Bicycle Built for Two (6 page)

But surely, they had family members who
could help them. Didn’t they? Alex discovered that all of his
preconceived notions about good and bad and wealth and poverty were
getting muddled up, and he decided to think about them later. Right
now, he wanted to discover what business had taken Kate Finney to
this awful place. And in his carriage, too. Alex managed to work
himself into quite a respectable huff when he considered how kind
he’d been to bring her here and how rude she’d been in return. She
hadn’t even thanked him.

The nurse looked surprised to see such a
well-dressed gentleman here, in the Charity Ward. “May I help you,
sir?”

Alex presumed the woman was a nun, since
Saint Mildred’s was a Catholic institution. He didn’t hold with
popery, although he was tolerant enough to allow Roman Catholics to
exist in his city. “I’m looking for—” He stopped speaking all at
once, realizing he had no idea whom he was looking for. “Yes?” The
nun smiled kindly upon him.

“Um, Miss Kate Finney was
visiting—someone—here. I, er, wanted to know . . .” Good Gad, he
hadn’t until this minute realized how flimsy his motivation
was.

“Oh, Kate.” The nun laughed softly. “Dear
Kate. I’m afraid that no matter how hard she tries, or how much she
prays, her mother still has consumption. And I’m also afraid that
even if Kate had a lot of money, there’s only so much that can be
done for Mrs. Finney.”

“Her mother?” Alex swallowed. “Er, yes. Mrs.
Finney. Exactly.”

“Are you here to visit Mrs. Finney?” The nun
looked skeptical, as if she couldn’t credit such a fine gentleman
having anything to do with a member of the Finney family.

Alex hesitated for a moment, then discovered
his mouth making up his mind for him. “Yes,” he said, surprising
himself. “I’m here to visit Mrs. Finney.”

“Are you a member of the family?” The nun
eyed him strangely. She reminded Alex of an all-white penguin, with
her arms folded and her hands tucked into the sleeves of her
habit.

“Employer,” he said promptly. “My name is
Alex English, and I’m a member of the Agricultural Board at the
Columbian Exposition. Miss Finney works for me.” In a manner of
speaking. At least she worked at the Exposition at his whim. The
notion gave him no comfort. Actually, he was beginning to feel like
Little Red Riding Hood’s Big Bad Wolf, and the sensation was not to
his taste.

The nun’s air of confusion vanished and was
replaced by one of pleasure and surprise. “How nice of you to take
time to visit, Mr. English. Most employers don’t care, I’m afraid.
It’s such a comfort to know there are kind hearts in our city.”

Guilt attacked Alex. He
fought it off as if it were a mugger in the park. Dash it,
he
was
a
kind-hearted person!

“Follow me,” the nun said, still smiling. “I
think Mrs. Finney is asleep, but she might be able to see you. She
is,” she whispered confidentially, “is in rather poor shape, I
fear. She’s had quite a difficult life, I understand.”

Alex said, “Mmmm.” He didn’t want to hear
about Mrs. Finney’s difficult life.

“This is her cot.” The nun stopped beside a
bed that looked as if somebody had just climbed out of it and left
a jumble of covers in her place.

Slowly, reluctantly, Alex walked up to the
bed. He didn’t want to look down for fear of what he’d see, but he
forced himself.

Damn. His worst fears were realized. What
had looked like a jumble of covers was the sheet-clad body of a
tiny, emaciated female form. “My God,” popped out of his mouth
before he could stop it.

The nun gazed down at the woman on the cot,
her sadness clear to read on her gentle features. “I fear she’s
awfully sick, Mr. English. It’s kind of you to visit.”

That was the second time the nun had accused
him of being kind. It was the second time Alex knew he didn’t
deserve the word, and he hated the knowledge. “Isn’t there anything
that can be done for her?”

Beside him, the nun sighed. “I’m afraid we
have no cure for tuberculosis yet. I understand scientists have
isolated the bacillus that causes it, but a treatment is still
years away. The best we can recommend is rest and quiet, preferably
in warm, dry, peaceful surroundings.”

Alex dragged his gaze from Mrs. Finney and
cast a glance at the Charity Ward. “These surroundings aren’t very
peaceful.”

“No,” the nun agreed. “They aren’t. They’re
all we have to offer people like Mrs. Finney, I fear. Taking care
of consumptive patients is a costly business, Mr. English.
Unfortunately, most families can’t afford to send their members to
a sanatorium in countryside.”

“No. Of course not. I didn’t mean—”

She laid a hand on his arm. “Of course, you
didn’t. I wasn’t criticizing. I think it’s wonderful of you to take
an interest in the family. They’re a hardworking, good lot, except
for the father. And we keep praying for him.”

“Hmmm.” Any man who’d allow his wife to
linger in this hellhole needed more than prayer. He needed a bullet
in the brain.

An idea was beginning to
take root in Alex’s head, and he wondered if a bullet to the brain
might do
him
some
good.

Mrs. Finney stirred on her cot. A small hand
reached out from under the rumpled sheet. “Kate? Katie, love?” The
hand moved, as if it were feeling for another person. The hand
looked like a claw and the voice was like a soft scrape on the
atmosphere.

“Oh, dear.” The nun sighed deeply. “Miss
Kate was here a few minutes ago, but she’s left already.”

“She’s gone?” It was all Alex could do to
resist reaching for Mrs. Finney’s hand.

“Yes.” The nun laughed softly. “After giving
us strict orders on the care of her mother. As if we could do any
more than we’re doing.”

He couldn’t stand it any longer. He took
Mrs. Finney’s hand. It was small and dry and it made him want to
holler. “Calm down, ma’am,” he said, striving for a gentleness he
didn’t feel. In truth, he felt savage. “Miss Finney has gone
home.”

Hearing a new voice seemed to stir Mrs.
Finney. Her eyes opened, and she turned her head to search for the
voice. As he knelt beside her, Alex got the strong impression of a
man up to his thighs in quicksand. If he didn’t wriggle out soon,
he feared he’d be in way over his head.

Nevertheless, he spoke in a soft, quiet
voice. “It’s all right, Mrs. Finney. My name is Alex English.
I—ah—work with your daughter.”

A smile transformed Mrs. Finney’s features.
Alex thought he could detect the girl she used to be in that smile,
and it made him want to add a few curses to his holler. She’d
probably looked like Kate when she was young. Say, a hundred years
ago, or so.

But that probably wasn’t so. She might be
only in her early forties. Perhaps even her late thirties. It had
been life that had withered Mrs. Finney. Damn, damn, damn.

“You know my Katie?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He decided to leave it at
that, since he was certain his opinion of Kate Finney differed
considerably from Kate’s mother’s opinion of her.

“She’s a good girl, my Katie. She takes care
of me, you know.”

Not very damned
well
, Alex thought, knowing as he did so
that he was being unfair to both women.

What had Kate said to him? Something about
women having a hard time making a living in this world? Ah, yes. It
was something like that. And then he’d told her she ought to get
married. He cringed to remember that conversation now, as he held
Mrs. Finney’s hand. How could he have tossed her such a flippant
suggestion? Kate had been right about marriage in her mother’s
case. It hadn’t been her salvation; it had probably been her doom.
Small wonder Kate didn’t want to get married.

“It’s so nice of you to visit me, Mr.
English.”

Mrs. Finney’s voice was soft and harsh, as
though it hurt coming out of her mouth. Alex forced himself to
smile at the sick woman. “Nonsense. I wanted to meet you.”

Her eyes opened wider. “You did? I mean . .
. How kind of you.”

Alex was beginning to react
negatively to that word,
kind
, perhaps because he’d begun to
reevaluate his own claim to own it. Was he kind? He’d always
thought so. Perhaps, however, his own brand of kindness didn’t
deserve the name. He’d made it a point to contribute to charitable
causes. He’d always donated surplus foodstuffs grown on his farms
to the Chicago soup kitchen run by some Catholic order or another.
He couldn’t even remember the name of it.

Was that true kindness? For only a second,
Alex tried to envision his own revered mother in this horrible cot
in this horrible ward. He couldn’t bear it much longer.

Yet Kate Finney bore it all day, every day.
Kate, who was half his size, but who had the determination of a
lioness, worked at two very odd jobs in order to keep her mother in
food and away from her brutal husband.

Suddenly Alex felt extremely small—about
half the size of Kate Finney, in actual fact.

“Have you seen my Katie dance, Mr.
English?”

The question took Alex aback, mainly because
he had trouble justifying the note of pride he heard in Mrs.
Finney’s voice. “Er . . . Yes. I watched her performance this
evening, in fact.”

Mrs. Finney nodded, as if she were pleased
that her daughter was exhibiting herself so shockingly to the
public. “She taught herself how to dance that way after watching
that other dancer. The foreign girl. What do they call her?”

“Little Egypt.”

“Yes. That’s the one. My Katie only saw her
once, and when they posted a notice that they were looking for
another dancer to fill in for her—she’s become very popular, I
guess—”

“Yes,” Alex confirmed. “She has.” He tried
to keep the note of condemnation out of his voice.

“Yes.” Mrs. Finney sighed. “My Katie
practiced for a day and a night, and then she marched right over
there and danced for the men who were doing the hiring—and they
hired her! Just like that.”

“Ah.” Alex didn’t know what else to say.

Mrs. Finney sighed again. “She bought me a
woolen scarf that night with the money she made. I didn’t really
need one, because I still had one, but Katie said it was old and
moth-eaten, and she gave me the new one. It’s so pretty.”

Alex felt like dirt when tears trickled from
the sick woman’s eyes. “That was nice of her.” Feeble. He assessed
his comment as approximately as feeble as Mrs. Finney.

“Oh, Katie’s more than nice. She’s been my
salvation. And she takes care of her brothers, too.”

“Good Gad.” Alex hadn’t meant to swear. He
glanced quickly at the nun, but she’d turned away to resume her
duties.

“Thank you for visiting me, Mr. English.”
Mrs. Finney broke into a spasm of coughs.

Alex fumbled for a handkerchief, but he
wasn’t quick enough. Blood oozed from the woman’s mouth, and his
nerves nearly gave out. He’d never seen anything as pathetic as
Kate Finney’s mother. She broke his heart. “Here,” he said gently,
finally managing to haul his handkerchief from his pocket. “Use
this, please.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Finney gasped between racking
coughs. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to spoil anything so fine.”

“Nonsense. It’s yours. I just gave it to
you.”

She tried and failed to smile at him. After
another hard spasm, she gasped, “Thank you. You’re very good.” She
seemed to collapse, and Alex knew she’d exhausted her puny
strength.

He rose, feeling more ghastly than he could
remember ever feeling. “I’ll visit you again, Mrs. Finney.” He
wanted to offer her luck. Or hope. Or something.

But he couldn’t make himself lie to the
woman. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Thank you.”

He barely heard her thanks. As soon as he
figured he was out of her sight, Alex increased his speed. He was
practically running by the time he got to the hospital’s business
offices.

# # #

“What?” Kate stared at Sister Mary
Evodius.

“She’s been moved to a private room, Kate.”
The nun beamed at her, as if she considered such a circumstance
normal and nice.

Kate knew better. “But . . .” She wasn’t
even sure what to ask.

“Your very agreeable friend made the
arrangements,” Sister Mary Evodius said, still beaming.

A benevolent beam was no less than Kate had
come to expect from this source, but she still couldn’t account for
the words she’d spoken. “Um . . . My agreeable friend? What
agreeable friend? Which agreeable friend?” Kate had friends, sure,
and they were all more or less agreeable, but not a single one of
them could afford to move her mother into a private room.

“That pleasant gentleman, Mr. English. He
came here last night shortly after you left.”

“Mr. . . .” But Kate couldn’t say it. She
couldn’t think it. Shoot, she couldn’t even conceive of Alex
English—that was the only Mr. English she knew, and he wasn’t
anywhere even approaching agreeable—doing something so generous for
her mother.

Unless he planned to kick her out of the
Columbian Exposition, and was doing this as a salve to his
conscience. Kate sucked in a gulp of air.

Sister Mary Evodius peered at her closely.
“Is something the matter, Kate? Are you unwell?”

“Unwell?” Kate blinked at the nun, wondering
what she was talking about. “No. I’m fine, thanks.” Or she would be
once she figured out what in Hades was going on here. “Do you know
what room Ma’s in, Sister?”

“I believe they wheeled her to number 22A,
dear, although you might want to check at the front desk.”

“22A. All right.” Kate
nodded briskly. “Thanks!” She waved at the nun as she turned and
hot-footed it out of the Charity Ward. Taking Sister Mary Evodius’s
advice, Kate stopped at the front desk. Any time she had to face a
person in an official capacity—
any
official capacity—Kate put on her toughest
demeanor. She knew what the general lot of women in this world was,
and she didn’t aim to be the recipient thereof.