Bicycle Built for Two (10 page)

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?”