumbled past the panes and floated toward the pavement.
"What do the two of you talk about?"
"Last Saturday we discussed electric elevators. Without them, multistory buildings would be impossible. We argue about the Giants, discuss politics. We talk about the site, about advances in reinforced concrete and better steel." He raked his fingers through his auburn hair. "We talk about everything but you. Before Stefan leaves, I request permission to call on you, and he refuses."
Lucie lowered her head and bit her lip. "How long can we go on like this?" she whispered, returning the pressure of his fingers when he squeezed her hand across the table. "I hate deceiving Stefan. He's so good to me." She touched her fingertips to her forehead. "If it wasn't for Stefan, I would still be in Wlad. He's a good man, Jamie."
"Aye. I know. These last few weeks I've come to know and like Stefan as well as respect him."
Not even the comic's broad jests and pratfalls elevated her mood, nor did the music, which she usually loved. Turning her face to the window Lucie watched the snowflakes floating out of the darkness past
the street lamps. When she first met Jamie, it was spring. Now winter was almost upon them and they were no closer to budging Stefan.
"I care for you, Jamie Kelly," she said softly, turning back to him. She couldn't be the first to mention love, but weeks ago she had admitted the truth to herself. She loved Jamie Kelly with a fierce possessiveness that extended beyond reason and family loyalty. "And I care for Stefan. Sometimes I feel as if I'm being torn in pieces, pulled between the two of you."
"I'm sorry, Lucie. I should never have placed you in this position." He studied her face in the gaslight. "But I love you, lass."
Lucie's head snapped up and her mouth formed a circle. A soft sound issued from her throat, and she couldn't breathe. Tears sprang into her soft eyes. "Oh, Jamie," she whispered. "You must know I love you, too."
The words had finally been spoken and her heart leapt with joy, hammering against the front of her striped shirtwaist. She wanted to caress his face, his hair, his shoulders, his eyelids. She wanted his kiss and his touch and the warmth of his arms around her. She wanted the thrill of his kisses and most of all in this stunning moment, she wanted privacy and deep lingering kisses that weren't rushed or hidden in doorways. She looked at him and her heart glowed in her eyes.
"Let's get out of here," Jamie said gruffly. "Unless you want to stay for the next act ?"
Lucie laughed out loud. Her joy was so intense she would not have heard a word of what happened on stage. After gathering her gloves, reticule and winter coat, she accepted his arm with shyly possessive pride. He loved her! He had spoken the words aloud. He loved her, he loved her. It seemed she had waited forever to hear those words from him and to say them aloud herself.
They stepped outside into a world that had been magically transformed. Snow spread over the city like a clean white shawl, concealing the trash heaps and ash piles, the street offal and debris. The cold night air smelled wonderfully fresh and sharp; snowflakes settled like feathers on her cheeks.
Lucie lifted her face in delight. "It's like heaven did this for us! At home we bake a special bread to celebrate the first snow," she said, her dark eyes sparkling. "And sometimes we exchange small gifts." She pressed his arm close to her side and smiled up at him. "You gave me a wonderful gift tonight."
Because it was dark and the snowy street nearly deserted, he slipped an arm around her waist and held her close, smiling down into her eyes. "Ah, lass, you make loving so easy. I've loved you for so long, but I didn't feel I had a right to say so." A frown chased his smile. "I still don't have that right, but"
Before he could say anything to diminish this jubilant moment, Lucie caught his hand and tugged him beneath the tracks of the elevated. "Aye, lass," he murmured. When Jamie recognized the side street leading to the deserted doorway they claimed as their own, they hurried toward it.
When Jamie reached for her, Lucie went eagerly into his arms. He opened his coat and she snuggled inside the folds, drawing his warmth into herself, loving the rough feel of tweed against her cheek, inhaling the scent of bay rum and Madagascar oil, starch and wool and all the scents that she knew as Jamie.
"Please say it again," she whispered.
"Lucie, Lucie," he murmured hoarsely. "Ah, lass, God, I love you so much."
A thrilling shock of heat shot through her body as his warm lips met her snowy mouth and his hands tightened on her waist. Her arms circled his neck and she pressed against the hard need of his growing passion, wanting to absorb him, to become him, to meld and blend and unite as one single being.
When his lips released hers he held her so tightly she smiled against his starched collar and breathlessly protested he was crushing her heart and her bones.
His ragged breath melted the snowflakes on her cheek. "The hardest thing about being poor is having no privacy, no place of one's own."
The dark snowy night was their privacy and their place. Smiling, Lucie traced the contour of his lips with her fingertip. "The hardest thing about being poor is having no money."
She loved the sound of his laughter. He grinned down at her and kissed the tip of her nose. "My practical lassie. And what would you do with a barrel of money?"
Leaning back in his arms she gazed up at him with a serious expression, though it was hard to think past his declaration of love. "I would give Stefan and Greta enough money to marry. I owe them that. My goal is to repay my passage fare."
"I doubt Stefan would agree," Jamie said. "Things have reached a pretty pass when a woman must provide a man's marriage money." His lips nuzzled her throat, then moved to her temples, her forehead, her eyelids.
When his lips burned against her skin, she could think of nothing else. For an instant she pressed against him and forgot everything but the lean hard length of his body molded against hers. She could feel the strength of his thighs through her skirts, the muscles swelling on his arms. Her breath quickened in her breast and to calm herself she tried to remember what they were discussing.
"A woman isn't allowed to give the future a little nudge?" she murmured, her eyes closing as she raised her mouth.
His kiss drew the strength from her limbs and left her feeling shaken and helpless. This then was passion, this feverish yearning for something more than stolen kisses in a dark doorway. This longing to fulfill an emptiness hitherto unrecognized. The depth of her need frightened her.
"Dearest Lucie," he murmured against her mouth. "The future is not your responsibility." That he could continue their conversation indicated he too straggled for control.
As he spoke his hands tightened on her waist in a grip that was almost painful, and she tried to focus on what he had said, wondering suddenly if they were still speaking of Stefan and Greta. One thing was certain. She didn't agree a man must shoulder the future alone. Not in America. Not in the land of equality where a man and woman could stand together. Surely Jamie didn't believe her sole duty was to stand aside and wait.
She would have asked, but he kissed her again and again, and the tiny alarm of warning fell silent. Their conversation, interspersed with passionate kisses, turned to the conversation of lovers everywhere. When did you know? How long ? Have you loved before? And they whispered the words again and again.
All trace of the snow had vanished by Saturday. When Jamie locked the shed the night sky was clear and cold, hidden behind the soft glow of Broadway's new electric street lamps.
"Finally man has conquered the night," he observed to Stefan as they examined the electric lamps before they turned away from the brightness and walked toward the Bag and Boodle.
"There's a future in electricity," Stefan commented as he carried their pail of ale to the table Jamie had located.
"Aye, the time will come when night will be banished all over the world." Jamie accepted the glass of ale Stefan poured. "Have you been watching the electric men at the site?"
"They claim they don't know how electricity works. Maybe they're feigning ignorance to keep their jobs secure."
The ale was cool and strong and Jamie sighed with pleasure. "I don't think anyone knows. I've been reading on the subject. If you're interested, I'll give you a list of library titles."
Leaning backwards in his chair, Stefan rubbed his eyes. After a moment he looked at Jamie and shook his head in frustration. "No, I don't want to spend my life stringing wire. I don't know what I want to do." He turned a moody face to the window.
"You're good at what you're doing now."
"I don't share your love for construction. I've watched you, Jamie Kelly. No perfume on earth is as seductive to you as the tang of wood shavings. To you that building we're building is a living thing with a life and a character. I've seen you so wrapped in the prints that you forgot your lunch, watched you stand on the first floor and stare up at floors that don't yet exist. I don't feel those things. To me it's a job, that's all."
"You haven't found the right thing yet. It will come."
Stefan looked into his glass and a humorless smile curved his mouth. "How will oppo
rtunity find me when I'm nowhere near it?" Both men smiled. They had discussed this topic before and would again. Stefan cleared his throat. "There's something I want to say to you." He met Jamie's eyes and drew a deep breath. "Most of the men at the site objected to your promotion."
"I know." Comments had been made that he was intended to overhear.
"The men didn't believe an Irishman would be fair. I agreed with them, but I was wrong. You're doing a hell of a job as foreman, Jamie. The supplies are there when we need them, the crews are coordinated, we're back on schedule and you've treated the men squarely." A flush of color infused his cheeks. "I just wanted to tell you that."
"Thank you," Jamie said after a minute."You and Wilbur deserve most of the credit for making those things happen."
They drank in silence, each uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. When the pail was empty, Stefan abruptly pushed back his chair and stood. "I have to be getting along. Lucie and Greta are waiting supper."
Jamie frowned at the sausage and pickled eggs. The pub food was filling and free as long as he kept buying drinks. But he thought of Stefan's home-cooked meal and nudged the tray aside.
When Stefan reached the pub door he paused and looked back with an expectant expression. Jamie lifted his glass in farewell, then raised his eyebrows as Stefan answered the salute with a scowl. He looked over his shoulder to discover if the scowl was directed at someone behind him. But Stefan's stare intensified on Jamie. He waited beside the spittoon, clearly expecting something and seeming annoyed that it wasn't forthcoming.
Jamie rose to his feet as Stefan wound back through the Saturday night pub crowd. "What is it? Is anything wrong?"
"Didn't you forget something?"
For a moment he didn't understand. He gazed at Stefan with a blank expression. Then he slapped his forehead and swore. "Good Lord." Pulling to his full height, he straightened his waistcoat, smoothed down his hair and cleared his throat "Mr. Kolska, I respectfully request your permission to call upon your sister."
American Pie Page 13
