American Pie

by Maggie Osborne

  "This is so exciting!" Lucie whispered, inhaling the intoxicating scent of bay rum as she leaned near Jamie's ear. Eyes wide she gazed about the Cavendish Music Hall, uncertain what to expect. Rows of wooden chairs were arranged to face a small curtained stage and Lucie noticed a piano positioned below and to the left. The moving picture show, an astonishing idea, was scheduled to begin any minute.

  "The reels will be shown on the Edison Vitascope, a marvelous improvement over Edison's Kinetoscope," Jamie explained. "Only one or two people at a time could watch the Kinetoscope."

  Abruptly the lights dimmed. A man in white tie and tails stepped into a spotlight and requested all ladies remove their hats, which Lucie and Greta did, placing their winter toreadors in their laps. Next came fanfare as the curtain slowly rose to reveal a blank white wall. Suddenly images flickered on the wall and Lucie forgot it was a wall at all. Her mouth dropped open and she convulsively gripped Jamie's hand as two men wearing boxing gloves and snorts stepped into a ring and circled each other, glowering. The piano player filled the hall with music that also seemed to glower and threaten.

  For fifteen breathtaking minutes the boxers slugged it out, and the action was so real that Lucie and Greta gasped at each punch and hid their faces against each other's shoulders while Jamie and Stefan cheered and waved their fists in the air.

  When the lights came up, Jamie and Stefan grinned and shook hands across Lucie and Greta, recalling their own violent first meeting. "I don't know what to say," Greta breathed, fanning her face. "It was so real . Didn't you think so, Lucie?"

  Lucie continued to stare at the descending curtain in speechless wonder. She could not believe what she had seen with her own eyes. A juggler ran on stage to amuse them while the projectionist changed reelsStefan explained it to themthen a trained dog act followed and after that the lights went down again.

  This film portrayed a perspiring fat man who tried to carry an armful of eggs down a chaotically busy street. The audience roared with laughter as the fat man was jostled, almost lost an egg, caught his balance, lost an egg and slipped on it, tottered, stumbled, caught an egg in his hat, and finally, accompanied by a merry crescendo on the piano, arrived at his destination with one egg left, which he placed on the table, then smashed when he fell forward. The audience was weak with laughter.

  Afterward, Stefan and Greta left to meet some friends, promising to catch up with Lucie and Jamie later, and Lucie and Jamie linked arms and walked toward Elizabeth Street.

  When Stefan first gave them permission to see each other, they had reveled in their new found freedom, spending every evening together until Stefan, yawning and protesting, sent Jamie home so he, as their chaperon, could go to bed. Eventually, and reluctantly, they conceded the late nights interfered with rising early for work and agreed to see each other on Wednesdays, Saturday evenings and Sundays. The certainty of knowing they would be together made the schedule acceptable.

  "Didn't you enjoy the picture show?" Jamie asked as they turned into the wintry courtyard and approached the tenement door. "The more I've talked, the quieter you've become."

  "Oh, yes," she assured him hastily, squeezing his arm before she preceded him up the dark staircase, then lighting the lamp while he hung their coats on the pegs beside the door. "It's just isn't it strange that we laughed at that poor man with the eggs?" Frowning, she set a loaf of poppy-seed bread on the table and a bowl of pickles. "And it was funny, I'm not saying it wasn't. Except I also felt sorry for him. He was trying so hard to save his eggs and get them home. I wanted him to succeed."

  Jamie studied her in the glow of the table lamp. "Maybe you're reading more into the piece than was intended, lass," he said finally.

  "Perhaps," she agreed, running her fingertips along the edge of the table. "I feel so frustrated about how little I've progressed in achieving my own goal, that I want other people to achieve theirs."

  "We're back to that, are we?" Jamie leaned back in his chair.

  Lucie stiffened. Repaying her passage money had gradually evolved into a sustaining factor. When life seemed hard, she reminded herself that she worked toward achieving an important goal. When the wind sliced through her thin coat or stung like needles against her cheeks, she remembered that her endurance moved her nearer to a satisfying accomplishment. When the hot irons weighed like concrete, when she returned to the tenement thinking herself too exhausted to clean and cook, it was good to have a goal to put starch in her resolve.

  But Jamie did not seem to comprehend how important and necessary her goal had become.

  "On this subject you sound like Stefan at his stubborn worst," she said with a sound of exasperation. "Why do you object to my having a goal?"

  "It's the nature of your goal, lass." His voice rang with a note of sharpness. "Women bring linens and cookery utensils to a marriage; they don't provide the house and furnishings or buy the wedding clothes. This is not yours to do, Lucie."

  Lucie threw out her hands and paced toward the range. "Stefan can use the money however he likes. To save toward a stormy day or pay for his wedding. But he spent his marriage money on me and it's important to me to repay his sacrifice."

  "There's something unseemly about a woman focusing so intently on repaying an imagined debt. I can't think Stefan agrees to this."

  "But that isn't the point." Though they had discussed this before, he couldn't seem to grasp her position. Frustration furrowed her brow. "My goal has little to do with Stefan. It has to do with me! I feel I owe this debt. Repaying it is something I need to do." She faced him across the kitchen table, drew a breath, and lowered her voice. "Dear Jamie, please try to understand. I've passed from father to brother and one day I'll pass to a husband." Twin dots of color blossomed on her cheeks. "Before that happens, I want to accomplish something on my own." This was a bold new idea, a distinctly American idea. And it was one she embraced wholeheartedly. "If I can repay Stefan, I'll feel I've achieved something valuable that's mine alone."

  He tried to understand, she could read the effort in his troubled expression. "But, lass, why distress yourself by setting your heart on a goal you can't achieve?" Raising a hand, he cut off her protest. "Think of it, Lucie. Twenty-seven dollars. It took Stefan two years to save twenty-seven dollars. Is it your plan to place your own future in abeyance? How much of this money have you saved? How do you intend to accomplish this goal?"

  His questions embarrassed her and made her feel foolish. "I'll find a way," she insisted stubbornly, knowing the words sounded lame. Jamie's expression suggested she attempted to defend an indefensible position.

  "Lucie, let's not argue."

  Immediately the anger vanished from her eyes and she gasped. Her fingers flew to her lips and she stared at him. "My heavens! We're arguing !" Her eyes widened. "Oh, Jamie, I'm so sorry."

  He stood and opened his arms and she ran to him, hiding her face against his lapel and murmuring apologies. "I'm as much at fault as you, lass." He stroked her hair. "I've wasted a rare hour alone with you." Tilting her face up to him, he gazed deeply into her eyes, then he kissed her.

  This kiss was unlike any that had gone before. Perhaps it was an inevitable result of the high emotion charging the previous moments, or perhaps it sprang from the realization they were finally and truly alone, away from prying eyes and "tsking" tongues, or perhaps it was the sudden release of pent-up passion.

  When his lips claimed hers, firm and insistent, something hot and turbulent erupted within, igniting Lucie's body like a flash fire. It was as if she had slumbered through life until this moment, then awakened swiftly, passionately, inhabiting a woman's body with a woman's needs.

  Her breath quickened and her lips parted, inviting exploration and possession. When Jamie's mouth hardened on hers, when she felt her breasts crush against his chest, felt his hands tighten on her slender waist, her arms wound around his neck and she did not step away, but pressed closer, tighter against him. Her tongue met his and an explosion of sensation weakened her li
mbs, leaving her hardly able to stand.

  Giving herself to the moment, she tangled her fingers in his silky hair as his kisses grew more demanding, more possessive, and it didn't occur to her to object. No thought entered her mind except the electric thrill of his kiss, the almost unendurable excitement of his hands moving up her shirtwaist until she could feel the heat of his palms through the material, almost touching her breasts.

  And she wanted him to touch her. Her breasts felt swollen and ached with desire. Her body trembled in anticipation. Her head fell back, offering her throat to his lips. And she waited, panting slightly, until his palm covered her breast and she gasped and felt the nipple thrusting hard through her chemise and shirtwaist.

  The sensation was like nothing she had ever experienced. Her whole being centered on Jamie's hand cupping her swollen breast, thrilling to the yearning heat that sped outward from his caress. A light sheen of perspiration appeared on her brow, and his, and their kisses deepened and assumed an urgency that blotted all else from her mind.

  She didn't know what might have happened if Jamie had not placed trembling hands on her shoulders and gently stepped away.

  That was not true. She did know. She was innocent of experience, but not innocent of knowledge. No village girl could be. But she had not known it would be like this. How could she have guessed? How could she have suspected a moment would be reached when practicality and propriety flew out the window? When mind and body united in urgent heated need, disregarding all else?

  "Forgive me, lass." Removing a handkerchief Jamie touched it to his forehead. He appeared as shaken as she. "I've acted the cad. I've taken advantage of your innocence and the tender feelings you hold for me. I apologize, dearest Lucie."

  Her knees felt as if they could collapse at any moment, and she steadied herself by placing a hand on the top rung of the nearest chair. When she caught her breath and her breast quieted, she smiled at him.

  "Dearest Jamie," she said softly, loving him. "Why do you insist on taking full blame for the faults of two?" Stepping forward she framed his dear face between her hands, wondering if he felt the tremor in her fingertips. "I could have said no," she reminded him gently. "Nothing happened that I haven't dreamed a hundred times."

  A hoarse sound issued from his throat and his arms tightened around her. She understood he intended his kiss to be tender, and it began that way, but they had opened a door that could not be easily closed again. Their passion reignited. Only the sound of Stefan and Greta returning with a growler of ale prevented a repetition of what had exploded before.

  On New Year's Day, a holiday for everyone, Lucie, Jamie, Stefan and Greta rode the Sixth Avenue elevated to Central Park and carried rented ice skates to Ladies Pond. Flashing Starlings wheeled against a clear cobalt sky. A bright red balloon floated above the center of the pond signaling the ice was thick enough for skaters, but they knew that because the city horse cars and omnibuses all flew the park's ice flags.

  For the price of a penny the boy in the pond house laced on their skates and stored their boots in the numbered racks along the wall. When it was Greta's turn, she tucked her boots under her hem and shook her head.

  "I believe I'll just watch."

  Lucie, who held onto Jamie's arm to balance herself, looked up in concern. "Are you still tired from last night?"

  To celebrate the passing of the century they had bundled in several layers of clothing and took a horse car to Battery Park to enjoy the fireworks display and cheer as the ships in the harbor fired their cannon. Bells pealed over the city; exploding stars spread across the night sky. It seemed everyone in New York took to the streets to celebrate a new year and a new century. Bonfires blazed in the streets, and music and dancing. Men with carts selling chestnuts occupied every corner, and every saloon door dispensed hot rum and good wishes.

  "A little," Greta admitted. Lowering her head she frowned at the tips of her boots. "Mostly it's my feet. Several of the women at the factory suffer swollen ankles and sore legs. I was so glad it hadn't happened to me." She looked up at them and bit her lower lip. "Now it has."

  Stefan sat on the bench beside her and peered at the purplish circles smudging her eyes. "Greta, I think we should see a doctor."

  Removing a hand from the muff in her lap, she coughed into her mitten. When the spell eased and she caught her breath, she rested her head on Stefan's shoulder. "I have," she said quietly. "The doctor said to continue taking the catarrh medicine and to eat even if it comes up later."

  "Did you tell him about losing your hair and how brittle your fingernails have become? How your spectacles don't stop your eyes from aching?" Lucie asked, frowning with concern. "Did you show him your rash?"

  Greta's laugh was as light and tinkly as the harness bells jingling on the spans parading through the park. "Oh, Lucie, what does thinning hair have to do with swollen ankles? Or a rash with an upset stomach?" A golden curl dropped beside her cold-pinked cheek as she made a shooing motion with her mittens. "Go on, all of you. The ice is waiting."

  Stefan cut figures in front of Greta's bench, showing off for her and Jamie invited Lucie to couple skate, slipping his arm around her waist and taking her mitten in his hand.

  "Beware of my hem," she warned him, looking up with a smile. "It's sent me toppling once already."

  "I didn't notice," he said gallantly, admiring the roses blooming on her cheeks. The cold air raised a sparkle to her eyes and a becoming flush to her cheeks.

  "Liar," she said, grinning. "I saw you laughing."

  The curve of her waist beneath his palm, the cherry pink of her lips and the teasing smile dancing in her eyes conspired to make him ache with wanting her. She was not a flirt, and he doubted that she realized the effect she produced when her long dark lashes swept her cheeks, or when she smiled into his eyes as she was doing now.

  Resisting the urge to pull her close and kiss her until they were both breathless, he tightened his arm about her small waist and skated around the edges of the pond, slowing when they approached the bench on which Greta sat smiling at Stefan's antics on the ice.

  Lucie's saucy smile faded abruptly and anxiety darkened her eyes. "Greta is very ill," she said softly.

  They looked toward the bench, examining the weariness and pain drawing Greta's pale face. "Is there nothing we can do?"

  The bright new century held such promise for Lucie and Jamie, but for Stefan and Greta the future had become uncertain. Tears welled in Lucie's eyes and she shook her head.

  Sometime after midnight she awoke to discover Stefan was not in his blankets. Slipping from bed, Lucie tied on her wrapper and hurried into the kitchen room. In the dim wintry light she saw him sitting at the table, his head held in his hands.

  Tears flooded her throat and she sagged against the door, knowing she witnessed a pain no one was intended to see. When she could bear to open her eyes, she cleared her throat and went to him. Blindly, like a child reaching for comfort, Stefan turned and wrapped his arms around her waist. For several minutes he held her in a tight embrace, his shoulders shaking.

  "Oh, Lucie." His strangled voice tore at her heart. "I don't know what to do." Holding him, swallowing repeatedly at the knot in her throat, she stroked his hair, felt the tremble in his arms. When finally he released her and groped for his handkerchief, she crossed to the stove and poked the embers, then poured them both a mug of wanned coffee.

  "Stefan?" she said quietly, pushing the mug across the table. She could see her breath in the icy darkness. "I'm so sorry. I wish there was something "

  "I'm worried out of my mind, and I don't know what to do." Cupping his large hands around the hot mug, he dropped his head and closed his eyes. Anxiety hoarsened his voice. "Some days she's so sick she can hardly get out of bed. She's started limping."

  "I know." Leaning forward, Lucie clasped his shaking hand.

  "I'm going crazy with this." He stared at her in the dim glow from the stove and his fingers tightened around hers in a crushing grip.
"I want to help her so badly I hurt inside with it. I want her here where I can watch over her and take care of her." His fist slammed down on the table and sent the mugs jumping. Once again his head dropped and he dug his fingers through his hair. "If we just had some money! Or a larger place. If there was just something I could do !"

  "Stefan—"

  "But there isn't! All I can do is pretend I don't notice she's failing, assure her that she'll get better, when I can see she's not getting better. Oh, God, Lucie, I love her so much. There's never been anyone else. No one else made me feel like I mattered. When Greta smiles, I feel ten feet tall, as if with her beside me, I can do anything, endure any hardship as long as she's there. Just knowing she's there!"

  "I know," Lucie whispered. She would have moved heaven and earth to help him, but there were no words that could comfort either of them.

  "There's nothing to say. Nothing to do. All we can do is wait, hope and pray." His head fell back and he looked at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. "I wish to God I could take her out of that damned factory. All this started after she began at the factory. I know it sounds stupid and I can't support it, but I can't help believing the factory has something to do with this."

  Lucie didn't see how that could be, but she said nothing. In the silence her thoughts drifted to the future, Stefan and Greta's and her own and Jamie's. Tonight the future seemed depressingly distant.

  They sat together in the cold darkness trying to comfort each other, aching because comfort was not possible, until dawn glowed above the rooftops.

  At some point a startling idea occurred to Lucie, an idea born of desperation and one that impressed her as bold and audacious. But the more she turned the thought in her mind, the more she gradually became convinced it was an idea she had to pursue.

  Chewing her lip in agitation, Lucie entered the kitchen door and turned toward Mr. Grist's office instead of entering the laundry. If she didn't proceed immediately, she suspected she might lose her nerve.