American Pie (17 page)

When he lifted his head his face was ashen. No one in the shed needed to be told what he had discovered on the plans. "I owe you an apology, Mr. Kelly," Clem Whitesall said in a strained voice. "I don't know how this happened. I would not have believed it possible. But if you had not noticed and if you had not insisted on this review, a terrible disaster would surely have occurred. I am in your debt, sir."

The shouting and cursing rising from the street outside sounded overloud within the silence of the shed.

Mr. Tucker was first to recover from the collective contemplation of the averted disaster. And the money that would have been lost. He aimed the tip of his umbrella at Gustoffer. "You are fired." The umbrella swung toward Jamie. "And you are hired as foreman of this site. Mr. Gustoffer will turn over the keys to the shed and the safe. Should further problems develop on this site," he added with a dark glance at Clem Whitesall, "I shall expect to find you in my office at once, Mr. Kelly."

"Yes, sir," Jamie said as Jonas Tucker ducked through the door of the shed and picked his way across the muddy boards toward his waiting brougham. There was opportunity here. Jamie could sense it, could smell it on the damp air. The question was, could he seize it? Stepping up to Clem Whitesall, he cleared his throat. "While I'm pleased by the position Mr. Tucker has granted me, my true interest is design. I trained with Goblin and"

"Not now, for God's sake," Whitesall hissed, keeping an eye on Tucker's retreat as he hastily rolled the erroneous print into a tube and stuffed it inside his coat. "New prints will be waiting when you arrive tomorrow morning." Before he dashed out the door, he gave Jamie a long stare. "You needn't fear that I shall forget Jamie Kelly. I'll remember you, all right."

But Whitesall's tone didn't encourage Jamie to think the remembrance would be pleasant. As he stood in the doorway watching Clem Whitesall dash through the drizzle to catch Jonas Tucker, he knew he was watching opportunity fly away.

When he turned back into the shed, Henry Gustoffer was standing beside the table, hands thrust deep in his pockets, his eyes on the floor.

"I'm sorry, Henry," he said in a low voice.

"Not your fault, son. These things happen. I should have known better than to bet against you." They stood in silence, aware the men outside had overheard everything. Then Gustoffer withdrew his hand from his pocket and placed his keys on the work table.

"Henry, if there's anything I can"

"Don't make this no worse than it is, boyo." Gustoffer reached for his cap and dropped it on his head. He thrust out a callused palm and shook Jamie's hand. "I'll just be on my way."

"There may be work at the new University Club."

Gustoffer managed a grin before he ducked out of the shed door. "I started thinking about it the minute that architect looked into the pit." He waved, then hunched his shoulders against the drizzle and walked past the silent crew.

Jamie picked up the keys and held them in his palm. The opportunity he wanted had eluded him, but his situation had improved markedly since morning. He had received a promotion and, he assumed, the raise in pay that accompanied it. Things could be a whole lot worse. An hour ago he hadn't had a job. Now he was foreman of a major site. His future was his again.

Stepping to the door, he watched Henry Gustoffer march through the drizzle toward Broadway and regretted that his good fortune had come at Henry's expense. Henry had only done what he believed was right.

After a moment he sighed, then cleared his throat. "Martin?" Wilbur Martin stepped away from the overhang. "The drizzle doesn't appear to be letting up. Close down the site for today. The rest of you men line up for half pay."

He sat behind the worktable, opened the safety box and paid out wages without looking up at the men behind the outstretched palms. Already his mind leaped ahead, planning tomorrow and the changes he would make.

It wasn't until he was walking home, unaware the drizzle had stopped and a brilliant sunset had broken past the clouds, that he realized it was possible opportunity had not bypassed him after all. He was doing what he loved best, building a wonderful building. And he had moved a step up in the world.

His regret for Henry Gustoffer's altered fortunes had not allowed him to fully appreciate the change in his own. But as he gradually accepted there was nothing he could do to correct the injustices of the world, the realization of his altered circumstances brought an abrupt lift of his spirits. He couldn't wait to tell Lucie about this astonishing day.

Lucie pumped a pail of water and carried it upstairs, then changed out of her wet clothing while the water heated on the stove. Since her hair was already wet from the drizzle, this was a good time to wash it. Bending over the pan she dipped her head into the water, then worked a bar of Castilian soap into a lather and rubbed it into her hair. Then she leaned over the slop bucket and poured the water over her head, hoping all the soap rinsed out. It seldom did, but she always hoped.

After toweling and combing the waist-length strands, she placed a chair in front of the stove and sat with her back to the heat, her long hair falling over the rungs of the chair.

While she waited for her hair to dry, she composed a list of ingredients she would need to make her cream. Ointment of rose water, oil of sweet almonds, glycerine, boric acid, solution of soda and rose oil for the scent. The only item she worried about finding was the quince seed mucilage, and that was the only item she absolutely could not do without. Mucilage was the gummy adhesive that prevented the cream from separating over time. In her opinion, quince seed mucilage served the purpose best.

When Stefan came in the door and hung his cap and coat on the nails, she looked up with sparkling eyes. "You'll never guess what happened! Mrs. Roper requested a sample of my cream! Can you imagine? Mrs. Roper could buy any cream in the world, but she asked" The words died in her throat when Stefan turned and she saw his pale face. Her pencil and paper fell to the floor as she stood. "Stefan! What's wrong? What's happened?"

He dropped heavily onto a chair, then placed half a day's wage on the tabletop before he gave her a bleak expression.

"Gustoffer was fired today." He passed a hand over his eyes. "As sure as I'm sitting here, I'm next. Tomorrow I'll be out of a job." He told her what had occurred.

"But you supported Jamie Kelly," Lucie said, sitting across from him at the table. "He wouldn't fire you."

"Kelly knows I despise the very sight of him. I supported him because he was right in what he was saying. But that doesn't change how I feel, and he knows it. First thing tomorrow he'll tell me to take my shovel and hammer and go."

Lucie lowered her head and blinked at the coins on the table. A battle erupted in her heart. Pride in Jamie's success warred with fear for Stefan's future. Once again her loyalties were tugged from two sides. Heart aching, she realized there was nothing she could say.

For the all important occasion of delivering the cream to Mrs. Roper, Lucie dressed her hair with extra attention, taking care that no errant strands would escape the edges of her cap. Before she approached Mr. Grist, she ironed a freshly starched apron and replaced the damp apron she had worn all morning.

"I would prefer to deliver the cream myself, sir." The barest hint of a smile appeared on Mr. Grist's thin lips. "I'll discover if Mrs. Roper will receive you."

Lucie hoped Mrs. Roper would exclaim over the cream, her best batch ever. Also, she wanted another peek at the family's rooms. She and Greta had exhausted the recollections of her first visit. As she followed Mr. Grist upstairs she wished Greta could view the profusion of blooms in every room.

"Don't touch the bannister, miss. It's just been polished." She could smell the waxy lemon scent. One of the wonderful things about the Roper mansion was the abundance of good smells. The kitchen and garden always smelled wonderful, of course. But there was also the heavy sweet fragrance of fresh flowers in every room, the citrus scent of furniture polish. The faintly herbal drift that rose from the carpets as they passed, and traces of holly from the tall candles in silver brackets.

Inhaling deeply, Lucie wondered what it must be like to always breathe sweet air. Never to gasp and turn aside from the odor of rotting garbage or overflowing latrines. To open a window and breathe deeply instead of recoiling.

And the music. Pausing on the landing, she closed her eyes and smiled with pleasure at the sound of Miss Delfi's Gramophone. Today Miss Delfi was playing the new raggety-time music. Lucie recognized the piece "The Maple Leaf Rag." She had fallen in love with it last week when Stefan took her and Greta to the Bowery Street Music Hall. Standing on the landing, tapping her foot to Scott Joplin, Lucie decided it would be a fine, fine thing to have music anytime one wished.

When she stepped into Mrs. Roper's sitting room, taking a moment to dart a glance at the bric-a-brac and table scarves, Mrs. Roper glanced up from her embroidery frame and regarded her without a flicker of recognition. "Yes? What is it?"

"I" Lucie smoothed a hand over her apron. "It's the cream, ma'am," she explained in a rush.

Annoyed, Mrs. Roper looked at Mr. Grist before returning her gaze to Lucie. "Whatever are you talking about?"

"The day you visited the laundry, ma'am. You mentioned you would welcome a sample of my hand and face cream."

"I did? How extraordinary."

Lucie thrust out the twist of newspaper she had prepared. "I didn't know how much to bring. This should last a week or two."

Mrs. Roper shuddered as she inspected the greasy twist of newspaper. "Place it there, in the silver dish."

Lucie did as she was bid, then gave Mrs. Roper a shy smile. "I think you'll find the cream soothing and refreshing, ma'am."

"Indeed," Mrs. Roper said faintly. This time when she directed a glance at Mr. Grist, he stepped forward.

After bobbing her head, Lucie followed Mr. Grist into the hallway. "Imagine," she breathed, her cheeks glowing. "Mrs. Roper and my cream. This must be the proudest moment of my life!"

Mr. Grist touched a meticulously knotted cravat and released a sound resembling a sigh. "As you say, miss."

Dazed and smiling happily, she returned to the laundry room. It was only later that she remembered Miss Augusta standing red-eyed beside the parlor archway, peering at Lucie as if she wished to speak to her. Lucie had actually halted in expectation, but Miss Augusta turned away from Mr. Grist and waved them on. Lucie decided she and Mr. Grist had misinterpreted Miss Augusta's intention. Still, the moment had been peculiar and puzzling.

But not significant enough to diminish her happiness. Jamie had been promoted, Greta was doing well and finally Lucie had something wonderful to share. She almost danced back to the laundry room.

"I'm telling you no the same as I told you last Saturday and the Saturday before and the Saturday before that." Stefan spread his hands and glared at Jamie before he hung his tool belt on the shed wall. "I will never permit you to call on my sister."