American Pie (23 page)

"I know," she said, smiling. "But you did, and I intend to hold you to it."

He dropped a kiss on her nose, then hastily looked at the traffic slipping and skidding down the icy street. "I'm disgracing us both, aren't I?"

Smiling, Lucie pressed her forehead to his chest, then tucked his arm firmly against her side. "Today is special. I think we can be forgiven any shameless display." She gazed up at him, her heart in her eyes. "Tell me again that you love me, Jamie Kelly. I'll never grow tired of hearing you say it."

"I love you, lass. I do love you!" She saw the truth of it in the glowing dark eyes that caressed her lips, her throat, her hair. "But I've spoken precipitously." A frown clouded his happiness. "I have nothing to offer you but ambition and potential. By rights, Stefan should withhold his permission."

"If he does," Lucie said, unperturbed. "I shall never speak to him again."

Stopping on the snowy pavement, he turned her to face him. "Lucie, it could be years before we're financially able to wed. We'll need furnishings, a decent place to set up housekeeping, a cushion against emergencies "

"However long it takes, Jamie Kelly, I'll wait."

"Oh, my dearest." Again he embraced her, oblivious of the stares and smiles directed at them from Sunday afternoon drivers. It was the happiest day of Lucie's life and she reached trembling fingertips to stroke his jaw, brush his lips. A tiny thrill electrified her. If they lived together for a hundred years, she would never tire of touching him and being touched by him.

A hoarse groan sounded against her temple, then he stepped back to look at her and straightened her hat with shaking fingers. "Waiting is so hard, dearest. So hard."

"For both of us," she whispered, feeling the heat in her secret parts, longing to know him as a wife knows a husband. She thought about the possibility of years passing before they could wake in each other's arms, and a bit of the brightness faded from her happiness. The promise to wait came easily, but she suspected the reality of denial would be a torment.

"I'd like to hear your opinion about something I've been considering," Lucie said two days later. After stacking the supper dishes on the shelf above the stove, she untied her apron and sat at the kitchen table with the others. Without being aware, she reached beneath the table and clasped Jamie's warm hand as a rush of thankfulness and gratitude momentarily overwhelmed her. She was so fortunate. Sometimes she experienced a twinge of guilt that she could be so happy in the face of Stefan and Greta's mounting desperation.

"An opinion costs nothing," Jamie commented with a wink and a squeeze of her hand. "We await the opportunity to give it."

Aware of the enormity of what she was about to suggest and not sure how they would respond, Lucie drew a long breath to steady her nerves. For a moment her resolve wavered. Was this a door she truly wished to open? Yes, yes it was. She had thought of little else for several days.

"I've been thinking "

"Oh, no," Stefan groaned, summoning a wan smile. He raised an eyebrow toward Jamie. "Trouble's ahead."

Lucie laughed with the others, then returned to her subject. "Even if Mrs. Roper wouldn't buy my cream, Miss Augusta does."

"I think she buys the cream to repay you for delivering her letters to Mr. Whitcomb," Jamie interjected in a gentle voice.

"Perhaps. But she does use it. I've smelled the scent on her clothing when it comes into the laundry. So she must like it."

"It's a wonderful cream," Greta insisted loyally. "I wouldn't use any other."

"Mrs. Roper was willing to pay for the cream, too, except she wanted it in a pot or a jar." She looked at each of them, feeling the excitement build in her chest. "So, I've been thinking what if I bought some rouge pots and filled them with cream?"

"Pots?" Stefan asked. "How much cream do you think Mrs. Roper would buy?"

"Well" She didn't look at Jamie because she sensed his surprise and, more importantly, his resistance. "I thought I'd try to sell the cream elsewhere, as well." When she dared glance at him, she saw Jamie's reaction was worse than she had feared and her breath caught in her throat. He looked utterly appalled.

"You intend to peddle your cream door to door like a drummer?" he asked incredulously, staring at her.

"I can't agree to that." Stefan frowned and shook his head.

"I wasn't thinking about going door to door," she said, discarding that idea on the instant. "I thought I might approach the druggists in Mercer Street and ask if they would accept the cream on consignment."

"Consignment?" Jamie's stare deepened.

"I learned about it at the Settlement House. It means I would leave several pots with"

"I know what consignment means. I didn't realize you did."

Turning away from his opposition, she appealed to Stefan and Greta, speaking in a rush before her nerve failed her. "I think I could be successful. The cream is good, I know it is. Stefan, please, just hear me out." She swallowed and cleared her throat in the abrupt silence. Snow hissed against the window panes. The tin coffeepot bubbled and spit on the stove.

"Go on," Stefan said, his reluctance visible. She guessed from his expression that he had already rejected her idea.

From her pocket she slowly withdrew the sums she had figured earlier and pressed the paper flat against the tabletop. Having progressed this far, she felt obliged to see it through. "As nearly as I can determine, each pot of cream would cost four cents to produce. Two cents for the ingredients, one and a half cents for each pot, and half a cent for a label."

"You've priced pots and labels?" Jamie leaned forward. "You've gone that far with this?"

"I believe the pots would sell at thirty-five cents," she persisted, not looking at him. "That's a profit of thirty-one cents a pot."

The words hung in a pocket of silence as each considered the implications of thirty-one cents profit per pot of cream.

"Lucie!" Greta breathed. "You would only have to sell three pots to make more money than you could make in a whole day at Mrs. Roper's laundry!"

"Yes." She made herself look at Jamie now. "Does anyone see any reason why we shouldn't try this?" Silently, she pleaded for his support, wanting him on her side in this as in all things. But he was looking at her as if seeing her for the first time.

It was Stefan who answered. "In the name of heaven, Lucie. Even if what you propose could be done, and I'm not convinced anyone would pay thirty-five cents for a little pot of cream, women don't peddle goods!"

"Then you do the peddling," she suggested evenly, shifting on her chair to face him. Why didn't Jamie speak? His silence grated across her nerves. "Remember the year you managed Mr. Holstoffer's stall at the harvest fair? When you set your mind to it, Stefan, you can sell anything."

"Not women's face and hand cream," he said, raising his hands and shaking his head.

"We could all be partners. If Greta feels well enough, she could design a label for the cream. Stefan could sell it. Jamie could arrange for the ingredients and pots. And I'll make it." She made herself turn again to Jamie and released a slow breath.

"You told me you had no interest in business."

Noting that he had crossed his arms over his chest, Lucie wet her lips and spoke carefully. "I'm not a businesswoman nor do I want to be, Jamie. I didn't deceive you. If the cream is successful, and I think it could be, I would expect you and Stefan to take it over and Greta and I would withdraw."

"Stefan and I are already employed," Jamie replied stiffly, watching her.

Stung by his lack of enthusiasm, Lucie directed her appeal to Stefan and Greta. "Whenever we're together we talk about opportunity. We look for it, long for it. Isn't it possible the cream could be our opportunity?" She spread her hands and leaned forward, struggling to persuade them. "Are we limiting our future by assuming opportunity can come only to Stefan and Jamie? Maybe that isn't how it will happen. Maybe our opportunity is here, now, right in front of us." She placed trembling fingertips on the page of figures. "Please. Couldn't we just try?"

"I object to your proposition for several reasons," Stefan said finally, leaning his elbows on the table and looking at her. "First, I loathe the idea of having a sister in business. It isn't decent."

"But, Stefan, I'm proposing a partnership"

"Second, I don't have time to sell your cream. Frankly, I don't think you do, either. Everyone here works six days a week. Sunday is our time to see each other, to catch up household chores. You do most of the week's cooking and baking on Sunday, Lucie. And the laundry and marketing and so on. We all have Sunday chores enough without taking on additional obligations."

"I'm willing to"

He raised a hand. "But as you spoke I kept remembering something you said several months ago. You said: 'Have we brought our limitation with us?' I've thought about that, Lucie, and the answer is yes, we have. When we came to America, we shed laws and customs we found restrictive or unjust. And we rejoiced in the freedom to do so. But we kept much also, attitudes and beliefs we seldom realize we hold until they're challenged."

He spoke slowly, thoughtfully, but as Lucie gradually recognized the direction of his thoughts, excitement mounted within her and she could hardly make herself sit still. Stefan was going to agree. He did so with deep reluctance and against his better judgment, but he was going to permit her to proceed.

"My beliefs are wrong for what you propose. I don't approve of women involving themselves in business. I oppose your working seven days a week. I feel a man's shame that someone in my house must work two jobs. I can also guess why you want to do this, but you know I don't agree that you must repay your passage money."

"But?" she encouraged in a soft voice.

"But if you wish to pursue this" He paused and met her eyes with a troubled gaze. The effort to rise above conflicting cultures and attitudes tightened his jaw. "If you wish to test the limitations you oppose, then I won't stand in your way." He studied the excitement lighting her expression. "But I won't be a partner, Lucie. It would be dishonest to participate in something I don't believe in."

"Thank you, Stefan." She knew how difficult the decision was for him. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to face Jamie. One glance at his expression and her excitement plummeted. "Please, Jamie. Will you be my partner? You know I want you to be."

"No." His reply was curt.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. The pain and surprise of rejection colored Lucie's cheeks and she dropped her head. Though she had not expected Jamie's wholehearted approval, neither had she anticipated he would so flatly oppose her. The awkward silence seemed to endure forever.

"I'll be your partner."

Greta spoke quietly in a voice hoarsened from coughing. Leaning toward Stefan, she placed her hand over his. "Our Lucie has a wonderful idea. Surely she has a duty to follow her dream, doesn't she? The death of a dream is a terrible thing. We must not allow that to happen." The gentle admonishment shamed the frown from Stefan's expression. Turning to Lucie, she smiled. "I'm honored to be given the pleasure of designing a label. As I've been listening, I've thought of a name. That is, if you"

"I hadn't thought of that! Of course we need a name."

"I thought perhaps we could call it Countess Kolska's Superlative Face and Hand Cream."

Lucie clapped her hands and laughed. "So, I've become a countess after all," she said to Jamie. His thin smile erased her pleasure and sent her heart dropping toward her toes.

"There's something else," Greta continued when she had recovered from another attack of coughing. "We'll need money to buy increased amounts of ingredients and the pots and labels."

"Yes." A frown appeared above Lucie's eyes. She couldn't very well request a contribution from Stefan and Jamie as they had washed their hands of the affair.

Lifting a hand to her throat, Greta withdrew a waxed string from her bodice and untied it. A gold ring slid into her hand. "This was my mother's wedding ring. When she gave it to me, she told me to use it well. What finer use can there be than to finance a dream?" Leaning across the table, she pressed the ring into Lucie's palm and closed her fingers around it. "I believe in dreams, Lucie dearest, and I believe in you."

Tears sprang to Lucie's eyes as she stared at the gold ring. "Thank you," she whispered. She would have given anything if this gesture of support had come from Jamie.

Jamie's continued silence cast a pall across the evening, and very soon Stefan rose to see Greta home. The moment the door closed Jamie leaned back in his chair and his dark eyes narrowed.

"Do you have so little faith in me, lass?"

"What?" She had risen to brew more coffee, but she dropped back onto her chair and stared at him.

"Don't you believe I can provide for our future?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then why do you insist on going into business?"

"My dearest Jamie." Leaning forward she reached for his hands, but he pretended not to see and remained aloof, his arms folded firmly out of reach. A flush of heat stained her cheeks. "More than anything in this world, I want to help Stefan and Greta marry. Afterward, if the cream should prove successful Does it really matter if our future comes more quickly from my efforts or yours? Or a combination of the two?"

"No self-respecting man takes money from a woman. Or allows her to support him."

This line of reasoning impressed her as frustratingly limiting and solely based on pride. Long ago Lucie had concluded pride was a rich man's conceit and a poor man's prison. "Then join partners with me," she entreated, presenting what seemed an obvious solution. "The business can be ours together."

Dark curls of smoke wafted from the lamp chimney and his moody gaze followed the drift toward the ceiling. "No, Lucie. My business is construction, not face cream."

Both spoke in carefully modulated voices, suppressing the anger they each felt. But Lucie sensed the importance of the conversation and the rift opening between them. How could it be otherwise? She couldn't help feeling resentful that he refused to support an idea that even Stefan agreed to, an idea that could, if successful, significantly speed their future.