American Pie (31 page)

Where was he? What was he doing? Lucie closed her eyes and bowed her head in the silent rooms. She knew she should be out looking for work. But she wanted to be here when Stefan returned. Besides which, she could not earn all the rent money before the agent reappeared tomorrow.

Tomorrow evening she would be standing in the street, her few belongings tied in bundles at her feet. The scene rose before her with chilling clarity. She could almost feel the cold night air, could almost smell the scent of her own fear.

This then was what happened between Ellis Island and Elizabeth Street. The hope, the shining promise, slowly eroded one speck at a time until one day the dreams dissolved and gave way to the demands of simply surviving. Did the dreams return? She didn't know.

If they did she suspected they returned in a different form. What was once personal would surely expand to a larger scope. The dreams would include change beyond the individual. The dream would include building a better, safer world.

For the moment her own world had slowed to a halt. She wanted to turn back or jump forward, but she did not want to be here now, numbed by grief and despairing over Stefan, confused by her feelings toward Jamie, missing Greta so much she hurt inside.

It stunned her to gaze about the tenement rooms and see so little to recall Greta's presence. It was as if Greta had never occupied these rooms, had never existed to brighten her small portion of the world. Only the pot of geraniums on the window sill, turning brown from the cold, suggested that once a lovely young woman had passed this way.

"Stefan!"

Jumping to her feet, she flew to the door as it opened, then halted and her hands flew to her mouth.

He leaned in the doorway, a wreck of a man, swaying on his feet as if drunk. And she saw that he was. He reeked of cheap barrel gin. Five days of beard roughened his chin. His hair and clothing was dirty and wild as if he had slept where he had fallen. If Lucie had seen only his eyes, she would not have recognized him. His eyes were sunken and the light had died behind them.

For one long despairing moment they stared at each other, silently sharing the agony of loss, remembering Greta and the love she had brought to each of them. Words could not convey the grief that filled their eyes and wounded their hearts.

When Lucie, blinded by tears, opened her arms, Stefan fell forward and caught her in a bone-crushing embrace.

"She's gone," he whispered.

When Jamie arrived they sat together waiting for Stefan to waken, not speaking until Jamie made her look at him.

"I've listed our bed for sale." When Lucie did not respond, but turned her face away, he tightened his hands around the mug of ale he had brought. "Lucie, we have to talk about this."

"I know I'm being unfair," she murmured finally. "But I trusted you! I didn't believe you would give Stefan the sack."

"No, lass," he said gently. "You knew I had to. You're angry right now, and frightened. And you have much to be angry about. But it's circumstance, Lucie, not me who has betrayed you."

"I know" There was no way to tell him what she was feeling, because she knew she was being unfair.

"I won't let you sleep in a doorway or starve. You must know that."

Her immediate urge was to scream and shout and throw things. This was so unlike her that she was shocked into silence, using the excuse of Stefan's stirring to leave Jamie and swallow the words scalding the tip of her tongue.

First she fed both men, finding comfort in the performance of simple tasks, then she asked Jamie to take Stefan to the public baths near the East River.

When they returned Stefan was sober and restored to some semblance of his former self. Subdued, he sat at the table while Lucie shaved him and Jamie silently watched.

"You must not blame Jamie for my actions," Stefan said when Lucie had patted his face dry and replaced the razor and basin on the shelf over the stove.

She turned accusing eyes to Jamie. "Did you"

"Jamie told me nothing. I can guess."

Lucie turned flaming cheeks toward her lap and clasped her hands tightly. "He didn't have to sack you."

"Yes, Lucie, he did." Stefan spoke in a hollow voice devoid of expression. It was as if he had forgotten how to speak and formed the words with difficulty. "If you can set your fear to one sideand I know that isn't easyyou'll understand that Jamie acted properly."

"Thank you, Stefan," Jamie said, looking at Lucie.

"You don't understand how desperate our situation is!" She explained there was no food in the house, and the rent agent would return tomorrow evening for money they did not have.

"If the bed sells"

"Thank you, Jamie Kelly, but I am still responsible for myself and my sister." Stefan stared at the space where the platform bed had been. "Hell, what am I saying? I couldn't save Greta. Maybe I can't save you, either," he said to Lucie, dropping his head.

"I don't know what we're going to do." She wrung her hands until she noticed what she was doing, then she flattened her palms against her knees. "There's nothing left to sell."

In the ensuing silence Jamie rose and moved to the window, staring out at the cold night. Stefan looked at the geranium on the sill and his eyes filled. Lucie scanned the room seeking a solution she had sought a dozen times before.

"There is something we can sell," Lucie said suddenly. Stefan and Jamie looked at her. "The cream. I used one of the pots, but there are nineteen left." Pushing to her feet she found a pencil and a scrap of paper and laboriously worked the ciphers, not looking at either man. "Yes. This will work. If I can sell nine pots, that will give us the rent money. I only have to sell nine. And I have all day tomorrow to do it."

Jamie was the first to speak. "Dearest, please don't misunderstand, but you didn't sell a single pot when you tried before. Why should it be different now?"

Hope surged into her chest. "Because let me think. Yes. The primary reason I couldn't place the cream is because I couldn't get past being a woman. No one would take me seriously." She focused pleading eyes on Stefan. "They would listen to you, Stefan. You could sell the pots, I know you could."

"Me?" His laugh was harsh. "Right now I couldn't give the pots away." She continued to look at him. "For the love of God, Lucie. I can't think, I can't function. My mind is dead. When I can think, all I can think about is Greta. I keep asking why? Why, God? What did she do that was so terrible she had to die? What did I do that was so terrible that she was taken from me? I'm hollow inside. Can't you see that? Don't ask me to take this shell into the world and pretend it's whole!"

She dropped her head. "Then I'll do it." Jamie sat in the chair beside her and took her hand in his. But the warmth of his presence was not enough to chase the chill of memory. Her fingers gripped his as she remembered the last time she had tried to sell the cream. "I can't let them throw us into the street without at least trying."

Stefan's fist crashed down on the tabletop. "All right. I'll sell the damned cream!"

"Thank you," Lucie whispered. The cream was their only hope.

In the morning Lucie gave Stefan water-bread for breakfast, then supervised his attire. Though he protested, she finally persuaded him to don his wedding suit. For several moments she studied him, critically debating whether she should trim his hair and only now noticing the thick sprinkling of white that had appeared in the last week. In the end she decided to leave his hair as it was, similar in style to Count Bartok's.

The similarity did not end there. Stefan's resemblance to Count Emil Bartok was more startling than before. In the last week something had died inside leaving Stefan stiff and straight, quieter somehow than Lucie remembered. She saw the shell he had mentioned; but others would see a somber dignity. Suffering had sharpened his features into aristocratic aloofness.

She embraced him at the door. "If there was any other way" But there was not.

"Greta believed in your cream," he said against her chestnut hair. "She believed it would sell. So it will."

"He should be back by now," Lucie said to Jamie. They stood beside the tenement window, staring down at the street. As they watched a lamplighter ambled into sight and placed his ladder against the pole.

"I'll speak to the rental agent when he arrives," Jamie said. His reflection in the window wore a worried expression.

"I have a dollar and a half. If he's half human, that should buy you another day."

Lucie drew a long breath and turned to face him. During the last few days a lump of fear had lodged in her throat and she had difficulty speaking around it. "Jamie, I've treated you badly and I'm sorry." She lowered her head and bit her lip. Now that she could hope again, her mind had cleared and she felt ashamed of herself to the point she could not meet his eyes. Jamie was the one solid thing in her life right now. He didn't deserve to be blamed for simply doing his job. It hurt to know she had been so unfair. "Can can you forgive me?"

Cupping her chin he tilted her face up to his and gently kissed her lips. "Of course I forgive you, dearest. These have been trying times for us all."

"I used to see hope where no one else could," she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. Recently she had felt so tired, exhausted in mind as well as body. She wished she could rest in Jamie's arms and sleep. "But lately all I seem to see is the present moment. And it frightens me."

"It's the helplessness," he murmured, stroking her hair. "Seeing the path so clearly but being unable to reach it."

"Oh, Jamie, I've missed you." Wrapping her arms around his neck, she held him tightly. "I hated the distance between us. I was thinking such spiteful things and"

"Shhh, lass. It's all right now," he said, smoothing a strand of hair from her cheek.

Instantly the fear returned, because it wasn't all right. Being in Jamie's arms helped, but the terrible problems still existed. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.

"What if Stefan wasn't able to sell any of the pots?" she asked, staring up at him. A shudder traced down her spine. "What if the rental agent won't give us another day?" Panic rose in her throat and she pushed her face into the warm hollow at Jamie's neck, drawing strength from his solid body.

"We'll know momentarily, lass," Jamie said, his voice grim. "There's Stefan."

Lucie whirled to the window, trying to read Stefan's expression as he strode past them on the street below and turned into the alleyway. Her heart sank. He wore the look of a man who has lost all he values and cares for nothing.

Gripping Jamie's hand, she turned to face the door and waited, holding her breath.

"Stefan?" Her voice was choked.

For a moment he looked at them, his expression unreadable, then he walked to the table, pushed aside the kerosene lamp and upended his worn tapestry bag. Coins and papers spilled over the table.

Lucie gasped and covered her mouth, her eyes widening. "Oh, my God!" Swaying, she threw out a hand and steadied herself against Jamie's arm. "You sold them all! But" She moved to the table, her mind racing. "But there should be less than six dollars." She raised her eyes. "And there's almost ten!"

"I raised the price," Stefan explained wearily, sinking to a chair. "I sold them for fifty cents a pot."

"Fifty cents!"

"Congratulations," Jamie said softly. Relief flooded his features as Lucie hastened to answer the rap at the door. No one spoke as she counted six dollars into the rental agent's palm, paying the week past and the week ahead.

When she returned her hands were shaking, but her face was more relaxed than it had been in days. "I don't know what to say, Stefan. Thank you." Still trembling, she poured hot water into three cups, using the same tea bag for each, then returned to the table. "Where did you sell them? How did you do it?"

As he explained he had sold the pots primarily to Bloomingdale's and Wanamaker's, Lucie studied his expression. Something hard and determined flickered in Stefan's eyes as he spoke. It was the first spark of life she had observed since his return. Selling the cream had given him a foe to fight, a challenge to take his mind off his beloved Greta. For so long he had been forced to sit in helpless frustration; selling the cream was something he could do .

"This is wonderful news," Jamie said, smiling with relief. "The rent is paid ahead and there's a bit left over to carry you until you find work."

Whenever Lucie let herself remember that neither she nor Stefan were employed her heart stopped, then lurched into a gallop around her chest. "What are these slips of paper?" she asked eventually, pushing at one of the papers with her fingertip.

Stefan shrugged. "Occasionally a proprietor asked me to call again when he was not as occupied. Or the proprietor was not in. If I hadn't made a show of noting the names, it wouldn't have looked right."

Lucie considered his explanation. "Are you saying you could have sold more of the pots than you did?" she asked slowly.

"Possibly. Who can say?"

"My heavens." Cautious excitement flared in her eyes as she studied the array of paper slips. "Stefan, hear me out. Suppose, just suppose we use the extra money to buy more ingredients wait, don't say no just yet." Leaning forward she spread her hands and looked at him and at Jamie. "Do you realize you brought home nine dollars and fifty cents? In one day? Even if we deduct the cost of the ingredients, the remaining sum is more than you could earn in a week of working at the construction site!"

They stared at her. "What are you saying, Lucie?" Jamie asked after a quick glance at Stefan.

"I think I'm saying we have work right here." She leaned forward. "Stefan, if you sold only ten pots a day, that would come to" Her mind raced. "Thirty dollars a week! Think of it. We'd never again have to worry about rent or food or coal or winter boots or"

"Wait a minute. You're suggesting I shouldn't look for work? That I should sell women's face cream for a living?" Stefan scowled and slowly shook his head.

"Listen, please. Last night you told me you wanted a marker for Greta's grave. You said if it took years, you would save the money for a marble marker. Stefan, it will take years. Or you could buy the marker immediately, in less than a week if you sell only ten pots of cream a day!"