“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” His tone was still belligerent.
“No, monsieur, I don’t. Is Casey buried here at St. Gabriel’s?”
Mac’s rage was total. “Do you expect me to believe you don’t . . . how could you not know? Of course she’s buried here. Nicole, one of your other less fortunates, saw to it. Now I suppose you’re going to tell me no one goes there to pray for her.”
“I was ill for a very long time, monsieur, and in the hospital. Perhaps Mother thought I would be unduly upset if they told me. I did not know.”
“And would you have been upset?” Mac roared so loud, the Mother Superior came on the run, her black habit floating behind her in the draft she created.
“Monsieur, what is going on here? Why are you upsetting Sister? Why are you here, what is it you want?”
“Want? Want? It’s too late to want anything. I hope, Sister, if you ever get to Heaven, that you have a suitable explanation for . . . the way you . . . for your . . . you make me sick, the lot of you, and if your God is going to punish me for my tongue, so be it. At least I can live with myself. I do have one more question though. Just one. How many children have ever come back here after they left?”
“Casey was the only one who ever came back,” Sister Ann Elizabeth said spiritedly. “The only one. They hated us. Why would they come back?”
“Sister!” the Mother Superior said virtuously.
“You should have told me the child is buried here. I had a right to know. Why did you keep that from me? I wish to go there now. This very minute.”
“Sister, I forbid—”
“Forbid, Mother? I don’t care. I’m old, I’m almost blind, I’m ill, I’m in constant pain, and I will die soon. Do you think I care now if you forbid me? This is Christmas Day and I wish to go to the cemetery. Monsieur, if you don’t mind, do you think you could . . . is it too much to ask?”
“Not at all, Sister. Are you warm enough?” Mac said, stunned at this turn of the conversation.
“It doesn’t matter, monsieur. I suppose I am warm enough.”
“Sister, I absolutely forbid you to leave this church,” Mother said angrily. “Don’t force me to call Father Adrian.”
“Hurry, monsieur, she will do as she says.”
Mac hurried, the old nun muttering nonstop as he pushed the awkward wheelchair over the rough cobblestones and then onto the frozen ground of the cemetery.
“Casey always said she was going to have a little house with ruffled curtains that she would sew herself. She was going to hook the rugs too, when she came home from the hospital on long winter evenings, while the children lay by the fire doing their schoolwork. She said she was always going to have oranges in her fruit bowl because they smelled so wonderful. A pet too, maybe several. The goldfish was dead, monsieur. It never occurred to Casey or Nicole to ask where the goldfish came from. Nor did you ask, monsieur. From me. I found it at the market and hid it in my pockets. It was in a very small jar that leaked. You see, I always listened to their hopes and dreams and prayed they would come true. Many times, monsieur, I climbed from my bed in the middle of the night to check on the children. No, I did not kiss them, nor did I hug them, but I did touch them. I made the sign of the cross on their little heads and I cried for them and I selfishly cried for myself that I couldn’t do more. You must have loved her very much, monsieur. ”
“Very much, Sister.”
“You should leave now. There’s no need for you to witness a scene with Mother and Father Adrian. I will pray for Casey. Go, monsieur. I wish to be alone, and I will make my confession to God instead of Father Adrian.”
“Are you sure, Sister? It’s very cold out here.” Over her objections, Mac slipped out of his topcoat and spread it over her shoulders. He bit down on his lower lip when he saw her struggling with her rosary, her gnarled hands losing their grip on the slippery beads.
Mac left then, because it was what the sister wanted. His step was lighter as he made his way out to the rental car. He spent the entire day sitting in a restaurant in the airport, unable to walk the short distance to the ticket counter. He felt like his life’s blood had been drained from his body. He thought about his past and his future until he grew bleary eyed. He missed three flights and returned home the following day, when Christmas was over.
Chapter 17
ALAN AWOKE WHEN Casey added a log to the fire. It sent a shower of sparks upward as a half-burned log dropped with a thump to the bottom of the grate.
“What time is it?” he asked sleepily.
“Five minutes to midnight. Almost time for Santa to arrive. Guess he’ll have to come to the front door and ring the bell,” she teased.
“Why did you let me sleep like that?” he asked crossly. “I slept for almost two hours.”
“We both did. I just woke myself when the log dropped,” Casey lied. “I do believe, Alan, that we are like an old shoe and an old sock. We belong in bed at ten o’clock. We’re now two hours past our bedtime.”
“Are you sorry we decided not to go to midnight mass?”
“Not at all. Morning mass will be fine. Please, can we open our presents now?”
“Of course. That’s what Christmas is all about.” Alan smiled as he slid down onto the floor next to Casey.
Alan ripped and gouged at his packages shamelessly. Casey neatly unwrapped each one, folding the paper neatly and saving all the trimmings.
“How wonderful! Such loot! I never expected . . . you didn’t miss anything. How can I ever thank you, Alan? This has been the most wonderful Christmas of my life. A mink coat! In my wildest dreams I never thought I would have something so luxurious. Diamond earrings? They must be at least two carats each.”
“Three.” Alan laughed.
“Good lord, what if someone steals them off my ears? I’ll be afraid to wear them.”
“Don’t be. They’re insured. I want you to enjoy everything.”
“I have enough new clothes . . . luggage . . . shoes . . . underthings . . . a coat, a jacket, and the keys to a brand-new car. Alan, why? Why did you do this? It’s almost as if you’re preparing me for something. That’s it, isn’t it?” The fear in her eyes tugged at Alan’s heart.
He reached for both her hands and drew her to him. “I want you to listen to me very carefully. Let me talk until I’m finished, and then you can speak. You must hear me out.”
He held her eyes with his, leaving nothing out except his operation. Tears streamed down Casey’s cheeks. Twice she tried to jerk free of his hold, but he held tight. “Listen to me, Casey. I’m doing this for you. You have a whole life ahead of you. If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t be able to do it. I want to hear you say you believe me. These past two years have been the happiest of my life. Nothing is forever, my dear. It’s best, Casey, for both of us.”
She didn’t understand, would never understand. He didn’t want her anymore. He was going to Spain to retire, and he didn’t want her along to clutter up his life. She felt instantly ashamed of the thought and cried harder. He had done what Singin asked of him, and now he was going back to his own life. He’d given her two precious years, made her whole again so she could laugh and be happy, to live again. She could deny him nothing, not even this, even though her heart was breaking.
“I understand. I’m so . . . ashamed, Alan. I misinterpreted your feeling for me. What must you think of me for asking you to marry me? I . . . how can I look at you without feeling shame?”
He wanted to cry himself, just the way she was crying, but he held the choking sobs back. Didn’t she know what this was doing to him?
“I don’t like the name Mary Ashley,” Casey said belligerently.
“You will have to grow to like it, my dear. It was you who said you wanted a new identity. I’ve provided it. Tomorrow your new life begins.”
“Yes, without you. I can’t do it, Alan. I’m not ready,” she said in the same belligerent tone.
“You must. You’ve been we
ll now since October. The longer you stay, the harder it will be for you to take your place in the world. You’ll love your new apartment, and I know you’re going to like your new job. You’ll make friends. Friends, Casey, are very important.” Alan said gently. “I want you to get a cat so there will be someone to welcome you when you come home from work.”
“A cat is a pretty poor substitute for you, Alan,” Casey said sourly. “And another thing, Alan. Don’t think for one minute I’m going to pretend to be your illegitimate daughter tomorrow when your friend arrives. If you’re ashamed of me, I’ll stay in my room. I’m not ashamed of loving you. What do you have to say to that, Doctor?” she snapped.
“I say you’re absolutely right. I’ll say you’re my mistress who is heading for greener pastures tomorrow. How’s that?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.
“I think that stinks too. You’ve broken my heart, Alan. You can’t mend a broken heart, even with your skill.”
And what about mine? he almost asked. “Time, my dear, heals,” he said. “Doesn’t it?”
Casey nodded miserably.
“Let’s have a toast before we turn in. To your future, and to my life in the sun.” Alan clinked his glass against hers. Both glasses smashed simultaneously in the huge fireplace. “Merry Christmas, Mary Ashley.”
He felt meaner than Scrooge, the worst villain in the world. God, how he loved her. Casey had gone to the adjoining room, tearful. He’d wanted to bring her here to his bed, one last time, but he knew he would weaken, wouldn’t have the courage to send her away. He had to think now about what he was going to tell Marcus Carlin. First, he would say the illegitimate daughter explanation was a joke in poor taste. Damn it, why did he have to explain anything? So there would be no problems for Casey later on. The truth, he thought—always opt for the truth and nothing will go wrong. Marcus didn’t need to know details. Casey was his friend, his lover, and he was leaving his estate to her. He wondered, as he dropped off to sleep, if he would regret what he was doing. Suppose the operation proved successful? He could have as much as fifteen years left to his life. Of course he would regret it but that was the price he would pay for Casey’s happiness and new life.
CASEY AWOKE, TOTALLY and instantly aware of where she was and what had transpired during the previous hours. She was also aware of how light and bright the room was. She’d been so devastated, she’d fallen into bed without bothering to draw the drapes. The blinding whiteness from outside turned the champagne-colored furnishings to alabaster white, the mauve spread and carpet a pale off-white. She blinked before she buried her face in the pillow.
It was Christmas Day. She squinted at the bedside clock. Nine-thirty. She buried herself deeper into the cocoon of warmth. She didn’t ever want to get out of this bed, to face the day. How was she to look at Alan? She felt so humiliated. And Marcus Carlin, how was she to sit at the table with him and carry on a normal conversation? God, what if he and Alan started to talk about Mac? Would she be able to cover her emotions, or would she run screaming from the table? Thank God she hadn’t mentioned Mac’s name when she had revealed her identity to Alan.
One long leg stretched out and immediately jerked back up at the feel of the cold sheets. She loved sleeping with Alan. He was so warm and toasty, like a teddy bear. But soon he’d be gone. It was obvious she didn’t know nearly enough about men. She’d botched up twice so far. Nicole would wring her hands in despair.
She was probably botching up the rest of her life too. Why she was persisting in this new identity was, so far, beyond her. She got dizzy each time she thought about it. But when that dizziness passed, as it always did, she took a hard look at reality. As Casey Adams she’d been a royal bust. Her father didn’t want her, didn’t love her. Mac had lied to her. And the army said she was dead. If you were dead, you stayed dead. Perhaps as Mary Ashley she would have a chance at happiness. She didn’t really hate the name. She’d just said that to Alan in anger. Alan must have gone to a great deal of trouble to fix everything—to be rid of her, she thought miserably. She wondered tearfully what he would do with all her medical records.
Mary Ashley. The name had an Old World sound to it. “I can get used to it,” she muttered.
The knock on the door was soft, tentative. “Come in,” Casey called, thinking it was the housekeeper.
“So, you are awake,” Alan said cheerfully. “I thought we could have our morning coffee by the window. It’s so beautiful outside, it takes your breath away. There’s not much snow, perhaps two inches or so, and most of it will melt in a few hours, so you’d better hop out of that bed and enjoy it. Hurry, Mary,” Alan said deliberately.
Casey swung her legs over the side of the bed. Tying her robe as she went along, she padded in her bare feet to the window. “Ohhh, Alan, it’s gorgeous. Look, there are icicles on the window. As children, Nicole and I used to pick them and lick them. Once one stuck to Nicole’s tongue and pulled the skin off. She was miserable for weeks and had to go around with her tongue sticking out so it would heal. When it finally did, Sister walloped her bottom soundly.”
For a moment she was silent and played with her fingers in her lap. “I’m so sorry about last night. It wasn’t my intention to embarrass you and myself. I’m so very grateful, and if I gave you the impression I’m not, I’m sorry. No, no, Alan, let me speak. Since I’m leaving tomorrow, I want to clear the air. I want us to be able to see one another again. In this new job you have arranged for me, they will give me a vacation at some time. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to visit you in Spain. Please don’t take that away from me. I’m going to need something to hang on to, something to look forward to.” Her gaze came upon the snow-filled limbs of the tree outside her window. A maple, she thought, or was it an elm? In the spring and summer it had wonderful big green leaves, which shaded her bedroom like a bright canopy.
“Of course you may visit. It will give me something to look forward to also, as I write my memoirs—which no one but you will ever read.” He reached for Casey’s hand. “Darling girl, I am not banishing you from my life. We’ll be in touch. I cringe now when I think of the telephone bills I’ll run up.” He hoped for a smile, and when he saw it, he smiled too.
“Okay,” she said. “That makes me feel better.”
“It’s what’s best for you, Casey,” Alan said softly. “Ah, can you smell our dinner? A feast fit for a king.” He laughed, a gentle heartbreaking sound to Casey’s ears. “Marcus will view it like that. He rather envisions himself a king. Sometimes it’s amusing.”
Casey’s heart fluttered. “It almost sounds as if you don’t care too much for your friend.”
“I suppose it does,” Alan said ruefully. “However, we go way back together, so I’ve learned to accept him with all of his faults. I’m sure he feels the same way about me, though I have never been able to see beneath Marcus’s surface. He’s very easy to like. He’s charming, urbane, world-traveled. Women are enamored of him. Or is that an old-fashioned word?”
Casey shrugged, wondering what he would confide next. She was sitting on the edge of her chair, waiting to hear Mac’s name. To her disappointment, he changed the subject.
“Tell me, are we still going to St. Patrick’s for mass?” he asked her.
“If you like. I forgot to call to see what time mass was. If we miss it, we can sit quietly in the back and light a candle. It’s up to you, Alan.”
“I think I’d like to go. When we get back, before Marcus gets here, I’d like to put in a call to Singin. He adores Christmas. I sent him a package, and I want to see if he got it in time. It may take me all day to get through. Usually the circuits are busy on holidays. We should have done it last night.”
“We’ll get through,” Casey said soothingly. “Scoot. I’ll be ready in thirty minutes.” She reached over to kiss Alan lightly on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Alan, and thank you so much for all the lovely gifts. You didn’t tell me how you liked what I gave you,” she teased lightly.
�
�I’m wearing the muffler and gloves when we go to church. I stayed up for a little while last evening to read the book of Keats’s poetry. It was beautiful, Casey. I will treasure it. The foot warmer we’ll try out this evening after Marcus leaves. He won’t stay past five o’clock; he never does. And look,” he said, pointing down to his socks. “I’m wearing the argyles you knitted. How long did it take you to make these?”
“Since August. You were right, Alan, knitting has helped my fingers considerably. Typing helps too. They aren’t as stiff now. You were right about everything.” Casey linked her arm with his as she walked him to the door. “Thirty minutes.”
When Casey walked into the study a half hour later, dressed in the hunter-green designer dress, Alan thought she was a vision. To go out she wore the mink coat and covered her golden hair completely with the matching hat. He recalled her depression and her tears when he first met her. His very own Pygmalion.
“I know what you’re thinking, Alan,” Casey said as they walked down the steps. “You’re thinking you created me. Am I right?”
“I never could fool you,” Alan said, holding the car door open for her.
“I’ll try never to disappoint you. If I falter, it won’t be intentional.”
“I know that, dear girl,” Alan said gently. She was taking the whole thing better than he’d expected. For some reason, he thought more hysterics would be involved. He wanted to hug her close, never to let her go. If it wasn’t for the chauffeur, he might have.
Inside the huge cathedral, they knelt and prayed, Alan for life and Casey for happiness. Because they missed mass, they walked up and down the aisles savoring the atmosphere of holiness. Alan dropped bills into every basket and box. They lighted candles in the back and pressed more bills into the small opening.
“Do you really believe lighting candles helps God make decisions?” Alan suddenly said during the ride home. “That’s what it boils down to, isn’t it?”
For All Their Lives Page 38
