American Pie (9 page)

Puzzled, Lucie turned toward the back windows. Immediately her heart leaped against her rib cage. Jamie Kelly was one of the men riding outside, hanging on to the bumper handles. For an instant his twinkling gaze met hers, then the crowd shifted inside the car and he was lost from view. Feeling the sudden heat in her cheeks and tremor in her fingertips, Lucie shot a glance of gratitude toward Greta. Truly Greta was her sister.

Greta winked. "Are we almost there? It's so dreadfully hot in here. Though better than walking," she added quickly. Walking made her legs ache.

When they alighted from the horse car, Greta took one of Stefan's arms and Lucie accepted the other. It was all she could do not to peer at the crowd around them in hope of catching a glimpse of Jamie. Guilt intensified the sun's warmth on her cheeks. It was wrong to defy Stefan but heaven help her, she could not prevent herself from searching for Jamie Kelly. A pang of disappointment drove the color from her face when she did not find him. Perhaps he had remained with the horse car as it swung around and started back uptown.

Stefan located a shaded bench within sight of the bandstand, draped in red, white and blue bunting, then he departed with a minimum of words to purchase flavored ices from the pushcart vendors working the crowds strolling along the boulevard. When he had gone Greta turned on the bench to take Lucie's hand.

"It's so romantic! No wonder you've refused our efforts to find you a suitor. But you didn't say a word. My dearest sister, you must tell me everything!"

"Oh, Greta," she whispered, turning her eyes to watch the bright sails cutting through the harbor waters. "I've longed to tell you." An inner glow lit her eyes as she confided how she had met Jamie Kelly. She confessed their secret smiles and yearning glances when she delivered Stefan's lunch pail to the construction site. "He makes me feel, I can't explain it." A frown appeared on her face. "All fluttery and warm inside." Now a blush fired her cheeks. "Am I foolish to feel so strongly about someone I know so little?"

Greta regarded her with a soft expression. "But you know quite a lot about your Jamie Kelly. You know he's determined, and a bit stubborn." She smiled. "He certainly showed courage to fight our Stefan. He's a hard worker. And a man of honor. And he's very handsome." Taking Lucie's hand in hers, she smiled again and murmured,"Besides, who can resist when love's elbow strikes?" When she saw Stefan returning, Greta pressed Lucie's fingers and leaned to her ear. "I'll do what I can to help."

"Thank you," Lucie said gratefully. "If Stefan will listen to anyone, it will be you." Then she experienced the amazement of flavored ice, her exclamations bringing smiles to Greta and Stefan's lips.

Stefan winked at Greta, his good humor restored. "Quick, eat yours before Lucie snatches it from your hand."

But shaved ice on a hot July day was to be savored and they nibbled slowly, observing the parade of summer fashion strolling along the boulevard while the city band tuned their instruments and arranged their music. Men in white muslin and jaunty boaters spread checkered cloths over the grass for ladies wearing straw hats, gaily colored ribbons and shirtwaists. The scent of peanuts and hot popcorn drifted on the breeze floating from the harbor. Young mothers called to darting children, and blushing young men performed feats of derring-do on their bicycles before rosy cheeked young ladies who pretended not to see.

The holiday atmosphere was enhanced by the band's first selection, an enthusiastic rendition of "Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay," which brought cheers from those seated on the grass beneath the trees and smiles to every face.

It was during the performance of a new song called "Hello Ma Baby" that Lucie spotted Jamie Kelly leaning against a tree. He was watching her as if there were no one in the leafy park but Lucie Kolska, no one inhabiting his world but her. His countenance expressed a longing that stopped her heart in her breast. He looked at her with naked yearning as if his survival depended upon a smile from her lips.

For one heartaching moment their eyes met and held and Lucie knew her yearning was as painfully exposed as his. How glorious the day would have been if she could have sat next to him as Greta sat next to Stefan. If she could know the joy of being near him, of hearing his melodious voice whisper in her ear.

Looking at him, meeting his dark eyes in secret communion, the day no longer seemed too hot. It was perfect. A splendid summer afternoon adrift with bright sails on the water and music in the air. Knowing her eyes sparkled with guilty pleasure, Lucie self-consciously turned to stare at the bandstand. And her heart soared when she turned again to peek at him and discovered he had not looked away from her. Not another man in Battery Park could hold a candle to him, he was that handsome. And joy of joys, it was she who had captivated his interest. The knowledge made her dizzy with happiness.

Jamie watched the color rise in Lucie's cheeks and would have given a day's pay to know what she was thinking. She was so lovely today he could not look away from her. The striped shirtwaist with the high starched collar and pretty dark bow was not expensive but it fit her well, molding a figure that caused his stomach to tighten.

Her silky mass of chestnut hair was wrapped high beneath her straw hat; her lips were cherry red from the flavored ice. He knew his stare made her nervous, but he could not turn his gaze away. He longed to hold her in his arms and gently pull the pins from her glorious hair and feel its glossy weight in his hands.

Too soon the concert ended. As the music faded he watched with regret as Stefan, Lucie and the beautiful blond lass rose to their feet. The temptation to follow, to prolong his nearness to her, was great. But he understood he had pushed his luck as it was. Under no circumstances did he wish to provoke Stefan Kolska into another fight. To do so would injure his cause.

After Jamie watched them board a horse car, he caught the next. Exiting at the Bowery, the poor man's Broadway, he strolled along the wide street dodging the cinders that floated down from the elevated trains whizzing past on the tracks above.

Because today was a special occasion, his first approach to Kolska, Jamie treated himself to an expensive fifteen cent glass of wine in an oyster bar. And because wine elicited the philosopher within each man, and because today he felt the loneliness of being in a strange country, a strange city, and not having anyone with whom to share the experience, his thoughts turned to the mysterious force that drew one man to one woman.

His life would be much simpler if he could only put Lucie Kolska out of his mind. There were thousands of good Irish colleens in New York City; surely there was one among them with whom he could be compatible.

But would the mere sight of her send his spirits soaring? Would she have a smile that touched a man's soul? Would she possess that particular look of determination? That faintly stubborn set of the chin? Would laughter sit waiting on her lips? Would he want her as he had wanted no other woman?

Shrugging, Jamie wished he were standing in Patrick's pub in Dublin with Johnny Ryan playing melancholy love ballads on his mouth harp. It was that kind of bittersweet day.

When Stefan returned from seeing Greta home, Lucie stood and faced him across the kitchen table. "If you truly care for me, Stefan, then I beg you to permit me to see Mr. Kelly."

"I'm sorry, Lucie. No." He hung his hat and coat on the nails, then poured two cups of beer from the growler he had purchased on his way home.

Lucie did not touch hers. "I've tried to think of a tactful way to state this, but I can think of none." She drew a breath and clasped her shaking hands behind her back. "I think you're letting injured pride stand in the way of my happiness."

Stefan sat heavily at the table and stared up at her. "I'm sorry you think that," he said stiffly. "The truth is you can do better than an Irishman, especially that particular Irishman."

At home this quarrel would have been unthinkable and they both knew it. Stefan's refusal would have ended the matter. But, they were not at home.

Lucie inhaled slowly, then said very quietly, "Stefan, how would you feel if someone refused you permission to court Greta?"

"It's not the same thing."

"Isn't it? You promised you would not force me into a match unless I agreed. I assumed you meant I would have freedom of choice."

Frowning, he spread his hands. "I've given you freedom of choice. Haven't I respected your wishes regarding Mr. Pachecko?"

Lucie shook her head and grasped the top rung of the chair. "That is freedom of refusal, not freedom of choice. It's not the same." She bit her lip and her eyes pleaded with him. "All I ask is the right to choose as you have chosen. I ask you to be fair."

Stefan's fist struck the table. "It is not how things are done. And for good reason. You ask to make your own choice, then prove a lack of wisdom in these matters by choosing the Irishman." Lifting his hands, he delivered an exaggerated shrug. "Listen to what you are saying, Lucie. Can you hear the lack of logic?"

"I'm sorry if it seems so to you. It doesn't to me."

She could see his effort to restrain his temper and remain patient with her. "Women do not choose suitors or husbands. It's not how things are done," he repeated stubbornly.

"Have we brought our limitations with us, then?" she asked. "Have we changed nothing but our geography?"

"Lucie"

"No, please. Let me finish, Stefan." The confrontation was painful because it went against her instincts, against habit and background. To help, she summoned Jamie's face in her memory and held it before her. "I wish I could welcome Mr. Pachecko or the others you have suggested. But I can't. I wish I did not care for Mr. Kelly. But I do." She lifted a hand before he exploded. "I don't want to end on the shelf, but rather that than agree to a loveless match. Freedom for you, Stefan, is the freedom of opportunity. The freedom to prosper and better yourself if you can. Freedom for me is the freedom to chart my own life. Which, for a woman, means choosing her own husband. That is what I seek in America. That is the freedom I believe you promised me."

"Then I owe you an apology," he said, staring at her. "I never promised to stand aside and permit you to throw yourself away on a bastard mick. I regret whatever I said that gave you that impression. As long as you are my responsibility, I won't agree to a match that can only cause you unhappiness."

"I'm not seeking your consent to wed, Stefan. All I ask is permission to walk out with Mr. Kelly. If we were truly speaking of a match, perhaps I could understand your objection." It was a politic concession, one she secretly disavowed. "But we're not speaking of a match." Her knuckles turned pale on the chair rung. "In any case," she added stubbornly, lifting her chin, "I should be the judge of my happiness or unhappiness."

He lowered his head and thrust his hand through his hair and then tugged violently on his mustache. "This is how it begins. The assimilation process we hear so much about. Is this what they teach you at the settlement house? To defy the head of your household? To chase after men of your own choosing?"

"They teach us history, counsel us on customs and"

"I don't want you going there anymore. Those people are filling your head with strange new ideas, with dangerous nonsense."

"Stefan"

"No!" he roared up at her. "I'll have no more discussion! You will not see the Irishman and that is final!"

For a moment she stood as still as stone, gazing into his blazing eyes. Then her head dropped. Her acquiescence was the result of generations of cultural conditioning. But her heart had not accepted the lesson. Her heart did not surrender.

Turning away from him, she moved on unsteady legs to the stove. "I'm taking this bread downstairs to Maria Brovnic," she murmured, not looking at him. "I'll return soon."

He didn't respond, did not look up from his beer until she reached the door. "I'm doing what I think is best for you."

"I know," she whispered, her hand on the latch. "But you're wrong, Stefan."

"You're not to come to the construction site again. I'll take my lunch pail with me in the morning."

So she was to be denied even the sight of Jamie Kelly. Closing the door behind her, Lucie stepped into the tenement hall and leaned against the decaying wall, closing her eyes and touching shaking fingertips to her forehead.

She did not want to quarrel with Stefan or cause any distress between them. She would have given anything to have it otherwise. But she could not help being drawn to Jamie Kelly. She hadn't chosen the situation; it had simply happened. Could she help it that she looked at him and her heart quickened? Could she halt the tide of thoughts that caused her to imagine his fingertips on her cheek? His lips brushing hers? Helplessly, she shook her head. "Oh, Jamie," she whispered to the dark hallway.

The attraction between herself and Jamie Kelly must end. And it would, of course. She had no choice. But oh how it hurt. More than she had expected.

She did not descend the staircase to call on the Brovnics until she had forced the ache into a manageable corner of her mind, then she lifted her skirts above the filth littering the steps and continued downstairs.

The smile she forced to her lips before she rapped on Maria Brovnic's door felt as wooden and artificial as it was. "I brought you some bread," she explained when Maria peeked through a crack in the door.

"I thought you might be the rent collector," Maria said. She opened the door. "Come inside."

The windowless room was stiflingly hot and smelled of the smoke rising from a kerosene lamp on a small table.

Other odors assailed Lucie's nostrils. The smells of the chamber pot, stale beer, cooked cabbage and old clothing. The smell of sickness and despair.

"Where are the children?" she inquired.

"On the rooftop. Mrs. Blassing is keeping an eye on them. I thought the air might do Jon good." Maria waved toward one of two chairs. "Would you like a glass of water?"

To refuse would have been an insult. "Thank you."