Chapter Five

 

Kate peered around the door jamb before she dared enter her mother’s room that evening. She didn’t want to run into Alex English, mainly because she had nothing to say to him. He scared her.

But that was silly. Kate could take care of herself in any situation. She’d grown up fighting for survival, and Alex English was sure no match for some of the thugs she’d bested in her short career as a human being. Besides, he’d never make an untoward advance. It had become painfully clear to Kate earlier in the day that he’d rather die than think of her as a woman. She was just a poor little, not-quite-grown-up street urchin whose mother was sick.

The knowledge ate into her guts like a canker.

“Darn him,” she muttered under her breath as she surveyed the room. He wasn’t there, thank goodness, so she entered, sauntering and jaunty. She’d die sooner than let her mother perceive even a hint of her inner turmoil.

Tiptoeing to her mother’s bed so as not to awaken her if she was sleeping, Kate looked around at the room. Somebody—she knew who—had sent Ma some flowers. Her heart twisted slightly, knowing that Alex English could afford to send her mother flowers, when Kate herself couldn’t. She tried to think charitable thoughts about him. After all, her mother loved flowers. Kate was glad she had that pretty bouquet of roses and daisies and baby’s breath to cheer her.

But darn it all, Kate wanted to be able to do nice things for her mother. She didn’t want some rich stranger doing them.

Even working two jobs, Kate didn’t have the spare change for a bouquet like that. The best she could ever come up with was a bouquet plucked from bushes in the park—and that was provided the grounds keepers didn’t see her doing it and make her stop. She sighed and sat in the chair beside her mother’s bed.

Mrs. Finney looked awful. With a feeling of doom in her soul, Kate gazed at her, thinking once more that she looked dead already. Please, Ma, don’t die. She’d never say those words aloud.

When Kate contemplated her mother’s death, she felt as if she were disintegrating from the inside. She didn’t know what she’d do without her mother, who had been her rock and her mainstay for her whole life. Hazel Finney had loved her children with everything she had, ruining her health as she’d done it. Kate knew that her mother had gone without food and warm clothes in order to make sure her children didn’t want for necessities. Luxuries had ever been beyond her, but she’d made sure her children had the necessities. While Kate’s father drank his family’s food money, Hazel had taken in laundry and done anything she could to keep potatoes in the pantry. Potatoes and beans and cabbage. That’s what the Finney children had eaten.

Recalling the gigantic lunch Alex English had bought for her earlier in the day, Kate felt like crying. She’d been unable to finish it, and she’d have liked to take it home to give to one of her brothers, but she’d been too embarrassed to ask if such things were done in fancy restaurants. Darned fool. She ought to have just come out and asked. Alex already knew she was poor as dirt. Kate knew better than to shy away from the truth, because avoiding it didn’t put food on the table. She’d thought she was long past pride, but she guessed she was wrong.

“Katie? Is that you?”

Her mother’s papery hand reached for Kate’s, and Kate’s attention snapped back to the here and now. “It’s me, Ma.” She strove to keep her voice light and cheerful. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Katie. That nice Mr. English brought me those beautiful flowers. Did you see them?”

It worried Kate that her mother didn’t open her eyes, although she was smiling. Kate guessed the smile was some sort of a good sign. “Yeah, Ma. I saw them. They’re real pretty.”

“He’s a nice man, Katie.”

“Right.” Darn it, he was a nice man. At least to her mother. Kate hated to admit it. Because she thought her mother would like to know, she said, “He took me to lunch today.”

This snatch of information opened Mrs. Finney’s eyes. “Did he?”

She appeared troubled now, and Kate cursed herself. “He only wanted to assure me that he didn’t want anything from me, Ma. Don’t worry.” Kate knew how much her mother fretted about her children. With good reason. Kate wouldn’t have been the first child from Chicago’s worst neighborhoods to go to the bad. Kate knew girls she’d grown up with who worked as prostitutes, and more than one of them took drugs and drank to excess, probably to forget what they had to do for a living. “I swore years ago that I’d never do anything you wouldn’t want me to do, Ma. You know that.”

Her mother’s smile wavered and fell. “I know it, Katie.”

“Aw, Ma, please don’t cry. I’m having a great time working at the fair. You don’t have to worry about me or the boys. We’re fine.”

More or less. Kate’s younger brother Bill worked in the butcher shop under Kate’s little apartment. Her older brother Walter worked in one of Chicago’s slaughter houses. It was smelly work, but it paid pretty well. Bill had also started investing a very little bit of money, which was all he had, in the stock market. So far he’d been lucky, and Kate made sure he didn’t take chances.

Neither of the boys drank, either, which was probably more of a miracle than anything else, in Kate’s opinion. Their abstinence might be due in part to Kate’s threatening both their lives if they ever succumbed to the lure of booze. Kate hoped so. If either boy took to drink, Kate would never speak to him again, and she couldn’t afford to lose family. There was so little of it left.

“Walter came to see me last night. He said he’s started keeping company with Geraldine Kelly.”

“Yeah. He and Gerrie are tight as anything these days. She’s working at that big department store downtown. Wannamaker’s. They’re going to be fine, Ma. You’ll see.”

Her mother hesitated a moment before saying, “I hope so.”

Kate knew what she meant. She didn’t think she was going to live to see her children truly established in life. In her more depressed moments, Kate feared it, too.

“Good evening, ladies.”

Kate had been so busy holding her mother’s hand and trying to keep the conversation light, that she hadn’t heard the door open behind her. Darn. She’d been hoping she’d get out of the hospital before Alex showed up. Her luck was running uniformly bad these days. With a sigh, she stood up, glad she’d washed off all of her Egyptian makeup and was now clad in a sober-hued skirt, shirtwaist, and jacket, and that she’d brushed her hair into a prudish knot. She really didn’t want Alex English thinking she was a strumpet.

Alex patted the air with his hand. “Don’t get up on my account, Miss Finney. Please. I’ll just pull up another chair.”

Mrs. Finney smiled wanly, but seemed to brighten a little bit. “Oh, Mr. English, thank you so much for the beautiful flowers.”

“Yeah,” said Kate, wishing she didn’t have to, “thanks. That was nice.” It was no use Alex telling her she didn’t owe him anything. If he didn’t know it, Kate did. She’d owe him for the rest of her life for the generosity he was showing to her mother. Kate hated being in debt.

“You’re welcome. I thought you might like them, Mrs. Finney.”

“I love roses. And daisies.” Mrs. Finney sighed. “I always wanted a garden where I could grow flowers.”

Kate’s heart twisted. If her mother hadn’t made the dreadful mistake of marrying Kate’s father, she might well have had her garden. But Kate’s father wasn’t the type to grow things. Rather, he destroyed them. “Someday, Ma. We’ll get you a flower garden someday.” Even Kate knew that wasn’t true, but she couldn’t bear to think about it.

“Do you like the country, Mrs. Finney?”

Kate turned to eye Alex with some doubt. While she might, occasionally, offer her mother false coin, as she’d just done, she didn’t appreciate anyone else whetting her mother’s appetite for things that couldn’t be.

But Mrs. Finney didn’t seem to mind. She smiled more strongly. “Oh, yes. I remember, when I was small, we lived in a village in Country Cork, in Ireland. It was so green and pretty there. And there’s some lovely country outside of Chicago.” She cast a sorrowful glance at her daughter. “We never got to travel out there very often. My children didn’t have—advantages.”

“I see.” Alex patted Mrs. Finney’s hand. “Maybe we’ll see if we can do something about that.”

All of Kate’s instincts for survival went on the alert. She pinned Alex with a hard glance. “Yeah? Like how?”

“Katie,” her mother said gently, her voice taking on an imploring quality. “Mr. English is only being nice.”

“Nice?” Kate glanced from her mother to Alex. She didn’t believe it for a second. Because she didn’t want to upset her mother, however, she said, “Oh, of course.” When her mother shut her eyes, Kate sent Alex a don’t-you-dare-mess-with-my-family glare.

Alex deflected the glare—and it was one of her best—with a smile that made her want to smack him. “Your daughter can be a little touchy sometimes, can’t she, Mrs. Finney?”

To Kate’s utter astonishment, her mother chuckled. “More than a little, I’m afraid.” The sick woman heaved a sigh that set her to coughing. After the spasm passed, she went, “Kate hasn’t had a very pleasant life, Mr. English. I hope you make some allowances. Although,” she added, glancing at Kate, “I hope she’s not rude to you.”

Darn. “I’m not,” Kate said, knowing she was lying.

“Not at all,” said Alex, thereby sending Kate’s instincts on the alert again. Offhand, she couldn’t recall anyone else to whom she’d been as rude as she’d been to Alex English, although she’d had good reason to be. She thought. Maybe.

“I’m so glad.”

Kate was distressed to see the relief on her mother’s face. Did Ma honestly think Kate was rude to people on a regular basis? Recalling one or two incidents that had occurred recently, Kate feared she might have given her mother that impression. Aw, nuts.

“Hi, Ma!”

The cheery voice at the door made all three inhabitants of the room jump a little. Kate whipped her head around and smiled. “Billy! You rat. You scared us all.”

Her younger brother, the apple of Kate’s eye, swaggered into the room. Kate was pleased to see that he’d bathed and changed clothes before visiting his mother. Bill’s job was a dirty one, and smelly, and since nobody in the Finney family could afford indoor plumbing, Bill had to pay to take a bath. Kate was proud of him that he’d done so before visiting his mother.

Bill winked at her. “I was hoping I would.”

Mrs. Finney laughed and held out a hand to her son. Alex, looking uncomfortable, rose from the chair he’d pulled up. With a sigh, Kate did what she knew she ought to do.

Speaking first to Alex—he had the money, after all—she said, “Mr. English, this is my younger brother, Bill Finney.” When she looked then to her brother, she grinned broadly. “Billy, this is Mr. English, the man who’s paying for all this luxury.” She swept out a hand, indicating the private room.

Bill evidently didn’t share Kate’s doubts about Alex’s morals and motives. His smile vanished as he held out his hand. “Mr. English, I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing for Ma.” Irrepressible and unable to be serious for more than a couple of seconds at a time, Bill winked. “She’s worth it, believe me.”

“Billy,” murmured Mrs. Finney, pleased but embarrassed from the look on her face.

“I’ve already found that out,” said Alex, grinning back at the boy.

Well, maybe he wasn’t a boy any longer, exactly. Kate herself had reached her twenty-second year without being killed by her father or any of the undesirable people who populated her sphere in life. Bill was only a year younger than she was. He could vote in the next election, for crying out loud. Sometimes Kate contemplated the miracle that had allowed her mother to rear all three of her children to adulthood. That sort of statistic didn’t happen very often in the slums, where babies died every day of everything from starvation to diphtheria to abandonment.

She listened to Bill as he sweet-talked their mother. He’d brought his own little bouquet, picked, Kate had no doubt, from some rich person’s garden or in a park somewhere. Bill didn’t seem to mind that Alex’s bouquet was grander than his. In fact, he thanked Alex for thinking of doing so nice a thing, and without the sarcasm Kate often heard in her own voice. Dratted boy. He could charm the apples from their trees.

After a few minutes, right before Kate interfered because Mrs. Finney looked as if she was wearing out, Bill gave his mother a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Say, Ma, I need to talk to Katie for a minute.”

Mrs. Finney actually managed a creditable twinkle. “Investments, Billy?”

Her son winked again. “You got it, Ma.”

“Investments?” Alex, who had been watching the interplay between mother and children with what appeared to be genuine interest, glanced at Kate and Bill.

Kate didn’t want him butting in almost more than she didn’t want her mother to think she was rude. The latter sentiment prevailed, however, and she reluctantly said, “Yes. Billy has invested some money in various enterprises.”

“Really?” Alex stood up. “Ah, would you mind if I join you? I dabble in the investments myself.”

Yes. Kate would mind a whole lot. The darned man was taking over every aspect of her life.

Mrs. Finney whispered, “How kind of you, Mr. English.”

Which pretty much put the kibosh on anything Kate had been contemplating saying to the man. She muttered, “Sure. Why not?”

“I could use some advice,” Bill said, overflowing with good will and gratitude. His was the sunniest nature in the Finney family, perhaps because Kate and her mother had kept him away from his ogre of a father as much as possible. Kate, who valued his good disposition but believed it was overrated under certain circumstances, wished they were still little kids so she could kick him.

“I doubt that I can offer any advice,” Alex said modestly. “I was hoping to get some from you.”

Liar. Kate turned around so her mother couldn’t see the grimace she adopted for Alex’s benefit. He only grinned at her. Figured.

“If you don’t mind, everybody, I’m going to rest now,” Mrs. Finney said.

Kate’s attention instantly snapped back to her. Hazel Finney was the important one here, she reminded herself, and she mattered a whole lot more than Kate’s uncomfortable sensation of being overpowered by Alex and his money. Bending over her mother, she kissed her on the forehead. “Sure, Ma. Rest up. I’ll put Billy’s flowers in water while the gents gab about stocks and bonds.”

Mrs. Finney’s eyes remained closed, but she smiled. Kate took that as approval of her plan, picked up Bill’s pathetic bouquet, and marched for the door, past her brother and Alex.

Bill held out a hand. “Wait, Katie, I want to ask you a couple of things.”

Sure, he did. As if Kate knew beans about stocks and bonds. She snapped, “Be right back,” and kept walking.

Before she reached the door, Alex was there, opening it for her. As she stomped past him, he said, “Don’t worry, Miss Finney, I won’t squander the family fortune.”

She felt her face blazing with fury and humiliation as she walked down the hall.

# # #

The colors and scents of spring rioted in the countryside. The grasses growing alongside the highway were as green as sun-sprinkled emeralds, and the wild flowers shouted their presence in bright reds, yellows, blues, and purples. Birds sang. Crickets chirped. In green, green pastures, cows lowed and bulls pawed the ground, wanting to get at the cows. Sheep dotted the far hills like flecks of ivory, and the apricot, peach, and pear trees were radiant with blossoms.

Chicago’s filth and stinks lay behind Alex like a bad dream. This was where he belonged: in the country. The city was good for a change of pace every once in a while, but this was what he loved. He breathed deeply and contentedly of the clean country air as his traveling coach neared the family farm.

“Family farm,” he muttered aloud. He wondered what Kate Finney would say if he referred to these acres and acres that had belonged to the English family for generations his “family farm” in her presence. Nothing nice, he was sure.

The girl was driving him crazy. He’d known he for two weeks now, and he still couldn’t fathom her. She didn’t appreciate anything he did, she had a chip on her shoulder the size of the Rock of Gibraltar, and she treated him with absolute contempt. What was her problem?

Kate hasn’t had a pleasant life, Mrs. Finney had said. My children didn’t have advantages, she’d said.

Alex guessed that must account for Kate’s cursedly insufferable attitude, but it was still hard to take. It crossed his mind that his own attitude might not be so genteel if he’d been reared in the slums of Chicago rather than the glories of this clean, green countryside. He was still brooding about Kate Finney when the coach barreled through the iron gates and approached the house.

Because he’d been puzzling over the Kate Finney problem since he’d climbed aboard the carriage in Chicago, Alex observed the English farmhouse with a new and critical appreciation, thinking of it in terms of Kate, Bill, and Hazel Finney.

The house was typical of those built in the early days of the century. Two stories. White paint. Green shutters. Huge front porch with an awning that extended the entire length of the house. Lots of big, shady trees lending their loveliness to the picture. Cows in the pastures that surrounded the landscape. Alex couldn’t see the chicken coop, but he knew the chickens were in back of the house, scratching and clucking. The barn, painted red out of adherence to tradition more than anything else, stood a few yards from the house. It looked mighty tidy, considering it was a barn. The pigs resided behind the barn, far enough away from the house so that the family didn’t have to smell them, but close enough to slop, even during the snowy winter months.

Alex was proud of the appearance of his family estate. He’d worked hard to keep it up and make it better. Still, it was basically a farmhouse, and he was basically a farmer.

He shook his head. Judging from her reaction to that simple little Polish beer garden, Kate would probably be stunned into silence if she were invited into what she would certainly consider such a grand home.

He couldn’t suppress a grin at the delicious thought of Kate being stunned into silence. It might be worthwhile to bring her out here for the mere pleasure of shutting her up. He was sure she’d think Alex and his mother and sister resided in a great and fabulous mansion, complete with grounds and servants.

To Alex, the English farmhouse was a comfortable old family home. Big enough, certainly, for a family of six or more, and with quarters for a household staff, but it didn’t come close to mansion-size. In fact, the place was pretty much a typical farmhouse, if one operated a prosperous farm, which Alex did. And, dash it, that hadn’t happened by accident. It had been he, Alex English, who had built the family enterprises to their present level of prosperity.

Recalling Kate’s brother Bill, Alex acknowledged that he was attempting to do the same with his family’s assets, such as they were. Bill had to work on a much smaller scale, but still . . . The boy should be commended for attempting to dig his family out of the gutter.

Alex had told Bill so, more diplomatically, of course, when they’d spoken in the hospital two weeks ago. He had also given Bill a couple of tips he’d garnered from his investment-minded friends and associates, and had offered him the opportunity to profit from the World’s Columbian Exposition, as well. Since Alex was in a position to do so, he’d offered Bill shares in his own Agricultural Cooperative at a greatly reduced price.

Bill, unlike his sister, had thanked him for the information and the offer. He’d made arrangements on the spot to take advantage of the Agricultural Cooperative offer. Bill’s appreciation had been overt and absolutely genuine. Every time Kate thanked Alex for anything, Alex could tell it just about killed her to do it. Dratted woman.

Conky, Alex’s no-account bird dog, set up a frenzy of barking that jolted Alex out of his broody mood. The dog was a total failure as a hunter, but his rapture at seeing Alex again cheered him up a little. “Hey there, Conky!” he called out the window. The dog, leaping joyously and making a horrible racket, trotted alongside the carriage, jumping up and scratching the door panel every now and then. Alex sighed. What did it matter if the animal scratched the paint? Conky might be worthless, but Alex counted him as a friend, and a man couldn’t have too many friends.

“Alex! Alex!”

His mother’s happy shout yanked Alex farther out of his mood. He leaned out the window, cupped his hands around his mouth, and hollered, “Ma!” like he used to do when he was a boy. Conky barked, too, as if he were echoing Alex’s shout.

Kate Finney called her mother “Ma.” Maybe they weren’t so fundamentally different from one another as surface indications would lead one to believe.

“Don’t be an ass,” he advised himself.

When the coach horses drew up to the huge front porch, Alex saw his little sister tripping merrily down the steps. Mary Jo, the youngest of the five English children, was fourteen years old now. The rest of Alex’s siblings were married and living in or near Chicago. Mary Jo thought she should be married and living away from home, too, but everyone knew that was only her age determining her attitude.

Alex loved her even if she was going through adolescence. He also gave her some extra latitude because he knew she missed their father, the older Alexander English, who had passed away only two years earlier. Alex missed their father, as well, so he tried not to be too hard on his little sister.

“Alex!” Mary Jo screamed. “Alex! Minnie had her kittens!”

Minnie, the barn cat who kept the rodent population under control on the English farm, had been doing her duty for years now, supplying kittens on a regular basis to serve in the feline rat patrol.

“Are they as ugly as the last batch?” Alex called as he opened the door and let down the carriage steps.

“They’re beautiful!”

Before he could properly brace himself, Mary Jo threw herself into his arms, propelling him back through the open coach door. He ended up sitting on the steps with her in his lap, Conky leaping on both of them, and unable to catch his breath for laughing.

“Mary Jo, you little fiend, are you trying to kill me?”

“Mary Jo, really,” their mother said, trying to sound stern. She couldn’t. She’d never been able to, actually, which was probably one of the reasons her children loved her so dearly.

The haggard, life-destroyed face of Hazel Finney intruded into his mind’s eye, and a notion that had assaulted him several days before in the hospital tapped him on the shoulder again. He wondered what Kate would have to say about it, provided his mother approved. Nothing good, he imagined.

But to hell with Kate Finney. Alex had become quite fond of Mrs. Finney and Bill Finney. If Kate didn’t want to accept Alex’s offers of friendship and help, he’d just take his suggestion to the other, more amiable Finneys. Dratted woman.

What with the general hilarity of his home-coming and Mary Jo’s insistent questions about the World’s Columbian Exposition—”For heaven’s sake, Mary Jo, I told you I’m going to take you to the fair!” “Yes, but when, Alex?” “Soon, soon.”—it wasn’t until almost midnight, after his pesky sister had been trundled off to bed in spite of her protests, that Alex got the chance to talk to his mother.

“I met a girl, Ma.”

Mrs. English clasped her hands to her bosom and beamed at him. “Oh, Alex! I’m so happy for you. When are you going to bring her home to the family?”

Blast. He’d obviously begun this conversation the wrong way. “Not that kind of girl,” he hastened to assure his mother. “For heaven’s sake, Ma.” In spite of his embarrassment, he laughed.

“Oh.” His mother’s face fell. Then it looked worried. “Alex, you’re not taking up with the wrong sort, are you?”

“Wrong sort? What the devil—”

“Don’t swear!”

Alex rolled his eyes. It took approximately five seconds of being in his mother’s company for him to turn from am almost-thirty-year-old man into a five-year-old boy again. “Sorry, Ma. But, no, I’m not taking up with the wrong sort. And I’m not about to marry the girl I just met.” What an uncomfortable life that would be.

Only seconds later, it came as a shock to Alex to realize that he’d pop anyone in the jaw if they dared question Kate or Bill Finney’s moral worth. How had that happened? And when? Good Lord. He’d better start watching his step around the Finneys, or anything might happen. He shuddered at the thought.

“Good.” His mother patted him on the knee. “I hope you won’t marry anyone for a while yet, Alex. I think you need a little . . .” She stopped speaking.

Alex frowned. “I need a little what?”

She patted him on the knee. “Alex, you’re the best son any mother could have, and I love you dearly. I know you’re a generous, kind-hearted man, too, but . . .” She stopped talking again.

Dash it, if she was going to tell him he was turning into a fussy old man, as Gil MacIntosh had, Alex might just have to do something. He didn’t know what. “What, Ma?” he demanded. “Do you think I’m a selfish pig, too?”

His mother’s eyes opened up until they looked like blue marbles against a white background. “Alex! Whatever are you talking about? You’re no more selfish than I am a Greek! It’s only . . . Oh, Alex, I don’t know. It’s only that you sometimes act as though you’ve forgotten there are other, less fortunate, people in the world.”

“Good Gad,” he muttered. “Not you, too.”

She smiled sadly. “Please don’t hate me for saying that. Nobody could be kinder or more generous to his family than you are, Alex.”

He gazed at his mother, feeling abused and put-upon for several seconds. He didn’t know what to say. Anyhow, if he had become, perhaps, the least little bit complacent in his success, any hint of complacency had been battered out of him by the Finney family, blast them. “Believe me, I know there are less fortunate people in the world, Ma.” He did now, at any rate.

“I’m sure of it.”

Detecting a lack of sincerity in his mother’s tone, Alex felt himself getting peeved. “Are you through, Ma?” he asked rather stiffly.

“Oh, there, now, I’ve hurt your feelings. Alex, please forget I said anything. I didn’t mean it. You’re the kindest, most wonderful boy in the world, and I should be ashamed of myself for even mentioning . . .”

There she went again. She didn’t want to tell him to his face that he was a selfish, uncaring son of a bitch. At least Kate Finney didn’t have any trouble expressing herself when it came to enumerating his shortcomings.

“Please, Alex, forget I said anything.”

A likely chance of that happening. Nevertheless, Alex inclined his head in acquiescence and decided to let his mother off the hook. After all, she was his mother. “But I need to ask you something, Ma.”

“Certainly, my dear. What is it?”

He wondered how old Hazel Finney was. From the respective ages of the Finney and English children, Alex imagined she was a good deal younger than his own mother. She looked at least thirty years older. Life certainly didn’t play favorites.

So Alex told his mother about the Finneys, putting most of the emphasis on Mrs. Finney. He didn’t have to exaggerate when describing her condition or her life, a fact that struck him as unfortunate. “Anyhow, I wondered if you’d be willing to have the Finneys visit you over a weekend, Ma. I don’t think Mrs. Finney has much longer to live.”

It didn’t surprise him that, before he was halfway through with his story, his mother had to dab at the tears leaking from her eyes. His mother was a very compassionate, kindhearted woman. He’d inherited his own compassionate, kindhearted nature from her. He wished he could get Kate Finney to acknowledge that, dash it. And his mother.

“Oh, Alex, I’d be happy to welcome the poor woman here. And her daughter, too. Poor dear thing, having to work so hard to keep body and soul together and support her mother, and all.” She blew her nose with a good deal of vigor and smiled tremulously at her son. “You’re such a good man, Alex. I knew you’d grow into your legacy.”

Whatever that meant. Alex said, “Hmmm.”

His mother went on, “I just hate to think of people living like that. I hope they’ll stay for several days. I’m sure Miss Finney can use a rest from her many duties and chores and jobs.”

Uh-oh. “Um, if Miss Finney comes, too, there are a couple of things you probably ought to know.”

His mother lifted tear-drowned eyes and gazed at him. “What things, dear?”

She’s a hard-nosed, sarcastic, ill-natured, contemptuous witch. Alex knew he couldn’t say that. “Um, Miss Finney tends to be a little defensive about her relative lot in life.” He was proud of that sentence.

His mother, as he might have expected, read between the lines. “The poor dear thing! Of course, she is. Why, if she grew up on those horrid streets, she must have learned how to be as hard as nails in order to survive!”

“You hit it on the head, Ma.” Now Alex was proud of his mother.

Mrs. English’s glance sharpened considerably. “I wasn’t always your father’s wife, you know, Alex. I lived through some mighty hard times before we were married.”

Good Gad. “But—but— Surely, you didn’t—”

“Grow up in the slums of a big city? No.” Mrs. English smiled gently. “But there are plenty of poor people outside of cities, Alex.” She heaved a big sigh. “I was so happy to get away from my own poverty that I sometimes think I didn’t give you children a broad-enough picture of the world and of life. That’s what I was trying to tell you before. But you’ve learned for yourself, through the Finneys, I suppose.” She shook her head and looked as if she were recalling unpleasant, far-away times. “It’s no fun being poor and hungry, Alex, believe me.”

Good Gad again. “Ah, I didn’t know you went through that sort of thing, Ma. You were poor?”

“Dirt poor.”

The same words that applied to Kate Finney. Would wonders never cease? He tilted his head and peered at his mother with renewed interest. He’d always loved her. She was his mother, for heaven’s sake. But he’d never actually thought of her as a—well, as a person. He imagined most people failed to take their parents’ humanity into consideration when they thought about them.

“You grew up in Kentucky, didn’t you?”

Mrs. English nodded. “Yes. Near Bowling Green. My mother and father had moved there from New England as pioneers in the thirties. It was a hard life, Alex.” She heaved a sigh and her face took on a thoughtful cast. “Although, I must say that I think growing up poor in the country must be at least a little nicer than growing up poor in a big city.”

“Why?” As far as Alex was concerned, poverty anywhere would probably be uncomfortable, to say the least, and not at all something to be desired.

“I’m not sure. Perhaps because there are all the green growing things in the country. One can grow one’s food, and my brothers used to shoot birds and game to keep meat on the table.”

“Maybe. But you don’t have the museums and art galleries and so forth. Libraries. Culture. You know what I mean.”

The expression of humor that lighted his mother’s eyes didn’t give him any comfort at all. “Alex, do you really believe that Miss Finney and her mother have time to visit art galleries and museums? You’ve already told me that Miss Finney has to work at two jobs. I have a feeling most poor people in the city are too busy working to appreciate culture very much.”

“Maybe. Not to mention dodging their fathers.”

Drat. Alex knew he’d made a mistake as soon as he saw his mother’s eyes pop open and the look of shock on her face.

“Their fathers? What do you mean?”

With a sigh, Alex told her.

His mother lifted a hand to her own throat. “Good heavens. You mean he tried to kill his own daughter?”

“Miss Finney says he’s a drunkard. I guess she’s spent the last several months trying to hide her mother from him.”

“Good heavens. That poor child. How horrid.”

Yeah, as Kate Finney might say. It was horrid, all right. He gave a little start when his mother grabbed his arm and held on tight.

“Alex, you must be sure he doesn’t get into the hospital.”

Alex blinked at her. “Ah . . .”

“You must! And do bring her here, please. Bring both of them. You must, Alex. You know you must.”

“Um, I guess so. That’s what I wanted to ask you.”

He reflected that getting his mother to agree to his scheme hadn’t been difficult at all. In fact, he anticipated having more trouble persuading Kate to go for it.

On Monday morning, when his big, expensive traveling coach headed back toward Chicago, he began plotting strategy.