American Pie (8 page)

"But you have work, Mrs. Brovnic. And money to carry you through this difficult time. For the sake of your children, I beg you not to give up. In time Mr. Brovnic will"

"Time has healed his hands, but time cannot heal the sickness in his soul. Only home can do that."

Lucie stared at her. The country they had fled was dismal, oppressive, and life there was desperately hard. But it was home. Before she could shake it off, a wave of intense homesickness overwhelmed her and she understood Maria Brovnic.

Maria occupied Lucie's mind while she prepared supper. The Brovnics would leave as others had left. A steady flux and flow of families moved in and out of the tenements. Some moved north to better addresses and occasionally, if good fortune prevailed, to a home outside the city. Others moved from one room on Elizabeth Street to two rooms on Ludlow or Baxter or Mulberry streets, hoping the change would improve their luck. Others, defeated, took whatever money they managed to save and fled home to conditions as dismal as they found in America but where misfortune was shared by family and familiar faces.

When Stefan came in the door, Lucie shook her head quickly before he hung his hat and coat on the nail. "Not today, but surely I'll find work tomorrow." She sounded more cheerful and optimistic than she felt.

He patted her arm and gave her his day's pay to place beneath the loose board in the sleeping room. "Water-bread again?" he asked when she placed their bowls on the table and sat across from him.

"I thought you liked water-bread."

"I do, but not so often." When he saw her stricken expression, he apologized. "I'm sorry, Lucie. I know you're saving money, but can't we afford a bit of meat on occasion?"

"If we cut a few corners, I can put aside a little for you and Greta." By shopping carefully and by serving water-bread twice a week she had stopped the steady drainage of their coins and had managed to add a few pennies.

He drew a breath. "Dear Lucie, it is not your responsibility to provide my marriage money."

But that was her goal. She was determined to repay the debt she owed him. It was a matter of personal honor.

Raising a hand, he halted her protest. "Greta is able to save a little, and as soon as you find work, so will I." He smiled at her. "If you don't spend all your earnings on ribbons and silks, we'll be rich."

She laughed as he wanted her to, but nothing he said could change her mind.

"I have a surprise for you. Sunday there is a free band concert in Battery Park. If you and Greta promise to stop talking to each other long enough to pay some attention to me, I could be persuaded to take you to the concert," he said with twinkling eyes, watching as Lucie clapped her hands. "And if you could be persuaded to relinquish a dime for flavored ice."

"Flavored ice! And a concert! Oh, Stefan, could we?"

"We could." Smiling, he carried their bowls to the wash tub on top of the stove. "This doesn't make sense to me but Greta said it would to you. She said to tell you she's wearing the striped shirtwaist with the mutton sleeves. She thinks the cotton stripe and solid tie would be nice for you." He frowned. "Or was it the striped waist and the cotton puffs?" When Lucie laughed, he shrugged. "Anyway, she's bringing a paper geranium for your hat. I was especially instructed to tell you."

"Every time I see Greta, I love her more, Stefan."

"Yes," he said softly.

"But you must tell her to stop bringing me geraniums." The latest specimen wilted over the window sill, dying as the others had done. "Flowers don't like it here." The words hung between them for a long moment, evoking thoughts of home. Home.

Worrying about the Brovnics had opened a flood of memories that confused Lucie with their intensity and selectivity. She didn't remember the hardships that had brought her to America. She remembered the closeness of the villagers, the harvest fairs, the sweet smell of the fields on a summer evening. She remembered her mother telling stories beside the fire, the shape of her father's sunburned hands. Thoughts of her friend, Magda, rose in her mind and many memories of snowy nights and whispered laughter, shared secrets, the warmth of a cottage made snug for winter.

Tears sprang to her eyes and she swallowed hard. She had made her decision; there was no turning back. Memories of home ate at the foundation of her strength and resolve. She told herself she could not afford such weakness or she was lost.

Lucie bit her lip and smoothed her hands over her apron and rose on tiptoe to blink at the shelf over the stove."Where did I put my scissors? If we're going to attend a concert, we must trim your whiskers." She didn't dare permit a single discouraging thought.

"Do hurry, Lucie," Greta called into the sleeping room, her voice sounding eager with excitement. "Are you certain we have enough money for a horse car? It would be a long walk, but"

Lucie laughed. "Much too long a walk. Yes, we have money for the horse car, and yes, I'm hurrying." Ducking back behind the curtain she raised a sliver of mirror and inspected the red paper geranium pinned to her hat. "I hope it doesn't rain and spoil my flower."

"Everyone in the city is praying it will rain," Stefan called.

"Don't tease her, Stefan. If it rains, I'll make you another flower." Greta drew on a pair of mended summer gloves, covering the persistent rash. "Dear Lucie, it isn't too late to change your mind about Mr. Pachecko. We could stop by the bend and invite him to join us."

"Pachecko asked again for permission to call on you," Stefan said as Lucie emerged from the sleeping room. "I can't understand your objection. He has a steady butcher's job at Fulton's Market, has two rooms all to himself. Which is almost unheard of! He would make a good match for you."

"Thank you, but I'm not interested," Lucie said, aware that Greta watched her with a puzzled expression. "My, don't we look grand," she enthused, changing the subject.

"Stefan you look so handsome in your best waistcoat and bowler. And, Greta, the blue stripe matches your eyes."

"I wish my waist was as slim and narrow as yours," Greta said admiringly. "But if I lace another inch I won't be able to breathe." She smoothed her gloves over the striped shirtwaist and her golden eyebrows met as she frowned. "I don't understand why I've gained weight, I don't have much appetite at all."

It puzzled all of them. In Lucie's opinion, Greta didn't eat enough to keep a kitten alive. Sometimes the very sight of food made her feel ill. Then, in a startling about-face, she would experience a brief period of ravening hunger during which she ate as if she were starving. These episodes did not last long and were followed by spells of nausea; certainly they were not enough to account for a weight gain.

And in fact the gain was not substantial, but it was becoming noticeable. Greta's porcelain cheeks were a little fuller, her shoulders more rounded, her bosom more prominent.

Stefan slipped his arm around her waist and gave her a quick embrace. "I like a woman with meat on her bones," he said with a smile that didn't quite erase the worry that clouded his eyes whenever he looked at her. "Greta"

But Greta laughed and straightened her hat, turning aside any discussion of health problems as she always did. "So do I. As long as I don't gain any more."

Laughing and teasing they left the rooms, descended the dark staircase and walked out into the noon shadows covering the courtyard square. They had progressed only a few steps when Lucie stopped abruptly and gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

Greta turned with concern. "Lucie, what is it?"

But she could not answer, her mouth had dried to dust and she trembled.

Jamie Kelly had emerged from the opening leading between the two buildings to Elizabeth Street. One glance and Lucie knew why he had come. He wore his best clothes, the heavy clothing he had worn the day she met him at Ellis Island. The coat had been meticulously brushed until the nap stood up just so. His collar, cuffs and shirtfront were dazzlingly white and stiffly starched, his dark tie perfectly knotted. He had never looked more handsome. When he saw them he removed his cap, and Lucie noticed his hair was parted down the middle and brushed to a high auburn sheen. He carried a bouquet of July roses in his gloved hand. For an instant their eyes met and held, and Lucie saw her own longing reflected in his gaze.

Immediately Stefan stiffened and his shoulders squared with anger.

"Please, Stefan," Lucie whispered, placing her fingertips on his sleeve. "Please agree for my sake."

A puzzled expression drew Stefan's brows together then a dawning look of comprehension. "You know him?" he demanded. Rage contorted Stefan's face as he swung toward Jamie. "You bastard mick! How do you know my sister?"

Lucie drew a sharp breath, pride mixing with fear, as Jamie strode toward Stefan wearing a look of determination. Stefan shook off her hand and stepped forward, then she felt Greta's arm slip around her waist.

"I would have a word with you, Mr. Kolska."

"You have nothing to say to me, Kelly."

"You and I stepped off to a bad start and I apologize for that. There are no hard feelings on my side. I hope there are none on yours." Looking over Stefan's shoulder, he gave Lucie a quick look. "Mr. Kolska, I respectfully request permission to call upon your sister."

Stefan followed Jamie's glance, read the silent plea in Lucie's eyes. Then he thrust his face inches from Jamie's and spoke through teeth as tightly clenched as his fists. "Never," he growled, the word coming from deep in his throat. "I would rather put my sister on a ship returning to Poland!"

Lucie gasped and turned her face into Greta's shoulder. Nose to nose, the two men stared into each other's eyes.

"I care for your sister, and I believe she cares for me. If you ask her, I believe she will"

Stefan's hand shot forward and he slapped the roses from Jamie's hand. "I am the head of this family," he roared. "I will decide who calls on my sister and who does not! And she can do a damned sight better than some arrogant Irish son of a"

"Stefan!" Greta's anxious voice reminded him that ladies were present.

"Get out!" Stefan said between his teeth. With an obvious exercise of willpower, he lowered his arms to his sides but his hands remained clenched in fists.

"I shall return, Mr. Kolska," Jamie promised, speaking firmly. "I will continue to return until I receive your permission." Without glancing at the roses scattered in the dry gray dust, he inclined his head to Lucie and Greta holding Lucie's stricken gaze, then he walked out of the courtyard and turned into the opening leading to Elizabeth Street.

"Oh, Stefan," Lucie whispered, blinking at the roses. Tears glistened in her eyes. "I beg you to reconsider."

"Never!" His scowl swung to her. "No," he said sharply when she would have bent to retrieve the roses. "How do you know Jamie Kelly?" Stepping forward he deliberately ground one of the blossoms under the heel of his boot.

Slowly, Lucie raised her head. "I met Mr. Kelly at Ellis Island. Petor asked him to watch over me while he looked for you. He was kind to me, Stefan." Angry that she was not permitted to have the roses, she straightened her shoulders and matched his dark scowl. "Please, Stefan, I would like permission to see him."

"I won't hear of it! We shall speak no more of this."

Astonished by a rebelliousness she had not suspected she possessed, Lucie faced him with flaming cheeks and trembling hands. "I thought you cared for me, Stefan. Don't you love me enough to care for my happiness?"

It was his turn to be astonished. "Of course I care about you. I love you enough to spare you a painful mistake."

Deeply distressed, Greta looked anxiously from one hurt and angry face to the other. Then she cast a quick glance toward the people listening in the courtyard and those gazing with interest from the sagging fire escapes above.

Stepping between Stefan and Lucie, she linked arms with each and pressed their arms to her side. "Please don't quarrel," she begged, her beautiful eyes pleading with them to make peace. "We have a lovely outing planned. Please, let's not spoil it."

For the first time since Lucie's arrival, Stefan glared at Greta. "This has to be finished."

Gently, Greta touched his cheek. "An angry word cannot be recalled. Perhaps the subject would benefit by resting a little?"

Although Lucie conceded the wisdom of Greta's advice, she too wished an immediate resolution. But she did not wish to continue the confrontation before the interested eyes and listening ears of their neighbors. Indecision clouded her expression and the sharpness faded from her eyes. But high color burned on her cheeks and she remained tight-lipped, defiant.

"We'll discuss this later," Stefan snapped.

Only the thought of Jamie Kelly gave her the courage not to quail before Stefan's angry glare. "Indeed we shall!"

The pressure Greta exerted on their arms propelled them forward toward Elizabeth Street "I haven't had flavored ice since last summer," she said brightly, smiling up at Stefan. "Won't it be lovely?" To Lucie she added enthusiastically, "The cherry flavor is my favorite, though blueberry is also nice."

If it hadn't been for Greta's determined conversation, not a word would have been uttered during the stifling ride in the horse car. Stefan clasped the ceiling strap and stared fixedly out the window above their hats. Lucie kept her gaze trained steadfastly on the dirty tobacco-stained straw at their feet.

Before they left the horse car to enter Battery Park, Lucie lifted an irritated frown to Greta. "Why are you nudging me?" she asked. Immediately she apologized for her tone. "I'm sorry, Greta. It's crowded, and I'm hot and out of sorts." And she kept thinking of Jamie, of how achingly handsome he had looked. And the courage he had displayed in seeking out Stefan. And she thought sadly of the roses scattered and wilting in the courtyard dust. Tears rose in her eyes and she blinked them back with difficulty.

"Was I nudging you?" Greta inquired with exaggerated innocence. She met Lucie's gaze with a meaningful look, suggesting a message that could not be stated aloud. When Lucie raised her eyebrows, too distracted to comprehend, Greta darted a glance at Stefan, then lifted her glove to straighten her hat. Still-watching Lucie, she tilted the brim in a definite nod toward the end of the car.