American Pie (15 page)

"Lucie." His voice was hoarse, his gaze fastened to her parted lips. "I must leave at once before I dishonor you."

"Nothing you do could ever dishonor me, Jamie Kelly," she whispered.

Lost in the moment and in each other, they stood so close they could feel each other's magnetic heat. And suddenly Lucie knew he would kiss her. She felt as if she were drowning in the chocolate melt of his eyes. Her lips parted and her breath quickened. The sound of passing voices and street traffic faded from her ears, replaced by the accelerated pulse of her thudding heart. Slowly he leaned to her, looked deeply into her eyes, then his warm mouth brushed her lips as tenderly as the whisper of a butterfly's wing.

Her response was electric. Her scalp tingled and an explosive heat raced downward to her shaking limbs. For a moment she thought her knees would collapse and was grateful for his steadying hands.

"Forgive me, Lucie," he murmured, his voice shaken. "I've claimed a liberty I had no right to"

"I wanted you to," she admitted, still tasting him on her lips. And she wanted him to kiss her again. The kiss they had shared had been gentle, exploratory, the passion they felt held in check. But passion had flamed to life. She saw it in his fevered eyes, felt it coursing through her own blood and bone.

His fingertips trembled as he raised her chin. "You've become very important to me, Lucie Kolska. I love the look of you, and the sound of your laughter. I love it that you believe in me and I love your loyalty to those you care about. You never complain, you make everyone around you feel a little better."

She stared into his steady gaze, her heart pounding, waiting for him to say the three words she longed to hear. But, of course he could not. No honorable man would, not in their present circumstances. "Oh, Jamie. Stefan will never change his mind," she murmured. Sadness filled her eyes with sudden moisture.

"Neither will I," he said, smiling. His thumb caressed the line of her cheek. Then, controlling the emotion she read in his expression, he moved away from her with obvious reluctance.

She lingered at the entrance to Elizabeth Street and watched him walk away from her. Later, she lay on her mattress and relived his kiss, imagining the pressure of his lips on hers, the sweet taste of his mouth. A tingling rush of heat spread over her body as she remembered his hands on her waist, the feel of his hard thighs against her skirts. Restlessly she turned on her bed and her cheeks burned in the darkness.

The sky was gray and overcast the day the last of the dirt and debris was removed from the construction pit and Mr. Gustoffer assigned his crews to make forms and mix concrete to build the load-bearing walls. By the time the noon whistle blew several of the forms were built, set in place and poured.

As the sound of the whistle died away Jamie climbed to street level, pushed his hammer through the loop on his nail apron, and stood on the edge of the foundation frowning down at the forms. The perspective was better here; his suspicion was confirmed. When he was positive of what he was seeing he strode toward the shed and leaned inside.

"We've got a problem," he announced when Gustoffer looked up from his lunch pail. "The main bearing wall is out of position."

"What?" Gustoffer stared, then set down his lunch pail and rose to his feet. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Come have a look." Gustoffer followed him to the edge of the pit. "This building will be twelve stories tall. The major stress and weight should be evenly distributed, but in fact the center support accepts the primary strain." Frowning, Jamie looked at Gustoffer. "But the center support is misaligned. If you pour the form where it's sitting now, eventually the upper stories will crash into the basement."

A silence had fallen over the site. Several of the men unabashedly eavesdropped on the conversation.

Without a word Gustoffer turned on his heel and hurried back into the shed where he bent over the blueprints scattered across his worktable. When he raised his head he was scowling.

"You're crazier than a bedbug, Kelly. That wall is going up just where the plans say it should. Have a look for yourself."

Jamie bent over the table and studied the plans. "Good Lord," he said softly. "The architect made a serious error."

"Well, I'll be gol-damned." Gustoffer's thick eyebrows soared. He made a disgusted sound and spit a stream of tobacco juice toward the corner. "If you ain't the most arrogant mick I ever seen. You're telling me that youa shovel and hammer manknow more than one of the best architects in this city?"

"No," Jamie said slowly. "But I am saying everyone makes an error now and again. And I'm saying that center support is misaligned. You know it, too, Gustoffer."

"Unlike you, Kelly, I don't claim to know more than the architect." He tapped a blunt finger on the set of plans. "This here wall might be some newfangled way of doing things."

Jamie looked out the shed door at the tangle of Broadway traffic. "No," he said finally, shaking his head. "It's a mistake, and it's dangerous. You have to inform Mr. Tucker that his architect made an error."

"He's right, Gustoffer," Stefan Kolska said, appearing in the doorway. Jamie turned in surprise but Stefan didn't look at him. He stepped up to the worktable and fixed a troubled expression on Gustoffer. "I never thought I'd agree with Kelly on anything. But I overheard what he said, and he's right."

"You, too?" Gustoffer blinked at him. "You're both crazy!"

Now Stefan looked at Jamie, a frown drawing his heavy eyebrows together. "Kelly's also right about informing the owner and the architect. You have to stop work and you have to tell them."

"I ain't gonna do no such thing! I'm gonna do my job and build this building just like the plans say I should build it."

"Henry, you can't do that." After casting a look of gratitude toward Stefan, Jamie turned back to Gustoffer. "If you erect a building over those support walls, the building will be unsafe. Maybe it will stand for a month, maybe it will stand for six months or longer. But it will come down, and people will be hurt or killed. You must inform Mr. Tucker."

" You say!"

"I say so, too," Stefan repeated.

"You two go eat your chuck and forget about this."

"I can't do that," Jamie said finally. "If you won't tell Mr. Tucker" he hesitated "then, I will." Reaching behind he untied his nail apron and hung it on one of the pegs.

Stefan and Henry Gustoffer followed him to the street and watched in silence as he washed his face and hands at the horse trough, then pulled his coat over his arms.

"If you walk off the job site, son, I got to fire you. There ain't no choice. If you go now, no point in you coming back."

"I know that." He also knew there were situations that appeared to offer choices, but in which there was actually no decision to make. A man had to do what he knew was right. Even if the cost came high. To his surprise, it appeared Stefan agreed. Stefan unhooked his apron and prepared to accompany him.

"Wait," he said, raising a hand. "I appreciate your show of support, Kolska." More than he could say. "But there's no point in both of us losing our jobs. I started this. I'll finish it."

"I agree with you. I'm willing to go with you and say so."

It must have pained Stefan Kolska to set aside his pride and support Jamie Kelly. An hour earlier Jamie would not have believed Kolska's integrity would win over his personal hatred. He had seriously misjudged the man.

"You can't afford to lose this job, you have a family," Jamie said quietly. The allusion to Lucie blunted both their expressions. "If I go home tonight without a pay packet, the only person who suffers is me. I'll go to Mr. Tucker alone." After a moment's hesitation Jamie thrust out his hand and Gustoffer clasped it. "I'm sorry, Henry. I have to do this."

Gustoffer shrugged and spit out a brown stream. "All's that's gonna happen is you're gonna get your ears clipped and find yourself out of work. And that's a gol-damned pity 'cause you're a good worker, Jamie Kelly. Never thought I'd say that about no Thoroughbred, but it's the God's honest truth."

"If I don't bring this to Mr. Tucker's attention, and this building falls in, I'll feel responsible."

"Next to you, son, a mule is the very soul of compliance. You get some crack-brained idea in your head and nothing on God's green earth is gonna dislodge it! Do you really think there's so many jobs in this town that you can afford to throw yours away?"

Jamie's jaw settled in a line. "Whatever happens, Henry Gustoffer, I thank you for hiring me and giving me a chance."

"Which you are throwing away." Gustoffer released Jamie's grip and threw his hands in the air. "Ain't no figuring a bastard mick! So go do what you got to do. But don't be telling Mr. Tucker that Henry T. Gustoffer agrees with any of this bunkum."

"If it makes a difference, you can tell Mr. Tucker that Stefan Kolska does agree with you." For one fleeting instant, it appeared Stefan would shake his hand. Then Stefan thrust his thumbs under his suspenders and turned to scowl at the pit workers who had listened to the exchange with great interest.

Before Jamie walked down Broadway to seek a Wall Street horse car, he saw the triumphant satisfaction spreading across the faces of several of the pit workers. For an instant he wavered, knowing he was walking away from whatever small security he possessed. Then he glanced at the grudging respect he read in Stefan Kolska's eyes, and he looked into the pit at the wooden forms waiting to be poured. His shoulders squared.

As the delicate fabrics of the small clothes were too fragile for a washboard, they were agitated with a plunger in a tub of warm sudsy water before being wrung out by hand, then placed in an empty tub and the first rinse poured over them.

Everyone in the laundry gathered around the rinse tub to have a peek at the Neena bust improver Mrs. Roper had purchased for Miss Augusta at Wanamaker's. Hilda knelt over the tub and poked the padding with a fingertip, then collapsed in giggles, earning a glare from Mrs. Greene.

"Stop that right now! This might look like fuss and feathers to you, Hilda Horshack, but Miss Augusta could use a bit to go on! If fashion says a woman's got to look like an S from the side, then that's how the pippins have to look. Our Miss Augusta has the lower part of the S, but she needs a bit of deceiver to help along the top half."

"Our Miss Augusta isn't a pippin," Hilda muttered sulkily.

Mrs. Greene's face turned a deeper shade of red. "She is so popular!"

"She's not so popular with the beaux and that's a fact."

Lucie smiled with affection as Mrs. Greene exploded, loudly and loyally defending Miss Augusta's virtues.

At that moment the object of the discussion burst into the laundry room, followed by an overwrought Mrs. Roper. As no one could remember any of the Ropers visiting the laundry, mouths fell open and an astonished silence dropped over the room. Mrs. Greene halted midstride. Lucie paused with the polishing iron hovering in her hand.

Neither Miss Augusta nor Mrs. Roper glanced at anyone. Red eyed and wringing her hands, Miss Augusta stormed past the ironing tables, her flounced hem dragging the damp floor.