American Pie (20 page)

Winter's early darkness had descended and the damp air promised snow, Lucie thought as she emerged from the Ropers' kitchen door. She pulled her thin collar close around her throat and hurried toward the side of the house and the hazy glow of the gas lights lining Madison Avenue.

The thought of seeing Jamie tonight warmed her despite the chill of the evening air. Nearly a month had elapsed since Stefan had granted them permission to see each other, but she still marveled at their changed circumstances and her own happiness.

"Miss Kolska?" A disembodied whisper floated out of the night darkness, anxious and urgent.

Lucie's gloves flew upward and pressed hard to her pounding heart. Spinning, she peered into the shadowed garden. "Miss Augusta?" A pale blur moved forward. "You gave me such a start!"

Augusta Roper stepped into the golden light that fell from the kitchen window and Lucie noticed her cheeks and nose were red with cold as if she had been standing outside for some time. This surprised her as, aside from being clad in a silk dinner gown too thin and bare shouldered for outside wear, everyone knew Mrs. Roper had confined Augusta to the house. The contest of wills between Mrs. Roper and her headstrong daughter continued unabated.

Lucie cast a hasty glance toward the light falling through the window, then stepped off the walkway into the frosty garden shadows, wondering what catastrophe would result if Mrs. Roper spied Miss Augusta standing outside.

"You really must return inside. It's too cold to be out without a wrap." She spoke gently, knowing she overstepped her bounds. But Augusta's frothy sapphire silk offered no protection against the damp bitter cold. Silver vapor concealed Lucie's lips as she spoke, and the night breeze penetrated her coat as easily as a needle passing through paper.

"Please, Miss Kolska. I require a word with you." Augusta passed a hand over her eyes, then wrapped her arms around her bare powdered shoulders. A violent shiver rustled her skirts and caused her diamond earrings to flash in the dim light.

"With me?"

Biting her lip to prevent her teeth from chattering, Augusta gave Lucie a searching look, then turned her head away. Indecision tightened her profile. "Oh, dear, perhaps this is a mistake." Her hand shook as she raised it to her lips. Leaning back against a dark tree trunk, she closed her eyes and let her head fall forward. "Heaven help me," she whispered. "I'm so confused, I just I don't know where to turn or what to do."

After a quick glance to reassure herself the garden was deserted, Lucie stepped closer. Now that she was permitted to see Jamie, she felt increased sympathy for Augusta Roper's unhappiness. Everyone in the laundry followed the saga of Miss Augusta's thwarted romance with great regret and much clucking of tongues. Miss Clement had glimpsed Baron Grieple and described him in terms that made everyone shudder.

"Are you ill?" Lucie asked.

Augusta worried a lace handkerchief between her fingers. "I wish I was! I'd rather die than marry the baron!" Tears glittered on her cheeks in the frosty moonlight. "Miss Kolska, forgive me for burdening you with my troubles, but that day in the laundry you seemed sympathetic to my plight. I don't know where else to turn." The words poured forth in a rush. "Mama has forbidden me any contact with friends. You must knowyou've seen which gowns I wearthat I'm not permitted to go out or to accept invitations. My friends are informed I'm indisposed, and my correspondence is monitored. I'm a prisoner in my own home!"

It was true. The entire household responded to the tension straining the family and knew of the dreadful scenes that daily transpired between Mrs. Roper and her daughter.

"I'm sorry," Lucie murmured, feeling genuine regret.

But she didn't understand why Miss Augusta had waylaid her in the garden. While they were about the same age, and it was true Miss Augusta had been denied a confidante, it was also true the social gap between them was too vast to be bridged. Any overture of friendship would have shocked them both.

"Do you pity me enough to help me?" Augusta whispered. Pleading dark eyes fastened on Lucie's startled expression.

The need for assistance explained the puzzling encounter. But Lucie couldn't comprehend how she might be of service. "Help you?" she repeated.

Leaning forward from the tree trunk, Augusta grasped Lucie's hands, the gesture an indication of her agitation. "Please, Miss Kolska, I beg you. I don't know where else to turn."

"But what could I possibly do?" An uneasy frown disturbed Lucie's brow.

Augusta reached into her bodice and withdrew a sealed envelope, which she pressed into Lucie's glove. "Charles—Mr. Whitcombis waiting at the el station. If you would just give him this message." A look of despair filled the young woman's pleading gaze. "Please! Please, Miss Kolska. If you refuse me, I truly do not know what I shall do!"

Lucie blinked at the cream-colored envelope. If Mrs. Roper discovered she had acted as an intermediary between her daughter and the hated Mr. Whitcomb, Lucie would lose her position in the laundry. It wasn't a consequence she expected Miss Augusta to consider; she doubted Augusta Roper had given a moment's thought to the terrible position in which she was placing Lucie. Her own misfortune was all absorbing.

"I don't think"

"Oh, please don't refuse!" A tear spilled down Augusta's pale cheek. "I appeal to you, Miss Kolska. If ever you have loved, if ever you have known the anguish of being separated from one you care for like life itself, I implore you to take pity on me!"

The suffering in Augusta Roper's eyes tugged at Lucie's generous heart. In the end it didn't matter that Augusta didn't recognize the enormity of the risk involved. What mattered was the young woman's pain. Turning aside from Augusta's despair, Lucie scanned the white frost coating the garden branches and considered the anguish she would feel if she could not see Jamie again. The pain would be unbearable.

Slowly she turned the envelope between her fingers. There truly was no one else to help. Perhaps she exaggerated the risk. A sigh formed a puff of silver before her lips as she tucked the envelope into her reticule. She need never again wonder if she possessed a romantic streak, she thought with a wry smile. "How shall I recognize Mr. Whitcomb?"

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" Tears of gratitude sprang to Augusta's eyes. Her grip on Lucie's hands tightened painfully. "I'll pay you."

"That won't be necessary." Pride stiffened Lucie's small shoulders. To profit from Miss Augusta's misery impressed her as dishonorable.

The winter moonlight was bright enough to reveal Augusta Roper's distress. "Forgive me if I've offended you, I assure you that was not my intent" She drew a breath. "As you won't accept payment, I can only assume you must have endured a similar circumstance. May I inquirehow did your situation end?"

Thinking of Jamie raised a buffer against the cold breeze and brought an unconscious smile to her lips. "It ended well."

"I'm happy for you. I only wish" Augusta raised a hand to her temple, then released a sigh before she informed Lucie how to recognize Mr. Charles Whitcomb. "No one has a smile as wonderful as his," she finished, her voice soft. Then she looked at Lucie and bit her lip. "I do wish you would allow me to repay you in some manner." Her eyes brightened. "I know. I found some cream Mama said you made. It was wonderful, truly it was. Perhaps you would allow me to purchase some?"

It had not occurred to Lucie that anyone might pay for her cream. But the longer she considered the suggestion, the more it appealed. Moreover, to her great delight Mrs. Roper had requested another sample thus she already planned to mix another batch. Purchasing the cream would fulfill Miss Augusta's desire to repay her and Miss Augusta would receive value for value given. Lucie wouldn't feel she took advantage.

"I'm pleased you enjoyed the cream," she said carefully. Her mind raced trying to decide a fair price. "Does twenty cents seem too high a price?" she asked shyly.

"Twenty cents is perfectly agreeable." Augusta glanced anxiously toward the kitchen windows. "Mama will be searching for me. Thank you, Miss Kolska. From my heart, I thank you!"

Standing beside the skeletal-looking elm, Lucie watched Augusta bolt toward the kitchen door and vanish inside into the light and warmth. Then she pressed her reticule to her side and hurried around the corner of the house, walking rapidly toward Madison Avenue. The envelope lay in her reticule like stolen goods. Guiltily, Lucie looked over her shoulder half expecting Mrs. Roper to jump from the shadows and apprehend her.

She didn't relax until she completed her mission by delivering Miss Augusta's envelope to a haggard-looking young man whom she located smoking and pacing near the ticket chop-box. He gazed at the envelope with such rapture that Lucie's reluctance at being involved evaporated like morning mist.

"Thank you, Miss ?"

"Kolska," she said, enjoying his elation. Charles Whitcomb wasn't as handsome as Jamie but she could see how his blond boyishness had stolen Miss Augusta's heart.

During the train ride to the Bowery Street station, Lucie smiled, anticipating Greta's reaction to the romantic tale and her own small role.

Three days later she discovered her role was not to be as small as she had imagined. When she emerged from the el, hurrying not to be late to work, Mr. Whitcomb was waiting, eagerly scanning the crowds. His expression lit when he spied her and he rushed to intercept her before she descended the station stairs. After thrusting a dark blue envelope into her hands, he instructed her to place it under the stone beneath the kitchen elm, and he did so in a manner that suggested he believed she had agreed with Miss Augusta to be the lover's regular go-between. He was gone before Lucie could correct his impression.

Biting her lip Lucie regarded the envelope with a troubled expression. Then she sighed and pushed it into her reticule. Plant a seed and reap the harvest, she reminded herself. If trouble ensued, she would have no one to blame but herself.

"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.