Beverly Byrne (10 page)

"Yes,
she was trying to prepare you. She's always known my plans. Please forgive me,
Amy. I should have told you sooner. At first there just never seemed a right
time. Then, when I realized how you felt, how we both felt. .. I simply
couldn't bear to hurt you."

Amy's
face burned with shame, but every instinct told her not to give in. "Then
you admit you feel something for me."

"Something!
Oh, Amy, I care for you very much. If I were going to marry anyone, it would be
you, if you'd have me. For a while I thought maybe you were a sign and I was
kidding myself about having a vocation. Sometimes I was high as a kite just
being near you, and other times I'd get so damned mad I couldn't see straight.
I've been going to confession over and over, and getting the same answer. Pray
to know the will of God." He ran his hands through his hair in a gesture
of despair and poured himself another brandy.

Amy
seemed to hear him through a dark tunnel, as if he were far away. Her mouth
felt full of cotton, but she struggled to speak. "How can anyone know
God's will?" she managed to say. "Do you have visions? Or do priests
tell you?"

"You
just know. I've tried to fight it for years. I'm an ordinary man. I feel
things." He turned red and didn't meet her pleading eyes. "You know I
do. When I touch you I explode inside. I don't even want to be a priest. But I
can't fight it anymore. The Dominicans have accepted me into their order. I
begin the novitiate right after Christmas."

She
thought about throwing herself into his arms, making him feel what she knew
he'd feel, and forget all these mad ideas. But she knew it wouldn't last.
Whatever he said or did now, in a little while he'd change again. His church
had a stranglehold on him.

She
couldn't fight it anymore than he could. When he stretched out his hand she put
up her own in selfdefense. His words were whips flailing her flesh; she could
not bear his touch too.

"Get
out," she said. "Go away and leave me alone. I never want to see you
again."

7

AMY
 FELT BATTERED, PHYSICALLY BEATEN. SHE LAY awake for hours each night and slept
only to wake to agony once more. Worst of all was the shame. When she
remembered how she'd thrown herself at Luke she grew nauseated. She spent
endless time in the bathroom, crying and retching by turn. Twice Lil tried to
speak to her, but Amy met those attempts with stony silence and Lil backed off.

Amy
realized that Warren and Lil might not know the details, but they certainly
knew what had happened. Even Maureen must know that Luke didn't want her. She'd
made a fool of herself while everyone else saw perfectly well that Luke
Westerman wasn't interested. He wasn't like other men. He wanted to be some
kind of holy monk. And she'd gone blithely ahead with her childish fantasy
while they all watched and laughed behind her back.

Humiliation
was the worst of her torments, but it wasn't the only one. Amy kept remembering
the way she'd felt when Luke was near and the way her mouth tasted after he
kissed her. It was unbearable to realize that she'd never feel that way
again.Months before, she'd thought that she would never get over her parents'
death and the separation from Jericho. Then Luke had filled her life. Now, once
more, she had nothing.

She
was dimly conscious that while she remained closeted in her room, the rest of
the household continued its normal routine. Six days passed. Then one afternoon
she heard the doorbell ring. No one answered, but it didn't stop. Apparently
she was the only one home. It must be Thursday, Maureen's day off. She tried to
ignore the summons, but it went on and on. Amy dragged herself to the foyer and
opened the door.

"Hi,
memsahib
, how's tricks?" Tommy was wearing his jaunty gray fedora.
It was pushed back on his head, and his coat and white silk scarf were open. He
leaned against the wall. "Aren't you going to ask me in?"

"Of
course." She stepped aside. "I didn't know you were back from
school," she said dully. Tommy must know too. Now he'd come to gloat.

"Just
got in this morning, Christmas vacation started early this year." There
was irony in his voice, but she was too preoccupied to notice. He tossed his
hat at the clothes tree in the hall and shrugged off his coat. "Where's
the clan?"

"I
don't know. Out I guess."

"Good,"
he said. He stared hard at her. "You look like hell. I'm not going to
apologize. That is what you look like."

"I
haven't been feeling well." Her voice sounded tinny and far away.

"So
I've heard. Good old brother Luke, I gather. Don't deny it. He left town a few
hours ago. He admitted that he finally told you about the priest business. A
real charmer my brother. Set 'em up and knock 'em down, that's his motto."

"Please,
Tommy, I don't want to talk about it. I can't. "

"Read
this." He took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. "I was
asked to give it to you. Go on, read it."

She
opened the note with trembling fingers, conscious that Tommy was watching her.
It was written in black ink, like a letter of condolence.

My
very dear Amy,

I'm
more sorry than I can say about hurting you. Believe me, it is the will of God,
and best for both of us. Someday you'll see that. By the time you read this
I'll have left for the Dominican novitiate. It seemed wise for me to go early.
Please remember that you will always be in my prayers. God bless you.

Luke.

"Where
is this Dominican whatever it's called?" she asked.

"Dover,
a little town south of Boston. You planning to chase after him up there?"

She
gasped. "How dare you!"

"Oh,
my God!" He pounded his fist on the table and a cut-glass bird fell to the
floor. "You're going around like a heroine in a Greek tragedy and you're
mad at me. Look at yourself!" He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around
so she faced the mirror over the mantel. "Is it my fault you feel like you
do? What did he say anyway?"

Tommy
snatched the note from her hand. Amy remained staring into the empty fireplace.
They never had a fire on the maid's day off.

"The
supercilious bastard." Tommy took a gold lighter from his pocket.

"Don't
burn it," she whispered.

"Why
not? So you can sleep with it under your pillow? No chance, memsahib. I'm not
going to let you pine away for brother Luke. He's chosen the arms of holy
Church. So to hell with him. Or to hell with us. What difference does it
make?" He lit the corner of the note and dropped it on the bare stones
between the andirons. It flared up, then curled into black ash.
"Over," he said. "Done. Finished. Now you and I are going
out."

She
shook her head.

"Damn
it, lady, I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. Get your coat."

She
didn't move, so he got it for her, yanking it from the hall closet and
buttoning her into it as if she were a helpless child. "Move. Come on or
I'll carry you."

They
went by cab to the Plaza Hotel, and he led her to the most conspicuous table in
the Palm Court. He ordered champagne, and when it came he made her drink two
glasses in quick succession. "Now," he said, pouring a third for each
of them and signaling for another bottle, "you listen to me. You are the
best-looking girl in this room. And every man here is wishing he was me. You
got that,
memsahib
?"

She
nodded.

"Good,
keep it. And something else, there's only one way to handle things like this.
Don't get mad. Get even."

"How
can I do that?"

"By
having a good time. By being happy. Leave the sackcloth and ashes to my
brother. That's what he's after, isn't it? Let him have the lifetime of
penance, and you and I will have the fun. Now for heaven's sake, smile. C'mon,
do it or I'll punch you right in that turned-up little nose."

She
raised her eyes and looked directly at him for the first time that afternoon. A
smile began, a stiff effort at the corners of her mouth.

He
was watching her anxiously. His recalcitrant curls fell over his forehead as
usual. Tommy stuck out his lip and blew them away in the familiar, funny
gesture. Amy's smile reached her eyes.

"That's
better," he said, grinning. "Drink up
memsahib
. You and I are
going to do a little advance celebrating of the holiday. In fact, we're going
to get discreetly blotto."

She
had a terrible hangover next day, hut the cold ache in the pit of her stomach
began to subside.

Amy
drank a lot of champagne in the next weeks. Tommy's idea of having fun in New
York was different from Luke's. He knew many more people, and they all gave
parties. She was led through a succession of drawing rooms filled with what the
society pages called "smart young things." When they weren't being
entertained in someone's house they joined them in hotels. They went to the St.
Regis, the Sherry Netherland, or the Plaza for a late afternoon "tea dance,"
followed usually by dinner at Delmonico's. Tommy never seemed to pay for these
excursions, though sometimes she saw him sign a bill. He always did it with a
flourish and a smile.

At
first she danced with some of the other men; then she realized how much that
upset him and she stopped it. It wasn't that Tommy wanted her always at his
side. "Circulate, sweetheart," he told her. "Have a good
time." But she mustn't seek any pleasure that was, by its nature,
forbidden to him. She didn't really mind.

"You
and Tommy are having quite a whirl," Lil said.

"We
are rather, aren't we?" Amy smiled even though her head ached from the
wine of the night before. "Tommy says I mustn't tell anyone how old I am.
Because I haven't 'come out' officially."

Lil
toyed with her pearls. "There's that," she said. "You're too
young to be in society. And it's not a year yet, you know."

Amy
flushed. "You said I wasn't to mourn, that none of us were." She
didn't admit that being with people helped her forget her disappointment. When
she saw Tommy and other men look at her admiringly the sting of rejection
eased.

"No,"
Lil agreed. "I don't want you to mourn. I suppose this is better."

December
twenty-fifth finally came. Amy didn't let herself remember the dreams about
becoming engaged to Luke on Christmas Day. She gave Tommy a cashmere scarf, and
he presented her with a small evening purse covered in bugle beads. She had
seen similar things in Altman's and she knew the gift had cost a great deal.
For Tommy's sake she was glad that apparently Donald Varley's new investments
were successful. Never mind that they hadn't helped her get what she wanted.
She'd put all that in the back of her mind.

The
round of parties grew yet more hectic in the week between Christmas and New
Year's Eve. Sometimes there were two or three in one day. They welcomed 1916 at
a ball in the Sherry Netherland, and went from there to a dawn breakfast in
someone's Fifth Avenue home. As was often the case, Amy didn't know the name of
her host or hostess. Having a good time, fun-those were the only bonds between
herself and these New York socialites.

When
she and Tommy walked home it was New Year's Day and the sun was shining. Amy
giggled. They were still in evening clothes and the milkman was making his
rounds.

"Decadent,"
Tommy said. "That's what we are. Wouldn't brother Luke be mad." He
was a little drunk; otherwise he wouldn't have mentioned Luke. It was a subject
they avoided.

Amy
felt a remnant of the old pain begin to surface. She probed, as if it was a
sore tooth. "What's he doing right now do you think?" She must be a
little drunk too.

"Praying
of course. Kneeling on a cold stone floor and berating himself for his
sins."

"What
sins? Luke's holy, haven't you heard?"

They
turned into the entrance of Lil's building, and the doorman wished them good
morning, as if arriving home at breakfast time was quite normal.
"Yeah," Tommy said. "People like Luke leave the sinning to the
rest of us. But they feel guilty just the same. They like feeling guilty."

She
was suddenly too sleepy to talk. "It's all too complicated for me,"
she said, covering a yawn with a gloved hand.

He
left her at the elevator. "I'll call you later,
memsahib
. Get some
sleep."

She
did, until Maureen came and woke her and said that Mr. Tommy was on the
telephone.

"What
time is it?"

"Five
o'clock." Maureen didn't actually sniff, but she might just as well have.

"Five
o'clock in the afternoon?"

 "Yes."

 "Good
lord!" She pulled on a robe and went to the telephone in the hall.
"Hello, Tommy, did you just wake up too?"

"No.
I've been awake a long time. I feel awful. And there's no one here. I want you
to come over."

"Come
to your house?" She had never been there. "I don't think Aunt Lil
would like that. You know, appearances. Why don't you come here?"

"My
leg hurts," he said. It was the first time she ever heard him complain or
use his leg as an excuse. "Just come," he said. "You can be home
in time for dinner. "

Amy
walked the eight blocks to the Westerman house on Eighty-third Street between
Park and Madison avenues. It was a narrow five-story town house with four steps
leading to the front door. Tommy must have been watching for her. He appeared
before she rang the bell.