AT THE LAST MINUTE, Katie’s singing engagement in Larchmont was cancelled. She was brushing her hair in her room when Lottie called up the stairs, “Flo just telephoned. The people what was havin’ the party had to cancel. Some relative died. She said you can do as you please tonight and she’ll talk to you tomorrow. I made sure she knew we had Mass in the morning, so she wouldn’t telephone then. She said she’d wait until after Sunday dinner.”
When Katie had changed out of the new blue dress and pinned up her hair, she went downstairs, intent on calling Paddy. If he’d already had his meeting with Edmund and the British publisher, maybe he’d take her to their favorite place: Coney Island. They hadn’t been there since spring, and the weather was perfect now for such an outing. An evening breeze would surely arise to cool off the afternoon heat, and there was no hint of rain. She was missing him something fierce, they hadn’t parted on such grand terms, and they always had such fun at the wondrous amusement park.
He wasn’t home. Katie let the telephone ring far longer than was sensible, unwilling to give up her thought of a lovely evening with Paddy.
When she finally, despondently, replaced the receiver, Lottie was standing nearby with a suggestion. “You ain’t had a Satiddy night off in a while,” she said. “Malachy and me was thinkin’, why don’t we all go to Coney Island? Mary and Tom and their wee one could come, too, if they’ve a mind to.”
John Donnelly, reading the newspaper in the front parlor, overheard. He came out into the hall to say politely, “I wouldn’t mind going along, if no one objects. I’ve heard a lot about the place, but haven’t been just yet. I wasn’t keen on going alone.”
Katie hadn’t the heart to say he wasn’t welcome. And with a clear eye on matchmaking now that she’d given up on Paddy, Lottie said hastily, “Oh, that’d be grand, John! Won’t that be grand, Katie? All of us goin’ together?”
Katie nodded and managed a smile for John. ’Twasn’t his fault that her and Paddy was having troubles. “It’ll be fun,” she said, trying to believe it herself. “I’ll just run across the street and invite Mary and Tom. I hope Mary isn’t feelin’ poorly.”
Mary was feeling “top-drawer,” and an hour later, all seven of them, Bridget perched on Katie’s lap, were crammed into Tom’s old black car, on their way to Coney Island.
As much as Katie loved the amusement park, it was not at all the same without Paddy. ’Twas Paddy who had talked her into riding the Red Devil Rider, which had taken her breath away; Paddy who had insisted she, too, try to win a prize at various game booths instead of standing by like other girls while the fellow did all the work. He had seemed as thrilled as she when she won a small stuffed panda for aiming carefully enough to knock down three small white ducks in a row in a shooting gallery. He had kissed her on the carousel, unmindful of disapproving eyes.
John steered away from the Red Devil Rider, and any other ride that looked the least bit threatening. He claimed they didn’t look “structurally sound” and made it sound like he knew about such things. He said cotton candy was bad for their teeth and that the popcorn-making machine didn’t look “sanitary.” He did ride the Ferris wheel and the carousel with her, but made no move to kiss her, which was a relief to Katie. John complained about the dust and the noise and the crowd, almost all in the same breath, and more than once.
“You don’t like the park, then?” Katie asked irritably as they strolled along the midway. “We don’t have nothin’ like this in all of Ireland, John. Don’t you find it excitin’?”
“Well, sure I do, Katie.” But she thought he only said that so she wouldn’t disapprove. John did that sometimes, said things certain to get her approval. “It’s just … say, isn’t that your friend Paddy over there?”
Katie’s heart skipped a beat. Paddy, here? That couldn’t be. He had a meeting.
“Over there … on that bench, see? With the girl in the purple dress.” Was there a note of smugness in John’s voice, or was she imagining it?
She had to turn and look. And there he was. Wouldn’t she know him anywhere in the world? He was indeed sitting on a bench, half-turned away from Katie. But she could see enough of the profile she knew so well to be very certain of what she was seeing. And the “girl in the purple dress,” she realized, was Belle Tyree. Edmund wasn’t with them, nor was anyone who looked like a British publisher. They had the bench all to themselves.
What were Belle and Paddy doing together here in this park that Katie had come to think of as her and Paddy’s special place?
He had told her he couldn’t come to hear her sing because he had a meeting. And then he had brought Belle here.
She hated him. She did. And Belle, too.
“Wouldn’t you be wanting to go over and say hello?” John asked.
The suggestion horrified her. Let Paddy see the look on her face? Let him hear the sound of her heart breaking? She would rather jump off the Brooklyn Pier, though she couldn’t swim a stroke. “He’s busy … they’re talkin’. About his writin’, most likely. We’d best not disturb them. Anyways, we need to be catchin’ up with Malachy and Lottie or they’ll be leavin’ without us.” Grabbing John’s hand, she tugged him along the midway, never once glancing back in Paddy’s direction.
While everyone else in the car sang the praises of the wondrous park during the ride home, Katie fumed. Paddy could have told her the plain truth. Could he not have said, “I’m not comin’ to hear you sing because the truth of it is, I’m seein’ Belle tonight. What’s more, I’m takin’ her to our special place.”
She knew now why she’d seen so little of Paddy lately. And why he’d been in the doldrums. Probably worrying about how he was going to break the news to her, how he’d tell her that Belle Tyree held his heart now.
Probably scared she’d go into a tizzy over it.
Not me, she told herself grimly, ignoring the fact that tears were wetting her cheeks. She didn’t even bother to wipe them away. In the car’s dark interior, no one could see. It’d take more than a broken heart to throw me into a tizzy. Maybe a while ago, but not now. Not after what she’d gone through on the Titanic. And she had her singing, that’d keep her too busy to think about Paddy off somewheres with Belle, and she had Malachy and Lottie and Mary and Tom and Bridget. She had John, too, if she wanted him. What did she need Paddy for? He didn’t need her. He had Belle.
He hadn’t changed, after all. Still breaking hearts the same as back in County Cork.
’Twas her own fault. Hadn’t she known better? When Paddy kissed her on the Titanic, she’d already known both brothers long enough to be aware of Paddy’s reputation as a ladies’ man. ’Twasn’t Brian who was considered the faithless brother. But she had ignored what her head was telling her on board the ship and listened only to her heart. All of her firm resolve not to fall prey to Paddy’s charms had dissolved under the sweetness of his kiss.
Paddy had apologized for the kiss, convinced that Katie was Brian’s love. She had convinced him otherwise, though it had taken some doing. Paddy was a heart breaker, but he did have a code of ethics. Encroaching on his brother’s “territory” went against that code.
I made him see, finally, that is was him who held my heart in his hands, Katie thought bitterly, staring out the car window into the dark night, and now look what he’s gone and done with it. Stomped all over it with those muddy boots of his!
Still, she couldn’t blame him. Belle was pretty, and getting a college education, and her uncle was a successful publisher. Belle could be a great help to Paddy.
And anyways, ’twasn’t Belle’s fault Kathleen Hanrahan was a fool for a handsome Irish lad with dark, merry eyes and a smile that would melt steel. Should have steered way clear of him and wasn’t that the truth? Just like the Titanic should have steered around that iceberg.
Paddy and Belle. Hadn’t she suspected for a while now? She’d seen so little of him lately. ’Course that was partly because she’d been so busy singing. Was that part of the problem, maybe, that she’d been doing so well, and him making no more progress on his book than a mule in mud?
But … Katie choked back a cry … what earthly good would a singing career be without Paddy? What good would anything be?
Katie wiped her eyes. If Patrick Kelleher was too blind to see that no one would ever love him as much as Katie Hanrahan did, if he was willing to toss that away like a sweet potato wrapper, let him! She wasn’t going to run after him like those silly girls in County Cork. He could just go fly a kite in Central Park! And he could take Belle Tyree with him for all Katie cared.
“John,” Katie said in a perfectly normal voice, “would you be interested in goin’ with me to the movies tomorrow afternoon?”
Writing a letter to Vassar College declining her admission and scholarship was one of the hardest things Elizabeth had ever done. “I regret …” Regret seemed like too small a word for what she was feeling. The word for what she was feeling should have many letters in it, perhaps the entire alphabet. Six letters weren’t nearly enough.
But when, unable to give up the last shred of hope, she had mentioned the word “nurse” to her mother, Nola had become so agitated at the thought of being cared for by a stranger, Elizabeth had been forced to hastily reassure her. “I’m here, Mother, I’m here, I’ll take care of you,” she had to say repeatedly, until her mother finally calmed down.
Nola came home on a bright, sunny Thursday afternoon. Elizabeth left her in Esther’s capable hands just long enough to walk to the corner and post her letter. Two young women passed her on bicycles, laughing lightheartedly. Perhaps, Elizabeth thought disconsolately as she walked slowly back to the house, they were on their way to register for college classes, or to sign up for flying lessons, or to take part in a suffrage march beginning in Washington Square. Or perhaps they were on their way to meet two young men in the Village for coffee, where the four would engage in a lively, spirited discussion about workers’ rights and unionization, about politics and socialism, about art and books, as Max and his friends did. And as her mother and friends did not.
The fall and winter seasons stretched ahead of Elizabeth like an endless cold, dark tunnel. If it weren’t for Max, she would crawl into bed and stay there until next summer. Perhaps her mother would be better by next summer. Perhaps there was still hope….
I can’t bear it, she thought as she re-entered the house. I shall not be able to bear it.
Two days later Nola was up and about, fully dressed, taking charge of the household just as she always had. Elizabeth allowed herself to hope again, just a little. Her mother seemed the very picture of health. Impossible to believe she was ill … except that Elizabeth had seen her on her knees on the garden path, her face as white as the stone on which she was kneeling. And had sat beside her in the ambulance, Nola’s lips bluish, her eyes closed. Had heard the doctor say, “Heart trouble…”
“Are you going to sign up for a class or two at CCNY?” Max asked. Though he was working feverishly on his new paintings, he had taken some time off, sensing how unhappy Elizabeth must be. He had asked if she’d like to go for a drive, but she didn’t want to leave the house, so they settled on a bench in the rear garden instead. “Anne’s taking a couple of classes.” Max laughed. “She can never decide which courses to take, so every semester she tosses a toothpick up in the air and wherever it lands on the course calendar, that’s the class she takes.”
“This is where my mother collapsed,” Elizabeth said slowly. It was very hot out. Elizabeth liked the feel of the sun on her skin. Sometimes, when it was really hot, it almost seemed to reach down into her cold, bones. But never quite. “Right over there, that’s where she went down. I thought she was dying.” Her mother’s rosebushes needed pruning again, and Elizabeth thought she saw blackspot on some of the leaves. “I must get someone to see to the roses. Mother will be upset if they’re not cared for, and she shouldn’t be doing it herself.”
“She looks fine to me,” Max said, shrugging. “It’s hard to believe she has anything wrong with her.”
“Well, she does” Elizabeth replied testily, moving slightly away from him. “If you’d seen her that day….”
“I know, I believe you, Elizabeth,” he interrupted. “I’m just saying she looks really well. Anyway, what about CCNY?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll have to think about it. It seems too soon to be leaving her alone. She just got home from the hospital, Max.”
“She wouldn’t be alone. She has the staff. Or you could ask one of her friends to come over and sit with her, if you think she needs that. Just while you’re at class. Did the doctor say you couldn’t leave her alone?”
He hadn’t. Not in so many words. But Elizabeth felt as if he had.
Talking about this with Max was a mistake. He just didn’t understand. He still had two healthy, active parents, even if he seldom saw them.
But he had interrupted his painting to come and see her. On an impulse, Elizabeth jumped up and went to pick a rose for him. One of the yellow ones, by far the prettiest, though her mother’s favorites were the pinks. With no pruning shears handy, she broke the stem off by hand, in the process driving a thorn into the fleshy part of her palm. When she cried out, Max was at her side instantly. “I wanted this for you,” Elizabeth said, extending the rose with its broken stem. “For coming to see me. You didn’t have to. I know you’re busy.” Tears filled her eyes, not entirely from the pain in her hand. “I wish you could take me back to the Village with you, that’s what I wish.”
“I wish it too, Elizabeth.” He pulled a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wrapped it around the injured palm. Then he took the rose from her, supping it into a buttonhole in his lapel. “Thank you for the rose. I’m sorry you hurt your hand. I’m sorry you hurt in other ways, too, Elizabeth. I wish I could help.” He put an arm around her and she leaned into him, laying her head on his chest. She was so tired. She didn’t understand that. She hadn’t done anything to make herself tired. Hadn’t been bicycling, hadn’t joined a march through Manhattan, hadn’t danced the turkey trot all night long at the Victoria. But she was very, very tired.
When Max lifted her chin and bent his own head to kiss her, even though it had been a while since they’d been alone, even though Elizabeth missed his kisses and his arms around her, even though she loved him so very much, she felt almost nothing. It was as if mailing that last letter to Vassar sealing her fate and stealing her future had numbed her from head to toe. She almost wept then, with Max’s lips still on hers, because she wanted so much to feel what she had always felt when he kissed her. That wonderful, warm, loving and being loved feeling that had so delighted her. When Max was kissing her, when he was holding her, she was never cold. It was the only time she was never cold.
She was cold now. In spite of the heat, in spite of Max’s loving, passionate kiss, she was freezing.
Perhaps that was why she was so numb.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, lifting his head.
The very thought of attempting to answer the question exhausted Elizabeth. Everything, she would have to say, everything is the matter. But Max hadn’t come to visit only to hear her complain. “Nothing,” she said as brightly as she could manage, “nothing’s the matter.” She meant, then, to return his kiss, but Nola came out to see to her roses, and the moment passed.
When Max left, he didn’t attempt to kiss Elizabeth again. Perhaps, she thought without emotion as she stood on the front steps watching him drive away, he was afraid he’d get frostbite.
It’s just as well, she told herself as she went back inside to see if Nola might like to be read to for a while from The Harvester. I can never marry Max now. He might as well find some other girl who is free to make him a good wife. I should tell him to do so. It’s the fair thing. He’s too nice to break it off himself, even though he might want to. It’s up to me to set him free. I mustn’t put it off. I should telephone him tonight. He’ll argue, I know he will, but I shall be very firm. Perhaps I might even tell him I don’t love him anymore, that would be the kindest thing to do. I would need to sound as if I meant it. Could I do that?
For Max’s sake, perhaps she could.
She tried. That same night, she telephoned him from the drawing room after Nola had gone to bed, afraid that if she waited, she’d lose her nerve. She thought she did quite a convincing job of it, saying she was going to be much too busy to see him for a while, that she did think she might take some classes at the city college, and what with that and taking care of Nola, the smartest thing would be for him to find someone else to keep him company. She would, she said firmly, certainly understand. It just made sense, she said without a quaver in her voice.
But she did not, could not, go so far as to say she no longer loved him.
Then Max’s voice, the voice that warmed her to her core, said, sounding amused, “You’re not very good at this, you know. You should be grateful you’re not yearning for an acting career. No one would ever hire you because you’re a terrible actress, and you’d starve.” Then his voice deepened further. “Listen to me, Elizabeth. I love you. You love me. I can be patient. I know I’m not always, but for you, for us, I can be. It’ll work out somehow. We’ll make it work out. We’ve been through worse than this, remember?”
She remembered.
“So forget about palming me off on some other poor, unsuspecting girl. It’s you or no one. Do you understand that?”
“But…”
“Do you understand that?”
“Yes, Max.”
“I love you, you love me. Cozy, vine-covered cottage, someday living happily ever after, right?”
“Yes, Max.”
“Good night, Elizabeth.”
“Good night, Max.”
She wasn’t nearly as cold when she went to bed that night as she had been during the hottest part of the afternoon.
But that night there was the dream. Of ice. Of cold water, of screams.