A Song Across the Sea (20 page)

Delores knelt down next to her and took her in her arms, rocking her gently.

“There now, Tara. It’ll be all right.”

“No! It’ll never be all right.” Tara’s protestations brought on a new surge of tears. “I love him, Delores. I love him so badly it hurts.”

“It’s not meant to be, dear,” Delores said soothingly. “I know it seems like the end of the world at this moment, but you’re young. You’ll get over it. Reece had no right to use you in that way, when he had no intention of…”

“Of marrying me? It wasn’t his fault. I wanted him to kiss me, Delores. I’ve wanted it since the first day I met him.”

Delores wasn’t listening. “I wonder if I should tell Hap about this.”

“Please don’t!” Tar couldn’t bear it if Hap thought badly of her. She also didn’t want to be the cause of a rupture in the long-standing friendship between the two men. Hap needed Reece. He was Hap’s last remaining contact with the rarefied world of flying machines and automobiles that had been the older man’s daily, cherished lot before the accident.

“You’re right. I won’t. As long as those two have been friends, if Hap knew how dishonorable Reece has been to you, he’d tear him limb from limb.” Delores frowned. “Or try to, anyway.”

•  •  •

A letter for Tara that arrived three days later brought some less than welcome news from Aunt Bridey: Cousin Sheila was coming to America, to live with Tara. “Seeing as how you’re doing so well now, I knew you wouldn’t mind. Sheila has always looked up to you, like an older sister. Since you went away, she’s talked of nothing else but how she’d like to go to America.”

Sheila would be fifteen now. That Bridey and Kevin were willing to allow a girl that young to travel alone to a foreign land indicated how much faith they placed in Tara. She recognized that compliment. But she also read, between the lines of Bridey’s letter, something else. Sheila had always been headstrong and rash. Not a bad girl, exactly, but a difficult girl for her parents to manage. With all of those other children underfoot, it would probably be a relief to place Sheila in the care of a trusted relative. Ironically, the money Tara had been sending them would help to pay for Sheila’s passage.

There was no question of saying no. Family was family. And it would be nice to have a close relation living with her. She’d just have to learn to be patient with Sheila. It was true that the girl looked up to Tara. Maybe she’d prove more malleable now that she was a bit older.

Tara’s feelings toward Reece changed daily. At first she still pined for him, savoring the memory of his kisses, the feel of their bodies close together. The more she thought about his upcoming wedding, however, the angrier she got. Embarrassed by the way she’d thrown herself at him, mortified by her wanton display of immorality, she seethed with resentment toward Reece.

She’d show him. She’d have a grand life without him, and she hoped he’d be miserable with his rich, pretty doll of a wife. Tara would focus on her career and become successful, and famous! She would find another man, a handsome man who adored her and kissed her even better than Reece had and couldn’t even imagine
looking
at another woman.

She pictured herself encountering Reece in some not-too-distant future, at a fine restaurant, perhaps. He’d pass by her table and recognize her, a famous Broadway star by then in a magnificent velvet gown, aglitter with jewels and surrounded by admirers. She’d be cooly civil to him, nodding graciously to him and the woman at his side—a woman with alabaster-skin. Then he’d realize what he’d missed. How empty his life was, with his doll-like wife. He’d know how happy Tara could have made him, and curse himself for his mistake.

The seed of those Broadway ambitions was planted in her mind by her fellow vaudevillians. It wasn’t an easy leap; only a few vaudevillians had been able to make the transition successfully: Sara Bernhardt, Lillian Russell, Fred and Adele Astaire. If they could make it, why couldn’t Tara McLaughlin someday sing on a Broadway stage?

In some of their rare free time, Jaimie Parrier took her to see, “A Good Little Devil,” a Broadway play starring Miss Mary Pickford. They also went to a musical, “The Honeymoon Express,” featuring the renowned Fanny Brice and an exciting young talent named Al Jolson, who performed in blackface. Although the sentimental drama, “Romance,” was quite effective, Tara loved the musicals best. She absorbed every detail of them, memorizing new dance steps to add to her own act, studying the way a slight alteration in the way a line was read could give it an entirely new emotional edge, watching the manner in which performers carried themselves onstage. She worked hard at using what she learned to enhance her own performances. Soon she felt she would be ready to seek a Broadway audition.

Jaimie was a pleasant companion, attentive, kind and easy to talk to. Sometimes after the last show of the night they’d buy sandwiches and lemonade from one of the lunch wagons that stayed open till dawn, to serve night workers and carousers. She knew the other girls in the troupe thought him attractive, with his combed-back blond hair and lean physique, and she could tell by the glances of people they passed in the street that they made a striking couple.

Yet she knew her lack of response puzzled him. She was friendly but guarded, offering no flirtatious encouragement or hint of intimacy. That part of her she had walled off, like a river blocked by a dam. It would not flow freely again soon. She was indifferent when he stopped suggesting amusements for the two of them to take in. Very soon, he began keeping company with Roxanne Kinnock. It was just as well. Tara was busy with her career.

•  •  •

Tara stepped into the street without looking and heard the squeal of a rubber automobile horn. Turning, she glimpsed an enormous grill flanked by two lantern headlights. It was too late to jump back out of the way. The automobile lurched into her and sent her sprawling to the street.

Stunned, she gasped for breath and winced at the pain that shot through her left arm, upon which she’d fallen. How badly was she injured?

“Tara! My God, are you all right?” It was Reece who knelt down next to her. Funny, she thought, this wasn’t at all how she’d planned to encounter him next.

A petite woman with honey-colored hair emerged from the driver’s side of the Cadillac touring car that had struck Tara. The expression on the heart-shaped face was stricken. The large violet eyes fringed with long feathery lashes registered genuine concern.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to… It just…” She shrugged helplessly.

“Can you sit up?”

Reece eased Tara slowly to a sitting position and handed her a handkerchief, which she looked at in confusion.

“You’re bleeding. Your forehead.”

She dabbed at the cut on her temple with her right hand, keeping her throbbing left arm cradled against her and trying not to move it at all. Her neck felt as if it had been jarred out of alignment and her ribs were sore. The new bolero jacket was torn down the side, beyond repair, and her jaunty straw hat teetered from her head at a crazy angle. She avoided looking Reece directly in the eye.

Upon finding that the accident was a fairly minor one, most people went on about their business. One man, though, leaned against the side of the building, keeping an eye on the proceedings with a more than casual interest.

Miriam Sedgewell knelt next to Tara, unmindful of the way the lemon-striped skirt of her creamy foulard silk dress trailed in the dirty street. For this, of course, must be Reece’s fiancée. Kathleen’s description was accurate, except that the flawless skin looked more ivory than alabaster. The results of all those shopping trips made a pretty picture. Tara couldn’t help but notice the woman’s dainty ankle-strap shoes, the lemony satin ribbons that trimmed her silk dress and matching round-brimmed hat.

“We must get her to a doctor at once, Reece.”

Tara shook her head and immediately wished she hadn’t. The movement caused the ache in her neck to intensify. “No, it’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.” Worry that her arm might be broken took second place to her desire to get away from Reece as quickly as possible. She tried to remember how much she hated him.

“It’s all my fault, Tara,” Reece said. “I was teaching Miriam how to drive and I wasn’t paying close enough attention—”

“I didn’t look when I stepped into the street,” Tara insisted.

“Reece, darling. Do you two know each other?” The violet eyes harbored an inkling of suspicion as Miriam favored both Reece and Tara with a speculative glance.

“Miriam, this is Miss Tara McLaughlin. Miss McLaughlin, Miss Miriam Sedgewell.”

Tara nodded reluctantly, not wishing to move her head but determined to show that she had manners, if not satin ribbons.

“Miss McLaughlin lives in Hap’s boarding house,” Reece explained stiffly.

“In that dreary neighborhood?” Miriam arched one perfect eyebrow sympathetically. “My dear, how perfectly awful for you.”

Tara’s chin came up proudly. And painfully. “I like it fine.” Slowly, but striving for a graceful movement, she got to her feet and mentally assessed her condition. The arm was the worst of it. She sensed that the other aches were temporary and would pass.

Miriam shrugged. “If you’re sure we can’t take you to a doctor…”

“Thank you anyway. I’m fine.”

Miriam nodded, looked sharply at them both and returned to the motor car. Reece hesitated.

“Tara, I must speak with you.”

“You’ve nothing to say to me.”

“But I must…make you understand. About that night. It wasn’t just… Can’t we meet somewhere? Just to talk?”

“I understand everything. I am still, to you, just a peasant girl not long off the boat. And I understand that marrying Miriam Sedgewell will get you back into your father’s good graces. And money.”

He looked furious. “You’ve got it all wrong. It’s not as simple as that.”

She turned proudly on her heel and stepped away from him, but he grabbed her by the arm—the left arm. He released it immediately when he saw her wince from the pressure of his grip.

“Tara, you
are
hurt. Let me take you to a doctor.”

“You’ve done enough. Just go away and let me be.”

There was a shrill toot from the rubber horn and Miriam called out: “Reece, darling, are you coming? We’re expected at Mama’s.”

Tara stared up at him, trying to stem the flood of tears that threatened to overwhelm her. “Do you care for me? At all?”

“I… You know I do.”

“Then you’re a coward, Reece. Go. Go off in your grand motor car with your Miss Sedgewell. Live your life. The truth of it is, you’re not man enough for me, anyway.”

•  •  •

The man leaning against the building watched Tara shuffle slowly down the street and smiled to himself. So Tara McLaughlin was in New York City. And doing fairly well, from the looks of things. It really was a small world, after all. He spotted a young lad he knew hawking newspapers and whistled the boy over.

“Francis, I’ve a wee job for you. And there’s a brand-new dollar bill for you in it.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Muldoon.”

“See that girl over there?”

“The one who got hit by the motor car?”

“The same. All you have to do is follow her. Find out where she lives and where she works. But stay out of sight. Don’t let her know that you’re followin’ her.” He pulled a dollar from his pocket and handed it to Francis. “Report back to me in three days’ time, and I’ll give you another of these.”

As the boy scampered off, Muldoon allowed himself a moment of deep satisfaction. It was funny, how things worked out. He remembered her nasty, painful kick to his groin and felt himself getting angry all over again. Her beauty had blossomed here in the New World. He chuckled out loud, drawing a few curious stares from passersby.

He’d told Tara McLaughlin he wasn’t through with her, and he’d been right.

“A
re all these dresses really yours, Tara? Me mother was right, then. You’re rich now. I can hardly believe it.”

Sheila’s enormous gray eyes widened approvingly at the contents of Tara’s closet.

Tara was embarrassed. “Ah, it’s not so much, really. Most of them are stage costumes. I’ve had to put most of me money into that, don’t you know.”

She studied the items of everyday clothing, wondering if anything could fit Sheila. The girl had arrived carrying only a small satchel filled with clothing and personal items. A shopping trip was in order, and as quickly as possible.

Tara took down a loose-fitting cotton dress that she thought might fit Sheila for the time being, although the hem would have to be taken up. Sheila was shorter than herself but the girl had filled out abundantly in other ways. Tara almost hadn’t recognized her cousin when she’d met her at the dock. Sheila’s voluptuous figure, startlingly mature for a girl of fifteen, was made even more apparent by the way her full breasts and generous hips strained the seams of the too-small dress she was wearing. Tara knew full well that Aunt Bridey and Uncle Kevin had little money left after paying Sheila’s passage for buying the girl new clothes, but the dress was almost indecent.

Sheila leaned back languidly on the bed and stretched like a cat. “I’m sleepy,” she announced.

Tara was contrite. “How thoughtless of me. Of course you need to rest after such a long journey. You can try this dress on later, and tomorrow we’ll buy you some new clothes.”

Sheila nodded drowsily. “You’re so good to me, Tara. Takin’ me in like this. I thought I’d go mad from boredom on that wee farm in the middle of nowhere. Now, thanks to you, I’m in America. I’m ever so grateful to you, cousin.” The charcoal lashes drooped and her eyes closed. Her dark hair fanned out against the white pillow like some bird’s glossy plumage. In moments, her chest rose and fell with the steady, rhythmic breathing of sleep.

Tara covered her cousin with a light blanket and left the room. It was still a few hours before dinner. Time enough for a long walk, to sort through the troubling thoughts that were making her head ache.